Echoes arising from two cases of the private ... · Echoes arising from two cases of the private...

Echoes arising from two cases of the private administration ofpopulations: African immigrants in twentieth-century Spain

and Indians in nineteenth-century Ecuador

Andrés Guerrero (translated by Tristan Platt)

Abstract: The article simultaneously explores three lines of reflection and analysiswoven around the comparative reverberations (in space and time) between citi-zenship and the administration of populations (states of exception) in the Repub-lic of Ecuador during the nineteenth century and the Kingdom of Spain in thetwenty century. The first thread tries to answer the question whether it is possiblefor concepts generated in a country of the Global South to be used usefully in an-alyzing a different Northern reality, inverting the usual direction in the flows oftransfer and importation of “theory.” The second theme of comparative reverber-ation explores a network of concepts concerning the citizenship of common senseand the administration of populations, that is the “back-patio” aspect of citizen-ship, particularly its historical formation in the domination of populations in theRepublic of Ecuador during the nineteenth century. It is centered on the processof identification in the daily exchanges between interpares citizens and extraparesnon-citizens. The last section involves testing concepts forged in the author’s stud-ies of Ecuadorian history for their utility in analyzing the current situation of mod-ern sub-Saharan immigrants in Spain (using concrete examples), and their reclusionto the private sphere in spaces of exception and abandonment. Here, the article con-centrates on the difference between the public administration of populations andthe private administration of citizens. The article uses documentary material relat-ing to nineteenth-century Ecuador and twentieth-century Spain and Senegal.

Keywords: administration of populations, citizenship, common sense, Ecuador,Indian, migrant, Spain, state of exception

Focaal—Journal of Global and Historical Anthropology 63 (2012): 90–112doi:10.3167/fcl.2012.630109

To risk criticizing an aspect of the master narra-tive of a Southern history by placing it in rela-tion to another such narrative from theNorth—more precisely, the Republic of Ecua -dor and the Kingdom of Spain—it will be nec-

essary to protect myself with suggestions madeby Gyan Prakash for writing “post-Orientalisthistories from a Third World perspective”(1990: 383). My borrowing from Prakash is per-haps rash, his ideas warped by my appropria-

tion. Indeed, it is almost impossible to makeOrientalism and Latinamericanism coincide.But I will leap over frontiers of time and space,barriers that rein in any sensible historian, andlightly adopt the methodological precautionsadvanced by Prakash. We cannot deny theoceanic distances that lie between the historiesof Ecuador and India, but Prakash’s suggestionscontain some indispensable methodologicalcues.

First, Prakash advises us to avoid the ingen-uousness (“exceeding naïvité”) of supposingthat “the Third World writes its own history.” Ifit were so, the only result would be the strength-ening of a false illusion: the ideology of a nation-state’s full freedom to construct its own history.Indeed, it would fortify the vision of colonial,national, and imperial origins, which classifiesthe world into two or more poles of separate, in-ward-turned histories. It used to be said thatcountries were either of the First World, theSecond World—which barely acquired inde-pendent existence in historical thought, as theirhome seemed to lie with the First, and those ofthe Third World. Today, with increasing global-ization, the classification has been simplified,and there only remains the separation betweennation-states of North and South.

This dual classification may be as illusory asany other, but in the reality of thought (and re-search) it imposes a primary and undeniablefact: it opens inter-continental geological faultlines that are almost uncrossable for historicalresearchers. As with tectonic plates, it seems thatthe histories of continents are ever more distant,progressively fragmented into themes enclosedby high walls and broad ditches. This may beanother of the paradoxes of late modernity. Theworld has been globalizing faster than ever be-fore during the past decades, but at the sametime distances have opened up between thethought of the North and of the various Southsuntil they appear completely specific and au-tonomous. Nevertheless, a banal event in someunsuspected part of the world can today res-onate with another social process in the An-tipodes like billiard balls, as the masses in front

of their TVs will agree after watching any dis-tant newsflash. And so, when the crisis of thenation-state erupts again in one of the Souths,myriads of immigrants travel thousands ofmiles to leap over the ever-higher walls that en-close the North. Perhaps the historian aiming tostudy past social events that flash forth in thepresent in today’s globalized world has no alter-native but to follow the example of the immi-grants: jump over the barriers of the duality thatconstrains the imagination, and establish linksbetween the North and the Souths.

There is a second “real-effect” that the bi-nary classification between North and Southshas on writing history: it encourages exchangesconstrained by unequal and unidirectionalflows. Thus, the critical master narratives of theSouth are one thing, and those of the North arequite another. And the two kinds of narrativeshould not be confused. So, the first thing aSouthern historian should do is import hismodels and critical tools from the North, muchas “progress” and “capitalism” were imported inthe nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Oncethis has been accomplished, the next task wouldbe to adapt these methods, concepts, and narra-tives to the local reality, distorting them astutelyin the process. For example, the researcher mustappropriate the critical master narratives of theNorth, and—much like the second-hand cloth-ing from the North that floods the marketplaces of the Souths—re-use them to concoct afashion made of a mixture of the forms and col-ors of New York with local folklore. Today,Southern historians may indeed have no otheroptions.

But once situated in this perspective, and ab-sorbed in the task of putting together some-thing new with all these used materials, South ernhistorians may find themselves trapped in theeffort to invent something local, and may notimagine that they could do what some astuteentrepreneurs do with sumptuary goods, suchas Armani or Louis Vuitton handbags. Thesecompanies produce copies with similar materi-als in some unknown corner of the Souths, andthen export them to their places of origin in the

Echoes arising from two cases of the private administration of populations | 91

North. The consumers buy these ersatz itemsnot for what they are (copies of originals) butfor what they represent: their low-cost capacityto produce symbolic effects in the social imagi-nary, reproducing the phantasmagorical repre-sentation that surrounds luxury products madeby the great fashion houses. The return of theoriginal as an imitation to the place of originproduces just such a flash: it is a representationthat undermines the notions of model, original,and place.1

Many profitable re-exports of historiograph-ical copies to the North could be made with theCritical Master Narratives that have been ex-ported to the South. Methods, concepts, andprocedures already worn by their double use in North and Souths, with the value-addingadornments, telling simplifications, and detoursof content incorporated during the equatorialor tropical phases of their life—these copiescould be useful instruments to re-think themaster narratives of the North concerning theconstruction of the nation-state.

Equally important is the second warning Ihear among the many suggestions made byGyan Prakash. He advises historians to jumpover the guarded barricades that separate andisolate these inturned histories, whatever theymay be. In the end the historian does not riskleaving his skin on the barbed wire, as immi-grants do, but only his prestige. If he takes therisk, he may be able to fulfill a promise: “Suchdestabilization of identities and crossing of care -fully policed boundaries promise a new third-world historiography that will resist both nativ-ist romantization and orientalist distancing.”(Prakash, 1990: 383)

I aim to criticize one aspect of the masternarrative of the construction of citizenship, acornerstone in the architecture of the nationstate, comparing one Southern country with—as a sort of distorted reflection—a country ofthe North. My method will consist in laying asuspension bridge of anachronism (Loraux1987; Rancière 1996, Loraux 1987) a dual car-riageway of crossing and re-crossing, betweenthe two extremes. The crossing must be made

well above the policed boundaries of history(specifically, the limitations of time and binaryplaces, of concepts and historical processes), ifit is to devise a critique of citizenship in oneSouthern country in the past, and in one North-ern country in the present. The cords that holdthis bridge are woven with a network of con-cepts (whose originals were of course im-ported), which have been forged in the courseof my critical studies of a master narrative inone of the Souths. The exercise I propose hereconsists of activating the geometry of these con-cepts in order to analyze critically a presentconjuncture in the North. I place a problemcommon to one of the Souths and the North inthe same sound frequency, allowing them to re-verberate mutually. The vibration set up shouldprovoke a destabilization of the master narra-tive of the construction of the system of citizen-ship in both places and times (Guerrero 2003b).

Let me summarize the problem, which willserve me as an operator to set up this resonance.Citizenship, during its construction in the pastas well as in certain present conjunctures, maybecome a social field in which relations of dom-ination are constructed and played out. In thesesituations, the “natural” citizens—those whoexercise power and consider themselves inter-pares—administer the populations identified asextrapares, whose historical origin may be in-ternal or external, or both. “Natural citizens”are members of the “legitimate community,”which defines itself as “natural” because it liveswithin its “internal frontiers” and shares a his-tory and culture.2 Whatever criteria may beused the “legitimate community” defines itselfin the world of common sense (racial, linguis-tic, regional, religious, etc.). The administrationof extrapares may have a public character (thatis, it may be carried out as a function of thestate), or it may assume a private character, whenit is left to the squabbles between micro-powersas exercised by private citizens in everyday life,that is, in “the world within my actual reach”(Schutz 1971: 224).

