1. Introduction: Is this colourblind Europe?Footnote 1
Through short stories set in different contexts across Europe, Ben Judah’s This is Europe: The Way We Live Now zooms in on the real lives of the people behind the façade of European democratic values and economic prosperity. In this way, the book exposes largely invisibilised global and regional hierarchies, the deadly impacts of climate change and the precariousness and disposability of the working class in the service of the European economy. The individual vignettes presented in Judah’s book are, of course, in no way representative of all the lived realities on the continent, yet they engage with a breadth of personal struggles. By focusing on individual experiences (which are always clearly connected to regional and global dynamics), the book shows how differently everyone experiences ‘Europe’. At the same time, it will strike a critical reader as odd that the range of experiences presented in Judah’s book completely leaves aside the perspectives of racialised Europeans.Footnote 2 In fact, the book limits itself to exclusively representing the positionality of Black people, Indigenous people and people of colour (BIPOC) as external to Europe. Most of them are featured as new immigrants, thereby ignoring the long historical presence of racialised communities in Europe and the entangled histories between Europe and its (former) colonies.
In 2019, only a few years before Judah published This is Europe (2023), a not so dissimilar book project about everyday life in Europe made the news:Footnote 3 Afropean by Johny Pitts, which documented the perspectives of Black Europeans, has been translated into at least eight European languages.Footnote 4 For this book, Johny Pitts, who identifies ‘as whole and unhyphenated: Afropean’,Footnote 5 travelled through different European countries to document the histories and lives of Black Europeans. Based on his own positionality as a Black European, Pitts thus contributed to articulating the everyday from a specific non-white European perspective. Indeed, Pitts’ book is part of a larger project collecting narratives from the ‘Afro-European’ diaspora.Footnote 6 Despite the ambition to portray Europe in its breadth, a Black European perspective did not feature at all in Judah’s 643 pages, nor did any perspective of (un)hyphenated Europeans – that is, European citizens of colour, or second- or third-generation migrants. In Judah’s account, Black perspectives and perspectives of people of colour appear exclusively in the context of migration. This absence raises some questions regarding the underlying assumptions about who counts as ‘European’ in This is Europe, questions that are reinforced in light of the criticism Judah received for using racialised language and stereotypes in his previous book.Footnote 7
Given the above background, the purpose of this article is to propose a critique of racial representation in This is Europe, connecting it with the specific notion of the everyday that is constructed in the book.Footnote 8 I argue that the book lacks an adequate engagement with the racialised experience of everyday life in Europe; the narrative is tendentious and selective, reproducing the notion that Europeans are exclusively white, thus reinforcing Europe as ‘a racial space’.Footnote 9 In examining the theoretical shortcomings of This is Europe, this article analyses the book from a critical race theory perspective.
By identifying the whiteness in Judah’s narrative, this article foregrounds the issue of racialised structural inequalities in Europe, inviting a more thorough study of how institutional racism as part of the everyday is not adequately captured by European law. In light of the conspicious patterns of redefining exclusive belonging across the European Union (EU),Footnote 10 it is alarming how the white Europe painted by This is Europe plays into the divisive political rhetoric of what Europe, its cities and its people should look like.Footnote 11 The contribution of this article to the symposium is thus twofold: first, it affirms race and racism as urgent critiques in a discussion on European law of the everyday; second, it calls for recognition of the everyday resistance by racialised people in Europe countering structural discrimination, racialised violence and neglect, and those asserting their own history and identity as BIPOC Europeans.
2. ‘Europeans’ and ‘Others’
A. Theoretical Framework: Critical Race Theory
This section provides a brief introduction to the theoretical framework used to critique the specific imagery of Europe and Europeans conveyed in Judah’s book. These theoretical considerations are also relevant for an anti-racist conceptualisation of European law of the everyday. Informed by the rich tradition of critical race theory in the United States,Footnote 12 the concepts of race and racialisation have only gradually – and relatively recently – begun to emerge as categories of critical analysis in mainstream European legal scholarship.Footnote 13 Notably, the concept of race is still contested in Europe, and there are diverging interpretations and political/legal discourses across the Member States.Footnote 14 Recent research also indicates that there has been a relatively low amount of case law at the Court of Justice of the EU dealing with race discrimination.Footnote 15 The omission of explicit references to race in This is Europe is striking, but it does not indicate an absence of racism in the everyday lives portrayed.
