"Migration Is Not a Crime": Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear

Annals of the American Association of Geographers ISSN: (Print) (Online) Journal homepage: https://www.tandfonline.com/loi/raag21 “Migration Is Not a Crime”: Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear David K. Seitz To cite this article: David K. Seitz (2022) “Migration Is Not a Crime”: Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear, Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 112:3, 859-866, DOI: 10.1080/24694452.2021.1960475 To link to this article: https://doi.org/10.1080/24694452.2021.1960475 Published online: 19 Oct 2021. Submit your article to this journal Article views: 374 View related articles View Crossmark data Citing articles: 1 View citing articles Full Terms & Conditions of access and use can be found at https://www.tandfonline.com/action/journalInformation?journalCode=raag21 “Migration Is Not a Crime”: Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear David K. Seitz Department of Humanities, Social Sciences, and the Arts, Harvey Mudd College, USA Created in 1957, the well-known English children’s book character Paddington Bear is the product of a dizzying number of displacements. Author Michael Bond (1926–2017) was inspired to make Paddington an undocumented migrant by World War II and Cold War mass evacuations in Europe, but he transposed Paddington’s origins to the troped space of “Darkest Africa” only to relocate them to “Darkest Peru.” Fleeing earthquake for England, Bond’s ursine protagonist assumes the name of the London train station where he is “found.” The story’s literary and film critics have challenged its elevation to universality, arguing that it extends colonial discourse and idealizes Paddington as a nonthreatening, assimilated migrant. This article complicates those claims by tracing the character’s emergence as an icon of migrant justice movements in the United Kingdom and Europe, turning to object relations psychoanalysis to examine Paddington’s complex affective pull. Drawing on archival work in Bond’s papers and interviews with his contacts, including migrant justice activists, I contend that although Paddington’s literary construction reflects imperial imaginaries, his reception also attests to the transformative, solidaristic, and creative uses of cultural objects. Key Words: affect, geographies of migration, migrant justice, object relations psychoanalysis, Paddington Bear. O n December 17, 2009, a group of young former refugees from Albania delivered a petition to the official residence of the UK prime minister, Gordon Brown, demanding an end to the detention of migrant children (End Child Detention Now 2009). They were accompanied by organizers Lulji Nuzi and Esme Madill, a thenobscure Labour Member of Parliament named Jeremy Corbyn, and a stuffed Paddington Bear toy. Paddington, the protagonist of a popular series of children’s books, carried a note penned by author Michael Bond. It reminded the prime minister that Paddington himself is an undocumented child migrant who arrives in London with little more than a small suitcase and a tag reading, “Please Look After This Bear” (Bond 2018, 19). This article asks how, as “the fourth most valuable global character brand” (ACF Investment Bank 2016), Paddington Bear might inform geographers’ “restless search for appropriate spatial metaphors to interpret and explain” processes of immigration and asylum (Mountz 2013, 831). It is based on archival work in Bond’s papers at the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center at Boston University, interviews with a handful of Bond’s key contacts, and a review of literary and film texts in the Paddington franchise.1 Paddington and his migrant trajectory are the product of a dizzying number of geopolitical displacements, including World War II, the Cold War, and British imperialism and its afterlives. But “displacement” also carries important connotations in psychoanalytic discourses describing “the fact that an idea’s emphasis, interest or intensity is liable to be detached from it and to pass on to other ideas, which were originally of little intensity but which are related to the first idea by a chain of associations” (Laplanche and Pontalis [1967] 1973, 121). The displacement of wrenching debates over migration and the long shadow of empire onto a seemingly innocuous children’s book character thus directs us to Paddington’s affective as well as political significance. To make sense of Paddington as the object of both geopolitical and affective displacement, I examine the intertwined geographies of Bond, Paddington, and the object relations school of psychoanalysis, which was