In the latter case, that of the private adminis-tration of populations, the extrapares (or perhaps

92 | Andrés Guerrero

better, the alterpares) of the natural citizens,whether they emerge from an internal process3

or come from outside the national frontiers,may end up being constructed as undefined sub-jects (temporary or permanent) and convertedinto “illegal immigrants” or people withoutdocuments. Their government is abandoned bythe state to the sphere of private social traffic,that is, it is ceded to the face-to-face negotia-tions that natural citizens establish with the“undocumented” in everyday life. In these cases,within the sphere of citizen equality and beneaththe sovereignty of national law, we find nestedstates of exception, areas of political and juridi-cal indeterminacy, which concern those popu-lations of extrapares who have lost their identi-fication, whatever the concrete symbolic markersand precise historical causes of this loss. In thesesituations, which may be precarious or may ac-quire the solidity of a stable system of domina-tion, citizenship takes the form of an extension,but with a crease: it turns inside on itself like apair of socks, retaining simultaneously an appear-ance of universal equality on the outside and,on the inside, that of the private administrationof populations. I am going to examine furtherthis paradox of the double nature of universalcitizen equality in a position of domination.

I propose to take two situations and see howthey reverberate with each other. I examine theconstruction of citizenship in relation to the in-digenous populations of Ecuador during thenineteenth century, and the situation of the Afri -can immigrants who today arrive on the beachesof Spain. Both cases involve situations in whichcitizenship is extended and then folded in acrease.

The private administration of populationsin nineteenth-century Ecuador

The concept of administration of populationsarose from my studies of the system of citizen-ship and domination of Indians in the Republicof Ecuador during the nineteenth century. Toexplain its construction and content, I revisit

the years 1854 and 1857, a pivotal period in theconstruction of the national state. Some threedecades after the foundation of the Republic(1824–1830), the parliament promulgated twodecrees, which implemented the followingmeasures: the first suppressed the Indian trib-ute (a head-tax paid to the state by all maleadults identified as “indigenes”); the secondrendered “indigenes equal [igualación] to allother Ecuadorians.” 4 By these decrees, the prin-ciple of universal citizen equality was respected,as stipulated in the Republican Constitution. Itincluded the American populations who hadpreviously, since the beginning of the colonialperiod (c. 1570), been classified in the censusesunder the category of tributary Indians. Thepoint of reference for this juridical “equaliza-tion” were the rights already enjoyed by the“natural citizens,” that is the politically domi-nant population: the inhabitants who had hith-erto been classified in state registers under thecategories of “whites” and “mestizos.”

The “equalization of the indigenes” was anearly example of what is known today in politi-cal sciences as a “process of citizen inclusion.”As is well-known, the process of inclusion—theextension of equality as a potential attributewithout any predetermined limits—is consideredto be one of the distinctive features of this notion.There is a tendency, intrinsic to citizenship, to-ward the permanent universalization of the rela-tion of equality between the members of anation-state. Constructed on the self-referringprinciples of popular or national sovereignty, thisidea has an immanent character. And as such, notonly can the parameters of citizenship be criti-cized, but the extent of egalitarian inclusion canbe reformulated (Habermas and Fraser 1989).

These decrees from mid-nineteenth centuryEcuador marked a point of no return in theconstruction of the citizenry. They unleashed aparadoxical process that favored, as a logical re-sult, an implicit strategy of power, which noneof the social actors had conceived, nor pre-sented, nor discussed as public policy. Whilethis strategy exercised its full constitutive his-torical capacity throughout the nineteenth cen-


tury, it led to the formation of a complex politi-cal regime of citizenship, which took on an un-expected and original profile, far from anySpanish colonial precedent.

Its “imitative originality,” shared no doubtwith such archetypical historical models as theFrench or North American from which the Re-public drew its inspiration,5 stems from the factthat the “equalization” of 1854–1857 simultane-ously instituted in the nation-state both an ex-tension of citizen universality and a dominationof one population by another. Through thesedecrees, several dimensions of the nation-stateparallelogram were defined simultaneously.First, the unitary homogeneity of the citizenspace was established as a field where the dom-inant social group could exercise its power. Sec-ond, the group of “white-mestizo Ecuadorians”were created as the “natural” interpares com-prising the ruling group in this social field, inwhich the citizens are equal among themselvesbut different with regard to class and gender.Third, the state classification of “Indian,” origi-nating during the Spanish colony, was elimi-nated; and finally, the universal equality of allEcuadorians was declared.

From the second half of the century, this dis-tinction between white-mestizos and indigeneswas no longer a function of the republican state,but was left to a process of identification ruledby the “common sense” of private citizens(Thurner 1997: ch. 2). The historical “astute-ness” of this paradoxical construction (an egal-itarian social field folded back on itself in astructure of domination) lies in that it operatesbehind the state’s back, in the shady territory ofa legal exception. The state abandoned the ad-ministration of populations (of Indian subjects)to the sphere of everyday life. From now on,domination would be exercised through the im-placable efficacy of the strategies of binary clas-sification, which citizens (whites and mestizos)employed in the social traffic of daily life. Thisbrings me to establish a connection with thepresent, with the problem of understanding theother face of citizenship as it is exercised todayin the public sphere, in the process of everydaysocial exchange.

Citizenship as common sense

To account for the paradox I have mentioned—that is the simultaneous constitution (organicallylinked in a single movement) of a political sys-tem of universal citizenship equality folded in onitself to encompass an administration of popula-tions—we must leave the rails of the formalist, orlegalist vision of citizenship. It will be useful tolook at what lies behind the state and beyond thelegal system (Foucault 2004a: 77–104). We mustconcentrate on immediate everyday exchanges,where ephemeral relations of power interrogateand may redefine social identifications.

In immediate social exchanges, negotiationsgo on about who are to be considered “naturalcitizens” in face-to-face behavior, and who areto be considered “subjects,” the extrapares or al-terpares, whatever the pretext and the exact cir-cumstances. In these skirmishes, in the con-junctures that constitute daily life, it is decidedwho shall be excluded from universal equality.This is thanks to the implicit consensus previ-ously established among the dominant group.To give a concrete account of this phenomenon,which I have called “common-sense citizen-ship,” I take an example that took place in Au-gust 2006 and was reported by the Spanish andBritish newspapers. Many other examples couldhave been used as there is no lack of them.Some authors insist that we are living throughan unstoppable tendency—no doubt linked toglobalization and the shrinking of nation-states—toward an unlimited extension and in-creasingly systematic use of administrative mea-sures (both public and private), which situatethemselves on the other side of the law andshackle the notion of sovereignty, which under-pins the juridical systems of natioa-states (Agam -ben 2004; Negri and Hardt 2002: 33–51).6

A group of tourists have passed without prob-lems all the minute and tedious security con-trols that the Spanish police imposes on air-ports. They were returning to Manchester aftertheir vacation, and boarded a plane in Málaga.Among the group, there were two twenty-two-year-old students from the University of Man-


chester, both British. With their seat belts fas-tened they awaited take-off, together with therest of the passengers. But take-off was delayed.Several passengers went up to the front of theplane and were arguing with the crew members.They were saying that they would not travelwith those two students. They suspected themto be suicide bombers in disguise. The rumorspread through the plane. Other families got up,went to the front of the plane, and insisted onthe same thing. The captain had to come out ofthe cockpit and ask the Spanish police to help.Several agents entered the plane, confiscatedthe British passports of these students and tookthem back to the airport at gunpoint. One of thestudents said he never understood what washappening. He said that a girl looked at him inhorror, pointed at him, and began sobbing.7 Thetwo students had to take a different flight on thefollowing day, after a short police interrogationthat found nothing suspicious about them. Ac-cording to the correspondent of El País, “thecrime” of the students was simply that “they hadPakistani features [sic], spoke Arabic, wereyoung, and didn’t wear sandals and summerclothing like the rest of the passengers, but in-stead thick jerseys and leather jackets.8

The condemnation of the crime was, ofcourse, a consequence and effect of a collectivemental perception. In the passengers’ eyes, thestudents were not identified as interpares, as cit-izens like oneself, but as subjects. In this case, thesubject assumed the form of a dangerous for-eigner, fixed in a symbolic image far away fromthat of a British citizen. Europe seems today tobe a continent besieged by two figures in whomthe phantasmal alterpares are incarnated. Fromthe perspective of common sense, both figuresfulfill the function of structuring nuclei instereotypes of the Other. One of these is the “Islamic terrorist,” the second is the “undocu-mented person”: the “alien foreigners” who areinvading the continent. Both phantasms areperceived as a threat to the stability and survivalof the European nations.9

The mental vision of the passengers in thatflight was guided by classificatory principles

that construct and constantly update the sym-bolic markers and imaginary figures, whichprovide a collective “reading of reality” under-pinned by a process of daily hermeneutics (un-conscious and a-critical) carried out on the spotby the dominant sector of public opinion. Theseprinciples structure the collective mental mapsof a wide group of British citizens, and areshared by large numbers of Europeans withvariations and local differences. The traits thatthe El País journalist defines in his article as thesymbolic markers of the figure of the “terrorist”include “Pakistani features,” “speaking Ara-bic”— although they spoke Urdu and English,mother-tongue –, an “inadequate” style of dress,and being “young.” These traits indicate cogni-tive structures shared by a group of rebelliouspassengers at the time. They sketch the organiz-ing configurations of the world of commonsense as it is expressed in certain moments andby certain sectors of public opinion. This world,these parameters of a “collective mentality,” al-ways fluid and in a process of constant updat-ing, is the place whence emerge the strategies ofidentification that citizens implement in theprocess of everyday life. This is how a people’s“who’s who” is put into action every day. Thesemental parameters are the deus ex machina ofthe collective forms of acting and feeling corre-sponding to the immediate situation, whenconfronted with the concrete people involved inthe exchange. To give an example, they are thesource of the fear and anguish felt by the littlegirl who pointed at the students with her fingerand sobbed. Thus, the guiding principles of theworld of common sense direct each momentaryplay of identification.10 These mental maps arethe result of conflicts of power among socialgroups in the arena of citizen equality. What isat stake are processes of domination and exclu-sion, the definition of interpares and extrapares.