Two interrelated theoretical concepts appear particularly relevant for critically dissecting the racialised idea of Europe conveyed in This is Europe: ‘racial aphasia’ and ‘white innocence’. I will briefly introduce each in turn, then develop them further in the case studies below. First, ‘racial aphasia’, coined by the critical race scholar Debra Thompson, emerged as a critique of the passive helplessness conveyed by references to racial or colonial ‘amnesia’ in international relations scholarship.Footnote 16 By contrast, Thompson’s concept of racial aphasia emphasises the intentionality and functionality of erasing certain narratives and pasts, which indicate ‘a calculated forgetting, an obstruction of discourse, language and speech’.Footnote 17 Precisely in contexts where race is treated as no longer relevant, or indeed where purportedly ‘race-free discourses’ are imposed as means to combat racism, racialised hierarchies are often effectively entrenched – albeit under the guise of colourblindness.Footnote 18 By removing the vocabulary of race, the function of aphasia is to protect institutions against opposition rooted in colonial and imperial history. Thompson argues that, whereas amnesia suggests that certain memories, located in a distant past, are (unfortunately) irretrievably lost, aphasia allows for connections to be drawn between ‘our racist past [and] the still racist present’, highlighting colonial and racist continuities in institutional frameworks.Footnote 19
The second, interrelated theoretical concept is ‘white innocence’, a term introduced by the Afro-Surinamese Dutch scholar Gloria Wekker.Footnote 20 Speaking from a Dutch context, Wekker describes how racism is part of Black people’s everyday in the Netherlands. She observes two important facets of racism, denial and disavowal, arguing that ‘race pops up in unexpected places and moments, as the return of the repressed, while the dominant discourse stubbornly maintains that the Netherlands is and always has been color-blind and antiracist’.Footnote 21 Similar to racial aphasia, denial and disavowal entail a deliberate forgetting of a colonial past, and the delusion that racism cannot exist in a society committed to liberal values.Footnote 22 Interestingly, Wekker shows that Dutch liberal society is constructed not merely as national identity, but draws on an idea of a white Europe: a dichotomy between ‘“us”, those constructed as belonging to Europe, and “them”, those constructed as not belonging,’ which denies hyphenated identities.Footnote 23 Instead, it is based on the assumption of a ‘fundamental impossibility of being both European … and being black-Muslim-migrant-refugee’.Footnote 24 Afro-Europeans, as well as any non-white European identities, simply do not exist in this imaginary – and, if they do, it is only as hyphenated, disruptive, not quite European ‘Other’.Footnote 25
How do these two concepts – racial aphasia and white innocence – help us understand race in This is Europe? By excluding the perspectives of BIPOC Europeans, Judah’s book reaffirms the assumption of a ‘fundamental impossibility’ of non-white European identities.Footnote 26 The argument is therefore not merely a lack of comprehensiveness, nor is it that Judah fails to account for yet another discarded category of people. Instead, I argue that This is Europe constructs a false dichotomy between non-white – ergo non-European – ‘Others’ and an ethnically homogeneous white Europe. In view of the length of Judah’s book and the breadth of accounts included, the omission of the experiences of any single European of colour speaks for itself.Footnote 27
In fact, in several chapters, the book exploits the trope of the ‘black-Muslim-migrant-refugee’ (Wekker) as essential non-European ‘Other’ coming from violent places outside Europe.Footnote 28 The political, historical, social and economic contexts of the conflicts in those places are eclipsed, suggesting that they are not part of a European reality. Instead, migration to Europe is presented as a form of emancipation from intrinsically violent structures elsewhere.Footnote 29 Because Judah avoids drawing any connections between the environment of crisis from which the protagonists flee and Europe’s deep implications in persisting colonial legacies and neo-colonial extraction, migration is reduced to an individual decision and action, separate from the social, political and economic context. Markedly, when in-betweenness is encountered in the narrative, it converts European spaces into non-European ones – such as the ‘Middle Eastern city’Footnote 30 at the heart of Athens, which makes ‘you forget [that this] really is Europe’.Footnote 31 What are the assumptions about what Europe has to look like if the mere presence of people of colour makes it almost unrecognisable?