at the height of prominence in London at the time of Paddington’s creation there in the mid-1950s. Well-known to children’s geographers, object relations offers insight into how people Annals of the American Association of Geographers, 112(3) 2022, pp. 859–866 # 2021 by American Association of Geographers Initial submission, November 2020; revised submission, May 2021; final acceptance, July 2021 Published by Taylor & Francis, LLC. 860 relate to cultural objects over the course of their lives (Winnicott [1971] 2005). Literary and film scholars have developed a critique of Paddington as an idealized, colonized, assimilated migrant. Yet both geography and object relations encourage further curiosity about Paddington’s transformative potential, about the at times unexpected things that people might use Paddington to feel and do. Paddington’s geographies attest to the persistence of empire but also to the potential for cultural objects to give way to alternative, creative uses in the service of migrant justice. Geographies of Paddington, Geographies of Object Relations One recurrent observation in this research, voiced by everyone from his daughter, Karen Jankel, to those who only met him briefly, was that Michael Bond was Paddington. By all accounts a kindly man who wrote for children without condescension, Bond was born in Newbury in southeast England to lower middle-class Protestant parents. He left school at age fourteen, later serving in both the Royal Air Force and the British Army in World War II. Bond’s military itinerary speaks to what Lowe (2015) called “the intimacy of four continents,” or “the often-obscured connections” (1) between places linked by European imperialism that resurface in contemporary political and cultural life. Bond’s Royal Air Force training brought him to Rivers, Manitoba, Canada, on Treaty Two lands not far from the Sioux Valley Dakota Nation reserve (Bond 1996). After the war, his Army service sent him to Cairo, Egypt, where he wrote his first short story in his spare time amidst growing anticolonial uprisings and the resettlement of Jewish refugees to Palestine (Bond 1996). World War II also looms large in Paddington’s etiology. Bond said he was inspired to make Paddington a refugee by the famous kindertransport evacuation of Jewish children from fascist Europe, the trains evacuating British civilian children from London, and his German-Jewish literary agent, Harvey Unna, who fled to London in 1933 (Harper Children’s 2002; “Obituary: Harvey Unna” 2003; Mead 2017). In Bond’s stories, Paddington befriends a fellow migrant, Mr. Gruber, a Hungarian-Jewish antique shopkeeper on Portobello Road (Bond 2018). As a Jewish person from continental Europe Seitz who fled to London, Mr. Gruber shares a trajectory with Unna and also with key figures in psychoanalysis, including the Freuds and Melanie Klein. Paddington is named after the central London train station near Bond’s own residence at the time. There, the bear first meets the Brown family, who gradually become his permanent, loving hosts. Paddington shares his toponym with the clinic that employed one of England’s most famous psychoanalysts, pediatrician Donald Woods Winnicott; Winnicott worked for four decades at the Paddington Green Children’s Hospital. A playful, compassionate, spatial thinker (Aitken and Herman 1997), Winnicott treated the very displaced and resettled English children, some of them war orphans, whose migrations inspired Bond to create Paddington. Paddington is also indelibly an artifact of the Cold War. Bond wrote A Bear Called Paddington in early 1957 as Britain granted asylum to tens of thousands of Hungarian anticommunists, who fled after a socialist revolution against Stalinism was violently repressed (Fryer [1956] 1997; Taylor 2016; Mead 2017). Bond also worked with a number of Hungarian emigres at the BBC’s Caversham Park monitoring station, an integral part of the United Kingdom’s anti-Soviet media apparatus (Webb 2014), and said the character of Mr. Gruber was partly inspired by the friends he had made there (Harper Children’s 2002). But it is British imperialism, and its contested afterlives in struggles over decolonization, migration, and multiculturalism, with which Paddington remains perhaps most closely linked. In the 1950s, London neighborhoods including Paddington, North Kensington, Notting Hill, Shepherd’s Bush, and Hammersmith were key resettlement sites for West Indian Commonwealth migrants of African and Indian descent (Ramdin [1987] 2017). In August and September 1958, atmospheric anti-Black violence in Paddington and surrounding neighborhoods gave way to full-scale, weeks-long riots animated by the demand to “Keep Britain