It should be emphasized that both studentshad already been identified as British and Euro-pean citizens. Legally speaking, this meant thatall state authorities and any other citizen shouldhave treated them as equals (interpares) withthe same rights as any other passenger on theplane. If this, the juridical aspect of citizenship,


is taken into consideration, the pilot could nothave had them taken off the plane and left be-hind. The right of the two students to demandthat the plane take off with them on boardshould have had no less weight on the scales ofthe law than the demand of the group of pas-sengers that the plane should not take off withthem on board. The police had checked theirbags and their bodies: they carried nothingdangerous, nor did their names appear on anylist of suspected terrorists. However, the captaintook the decision to throw them off the plane,and take off without them, yielding to the pub-lic opinion of a group of rebel citizens.

What this example shows is that, beyond thestate and the law, but acting beneath its protec-tion, we can find an unlimited effervescence ofpower strategies, which constitute “molecular”movements underlying social transactions inthe sphere of everyday life. This is the everydayforce field in which juridical norms remain sus-pended in limbo, caught between the pressureof the flow of events and the need to create im-mediate and appropriate responses in each situ-ation. If the norms are evoked at the time by thesocial actors (if the students, for example, hadargued that, as British citizens, they were pro-tected by the same legal rights as the other pas-sengers), it is only as a remote point of ref-erence, a card thrown for an instant on the tableof play. The law can only intervene effectively ina remote and hypothetical a posteriori, becauseof its sluggish judicial institutions and thelength of the state’s arm. What matters in a con-juncture of everyday exchange are the immedi-ate power relations, the quick response imposedby the game.

That field of the immediate and urgent is theworld of common-sense citizenship par excel-lence, a “face-to-face” arena whose logic offunctioning is not that of the laws or of state in-terventions. Quite different from the procedureof the state juridical sphere, common senseobeys a set of mental schemas formed by scalesof classification, divisions, and subdivisions ofthe world. These principles are a sort of “anti-laws.” According to the relations of power ineach game situation, they weave strategies, ap-

propriating and adjusting actions, actions thatare created on the spur of the moment. For ex-ample, it was of little or no use to the students toshow their British IDs, which by law shouldhave guaranteed their right to equality. But a setof relations unfavorable to them dominatedpublic opinion in the airplane cabin. In thesecircumstances, they had little chance of recon-verting their juridical rights into face-to-facerespect for their equality, when the identifica-tion that the others had applied to them wasthat of potential terrorists. The captain tooknote of the situation and adopted the decisionthat corresponded to his reading of the powerrelations obtaining at that moment. He calledthe police and had them taken off the plane. Hetook a typical administrative decision, an actionthat can only be located outside the letter of thelaw (a pilot is the representative of the state onhis plane), that is, in its margins of exception.Only a judge would have been able to determinesuch an action and at the same time keep withinthe letter of the law. The pilot took off perfectlyaware, no doubt, that in principle the law pro-tected the students and authorized them to con-tinue their journey. But the immediate problemwas that they had been identified as extraparesby a group of citizens who rejected them and re-fused to travel with them, perceiving them asdangerous alterpares.

The other side of legal citizenship

This example should enable the reader to un-derstand what I mean by “common-sense citi-zenship.” I refer to that immediate identificationthat takes place in daily interaction when theactors find themselves in a micro-power rela-tionship. This obliges us to analyze the proc-esses of domination and exclusion that occur inthe margins of the text of equality inscribed inthe law, and which creates situations of excep-tion where the rule of the law is suspended.Generally these states of exception are con-ceived as transitory and exceptional momentsthat are always succeeded by the restoration oflegal rule, by the return to a state of normality.


But when we are dealing with everyday lifeand common-sense citizenship the situation istotally different. In the sphere of everyday life,the exception of the law is simply a permanentstate that can be conceived, not as an alien or il-legal space (in the last resort, the law can be ap-plied in everyday matters, and, in any case, itsvirtual and symbolic presence always intervenesas a point of reference in the mediation of con-flicts), but as a kind of zone of indifference be-tween without and within, between chaos andthe normality (Agamben 2004: 27) of the law’sapplication. Clearly, in the immediate processesof identification, in the “who’s who” of everymoment, the relations of power fix the passingcriteria of the type of attention or rejection oneassigns to the interlocutor, to one person andnot to another.11 By its own logic this process offace-to-face identification does not obey any le-gal system. It is the arena where a molecularturbulence reigns. These micro-exercises ofpower take place in an area of confusion whencompared with the quadriculated field of theCartesian application of the law.

The notion of common-sense citizenship ispart of a conceptual network focused aroundthe administration of populations. Both con-cepts were formed in the process of carrying outa historico-critical analysis of the constructionof the national state in nineteenth-centuryEcuador. This research was centered on whatremained outside the narratives of that con-struction: the domination of the Indian popula-tion by equal citizens.12 As I read the documents,I was forced to interpret a logic of dominationand exclusion incrusted in citizen equality as aninternal rather than external phenomenon, inwhich both equality and domination form asingle body. I realized that, with the decrees of1854–1857, there was a change in the politicalsystem: the neo-colonial institutions that stillorganized and presided over the routines of therepublican state were effectively eliminated. En-shrined in a detailed legal code, these routineshad imposed order and efficacy on a set of tech-nical means for establishing a state process ofidentification for those populations. They or-ganized the procedures of recognition by means

of three categories: whites and mestizos, Indi-ans, blacks and mulattos (freemen and slaves).These routines carried out a classification andenumeration person by person, and the “Indi-ans” were located house by house in rural areas,in villages, and in the cities. In short, with thedecrees of equalization in the mid-nineteenthcentury all these public procedures of identifi-cation, which emerged from a wide and com-plex juridical code during the Republic, andwhich established a contradictory link betweenequality and an exclusive social classification,were abolished forever.

In the second half of the nineteenth century,there occurred a phenomenon that I have ana-lyzed in other publications (Guerrero 2003a).The Indians, who were the demographic major-ity of the young Republic,13 lost the status ofEcuadorian Indians. The obligation imposed onIndian men (from eighteen years of age) to payan annual tribute to the Republic was abolished.This head-tax was not paid in Ecuador by whitesand mestizos. In brief, these decrees dismantleda system of administration of populationswhose axis was the state, a centralized politicalorganization for dominating and exploiting theIndians. The citizens governed them from threekey institutions in the representative democracythey were constructing: the parliament, the ju-diciary, and the executive. Specialized func-tionaries carried out the administration of theIndian populations, managed the bureaucraticprocedures for identifying people, the tech-niques for locating them, and their registrationin lists (padrones) by their names and surnames:they established “who was who” and “where theywere.” The citizen representatives discussed inparliament the policies and measures to beadopted for administering the Indians.

The central archives and the documentary deposits

The challenge that confronted me in the 1854–1857 archival documents was the analysis of anew political formation set in motion beneaththe shadow of citizen equality. The principal ac-


tors were no longer a body of functionaries, norwere their techniques of government system-atized in laws and regulations, nor were theiractivities codified in centralized institutions.Moreover, no matter how hard one looked, thispolitical system was not explicitly mentionedanywhere in the archives of the central state.From the perspective of the state, that is fromthe central political system and scenario locatedin the capital of the Republic, which was thehistorical panorama offered me by the centralarchives (of the parliament, the ministries, thehigher courts of justice), the administration ofpopulations was like a landscape expunged froma portrait: an absence. At the highest levels ofthe memory of the state, the domination of theIndians had become invisible; only a few strayreferences managed to filter through from theperiphery.

The central documents fulfilled the letter ofthe law. They could no longer refer to the old“part of the population” previously classified asIndians: that “part” no longer existed, it hadbeen “equalized with the rest of the Ecuadori-ans” (El Seis de Marzo). Besides, the highestfunctionaries of the state and the politicianscould scarcely debate, statistics in hand, govern-ment policies concerning the Indians, when thepublic apparatus for detecting, identifying, clas-sifying, and locating the non-citizen popula-tions had been dismantled.