Furthermore, the fact that race is not explicitly addressed beyond the proxy of nationality in Judah’s book indicates a certain inability to speak about the topic – or, in fact, a diversion away from it: racial aphasia. While race is implicit in many interactions throughout This is Europe, it remains unspoken. If at all, there seems to be a degree of conflation between citizenship and race.Footnote 32 As the section below will illustrate, the chapters on Baloga and Storkow, respectively, engage with racial hierarchies, but only in terms of nationality. In the chapters on Briançon and Le Col de l’Échelle, Judah addresses the deadly implications of racial borders, reinforced by European asylum and migration law.Footnote 33 The racialised global hierarchy of the freedom to travel becomes clear in those cases,Footnote 34 but is again framed in terms of nationality. When Simone, the rescuer in the chapter on Le Col de l’Échelle, realises that the border is ‘invisible’ only to some, he does not link this fact with race.Footnote 35 For him, there are ‘two categories of human beings’ – implying those with an EU passport and those without.Footnote 36
Arguably, passports have never been racially neutral devices, and modern technology, including biometrics, contributes to an even more complex, racially charged global categorisation of people.Footnote 37 Global mobility, including the ability to legally enter into and move within the EU, is conditioned by an intersectional hierarchy of passport power that reflects ‘centuries of racial inequality’.Footnote 38 In addition, the fact that Simone distinguishes only between these ‘two categories’ indicates an unawareness of the role of race – independently of nationality or legal status – in the European border regime.Footnote 39 Irrespective of an individual’s legal identity, racialised physical features determine whether the border is experienced as invisible in a context where ‘differences in (legal and political) belonging are inscribed onto the body’.Footnote 40 Legal consciousness in relation to borders is, in fact, not only different based on formal elements such as citizenship, but diverges even among EU citizens and permanent residents depending on intersectional positionality.Footnote 41 As such, there are arguably not only two categories of people, as Simone’s account suggests – ‘those that could and those that could not cross the border’Footnote 42 – but at least a third category: those who legally could cross the border but cannot do so without obstacles.Footnote 43 Free movement, lauded as one of the key achievements of European integration, is not experienced equally by all EU citizens regardless of race and ethnicity.Footnote 44
The problem with the assumption that racism does not exist in liberal societies is that, due to categorical denial, structural racism cannot be properly addressed or critiqued. The context of aphasia leaves the victims of racism voiceless (in the sense of not having words to describe their predicament),Footnote 45 a situation that becomes very visible in This is Europe, most strikingly when gender and race intersect. The chapter ‘Evia’ follows Nazneen, an Afghan woman refugee working at an olive factory on a Greek island. Nazneen and her female Afghan colleagues are constantly exhausted, to the extent that they can quite literally no longer speak.Footnote 46 Their voicelessness is exacerbated when they are left alone with a wildfire approaching; even their phones stop working, making it impossible to call for help.Footnote 47 In a colourblind – or, in Wekker’s words, ostensibly ‘innocent’ – society, which assumes that everybody is equal, the experience of these women will barely be noticed as a tragic circumstance. However, it is clear from the sequence of events in the story that it is their position as racialised women with precarious immigration status that exposes them to the highest danger: whereas the Greek workers leave the factory early on when they become aware of the fires, the migrant women receive instructions from management not to abandon their workplace despite the imminent threat to their lives.Footnote 48 It is evident, yet never expressly articulated: an intersection of race, gender and economic precarity determines whose lives are deemed worth saving in ‘Evia’. Nazneen’s example illustrates that for those existing at Europe’s margins, the everyday can be a struggle between life and death.Footnote 49
B. Identifying Othering and Racialised Difference in This is Europe
Throughout the stories, there are hints that the way we live in Europe is (at least partly) shaped by differentiations between people based on nationality, class and gender. This section analyses how This is Europe engages in a construction of racialised difference.Footnote 50 The argument is that Judah’s foregrounding of specific views without context and the omission of relevant alternative perspectives lead to a racialised narrative.
