by Gordon Hull
On Wednesday night, the Trump administration implemented as much of its long promised Muslim Ban as it thought the Supreme Court would allow. Travelers from a list of six countries who did not have a “bona fide” connection or “close familial relationship” to someone in the U.S. would be banned. The administration interpreted the Supreme Court’s ruling as restrictively as possible – the Court said that a mother-in-law would be an example of a close familial relationship, but didn’t mention grandparents – so having a grandparent here (or being a grandparent there) isn’t a close familial relationship. The ruling smacks of arbitrariness and was rolled out as secretly as possible, and it’s not even clear that it actually does much at all. Then again, the original ban also was a poorly-worded, arbitrary mockery of the rule of law. For example, the “policy” began with zero warning, leaving travelers stranded in airports with no legal options. So too, the six countries were allegedly named because of their propensity to breed terrorists, but no one from any of them has committed a terrorist act in the U.S. since 2001. Countries from which terrorists have come – Saudi Arabia – are not on the list. Some of the countries have no functioning governments, but Iran does. And so it goes. That’s what happens when you promise to get rid of Muslims and then realize that you can’t get away with just making that so by campaign promise.
In Homo Sacer, Agamben declares that the camp (the paradigmatic case of which is the Nazi concentration camp) is the archetype of modern power, suggesting that “the camp as dislocating localization is the hidden matrix of the politics in which we are still living” (175). He proposes that the model of the camp can be seen in all sorts of institutions: the stadium at Bari where the Italians herded Albanian immigrants, the track where the Vichy herded the Jews before deporting them, and the halls at airports where foreigners asking for refugee status are detained, “all equally [are] camps” (174). As someone who has read a lot of Adorno, I found this assimilation of airport waiting halls and the Holocaust somewhere between uncomfortable and offensive. I am still uncomfortable with the comparison, but I do think some of the logic that Agamben is identifying is at work here. That logic is one in which “the normal order is de facto suspended and in which whether or not atrocities are committed depends not on law but on the civility and ethical sense of the police who temporarily act as sovereign” (174).
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