s the summer months descend upon Europe, so do the tourists. In ever increasing numbers since the end of COVID-19, seizing upon “revenge tourism,” the continent is awash in foreigners. In some places, such as France and Italy, governments are imposing quotas and extra tariffs in an attempt to control the number of visitors, preserve some measure of control, and protect cultural sites. The Financial Times’ Simon Kuper penned an essay wondering whether it was “time to tell [tourists] to stay away?” Rising inflation may well achieve what Kuper hopes (forcing more staycations than grand tours), but Europe will always be a travel destination of choice.
The Europe that Ben Judah chronicles in his new book “This is Europe” is not one that tourists will encounter. This is not the Europe of the Louvre in Paris, Trevi Fountain of Rome, or Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. This is the Europe that few will ever see and fewer still will encounter. It is the Europe of the refugee, the immigrant, the long-haul truck driver, and the battlefield cook in Ukraine. It is nonetheless a vibrant Europe. For Judah, he is tapping into something readers want. “You want what politicians and pundits and political scientists can’t give you,” he writes. Chronicled over five years, Judah covers the outbreaks of both COVID-19 and Russia’s war against U
“This is Europe” is hard to classify. It is neither a history nor a travelogue, hewing far closer to literary non-fiction than perhaps anything else. There is an artistic style to its narrative structure and style. Judah’s third-person approach allows the narrative subjects to speak for themselves and to reflect on their lives and circumstances. The writing is punchy and often incomplete, reflecting inner monologues, thoughts, and reflections. It is a voyeuristic way of seeing the world through other’s eyes—their hopes and dreams, love, and loss. Marriage and longing sit alongside tales of ambitions and unmet expectations.
There is very little of Judah in this book. While he assuredly put a great deal of effort into collating, compiling, editing, and finalizing these stories, they are wholly those of their originators. He does not editorialize or opine on the subjects, the stories, or their context—they are simply what they are. There is strength in this approach. It allows readers to place themselves in the lives of people they will almost never meet, to perhaps empathize with their plight. This is engagement at a distance, a cultural tourism of sorts, albeit closer to home—a look into the lives of the Amazon delivery driver or the Lidl shelf-stocker.
This is a book that is very much reflective of life and struggle, rather than accomplishment and security. The refugee who flees conflict at home and hopes to start a new life in Europe. The closeted Syrian who escapes the civil war to discover his identity and community. Another Syrian who dreams of both women and fame and becomes an adult film star catering to the Middle East. An underage young woman who becomes an online adult performer to pay for her schooling. The imam who struggles to tend to his jamaat during COVID-19.
While Judah avoids commenting on any broader themes, they do emerge, nonetheless: The tragedy and challenge of COVID-19, and its impact on the continent; The flight attendant suddenly grounded and unable to fly; The long-haul truck driver and Amazon driver enjoying the open roads. Climate change also appears: The young actor forced to return home and take over his family’s vineyard contends with uncertain rainfall; A European couple’s ancient farmhouse burns to the ground in Portugal, after which the husband decides to become a shepherd, struggling too with uncertain weather; As the climate in North and Central Africa becomes even more challenging, greater numbers will risk the illegal crossing of not just the Mediterranean Sea, but also the mountain ranges of Europe. Judah recounts the story of a mountain rescue volunteer who struggles unsuccessfully to deter African migrants’ attempts to cross the treacherous peaks, warning them to no avail of the death that stalks them through the deep snow.
Walking away from Judah’s book one may well feel conflicted. Do these stories illuminate something deeper than the trials and tribulations of their respective authors? Or are they simply a deeper version of voyeuristic escapism? Has Judah written a grand reflection on modern Europe or something slyly subversive about what we reflexively consider to be “European?” Has he redefined what it means to be European?
Judah’s book is, in the end, about identity and what it means for Europe today. There is no singular European identity. The diversity of the continent, its history, its people, and the fact that it lacks a unifying ideology ensures that there never will be a solitary European identity. It is, at best, a convenient shorthand for journalists, politicians, pundits, and economists. Even there its use is fraught with peril. To say there is a European view on an issue is to lump France, Germany, the Scandinavians, the Baltic States, and more, into one. Even suggesting there is a “Western European” view, distinct from “Eastern” or “Central” Europe is to conflate regional complexities with overly simplistic heuristics. Perhaps useful for the art of high politics, it is decidedly less insightful about peoples and communities.