Despite this silence, some conclusions couldbe reached after an extensive and fruitlesssearch in the Central Archives of the Republicof Ecuador. A first point is that those archives,the great registers of official memory, the placeswhere all important state documents are cen-tralized, do not offer themselves to the historianlike an open sea to the free choice of reading,without the researcher being dragged off-course by certain counter-currents. When thehistorian begins to review the documents,whatever his interests, those archives offer himclues, they whisper promising routes in hisimagination. Like any means of communicationwith regard to their instrumental existence,they impose effects of context that make certainprojections impossible. A reading of the GreatArchives proposes seductive ideal images of

what can be studied: events, persons, institu-tions, situations, intrigues. Reading is a conduc-tor of the desire to write: the reader is possessedby the desire of the author to write, observesRoland Barthes (1984: 45). To paraphrase: thehistorian appropriates the desire of those whowrote, of the voices of the archive (presidents,ministers, high functionaries, parliamentarians,politicians), who as well as writing (in docu-ments) are actors: “they made history.” Thecharacter, hierarchy, and contents of documentsinsinuate subliminal indications that prefigurethe satisfaction and value of writing within thisframework. Even something so neutral as theorganization of the documents in temporal se-ries implies suggestions concerning what onemight, or should desire to write about, andwhich themes it might be better to discard. Thecontinuities, the ruptures, and the links be-tween series of documents reveal horizonsawaiting the flight of the imagination, or elsethey clip its wings because of the difficultiesthat await the researcher willing to examinesome papers exhaustively, papers that barelyseem proper documents and seem to be quiteinadequate to determine an object for research.

It may seem that the information of thearchive can be compared with unworked clay:an almost completely malleable substance thatthe creativity of the historian can use at its will.However, just as the symbolic order in a sacredsilence induces certain acceptable thoughts anddiscards others as inconceivable, or the glitter ofa seam in granite decides the geological trajec-tory that the miner must follow to satiate his de-sire, so too hermeneutic work in the GreatArchives of the Republic leads one to followpaths and sketch ideal projections that murmur“master narratives” in the ears of the imagina-tion. They are like motorways, with their accessroads, their exits and their flyovers already es-tablished, whose functional plan their userscannot completely imagine, and which never-theless fix the routes and points of arrival thatthe researcher may choose: all roads lead to themaster narrative.

A second conclusion that emerged fromworking in the archives was that it was neces-sary to explore the amnesia of the archive. One


may compare this with the objectivity of asymptom, a sign of what has been rejected, ofwhat only returns to the Central Archives in afew uncertain traces and elusive remnants, whatpersists despite being discarded by the officialmemory. This symptomatic approach revealedthat the domination and exclusion of the Indi-ans, as a social reality that had certainly not dis-appeared from society due to the decrees ofequalization, persisted like the return of some-thing denied in the process of constructing thecitizenry.14 The information appeared every-where, though dispersed and incongruous, gen-erally without a defined context of meaningwhen read from a central state perspective. TheCentral Archives themselves, in their structureand content, were a physical and symbolic doc-ument (in their architecture, their internal or-ganization, and their history) of a forgettingwhich, when passed through a critical herme-neutic, expressed something obvious: domina-tion had passed to the other side of the state.This was revealed by the absence of data: itssymptom was the amnesia of the archive.

That other side of the state beyond the reachof the judiciary, that zone of indefinition (themuddy waters of legal exception), which is notregistered in the Central Archives of the State,even something of the bustle of everyday life,reappears in what I cannot find another namefor but that of “chance deposits of information.”For example, in some public buildings in a can-ton and its parishes papers are heaped up, al-most without intention or meaning. These arethe frontiers of the state, the last shreds of gov-ernment of territories and populations, the out-ermost reaches of national administration. Inthese liminal spaces, in that everyday life wherefunctionaries conspire together, public mattersare interwoven with private interest, individualand public concerns are confounded. In themargins of the state, the binary classificationsbetween Indians and whites blossom afresh, theuniversal equality decreed by the law is dis-solved and the strategies of the ethnic frontierare displayed undisguised. In those non-archives, those deposits where the documentsof the parish and canton are accumulated—per-haps in some abandoned cupboard in the base-

ment of the municipal council, the jefaturapolítica (political chiefdom), and the backroomsof the tenencias políticas (political lieutenants),where papers are piled up which no one knewwhat to do with—in those deposits, a shadowylight confuses the distinction between what isstrictly an official document and what is a semi-private or semi-public screed.

Those semi-deposits are middens (by ho-mology with what the refuse-dumps of a cityare for the archaeologist) in which one must digto find information about the processes bywhich new ways of dominating Indians are es-tablished: inexorably, step by step in the nine-teenth century, in the same longitude oftemporal and causal sequence as that in whichthe equality of citizens is being created. For ex-ample, we can perceive the process in the al-most daily correspondence sent out from hisoffice in a distant parish by a jefe político (polit-ical chief) of a canton, or when reading the actsof the oral sentences of a justice of the peace.These little functionaries deal with each otheras private neighbors who administer Indians,rather than as public employees involved in ad-ministering the daily life of the state or of indi-viduals (Guerrero 2007). If a historian is luckyenough to find one of those “refuse-dumps”—for example, the correspondence between func-tionaries—what he finds is a disordered pile ofpapers generally devastated by the negligencethat time imposes on what the state considerstrivial. On reading that documentation he maydiscover merely irritated notes alluding tosquabbles, banal plots, and anodyne referencesto official activities bound up with private, spe-cific, and material interests. Such data shed lighton the events of everyday life, they are pieces ofa jigsaw puzzle that is always incomplete, whoseimage is tossed in the flowing water of time,forming and then dissolving again.15

The return of the rejected: The abandonment of state attributions to the private sphere

If there is a well-hidden secret in the masternarrative of the inclusive character of citizen


equality, it seems to lie in the fact that the prin-ciple of equality can be transformed, not onlyinto conjunctural exclusion, but also into a sys-tem of domination, a stable, molar organiza-tion. History offers a range of examples.16 Oneof these is the process that took place inEcuador in the second half of the nineteenthcentury.

After the decrees of 1854–1857, there was anabandonment of attributions, or, if you will, ofsovereignty. The state abandoned the public ad-ministration of populations that it had organ-ized around the collection of Indian tribute. Itunloaded the government of populations on toprivate or semi-public institutions of citizens.Further, it abandoned it to the whites and mes-tizos as a collective social group, and to individ-ual persons within that group in their privateactivities as citizens. The fact of belonging to thewhite-mestizo group by mutual recognition (thecohesive cement being the identification inter-pares that follows from a historic and culturalreading, constantly renewed, of symbolic mark-ers inscribed in persons) assigned a tacit con-sensual right, a sort of prior and extra-juridicalsocial contract (Pateman 1988), to exercise dom -ination over the Indians in the intimacy of thecitizens’ homes and haciendas, and in the areasof contact such as the streets, the markets, thechurch.

That abandonment was not a state policy,that is a decision publicly discussed and imple-mented by the state. The legislators who votedfor it did not discuss the abandonment of pub-lic attributions to the private sphere, andwhether or not it should be implemented. Theabandonment of attributions from the public tothe private spheres is an extravagant idea whenconsidered within this foundational dichotomyof the Republican political system.17 The con-cerns of the parliamentarians who voted for thedecrees of 1854 and 1857 were rather what theyconsidered the “scandalous inequality,” an “in-coherence in the founding principles” of the Re-public: the classification and division thatestablished a hierarchy between white-mestizocitizens and tributary Indians. Their aim wasprecisely to extend universal equality to the

populations classified as Indians. That was whatthey voted for (Guerrero 1997).

Perhaps one of the greatest difficulties inprovoking reverberations that could de-stabi-lize the master narratives is to define those ele-ments that could allow the questions to beasked: to forge those tools of analysis that arethe necessary “operators of visibility”18 that mayserve to clear the undergrowth in the field of in-vestigation. To shift the problem from the inclu-sive character of citizen equality toward its darkside (the other side of the state, beyond the ju-ridical), to focus on exclusion as a process thatis not opposed to but part of the field of citizen-ship; that leap is possible if citizen equality isconsidered not only from the perspective of thesovereignty of the law, but also from the per-spective of the administration of populations:the practical functions, the governmental pro-cedures, the immediate play of power that “con-struct” domination.19 The notion of admin-istration leads us to look over our shoulders atthe other side of the law. It forces us to pay attention to the doubleness that is inherent tocitizenship, to the context to which dominationand exploitation are exercised in their crudestand most pragmatic form. This is what is signi-fied as the symptom of an absence and the per-sistence of what is rejected by the constructionof universal equality in the Central Archives of the State. We must decenter the view thatconceives of citizenship exclusively as a relationbetween the state and the citizens, and shift tothe relationship established between the citi-zens and the populations: common-sense citi-zenship.20

The transfer of attributions to the privatesphere of the citizens had a consequence, notunexpected but certainly unusual. In the secondhalf of the nineteenth century a system of dom-ination of the Indian populations was formed: it lasted until 1998, when the last constitution of the Republic of Ecuador was promulgated.Under the impact of a strong social movement,the Republic once again recognized the identityof Indian nations and peoples, their territorialrights, their capacity to exercise jurisdiction;and it integrated these in the central institutions


of the state. Their representatives have occu-pied, in recent governments, the highest publicfunctions and they were voted into office dur-ing national elections. Moreover, almost twodecades of social struggles had a great impactthat transformed the mental principles of thecommon-sense division of the world. The greatpeaceful mass movements unleashed by the In-dian organizations (with the occupation of pub-lic spaces and paralyzation of the country),where they represented themselves as a multi-tudinous body, with their own political dis-courses and chosen representatives; those greatpolitical acts modified the relations of power inthe contacts of everyday life.

