MIGRANT JOURNAL¹ was a six-issue publication project, released between 2016 and 2019, that explored the circulation of people, goods, information, but also fauna and flora, around the world and the transformative impact they have on space. The project aimed at investigating the relationship between these journeys, elements and spaces bound under the idea of ‘migration’ in all its forms, crucial to understand today’s society.

Needless to say, the journal was obsessed with movements of all kinds. Across six issues we have dived into the kaleidoscopic entanglements of journeys and migrations, flows and exchanges, circulations and transits. No journey was too small or big, too mundane or odd in our attempt to expand the conversation on migration. Every entity on the move became an object of study: from free riders on top of trains, climate refugees and modern slaves, to the flows of oil, electricity, gold bars, drones, music and space shuttles. We even looked at the movements of coconuts, sand grains and artificially generated shootingstars (no joke), Alibaba diamond paintings (don’t ask, just google), reindeers, crabs, and an elementary particle called quark. Throughout 912 pages we have analyzed and reflected on dozens of species, objects and ideas on the move. Yet, in the process of doing so, we forgot about one important object of migration: Migrant Journal itself.   

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The wake-up call came via email. A reader sent us an image of his copy taken right after arrival. It was accompanied by the words: “Could I get a new one?” and displayed something that was clearly not a readable magazine. It rather looked like the lifeless cadaver of a stack of paper, delivered by post. We had never seen a copy of Migrant Journal in such a devastating state: There was a long, deep and painful rupture running through the object, almost separating it into two halves. The mutilation of Migrant Journal was so severe, that it inevitably reminded us of something we too easily forget about: its physical reality. This publication is not only a cultural object made of immaterial stories, theories and ideas but it is a very real thing whose physicality is shaped—and sometimes even threatened—by the forces of industrial machines, planetary infrastructures and global supply chains.

As anthropologist Susan Starr observed in 1999, infrastructures become clearly visible once they break down.² And this is exactly what happened here. The rapid streams of logistics destroyed a copy of Migrant Journal and made us think about the infrastructures that get it moving. We wondered: How does it travel? What kind of fears and pains must it endure on its way to the reader? What links of the supply chain have to interlock so that the publication arrives right on your doorstep? 

So, let’s assume you are ordering a copy of Migrant Journal by clicking the buy-button on our website. Issue four is sold out, so you take a copy of issue three. What story of migration unfolds from here on? 

In a very simplified version of this journey, at first, your online purchase will be translated into transferable signals—pulses of light—that are sent from your computer to the servers of our Shopify website in Canada and from there to our distributor Newsstand in the UK. The physical media for this transmission is a massive highway of optical fiber cables that are thousands of kilometers long and run underground and at the bottom of the sea. Thanks to them, your pulses of light should arrive at Joseph Wilson Industrial Park, Whitstable CT5 3PS, UK, where our distributor Newsstand will identify your order, look for a copy of issue number three and prepare it for delivery.

Next, your parcel will be picked up by the Royal Mail Service. One of its 162,000 employees will take it to one of 37 mail centers in Great Britain. There, the mail is automatically scanned for prohibited goods like alcoholic liquids, drugs or human remains.³ Afterwards, it gets automatically sorted by a machine known as The Segragator Drum. Caps are very well deserved here because the drum is a monster. It is several meters long and has a diameter of one and a half meters. It looks like an otherworldly mixture of a gigantic washing machine and an airplane turbine. You would probably like to avoid being inside of it while it’s running. 

International Mail surviving this procedure is automatically forwarded to the Heathrow Worldwide Distribution Centre (HWDC) which handles all airmail leaving and arriving in the UK. The site of HWDC—also called GBLALA in the cryptic language of mail tracking systems—covers 100,000 square meters, runs ten miles of conveyor belts and sorts the vertigo-inducing number of 460,000 packages an hour. It was glamorized by the Daily Mail as “more advanced than a space shuttle.”⁴ At the operating heart of the center is an ingenious software that scans destination addresses automatically through cameras and optical character recognition, translates them into fluorescent orange barcode stickers (which feature a pattern with the soulless name of RM4SCC), sorts packages accordingly into geographical groups and loads them onto airplane loading vehicles that look like monumental forklifts. Because all of this is controlled and mostly executed by the clean accuracy of computer programmes, the HWDC is a prototypical example of a coded space—a term coined by British researcher and artist James Bridle, describing a spatial synthesis of automated machines, architectural elements and the all-controlling forces of algorithms.⁵ Human beings are not welcome here. They are too slow, inaccurate and dirty to send Migrant Journal to your non-UK address. 