It is apparent that several of the short stories are developed based on a distinction between Europeans and aliens; through the selection of perspectives, it is conveyed that BIPOC are not European, but newcomers trying to make it in Europe. This includes new immigrants – that is, third country nationals (see chapters ‘Budapest’, ‘Berlin’, ‘Evia’, ‘Col de L’Échelle’, ‘Storkow’ and ‘Briançon’), as well as those who arrived long ago and have since built a life in Europe without ever being fully assimilated (see ‘Avignon’). Meanwhile, there is always a risk of either not being let in (‘Col d’Échelle’, ‘Briançon’, ‘Evia’) or, once ‘inside’ and settled, being exposed to the looming threat of expulsion (‘Avignon’).Footnote 51 The implicit message here is that Europeans are white by default, and people of colour are not really part of ‘this’ Europe. Instead, they are either an unwelcome reality (e.g. Turkish business owners referred to in ‘Storkow’), vulnerable and in need of protection from violent non-Europeans (‘Berlin’, ‘Briançon’), an easily exploitable human resource (‘Evia’) or flamboyant outsiders (‘Budapest)’.
Often, these differences are implicit and left for the reader to untangle. Racialised inequality can be identified, for instance, in everyday working conditions. We get an explicit sense of structural racism in Chapter 13 (‘Storkow’), when Aboud, a Syrian driver for Amazon in Germany, explains the racialised hierarchies he observes at work:
It’s the Germans at the top, you can barely see them, they are behind computers. Then the Western Europeans, the ones who think they are their equals. Then the Turks, they own so much here. Then the Eastern Europeans. Then the Asians. Then the refugees: Arabs, Africans, all of them at the bottom.Footnote 52
Indeed, this would have been an interesting cue for a journalist such as Judah to follow up on and get to the bottom of how these racialised hierarchies operate, yet a Turkish German perspective is not included anywhere in the book, nor is there any engagement with the history of Turkish migrant workers and the lived realities of this racialised community in Germany.Footnote 53 Instead, the reader is left with a decontextualised and distorted observation that Turks ‘own so much’ in Germany.Footnote 54
Another example elucidates the othering of non-European ‘Others’ and the concomitant construction of ‘Europeans’: the racialisation of gender and sexuality. This is best illustrated by the two chapters that in one way or another celebrate putative European sexual freedom: ‘Budapest’ and ‘Berlin’. These two chapters engage rather one-sidedly with the Syrian protagonists’ struggles and do not address the intersectional realities of racism against queer migrants and people of colour in Europe. Instead, the selected narratives play into the common Orientalist stereotype built on an inherent difference between Arab communities – depicted as in essence repressive and patriarchal – and generally open-minded, feminist and queer-friendly Europeans.Footnote 55 In ‘Budapest’, Ibrahim, the refugee turned porn star in Europe, receives death threats and his Syrian family breaks off contact after asking him to stop working in the porn industry.Footnote 56 The argument here is not to deny that these threats from his own community are real; the problem is the European sexual exceptionalism, a racialised ‘culturalization of gender and sexuality’,Footnote 57 which is reinforced by the story.Footnote 58 Ibrahim’s Syrian family is portrayed as particularly rigid, but in fact the stigma attached to sex work transcends ethnicity. Most parents of Ibrahim’s generation, regardless of ethnic background, would probably at least hesitate to embrace such a career path.