White” (Ramdin [1987] 2017). It is in the context of White terrorization of West Indian migrants that Bond’s modestly pro-migrant message in the first Paddington book first reached shelves on 13 October 1958. This unfinished history is echoed by the melancholic music of the calypso band Tobago and D’Lime, a group assembled to create the soundtrack for the recent Paddington films. “Migration Is Not a Crime”: Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear In Bond’s story, Paddington himself is a product of a colonial encounter. It is a meeting between an English explorer and the young bear’s aunt and uncle that leads to Paddington’s fluency in English and eventual arrival in London to make a claim on social solidarity. Paddington is (in)famously constructed as hailing from “Darkest Peru,” a vexed formulation that appends the superlative “darkest,” typically attached to Africa in colonial discourse, to a different place altogether (Driver 1992). On receipt of the first draft of A Bear Called Paddington, Bond’s literary agent Unna advised: … that there are no bears in Africa, darkest or otherwise. The race of bears in the Atlas mountains has been extinct for centuries. Children either know this or should know this and I suggest that you make suitable amends, for which purpose I am returning herewith the script. There are plenty of bears in Asia, Europe and America, and quite a few on the Stock Exchange. (5 June 1957; courtesy of K. Jankel) Bond’s protagonist, then, had quite a geographical trajectory before he arrived in London: inspired by German and Hungarian Jews and English orphans, displaced to Africa out of exoticism, and rerouted to South America in deference to geographical accuracy. As an earnest product of his aunt and uncle’s imparted Anglophilia, the orphan bear arrives in London poised for salvation and assimilation. Even Paddington’s name describes his first appearance from the point of view of his English host family, concealing a birth name that the bear fears is impossible for the English to pronounce or comprehend. Paddington’s Critics Unsurprisingly, then, literary and film scholars have long critiqued Paddington, arguing that he stands in for the idealized, “deserving” migrant who accommodates English pretentions of superiority and leaves untroubled the exclusion of migrants deemed “unfit” (A. Smith 2006; P. Smith 2020). This scholarship builds on a tradition of ideology criticism in children’s literature, contesting commonplace notions of such entertainment as apolitical and innocent (Dorfman and Mattelart [1971] 2019). Hunt and Sands (2000) read Paddington as an exemplar of imperial nostalgia, observing that “the characters in post-1945 British children’s animal fantasies learn that the Brits are still on top. You might 861 be forgiven for not noticing that the Empire has disappeared” (48). Indeed, for decades, Paddington was regarded by many in England and abroad as paradigmatically English (read: White) (Hall 1981; McDougall 2017). Scholars and activists working in anticolonial and postcolonial traditions have also voiced skepticism about Paddington’s claims to universality. South African historian Jagarnath (2016), who had fondly remembered the stories from her own childhood, described her shock watching the first Paddington film as an adult with her young son, concluding that the story’s depiction of “benevolent” colonial explorers is likely “lost on many children, although perhaps not Peruvian children.” Mdewakanton Dakota and e organizer and artist Goldtooth (2019) shared Din an incisive Internet meme unfavorably comparing Paddington, an assimilated migrant, to the militarily skilled and politically autonomous Ewoks of George Lucas’s Star Wars franchise, who are fluent in their own language and were modeled after the Viet Cong. Jamaican-American novelist Marlon James, taking care not to disparage Bond’s story itself, interrogated the terms of Paddington’s presentation to him in Jamaican schools in the 1970s—the positioning of English narrative as “the only thing,” one far more “fascinating” than his own reality (CBC 2015). The Uses of Paddington With admiration for these critics, I wonder whether, to the side of such urgently necessary forms of ideology critique, we might also notice in Paddington “the attachments that emerge when we explore refuge as a fragile, everyday accomplishment” (Darling and Bauder 2019, 14). I wonder about the affects that suffuse people’s often lifelong ties to cultural objects that they first encountered in childhood—tender, even embarrassing, but nonetheless moving affects that can be hard to find on adult maps of the serious and the political (Horton 2018). A geographical