Citizenship as a Regime: Canadian and International Perspectives 9780773553835

Table of contents :
Cover
Copyright
Contents
Tables
Introduction: Citizenship as a Regime
1. Welfare Regimes and Citizenship Regime: A Comparison
2. Inputs to Outputs: Redesign of the Canadian Citizenship Regime
3. Citizen Inc.: Corporate Political Rights in the Era of Neoliberalism
4. Structure, Agency, and the Reconfiguration of Indigenous Citizenship in Canada
5. LGBTQ Rights and the Citizenship Regime in the Neoliberal Age
6. Living in "Interesting Times": Immigrants and Contemporary Provincial Citizenship Regimes
7. Managing Diversity through Citizenization: Citizenship Regime as a Framework of Analysis
8. From Citizenship Regimes to Protest Regimes?
9. "Weapons of Mass Distraction"? Migration, Multiculturalism, and Citizenship in Two Contrasting Election Campaigns
10. Cities and Citizenship: Place, People, and Policy
11. Abortion Rights: Rights and Practices of Citizenship in a Multilevel Setting
Afterword: Thinking about the Citizenship Regime Then and Now
References
Contributors
Index

Citation preview

c it iz e n s h ip as a regi me

Citizenship as a Regime Canadian and International Perspectives

Edited by

m i re i l l e paq u e t, n o r a n ag els, a n d au d e - c l a ir e fou rot

McGill-­Queen’s University Press Montreal & Kingston • London • Chicago

©  McGill-Queen’s University Press 2018 isb n isb n isb n isb n

978-0-7735-5350-7 (cloth) 978-0-7735-5351-4 (paper) 978-0-7735-5383-5 (ep df ) 978-0-7735-5384-2 (ep ub)

Legal deposit second quarter 2018 Bibliothèque nationale du Québec Printed in Canada on acid-free paper that is 100% ancient forest free (100% post-consumer recycled), processed chlorine free This book has been published with the help of a grant from the Canadian Federation for the Humanities and Social Sciences, through the Awards to Scholarly Publications Program, using funds provided by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada. Funding was also received from the University Publications Fund and the Political Science Department, Simon Fraser University.

We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Citizenship as a regime: Canadian and international perspectives /  edited by Mireille Paquet, Nora Nagels, and Aude-Claire Fourot. Includes bibliographical references and index. Issued in print and electronic format. isbn 978-0-7735-5350-7 (cloth). – is bn 978-0-7735-5351-4 (paper). – isbn 978-0-7735-5383-5 (ep df ). – is bn 978-0-7735-5384-2 (ep u b ) 1. Citizenship. 2. Citizenship – Canada. I. Paquet, Mireille, 1981–, editor II. Nagels, Nora, editor III. Fourot, Aude-Claire, 1978–, editor J F801.C 5726 2018

323.6

C 2018-900954-3 C 2018-900955-1

This book was typeset by Marquis Interscript in 10.5 / 13 Sabon.

Contents

Tables vii

Introduction: Citizenship as a Regime  3 au de- c l a i r e f o urot, mi r e il l e paq u e t, a n d nor a nage l s

  1 Welfare Regimes and Citizenship Regime: A Comparison  24 R ia nne M a h on   2 Inputs to Outputs: Redesign of the Canadian Citizenship Regime 43 R ac he l L a f o r e st a nd Susa n D. P h i l l i p s   3 Citizen Inc.: Corporate Political Rights in the Era of Neoliberalism  61 Ma x ime B o uc he r a nd De nis Sai n t-M art i n   4 Structure, Agency, and the Reconfiguration of Indigenous Citizenship in Canada  76 Ma rtin P a p i l l o n  5 LG B TQ Rights and the Citizenship Regime in the Neoliberal Age  97 Mir ia m S mi t h   6 Living in “Interesting Times”: Immigrants and Contemporary Provincial Citizenship Regimes  118 Mir e il l e P aque t   7 Managing Diversity through Citizenization: Citizenship Regime as a Framework of Analysis  141 Ja me s B ic k e rto n

vi Contents

  8 From Citizenship Regimes to Protest Regimes?  165 Pasc a l e Duf o ur a nd Ma rcos An ce l ovi ci   9 “Weapons of Mass Distraction”? Migration, Multiculturalism, and Citizenship in Two Contrasting Election Campaigns  186 A lex a nd r a Dob rowo l sk y 10 Cities and Citizenship: Place, People, and Policy  208 N eil B r a df or d 11 Abortion Rights: Rights and Practices of Citizenship in a Multilevel Setting  238 B ér e ngè r e Ma rq ue s- P e r e i r a

Afterword: Thinking about the Citizenship Regime Then and Now  255 Ja n e Je n son

References 271 Contributors 315 Index 321

Tables

  3.1 Corporate donation rules in Western countries  70   3.2 Lobbying regulation in Western countries  71   3.3 Revolving door regulation in Western countries  72   7.1 The citizenship regime  146   8.1 Organizations involved in housing struggles in Quebec  174   8.2 Varieties of housing regime  176   8.3 Ownership rate across cases  180   8.4 The housing sector in Ontario and Quebec  182 10.1 National urban policy compared  234

c it iz e n s h ip as a regi me

In t ro du cti on

Citizenship as a Regime Aude-Claire Fourot, M ireille Paquet, and Nora Nagels

The concept of citizenship regime made its formal entrance into the vocabulary of Canadian political analysis around twenty years ago. It emerged as a way to describe and analyze profound changes occurring in citizenship institutions, discourses, and practices in this country. A citizenship regime refers to stable and structuring – albeit dynamic – relationships between the state, markets, families, and communities. It brings together the formal and substantive dimensions of citizenship, while highlighting the fact that citizenship is not the sole result of state action, but is created by interactions between multiple actors. At the same time, central to the concept is the insight that focusing on citizenship can inform analysts about a society, its politics, its history, and its current challenges. In Canada, this concept was pioneered by the work of Jane Jenson and her collaborators – notably, Antje Wiener and Susan Phillips. It emerged from a dialogue between comparative politics, historical institutionalism, and political economy. Since its inception, it has won influence in Canada and abroad, being applied by scholars to different spaces, scales, and time periods. It has supported analyses on a variety of topics, including social policy, gender, L G T B Q rights, the European Union, social movements, multiculturalism, and Indigenous politics. This important research has indisputably improved our understanding of crucial changes in terms of the boundaries of state responsibility, rights, access, and belonging. Yet there are several aspects of citizenship regimes that remain underexplored. Indeed, the fecundity of the concept, and its relatively recent inclusion in mainstream political

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analysis, has generated various lines of inquiry, but it has also revealed grey areas. The goal of this edited volume, twenty years after the development of the concept, is to take stock of the citizenship regime scholarship. In bringing together original and innovative contributions from leading political scientists and political sociologists from Canada and Europe, this book shows the usefulness of the concept for understanding contemporary politics and policies, as well as for analyzing their dynamics in multiple contexts. Through its various applications across space and over time, this volume demonstrates the generativity of the concept of citizenship regime and highlights avenues for future research. The following introduction will lay the groundwork for crosschapter dialogue within this volume. It will define the concept of citizenship regime in relation to its theoretical and political genesis. Then, following a review of the uses of the concept in political science research, it will highlight the central debates and tensions. These, the central threads running through this volume, demonstrate the vitality of the reflection around citizenship regimes in Canada and abroad.

T h e C it iz e n s hi p Regi me In Jenson’s terms, a citizenship regime refers to “the institutional arrangements, rules and understandings that guide and shape concurrent policy decisions and expenditures of states, problem definitions by states and citizens, and claims-making by citizens” (Jenson and Papillon 2000b, 246). It also refers to the configuration of the relationship between the state, markets, communities, and the family, or private sphere. This configuration defines the role of each of these sites in the production of citizenship (Jenson 2001, 153). A regime is the time-situated materialization of a given meaning of citizenship and, as such, a lens by which it is possible to identify the “model” citizen, as recognized by the state, and the practical implications of this ideal. In this sense, it is an indicator of the boundaries of social inclusion, as well as of the societal conventions and values in the public realm (Jenson 1998b, 711). In order to map citizenship as a regime and take into account the interactive nature of its production, four dimensions are generally considered. The first, the responsibility mix, defines “the boundaries of state responsibilities and differentiating them from those of markets, of families and of communities” (Jenson 2007b, 55). These



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relationships define how a society wishes “to produce welfare” (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004, 156). A citizenship regime is best represented as a diamond shape, representing the four groups of actors that interact to generate citizenship: the state, the market, the community, and the family. In this diamond, the position of the four points is not indicative of a hierarchy, and the lines linking one point of the figure to another do not have to be symmetrical. That is to say, what should be of interest is the shape of the diamond – for example, stretched in one direction – for it represents the division of labour favoured at one point in time. In this volume, the chapter by Laforest and Phillips is an excellent illustration of the heuristic power of this dimension to account for tensions affecting the production of citizenship. The second dimension deals with the rights and the responsibilities of citizens, and their recognition by the state. These can be civil, political, social, or cultural, and can be experienced individually and collectively. By acknowledging rights and responsibilities, “a citizenship regime establishes the boundaries of inclusion and exclusion of a political community” (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004, 156). The regime also “identifies those entitled to full citizenship status, those who, in effect, hold only second-class status” (Jenson and Papillon 2000b, 246), and “those who are not citizens” (Jenson 2007b, 56). This entitlement through recognition goes beyond formal rights to account for the textured realities of exclusion, marginalization, and social hierarchies that exist within a group of citizens. In this volume, Boucher and Saint-Martin highlight new forms of recognition of corporate political rights by the state. The third dimension focuses on access to participation, understood as “the institutional mechanisms giving access to the state, the modes of participation in civic life and public debates, and the legitimacy of specific types of claims-making” (Jenson 2007b, 56). A citizenship regime accounts not only for the impact of formal political institutions, but also for the novel and indirect forms of participation that are either deemed acceptable or intolerable. It helps explain the resonance of particular claims in the political sphere, as well as the rise and fall of relevant political identities. In this volume, Smith’s analysis of LG B TQ legal recognition is a flagship example of the importance of this dimension for citizenship, and Papillon’s chapter demonstrates the challenges to mainstream notions of citizenship associated with new forms of participation.

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Finally, the fourth dimension concentrates on the sense of identity or belonging, “in both the narrow passport-holding sense of nationality and the more complicated concept of identity” (Jenson 2007b, 56). It refers to expectations surrounding what should be the first – and sometimes only – political community of reference for citizens. It also accounts for states’ efforts to generate allegiance and a sense of shared destiny via the implementation of public policy. Bickerton’s analysis of the evolution of Canadian citizenship in this volume highlights the impact of belonging on broader political debates at the national scale. As the contributions to this volume demonstrate, the concept of citizenship regime can be used to serve different analytical purposes. Generally speaking, it may serve as a device with which to chart the contours and contents of citizenship, as a temporally and geographically bounded experience. Several authors have focused on one or several of the four dimensions of the regime to account for particular dynamics in state-society relations (Jenson 2008; Nagels 2013). Because the concept is flexible, it can be used by analysts to argue for the prominence of a specific dimension of citizenship, in relation to overall theoretical considerations (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004). It may also be used as a tool to analyze and explain changes in the production and performance of citizenship over time. Here, consideration is given to the evolving relations between the four groups of actors generating citizenship (the state, the market, the community, and the family, or private sphere). At the same time, the concept is sensitive to different orders of change. For instance, if the four regime dimensions have to be altered in order to constitute a new citizenship regime, tracking changes along one or two dimensions can enable analysts to explore new configurations within a citizenship regime (Jenson 2000, 2012). The current and potential uses of the concept, however, may only become fully apparent once the theoretical underpinnings are understood.

T h e o r e t ic a l F oundati ons The concept of citizenship regime is the result of a rich dialogue of theoretical influences that also mark the evolution of the central concerns of political science as a discipline. Three influences are particularly strong, and are reflected in the uses of the concept in recent



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scholarship: historical institutionalism, the regulation approach, and the work on comparative welfare. Defined as a set of “the institutional arrangements, rules and understandings” (Jenson and Papillon 2000b, 246), the citizenship regime is rooted in historical institutionalism (Jenson 1997, 632). Historical institutionalism builds explanatory accounts based “on the reciprocal influence of institutional constraints and political strategies and, more broadly, on the interaction of ideas, interest and institutions” (Thelen and Steinmo 1992, 14). For the citizenship regime, this influence is first visible in the interdependence of these elements. For Jenson (2009a, 449), it is “important to analyze the idea sets in political discourse, not because they ‘cause’ anything independently of actors’ interests, but because they always give shape to actors’ representations of their interests inside institutions and political struggles.” In addition, the concept recognizes the historically constituted nature of institutions and the path-dependent character of policies; they are generated by struggles over naming, representation, and power sharing, and, in turn, affect subsequent struggles. Second, the concept of citizenship regime is related to the regulation approach, especially as it refers to “stability and change in the patterning of social relations” (Jenson 1997, 632). The regulation approach (Lipietz 1987a) considers that a regime is in operation when, at a specific moment in time, a significant degree of stability emerges in social, political, and economic relations. For regulationists – including Bob Jessop and Jamie Peck – a regime is not inherently coherent, but generates enough consistency to function for the benefit of the actors. In times of crisis, defined as periods in which regime contradictions grow in size and visibility, the regulation approach proposes that profound changes may occur. Indeed, in these instances, contradictions call into question the existence of patterned relations. The results of these crises are not predetermined, but are the product of concrete struggles at individual locations (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 113). Third, central to the concept of citizenship regime is an acknowledgment of the relevance of a multitude of social inequalities in political life. As such, it constitutes a departure from a class-centric (Marxism and neo-Marxism) or gender-centric approach, without being entirely pluralistic. Indeed, a balance between this awareness of the variety of inequalities and the recognition of the structuring power of institutions and relations aligns the citizenship regime to

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Gøsta Esping-Andersen’s (1990) seminal work on welfare regime development. Jenson proposes that it constitutes “a modified version of the definition of a welfare-state regime developed by Gøsta EspingAndersen” and its state / market / family terminology (Jenson and Papillon 2000b, 261). However, Jenson has replaced the image of a triangular relationship generating different degrees of decommodification with the image of a four-point relationship, based on Evers, Pijl, and Ungerson’s (1994) conceptualization of the “welfare diamond.” The diamond encompasses the relations between the state, market, volunteer sector, and family (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003, 80). This broader view of the “sectors responsible for producing well-being” (Mahon, this book) has been captured by the “responsibility mix” dimension (Jenson 2001). Tying these three theoretical influences together, it is necessary to recognize the impact of the historical analysis on the development of contemporary citizenship. The citizenship regime draws inspiration from the work of Polanyi (1957) and Marshall (1965b) by considering citizenship as “a by-product of the invention of the national state, an idea that parallels the history of the modern European state and capitalism” (Jenson 1997, 631). As an historical construction, citizenship is “the product of political action and social relations” (ibid., 630). A citizenship regime is thus a political construct that is contingent upon historical heritage, and generated by political and social forces, without being deterministic of all social relations or inalterable by actors. As Jenson wrote, “[b]eing a regime, citizenship does not alter quickly or even easily. Nonetheless, we can expect and see change at moments of economic and political turbulence” (ibid., 663). This delicate understanding of power, agency, and structure is especially visible when tracing the story of the first uses of the concept of citizenship regime in relation to Canada’s contemporary political life and its later applications to other regions, policy areas, and new scales of analysis.