The classifications that impose frontiers be-tween white-mestizo citizens and Indians havenot disappeared in the republic of citizens, butthe plays of power have been neutralized: theyhave imposed a general broadening of the prin-ciple of equality.

The “not yet” of inclusion

There are reiterative arguments in the dis-courses on citizenship that should be analyzedbecause they are like objects of non-degradableplastic: unaffected by the passage of time andperfectly malleable in the most improbable cir-cumstances. The repetition of an argument, in arecognized place for forming public opinion, isa well-known ritual of authority. It is evidentthat the aim of these reiterations consists in therestitution of a consensus that previously ex-isted but requires new bulwarks. Their efficacyconsists in the weight of probability introducedinto common sense by the reaffirmation ofwhat is presented as an obvious truth. However,insistence on an argument, when repeated,brings with it a sort of supplement: it throwsinto relief the dimensions of reality that needstrengthening. One of these repetitive themesrefers to a characteristic of citizenship: the per-manent “not yet” of inclusion. This argument isnot opposed to the universal inclusion of popu-lations, it just postpones it. It is a topic that tendsto appear when discussion arises about non-cit-

izen populations which, for whatever reason,are or have been excluded. Some obvious truthoccurs concerning a specific case that imposesthe general need to dose the principle of equal-ity via drops of exclusion. Paradoxically, de-spite the slow corruption of the principle of uni-versality—a spurious mixture of principles andpractical reason—the idea of universal equalityis nevertheless kept intact in these discourses.21

To return to the example of Spain, and thedaily diffusion of news and opinions that formpublic opinion, I read in a prestigious Spanishnewspaper, El País: “the essence of moderndemocracy resides in its constant inclusion ofmore people into the sphere of citizenship. Itsutopic ideal is universality … Not to recognizethe citizenship of the immigrant who workswith us is too reminiscent of the social model ofthe Victorian family, with gentlefolk upstairsand the servants downstairs … Inclusion is nec-essary on principle, but it must be broughtabout gradually and at a rhythm which is in ac-cord with prudence” (Soroa 2006: 17).

The context of this article is a proposal pre-sented by socialist deputies for giving to all resident foreigners (legally, to those with docu-mentation) the right to vote—not, of course, innational elections for deputies, but only in mu-nicipal elections. The author, in the rest of hisarticle, introduces a range of distinctions be-tween the different situations of immigrants,and the rights that may be conceded to eachkind of legal resident. I omit the details, I em-phasize only the metaphor employed: today inSpain, the exclusion (or rather the impossibilityof immediate inclusion) of immigrants wouldbe like the “model of the Victorian family” withits servants. That is, it compares the present sit-uation with a period of restrictive citizenship inwhich not only the popular classes (because ofthe requirement to read, write, and enjoy inde-pendence, as well as by census imposition), butalso women by their very nature, were popula-tions left to be administered in the privatesphere as servants and wives through the exer-cise of the male citizens’ patriarchal power;even though it was the wives who administeredthe servants with, and for, the paterfamilias.


The arguments of the article reiterate atheme that resonates with another from a clas-sic treatise written in the middle of the nine-teenth century. In the last pages of his bookRepresentation—a passionate defense of univer-sal liberty and representation (the foundation ofdemocracy—J. Stuart Mill poses the question ofwhy it is not yet possible to extend the right ofrepresentation to the colonial inhabitants of thevast British Empire. The answer to this paradoxis formed by making a leap from the pure prin-ciple of universality to the pragmatic and theconcrete: he imposes very precise distinctionsand restrictions among the different colonies. Isummarize the argument. The colonies withpopulations similar to the British, of Europeanrace (America and Australia), are governed likethe motherland, their inhabitants enjoy full rep-resentation.23 Whereas in those colonies like In-dia (where it is assumed that other races areconcerned, not whites), this equality is “not yet”possible. It must be postponed until those terri-tories reach a sufficient degree of civilization.Meanwhile, they should be governed by adespotic educator named by the empire, whowill lead them to the level of civilization re-quired for them to enjoy equality, liberty, andrepresentative government (Mill [1860] 1994:198ff.). In other words, Mill proposes a varianton the state of exception, a margin of perma-nent indeterminacy of the citizenry, for the gov-ernment of those colonies that are not of thewhite race, for so long as they do not fulfill therequirements.

This problem, the “not yet” of inclusion,which preserves the principle of universalitywith a paradoxical equation (“yes, but no, until…”), becomes more acute when dealing with in-dividuals in remote colonial territories, whenracial mixing (mestizaje) introduces a disorderin the binary identities that separate the citizensand the subjects, those included and those notyet included. For example, the recognition ofthe identity and rights of the non-white wivesand children of the colonial citizens of the em-pires (Great Britain, France, Holland, Ger-many) collapsed into a whirlpool of confusionwith regard to citizenship: an extra-legality.

With this, their identification was left to admin-istrative decision, it belonged to the area of de-cision of colonial functionaries. The topicalargument of exclusion was that those persons“were not exactly like citizens,” or that they hadnot been brought up “like …”, or that, if theywere to be citizens, they should pass through acivilizing education, and be educated “likeFrench, British, Germans, or Dutch.” Access toequality was made conditional on extra-legalcriteria that, like administrative acts, are nevermade entirely clear (Stoler 1997; Widenthal1997).

The point I want to make is the following:the “not yet” of inclusion is not something ex-ternal to citizenship, it is a contingent possibil-ity that depends on the plays of power inpolitical conjunctures. It expresses an internalstate of legal suspension, which warns the histo-rian, as in the case of the Indian populations ofEcuador, that citizenship (and the nation-state)may be constructed based on a negation, of anabandonment of attributions with regard to cer-tain populations, whether by action or omis-sion, or by both successively. By not recognizingor negating (the potential implications of the“not yet”) certain categories of people or socialgroups as equal by right, those same actions oromissions constitute certain other populationsas subjects of citizens, and the citizens—the re-lational counterpart of the subject—as a “nat-ural” being. Negation and recognition, exclu-sion and inclusion, are binary poles that arefound together in the historic formation of thecitizenry; one term does not oppose the other, itis concomitant with it.

While inclusion converts certain popula-tions into citizens and places them in a positionof legal recognition and a lowest common de-nominator of equality (interpares) in the publicand private spheres (without eliminating differ-ences of class, gender, region, history, etc.), thenegation or non-recognition of populations sit-uates them as subjects in an area of indetermi-nacy (they become extrapares or alterpares).This extension of citizenship toward exclusionlacks a conceptual denomination in politicalscience because it is a duplication that exists in


the pores of both public and private spheres. Inthis sense the area of indeterminacy is a zone ofarbitration,24 an attribution left to be adminis-tered. It may be exercised in the public sphere ofthe state, through the decisions of functionariesand the normative of the state, or in the privatesphere of citizens, through the social transac-tions governed by the strategies of the world ofeveryday common sense. The administration ofpopulations in both spheres, whether public orprivate, is a “not yet” that may be a temporarycondition or may crystallize as a permanent po-litical system.

This problem leads me straight to the immi-grants who leave the coasts of Africa and dis-embark from their cayucos (big canoes) on theshores of the Canary Islands (Spain) at the verymoment I write these pages.

Immigrants and the administration of populations

The National Institute of Statistics calculatesthat in July 2006 a million “foreigners in irregu-lar situation” lived in Spain, compared with 2.9million foreigners whose origin is outside theEuropean Community.25 These figures meanthat one in every three foreigners from outsideEurope fall into the category of the undocu-mented: they are not recognized by the state,barely identified, and de facto are almost com-pletely without rights.26 This figure also meansthat 30 percent of the total of non-Europeanforeigners fall into that area of indeterminacy.The figure will continue to grow, according to allforecasts, and it does not solely concern Spain.In almost all the countries of the EuropeanCommunity and in the US there are importantpopulations of undocumented foreign ers. InSpain, the illegal immigrants do not receive aright of residence, and since they crossed theSpanish frontiers, or shortly afterward, their livesare left to the arbitration of the private adminis-tration of populations. This is the theme that in-terests me.

Among all the aspects of this socially com-plex and humanly terrible phenomenon, I re-

strict myself to following the path of those im-migrants who reach the Spanish coasts fromwhat the media call, in a prudish phrase, thecountries of “sub-Saharan Africa.” They do soperhaps to avoid the racist connotation of talk-ing of black populations (although all Spanishcitizens understand this subtext perfectly well).The majority of those without papers27 who livein Spain, are not, however, Africans, but aboveall Romanians, Bolivians, Argentines, Colom-bians, Ecuadorians, Peruvians, Moroccans,Brazilians, Bulgarians, and others (Bárbulo2006). Nevertheless, I shall concentrate here onthe fate of the sub-Saharan immigrants.28

The geographic points of entry for immi-grants into the Iberian peninsula are as many as their modes of travel, their country of ori-gin, their means of transport, and the networksand contacts they mobilize and which receivethem.29 But in 2006 the arrival of the Africanshas become a central theme of Spanish politicaldebate. This is perhaps because of the spectacu-lar journeys they make over the Atlantic and therisk, which frequently becomes a reality, of per-ishing in the attempt, as well as the great canoespainted in brilliant colors and full of hundredsof people (rarely women), and the spectral im-ages they awaken when they disembark on thebeaches of the Canary Islands, where the sun-bathing tourists help them as best they can. Thepress has given particular attention during thelast months to the arrival of these Cayucos, andmany journalists have followed closely the im-migrants’ routes and places of destination inSpain. I make use of the data produced duringthis moment of visibility of a phenomenon toooften ignored by the public, so that by consider-ing a concrete case I may reflect on the otherside of state citizenship, as opposed to its well-known legal side.