Even what may have once passed for “European” is in flux. Mass immigration and refugee flows mixed with aging populations and evolving political identities means that what was once “German” is decidedly different. What was once “French” is far from what it is today, and indeed is partially behind the violence following the death of Nahel Merzouk at the end of June 2023.
The friction of identity may well be where the greatest risk to national and continental cohesiveness is found. As countries seek to protect their own national identities, what is and is not considered “German,” “Greek,” “French,” or any of the other countries of Europe will become a flashpoint with uneven results. Within each country, some populations will embrace the newness and welcome the identities and cultures of immigrants and refugees into their own core identity. Others will seek (including violently) to protect their own unique identity and exclude anything that seems to be “other.” The European Union can legislate against legal discrimination and uphold human rights, but there is little it can do to police thoughts and beliefs or ensure integration and assimilation.
Successfully transforming identity and integrating new arrivals could well ensure Europe’s future. Replacing aging populations, bringing a new sense of dynamism to the continent, and infusing the continent with economic and cultural vibrancy all would seem to be net benefits. It will, nonetheless, be a challenge for countries to sell their populations on these propositions when times are difficult. When the economy is performing poorly, populists of all stripes are quick to point to immigration as an easy scapegoat. Overcoming demagoguery while addressing legitimate concerns about social safety nets and cultural protection requires deft political hands, which are sadly lacking across the continent, and certainly in the United States, as well.
Judah’s book is poignant and powerful and reveals a Europe in a time of profound change. By focusing on people and not politics he offers a vivid portrait of a place and time that few Europeans may recognize or find familiar. In that discomfort is where the greatest strength of “This is Europe” is found. Judah holds up not a mirror—funhouse or otherwise—but a window into a Europe that is rarely seen or experienced, the consideration of which and reflections about necessitate greater and deeper conversations.
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Who is European?
Photo by Chris Karidis on Unsplash
July 22, 2023
In his latest book "This is Europe," Ben Judah chronices a Europe that will be unfamiliar to tourists. Neither a history nor a travelogue, Judah takes a third-person and style to let narrative subjects speak for themselves and open a new world to the reader, writes Joshua Huminski.
A
s the summer months descend upon Europe, so do the tourists. In ever increasing numbers since the end of COVID-19, seizing upon “revenge tourism,” the continent is awash in foreigners. In some places, such as France and Italy, governments are imposing quotas and extra tariffs in an attempt to control the number of visitors, preserve some measure of control, and protect cultural sites. The Financial Times’ Simon Kuper penned an essay wondering whether it was “time to tell [tourists] to stay away?” Rising inflation may well achieve what Kuper hopes (forcing more staycations than grand tours), but Europe will always be a travel destination of choice.
The Europe that Ben Judah chronicles in his new book “This is Europe” is not one that tourists will encounter. This is not the Europe of the Louvre in Paris, Trevi Fountain of Rome, or Brandenburg Gate in Berlin. This is the Europe that few will ever see and fewer still will encounter. It is the Europe of the refugee, the immigrant, the long-haul truck driver, and the battlefield cook in Ukraine. It is nonetheless a vibrant Europe. For Judah, he is tapping into something readers want. “You want what politicians and pundits and political scientists can’t give you,” he writes. Chronicled over five years, Judah covers the outbreaks of both COVID-19 and Russia’s war against U
“This is Europe” is hard to classify. It is neither a history nor a travelogue, hewing far closer to literary non-fiction than perhaps anything else. There is an artistic style to its narrative structure and style. Judah’s third-person approach allows the narrative subjects to speak for themselves and to reflect on their lives and circumstances. The writing is punchy and often incomplete, reflecting inner monologues, thoughts, and reflections. It is a voyeuristic way of seeing the world through other’s eyes—their hopes and dreams, love, and loss. Marriage and longing sit alongside tales of ambitions and unmet expectations.
There is very little of Judah in this book. While he assuredly put a great deal of effort into collating, compiling, editing, and finalizing these stories, they are wholly those of their originators. He does not editorialize or opine on the subjects, the stories, or their context—they are simply what they are. There is strength in this approach. It allows readers to place themselves in the lives of people they will almost never meet, to perhaps empathize with their plight. This is engagement at a distance, a cultural tourism of sorts, albeit closer to home—a look into the lives of the Amazon delivery driver or the Lidl shelf-stocker.