C a n a da’ s C it iz e n s hi p Regi me The concept of citizenship regime was born out of work on the politics of representation (Jenson 1986, 1991). Jenson’s early work on the “universe of political discourse” in Canada focused on several dimensions that would later be encapsulated by the regime (Mahon, as well as Bradford, this book). The relationship between the universe of



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political discourse and the citizenship regime is more than just a resemblance. In fact, citizenship regimes take place within distinct universes of political discourse; they “emerge from struggles within the universe of political discourse” (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004, 156). A universe of political discourse is the result of actors’ struggles – within a specific set of institutions – for representation in the public and the political spheres. It defines intelligible, appropriate, and socially relevant political cleavages (for example, regionalism or social class). In doing so, it circumscribes the policy solutions to policy problems previously identified as legitimate. For Jenson (1989b, 1991), a given universe of political discourse designates who has the right to participate in political struggles and who is in a position to legitimately make claims. The central focus on boundaries separating what and who is included in politics, in the polity, and in the policy process, as well as the parallels we can draw with the dimensions of “access” and “rights,” clearly marks the concept of the universe of political discourse as the precursor to the concept of citizenship regime. In the mid-1990s, following the historic 1993 federal election and decades of constitutional turmoil, Canada was experiencing the consequences of reshaping its universe of political discourse. Beyond the immediate consequences for political representation, the impacts of new global economic and political ideas were also inevitable. It was in this context that Jenson first started to use the concept of citizenship regime as a tool to decode the pressures on Canada’s political and social communities, and as a lens through which to identify changes, completed or in process. In 1997, Jenson introduced a discussion of the citizenship regime by describing the crossroads in which Canada found itself: “we face a choice between a new Canada and no Canada” (1997, 633). Central to the introduction of the concept into the vocabulary of Canadian politics was the growing influence of neoliberalism on Canada’s political life. For Jenson, neoliberal ideas were a central set of forces restructuring Canada’s postwar citizenship regime, which had considerable consequences for political and social citizenship, as well as for the relationship between Canada and Quebec. Viewing social and political change via the concept of citizenship regime allows for a clear diagnostic – rather than issuing blanket criticisms of neoliberalism, it enables the identification of actors, institutions, and concrete relations that generate new possibilities. Societal agency in the face of neoliberal pressure is a central motivation for these early interventions.

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Jenson, in dialogue with the comparative welfare literature, described Canada’s postwar citizenship regime as broadly liberal. Yet Canada’s citizenship regime departs from the liberal ideal-type in its recognition of collective responsibilities and, perhaps more importantly, a more proactive role for the state. After 1945, the Canadian federal government worked to create a substantial Canadian citizenship. In the absence of an organic, strong pan-Canadian sense of belonging, the state supported its development by granting equal social rights from coast to coast, a governance arrangement that supported the ideal of social justice. In the postwar regime, rights – individual, and sometimes collective – were recognized, the state being “the expression and guarantor of this collectivity” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 116). For instance, social rights were granted through Unemployment Insurance, pensions, universal health care, etc., and sustained by state-directed economic institutions that contributed to the creation of a “country-wide labour market and consumer society” (ibid., 116). The development of a pan-Canadian identity was fostered by cultural institutions (for example, the public Canadian Broadcasting Corporation), as well as by the federal government. As a central actor involved in building these countrywide institutions, Ottawa played a key role in creating a sense of belonging. But it was not the only channel through which citizens could exercise their political rights. In terms of access, organizations (unions, political parties, associations, etc.) constituted the intermediaries between the state and citizens; they were recognized as such by the government. For instance, advocacy groups, notably those for the socially disadvantaged, were publicly funded, based on the discourse of social justice. In general, the regime was the result of Canada’s historical trajectory of dealing with regional and social diversity, and was imbued with Keynesian influences. Starting in the 1970s, the principles supporting the regime began to be called into question. As markets changed and economic ideas started to move away from Keynes’s paradigm, Canada entered a period of questioning – and, in several cases, slashing – direct state intervention and public spending. In the postwar citizenship regime, neoliberalism altered the role assigned to the state, and gave increasing importance to markets and social actors in the division of responsibilities. It reinforced the already strong tendencies of the regime toward a liberal conception of citizenship and an ideal of individual access to the state.



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These pressures were realized in important institutional and policy changes. These included the decentralization of social program responsibilities to the provinces and municipalities, the off-loading of state responsibilities to the third sector, and an increased focus on the duties of citizens – especially the duty to participate in the market – rather than on rights. At the same time, public discourse and state policies increasingly reified an opposition between “real Canadians” and “special interest groups.” Even the entrenchment of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, in 1982, can be seen as a signal of the restructuration of the regime, for it clearly demonstrated the elevation of individual rights and responsibilities over collective entitlements and interests (Jenson and Phillips  1996, 119). This was reinforced by the dismantling of institutions – such as the Canadian Advisory Council on the Status of Women – that acted as advocates from within the state. Changes in the funding of social and interest groups affected their capacity to act as advocates of citizens toward the state. This shift in the production of welfare redesigned the boundaries of the responsibility mix, adding greater responsibility to markets, families, and the volunteer sector, and resulting in an emerging “social investment regime” (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003). This regime is different from the neoliberal paradigm, but does not mark a return to the features of the postwar citizenship regime. The social investment regime is rooted in the idea that social spending can be a productive expense, as opposed to a drag on social finances and a generator of citizen dependence (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003, 82). This new perspective on social spending is based on three key features (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2006). First is the pre-eminence of investment in individual human capital over the life course (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2006, 435). Second, this investment is especially important for future generations. Early education and childhood development programs are seen as ways to ensure the creation of productive, selfsufficient, and resilient citizens. Third, central to social investment is the idea that these policies not only benefit individual recipients, but contribute to society as a whole. Within the responsibility mix, the state is given a new role: it is tasked with the prevention of social risks (Morel, Palier, and Palme 2012a), rather than protection, as was central to the Keynesian welfare era. This restructuration has led to increasingly divergent citizenship regimes in Quebec and the rest of Canada. Even during the heyday

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of the postwar regime, Quebec resisted several of the principles underpinning the establishment of a pan-Canadian identity via federal action.1 Within the Canadian postwar citizenship regime, francophones were thought to be included through the policy of bilingualism, their representation within federal bureaucracy, and their right to receive services in French. At the same time, the regime could not accommodate the coexistence of two communities of belonging for citizens; pan-Canadian identity had to be dominant, and the federal government had to be the state of reference. This did not align with Quebec’s trajectory, which, even before the Quiet Revolution, had developed distinct institutions and fostered a provincial sense of belonging. Indeed, another representation of citizenship was promoted in Quebec, stemming from a dualist vision of Canada, its definition of Quebeckers as forming a nation, and its aspiration to be recognized as a “distinct society.” This was not just nation building through identity politics; Quebec’s regime was supported by separate social policies as well as “its own version of the triangular relationship among state, market and community” (Jenson 1997, 640). Despite the impact of neoliberalism in the province, well illustrated by social cuts and the reorganization of the Quebec government, the state remained an important actor in promoting and protecting a collective identity. Conversely, Canada developed an “increasingly non-collective and more individualistic” vision of society (Jenson 1997, 641). In fact, neoliberalism sharpened the differences between the citizenship regimes in Canada and Quebec as the federal government “started to redefine its role in social programs” and “open[ed] new avenues for provinces such as Quebec to reinforce their own model of social citizenship” (Papillon 2005, 135). Born out of a desire to explore the consequences and opportunities of “interesting times” in Canada (Paquet, this volume), the concept of citizenship regime has since been applied to a broad range of issues. The chapters in this book demonstrate that the concept has proven fruitful for understanding specific policy areas and recent events in Canada’s political life, as well as for analyzing citizenship dynamics in other regions of the world. Indisputably, Jenson’s work on citizenship regime has contributed to the evolution of Canadian political science, Québécois political science, and comparative politics more generally (White et al. 2008; Fourot, Sarrasin, and Holly 2011).



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T he C i t iz e n s h ip R e g im e Beyond Canada If citizenship is thought of as an historical construction, the same applies to the concept of the citizenship regime. It is not a theory, but rather a conceptual toolkit that has evolved over time. The citizenship regime’s flexibility makes it apt for being applied to different countries and at different scales, and to a wide variety of topics. The different applications of the concept are a noteworthy indicator of the evolution of research on citizenship since the 1990s (Kymlicka and Norman 1994) – in Canada and beyond – and they also reflect the salience of new political problems. The concept has matured since its inception, rendering it more malleable and more operative. In this respect, the specification of the regime’s four dimensions is of special importance. In Jenson’s work, and in contributions by a growing number of political scientists using the concept, the first evolution was the inclusion of the “responsibility mix” dimension. Over time, the “access to participation” dimension has taken a more expansive turn as well. As can be seen in several of the chapters in this volume, access has come to be considered not only on the national scale, but also in terms of citizens’ relation to supranational institutions and local forms of government. This change is reflected in the “sense of belonging” dimension of the regime. Over time, Jenson’s work has come to give more importance to a “complicated concept of identity” that incorporates supranational, national, and even subnational identities (Jenson 2007b). The early conceptualization of the citizenship regime focused on Canada and its relation with Quebec (e.g., Jenson and Phillips 1996; Jenson  1997; Jenson and Papillon  2000b; Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004). It has generated, and continues to generate, rich analysis of this central dynamic in Canadian politics (e.g., Gagnon 2011; Gagnon and Iacovino 2003). Yet the possibility of using this concept for examining other countries has always been acknowledged (Wiener 1995). As Dobrowolsky and Jenson note, although change of (and within) citizenship regimes in Canada is “clearly the product of its own history, the larger forces that are generating controversies and struggles over the terms of citizenship also exist in other countries” (2004, 155). In all of this work there has been a growing interest in using the concept to account for different social and political identities, especially as they are linked to inequalities.

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In contrast to a Marshallian approach to citizenship, the concept of citizenship regime does not consider that the acquisition of rights is irreversible. As Marques-Pereira explores in this volume, transnational and international mobilizations against reproductive freedom threaten the right to abortion in Belgium, as elsewhere. Moreover, rights acquisition does not follow a natural and linear extension – first civil, then political and social – leading to more egalitarian societies. On the contrary, as Yashar notes (1999), the neoliberal citizenship regimes that prevailed in Latin America from 1980 to 1990 were characterized by the dismantling of social rights along with the extension of civic and political rights. In the Global South, the concept of citizenship regime helps to account for tensions associated with democratization, social policy making, and societal mobilization. In particular, its four dimensions provide tools to map the apparently contradictory logic of rights expansion and of the maintaining of inequalities, be they social, ethnic, or gender based. This concept has been used to explore these ambiguities in the case of Indigenous politics in Bolivia (Postero 2007). In this volume, Smith uses the concept to explore L G B T Q legal recognition, and Ancelovici and Dufour consider the concept using the lens of a social movement for social justice. Outside of these pages, the concept has been used to analyze the impact and evolution of immigration and integration policies in Canada (Dobrowolsky 2007; Monforte and Dufour 2011; Forcier and Dufour 2016). Hassenteufel and Martin (2000) have used the concept of the citizenship regime in a comparative study of national European family policies, and Gulian (2009) has applied it to the cases of France and Quebec. It has also been used by Papillon and Turgeon (2003) to compare nationalism-related dynamics in Scotland and Quebec. An impressive body of work applied the concept kaleidoscopically to Latin America in the late 1990s. It has supported analyses of Indigenous social movements (Yashar 1999, 2005), local political participation (Montambeault 2008), social policy change and innovation (Nagels 2011, 2013; White 2003), and the gendered dynamics of citizenship (Marques-Pereira 2007). These analyses demonstrate that, beyond its portability, the concept of the citizenship regime has great potential for generating rich comparative inferences. Likewise, while the concept of citizenship regime was initially limited to a stato-centric focus, due in part to its emergence during the restructuration of the Canadian state, Jenson always intended that it



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be applicable at multiple scales. Wiener’s pioneering work on the development of a European citizenship demonstrated early on the usefulness of the concept for analyzing dynamics beyond the “national,” without completely dismissing the nation-state (Wiener 1997, 1998). Over time, it has been increasingly used to consider supranational dynamics and institutions. Notably, the citizenship regime has been used to consider the development of a European citizenship, which has grown in parallel with the expansion of the European Union (Auvachez 2007; Jenson 2007b), and to react to discussions of a UN-led citizenship regime (Auvachez 2009). The exploration of new scales took local dynamics into account when it came to the division of responsibilities (Rutherford 2006), policy innovation in the context of state rescaling (Gulian 2009), and political participation (Divay 2012). In the subnational case, the concept has been particularly useful for considering dynamics of belonging and mobilization within federal regimes (Paquet, this volume), and in the context of multinational federations and states (e.g., Gagnon 2007).

D e bat in g t h e C it izens hi p Regi me The multiplication of contributions using the concept of citizenship regime has highlighted debates surrounding it. As the chapters in this volume demonstrate, debates revolve around four themes: the tension between structure and agency within the regime, the forms and dynamics of regime change, the desirability and the potential instrumentalization of inclusion, and the state-centred bias of the concept. These four themes are not all-encompassing; readers will identify other distinctions among our contributors. Agency The conceptualization of the citizenship regime gives an important place to agency. Jenson herself proposes that a regime “structuration is the result of action,” and as a consequence, she proposes, “[t]his means choices exist” (Jenson 1997, 630). This balance between structure and agency can be understood in relation to the theoretical foundations of the concept. The regulation school, historical institutionalism, and foundational work on the welfare regime all consider that structures and human action are simultaneous explanatory variables. Speaking about the regulation school, Jenson (1990, 656)

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explains that “actors are simultaneously subjects of social structures which continue regardless of their perception of them and acting subjects carrying in their practices and the meaning systems which motivate them the possibilities of not only reproduction but also social change and transformation.” The role actors play in these processes is contingent on their own strategies, as well as on the structures they operate within. Moving this vision to the citizenship regime, this signifies that “rupture and redirection is possible” and that “real choices confront citizens as they participate in the construction of their futures” (Jenson 1997, 633). Agency is central to the appearance of the citizenship regime in Canada. In 1996, Jenson and Phillips opened their article with a 1995 quote from Paul Martin, then minister of finance, who declared in his budget speech that: “There are times in the progress of a people when fundamental challenges must be faced, fundamental choices made – a new course charted. For Canada, this is one of those times.” Jenson’s 1997 presidential address (1997) to the Canadian Political Science Association contains multiple “warnings” and calls for actions in the face of change: “[P]olitics matters. We face, therefore, hard choices”; “the citizenship regimes of the future depend on political choices … [W]e face profound choices about what kind of citizens we wish to be” (Jenson 1997, 643–4). The political motivations behind the concept are clear: to demonstrate to Canadians that citizenship had value as a practice, despite what was presented as the inevitability of a neoliberal era. The analyses in this volume feature strong claims for the capacity of the concept to account for agency. Dobrowolsky favours agency in her analysis of election results. Political parties, according to her, are able to strategically mobilize different conceptions of citizenship for electoral gain. The chapter by Dufour and Ancelovici goes further, arguing that the citizenship regime allows for a better recognition of power relations in the study of social movement than does the concept of political opportunity structure. For Mahon, the regime’s emphasis on the politics of representation allows it to translate the modalities of mobilization through processes aimed at naming unequal class, gender, and ethnic relations. In the same vein, focusing on the LGBTQ movement in Canada, Smith argues that “the concept of the citizenship regime highlights the idea that the very first step toward inclusion and claims-making is the naming process itself” (this volume).