approach makes it possible to hold critical perspectives together with curiosity about how the Paddington story might move people in the world, in ways not fully anticipated by readings tightly focused on the imperial construction of literary and film text (Sharp 2000). Grayson (2013), perhaps the only other geographer to analyze Paddington to date, rehearsed the contradictions in the story’s liberal immigration discourse but 862 concluded that subsequent scholarship should investigate “the dynamics through which bordering practices, resistance and popular culture render themselves in terms of one another” (391). I argue that doing so requires us to “dwell upon emotional and psychological facets of migration and activism” (Conlon and Gill 2015, 448) and to take seriously that “habitualised engagements with commercialized cultural constructs matter deeply for many children, young people and families” in ways that might yet propel meaningful political action (Horton 2018, 451). Here, object relations psychoanalysis proves helpful to geography. Klein’s work on psychical reparation has inspired alternative interpretive practices that privilege surprise and the interruption of domination and exploitation over the endless reiteration of violence (Ruez and Cockayne 2021). Phillips ([1988] 2007) explained that, for Winnicott, “it is not the interpretation in itself that matters but the patient’s use of the interpretation” (75–76). What literary and film critiques cannot fully account for are the unexpected things the Paddington story allows people to feel, the things they do with the story, the ways they, on Winnicott’s ([1971] 2005) terms, use it. For Winnicott, when a subject uses an object, she does not exploit it but rather recognizes its autonomy and acknowledges that it exists “outside the area of the subject’s omnipotent control,” even taking joy in “the object’s survival” of her unconscious desire to destroy it (Abram 1997, 26–27). Which aspects of the Paddington story, if any, might survive the understandably fierce critiques directed at it—or even be of use to the political positions that Paddington’s critics espouse? Crucially, Bond’s choice to make Paddington an undocumented migrant led the author to become increasingly vocal about migrant justice. Although wary of the didacticism of openhandedly political children’s literature (P. Smith 2020), Bond published Paddington Here and Now, perhaps his most expressly political Paddington text, in 2008. In these stories, Paddington is rudely apprehended as a “foreigner” (Bond 2018, 455), mistaken for a groundskeeper and presumed an outsider to his host family’s affluent neighborhood, and targeted by a xenophobic journalist’s tirade about “a flood of boat people from Peru” (481). Headlines like “Padd’s Gone PC” (“Padd’s Gone PC” 2008) mocked the book, and even Members of Parliament attacked it (“Fur Flies Seitz over Refugee Bear” 2008). Bond continued, though, lending Paddington’s image to the grassroots End Child Detention Now (ECDN) campaign. ECDN cofounder and writer Clare Sambrook explained that the campaign emerged in 2009 as a critical community response to the detention and separation of a young mother in Barrow, northwest England from her two-year-old son by police and border agency authorities. Although the mother was able to call upon community support to prevent her deportation to Turkey and was reunited with her son, her treatment raised awareness of the prevalence of child detention and family separation in the United Kingdom at the time (personal communication, 21 September 2020). ECDN cofounders immigration lawyer Esme Madill and scholar Simon Parker emphasized that their campaign ran entirely on volunteer labor, resisting formal incorporation to avoid reliance on the state or donors (personal communication, 29 November 2020). Taking advantage of this independence and the upcoming 2010 parliamentary elections, the campaign sought promises to end child detention from leaders across the political spectrum. ECDN recruited children’s writers, Sambrook recounted, to reach “people who think, ‘These people [migrants] are other than us.’” Bond enthusiastically agreed to participate but was initially uncertain as to how to involve his characters. “I’ve had a little think,” he later told Sambrook. “Paddington’s not political. But Mrs. Bird [the domestic worker for Paddington’s host family] is. She has opinions about things.” Thus, Bond concluded Paddington’s note to the Prime Minister by remarking, “If she had her way [Mrs. Bird] would set the children free and lock up a few politicians in their place to see how they liked it!” (End Child Detention Now 2009). P. Smith (2020, 33–34) suggested