Friction and Freedom: The politics of digital nomadism
I’ve been reading some of the work by human geographer and mobilities scholar Dr Tim Cresswell about the politics of mobility.
What the hell does that mean, you ask? Basically, politics refers to the (social) production and (social) distribution of power.
Where does power come from?
Who has (and who doesn’t) have it?
How is power exercised?
These are all political questions.
In thinking politically about mobility, we are confronted with questions such as who is able to move and be mobile, and how are they able to do it – in comfort or in clandestine cover? And what networks of mobility are available to them – where can (and can’t) they go?
Although it is certainly a truism that never before in the history of human civilisation have we been more mobile, it is equally true that not everyone is able to move in the same way.
At a geopolitical level, “strong passports” (Australian, American, for example) enable relatively unhindered global mobility. This is an expression of political power. For multiple and historical reasons, Australia (and the United States) occupies a politically powerful position in the international order, bestowing on its citizens the ability – and “right” – to travel around the world with relative ease.
Digital nomads, for the most part, all hold strong passports which grants them the power (and privilege) to live hypermobile lives. For those without strong passports, mobility isn’t such an easy task.
Cresswell is interested in exploring the political dimensions of physical movement, how it is represented, and how movement is actually experienced and practiced. Power, and hence politics, seeps into all of these aspects of mobility.
Let’s unpack this a little and give some examples.
On the physical front, those with power are often able to travel much faster than those without (a direct flight instead multiple connections). They are able to traverse the globe in less time and often can travel much further than others.
On the symbolic front, some forms of movement and mobility are positively valued by society, whilst others are not. The business traveller is not treated in the same way as the the refugee, despite that both of these figures move. These are questions of representation: how are these mobile figures treated in contemporary society or represented in contemporary (dominant) discourse?
It is interesting to note that whilst digital nomads are positively valued for the most part, nomads and other mobile people have historically been seen as threats and treated with suspicion. Cresswell writes about the “shadowy figure of the vagrant (or vagabond)” in medieval Europe and how they were routinely made to leave and never return by the local authorities. For the powers that be, these mobile and poor individuals were a “nightmare” for settled society, producing anxiety in a world where everyone had their place: both socially and geographically.
And on the experiential front, power often means you get to travel “in style” and comfort. Those with economic power get to sit at the front of the plane and get to enjoy the comforts of first-class flying whilst those who lack this power have to sit at the back of the plane in relatively cramped conditions. How you experience movement also depends on whether you made the decision yourself to move or whether you were forced. Displaced people don’t experience mobility in the same way as 18-year-old backpackers…
Cresswell also talks about how politics (and power) influence key aspects of mobility, such as speed, rhythm and friction. This last aspect, “friction,” is something that I’m super interested in exploring in relation to digital nomadism. Friction, for Cresswell, refers to those those points along mobility pathways that slow down or even stop mobility. Whilst it is easier and cheaper now than ever before for people, objects and capital to move around the world, movement doesn’t take place in a vacuum. That is, the physical world must still be contended with, and the physical world places barries on unhindered mobility.
Indeed, at a more fundamental level, mobility isn’t possible without friction. A certain degree of friction is required for things to move in and through space. Take a car tyre for example. It is not possible to move if there is no frictional contact between the wheel and the road. Or think of walking on a frozen lank with treadless shoes: it is exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, to make any progress of movement without some friction between the ice and your shoe.
But I want to explore the concept of friction in a slightly different way to Cresswell. In my own experience as as digital nomad, and in talking with other nomads over the past decade or so, a place can often become quite “sticky” and hard to leave. It isn’t uncommon to hear stories about someone coming to Budapest with the intention of staying a few weeks and still being there three years later. Or arriving on Koh Phangan and planning to stay a month but staying six instead. If friction is defined as that which can slow or stop mobility, then a case can be made that places and the communities they harbour are points of friction along the mobility trajectories of digital nomads.
This is something I need to unpack further…