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Others, however, consider the regime to be first and foremost a combination of institutional arrangements that do not allow for a proper exercise of agency. Papillon, in his chapter, makes the claim that the concept does not adequately translate all actions, especially those like contemporary Indigenous social movements, which challenge the dominant citizenship regime. Similarly, Bickerton argues that the concept “tends to privilege structure over human agency, institutionalization over political contestation” (this volume). These differences demonstrate how researchers using the concept situate agency differently: in discourses, in ideas, in social movements, or in formal recognition. They show that the citizenship regime is flexible enough to allow for diverse conceptualizations of the balance between action and structures. This changing balance opens up a second element for debate and contention among analysts: questions regarding the factors that lead to regime change. Forms and Dynamics of Change Because of the centrality of agency, change also features heavily in the analytical efforts surrounding the concept of citizenship regime. As stated earlier, the notion of a regime implies a degree of stability and a measure of resistance to societal forces. Yet for Jenson it is far from immutable. Change featured heavily in early applications of the ­concept and remains a central concern for current analysis, as this volume demonstrates. At the same time, as a reflection of the broader debates in political science, questions regarding changes to citizenship regimes abound. The identification of change, by itself, remains contested, and the potential factors leading to regime changes also vary from author to author. The specification of regime dimension renders these questions even more complex (Jenson 1991; Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003). That is to say, debates thrive as to whether a single dimension, or all of the dimensions, must evolve for a regime to change. These debates are can be found in this volume, and their contributors suggest new answers to these questions. Smith’s chapter considers two important changes: the recognition of LG B TQ citizenship rights in Canada, and the political actions of this broad social movement. Smith demonstrates that LGBTQ mobilizations have been a source of changes to the citizenship regime, while at the same time, she shows that changes to the regime have strongly

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affected L GB T Q politics in this country. She also points to the fact that mobilization has not been the sole dynamic behind regime change; “the shift to neoliberal individualization and the decline of group politics” contributed to support what she labels the gradual “judicial empowerment” of a portion of L G B T Q citizens since the postwar period. Thus, for Smith, both social movement and structural changes are necessary for regime change. Paquet mirrors this contention, showing that provincial mobilization toward immigration has generated changes to the country’s citizenship regime, while also arguing that this mobilization was generated in large part by changes in the evolution of the Canadian state since the 1990s. Bickerton, in analyzing changes to national identity in Canada, proposes that regime dimensions change together to produce a new citizenship regime. He proposes that Canada has experienced an evolution in its sense of belonging, brought into effect by changes to the rights and entitlements of citizens, as well as to the modalities for access to the state. Yet, in his chapter, Bickerton rejects an analytical dichotomy rooted in the supposed independence of the dimensions of the regime. Indeed, he writes that “modification or change in one of these dimensions has had, inevitably, some impact or effect on the others” (this volume). As such, even if regime dimensions are not always called into question at the same time, Bickerton argues that their reciprocal influence generates regime change. For other authors, considerable change to a single dimension is sufficient to provoke overall regime transformation. For example, Laforest and Phillips’s analysis of the responsibility mix supports their broader claims of “a fundamental shift” in the country’s citizenship regime. Indeed, they propose that the rise in importance of the responsibility mix has limited other dimensions. The result, they argue in their chapter, is a citizenship model “in which democratic representation as a source of legitimacy for access and inclusion into the polity has been displaced by a model that favours outputs and performance in service delivery” (this volume). On the other hand, Dobrowolsky proposes that changes in representation are central movers for a citizenship regime as a whole. For Boucher and Saint-Martin, changes to the rights and access provided to corporations have affected the other dimensions of citizenship, and caused the emergence of a corporate citizenship regime. Beyond dimensions, the issue of endogenous or exogenous sources of change is transversal to all of the contributions in this volume.



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For instance, Paquet shows that an endogenous mechanism – province building – has been a source of new directions in Canadian citizenship since the 1990s. Remaining within the existing institutional framework of Canadian federalism, Papillon introduces the notion of change from within and change from without to account for the combined effect of practices that embrace institutions, and practices that challenge the boundaries of citizenship. He shows that these cumulative effects have brought changes to Canada’s citizenship regime as a whole. Embracing and challenging the boundaries of citizenship regimes leads us to the third point of contention: the desirability and the potential instrumentalization of inclusion. Is Inclusion Always Progressive? Within the citizenship literature, there is a general assumption that inclusion is positive. The extension of rights – as a result of struggles for being recognized as full citizen – contributes to broadening the sense of belonging to a political community as well as collective identities. As Marques-Pereira illustrates in this volume, the successful activism around reproductive freedom in Belgium in the 1980s was not only a gain regarding citizenship rights but also a gain in practising citizenship. As political agency is both the cause and the result of inclusion in a citizenship regime, feminist groups are currently proactively monitoring access to abortion in the context of anti-choice activism around the world. However, inclusion in the citizenship regime is not always considered desirable, even for those who are presumed beneficiaries of those rights. Smith (this volume) shows that the recognition of new rights can have negative consequences, even for the groups whose equality-seeking campaigns are successful. In fact, some proponents of the concept of homonormativity warn LGBTQ movements against promoting inclusion at the expense of maintaining distinct queer cultures. Boucher and Saint-Martin (this volume) make a similar observation: the inclusion of corporate rights, now considered as a legitimate citizen practice, alters the very meaning of the rights and duties of citizenship, which can have adverse effects on citizens themselves. Papillon (this volume) shows how Indigenous peoples’ demands for inclusion coexist with citizenship-building practices based on the rejection of the tenets of the Canadian state. In the context of persistent inequalities, racism and systemic discrimination faced by

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Indigenous peoples, the gain of citizenship rights failed to overcome the legacy of their exclusion. Furthermore, inclusion within a citizenship regime might also be used to single out and delegitimize the rights of others. As both Smith and Dobrowolsky point out in this volume, L G B T Q and women’s rights are sometimes used to reinforce racism and Islamophobia. This was notably the case of the United Kingdom Independence Party (U K I P ), which, during the 2015 British election, instrumentalized discourses on women’s rights – such as their fights against oppression and religious obscurantism – to discriminate against Muslim women. Is Citizenship State-Centred? A consideration of agency, change, and the consequences of inclusion leads to a fourth debate regarding the citizenship regime: its potential state-centric bias. Considering the dynamic nature of citizenship, one can ask if the concept is imprinted with methodological nationalism (Wimmer and Glick-Schiller 2002). Does the concept capture practices at different scales, or does it carry a nationally bounded view of politics and citizenship? Can alternative political actions and modalities of belonging be translated using the citizenship regime as a unifying framework? More broadly, are changes adequately described and explained by focusing on national regimes, as opposed to local or transnational forces? Two elements are at the source of these questions. First, the concept of the citizenship regime was inspired by a Marshallian conception of citizenship. For Marshall, citizenship and the state are symbiotic. Citizenship, from this standpoint, is circumscribed by national boundaries and state sovereignty. Jenson echoes Marshall, proposing that citizenship “cannot exist without the state” (Jenson and SaintMartin 2003, 81), and that it is historically contingent. Second, early Canadian application of the concept may explain why citizenship regimes are mostly focused on the state. Modern Canadian state building has been about generating citizenship. As a quintessential Canadian concept, the citizenship regime encapsulates these performative and productive state activities. The question of the centrality of the state has been a thread running through all of the foundational work on the concept of regime. For



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one thing, Jenson has always conceptualized the state as dynamic and generally porous to societal forces (Jenson 1990, 658). As well as policy changes, Jenson’s work addressed the changing nature of the state and its impact on citizenship. In 1996, Jenson and Phillips (1996) recognized the “possibility of citizenship beyond the national,” and in 1997, Jenson proposed that challenges to the paradigmatic conception of citizenship emerged from the presence of the “second-class citizen and … non-citizen” (Jenson 1997, 632) within the state. Thus, potentialities for multiscalar citizenships became compatible with the concept, and analysts have maintained a healthy debate about the fecundity and limitations of the relations between citizenship and the state. In this volume, Marques-Pereira argues that the concept of citizenship regime “can provide an analytic solution leading to a contextualization of citizenship beyond any state-centric or national limits” as a way to account for the emergence of international and transnational rights that transform citizenship (this volume). Similarly, Mahon argues that the concept’s emphasis on governance makes it amenable to the incorporation of a multiscalar perspective “that includes the impact of transnational institutions and global norms, as well as central-local relations within states” (this volume). At the same time, not all authors share this enthusiasm, or consider the centrality of the state to be a problem. Papillon, focusing on Indigenous peoples’ challenges to the current regime, argues for studies that question “the hegemonic reach of the state as the sole producer of citizenship” in order to advance post-Marshallian conceptions of citizenship (this volume). But others prefer recognizing the importance of the state to the concept to rejecting it. Smith, in her chapter, demonstrates a top-down reading of the regime. She proposes that the concept “assumes a coherence in demands” and that “shifting our gaze to the ‘bottom’ would give us a different view of LGBTQ claims-­ making” (this volume). While favouring a top-down reading of the regime, this assumption is nonetheless heuristic, according to Smith, since it informs researchers on claims that are considered valid and on mainstream representations within the diamond of citizenship. Ancelovici and Dufour, in their contribution, are not concerned about the role of the state in the concept. Focusing on the effect of social movements on specific policy areas (housing and education), they are able to use the concept of citizenship regime to analyze the interplay of the state and society in the generation of new government practices.

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P l a n o f t h e Volume With these debates as a backdrop, the book is organized around the overarching concept of citizenship regime and divided into three sections. The first section covers conceptual issues and challenges related to citizenship regime, and highlights emerging challenges to citizenship practices. Mahon’s chapter compares the concept of citizenship regime to the concept of welfare regime, and argues that the former offers more insights for studying contemporary citizenship and social policy. Laforest and Phillips’s chapter applies Scharpf’s distinction between input-oriented and output-oriented legitimacy to forms of participation within a citizenship regime. Their analysis demonstrates the tensions associated with maintaining rich avenues of participation when there is a focus on service-delivery and efficiency. In the chapter that follows, Boucher and Saint-Martin expand the concept of citizenship regime to rules surrounding lobbying, political financing, and connections between corporations and politicians. They introduce the concept of a “corporate citizenship regime” to account for different modalities in regulations of these practices. After establishing this foundation, the second section of the volume applies the concept to Canadian policy areas and political issues. The chapter authored by Papillon explores the practices of the Indigenous peoples movement within and outside Canada’s current citizenship regime. In dialogue with trends predicted by Jenson and Phillips in the mid-1990s, Smith traces the evolution of LGBTQ legal recognition in Canada, and its impact on emerging norms of participation and homonormativity. Paquet’s chapter focuses on the development of a provincial citizenship regime targeting immigrants, as a result of changes to Canada’s citizenship regime and provincial mobilization. The chapter by Bickerton examines historical adaptations and modifications to Canada’s citizenship regime, made at different moments in time out of a desire to balance unity and diversity. The third section of the book moves beyond Canada to include contributions on OECD countries and Belgium, and chapters comparing Canada with other countries. Ancelovici and Dufour’s chapter focuses on housing policy variations in France, Quebec, and Ontario, and proposes citizenship regime as an alternative to the dominant concept of political opportunity structure. The chapter by Dobrowolsky compares the 2015 British and Canadian elections, and argues that their divergent outcomes are attributable to the differing impacts of



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migration, multiculturalism, and citizenship imageries. Bradford’s chapter compares the formation of national urban policies in the United States, Sweden, and Canada. Explaining cross-case difference of meanings and strategies, Bradford reminds readers that cities are sites of citizenship struggles. The chapter by Marques-Pereira traces the role of social movements in bringing abortion and reproductive rights to Belgium through three types of practice: social normativity establishment, social learning, and institutional vigilance. In her concluding remarks, Jenson reviews the genesis of the concept and considers how to think about citizenship in Canada and abroad today. Her insight on the evolution of the concept highlights promising areas of research. We hope that the dialogue between the chapters included in this volume will also convey to readers the potential for further research using the citizenship regime as a supple yet highly fecund unifying concept.

No t e 1 In addition, as early as the 1970s, First Nations in Canada have contested the dominant citizenship regime (Jenson and Papillon 2000b) and this contestation has been maintained, albeit with different forms in relation to new opportunities, with the growing influence of neoliberalism (Papillon, this volume).

1 Welfare Regimes and Citizenship Regime: A Comparison Rianne M ahon

This paper compares Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime1 to EspingAndersen’s welfare state regime, which has occupied such a central if contested place in the comparative study of social policies. As Jenson acknowledges, the concept of citizenship regime owes a (partial) debt to Esping-Andersen’s work, yet the citizenship regime goes beyond Esping-Andersen by incorporating more aspects of citizenship to include not just a social aspect but civil, political, and cultural aspects – dimensions that are particularly important because they open the way for a discussion of the role of agency and the politics of representation. This lends Jenson’s concept a greater dynamism than EspingAndersen’s, among other things making it more open to the possibility of path-shifting change. In addition, the concept of citizenship regime, with its emphasis on governance, can more readily incorporate a multiscalar perspective, one that includes the impact of transnational institutions and global norms, as well as central-local relations within states. Moreover, by including international actors as well as the community sector, it is also more readily adaptable to the Global South than Esping-Andersen’s welfare state regime. This chapter begins by examining the foundations of both conceptions, which can be traced to their engagement with debates about class and politics during the heyday of neo-Marxism. EspingAndersen’s engagement with neo-Marxist theory and the renewal of social democratic thought by theorists like Walter Korpi laid the basis for his subsequent work on welfare regimes. Jenson’s engagement with neo-Marxism and Canadian political economy led to the



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development of her concept of the “universe of political discourse” that would later give those studying citizenship regimes a deeper appreciation of the importance of politics. The second section analyses key texts by each author to draw out the main differences between their two conceptions of regime. This lays the basis for a comparison in the last section of their respective treatments of the turn from “social consumption” to “social investment” in social policy discourse and practice.

Re - th in k in g C l as s P o l iti cs i n the Shadow o f N e o - M arxi s m Sparked in part by the social movements of the 1960s, including a resurgent workers’ movement, a renaissance of Marxist theorizations of state and class came about in the 1970s and lasted into the 1980s. Among the key texts were Ralph Miliband’s The State in Capitalist Society (1973), Nicos Poulantzas’s Political Power and Social Classes (1973) and Classes in Contemporary Capitalism (1975), and Erik Olin Wright’s Class, Crisis and the State (1978), not to mention numerous articles in the New Left Review, the Monthly Review, and the Socialist Register. The neo-Marxist wave reached Nordic shores (e.g., Therborn 1976, 1978) and exercised a marked influence on the new political economy of Canada then in the making, as evidenced by the publication of Panitch’s (1977) edited collection and the foundation of the journal Studies in Political Economy: A Socialist Review. One publication that would influence both Esping-Andersen and Jenson was Adam Przeworski’s “Proletariat into a Class: The Process of Class Formation from Karl Kautsky’s The Class Struggle to Recent Controversies” (1977). Esping-Andersen’s earlier work grew out of these debates among neo-Marxists. In “Modes of Class Struggle and the Capitalist State,” he (along with Roger Friedland and Erik Olin Wright) began to develop elements of a theoretical position that would subsequently influence his conception of welfare regimes. Esping-Andersen, Friedland, and Wright (1976, 186) argued that the content of state policies shapes, and is shaped by, class struggle, a theme that would play a central role in Esping-Andersen’s original conception of welfare regimes. The article also developed a typology of class struggle that included the way workers’ demands are met by the state, in which the choice was seen as being between commodified and