that the Paddington stories impugn working-class Londoners as antagonistic toward migrants, arguing that Paddington looks to the well-connected and the comfortable for support. But Bond’s turn to the White domestic worker Mrs. Bird as a fierce advocate for Paddington tells a different story, one of working-class solidarity across the racialized lines of nation-state citizenship. If the Paddington story stages migration as “a felt set of relations,” the detention of migrant children compelled Bond to imagine forms of solidarity that “exceed normative ideas of political belonging,” including those “Migration Is Not a Crime”: Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear anticipated by tidy critiques of his work (Darling and Bauder 2019, 10). Far from a static ideological vehicle for colonial discourse, we might read Bond’s use of Mrs. Bird as evincing what Winnicott ([1971] 2005) called “living creatively” (88), a capacity for spontaneity, playfulness, and ethical responsiveness, in this case, to the felt needs of migrant justice movements. ECDN has seen some significant victories, including the closure of the “family wing” at the infamous Yarl’s Wood Immigration Removal Centre and prohibitions on the detention of immigrant families with children and the detention of unaccompanied children (Naidoo 2009; BBC 2010; Tyler 2013). Sambrook has credited supportive children’s authors with helping win the battle for public opinion, highlighting the participation of Bond, Beverley Naidoo, and Michael Morpugo. Naidoo suggested to me that Paddington’s role in particular compelled public attention: “I can well understand the impact of much beloved Paddington in bringing home the message about children being locked up simply for seeking refuge here. Perhaps people’s imaginations were suddenly stirred in a new way” (personal communication, 29 September 2020). Yet ECDN’s legal gains remain frustrated in practice. The number of migrant children detained in the United Kingdom has fallen considerably, but authorities continue to carve out exemptions, detaining dozens, even hundreds, of children per year (Daly 2018). More broadly, the detention and maltreatment of migrants of all ages to the United Kingdom attest to “the colonial reverberations in current definitions of who ‘belongs’ in Europe,” even and precisely as the country seeks to leave the European Union (Giglioli, Hawthorne, and Tiberio 2017, 338; De Genova 2017). Perhaps, by making its protagonist such a cute and palatable migrant, the Paddington story lends itself to the formal abolition of child detention, but not a fuller confrontation with what Walia (2013) called “border imperialism.” Indeed, although reform-oriented demands for the inclusion of particular “deserving” groups of migrants “are necessary, important, and can be effective, they inevitably reproduce the inclusive/logic of citizenship” (Tyler and Marciniak 2013, 146). Yet such contradictions are hardly lost on Madill, a former social worker, indefatigable fighter for refugees, and thoughtful critic of the racist and neoliberal character of the UK asylum system. Given the 863 state violence against migrants that she confronts on a daily basis, Madill described the Paddington story as profoundly cathartic one for her: I never cry about my work, ever, but I cry about literature. … That is how I allow my emotions. And just going to see those two Paddington movies, I just sobbed the entire way through, ’cause it was just like, “This is the world I want to live in, this is how it should be represented, this is what children should be taught.” … There’s something about the way that Paddington, who is a safe, loved, lovable public figure, owned by everybody, everybody knows the marmalade sandwiches, everybody knows the little suitcase—that has somehow enabled people to talk in a kinder way about asylum and migration. I think that’s so important. (personal communication, 29 November 2020) Paddington does for Madill and other migrant justice activists precisely what Winnicott ([1971] 2005) said cultural objects and psychoanalysis can do for patients: “allow” a person to feel understood. We are missing something if we dismiss such feelings as a mere contrivance of liberal imperialist humanitarian ideology. For even as Madill acknowledges that Paddington is a “safe” or palatable migrant, the films also open up a space “beyond safety” (Georgis 2013, 144), in which she “allows” herself both to grieve the depths of state violence and to yearn for warmer welcomes for migrants, in stark contrast to the status quo. Rather than relating to Paddington as a settled, self-congratulatory story about Britain’s universal generosity to