This is a book that is very much reflective of life and struggle, rather than accomplishment and security. The refugee who flees conflict at home and hopes to start a new life in Europe. The closeted Syrian who escapes the civil war to discover his identity and community. Another Syrian who dreams of both women and fame and becomes an adult film star catering to the Middle East. An underage young woman who becomes an online adult performer to pay for her schooling. The imam who struggles to tend to his jamaat during COVID-19.
While Judah avoids commenting on any broader themes, they do emerge, nonetheless: The tragedy and challenge of COVID-19, and its impact on the continent; The flight attendant suddenly grounded and unable to fly; The long-haul truck driver and Amazon driver enjoying the open roads. Climate change also appears: The young actor forced to return home and take over his family’s vineyard contends with uncertain rainfall; A European couple’s ancient farmhouse burns to the ground in Portugal, after which the husband decides to become a shepherd, struggling too with uncertain weather; As the climate in North and Central Africa becomes even more challenging, greater numbers will risk the illegal crossing of not just the Mediterranean Sea, but also the mountain ranges of Europe. Judah recounts the story of a mountain rescue volunteer who struggles unsuccessfully to deter African migrants’ attempts to cross the treacherous peaks, warning them to no avail of the death that stalks them through the deep snow.
Walking away from Judah’s book one may well feel conflicted. Do these stories illuminate something deeper than the trials and tribulations of their respective authors? Or are they simply a deeper version of voyeuristic escapism? Has Judah written a grand reflection on modern Europe or something slyly subversive about what we reflexively consider to be “European?” Has he redefined what it means to be European?
Judah’s book is, in the end, about identity and what it means for Europe today. There is no singular European identity. The diversity of the continent, its history, its people, and the fact that it lacks a unifying ideology ensures that there never will be a solitary European identity. It is, at best, a convenient shorthand for journalists, politicians, pundits, and economists. Even there its use is fraught with peril. To say there is a European view on an issue is to lump France, Germany, the Scandinavians, the Baltic States, and more, into one. Even suggesting there is a “Western European” view, distinct from “Eastern” or “Central” Europe is to conflate regional complexities with overly simplistic heuristics. Perhaps useful for the art of high politics, it is decidedly less insightful about peoples and communities.
Even what may have once passed for “European” is in flux. Mass immigration and refugee flows mixed with aging populations and evolving political identities means that what was once “German” is decidedly different. What was once “French” is far from what it is today, and indeed is partially behind the violence following the death of Nahel Merzouk at the end of June 2023.
The friction of identity may well be where the greatest risk to national and continental cohesiveness is found. As countries seek to protect their own national identities, what is and is not considered “German,” “Greek,” “French,” or any of the other countries of Europe will become a flashpoint with uneven results. Within each country, some populations will embrace the newness and welcome the identities and cultures of immigrants and refugees into their own core identity. Others will seek (including violently) to protect their own unique identity and exclude anything that seems to be “other.” The European Union can legislate against legal discrimination and uphold human rights, but there is little it can do to police thoughts and beliefs or ensure integration and assimilation.
Successfully transforming identity and integrating new arrivals could well ensure Europe’s future. Replacing aging populations, bringing a new sense of dynamism to the continent, and infusing the continent with economic and cultural vibrancy all would seem to be net benefits. It will, nonetheless, be a challenge for countries to sell their populations on these propositions when times are difficult. When the economy is performing poorly, populists of all stripes are quick to point to immigration as an easy scapegoat. Overcoming demagoguery while addressing legitimate concerns about social safety nets and cultural protection requires deft political hands, which are sadly lacking across the continent, and certainly in the United States, as well.
Judah’s book is poignant and powerful and reveals a Europe in a time of profound change. By focusing on people and not politics he offers a vivid portrait of a place and time that few Europeans may recognize or find familiar. In that discomfort is where the greatest strength of “This is Europe” is found. Judah holds up not a mirror—funhouse or otherwise—but a window into a Europe that is rarely seen or experienced, the consideration of which and reflections about necessitate greater and deeper conversations.