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uncommodified forms: “Political demands which take a commodified form are thus demands for the state to work through and reinforce market mechanisms to accomplish some objective. The noncommodified form of political demands … push [sic] the state to work outside the market or even to directly impose market mechanisms” (ibid., 199). This aspect foreshadowed his later argument regarding “decommodification.” Esping-Andersen’s first book, Politics against Markets: The Social Democratic Road to Power (1985a), marked a step away from Marxist ideas, although it showed the continued influence of Poulantzas, Przeworski, and Wright in the distinction between class structure (“the objectively given ‘empty slots’ that exist as a result of the division of labor”) and class formation (“how individuals who fill the slots engage in collective action”) (1985a, 27). At the same time, Politics against Markets was influenced by the revival and radicalization of social democratic theory in the hands of power resource theorists like Korpi (1978) and Martin (1979). These theorists distanced themselves from the neo-Marxist proposition that the welfare state worked to politically neutralize the working class. Rather, by mobilizing its power resources through the development of a “vertically organized and nationally centralized trade unionism” (Esping-Andersen 1985a, 33) and the formation of a workers’ party, the working class could follow the “democratic road to power,” gradually securing the implementation of policies that would attenuate the power of capitalist social relations while reinforcing working class strength to the point where the latter could push for economic democracy. For Esping-Andersen, progress toward this end occurs when social policies are designed to decommodify labour via the provision of collective social services, unemployment and sickness compensation, employment security, and general income maintenance (31). Working class solidarity is also advanced through the institutionalization of the principle of universality (33). To the working class power resource thesis, however, EspingAndersen added Przeworski’s reminder that “class structure limits the extent that social democracy can choose to appeal only to workers and prescribes the points at which it must seek class allies” (27). Thus “the movement must establish class as a legitimate and meaningful political agency and define the boundaries for inclusion” (31) but it must do so in a way that enables it to forge alliances with other classes. In the early years of industrial capitalism, potential allies would most likely be found among independent peasantry, but with the decline



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of the rural sector, workers’ organizations would need to seek allies among the burgeoning class of white collar workers by appealing to their shared identity as “wage earners.” While Politics against Markets ended on a speculative note about the prospects for a radical wage earners’ alliance for economic democracy, “Power and Distributional Regimes” (1985b) posed the more modest question of “whether, and under what conditions, the mobilization of working-class power resources affects the distributional and institutional character of welfare state development” (223). It is here that Esping-Andersen began to elaborate his argument about the emergence of distinct clusters of welfare states, adding to the concept of decommodification described above the idea of stratification, that is, “does it cultivate universal solidarity, status segmentation or individualism?” (224), and the degree to which full employment is guaranteed by the state. While the three distinct regimes he identified would become central to his future work, at this point the focus remained on their political underpinnings and the implications thereof. Thus, revising Korpi’s class power resource thesis in line with Przeworski’s caveat, Esping-Andersen argued that we must … locate working-class power within a broader power matrix that minimally takes into account long-standing divisions within either the right or the left and that is sensitive to the pattern of class-alliance building. It is hypothesized that the effectiveness of working-class power resources depends on the extent to which the non-socialist parties are mutually divided; and the conditions open to working-class parties to forge alliances with other social classes. (223) In the Scandinavian countries, workers’ parties did encounter such favourable conditions and were thus able to lay the foundations for a social democratic welfare state regime. In North America, however, they encountered a liberal power matrix wherein “electoral system properties combine with an overwhelming hegemony of liberal-­ bourgeois parties to marginalize, or outright prohibit, labor-party formation. In the ‘new’ nations, immigration patterns clearly also helped place regional and ethnic divisions at the center of political community formation” (244). When Esping-Andersen developed these ideas, he was unaware of Jenson’s earlier work (with Brodie), Crisis, Challenge and Change:

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Party and Class in Canada (1980), which developed a very similar thesis also partly inspired by Przeworski. In contrast to the Scandinavian countries that constituted the original focus of Esping-Andersen’s work, Brodie and Jenson were dealing with the Canadian case, in which the dominant view was the absence of class politics. Situating their work within the renaissance of Canadian political economy, Brodie and Jenson sought to develop an interpretation that would illuminate the effects of class. Following Przeworski, they argued that [m]embers of certain occupational sectors in capitalist society … do not and will not act cohesively as a class because, and as soon as, particular economic conditions have been realized. Those with similar positions in the production process must become aware that they are members of a class. The nurturing of this awareness demands … ideological and organizational activity. In other words, classes as active and self-conscious social actors must be created. (1980, 8) Although they recognized the importance of “intermediary” organizations like unions in the making of working class consciousness, Brodie and Jenson’s main emphasis was on the role played by political parties. Political parties, they argued, are not mere “aggregators of interests,” as mainstream political science would have it. Rather, they play a key role in defining what politics is about: “They identify which among a broad range of social differences and tensions will be raised and debated in elections, and they nurture and sustain the criteria by which an electorate will divide itself in a more or less stable system of partisan alignments” (ibid., 1). While workers’ parties may arise to assert the importance of class, they face an already existing definition of politics, which asserts the greater salience of other bases of difference. Under such circumstances, there is class politics, but in a form that serves to protect existing class relations from challenge by dividing workers along ethnic, linguistic, religious, or regional lines. Brodie and Jenson then used this framework to make visible the complex expression of class in Canadian politics. Like Esping-Andersen, they emphasized the importance of potential alliances among the subordinate forces – first between workers and farmers, as reflected in the Co-operative Commonwealth Federation (C C F ), and later in the attempt to forge a link between blue-collar workers and the



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burgeoning strata of white-collar employees through the New Democratic Party (NDP). In Canada, however, neither party was able to successfully challenge a bourgeois conception of politics centred on French–English and later East–West lines. Thus far, the analysis is not too dissimilar from that which EspingAndersen would go on to develop. However, while recognizing the weight of the past, Brodie and Jenson also emphasized that crisis, and therefore the possibility of “challenge and change,” was endemic to the system. Thus “while the dominant definition of politics may be important in forging any particular pattern of partisan relations … this system of relations, and its definition, is not given once and for all time. With changes in social forces and the development of new organizers of these social forces, the definition of politics may change” (2). To be sure, Esping-Andersen also identified moments of change associated with transformations in the class structure. However, by the time “Power and Distributional Regimes” appeared, his focus was shifting away from class politics toward welfare state regimes. Jenson, however, continued to focus on politics. In fact, in “Babies and the State” (1986), she named the concept underpinning her earlier work – the “universe of political discourse” – and expanded her analysis beyond class to include gender. In other words, the concept of the universe of political discourse referred to what Brodie and Jenson identified as the product of partisan struggle – “a universe of socially constructed meaning” that serves to illuminate certain social relations (e.g., ethnicity or region) while casting others (e.g., class or gender) into shadow. At this point, however, Jenson condensed within the concept ideas she would later develop through her work on citizenship regimes. Thus “[w]ithin this universe, the parameters of political action are established by the process of limiting the set of actors accorded the status of legitimate participants; the range of issues covered within the realm of political debate; the policy alternatives considered feasible for implementation; and … the alliance strategies for achieving change” (25, emphasis added). In a subsequent piece, Jenson began to limit the universe of political discourse to “the terrain on which actors struggle over representation” (1991, 52), or the naming of those who have the right to make claims. Such struggles were seen to determine “whether issues are described as ‘public’ or ‘private,’ ‘national,’ ‘global’ or ‘local,’ ‘of the family’ or ‘of the state’” (52). At this point, however, these aspects had yet to be re-assembled into dimensions of a citizenship regime

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and the universe of political discourse limited to providing an account of the boundaries of the politically possible. Thus through their engagement with neo-Marxist debates on class and state, both Esping-Andersen and Jenson began to lay the foundations for their respective conceptions of welfare and citizenship regimes. In this, both were especially influenced by Przeworski’s argument that “struggle about class” had to occur before class struggle. While there were clear similarities in their perspectives on class politics, significant differences had already begun to appear. In particular, with “Babies and the State,” Jenson began to break with a class-centric perspective to recognize the salience of other relations of inequality, notably those based on gender. In addition, while Esping-Andersen began to focus increasingly on welfare state “clusters” (or regimes), Jenson continued to emphasize the politics of representation. This divergence is reflected in their respective conceptions of regimes.

We l fa r e R e g im e v e rs u s Ci ti zenshi p Regi me In the 1990s, Esping-Andersen continued to develop his conception of welfare state regimes, or the “three worlds of welfare capitalism.” In doing so, he (selectively) incorporated some insights from feminist scholarship, notably adding family to the market-state complex. Jenson in turn adopted the concept of regime, broadening it in a variety of ways, while avoiding development of a typology for cross-national comparison. As will be argued, Esping-Andersen’s typology has given rise to a number of fruitful debates, and as such remains an important contribution. At the same time, Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime is capable of recognizing a broader range of unequal relations, is more amenable to a multiscalar analysis and application to the Global South, and retains a stronger conception of agency and thus of the potential for path-shifting change. By the time Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism (1990) was published, Esping-Andersen’s conception of welfare regimes had come to focus on the triad of state, market, and family. Thus “the welfare state cannot be understood just in terms of the rights it grants. We must also take into account how social activities are interlocked with the market’s and the family’s role in social provision” (21). With the publication of Social Foundations of Postindustrial Economies (1999), the concept of defamilialization – “policies that lessen individuals’ reliance on the family, that maximize individuals’ command of



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economic resources independently of familial or conjugal reciprocities” (45) – was added to the original concepts of decommodification and stratification. Together, these concepts served to identify three distinct welfare state regimes. The liberal regime “minimizes decommodification-effects, contains the realm of social rights, and erects an order of stratification that is a blend of relative equality of poverty among state-welfare recipients, market-differentiated welfare among the majority, and a class-political dualism between the two” (1990, 27). While the corporatist regime reduces dependence on the market, its social insurance schemes reinforce status differentials, and also support the traditional male breadwinner / female caregiver roles by excluding non-working wives while providing family benefits associated with motherhood. The social democratic regime is based on the extension of universality and decommodification to the new middle class via “a mix of highly decommodified and universal programs that, nonetheless, are tailored to differentiated expectations” (28). Both liberal and social democratic regimes accept the move to the adult earner family form, but while such families are forced largely to rely on the market for the provision of social services in liberal regimes, social democratic regimes “pre-emptively socialize the costs of familyhood” (28). More than a quarter of a century later, Esping-Andersen’s conception of welfare state regimes retains an important position in the comparative social policy literature.2 This is not to say that his typology and core concepts are without critics. Feminists like Orloff (1993) and Williams (1995) have critically engaged with his work, and not without some impact – although Esping-Andersen failed to note that the concept of defamilialization was initially coined by feminists, notably Lister (1994) and McLaughlin and Glendinning (1994).3 The idea of significant intra-regime differences has been raised by Myles (1998), who brings out the possibility of different program designs within the broad parameters of regimes. Feminists have in turn drawn attention to divergent gender assumptions within liberal (O’Connor, Orloff and Shaver 1999) and social democratic regimes (Bergqvist et al. 1999). Others have posited the existence of more than three worlds. While Castles and Mitchell (1993) and Ferrera (1998) retained EspingAndersen’s focus on the Global North, others have included the Global South. Of particular import here is the critique made by Wood and Gough (2006), who not only question the utility of the concept of decommodification in places where much of the population has yet

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to be commodified, but also highlight the important role played by international actors. Yeates (2008) and others have argued the importance of moving beyond “methodological nationalism” in thinking about social policy for all parts of the world.4 Less attention has been paid to the role of “global cities” as sites of social policy development. Hudson (2012, 458–9) is one of the few who have called for inclusion of the urban scale.5 In other words, cross-national comparisons like Esping-Andersen’s need to be supplemented by the incorporation of a multiscalar approach. Finally, while Esping-Andersen still refers to the “democratic class struggle,” his work has come to focus on regimes, and the path-dependencies that they generate, at the expense of agency, which by 1999 is reduced to the predominance of ideal-typical “homi­ nes” produced by each regime. This is especially visible in his treatment of corporatist regimes, which he argues resist the move to defamilialize social policy. Yet as others have shown, corporatist regimes are not “frozen” but rather are moving to adopt defamilializing policies (Fleckenstein and Seeleib-Kaiser 2011; Fleckenstein and Lee 2014; Estevez-Abe and Kim 2014; Ferragina and Seeleib-Kaiser 2015). As noted, Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime owes a partial debt to Esping-Andersen’s work.6 For Jenson, the concept regime operates as a useful middle range concept as it “permits identification of patterns of similarities at the level of narratives and norms about solidarity and in state-society relations that account for the specific design of the instruments … It permits generalization, despite the widely varying specific details of policy design” (2008, 535). A citizenship regime is defined as “the institutional arrangements, rules and understandings that guide and shape concurrent policy decisions and expenditures of states, problem definitions by states and citizens, and claims-making by citizens” (Jenson and Phillips 2001, 72). It thus encompasses some aspects originally included in the universe of political discourse – the range of feasible policy alternatives, issues covered within the realm of political debate, and actors accorded the status of legitimate participants. A citizenship regime is understood to emerge from struggles within the universe of political discourse and once established, regimes can render certain ideas unimaginable. Yet at times when the regime is under challenge, the universe of discourse can expand open up new possibilities, including the very formation of a new regime (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004, 156). The concept of citizenship regime of course includes the social dimension, here understood in terms of its particular social architecture,



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but it also encompasses other dimensions “of lesser interest to those working with the concept of welfare regime” (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003, 90). More specifically, a citizenship regime has four dimensions. The first is the responsibility mix, which defines “the boundaries of state responsibility differentiating them from those of markets, of families and of communities in the welfare diamond” (Jenson 2007b, 55). In this sense, citizenship regime captures an aspect missing from Esping-Andersen’s welfare triangle of states, families and markets even though, in a footnote he had acknowledged that “in some countries, the voluntary sector (often run by the church) does play a role in the administration and delivery of services” (1999, 35 n2). Despite its obvious importance not only in corporatist regimes such as Germany’s and Austria’s, but also liberal regimes like the American and British, he never incorporated this into his conceptualization of regimes. Moreover, as Wood and Gough (2006) argue, the community sector plays an even more important role in many of the welfare regimes of the Global South. In this sense, then, the concept of citizenship regime is capable of more accurately encompassing the various sectors responsible for producing well-being. Second, “through recognition of rights and duties (civil, political, social and cultural; individual and collective) a citizenship regime identifies those entitled to full citizenship status and those who … hold second-class status as well as those who are not citizens” (2007, 55–6). Like Esping-Andersen’s conception of the “stratifying” effect of welfare state regimes, then, this dimension captures the way citizenship regimes can contribute to or reinforce relations of inequality within a society. It does so in a way, however, that includes the civil, political and cultural dimensions of citizenship as well as the presence / absence of collective rights such as those pertaining to minority linguistic or ethnic communities. In other words, it extends the stratifying effect to other aspects of state activity such as extension of the right to vote to immigrants or recognition / non-recognition of cultural and linguistic diversity. For example, in “Challenging the Citizenship Regime” (2000b) Jenson and Papillon document the James Bay Cree’s successful struggle for the recognition of their collective rights in a context that had long assigned indigenous peoples the status of secondclass citizens. Third, citizenship regimes include an aspect missing in EspingAndersen’s work, at least since he moved away from the power resource school: governance arrangements – “the institutional mechanisms

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giving access to the state, the modes of participation in civic life and public debates, and the legitimacy of specific types of claims-making” (Jenson 2007b, 56). This aspect is especially important as it reflects the continuing centrality of the politics of representation in Jenson’s work. To be sure the state plays a part as it has the power to recognize the legitimacy of certain claims and claims-makers over others. Thus, for instance, Dobrowolsky and Jenson argue that in Canada during the 1990s, the federal government recognized claims made in the name of children while “leaving in the shadows the women who provided their care (as well as care for others) and rendering invisible class, gender and other structures of inequality among adults” (2004, 155). Nevertheless, “movements have the capacity through strategic choices of names to make gains, to block or aide their opponents, and in general to shape the universe of political discourse within which the citizenship regime takes shape and is consolidated” (156). More broadly, Jenson’s continued emphasis on the politics of representation leaves open the possibility of path-shifting challenges: “while one would obviously expect historically created repertoires as well as institutionalized policy legacies to have some weight in the choices of future directions, there is no guarantee that the politics of crisis will maintain the same trajectory. Rupture and redirection are possible” (Jenson and Phillips 2001, 73–4). The fourth dimension has to do with membership “in both the narrow passport holding sense of nationality and the more complicated notion of identity” (Jenson 2007b, 56). While Esping-Andersen’s earlier work was also concerned at least with working class identity and the projection of this in ways that helped to create alliances, it all but disappeared from his work on welfare state regimes. This is not the case for Jenson. Here again the case of the James Bay Cree is instructive as the latter contributed to effectively challenging the conception of Canada as constituted of two founding nations, English and French, in favour of Canada as a multinational country that acknowledges the special place of indigenous peoples as well as the contributions of subsequent waves of migration from across the globe (Jenson and Papillon 2000b, 248). This dimension could also be developed to include instruments for assessing “belonging” such as citizenship tests (Paquet 2012). Is the concept of citizenship regime as guilty of methodological nationalism as that of welfare regimes? Such a reading is possible. In its earliest version, Jenson and Phillips noted that “each regime is