migrants, then, Madill experienced the films as “conjuring a reality that does not yet exist, and holding out the possibility for a convergence of cultural horizons that have not yet met” (Butler [1999] 2007, xviii). Moreover, even before the release of Paddington Here and Now, artists and activists had begun appropriating the Paddington image in service of even more radical ends. At least as early as 2008, graffiti stencils featuring Paddington appeared, calling not for the incremental abolition of child detention but for an end to border imperialism altogether (Figure 1). The typical Paddington stencil depicts the beloved undocumented migrant bear, suitcase in hand, amid the words “Migration Is Not a Crime.” Although the stencils were initially attributed to the famous graffiti artist Banksy, he has since denied any role in creating them (“Migration Is Not a Crime Is Not Banksy” 2009). The image has appeared on 864 Seitz Figure 1. “Migration is not a crime.” Stencil graffiti on Robertson Road, Easton, Bristol. Photo by J. Tan, 1 May, 2008. https://www. flickr.com/photos/jontangerine/2460604223/in/photostream. Licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/bync-sa/2.0. hundreds of buildings and at demonstrations of solidarity with migrants throughout Europe. Given the frequency with which no borders movements are dismissed as infantile and utopian, particularly when led by youth (Burridge 2010), that activists and artists would playfully put an image from children’s literature to such deliberate and widespread use speaks all the more to Paddington’s affective pull, in excess of respectability. Jankel told me that she finds migrant justice movements’ use of her father’s character “quite flattering, really.” Although careful not to discuss her father’s politics, she said the stencil’s messaging was “a perfect fit. It feels right, and it’s something that would concern Paddington himself” (personal communication, 1 October 2020). Jankel also noted the unexpectedly positive performance of the two Paddington films in Turkey, which netted a total of more than US$1.3 million (The Numbers 2020a, 2020b). Although beyond the scope of this article, perhaps such a reception points to the story’s affective salience in a nation-state that continues to host more refugees than any other (Amnesty International 2020). These creative uses return us, finally, to my opening question about Paddington as a metaphor for the geographies of migration and asylum. The Guardian has hailed Paddington a “universal” story (Shoard 2015)—a claim that, as we have seen, is fiercely contested by the story’s critics. Rose ([1984] 1993) warned that “the very idea of speaking to all children serves to close off a set of cultural divisions, divisions in which not only children, but we ourselves are necessarily caught” (7). Yet Saldanha (2015) argued that “universality is something to be made and starts from radically other premises” than the presumptuous and violent forms of universality that have authorized White bourgeois domination of much of the planet (334). Haider (2019), too, called for an “insurgent universality” (112), building on Gilroy (2000), who held out hope for the prospect of “a universality that can exist in less belligerent forms” (17). In Paddington’s case, perhaps the “something” from which insurgent universality emerges is not only a conscious political program but also a feeling, a childhood memory of the warmth of the little bear’s reception, warmth that proleptically models the kind of world, that, as Madill says, one might “want to live in.” Beyond safety, this feeling exceeds and survives even the most devastating critiques of Paddington’s ideological predicates. “Migration Is Not a Crime”: Migrant Justice and the Creative Uses of Paddington Bear Our humanities colleagues have the task of exposing the contradictions of universalist texts well in hand. Perhaps what geography, with a little help from object relations psychoanalysis, might add to such conversations is an appreciation for the context-specific, insurgent, creative, affective uses of universality. Paddington is probably not for everyone, but there remains ample reason to feel that he can be put to good use in pursuit of better worlds. Acknowledgments This article is a better one because of the efforts and insights of Stuart Aitken, Isabel Balseiro, Jennifer Cassidento, Lara Deeb, Lia Frederiksen, Lily Geismer, Dina Georgis, Jessica Kizer, Youna Kwak, Alison Mountz, Joanne Nucho, Stephanie Rutherford, Christy Spackman, Kendra Strauss, two anonymous reviewers, and audiences at San Diego State University, Claremont Graduate University, Harvey Mudd College, and the 2019 annual meetings