The route of these immigrants who arrive incayucos from the coasts of Africa, after a jour-ney of between seven and twelve days, is as fol-lows. Whether they are intercepted at sea ormanage to disembark by themselves, the immi-grants fall into police custody. After a briefmedical control, they are taken to the policecommissary “to begin the procedures of identi-


fication and the processes of return to theircountries of origin, for being without the neces-sary documentation to enter Spain legally”(Amnesty International 2006: 7-8). They re-main in police custody for a maximum of sev-enty-two hours. Amnesty International (2006:7) denounces that immigrants receive no “ade-quate and sufficient information on their rights,the legal situation and the process of return.”Four days after arriving (the time varies accord-ing to the numbers), the foreigners are takenbefore a court. The magistrates try to establishtheir identification: the procedure includesquestions about their real name”, that of theirparents, their date of birth, and their place oforigin. They ask them—in the presence of astate lawyer—about their reasons for travelingto Spain. The aim of this judicial procedure is todetermine whether they should be sent to aCentre for the Internment of Foreigners (CIE),or whether they should be set free with an orderof expulsion: in other words, be put on thestreet (Pardellas 2006a). The retention in theCIE is a sort of liminal stage, it lasts for as longas it takes the state to arrange the procedures forreturning them to their countries of origin. Infact, very few immigrants are actually ex-pelled.30 And by law they cannot remain in de-tention more than forty days, so that after thistime they are released from CIE, though alwayswith their order of expulsion in their pockets.The order of expulsion, even if the state is un-able to put it into practice, has important legalconsequences: the undocumented immigrantwho continues living in the country, after beingjuridically expelled, finds that every way of reg-ularizing his situation is closed to him, in thepresent and in the future. He cannot converthimself into a “legal resident” even if, in a fewyears, an “extraordinary process of regulariza-tion” is opened in order for the “illegal” popula-tion to become “documented foreigners.”Certainly, it should be added that any foreignerwho is detained by the police and is found to bewithout valid papers follows the same path Ihave just described.

What are these Centers of Internment ofForeigners like? Those spaces of detention that,

if not clandestine, are certainly places keptwithin the discretion of the police? Some jour-nalists have complained of barriers put in theirway when they try to enter a CIE, and of not be-ing allowed to interview the detainees exceptunder close police vigilance. Amnesty Interna-tional denounces in its report that the foreign-ers detained, at least in some of the centersvisited in the Canaries in 2006, were forbiddento receive visits. In several centers they cannotcommunicate with the outside world, either be-cause there is no telephone available, or becausethe immigrants have no money to make phonecalls.31

It is clear, from the moment they disembarkin the Canaries and come into the hands of thepolice that the Africans are subject to the proce-dures of the state and are subject to Spanish law,including the norms of the European Commu-nity. According to the laws in force, entering thecountry is not a crime but rather an “adminis-trative fault,” and as such it cannot be sanc-tioned by detention, but only by a fine. But thisis the point. The situation of the immigrants isthat of people who do not enjoy the full privi-lege of the law, but have entered an area of inde-terminacy, in the shadows of legal normality.The definition and indefinition of individualsare not opposed dimensions but alternatives,both used according to the circumstances andconveniences of the systems for the administra-tion of populations. The CIEs, known in othercountries as the “centers for the administrativedetention of foreigners,” were created in Spainin 1985.32 They are a materialization of the du-plicity of administered citizenship, which be-comes perceptible as a space of detention and asa panoptic architecture. The CIEs are the mate-rial concretization of the zones of indifferencebetween the outside and the inside: the obverseof the law. These centers constitute a counter-point in opposition to the physical dimensionsof the citizens’ public space, where equality andinclusion reign in principle.

Created by “ministerial order”33 (by defini-tion, an internal bureaucratic instrument, not alaw), which is not obliged to be published orprinted in the Official Bulletin of the State, these


spaces lacked in Spain, until 1999, any “specificregulation,” and continue functioning, funda-mentally, under the pragmatic norms adoptedby the Ministry of the Interior. As a network ofjurists warned in 2004, “for more than fourteenyears the CIE were almost no-man’s land, wherethe norms were improvised by the chiefs of the centers. There only existed a set of genericcriteria which were dictated by the GeneralCommissary of Foreign Affairs and Documen-tation,” with internal control being “a compe-tence of the Ministry of the Interior, that is, ofthe police.”34

Beyond its specific function, which is that ofdetaining and guarding foreigners until theirorder of expulsion is issued, it has been recog-nized that the CIEs have another function: thatof identification (Gorski 2002). One aim of de-taining those without papers is to ease theprocess of identification of the people held atthe CIEs. And one of the aspects of this statetechnology consists in retaining and groupingnumbers of people in a concentrated and en-closed space so that the police and judicialfunctionaries cannot only guard the detained,but can also have easy and immediate access tothem to carry out their tasks of identification:the interrogation and registry in databanks oftens of thousands of people. The Spanish statefinds it necessary to determine the juridicalidentity of the undocumented: it is a requiredcondition for proceeding to expel them to theircountries of origin. Administrative detentionfulfills this very significant role.35

Identification and dis-identification are twocorrelative and simultaneous aspects of theprocesses of exclusion. The restrictions of ac-cess to universal equality create, not its oppo-site, but strategies of evasion that play with thecards by which access to equality can be re-stricted. This explains why some immigrants,before reaching the Spanish coasts, destroy thedocuments of identification that they may havecarried with them from their countries. Theydisidentify themselves with regard to the citi-zenship they previously held, that of their coun-tries, and by doing so they make the task ofidentifying them difficult, if not impossible. Be-

cause they cannot be identified by the Spanishauthorities as proceeding from any country,they cannot be expelled.

Indeterminacy and dis-identification areboth tricks of resistance devised by the immi-grants against exclusion in the strongest andmost dramatic sense of the term. In fact, thismeans that the immigrants become indetermi-nate persons, in response to efforts to preventthem from staying in Spain and working legally:they become neither nationals (they lack acountry) nor citizens (they lack rights), hailingfrom some political otherness beyond the Span-ish and European frontiers. Against their expul-sion, they adopt a position of refusing to belongto a specific political place, to a nation–state ofthe Earth. The Spanish state tries to identifythem as foreigners in order to expel them. Theimmigrants oppose a ploy of the oppressed:“nationless-ness,” a dangerous strategy of pre-senting themselves as naked persons (“barelives”) tout court, with which they confront thesovereignty of the state, which rejects their ac-cess to the universal equality of citizen rights.36

In their turn, the nation-states from whichthe immigrants come refuse to receive theirown citizens, they deny them when the Spanishgovernment tries to expel them. Naturally, thisdecision is affected by an economic interest inthe return of money that the immigrants (withor without documents) send back to theirhomes, and for fear of internal political reper-cussions that might follow the return of thoseexpelled if a government agrees to accept them.The emigrants’ nation-states try to pressure thereceiving countries into accepting their citizensunder any condition: as illegals, or with docu-ments. Thus their own nation-states deny themand situate them, socially, politically, and sym-bolically, as people whose statute is undefined(like those without countries), populations in alegal state of exception. They transform theminto a paradoxical and multi-faceted figure: theyare delinquents (“illegal” emigration is a crimein Senegal) and foreigners from their own citi-zenship (Kane 2006).37

Giorgio Agamben uses the notion of “barelife” to refer to the condition of a person who


has been placed beyond all the parameters ofthe sovereignty of the law. He does not refer tosomeone who has fallen into illegality, which isa condition internal to the law. He refers to peo-ple who are situated beyond the law, in a state ofindeterminacy, a state of permanent excep-tion.38 For Agamben, this is what defines acamp, of whatever type: a concentration camp,an internment camp, or death row.39 That is tosay, that by destroying their prior identificationthe immigrants oppose the duplicity of univer-sal citizen equality with the absolute, unquali-fied universality of the “bare human.” Againstthe violence of exclusion that confines them tospaces of exception (in internment and reducesthem to the condition of subjects administeredby the citizen state (Spanish–European), theydeploy a trick, a disidentification, which pro-claims symbolically their absolute right toequality as human beings.40

The second stage of the immigrants’ journeybegins with their emergence from the centers ofinternment, when they lose their statute of apopulation administered by the state withoutrecognizing them any other status except, per-haps, that of illegal persons under order of expul-sion. When they set foot in the street they entera new space, they pass over to the other side ofjuridico-state citizenship, they enter the arena ofeveryday interactions and of private negotiationswith the citizens and immigrants with papers.41

Here it should be remembered that, if I haveconcentrated on the African immigrants whodisembark from their painted cayucos in 2006,it has only been to make use of the flow of in-formation that has emerged with the publiccoverage of the phenomenon. In general, thepublic information on immigration distributedthrough the media passes through periods ofdense silence that do not reveal the hazardousexperiences of their pathways and life in Spain.Most immigrants do not end up in the centersof internment, they do not pass through a pro-cedure of identification, nor are they detainedby the police. They move straight into thesphere of daily life in Spain. They follow theramifications of multiple circuits of personal re-lations. Everyone makes use of their connec-

tions with other immigrants already settledthere, or they trust to networks of contacts of afamily, religious, regional, or village nature, in-cluding those of the mafias.42 Whatever the wayin which they entered Spain, and whether ornot they first passed through a stage of intern-ment, there is a common process that seems likea baptism by fire, which marks the condition ofthe undocumented. As soon as they are, so tospeak, let loose in the street, there occurs a gen-eral process of subjectivization: they enter thearena of the negotiations of power with the cit-izens and with other legal foreigners, both intheir condition of private persons.43 The state,having left them on the margins converts theminto an absence of identification. The only char-acteristic of this population is that they arewithout papers; a category that expresses theabandonment of attributions by the state. I usethe following example to explain what I mean.