Similarly, fragile masculinities are framed as a cultural problem of ‘Others’, not a gender issue, when the story highlights that other Syrian men turn against Ibrahim because they feel ‘humiliated’ by the pornographic videos he makes.Footnote 59 Instead of taking this opportunity to address digital hate speech, as well as gendered and racist cyber violence, as pressing issues in European society, the story resorts to a narrative of foreign villains.Footnote 60 A widespread problem shaping everyday life for many in Europe is thus reduced to a single ethnic group. Notably, the chapter does not engage with the convoluted realities of racism with which Ibrahim’s story intersects, such as the complexity of racialised fetishisation and exploitation, or European demand for refugee porn.Footnote 61 From an anti-racist perspective, recognising such intersectional problems within Europe would have been crucial for a more layered and critical account of ‘the way we live now’. By locating prejudice and violence solely among non-European ‘Others’ and outside Europe, Judah misses the mark.
On the other hand, another Syrian protagonist, Haidar, comes to Berlin to escape his violent homophobic family.Footnote 62 In Berlin, he is finally free to live as a queer person.Footnote 63 In both ‘Berlin’ and ‘Budapest’, Syrian families are depicted as conservative and opposed to ‘European’ sexual liberty. After seeing photos of Haidar’s drag performances, his brothers threaten that ‘if you [Haidar] choose to be this way … We’re not your brothers’.Footnote 64 Only Haidar’s mother does not cut ties with him.Footnote 65 Unfortunately, in the arc of the book, this young queer immigrant’s painful experience of alienation from his own family reaffirms the Orientalist narrative of sexual repression that first appeared in ‘Budapest’, while European anti-LGBTQI+ sentiment does not feature at all.Footnote 66 Set in the ‘smiling’ Berlin neighbourhood of Kreuzberg,Footnote 67 Haidar’s story is one of emancipation by embracing ostensibly progressive, open-minded ‘Western values’.Footnote 68 Conversely, intersectional discrimination faced by queer people of colour in Europe remains marginal.Footnote 69 Instead, ‘Berlin’ presents ‘non-Western homophobia’ as the most central problem – a problem Haidar locates ‘over there’, far away from Berlin.Footnote 70 In light of worrying legal and political developments within European countries, it is rather puzzling that reactionary ways of thinking would be uniquely associated with non-Europeans.Footnote 71 Resonating uncomfortably with ‘homonationalism’, European cities are presented as safe havens in terms of gender identity and sexuality.Footnote 72 If ‘this’ is how we are to imagine Europe, the reader could almost be forgiven for forgetting about the pervasive and structural queerphobia among Europeans.Footnote 73 Indeed, there is no mention of homophobia and anti-trans hostility as a European problem at all in This is Europe, let alone an intersectional engagement with the issue.Footnote 74
One could argue that racialised stereotypes and prejudices are merely incidentally reproduced here because Judah deliberately chose to narrate This is Europe through the eyes of his interview partners. Certainly, prejudiced views are – as regrettable as it may be – part of European society.Footnote 75 Since Judah seems to have the ambition to represent even the most uncomfortable realities on the continent, the critique is thus not that such views should have been entirely edited out of the stories. The issue is, however, that problematic views are neither counterpoised by including diverging voices, nor is racism adequately depicted as a structural issue across Europe. Interestingly, there is no representation of Western Europeans with openly racist views in Judah’s book, which is surprising given the rise of the far-right across Europe. The only European with openly racist prejudices is Ionut, an overworked Eastern European lorry driver in ‘Baloga’. Ionut is a victim of discrimination in Western Europe himself:Footnote 76 in his experience, Eastern European workers are treated like ‘sub-humans’ in the West.Footnote 77 He feels unsafe at work and blames mainly non-European ‘immigrants’ (including ‘Turkish gangs’Footnote 78 and ‘illegal Filipinos’,Footnote 79 but also ‘French Arabs’Footnote 80 and other Eastern Europeans) and ‘immigrant-infested area[s]’Footnote 81 for the high levels of criminality on the road.Footnote 82 The exploitation to which Ionut is exposed in his job is shocking, but not as such an explanation for racist views. The main problem here is not the fact of portraying Ionut’s lived experience and personal perspective, but that his racist comments are not contextualised or counterbalanced by the author. Without any empirical basis, the reader is left with the problematic impression that Europe’s roads are unsafe because of ‘rogues’ from outside Europe.Footnote 83
This section has raised questions about the selection of interview partners in This is Europe, and the narratives about Europe that become entrenched through their gaze. It is impossible to overlook that, in the set of protagonists presented, a preconception of a white Europe shines through – indeed, all people of colour who are featured in Judah’s book are new immigrants or somehow forever foreign to Europe.Footnote 84 To put it bluntly, in This is Europe, whiteness seems to be the condition for fully belonging in Europe. Choosing not to engage with the perspectives of Black Europeans and Europeans of colour when exploring the everyday in Europe perpetuates a notion of Europeanness as whiteness.Footnote 85 Indeed, ‘everyday racism and feeling out of place’ are two adjacent everyday experiences for BIPOC in Europe.Footnote 86 Judah’s portrayal of the way ‘we’ live in Europe contributes to this feeling of exclusion, leading to the question of how the whiteness constructed in This is Europe is linked to the everyday of racism.