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forged out of the political circumstances of a national state” (1996, 113), while Jenson and Saint-Martin claimed that “citizenship cannot exist without the state” (2003, 81). Yet even in the 1996 version, Jenson and Phillips recognized the possibility of forms of citizenship beyond the national: “the creation of supranational political bodies with citizenship pretensions, such as the European Union and its Maastricht Treaty, means that this statement will be modified in the future.… Moreover, the human rights movement and other transnational forces are generating an alternative model of membership” (1996, 130, n5). In “The European Union’s Citizenship Regime” (2007b), Jenson applied the concept to the European Union, noting that although social rights remain a matter of national competence, a degree of Europeanization has occurred and new instruments, such as open method coordination, have been developed to advance this. In “Challenging the Citizenship Regime,” Jenson and Papillon distinguished between weak forms of transnational alliance-making, “when transnational networks and alliances are used strategically in a political struggle that remains focused on local or national controversies” (2000b, 248–9), and strong forms, when “a new type of transnational social movement has emerged as a consequence of national political opportunity structures giving way to transnational ones following globalization” (262, n79). The emergence of elements of a transnational citizenship regime does not require the melting away of the nation-state but simply the constitution of a set of global rights, anchored in the United Nations system. Jenson has also examined the transnational flow of policy ideas (2010a). Such ideas are likely to be translated in different ways in different national (and subnational) sites, but the identification of “new” problems and solutions increasingly takes place in the context of such ideational flows. The governance structure associated with a citizenship regime also shapes the relationship between the national and subnational. This was clear from the outset in Jenson and Phillips’s work (1996, 2001) on Canada’s citizenship regime, given the longstanding importance of federal-provincial relations. As they suggest, federal-provincial relations are not invariant but tend to alter with changes in the citizenship regime. Jenson and Papillon also highlight the attempt by the James Bay Cree to transform bilateral federal-provincial relations into a system of tripartite negotiation (2000b, 249), a struggle that continues. Moreover, in “Getting to Sewers and Sanitation: Doing Public Health Within Nineteenth-Century Britain’s Citizenship

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Regime” (2008), Jenson clearly included changing relations between the central state and municipalities. In other words, unlike EspingAndersen’s welfare state regimes, the concept of citizenship regime can incorporate a multiscalar understanding capable of bringing into focus political claims, definitions of problems, and ideas about feasible solutions “from below” as well as “from above” the nation-state. Such an approach does not, of course, write out the role of national states. The latter retain an important role in selecting from transnationally travelling policy ideas, as well as in shaping the broader context in which subnational sites operate.

S oc ia l In v e s t m e n t : T wo I nterpretati ons Esping-Andersen and Jenson have both made important contributions to contemporary discussions of the idea of the social investment perspective as a response to challenges associated with globalization, changing socio-economic structures, altered gender relations, and neoliberalism. It may be useful therefore to see how their respective conceptions of welfare and citizenship regimes shape their interpretations of social investment. They generally agree on the main features of the social investment perspective, notably a focus on the future via investment in the development (education, including early childhood) and maintenance (retraining) of human capital; the provision of other supports for labour market participation, especially for lone parents and young families; and a shift in values from equality of condition to equality over the life course (Esping-Andersen 1999, 2002; Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003; Jenson 2009a, 2012). Their interpretations, however, differ in several important respects. Elements of such a social investment perspective were already visible in Esping-Andersen’s Social Foundations, in which he identified the current crisis as one caused by exogenous shocks – a new global economy, which helped to hasten deindustrialization and the tertiarization of advanced capitalist economies, population ageing, and family instability, all of which together pose serious challenges for all three welfare regimes. In all three, the “losers” of the post-industrial shift – the less-skilled, youth, women, single-parent families – could find themselves perpetually confined to the margins. How might welfare regimes be recast to respond to this “post-industrial” world? For Esping-Andersen, the win-win solution is to be found in supporting the post-industrial, dual-earner family. Thus:



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a politics of collectivizing families’ needs (de-familialization) frees women from unpaid labour, and thereby nurtures the dualearner household. And this reduces child poverty and makes households better equipped to weather the storms of flexibilization, since they will usually have one member’s earnings to fall back on if the other is made redundant, needs temporary retraining, or suffers wage decline. (1999, 178) This solution also helps to solve the fertility problem by making it possible for couples to have the number of children they want, and this, along with women’s increased labour force participation, helps to counteract the effects of ageing. Such supports for the dual earner family also have a multiplier effect, as such households will also be able to demand services and thus generate “jobs for waiters, parkkeepers, child-minders, and home-helpers” (1999, 179). To this he would later add that investing in early childhood education and care would contribute to reversing the intergenerational transmission of poverty by giving children, especially poor children, the foundation for lifelong learning (2002). In Social Foundations, Esping-Andersen held to the thesis that regimes would respond in path-dependent ways: “there may exist a blueprint for a ‘win-win’ strategy … but unless it is compatible with existing welfare regime practice, it may not be practicable” (1999, 173). Thus social democratic regimes are best placed to make the post-industrial transition, although, he argues, they will have to abandon their commitment to “equality in the here and now” and embrace equality of opportunity over the life course because “substantial service employment growth outside the public sector depends on flexibility and low wages” (1999, 179).7 Liberal regimes rely too heavily on the market, which, unchecked, will only deepen inequalities and lead to long-term exclusion of the more vulnerable. Corporatist regimes are likely to cling to the traditional family, and their social expenditures remain biased in favour of the older generation at the expense of young families.8 In 2002, however, Esping-Andersen, by then one of the leading advocates for social investment, was prepared to envisage a role for the European Union in gently prodding corporatist and liberal regimes to shift paths by using open method coordination (O M C), an instrument that focuses on common objectives while recognizing a diversity of paths (2002, 25). The final chapter in his 2002 edited collection

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(a chapter written by Hemerijck) went on to articulate the hope that OMC would result in a certain “hybridization” in welfare and labour market policy, and more broadly that welfare reform would “increasingly involve a combination of domestic learning, learning from and with others, and hopefully also a learning ahead of failure” (2002, 213, emphasis in the original). In other words, through his engagement with the European Union,9 Esping-Andersen’s conception of regime dynamics opened up to potentially include the influence of at least the European Union. This move beyond an exclusive focus on the national did not, however, encompass a role for international organizations in diffusing a social investment perspective, nor did it include the Global South, which has in fact been the site of important social investment innovations like conditional cash transfers (Peck and Theodore 2015). If Esping-Andersen became a protagonist for a social investment turn, Jenson has taken a more analytical, at times critical, approach. Her 2003 article (with Saint-Martin) began to map the differences between a social rights-based approach (the generic model for postwar welfare social architectures) and one centred on social investment.10 Not surprisingly, social investment includes the contribution of the community sector, in addition to that of families, states, and markets, all of which are viewed as part of a citizenship regime. Thus in the Keynesian era, the community sector is understood largely as being comprised of “citizens and advocates” while also providing “services in the shadow of the welfare state” (Jenson 2012, 68). In a social investment citizenship regime, however, it also becomes a “potential partner in the provision of services, and source of local as well as expert knowledge” (68). In terms of governance arrangements, the shift is from viewing intermediary groups as part of the institutions of representation to them becoming “an organised expression of social needs and solidarity that requires public investment to build its capacity for partnerships” (75). The turn to the community sector (or a different relation therewith) is also associated with a trend toward decentralization to the subnational, including municipal governments “promoted as the best representatives,” or the most capable of articulating local needs (Jenson 2009a, 463). The local is understood not simply as performing a consultative role for the centre: it also appears as a site of innovation (Jenson and Mahon 2002; Jenson 2009a, 458). Like Esping-Andersen, Jenson understands the potential role of the European Union in



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promoting social investment, but she also recognizes that international organizations as diverse as the OECD, the Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC), and UNICEF have helped to develop and promote a social investment citizenship regime (Jenson 2009a, 2010b). In other words, transnational learning about social investment is taking place across a much wider – and deeper – space than is recognized in Esping-Andersen et al. in Why We Need a New Welfare State. Thus the impetus for and ideas about change can come from below and from above, opening up the possibility of significant path-shifting change. Nevertheless, national governments continue to play an important role in consolidating citizenship regimes. Thus Jenson recognizes that “many of the familiar differences across regime types remain visible even when the social investment perspective inspires policy design” (2012, 62). In other words, cross-national comparisons are still useful, and it is here that Esping-Andersen has made an important contribution. Although Jenson’s work on the social investment citizenship regime has for the most part focused on teasing out its main features, she has systematically insisted that it differs from neoliberalism. In “Redesigning Citizenship Regimes after Neoliberalism” (2012), she clearly lays out the differences between the Keynesian, neoliberal, and social investment perspectives.11 Thus, for instance, a social investment perspective allocates an important role to the state, as markets “may not provide sufficiently for all,” and while families “have primary responsibility for children … the state has responsibility too” (2012, 68). Moreover, “all citizens have a duty to work but they also may have a right to adequate income if the market does not provide” (2012, 72). At the same time, Jenson is also critical of the understanding of gender equality that permeates social investment discourses, including that of Esping-Andersen. This critique was first articulated in “Shifting Representations of Citizenship” (2004, with Dobrowolsky), in which the Liberal government’s social investment turn focused on children, while reading women out. In “Lost in Translation” she was particularly critical of the substitution of “gender awareness” for gender equality in the discourses of “male policy intellectuals and policy communities” (2009a, 448). While the insertion of gender into these discourses does reflect in part the impact of feminist struggles within and across national borders, “gone from the analysis are the structural factors

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that cause women, their work and their achievements to be devalued and undervalued with respect to men’s” (466). Thus “the analysis does not even gesture in the direction of one of the most important equality claims that feminists have made for decades – equal pay” (466). Jenson goes on to note that Esping-Andersen “simply accepts the standard that women’s wages will be 67 per cent of men’s” (466). More broadly, the policies envisaged are designed to “masculinise” women’s lives, much along the lines suggested in Fraser’s (1997) dual breadwinner family. In other words, there is lack of attention to policies, such as “daddy leave” provisions and general reduction in working time, that would help make it possible for men and women to have time to care, as well as time to work, as in Fraser’s “dual caregiver” utopia.

C o n c l u s i ons Esping-Andersen’s contribution to comparative studies of social policy, including the debates to which it has given rise, must be acknowledged. One of the weaknesses of the work on citizenship regimes is that it has not engaged more deeply with his typologies and those generated by his critics. This has limited its ability to stimulate systematic comparisons and debates about how best to classify different regimes. Yet the concept of citizenship regime has much offer. It moves beyond the state-market-family triad to encompass the community / civil society sector. As Esping-Andersen himself admitted, the latter plays a significant role in a number of liberal and conservative regimes, and Rothstein (2001) shows that voluntary organizations continue to play an important part in Sweden’s citizenship regime. This sector is even more important in much of the Global South, as Wood and Gough (2006) have argued. Second, Esping-Andersen’s concept of stratification was limited to the impact of social policy on social relations and was primarily concerned with class relations. Citizenship regime incorporates other relations of inequality, including gender, language, religion, race, and ethnicity, and can capture the effect of other institutions, such as the institutional arrangements and rules governing migration, which have powerful influence over inclusion and exclusion. Thus it could encompass the kinds of issues that Sainsbury (2006) and Williams (1995, 2011) tried to grapple with by offering a more encompassing alternative to welfare regimes. At the same time, in



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Jenson’s work, class has tended to slip from view rather than being incorporated through the adoption of an intersectional lens. The concept of citizenship regime is also amenable to a multiscalar approach. By incorporating governance structures, it can capture complex relations between central and subnational scales of government – an area that has received too little attention in welfare regime research. It also transcends methodological nationalism by being open to the consideration of efforts to construct supra- and transnational citizenship regimes. The latter may remain relatively fragmented (Deacon 2007) and reliant on national states to enact appropriate policies but they do play an increasingly important role in establishing global (if contested) norms and shaping policy frameworks. Jenson, however, has yet to fully utilize the concept to reflect on the incomplete and contested emergence of transnational citizenship regimes, which would require engagement with the burgeoning literature on global norms and attempts to institutionalize a system of global and regional governance.

no t e s   1 It is Jenson’s concept but one that she has worked on in collaboration with Phillips (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 2001), Papillon (Jenson and Papillon 2000b), Saint-Martin (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003), and Dobrowolsky (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004).   2 For example, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Three Worlds, two influential social policy journals published special issues on his contribution: Journal of European Social Policy (25, no. 1) and Social Policy and Society (14, no. 2).   3 For a more detailed discussion of feminist critiques of Esping-Andersen, see chapters 3 and 6 of Béland and Mahon (2016).   4 See chapter 8 of Béland and Mahon for a review of this literature.   5 For examples of such analyses, see Jenson and Mahon (2002), Mahon and Macdonald (2010), Peck and Theodore (2015), and Luccisano and Macdonald (2015).   6 See Jenson and Phillips (2001, 72), Jenson and Saint-Martin (2003, 90), and Jenson (2008, 536).   7 For a good critique of this assumption, see Herzenberg, Alic, and Wial (1998).

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  8 As noted in the previous section, recent research has shown this not to be the case in Germany and elsewhere.   9 Esping-Andersen, along with his colleagues Gallie, Hemerijck, and Myles, was engaged during the Belgian presidency of the European Council to produce a report, titled “A New European Welfare Architecture.” Why We Need a New Welfare State (2002) grew out of that report. It should also be noted that Esping-Andersen, Friedland, and Wright (1975) helped to influence the OECD’s emerging conception of the social investment ­welfare regime. 10 See especially the summary in table 3.1 (page 70), which compares their respective representation principles, definitions of social citizenship, and representation of state interests. It was also in this article that the concept of the “responsibility mix” was added to the features of a citizenship regime. 11 See in particular the useful tables on pages 70, 71, and 72.

