The lack of written evidence or communication creates a major barrier to challenging detention. I described above how the one-way megaphone system was the main form of communication within the CCAC and between the authorities and people detained. Major changes in the CCAC are not officially published or communicated to NGOs. This often leaves organisations, including the UNHCR and other non-state actors, in a constant state of fact finding. While the testimony of clients holds significant weight for organisations, it is difficult to rely on this alone when undertaking litigation. Moreover, certain litigation pathways require that individuals are named in a complaint against the authorities. For already precarious people who are waiting for asylum decisions from the authorities, this becomes a significant barrier towards participating in complaints procedures. That a practice or measure may suddenly change without written notice or transparency may disrupt ongoing litigation. The lack of acknowledgement of this change does little to prevent repetition of this bad practice. This is shown, for example, by the issuance of orders for restriction of freedom in stages: first, there were no stages despite being required by law, then the stages were introduced, and finally abandoned. As many people from August are no longer receiving any documents—police notes or ‘restriction of freedom’ orders— administrative challenges to detention are nearly impossible. The non-governing by the authorities means organisations such as IHR need to provide evidence of non-issuance of something or the absence of assistance or procedural safeguards. In effect, the challenge for organisations is to show proof of nothing. Returning to the arguments of Spivak and situating the text within the colonial legacy of bordering Europe, this final ignorance makes it difficult to critique the racialisation of the CCAC and detention that may amount to racial discrimination. Resident S described how Africans feel they are treated poorly because of their race (39). Similarly, an IHR client states that the CCAC is “a place we call ‘the next African prison’” (14). However, that detention in the CCAC is racialised and produces racial discrimination is ignored, primarily by the fact that bordering and the refugee law regime permits a degree of racial discrimination (40). Ulrike Krause argues that the Refugee Convention’s colonial ignorance permits the prioritisation of Western refugees and the exclusion of racialised ‘other’ refugees (4). Thus, this reflects the criticism raised by a selforganised group of asylum seekers on Samos called the ‘Concerned Asylum Seekers of Samos’ that positive asylum decisions are ‘neglecting West African Countries’ (41). It is difficult to produce evidence of inconsistent changes resulting in different or exacerbated conditions of detention for people along racialised hierarchies. For example, as requesting permission to leave is both informal and inconsistent, it is difficult to collect evidence that people from West African countries are more likely to be refused. Yet, situating the CCAC and detention within the broader script of sanctioned ignorance and bordering Europe, we can identify the colonial continuities and racial discrimination of the mandatory quarantine applicable only to people seeking asylum and not to other third country nationals arriving to Greece, such as tourists. In addition, it seems inevitable that the combination of higher rates of refusal towards people from West Africa and confinement to the CCAC, will produce a racialised detention space. 18