And by the way, it could have been somewhere here—between the ruthless kinetic flows of all these vehicles, containers, robotic arms and segregator drums—that one copy of Migrant Journal went to the dogs. 

But hopefully, your copy of issue three is still alive and travels the thousands of kilometers by truck, ship or plane from HWDC to your home country before push-trolleys, bikes, vans or drones will take over for the final home delivery.

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Yet, the crack in Migrant Journal reveals more than a narrative about its logistical migration—it forces us to acknowledge its physical structure. Through this breakage we can see the journal’s material layers, like a geologist sees the layers of the earth: strata of different papers, interlayers of ink and sediments of glue and thread. If we zoom in a bit more, we notice that each of these basic components is made of a heterogenous mixture of other, smaller components. And if we zoom in even more, we might realize at some point that Migrant Journal is not a solid, self-contained object at all, but much more similar to an assemblage of very different raw materials whose flows had to be triggered, directed and linked. Some might call it the miracle of the invisible hand. We prefer to see it as a product of a global economy with its furious transnational supply chains—a network that channels its material flows with precision even into the most faraway places, including Pliezhausen—the remote German village where Migrant Journal is printed. 

To catch a glimpse of these tightly interwoven material flows, let’s look at the paper of Migrant Journal’s cover. It is called Colorplan, distributed by the British company G.F Smith and produced by James Cropper, a market-listed company with factories in Great Britain, the United States and China.⁶ Colorplan consists of roughly 95% cellulose, which is extracted from wood. To achieve the specific material qualities that make Colorplan unique eight different types of wood are required. Namely, Spruce, Pine, Birch, Aspen and four species of Eucalyptus (Globulus, Grandis, Dunnii, Maidenii).⁷ The respective trees are cut in the far-away forests of Sweden, Finland, Spain, Portugal, Uruguay, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Belarus, Russia, Poland, and Denmark.⁸ Right after being cut they are loaded on transporters and brought to the local wood chipper who removes their bark and chops them into neat sub-rectangular woodchips with a typical length of five to fifty millimeters. Next, the highly coveted material is transported with trucks, cargo-trains or epic woodchip carriers⁹ from the twelve aforementioned countries to one of the pulp mills James Cropper is collaborating with, for example to Lappeenranta in Finland or to Mönsterås in Sweden.¹⁰ In these small Scandinavian villages, we find huge chemical factories that are specialized in the extraction of cellulose fibers from wood, a technique called Kraft process. There, our eclectic mélange of international woodchips undergoes a complicated chemical procedure involving head spinning high chimneys, massive chemical bathtubs and totally incomprehensible process charts. Apparently, some of these things happen there: washing, soaking, scanning, chipping and rechipping, steaming, pulping, cooking, pressuring and bleaching. The woodchips have to spend several hours in a thing called digester. We haven’t heard anything about the involved chemicals before (sodium hydroxide, sodium sulfide, ammonium sulphite, potassium, etc.) but after analyzing their production chains we can report that we should add China, the United States, Canada, Russia and Belarus to the supply chain of Migrant Journal. In fact, we could add China und the U.S. twice because the final, pure and bright cellulose fibers are transported in stainless steel tanks, a material that is sourced from these two countries and helps to avoid iron contamination of Colorplan paper.¹¹

After these cellulose fibers had their chemical catharsis in Scandinavia, they travel via ship and truck to the paper mill of James Cropper in Kendal, Northwest England where they are transformed into their desired final form. For this purpose, the natural force of thousands of liters of water is redirected from the nearby river Kent to soak a bulk of cellulose fibers. Once slushy and squishy, the fibers are mixed with a bunch of adhesives and chemicals. The exact compound is top-secret because it will lead to the unique structure, elasticity and feel of Colorplan that creates its Unique Selling Proposition on the global paper market. We don’t know a lot about the details of this process but one thing we can reveal is that particles of styrene and maleic anhydride (i.e. plastic) are applied.¹² These substances derive from  an intense chemical workout in the United States and Germany but are based on the good old liquids of oil and natural gas (in this case mainly extracted from the Middle East, South America and the U.S.). After some more drying we are almost done. The final cherry on the paper cake comes in the form of chalk, starch or polyvinyl alcohol.¹³ The latter is another kind of plastic that is manufactured in China and the United States.¹⁴ Its main purpose is to ‘close’ the paper before it gets ready for transport, meaning that it gets rolled on cable drums of superhuman size that are up to three meters in diameter and weigh more than four tons. But since we never need more than 150 kilograms for our usual cute print-run of 3.000 copies James Cropper simply sends a pallet of Colorplan in the back of a DHL-truck to our printer in Pliezhausen.