2 Inputs to Outputs: Redesign of the Canadian Citizenship Regime Rachel Laforest and Susan D. Phillips

Citizenship has long been an important framing concept for understanding the nature and practices of democratic life in diverse societies (Kymlicka and Norman 2000, 1). The contemporary view of citizenship extends beyond a mere legal concept that confers status and a passport to members of a particular political community. Rather, it stresses that citizenship is about relationships – both between citizens and the state with authority over a political community, and among citizens because they are members of a political community (Jenson and Papillon 2000a, 5). One of Jane Jenson’s major contributions has been the articulation and exploration of the citizenship regime, and an analysis of how it has changed over time. The concept of citizenship regime is a useful heuristic to capture the dynamics of governance because it draws attention to regularized patterns, interactions, and norms regulating behaviour. These rules, and the understandings that guide the interactions between state and civil society, matter. They are not fixed. Governments and civil society actors negotiate how to work together, and make significant decisions about the responsibilities each will bear in the relationship. The changing nature of state-society interactions has become an important component of the study of “governance,” which includes not only state institutions and hierarchies but also the networks of private and third-sector actors and the processes ­– and politics – that create routinized “social practices” (Bevir 2011). Much of the new interest is centred on the seeming shift from a focus on the inputs to this process to an assessment of governance based on outputs (Crozier

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2010; Scharpf 1999; Peters 2009; Rothstein 2009). Political scientists are finding increasing signs that “democratic infrastructure” is shifting in many countries, with clear implications for the citizenship regime (Pierre, Røiseland, and Gustavesen 2014; Selle and Østerud 2006; R. Laforest 2012a). To date, much of this work has been empirical, intended for analysis of the changes that have occurred in specific contexts. This chapter seeks to bridge the gap between theory and empirical study by developing a mid-level conceptual framework, within the parameters of Jenson’s citizenship regime, through which to analyze these trends, with application to a Canadian context. We expand upon and update the citizenship regime by focusing on state-civil society relationships, arguing that a fundamental shift has occurred over the past decade: one in which democratic representation as a source of legitimacy for access and inclusion into the polity has been displaced by a model that favours outputs and performance in service delivery. We show how this manifests in a variety of ways. The responsibility mix within the citizenship regime has assigned greater space for civil society in service delivery and is giving way to new forms of citizen-centred services and involvement by individual citizens in policy making. Contracting and financing of civil society organizations – as well as the expectations of the public and philanthropy – requires a demonstration of impacts, putting less value on the agents (whether nonprofit or private sector) responsible for achieving them. These developments reflect radically different conceptualizations of the role of civil society in policy making, as we demonstrate in the Canadian context. These changes go beyond issues of accountability and participation; they also have important implications with regards to our understanding of democracy. Our goal is to demonstrate that the shift from inputs to outputs represents an important change in terms of the mix of responsibilities between the state, the market, and the community. The new role, as well as the new expectations, conferred to civil society organizations has important effects with regards to our understanding of democracy. The question we then pose is: What are the implications of input and output legitimacy for a citizenship regime?

C it iz e n s h ip Regi mes The concept of a citizenship regime, as advanced by Jenson, refers to “the institutional arrangements, rules, and understandings that guide



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and shape concurrent policy decisions and expenditures of states, problem definitions by states and citizens, and claims-making by citizens” (Jenson and Papillon 2000b, 246). It embodies four key dimensions: •

• •

•

the mix of responsibilities between the state, the market, and community; the rights and responsibilities of citizens; the governance arrangements, including institutional mechanisms that facilitate (or constrain) access to political power, enable citizen engagement, and shape the public discourse about the legitimacy of these claims and participation; and the sense of identity or belonging that results from how one is treated as a member of the political community.

By focusing on these dimensions of citizenship regimes, Jenson has in a sophisticated manner been able to unpack broad “universal” movements and analyze tensions within them by examining the discourses of policy debates, showing the varieties of goals and interests among the actors and exploring the dynamics of legitimacy and recognition within policy communities. From her early work on Eurocommunism, feminism, and post-Fordism, to her later work on Indigenous movements and the development of the social investment paradigm, Jenson has invariably provided a nuanced understanding of how the meanings and practices of various actors are at the heart of politics. As students of Jenson, we have both continued her work, but with a specific interest in elaborating state-civil society relationships, and exploring civil society itself. The nature of civil society dynamics is relevant to understanding each of the dimensions of the citizenship regime. Civil society groups provide an organizing and governing structure for citizen representation and their participation in policy. They serve as a conduit between citizens and governments, perform the critical function of articulating and representing their ideas and interests, and are themselves spaces for the practice of citizenship through dialogue, compromise, and norm negotiation among their members or constituencies. At any given time, the dynamics within civil society enable us to observe who gains voice and recognition in the policy arena, and on what basis. Within the process of the intermediation of ideas and interests are embedded assumptions about democracy, legitimacy, and inclusion that affect the citizenship regime.

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The advantage of the concept of a citizenship regime over the broader notion of “governance” is that it does more than require consideration of networks of nongovernmental actors and the processes by which they engage with governments: it requires us to examine the inherent politics – for instance, the politics of inclusion and exclusion by which some are treated as “second class” as opposed to “model” citizens. Although the concept regards both inputs and outputs as necessary analytical components, its application has focused primarily on inputs – the rights, responsibilities, institutions, processes, and claims that give rise to and order social practices. The outputs of a citizenship regime have tended to be treated as secondary or indirect – as the resulting identities and sense of belonging or as eventual changes in responsibility mixes. The saliency of inputs is not an inherent shortcoming of the concept, but rather reflects the political, social, and research environment in which it was created and initially applied – one in which democratic inputs were being widely debated and were under threat. The case we present is that governing processes, and how both governance and civil society are theorized, have tilted toward recognizing and rewarding outputs over inputs. This is not only reshaping citizenship regimes, it also demands some rethinking of how we apply the model of a citizenship regime.

In p u t v e rs u s O u t p ut Ori entati ons The concepts of policy inputs and policy outputs are not new. David Easton first made the distinction in 1965 between inputs into the political system and outputs that flow out of it. Inputs, according to Easton, are citizens’ demands, which take the form of votes, ideas, interests, and also identities. Outputs refer to the decisions and actions of governments. This rather simple conception of inputs and outputs brings into focus two essential parts of the policy-making process. Drawing on Easton’s model, Scharpf was one of the first to conceptualize government legitimacy as rooted in either “input-oriented” or “output-oriented” democratic thought (1997, 1999). Under an input-oriented model, he notes that “political choices are legitimate if and because they reflect the ‘will of the people’ – that is if they can be derived from the authentic preferences of the members of a community” (Scharpf 1999, 7). In this respect, legitimacy is assessed in light of the extent to which the participants in the policy process are representative of particular ideas, interests, and categories of citizens



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within the community. Who participates, when, and in which capacity matters for democratic accountability. By contrast, under an outputoriented model, “political choices are legitimate if and because they effectively promote the common welfare of the constituency in question” (1999, 7). As a result, these choices are evaluated on the basis of their results and impact. While these dimensions of the policy process are not mutually exclusive, they matter according to Scharpf because they set the preconditions upon which democratic legitimacy can be assessed: representation (input) versus performance (output). He uses this model mainly to explain why a democratic deficit persists in the European model and points to a lack of collective identity to sustain input-oriented legitimacy (Scharpf 2003). What is interesting with the input / output distinction is that it acknowledges that political systems draw legitimacy from democratic governance and from the services they deliver. However, the definition of the input / output orientation Scharpf proposes is limited to democratic legitimacy grounded in democratic theory. This opens up the model to normative debate. For example, Rothstein (2009) argues that political legitimacy increasingly depends on the quality of government services, not on the quality of democratic governance. He holds that impartiality and subsequent procedural fairness provide the normative basis against which quality of government should be assessed (Rothstein and Teorell 2008). Yet the very definition of democratic legitimacy is the product of a specific setting and historical context that needs to be problematized contextually and observed empirically. The narrowness of Scharpf’s conception fails to reflect the diversity of governance practices that scholars are currently observing in a variety of settings. That is, political and sociological dimensions seem to be lacking in this conceptualization of input-oriented and output-oriented dynamics (Crozier 2010, 506). Indeed, while input-oriented and output-oriented forms of democracy may coexist within a political system, a number of governance scholars have already identified parallels in the redesign of citizenship regimes across countries, pointing to a shift in state-society interactions from the input side of the political system to the output side. Peters (2010, 2011), for instance, has observed a shift from input-oriented forms of democracy (procedural) towards a form of democracy that is tied to the outputs of policy making (performance), which he attributes to a decline in the relevance of traditional forms of democracy and the erosion of traditional accountability mechanisms. With the

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weakening of conventional forms of representative democracy (such as interest groups) and the increased complexity of service delivery mechanisms, Peters argues that parliamentary democracy is unable to monitor outcomes effectively and ensure accountability. As a result of the growing interdependence between the parties, governments have found new ways of exercising control and coordinating activities with citizens who are being called to be key players in monitoring the accountability and performance of the system. He further notes that “in particular, the output-oriented version of democracy is more individualistic, non-deliberative and non-mobilizational. Thus, this style of democracy shifts away from aggregating interests and collective decision making toward merely responding to the demands of each individual (very much like the general conceptions of New Public Management)” (2010, 211). Similarly, Pierre, Røiseland, and Gustavesen (2014, 1) argue that “the input and output interfaces between the state and the citizenry appears to be gradually changing from an emphasis on representation towards an emphasis on delivery and output,” a reorientation they attribute to the impact of New Public Management (NP M) reforms. Most of these researchers, however, have been mainly concerned with changes to the public sector and how public service systems are being transformed. In contrast, we use the concept of citizenship regimes to look at the impact these changes are having on the role of civil society in policy making and on civil society itself – changes that have led to fundamentally different conceptions of its roles. Clearly, questions about which institutions and actors are entitled to participate in the governance process and on what grounds are being debated in many settings as a result of new governance practices. As growing empirical research on governance practices illustrates, the “democratic infrastructure” is changing significantly in a number of countries (Pierre, Røiseland, and Gustavesen 2014; Selle and Østerud 2006, 185; R. Laforest 2012a). For example, Selle and Østerud (2006) describe how civil society organizing in Norway has broken away from its historical roots and from traditional hierarchical organizational forms to new market-oriented and managementinspired forms with no specific ideology or political programme. In Denmark, Jørgen Andersen’s research points to the decline of corporatist structures and the introduction of looser network forms of cooperation between state and civil society (J. Andersen 2006). He notes: “Overall, patterns of political participation are changing – from



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participation directed towards the input side of politics (political parties and economic interest groups) towards participation on the outcome side; from permanent to ad hoc participation; from collective to individual forms of participation; and from participation aimed at collective goals towards participation aimed at more individual goals” (J. Andersen 2006, 580). Similarly, in Canada many researchers have noted the diminished capacity and credibility of advocacy groups, as well as the elimination of institutional space within the state for certain categories of citizens (like women’s groups, visible minorities, and linguistic minorities) (R. Laforest 2012a; Phillips 2013). This reorientation from inputs to outputs affects civil society in two ways: through the creation, or removal, of mechanisms through which civil society organizations have access to policy dialogues and service (co)production; and through the overarching narrative – the “meta-governance” – that defines a particular representation of this sector and its legitimate functions. This, in turn, affects how groups represent themselves to themselves and to the state, the strategies and possible actions they take, and public perceptions of their legitimate roles. To capture these dynamics, we need to extend the input / output model beyond democratic governance to gain a greater understanding of the manifold connections between practices of governance and changing state-civil society relations. While the input / output distinction is useful at the analytical level to highlight transformations occurring within political system and their consequences, it is also important to avoid normative arguments. The terms of access to the policy process are dynamic and contingent, not statically grounded in normative theory. With this understanding, it is possible to begin to identify and analyze how norms regarding democratic governance are changing in Canada and how they are reshaping the citizenship regime in significant ways.

Re s t ru c t u r in g C it iz ens ’ Relati ons hi p to t h e S tate Over the past decades, the federal government’s involvement in regulating social relations has shifted sporadically, at times expanding and at others contracting under the influence of different political ideologies but nevertheless eroding over time the legitimacy of representation as an input to democratic processes. These shifts have reflected

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prevailing value judgments about the role and size of the state and its relationship with citizens. Some of these involved fairness and equity considerations in light of certain groups not being represented to the state, while others involved judgments regarding the use of public resources in support of parochial interests. The postwar decade in Canada was characterized by an expansive vision of the role of the state in society. During the 1960s and 1970s, this vision translated into steady increases in government spending and purposeful involvement in political and economic life. A system of governance developed around the need for inclusive and negotiated forms of policymaking. The major interest groups were brought together and encouraged to conclude a series of bargains about their future behaviour, which was intended to move economic events along the desired path. The plan indicated the general direction in which the interest groups, including the state in its various guises, agreed they wanted to go. In Canada, federalism was a dominant factor in this governance frame, in contrast to the tripartite dialogue between the state, capital, and labour that was playing out in many other countries. Given that regional issues had gained prominence in the political discourse over class issues, when the federal government took an active role in mediating social forces, it did so around nation-building lines, focusing debates on citizenship and social justice issues, not class (Jenson 1989a, 662). In this context, voluntary organizations were seen as key actors in the process of representation, for they upheld the mobilization of vulnerable segments of the Canadian population. Citizenship and the concomitant right to democratic participation involved having equitable access to the political process. The exercise of these rights, in turn, depended on resources, so the state financially supported various categories of citizens to ensure their voice would be included in the policy process. In the mid-1990s, Jenson identified a major “regime shift” that was occurring. The postwar citizenship regime had been built on a notion of collective responsibility, with the state as the “expression and guarantor of this collectivity” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 116), an identity that was national in scope and underpinned by a commitment to rights and social justice. The state connected with citizens through expansive social programs, and a consensus was built by recognizing and negotiating the claims of different groups. The shift during the 1990s meant that the “legitimacy of group action and the desire for social justice are losing ground to the notion that citizens and interests can compete



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equally in the political marketplace of ideas” (ibid., 112). Social programs were reduced and many services were devolved to civil society organizations and the private sector. The representation of advocates for societal groups, such as for women, seniors, and youth, were removed from within the state; civil society advocacy groups were defunded and their legitimacy of representation questioned; and state engagement with civil society embraced the participation of individual citizens rather than their organizational representatives (see also Phillips 2013; R. Laforest 2012b). Within this flux, however, ideas and interests remained important inputs into the policy process and there was an expectation that the new regime that was unfolding would be built on a general consensus – a match of the expectations of “sufficient segments of civil society” with the welfare mix and status of citizenship that would be proffered by the state. In short, representation and the debate over ideas and citizen claims – democratic inputs – were still important aspects of the metanarrative, albeit in somewhat diminished and reconfigured ways. It took almost a decade for the remnants of this neoliberal regime to consolidate into a new “social investment” state, although Jenson notes how it brought a return of the state in social programming, while still relying on markets (particularly labour markets). This new regime, which occurred in Europe and Latin America as well as Canada, embraced new forms of social citizenship that were linked to success in employment – but nevertheless retained an interest in social inclusion – and was animated by the importance of ideas (Jenson 2009a; Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003). The central idea was the value of “investing” through social programs in human capital suited to a knowledge economy, and particularly in children. In contrast to neoliberalism, in which the state was tagged as the problem, in social investment the precariousness of the market was defined in terms of employment and the societal risks to children later in life if they did not have a good start. Individuals and their families were called upon “to invest in their own human capital” and create “assets” through life-long learning so they could succeed in the labour market, but this was supported by new social and employment programs. Similarly, investing in supports for children, particularly children living in poverty, would break the “intergenerational transmission of disadvantage” (Jenson 2009a, 446). Although governments labelled civil society organizations as “special interests,” there was still a responsiveness

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to citizen concerns, particularly at the local level, by a “business-like, market-friendly and dynamic entrepreneurial state” (Jenson 2009a). The goal for social policy was to be “‘productive,’ rather than distributive and consumption oriented” (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003), and thus was targeted to those at the margins, out of both an interest in social justice and a fear that marginalized populations could threaten social cohesion. During the social investment state, for the decade of roughly 2000 to 2010, the role of civil society organizations in the citizenship regime changed little, even though there was a renewed emphasis on certain types of social programs. Funding continued to be precarious, and the political legitimacy and influence of civil society organizations remained minimal (Phillips 2013). A development with positive potential, but which became little more than a blip in the government-sector relationship, came in 2000 with the federal government’s creation of the collaborative, two-year Voluntary Sector Initiative (VSI). The VSI was the first major attempt at forging a stronger relationship between civil society and government and reconfiguring regulations for the charitable sector. Given that interest in the representative and advocacy roles of civil society organizations had been effaced from the metanarrative by 2000, consigning them to a service delivery role, managerial issues had become the defining feature of the relationship. In sum, throughout both periods the space for representation and advocacy by civil society organizations was contracted. It was constricted even further under the Harper government, particularly for certain groups that opposed the government in the environmental, human rights, and international development fields (Phillips 2009). The government’s reaction to the opposition by a number of environmental groups to a controversial oil pipeline project (perceived to be funded by liberal US foundations) was to dedicate more than $13 million to increased reporting and auditing of advocacy activities, as well as an increased scrutiny of foreign funding (even though such funding was miniscule). The primary effect was to seriously compromise the independence of the regulator, and to further lower the temperature on a “chill” on advocacy that had existed for at least a decade. It is evident that not only has representation by Canadian civil society been dramatically restructured and greatly diminished since the mid-1990s but the value of representation as an input into policy and democratic processes has itself declined.