of the American Association of Geographers and the Association for Research in Cultures of Young People. All limitations remain my own. Special thanks to Jane Parr and Laura Russo at the Howard Gotlieb Archival Research Center at Boston University, and to Karen Jankel, Esme Madill, Beverley Naidoo, Simon Parker, and Clare Sambrook for their time and generosity. Note 1. Although I completed a research ethics protocol prior to conducting interviews, the Claremont Graduate University Institutional Review Board determined that the project was exempt from ethics clearance because all interview subjects are already in the public record. References Abram, J. 1997. The language of Winnicott. Northvale, NJ: Aronson. ACF Investment Bank. 2016. ACF sells Paddington bear intellectual property rights to Studio Canal. Accessed November 29, 2020. https://www.acfib.com/deals/paddington-and-company. Aitken, S. C., and T. Herman. 1997. Gender, power and crib geography: Transitional spaces and potential places. Gender, Place & Culture 4 (1):63–88. doi: 10. 1080/09663699725503. Amnesty International. 2020. The world’s refugees in numbers. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www. 865 amnesty.org/en/what-we-do/refugees-asylum-seekers-andmigrants/global-refugee-crisis-statistics-and-facts. BBC. 2010. Family wing at Yarl’s Wood detention centre to close. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www. bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-beds-bucks-herts-10715149. Bond, M. 1996. Bears and forebears: A life so far. London: HarperCollins. Bond, M. 2018. The complete adventures of Paddington. London: HarperCollins. Burridge, A. 2010. Youth on the line and the No Borders movement. Children’s Geographies 8 (4):401–11. doi: 10.1080/14733285.2010.511005. Butler, J. [1999] 2007. Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. London and New York: Routledge. CBC. 2015. Marlon James interview. Writers and Company. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www. cbc.ca/player/play/2678083760. Conlon, D., and N. Gill. 2015. Guest editorial: Interventions in migration and activism. ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geographies 14(2):442–51. Daly, A. 2018. Children are sometimes held in immigration detention in the UK too—This must stop. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://theconversation.com/children-are-sometimes-held-in-immigrationdetention-in-the-uk-too-this-must-stop-98910. Darling, J., and H. Bauder. 2019. Sanctuary cities and urban struggles. Manchester, UK: Manchester University Press. De Genova, N., ed. 2017. The borders of “Europe.” Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Dorfman, A., and A. Mattelart. [1971] 2019. How to read Donald Duck: Imperialist ideology in the Disney comic, trans. D. Kunzle. London: Pluto. Driver, F. 1992. Geography’s empire: Histories of geographical knowledge. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 10(1):23–40. End Child Detention Now. 2009. Paddington goes to no10 with children’s stop detention petition. Accessed November 27, 2020. http://ecdn.org/?p=515. Fryer, P. [1956] 1997. The Hungarian tragedy and other writings on the 1956 Hungarian revolution. London: Index Books. Fur flies over refugee bear. 2008. Daily Express, June 3. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www.express.co. uk/news/uk/46784/Fur-flies-over-refugee-bear. Georgis, D. 2013. The better story: Queer affects from the Middle East. Albany: State University of New York Press. Giglioli, I., C. Hawthorne, and A. Tiberio. 2017. Introduction: Rethinking “Europe” through an ethnography of its borderlands, peripheries and margins. Etnografia e Ricerica Qualitiva 3:335–38. Gilroy, P. 2000. Against race: Imagining political culture beyond the color line. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Goldtooth, D. 2019. Truth. Twitter. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://twitter.com/dallasgoldtooth/status/ 1173234034153066496?lang=en. Grayson, K. 2013. How to read Paddington bear: Liberalism and the foreign subject in “A bear called 866 Paddington.” The British Journal of Politics and International Relations 15 (3):378–93. doi: 10.1111/j. 1467-856X.2012.00506.x. Haider, A. 2019. Mistaken identity: Race and class in the age of Trump. New York: Verso. Hall, S. 1981. The whites of their eyes: Racist ideologies and media. In Silver linings: Some strategies for the eighties: Contributions to the Communist University of London, ed. G. Bridges and R. Brunt, 28–52. London: Lawrence and Wishart. Harper Children’s. 2002. Michael Bond and R. W. Alley’s Paddington bear. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://web.archive.org/web/20020129134454/http:// www.harperchildrens.com/hch/author/author/bond/ interview2.asp. Horton, J. 2018. For the love of cuddly toys. Children’s Geographies 16 (4):446–54. doi: 10.1080/14733285. 2018.1457735. Hunt, P., and K. Sands. 2000. The view from the center: British empire and post-empire children’s literature. In Voices of the other: Children’s literature and the postcolonial context, ed. R. McGillis, 39–54. London and New York: Routledge. Jagarnath, V. 2016. Western cinema’s racist heart. The Con, February 1. Accessed November 27, 2020. https:// www.theconmag.co.za/2016/02/01/hollywoods-racist-heart/. King, P., dir. 2014. Paddington. London: StudioCanalUK. Laplanche, J., and J.-B. Pontalis. [1967] 1973. The language of psychoanalysis, trans. D. Nicholson-Smith. New York: Norton. Lowe, L. 2015. The intimacies of four continents. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. McDougall, R. 2017. There are NO (teddy) bears in Africa! Discuss. Australasian Review of African Studies 38 (1):105–28. doi: 10.22160/22035184/ARAS-201738-1/105-128. Mead, R. 2017. Paddington bear, refugee. The New Yorker, June 28. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/ paddington-bear-refugee. Migration is not a crime is not a Banksy. 2009. https:// bristolgraffiti.wordpress.com/2009/05/01/migration-isnot-a-crime-is-not-a-banksy. Mountz, A. 2013. Political geography I: Reconfiguring geographies of sovereignty. Progress in Human Geography 37 (6):829–41. doi: 10.1177/0309132513479076. Naidoo, B. 2009. Inside Yarl’s Wood immigration centre. The Guardian, December 16. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www.theguardian.com/society/2009/dec/ 16/yarls-wood-immigration-children. The Numbers. 2020a. Paddington (2014) box office summary per territory. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www.the-numbers.com/movie/Paddington#tab= international. The Numbers. 2020b. Paddington 2 (2017) box office summary per territory. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www.the-numbers.com/movie/Paddington-2#tab= international. Seitz Obituary: Harvey Unna. 2003. The Times, August 5. Padd’s gone PC. 2008. Daily Star, June 3. Accessed November 27, 2020. https://www.pressreader.com/uk/ daily-star/20080603/page/3. Phillips, A. [1988] 2007. Winnicott. New York: Penguin. Ramdin, R. [1987] 2017. The making of the Black working class in Britain. New York: Verso. Rose, J. [1984] 1993. The case of Peter Pan, or, the impossibility of children’s fiction. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Ruez, D., and D. Cockayne. 2021. Feeling differently: Ambivalent affects and the politics of critique in geography. Dialogues in Human Geography 11 (1):88–107. doi: 10.1177/2043820621995617. Saldanha, A. 2015. Scale, difference and universality in the study of race. Postcolonial Studies 18 (3):326–35. doi: 10.1080/13688790.2015.1136586. Sharp, J. P. 2000. Towards a critical analysis of fictive geographies. Area 32 (3):327–34. doi: 10.1111/j.14754762.2000.tb00145.x. Smith, A. 2006. Paddington bear: A case study of immigration and otherness. Children’s Literature in Education 37 (1):35–50. doi: 10.1007/s10583-005-9453-3. Smith, P. 2020. Paddington bear and the erasure of difference. Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 45 (1):25–42. doi: 10.1353/chq.2020.0002. Shoard, C. 2015. How Paddington took Paul King from mighty boosh to almighty blockbuster. The Guardian, March 23. Accessed November 27, 2020. https:// www.theguardian.com/film/2015/mar/23/paddingtonmighty-boosh-paul-king-garth-marenghi. Taylor, B. 2016. Their only words were “thank you”: Rights, gratitude, and “deserving” Hungarian refugees to Britain in 1956. Journal of British Studies 55 (1):120–44. doi: 10.1017/jbr.2015.172. Tyler, I. 2013. Naked protest: The maternal politics of citizenship and revolt. Citizenship Studies 17 (2):211–26. doi: 10.1080/13621025.2013.780742. Tyler, I., and K. Marciniak. 2013. Immigrant protest: An introduction. Citizenship Studies 17 (2):143–56. doi: 10.1080/13621025.2013.780728. Walia, H. 2013. Undoing border imperialism. Chico, CA: AK Press. Webb, A. 2014. London calling: Britain, the BBC World Service and the Cold War. London: Bloomsbury. Winnicott, D. W. [1971] 2005. Playing and reality. London and New York: Routledge. DAVID K. SEITZ is Assistant Professor of Cultural Geography in the Department of Humanities, Social Sciences, and the Arts at Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA 91711. E-mail: dseitz@g.hmc.edu. His research investigates the cultural, political, and affective dimensions of geographical processes including urban gentrification, immigration and asylum, and queer community formation.