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And this is only Migrant Journal’s cover. Its global flow of materials triggers forces that extract resources, rearrange substances, channel energy, alter landscapes and redirect rivers. Needless to say, that all of Migrant Journal’s components—like glue, ink, pigments, threads, special metallic colors, packaging etc.—and their supply chains could be unraveled and analyzed this way. But watch out, because if we continue to trace the hidden flows of materials that enable Migrant Journal to live, we might bump into a couple of unwelcome social, political and economic consequences. 

For a starter, we make great use of crude oil, probably not the most environmentally friendly substance. 

It is used to produce the fuel for the cargo ships, trucks and planes that transport our materials. 

It is used to produce the plastic particles that strengthen our paper. 

It is used for the liquid component in our inks.¹⁵ 

And of course, it is also used for the first thing you see when you open the cardboard envelope after delivery: a plastic wrapping that protects our journal. Is it controversial that we have criticized the methods and consequences of oil extraction in several articles of Migrant Journal while at the same time the journal wouldn’t exist without it?

At the same time, the factories, ships, planes and trucks in our supply chain burn wood, petrol or gas to power their engines, which emit a lot of carbon dioxide. For example, the German paper mill producing our inside paper (called ProfiBulk), states that it emits more than eight tons of CO2 for the 20,000 copies of Migrant Journal we have produced in total. This is the equivalent of roughly 30 flights from Dusseldorf to London but unfortunately represents just a tiny part of our production chain.¹⁶ Let’s not forget to add the emissions from several other factories and an armada of means of transportation to this calculation. 

The unraveling of our supply chains also revealed that most of our materials are produced, distributed and sold by multinational companies. For example, the US-based chemical giant Huntsman Corporation (with its German joint venture Sasol-Huntsman) is the world’s major producer of maleic anhydride, a key component needed for our paper. Huntsman is infamous for tax evasions, ranking number one on the Toxic 100 Air Polluters Index of the United States, as well as inventing the plastic clam shell food container for Burger King.¹⁷ With every page of paper produced for Migrant Journal, we pay into their bank account. Furthermore, we also support the swindling managers of South-African-based company Sappi Limited, who control the production of our inside paper and were investigated by the European Commission for illegal price fixing. And if this wouldn’t be enough, we found out that we are collaborating with the multinational investment bank Goldman Sachs, who owns Flint Group—the company that produces the ink for Migrant Journal. Among a lot of other disgraceful acts of banking, lobbying and speculation, Goldman Sachs made billions of fraudulent dollars during the financial crisis of 2007/2008.¹⁸

And here, we end the research of our supply chain—simply because we cannot dive any deeper into the depressing darkness of this black hole. Instead, we want to ponder over the nerve-racking question: How can we ever produce cultural goods ethically in an age of resource scarcity, ecological catastrophes and increasing global inequality?

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Of course, we could have tried to dive deeper and wider, tracing the whole earth unfolding through the production and distribution of our journal, while we are relying on ever-more resources to undergo this investigation. But would that have helped to judge the ethics of our project? Would it be enough to compare all negative impacts of this project with all the positive ones, draw a line and compare? Is ethics a matter of quantifying and calculation? Probably not. 

Because, after all, Migrant Journal is (although a project dedicated to untangling and mapping everything) something that is, in fact, not mappable in its entirety. And so the attempt to investigate our environmental, socioeconomic or political impact is an impossibility. As we are on this journey, new connections are made and old ones remade, instantly and relentlessly. There is no linearity and therefore no overview possible. We can only look at the fragments and surmise they interconnected well-beyond the scope of our perception.