C. Structures and Repetition: ‘Everyday’ Racism?
Invoking the everyday in the context of racism almost seems to trivialise and normalise the structural and institutionalised harm experienced by racialised people on a daily basis in Europe.Footnote 87 Yet racism is, and has been, undeniably part of the everyday of European law since its inception.Footnote 88 As documented by the EU Fundamental Rights Agency, being Black in Europe often means an exposure to repeated experiences of harassment and sometimes even physical violence motivated by racism.Footnote 89 Racistdiscrimination can impede a free enjoyment of the fundamentals of everyday life in very specific ways: free movement and access to adequate housing, education and employment.Footnote 90 Despite efforts to promote diversity, race and racism impact every aspect of European law, ranging from political participation and representationFootnote 91 to the composition of the judiciary.Footnote 92 Even teaching in European law schools has been described as a racialised experience.Footnote 93
Everyday racism constitutes a destabilising repetition.Footnote 94 This is far from a new revelation, and Judah’s omission of the everyday hurdles and threats for racialised people in Europe, as described by his predecessors including Pitts and Philips,Footnote 95 is stunning. The racist encounters Caryl Phillips described in 1987 could just as well have happened in 2025. For people experiencing racism, this repetition is a core element of their experience of the everyday – both in the sense that it happens every day, but also that it repeats itself over and over again. Most likely, Judah did not encounter the same obstacles collecting testimonies as Pitts and Phillips did for their own book projects. Pitts, for instance, became a victim of racial profiling at least twice during his travels across Europe. He describes his experience of exiting the refugee camp in Calais, which he had visited for his research, as follows:
I left … on my bicycle and slowly realized that I was being watched and followed through the blustery streets of Calais by the French military police, the Gendarmerie. Attempting to enter the white gates of the port to catch my ferry back to the UK, I was stopped before I could even get to passport control, searched, asked for my ID, where I was going, where I’d come from, how long I’d been away, and why. Finally, after more questioning and looks of suspicion, I was allowed to enter an official compound I’d seen other brown-skinned men of my age look longingly at from a distance. I was in; they were out.Footnote 96
Because whiteness is systemically embedded in Europe’s political, economic and legal system, racism is a part of the everyday that is felt only by some of us.Footnote 97 Who is in and who is out is not only a question of epistemic justice,Footnote 98 in terms of representing more different perspectives, but an existential one. As many critical race scholars have noted, individual awareness and education are important steps, but they are insufficient to combat this problem.Footnote 99 EU legal scholars need to tackle ‘coloniality and structural racism in the everyday’ both cognitively within the discipline and materially in the legal architecture of the system with which they work.Footnote 100
Race determines the everyday both at and within European borders, but also in the context of larger global structures. Timo Zandstra makes an important contribution to the debate by analysing the reproduction of Eurocentrism and (neo)coloniality in Judah’s This is Europe.Footnote 101 Indeed, the way we live now in Europe materially depends on and is sustained by the extraction of resourcesFootnote 102 and European political involvement beyond its borders.Footnote 103 The problem of race cannot be fully understood without a deeper analysis of Europe’s history of colonialism and persisting coloniality.Footnote 104 Colonial legacies, alongside the racialised nature of the everyday in Europe, bear the key to understanding the deep-rooted nature of white Europe and how law structures and reproduces experiences of discrimination, exclusion and extraction.