Fragments of the life of the undocumentedemerged into the public gaze when they becamenews—for example, in 2006 in Barcelona whena wall at a building site collapsed killing five im-migrants (Garcia 2006). Two were Spaniardsand three were foreigners. The three immi-grants had arrived from Pakistan: Amjadlanded in Barcelona only two months before;Abdul had already been in Spain for sevenmonths, both were undocumented; Imatz, thethird Pakistani killed, was a foreigner with pa-pers who had spent at least five months as a legalresident in Spain. I will get straight to the point,to what this tragic case reveals: the labyrinthinenegotiations of power between citizens, foreign-ers without papers, and those with papers. It isthis process that converts immigrants withoutdocuments into subjects of the citizens (andeven of the immigrants with papers) in the pri-vate sphere of everyday interactions, in this casein the construction labor market.

First, it seems that both the police (theMossos d’Esquadra) and the city council (Ayun-tamiento) of Barcelona found it difficult toidentify the two who had died without papers:Amajd did not even have a valid Pakistani pass-port. At the site where they died, both were con-tracted with the leave pay of another two


Pakistanis. In this way they would have escapedany possible legal problem, as stated by the re-porter who did the research. To continue work-ing, they had presented themselves with theidentification of another two compatriots who,whether from solidarity or for money, lent (orhired) them their papers.

The second aspect is that the two with pa-pers that were not theirs were contracted towork on the site by a company, which in turnsubcontracted the workers to another company,which finally subcontracted the job to a thirdcompany. In other words, we are dealing withthree different levels of subcontracting workersby citizen businessmen, or foreigners with doc-uments. The journalist tried to locate the threebusinesses. The second-level contractor corre-sponded to a business dealing in the distribu-tion of food and drink, which had nothing to dowith the construction industry. At the thirdlevel, at the address registered by the businessthat signed the contract directly with Amjadand Abdul under the identification of theircompatriots, there was a telephone kiosk.44 Itgoes without saying that it was all a legal strat-egy to evade labor and immigration legislation.

This case dramatically exemplifies what Imean when I speak of the private administra-tion of populations. Innumerable other experi-ences could be given, such as those of domesticservants, of workers (men and women) in bars,restaurants, hotels. They do not always reachsuch a level of violence, but they illustrate thesame situation of negotiations that convert theundocumented into subjects of citizens.45 Fromthe moment the undocumented confront thenegotiations of everyday life, their situation be-comes that of subjects: they are in a unfavorablerelation of power, they are almost helpless, theyhave to accept whatever comes. They can—andof course they do—devise tactics of resistance,but they cannot evade the process of temporaryor permanent conversion into subjects.46

The field of citizen equality at the level of or-dinary life, in the immediacy of social interac-tion, is valid for the negotiations between thosewho recognize themselves as interpares. Thisoccurs between individuals whose social differ-

ences and conflicts of interest situate them on alevel in which the rules of the game are a mutualand accepted recognition that they possess thelowest common denominator of a shared equal-ity, however relative and fleeting this might be.And if these rules are not respected, at the limitthe citizen or the immigrant with documentswho feels himself wronged can always recur tothe tribunals so that the state may guaranteehim his rights.47 The two British students whowere taken off the plane, as we saw at the outset,although they were without protection in therelations of power inside the cabin, could al-ways have begun a lawsuit before the Spanishtribunals against the airline company and thepilot. This possibility, the appeal to the coercivemediation of the state as guarantor of the levelof citizen equality, is part of common-sense cit-izenship. It enters as a symbolic resource thatinvokes the potential action of the state in thestrategies that citizens implement in the field oftheir immediate exchanges. In the field of citi-zenship equality, an undocumented immigrant,who cannot invoke the state (a posteriori) in de-fense of his rights, finds himself outside theshared level of citizen equality (interpares): he“inhabits” the duplicity of being an adminis-tered subject, both for the state and for privatecitizens.

I end this article leaving several loose ends.One of my aims has been to encourage thereader to tie them up for himself, according tohis own inspiration, making associations be-tween phenomena and situations, between dis-tant and dispersed times and places, for whichthe notion of a private administration of popu-lations in systems of citizenship may seem auseful tool of analysis, even if it will always re-quire judicious modifications.

Andrés Guerrero is Associate Professor at theFacultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales-Ecuador, and Honorary Research Fellow at theUniversity of St Andrews. His latest publishedbook is Administración de poblaciones, ventrilo-quía y transescritura (2010).E-mail: [email protected]


Notes

1. On the relation between original and imitationreferred to here, see Deleuze (2003: 341): “Whatis condemned in imitations is the state of thedifferences (l’état des différences): free andoceanic differences, nomad distributions,crowned anarquies; it is all that evil-minded-ness that questions the notion of a model as wellas that of a copy” (author’s translation).

2. The notion of “internal frontiers” that defines alegitimate national community, is a concept cre-ated by J. G. Fichte (Abizadeh 2005).

3. In France, many undocumented people are im-migrants whose residence permits have notbeen renewed, or children of immigrants whoupon reaching eighteen lose the parental pro-tection and are not recognized by the state asFrench or issued with residence permits. InGermany, many “illegals” are children of Turk-ish immigrants who have not been granted Ger-man citizenship.

4. Law of 23 November 1854; El Seis de Marzo,Quito 5 December 1854, p. 132.

5. Universal equality lasted scarcely a moment inRevolutionary France: black populations wereexcluded, and women were declared “passive”citizens (Baker 1990). And the notion of for-eigner was constructed, in the first place, as aninternal reference to those French who refusedto obey the republican law (Wahnich 1997:56–58).

6. In the United States, administrative judgmenttends to constrain the sovereignty of the legisla-tive power, in the form of the president signingbills, executive decrees that modify or suspendlaws. This extension of presidential power isjustified today by reference to a state of excep-tion: that of the war against terrorism (Drew2006).

7. “‘We just didn’t twig why. Why would we? Thenwe heard a child crying. I looked around andthere was a girl of about 12 looking at me andpointing and crying. One minute we were sit-ting quietly, looking forward to getting home,the next we had been taken off the plane. ThenI realised they were deadly serious,’ Mr Zebsaid” (Weaver 2006).

8. A Spanish University professor was thrown offa plane for the same reasons (Monguió 2006).

9. “Islamic fundamentalism and immigrationthreaten Europe,” declaration of Filip Dewinter

director of Vlaams Belang, a party of the Bel-gian extreme right with wide support. The ex-treme right has constructed and appropriatedthese figures of speech, and expresses themopenly (El País 10 October 2006).

10. The notion of common sense citizenship in-cludes such ingredients as the “world of com-mon sense” elaborated by Bourdieu (1997: 118,206–214) and the “life-world” of Schutz (1971:224–228).

11. Erving Goffman (1994: intro; 2001: ch. 1) de-scribes the phenomenon, but does not includethe fields of power in his analysis.

12. This research was carried out in the archives ofthe city of Otavalo, and its point of departure wasthe relation between the Indians and the con-struction of a nation-state in the nineteenth cen-tury, seen from the periphery of a remote canton.

13. If we accept the figures of the 1848 census, thepopulation of the Republic consisted of: 41 per-cent white, 52 percent indians, 4 percent freemulattos, 1 percent slave mulattos, 1 percentfree blacks, and 1 percent slave blacks (CensoGeneral de Población 1846, Serie: Empadron-amientos, Archivo Histórico Nacional, Quito).

14. The notion of “symptom,” I use here is takenfrom the deconstructivist connotation ofessences given it by Slavoj Zizek. The symptomof citizenship as essentially inclusive, an expres-sion of what is denied by its universally inclu-sive “essence”: the doubleness of exclusion(Zizek 2005: 107ff.).