Therefore, this project cannot be separated from the context it exists in, is based on, and entangled with. We are not just distant observers; we are part of the mess. Migrant Journal is a physical object leaving a footprint we can only guess about but, luckily, it’s more than that. Reducing it to its material dimension wouldn’t do the project justice. The reason why people all over the world order an issue of Migrant Journal is because over six issues, Migrant Journal has embraced the boundless topic of migration in its unfathomed richness and sublime complexity. It’s a catalysator for freeing migration from a too-narrow definition and redefining it as what it is: an interdependent flow of eclectic entities that involves humans, goods, materials, money, information, ideas, fauna, flora, and many more. This way Migrant Journal has brought together people and perspectives, sparked discussion and (hopefully) initiated new ideas for change. This would have not been possible without the infrastructure we relied upon. Thereby, the contexts we inhabit afford our being and thinking, and in turn, are reflected in the work we are producing. Migrant Journal is as much a product of the system that it tries to criticize.

Footnotes

1. MIGRANT was co-founded by Justinien Tribillon, Isabel Seiffert, Christoph Miler and Catarina de Almeida Brito, later joined by Michaela Büsse and Dámaso Randulfe. Edited collectively, it was co-edited and art directed by Offshore Studio (Isabel Seiffert and Christoph Miler). ↑

2. Susan Leigh Star, “The Ethnography of Infrastructure,” American Behavioral Scientist 43, no. 3 (November 1999): 377–91, https://doi.org/10.1177/00027649921955326. ↑

3. Royal Mail,“Full Year 2018–19 Results and Strategy Presentation” Royal Mail Group royalmailgroup.com/en/investors/full-year-results-2018-19/. ↑

4. Mail Online, “The Royal Mail's Worldwide Distribution Centre–as big as six football pitches and more advanced than a space shuttle Daily Mail” Daily Mail (2020, Jan 14) dailymail.co.uk/news/article-511926/The-Royal-Mails-Worldwide-Distribution-Centre--big-football-pitches-advanced-space-shuttle.html. ↑

5. James Bridle, New Dark Age: Technology and the End of the Future, Verso Books, 2018, p. 38. ↑

6. James Cropper also creates materials for aerospace, defense, fuel cells and automotive and has customers in more than 50 countries worldwide (jamescropper.com/about). ↑

7. Apart from cellulose fibers from different types of wood a top-secret compound of dozens of other small ingredients from all around the world is added. ↑

8. Dolan, A. (2019) “James Cropper Speciality Papers Fibre Sourcing Statement.” James Cropper Speciality Papers. ↑

9. By the way, Cargo ships for woodchips–so-called woodchip carriers–are very popular nowadays since the woodchip market has grown almost 75% over the past 15 years (mainly because a lot of wood is needed for the building boom in China). The woodchip carrier industry is dominated by Japanese and Chinese shipbuilders, who name their more than 200-meter-long and 65-megatons-heavy vessels UFO catcher or Snow Camilia. Apparently, some pulp mills even have their own woodchip carrier, like the Japanese paper company Hokuetsu. According to the Wood Resource Quarterly (WRQ), more than 35 million tons of woodchips are shipped every year. ↑

10. “Pulp-Paperworld.Com / European News,” July 8, 2024, https://pulp-paperworld.com/european-news. ↑

11. “Kraft Process,” in Wikipedia, May 6, 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Kraft_process&oldid=1222490611. ↑

12. If you want to transport liquid maleic anhydride you need approved tank cars of stainless steel (from China again!?), which are insulated and provided with heating systems to maintain a temperature of 65–75°C. ↑

13. OroVerde, Save our Planet–Papierherstellung. Unterrichtsmaterial Save our Planet, OroVerde, 2020. ↑

14. “Polyvinyl Alcohol (PVOH): 2024 World Market Outlook and Forecast up to 2033,” Merchant Research & Consulting Ltd, June 2024, https://mcgroup.co.uk/researches/polyvinyl-alcohol-pva. ↑

15. “Paper,” in Wikipedia, May 18, 2024, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=Paper&oldid=1224376018. ↑

16. Sappi Europe, “Umwelterklärung 2017,” 2017, https://cdn-s3.sappi.com/s3fs-public/2016_EMAS_Environmental%20Report_Ehingen%20Mill.pdf. ↑

17. PERI. Political Economy Research Institute, “Toxic 100 Air Polluters Index (2023 Report, Based on 2021 Data),” PERI. Political Economy Research Institute, 2023, https://peri.umass.edu/toxic-100-air-polluters-index-current. ↑

18. Matt Taibbi, “The Great American Bubble Machine,” Rolling Stone, April 5, 2010, https://www.rollingstone.com/politics/politics-news/the-great-american-bubble-machine-195229/. ↑