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Re d e s i g n in g R o l e s a n d Res ponsi bi li ti es towa r d s a G r e at e r Focus on I mpact The story of the changing relationship between government and the civil society sector in Canada cannot be told with reference to the changing nature of representation alone. Social investment is still a central, perhaps dominant, discourse with regard to civil society, though its meaning has altered. Over the past five years, social investment has become a means of attracting private capital to support civil society and underwrite public programs, with contributors motivated to seek financial as well as social “returns” – the means for doing so being dependant on the measurement and trading of impacts. Outputs have become the key element – now treated as “commodities” – in civil society-government relations. This growing emphasis on performance, particularly the assessment of impact, and the attendant principles of accountability and efficiency are reshaping government-civil society relationships. Thümler (2016) argues that underlying this interest in outputs is a profound change created by the “financialization” of civil society, in the same manner through which finance has come to dominate the economy. Financialization is a natural extension of the marketization of services, which began with neoliberalism, and it is reshaping civil society (and the philanthropy that supports it) in the model of financial capitalism. It entails a greater role for financial motives in supporting civil society organizations (that is, the dual pursuit of social and financial returns), new instruments of finance (such as microcredit and social impact bonds), the creation of financial markets that trade impacts to which financing is attached, new financing institutions (for example, “charity banks” and financial institutions now involved in managing some of the new instruments), and new actors (the equivalent of independent rating agencies to “objectively” assess the worthiness, as measured by the ability to produce results, of civil society organizations) (Salamon 2014; Thümler 2016). The effects of financialization are felt in several ways. It has given rise to the global phenomenon of impact investing – a new asset class predicted to grow to as much as US$1 trillion by 2020 – by which pension funds, financial institutions, corporations, foundations, and private “philanthropists” invest in organization-led projects that have been rated as generating a public benefit (for example, social housing

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and electrification of rural areas in poor countries), as well as able to provide a financial return on the investment (O’Donohoe, Leijonhufvud, and Salltuk 2010). Pay-for-performance contracting ­­– also known as social impact bonds (SIBs) – are another new instrument being advocated by the federal government and several provincial governments. SIBs continue a legacy of investing for the future: selected civil society organizations form a contract with government to attain certain target outcomes in the delivery of a service, usually a preventative service such as reducing recidivism in the criminal justice system. Private investors provide working capital to these civil society organizations to deliver the service, and governments then pay the investors interest and a return for assuming the financial risk if the targets are met or surpassed (Nicholls and Tomkinson 2013). A Global Social Impact Investment Steering Group was established in 2015, comprised of thirteen countries (including Canada) and the E U , with the goal of “promoting a unified view of impact investment, facilitating knowledge exchange and encouraging policy change in national markets” (Global Social Impact Investment Steering Group, n.d.). The global commitment indicates that we are only beginning to see the developments of this phenomenon. The Trudeau government has continued the enthusiasm of its predecessor for social finance, and has committed to creating a framework policy for social finance. Across Canada, several social innovation projects have already been launched, including Timeraiser, Fusion Jeunesse, and Kudoz. In recent years, the influence of a discourse of outputs and impacts has deepened and expanded rapidly. Strategic and venture philanthropy, such as that done by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation and the Walton Family Foundation, have become highly fashionable strategies by which foundations and individual philanthropists set priorities geared toward results, select civil society organizations capable of producing these results, and support these organizations over a longer term with larger amounts of funding than is common in a more dispersed, response-oriented form of philanthropy. Those adopting this form of philanthropy attempt to maximize the impact of every dollar invested through clearly defined goals, data-driven strategies, and rigorous evaluations. In a similar way, United Ways has turned itself into an “impact funder,” with its support dependent on results rather than automatically given to member agencies. Government is also moving toward greater regulation and reporting of the “public benefit” achieved by civil society organizations (Phillips



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and Smith 2010). As a result, channels of political control and accountability are becoming increasingly complex. This trend is still new to Canada, though it is likely to become more prominent as interest in the international experience grows. For example, England’s Charity Commission requires evidence that a public benefit has been met – now a legal requirement under the Charities Act 2006 – be included in the mandatory annual return (Morgan and Fletcher 2013). An emphasis on helping donors identify “good,” well-run charities has given rise to a variety of third-party information intermediaries and self-declared “watchdogs” that use the public regulator’s data – sometimes in combination with big, open data and compared against their own standards – to rate the quality of charities. In the US, for example, the organization Charity Navigator began a pilot in 2013 to replace the “norm of selectively reporting” and storytelling done by charities with ratings on results, including whether they conduct independent evaluations (Charity Navigator 2013, 1). These developments are slowly affecting the public narrative and citizens’ expectations of civil society groups. For example, in recent years, studies on why people give (or do not give) to charities indicate a growing interest in the impact of organizations’ activities and where the money goes (Lasby and Barr 2012; N P C 2013). A concern commonly expressed by the public is with the “inefficiency” of this sector due to the sheer number of organizations, many of which appear to be doing similar things. A number of funders, both private and public, now require that organizations form a partnership in order to be eligible for support, and some are going further by promoting mergers. In this narrative, transparency is taking on a life of its own due to the effects of big, open data. Not only are civil society organizations expected to be fully transparent about their inputs and outputs, third parties are now able to compile “objective” stories about civil society organizations and rate them according to their own standards, due to a capacity to aggregate and link open digital data. This shift toward financialization and an emphasis on impacts affects civil society in mixed ways. On the positive side, it can inject badly needed private capital into the work of civil society organizations. At the same time, social investment is highly selective, creating winners who are able to produce results and a much larger pool of those on the outside. It is also “sector agnostic” (Editors and Smith 2008): it matters little to investors whether the agents selected are civil society organizations, hybrid social enterprises, or for-profit

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entities ­– they are simply the instruments for producing results, not representative organizations or sites of citizenship practices. It is important to note that civil society organizations have not been passive players in this shift to an output orientation, and indeed these organizations are turning to “impacts” as a new narrative by which to strengthen relationships with supporters and re-engage the federal government on new terms. Organizations are making use of technology to ensure that positive stories get told. After several years of an antagonistic relationship with the federal government, sector leaders have recognized that they need to not only raise public awareness of civil society but create a narrative for the sector, defined on its own terms rather than by government. Although this is still unfolding, it seems likely that a focus on impacts will be a centrepiece of this new narrative: doing so demonstrates values and appeals directly to citizens. The irony is that although citizens will be increasingly empowered under the new output orientation to voice their pref­ erences directly to those who deliver services, there are now few channels to ensure that those views being heard are representative or inclusive.

R e d e s ig n in g G ov e r n ment through P a rt n e rshi ps Already in 1996, Jenson and Phillips had observed the rise of publicprivate partnerships as an alternative to program and service delivery. In an effort to modernize the state under the weight of fiscal pressures, the federal government emphasized new service-delivery mechanisms, such as contracting and partnerships among public and civil society organizations. They noted one potential consequence of these new partnerships: While governments are expected to provide standardized services on an equitable basis across wide geographic regions, and are best at it, most voluntary organizations are particularistic, providing services tailored to their target constituencies, and are unevenly distributed geographically. Whereas governments usually stress access to all qualified beneficiaries, voluntary organizations usually operate on a first-come, first-served basis. Thus, even if partnerships do prove to be an effective means of program delivery, they are further accelerating the abandonment



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of the pan-Canadianism of national standards and fairness that was a feature of the postwar citizenship regime. (1996, 128) Originally, many of the partnerships that were put in place were indeed place-based partnerships, tailored to the specific needs of a community or a subgroup. In the field of immigrant settlement, services and program were increasingly delivered by civil society groups working with specific ethnic groups (Acheson and Laforest 2013). In the field of labour market retraining, civil society organizations were contracted to deliver tailored programs as well, such as for women who faced language or cultural barriers, or who had experienced violence and abuse, such as former sex trade workers. But as the federal government further devolved responsibility for service provision onto third parties through contracting, it had to deal with equally important pressures to exert control over the functions of delivery, which were increasingly fragmented across many agents. In this context, hierarchical command and control would not work because the complexity and division of authority had undermined the federal government’s ability to exercise leadership, particularly in the social policy arena (Boismenu and Graefe 2004). The federal government had to develop new tools and instruments to coordinate rather than direct policy discussions, opening up space to citizens and to civil society actors – although the discursive frame to legitimate that participation shifted significantly. Over the past five years, this focus has sharpened for a variety of reasons. Some of this can be attributed to the keen interest in N P M for accountability and measurement (Pierre, Røiseland, and Gustavesen 2014), but again the story is more complex than simply being attributable to the effects of N P M , and although it does reflect some international trends, it also includes distinctively Canadian twists. In an effort to create more efficient services, federal and provincial governments have moved away from targeted partnerships in favour of contracting with large multipurpose organizations that are able to perform a wide range of service delivery functions and serve a wider range of clientele. These one-stop shops are meant to enhance efficiency and transparency by creating a delivery system that is streamlined, coordinated, and integrated. It has also been argued that clients seeking services were having difficulty navigating an uncoordinated, siloed, and fragmented array of programs and services. Community hubs in Ontario, for example, are a new form of

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collaboration that will deliver an array of services through a lens of community needs and outcomes. Similarly, patient-centred reforms are being used in health care, where the delivery of a common basket of services and experiences for all clients has become the criteria governing the organization of service contracting. Under this new governance approach, the basic parameters of the relationship between government and civil society organizations have become increasingly tied to specific results and outcomes. Together, they have focused the exchanges between governments and organizations onto the micro level of delivery and implementation. The way resources are allocated is bound to help formalize accountability and monitoring procedures. These procedures were put in place to enable a systematic comparison of results and outcomes. This can be seen in a number of policy areas, from immigrant settlement to poverty reduction, to mental health and addictions. As a result, civil society organizations have had to embrace a very different kind of thinking in the new governance arrangement, one that emphasizes process, implementation, and evaluation issues. There is no sign of this trend abating. The Trudeau government promised to govern differently – with a clear focus on results and delivery. The government has adopted a philosophy of “deliverology” (Curran 2016) and has ­created a position in the Privy Council Office to ensure that departments set clearly defined priorities and can measure their success based on results. This trend matters for civil society because the new contracting regime does not recognize the legitimacy of advocacy activities and instead strictly specifies how civil society organizations can spend their resources, thereby redirecting organizational focus toward the delivery of results. Again, these restrictions over resources will likely help formalize a set of accountability and monitoring procedures that will allow for better tracking of outcomes and performance. But the trend toward impacts also has become the basis for inclusion into the policy process. Indeed, it is those organizations that have demonstrated that they can produce results that are invited to the policy table. This shift is profound and suggests a very different relationship between government and civil society organizations ­– one in which the government now relates to an organization based on what it does and how successful it is, not on who it represents and why. In terms of policy, this focus on performance and efficiency has been used by governments in an effort to supervise and control the



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sector. Performance came to be ensured through rules on contracting and contributions, though these soon became out of control. More accountability rules were added to grants and contributions in reaction to scandals over contracting in the early 2000s, resulting in a “morass” of rules (Blue Ribbon Panel 2006) that were an onerous administrative burden to civil society organizations and a detriment to actual performance. Despite action plans created on the advice of an independent “blue ribbon” panel (Phillips, Laforest, and Graham 2010), little progress has been made over the past decade toward less onerous rules harmonized across departments. Indeed, many provincial governments are struggling with similar issues (O N N 2015). In addition to the directing of outputs through accountability requirements on contracts, attempts have been made to control civil society organizations’ inputs, the most overt being a (failed) 2012 private member’s bill (C-470) that sought to cap and disclose the salaries of charity staff members. While the bill itself presented significant issues pertaining to employee privacy and to organizational competitiveness in being able to attract top talent for large organizations (mainly hospitals and universities), the debate around the bill also demonstrated to the sector that it needed to construct its own narrative about itself.

C o n c l u si on What the Canadian evolution illustrates is that the government’s focus has shifted toward an output orientation. These new governance patterns pose challenges to political representation. Input-oriented legitimacy derives from the extent to which an organization is representative of a particular constituency, whereas output-oriented legitimacy derives from the contribution that organizations make to government performance, most often around service delivery. Not surprisingly, old representative forms of democracy are eroding. The question, then, is whether input- and output-oriented legitimacy can coexist. William Schambra, former director of the Bradley Center for Philanthropy and Civic Renewal at the Hudson Institute, noted: [W]e need a vital local civil society, right in front of our faces, to draw us out of that individualistic isolation, to engage us in the affairs of our own immediate communities, wherein we learn through direct, daily interaction with others to become responsible,

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self-governing citizens. Our vast, bewildering, and ever-growing profusion of nonprofits – in all their naïve, amateurish, bumbling, redundant glory – may appall those who want to see social services delivered in a neat, orderly, rationalized and centralized way. But Tocqueville would have said that this is a small price to pay for the education in democratic self-government provided by our thick, organic, local network of civic associations. (Schambra 2014) We should not, however, get lost in nostalgia for the 1970s and 1980s. New dynamics are emerging as well. There are hints of a recognition that representation still matters: the Trudeau government has committed itself, and provided direction to ministers in their mandate letters, to “modernize the rules governing the charitable and not-for-profit sectors” (J. Trudeau 2015), and it ended the politicalactivity audits of charities begun by the Harper government. This all bodes well for the sector. Trudeau has also promised to change the way the federal government engages with citizens – by relying on more direct participation around issues such as medical aid in dying, climate change, Indigenous issues, and pension reform. Yet one of the things that has long been lacking in Canada is an explicit narrative about the role of the civil society sector in policy beyond its service role. The narrative held by the Harper government, though implicit, was grounded in a traditional charity model (supporting private donations for charities to deliver services), but nothing concrete has emerged for the current government. The biggest challenge will be maintaining a balance between inputs and outputs so that the output orientation does not further undermine mechanisms of input legitimacy. While the greater focus on impact may strengthen citizen-centred accountability, it has done so at the expense of traditional channels of representation. Civil society organizations are central institutions for the transmission of citizen interests and preferences into the policy arena. They are part of our representational infrastructure: they are schools of democracy, where citizens come together to discuss, exchange, and learn from each other. As Jenson has long noted, “politics is a process in which actors create their constituencies by generating support for their preferred formulation of their own collective identity (and often that of their protagonist) and for the enumeration of interests which follows from that collective identity” (Jenson 1991, 50). In our view, it is important that we maintain these democratic spaces.

