What are we without our stories? Is it possible to accurately share our story if its perceived authenticity is dependent on the interpretation of the audience? How can we “truthfully” share our story if its reception is riddled with bias, prejudice, and/or false assumption?

Fassin explores the importance of one’s story in determining the categorization as either a “true refugee” or an “economic migrant” at the so-called “hot spots”—government controlled and regulated migrant reception centers. Yet as Alexander explains, it is not simply one’s story that determines one’s future at these centers, but the trauma of one’s story—the extent of violence that one has endured and the level of vulnerability that one experiences. And as is often the case, determining these factors is an entirely subjective effort.

Needless to say, it is problematic that a migrant’s categorization is so often dependent on the articulation of their experience. Storytelling is a performative act, such that the inflection and modulation of particular words can entirely change one’s interpretation of a story. And while one’s own life story is intimately connected to the self, a life story becomes paradoxically independent from an individual during the actual process of storytelling. Determining the “authenticity” of one’s story is therefore ultimately based on the audience’s (subjective) interpretation.

Yet perhaps the purpose of the “hot spots” and the detention centers are not to determine the “truth” of a migrant’s story and trauma, but to reinforce an illusion of hope—to create “temporary” spaces of acquiescence and compliance where there exists the potential (however slim) of freedom. Indeed, both the “hot spot” and detention center are spaces where the State maintains full control of the body: For the “hot spot,” one’s future is determined by an ultimately indeterminate, yet all-powerful, set of criteria; for the detention center, one is confined to a “non-place”—a location that simultaneously exists under the control and surveillance of the State, but escapes from the perspective of the public. The residents (prisoners?) of the detention center become the ultimate subjects of the State, stripped of their agency, rights, and voice.

To combat such a violent system, it seems entirely important to share the stories of those that are victim to it. To hear the stories of Alphonse and Bambino, and share their experiences with others; to understand and speak out against the systems of violence that unjustly and permanently determine one’s “legal” placement in the world; to fight for the voice of the voiceless. Because what are we without our stories?