3. Conclusions
Based in the secluded hills of Florence, at a research institute that is known for shaping the imaginary of ‘Europe’,Footnote 105 this EUI symposium used Ben Judah’s book as a starting point for a discussion about what it means to live in Europe. This article has argued that the emerging discussion on European law of the everyday needs to fundamentally question the pervasive presumption of Europeanness as whiteness, and challenge which ‘stories … are seen as important to tell’.Footnote 106 While Judah’s book does not claim comprehensiveness, it showcases a tendentious selectivity. In This is Europe, prejudices are reproduced and remain largely unchallenged, including the racialisation of criminality.Footnote 107 Even if we accept the premise that Judah’s aim was to stick to the authentic perspectives of his interview partners, who are often victims of prejudice themselves, it is concerning that these narratives were not properly counterbalanced.
What does it reveal about European legal scholarship that the decision to include the perspectives of hyphenated or unhyphenated Europeans only came as an afterthought? There is sufficient material about the ‘everyday’ as it is faced by racialised Europeans: POC and Black European feminists,Footnote 108 European Muslims (and those read as such),Footnote 109 by Black Europeans who have been in Europe for generations and still face racism every day.Footnote 110 Where in Judah’s book are the voices of Roma,Footnote 111 or the descendants of low-paid imported labour that ensured European prosperity,Footnote 112 or the young people all across Europe committed to building an archive on Black European history and coloniality?Footnote 113 Is this symposium satisfied with pointing at foreigners featured in This is Europe, while ignoring the everyday struggles of activists opposing European reactionary politics and authoritarian backsliding within Europe?Footnote 114 What about the many people residing in Europe who do not feel safe, whose everyday is shaped by exclusions and threats to their lives?Footnote 115 Is this not also Europe? Without opening the space to the multifaceted perspectives and experiences of Europeans who are forced to constantly fight for their place in Europe, we will not be able to develop a profound concept of the everyday.
How do ‘we’ really live now? And how do we want to live in Europe? Most of the stories in This is Europe seem to be about human material, highlighting how the hunger for commodities turns humans – especially those already marginalised – into a disposable resource. Using Judah’s book as a point of departure, this article has argued for the development of a method that fits the diversity of European experiences and does not reproduce racialised Europeans as an ‘Other’, but instead interacts with them as integral part of Europe today and historically. In fact, this symposium was convened at a time when the European peace project was shadowed by crushing moral abdication.Footnote 116 Now more than ever, the facets of white complicity – including the omission of the realities of race – must be scrutinised.Footnote 117 This article has therefore tried to contribute to the debate by centring aspects of the everyday as it is lived by racialised people in Europe. Too often, this perspective has been left out in discourses on European law.Footnote 118 Let us not make the same mistake again in this effort to conceptualise European law of the everyday.
Acknowledgements
This article was initially presented at the conference ‘Is this Europe? Conceptualising the Everyday in European Law’, EUI, Florence (10 June 2025). I would like to extend my sincere thanks to my discussants Päivi Neuvonen and Paul Linden-Retek, and the conference organisers and participants for their valuable comments on my presentation. Special thanks to Diamond Ashiagbor, Loïc Azoulai and Jack Meakin, as well as Prince Amadi, Katie Fry, Hannah John, Enise Şeyda Kapusuz, Aruna Michiels and Gabriele Wadlig for their thoughtful feedback on previous drafts. Merve Eryoldas’ check-ins and encouragement kept me motivated. An earlier version of this article was published in L Azoulai et al (eds), The Law of the Everyday: An Inquiry into the Legal Fabrics of European Lives, EUI, LAW, Working Paper, 2026/05, https://hdl.handle.net/1814/95045.
In loving memory of Saniya Amraoui.
Funding statement
This work received no specific grant from any funding agency, commercial or not-for-profit sectors.
Competing interests
The author has no conflicts of interest to declare.