15. Two brilliant methodological examples of thissort of procedure can be found in Guha (1997)and Amin (1997).

16. Apartheid was introduced in South Africa inthe first half of the twentieth century, not underthe constitution of the Republic of Boer citizensat the start of the nineteenth. Segregation wasimplanted in the US at the beginning of thetwentieth century, after several decades of citi-zen equality introduced after the Civil War. InFrance, citizens of German descent or born inGermany were stripped of their citizen rightsduring World War I. German citizens classifiedas “Jews” were stripped of their rights to be con-fined in concentration camps (see Agamben2004; Marx 1998).

17. Parliamentary debates, 21 November 1855; Se-rie: Actas de la Cámara de Representantes.

18. Michel Foucault (1997: 151–152, 202–204) in-sists in his seminars on the methodological pro-


cedure consisting in situating (creating) a “prin-ciple of intelligibility of society and history,” an“analyzer” or “de-coder (décrypteur) of forces,”“networks (grilles) of intelligibility,” which en-able questions to be formulated about the or-ganization of society.

19. As for the “administration of populations,” myreference to “importation” is taken from Fou-cault (2004b: 119–129), from his notion of “gov-ernmentality” (guvernamentalité) and from thatof the “government of men” (gouvernement deshommes).

20. An example of this kind of citizenship are teststhat must be passed by immigrants who arecandidates to citizenship in some countries, tosee if they share the “behaviours” of the citizensof the receiving country. Of course, like everytest, this is an administrative system with a po-tential charge of exclusion (Rothstein 2006).

21. On the need to take into account the historicalrestrictions hidden within any notion of univer-sal equality, due to the concrete meanings giventhe term by each social group, see Metha(1997).

22. One deputy, in the same daily, recalls how, ac-cording to the Spanish Constitution (art. 23), “itis an exclusive right of Spaniards to take part inpublic affairs.” The right of suffrage given toforeigners would have the character of “an ex-ception, not a basis for (constitutional) equal-ity” (López-Medel 2006: 17). For his part,Alfonso Aguilar, chief of the US Office of Citi-zenship declares: “Our history has been one of acitizenship in expansion,” without mentioningat all the exclusion of millions of Latin undocu-mented immigrants (quoted in Rothstein 2006).

23. John Stuart Mill forgets the autochthonous in-habitants of these countries. On the functions ofthe exclusion of the American and AfricanAmerican populations in the formation of thecitizen system of the United States, see the lucidanalysis by Alexis de Tocqueville ([1835] 1981:ch. 10).

24. Arbitrio in Spanish has the triple meaning of ca-pacity for decision, dependence on someone,and a discretional power (Moliner 1998).

25. The data refer to legal foreigners and to the ille-gal registered in municipal lists (padrones),which means that the undocumented are ex-cluded. The PP (Partido Popular, at present theopposition to the government) calculates that,instead of 1 million, the sin papeles (undocu-

mented immigrants) are some 1.6 million.These come mainly from sixteen countries: inorder of importance, from Latin America,Africa, and Asia (El País, 24 July 2006).

26. Some authors, alluding to the population erasedfrom the registers of the state in George Orwell’s1984, denounce that the foreigners “without pa-pers” are like “non-persons” (Subirats 2006).When the state recognizes and identifies for-eigners within the field of equality, they obtainrights that bring them close to being citizens(they become denizens, in English terminology),although this change does not mean that they willreach full equality (Brubaker 1990: 379–407).

27. I use this qualifier to exploit the paradoxicalconnotation it has: people who are identified inthe media as “without the identification” (sinpapeles) have the right to equality.

28. The immigrants disembarking in Canaries werecoming from, first, Senegal, and, in smallernumbers, from Mauritania and Mali.

29. With regard to Ecuadorian immigrants, the sec-ond most important colony of foreigners inSpain, the periodical Ecuador Debate, edited bythe Centro Andino de Acción Popular, has beenpublishing a series of important articles thatdeal with various themes. The December 2004issue contains six articles almost entirely dedi-cated to the problem.

30. According to one newspaper, those repatriateddo not exceed 8 percent of the immigrants whoarrive (La Razón, 28 September 2006). This im-plies that there may be as many as 14 million“undocumenteds” in the EU who cannot berepatriated (Egurbide 2006).

31. According to Amnesty International, the prin-ciples of the United Nations for the protectionof detainees and the penitentiary rules of theCouncil of Europe were left unfulfilled. Cellphones were systematically confiscated on en-try (Amnesty International 2006: 13). Restric-tion on visits and communication with the out-side were suppressed by the Spanish Supreme Tri-bunal in September 2005 (SOS Racismo 2006).

32. The French equivalent, the Centres de Réten-tion Administrative, have much older an-tecedents than the Spanish CIEs; and they aresomber. They were created in 1938 to detain theSpanish population who entered France fleeingfrom General Franco’s fascist army; a year laterthey began to receive, not only Republicancombatants, but left-wing politicians, Jews, gyp-


sies, and homosexuals from France (Deizik2002). That is, the French centres served to de-tain populations which, being classified admin-istratively as “undesirables,” were deprived oftheir citizen rights and placed in spaces of exception.

33. The CIE were foreseen in the first Law on For-eigners of democratic Spain (Ley Orgánica de17/1981 sobre los Derechos y las Libertades delos Extranjeros en España, artículo 26.2), with-out an organic law being passed.

An interesting reference to the CIE can befound in Rocha, Regidor, and Miramar (2004).The authors compare the CIE negatively withprisons, which “at least possess a coherent con-stitution with a law and reglamentation,” andare not in a margin of exception. Espuche(2005) describes the visit to some detainees at aCIE. In 2005, a decree was passed in France giv-ing a public normative to the Centres de Réten-tion Administrative, under pressure from theEuropean Community. A description of one ofthese French centres can be found in Le NouvelObservateur, 21 February 2006.

35. The quality of the reception in the detainmentcamps varies according to the will of the policeon duty, as is normal in administrative systems.In some cases, the police may show a humani-tarian attitude. See Pardellas (2006b), for a de-scription by an African of the reception hereceived in the CIE of Fuerteventura (CanaryIslands). Coversely, see Pérez (2006) for a de-tailed and less than idyllic description of dailylife in the CIE of Málaga.

36. The tactic of presenting themselves as “nakedpeople” may result in their being left withoutthe defense of any state, and being abandoned onthe edges of the Sahara to almost certain death,as Morocco has done repeatedly in recent years.

37. On 25 May 2006, the Tribunal of FlagrantCrimes condemned 133 clandestine emigrantsto two years of prison, with suspended sentence(Kane 2006; “L’inefficacité de la répression faceà l’ailleurs du rêve”).

38. “The growing dissociation of birth (bare life)and the nation-state is the new fact of politics inour day, and what we call camp is this disjunc-tion. To an order without localization (the stateof exception, in which law is suspended) therenow corresponds a localization without order(the camp as permanent space of exception).The political system no longer orders forms oflife and juridical rules in a determinate space,

but instead contains at its very centre a dislocat-ing localization that exceeds it and into whichevery form of life and every rule can be virtuallytaken” (Agamben 1998: 175).

39. The first modern experiences of concentrationcamps organized by citizen states were thosecreated by Spain during the wars of Cuban In-dependence, inspired by General MartínezCampos’s idea (1895) and carried out by Gen-eral Valeriano Weyler y Nicolau between 1896and 1898. It is calculated that some 200,000reconcentrados died of hunger and illness. Later,this “technology of power” for administeringpopulations was taken up by the British to re-group the Boer population of South Africa.Germany in turn used it in its African colonies,as well as in Europe during World War II (Ap-pelbaum 2001, Kotek 2000).

40. This dis-identification does not contradict thefact that, at the same time, in their private livesimmigrants without papers consolidate theirnational, regional, or religious affiliations, usingimaginative resources nourished by the global-ized media. Further, the strategy of dis-identifi-cation of those without papers appears as aphenomenon related to the production of thelocal in globalization (Appadurai 2003: chs. 1and 9).

41. When the African immigrants of the Cayucosemerge from the CIE, they are “delivered” toNGOs that receive them for some weeks before“letting them loose.” The NGOs, though theyreceive state subsidies, are by definition, ofcourse, organisms created and administered by private citizens (Campo 2006).

42. The near totality of the 400,000 Ecuadorianswho entered Spain in the past six years followedthe routes opened to them by family and neigh-borhood networks (see the articles in EcuadorDebate, no. 63, 2004).

43. The immigrants with papers are in a situation ofadvantage relative to those without papers inthe everyday games of power, because they en-joy some of the rights that come with citizenequality (Brubaker 1990).

44. The Spanish trade unions denounce that sub-contracting affects 90 percent of the construc-tion industry, where a great number of immi-grants are employed.

45. Other cases of substitution by hiring papers canbe found in Junquera and Tesón (2006).

46. In extreme situations, illegal workers may besubjected in the private sphere to unrestrained


violence and conditions of coercion that borderon slavery in the businesses (see Bozonnet[2006] on some tomato plantations in the southof Italy; or the experience of some orange-pick-ers in some Spanish enterprises in Ana Carba-josa and Lydia Garrido [2006]).

47. This was one of the tactics of struggle for thecivil rights of African Americans when the fed-eral government abolished racial segregation inthe United States in the 1950s.

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