3 Citizen Inc.: Corporate Political Rights in the Era of Neoliberalism Maxime Boucher and Denis Saint-Martin

What is citizenship? How has our conception of citizenship changed in recent decades? How has the concept, closely intertwined with that of democracy, come to be associated with corporate political activities such as lobbying and political spending? In this chapter, which draws on the works of Jane Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 2001; Jenson 1997), we show how the corporate citizenship regime (C C R ) framework can help us assess the changing state of citizenship and corporate political rights in the Western world. Our main argument is that all legal and regulatory provisions regarding corporate spending, lobbying, and revolving door activities are the main components of corporate citizenship. When defined this way, the concept of CCR allows us to analyze and compare corporate political rights in widely different institutional and cultural environments. In doing so, we identify divergent patterns of corporate citizenship among Western countries. In some countries, like the United States, the state has legally / formally recognized corporate organizations’ rights to spend unlimited sums of money on politics, and to lobby the government. In most European countries, however, a more limited – and incomplete – definition of corporate citizenship prevails. In these cases, corporate political rights are defined by disjointed and often incomplete sets of norms and rules. The CCR framework proposes an encompassing theory of corporate political rights that can advance our understanding of how contemporary societies manage the relations

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between organized interests and the state. Our theoretical propositions also stress the importance of the intellectual legacy of Jenson, whose research on the Canadian citizenship regime has reinforce our understanding of governance in Western countries. In the first section of this chapter, we discuss the rise of corporate citizenship rights in Canada and other Western countries in the last fifty years. We show that, while corporate political activities are as old as the corporate model itself, they have only recently been legally recognized in contemporary electoral and lobbying legislations. Our claim is that, by acknowledging the rights of corporations to lobby and make financial contributions to candidates and parties, Western states have unequivocally endorsed political transformations that alter the idea of citizenship and its meaning when it comes to rights and duties of representation. In the second section, we compare rules regarding campaign and political spending, lobbying, and revolving door activities in nine political systems. While most of the countries under study are in North America (Canada and the United States) and Western Europe (Germany, France, and the United Kingdom), we also included two other Commonwealth countries (Australia and New Zealand), as well as countries from South and Central America (Brazil and Mexico). These political systems have vastly different institutional and political cultures. The case selection was guided by our theoretical objective, which is to show that these countries have all enacted a form of corporate citizenship despite their cultural and institutional differences. Building on this, we insist that there is a rampant movement toward the institutional recognition of corporate political rights, and that it can be observed at various stages of development, depending on the geographic area. Some countries, like Canada and the US, have enacted comprehensive laws that directly address corporate political activities. In the cases of Australia, Brazil, France, Germany, and Mexico, corporate citizenship is defined in disjointed sets of rules. In these states, a more limited definition of corporate political rights often prevails. Finally, only two countries (the UK and New Zealand) have not yet fully engaged in this path, since no comprehensive rules or legislations on lobbying and the revolving door have been enacted. As we show in this chapter, the C C R framework, which is derived from Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime, can lay the groundwork for a comparative and longitudinal study of corporate political rights in Western societies. In the end, however, we do not put forward a



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new theoretical approach. We aim, rather, to update an old one. The roots of CC R could be seen in previous forms of citizenship regime. In their work on the transformation of citizenship practices in Canada, Jenson and Phillips (1996) stated that citizenship rights had come to revolve around organizations. They were adamant that organizations (or moral persons) were now at the core of our definition of citizenship: “A wide variety of institutions also shared a conceptualization of how citizens should gain access to the state. Individuals were not the primary actor in this vision; organizations were” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 117). In many ways, we propose the CCR framework as a tentative response to Jenson’s conclusions regarding the neoliberal dismantling of the postwar citizenship regime, which were based on the institutionalization of a large community of interests (see also Pal 1995). We affirm that a new form of citizenship regime has emerged, and that it is characterized by the institutional recognition of corporate citizens.

Ci t iz e n s h ip in W e s t e r n Poli ti cal Regi mes In his seminal work on citizenship, Marshall describes the evolution of citizenship rights as a long walk toward political and social equality. His book Citizenship and Social Class (1950) emphasizes how citizenship is not only about the right of individuals to participate in the electoral process. Citizenship instead refers to the sum of all rules and procedures that mediate the relations between the governed and those who govern. Jenson and Phillips define the citizenship regime in a similar manner. They see citizenship regime as all of the rules, norms, and laws that affect citizens’ access to state institutions. Therefore, they argue, it can be said that as “it defines rights or grants access, the state simultaneously engages in representing citizens to themselves” (1996, 214–15). Institutional arrangements that are put in place to manage access to state institutions are influenced by the historical and political context. In the context of postwar democracies, the institutionalization of organized interests was in large part an answer to the growing political mobilization of unrepresented (or under-represented) interestbased communities (Pal 1993). As Jenson and Phillips point out, in Canada, the first form of institutional response to this growing political mobilization was based on a recognition of national and social communities. Accordingly, the Canadian state granted political access

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to social communities by supporting intermediary institutions and giving them policy-making capacities: “To summarize the postwar citizenship regime, we could say the following. Democracy and the realization for the political rights of citizenship seemed to require both the regulation of and state support for basic institutions that were supposed to provide citizens with access to the elite” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 218). The rationale behind these actions was clear: “The logic … was that equitable access and fair competition were integral to the well-being of democracy” (Jenson and Phillips 2001, 78). In accordance with these objectives, the channels of political representation available to organized interests were subjected to formal procedures and norms aimed at managing whose voices were being heard and taken into account by decision makers.1 It is this precise feature of the citizenship regime that came under attack in the late 1980s and 1990s: “this old regime is being dismantled piece by piece and the scaffolding of what might replace it gradually emerges, although its eventual form is not yet completely identifiable. What is evident is that forms of access to and representation of interests within the state are changing fundamentally” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 212). As we will see, the institutionalization of large communities of interest, which was central to the postwar regime, is not a feature of C C R . In this emerging regime, the institutional recognition of organized political action takes the form of citizenship rights such as the right to lobby the government and to contribute money to candidates and parties.

T h e T r a n s it io n to Corporate C it iz e n s h ip  Regi me To a certain extent, Jenson and Phillips were well aware of what was coming after the institutional dismantlement initiated by the neoliberal governments of the 1980s and 1990s. They wrote that the new political context was one of individualized competition that could best be described as a “marketplace of ideas.” Our argument brings a new perspective on what they depicted as a general de-legitimization of group actions (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 212). We claim that organized political action is increasingly relegated to external channels of representation (like lobbying) and that the distribution of political access is not regulated by strict norms and procedures. From this perspective, lobbying, political spending, and the revolving door – which are all



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central corporate political strategies – became legitimate citizen practices as long as organizations complied with ethical and transparency rules. In addition, public office holders have virtually no obligations regarding who will be given access and whose voices will be taken into account. Thus, groups’ ability to gain access to political institutions “from outside the state” heavily depends on their own resources and mobilization capacities. The CCR is a response to our contemporary political environment, one in which the political mobilization and representation of voluntary (and member) groups have been overshadowed by corporate lobbying. As has been shown by Salisbury (1984), since the 1970s, the bulk of politically active organizations in Washington consists of corporations and public institutions, not large community or member groups (see also Schlozman and Tierney 1986). A quick review of the Canadian and European lobby registers confirms that these two lobbying communities are also mainly constituted of corporate lobbyists. On this point, we must consider that member associations and corporate / institutional lobbies are of a different nature: “A central distinction between an institution and interest group is that institutions have interests that are politically and analytically independent of the interests of particular institutional members. In part, this derives from the continuing nature of a corporate institution” (Salisbury 1984, 67–8). When we take this into account, it appears that the transition to the CCR has been guided by the central idea that corporate organizations – i.e., moral persons – and not national or social communities are the main vehicle for interest representation. In other words, modern societies went from a citizenship regime based on the institutional recognition of national and social communities to one based on corporate political rights. In brief, we could say that the marketplace of ideas mentioned by Jenson has developed into a corporate agora, which we define as an institutional space where organizations can access the government whenever they wish (or can). This institutional space consists of three channels of representation: lobbying, political spending, and the revolving door. By developing political strategies based on these practices, corporate organizations build pathways to power and make their claims heard by policymakers. In this sense, rules that regulate these political practices provide a formal definition of corporate political rights. The next sections explain how Western governments constructed CCR through a series of ethics and transparency laws and

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rules. They then propose a comparative analysis of corporate political rights in nine political systems.

Re g ul at in g C o r p o r at e Poli ti cal Acti vi ti es Over the last three decades, Western states have sanctioned corporate political rights through diverse sets of laws, rules, and judgments. In this regard, particular relevance is given to North American countries, since they were first-movers in enacting corporate lobbying and political spending rules. They were also the first to fully acknowledge the political role of organized interests. In the 1970s, Canada and the United States adopted new legal frameworks that required greater regulation and transparency of political parties’ financial activities. In the United States, two waves of campaign finance reform (in 1971 and 1974) resulted in corporate donation limits and the creation of the Federal Election Commission. In Canada, the inclusion of the notion of “third parties” in the Election Expenses Act (1974) has opened a long-lasting public debate on corporate advertisement spending. In these two countries, the most significant regulatory changes occurred in the last fifteen years. Canada and the US now have opposite positions when it comes to corporate advertisement and electoral spending. In 2010, the Supreme Court decision in the case of Citizens United v. FEC led to the prohibition of almost every type of legal limit on corporate political spending (Liptak 2010). On the Canadian side, the adoption of the Federal Accountability Act in 2006 sanctioned the complete prohibition of any kind of corporate financial contribution. Another set of policies concern the right of corporations to lobby the government outside of formal decision-making processes (public audiences, parliamentary commissions, legislative committees, etc.). The United States Congress, which is generally viewed as the institutional cradle of modern lobbying practices, has been among the first legislative bodies to regulate corporate lobbying. Adopted shortly before the Second World War, the Foreign Agents Registration Act (1938) required agents of foreign companies and governments to periodically disclose their identity as well as other information about their representation activities. Eight years later, the Legislative Reorganization Act (1946) extended part of these disclosure obligations to national lobbyists. As Thomas points out, these policies aimed at “monitoring rather than regulating” (1998, 150). Nevertheless, by putting in place monitoring mechanisms, the government tacitly



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admitted that the state had to address lobbying as a legitimate citizenship practice. Although this regulatory framework was weak and incomplete, it lasted almost fifty years, before being replaced by the Lobbying Disclosure Act (LDA) in 1995. Alongside Canada’s Lobbying Registration Law (L R L ) of 1988, the L D A laid the foundation of contemporary lobbying regulation by forcing lobbyists to disclose professional, financial, and political information in a public registry. Both pieces of legislation also regulate the behaviour of lobbyists and politicians by prohibiting certain practices (such as conditional gifts). Even more important for our purpose, these laws were the first to define lobbying as a fully legitimate citizen practice. Since the enactment of these laws, several waves of legislative modifications have strengthened and extended the obligations of lobbyists. Today, the regulatory models of the L DA and the L RL – which has since been renamed the Lobbying Act – are widely regarded as the most advanced legislations in the field of lobbying regulation (Chari, Hogan, and Murphy 2010; Hogan, Murphy, and Chari 2008; Holman and Luneburg 2012). Although generally weaker, similar regulatory models have been put in place in Europe (Chari, Hogan, and Murphy 2010; Greenwood and Dreger 2013; Holman and Luneburg 2012; Malone 2004). There have also been discussions on the relevance of these regulatory actions in many other countries (Coman 2006; Hrebenar, Nakainura, and Nakamura 1998; Jordan 1998; Ronit and Schneider 1998; Warhurst 1998; Yishai 1998). The final item of interest is related to post-employment rules and revolving door lobbyists. Revolving door lobbying, which can be defined as the movement of employees of the public sector to private sector jobs (and vice versa), has now become a subject of wide interest in the US and other Western countries. In the last decades, academics and research institutes such as the Center for Responsive Politics (C R P ) have come to recognize revolving door lobbying as one of the most important aspects of corporate political activities. Furthermore, most of the recent studies on revolving door lobbying back the claim that corporate organizations buy access and influence by hiring former public office holders (Blau, Brough, and Thomas 2013; Duchin and Sosyura 2012; LaPira and Thomas 2014; Lazarus and McKay 2012). Western governments have engineered postemployment rules to regulate this issue. In several countries, former public office holders are now subjected to cooling-off periods during which they must abstain from lobbying the government. These

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cooling-off periods are defined in lobbying legislations, but overlapping rules can be found in the ethics code and professional statements of public agency employees. The next section examines these regulatory fields, and looks at the state of corporate political rights in Western countries. As mentioned earlier, the transition to C C R is characterized by the institutional recognition of corporate spending and lobbying activities. In this regard, adopting a comparative perspective allows us to track the evolution of C C R in divergent institutional contexts.

C o r p o r at e P o l it i cal Ri ghts i n C o m pa r at iv e P ers pecti ves This section compares C C R in nine countries: Australia, Brazil, Canada, France, Germany, Mexico, the UK, the US, and New Zealand. When we look closely at each case, we see that the definition of corporate citizenship differs among Western states. But to what extent? What are the different approaches taken to regulate corporate political activities? To answer these questions, our analysis concentrates on legal and regulatory provisions that pertain to (a) the ban on corporate political donations, (b) the scope of lobbying rules, and (c) the scope of post-public employment rules. Some countries passed comprehensive laws that directly address corporate political activities. In many others, corporate political rights are defined by a series of administrative procedures. In these countries, the political status of corporations is much more confused. Finally, some of the countries have not yet engaged in the regulation of corporate political activities.

W h o B a n s C o r p o r ate Donati ons ? A n d W h o A l lows I t? Two opposite approaches have been taken to manage the role of corporate organizations in the funding of political campaigns and parties (OECD 2016, 22, 46–7). States that adhere to the first approach allow corporate donations. In many cases, like that of Canada before the 2006 reform, corporations are allowed to make political contributions, but governments put limits on corporate advertisement and electoral spending. Basically, it can be said that these states have granted associations and business corporations the right to donate money to political candidates and parties.



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In the second approach, corporate organizations are forbidden from making any financial contributions. A legal ban of this type may confirm that corporations have been formally driven out of political funding activities, but it does not inform us on the amount of resources allocated for the enforcement of such rules. As table 3.1 shows, Brazil, Canada, France, and Mexico have formally banned corporate donations and thus align with the second approach. By denying the right of corporations to contribute money to candidates and parties, these countries have considerably restricted the definition of corporate citizenship. On the opposite side, in Australia, Germany, New Zealand, and the United Kingdom, financial contributions coming from associations and business corporations are legal. These countries align with the first approach. In these cases, the corporate agora extends to the financial dimension of politics. The US, finally, is a special case. In the US, there is a formal ban on direct corporate donations, but organizations can still spend vast sums of money on elections and politics. In fact, since the 2010 Supreme Court judgment in the case of Citizens United v. FEC , the US is widely considered to be one of the most liberal countries with regard to corporate (political) spending rules.

W h o R e g u l at e s L o b b yi ng … and How? Lobbying regulation is central to the development of C C R since it legitimates informal spaces of representation, such as phone conversations, face-to-face exchanges, and other types of informal meeting involving public office holders and corporate spokespersons. It could be said that where there is no regulation of lobbying, there is also no institutional recognition of lobbying. With this perspective, a comparative look at lobbying rules can provide us with relevant information on the state of corporate political rights. Table 3.2 places all nine regulatory frameworks into three categories. The first category, “encompassing regulatory regimes,” includes countries that enacted legislations that (a) expressly recognize the legitimacy of lobbying and (b) extend to both executive and legislative branches. The second category, “disjointed regulatory regimes,” refers to countries that regulate lobbying directed at specific agencies or legislative bodies. The last category, “no regulatory framework,” includes countries where corporate lobbying is not (or is incompletely) regulated.

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Table 3.1  Corporate donation rules in Western countries States

Corporate donation rules

Australia

No ban

Brazil

Complete ban

Canada

Complete ban

France

Complete ban

Germany

No ban

Mexico

Complete ban

United Kingdom

No ban

United States of America

Partial ban

New Zealand

No ban

Source: International Institute for Democracy and Electoral Assistance (IDEA). For more information, see: “Is There a Ban on Corporate Donations to Political Parties?” International IDEA. https://www.idea.int/data-tools/regional-comparison-view/529/55.

While at first glance the most complete legislations are to be found in North America, other forms of regulation have emerged elsewhere. Most of the countries belong to the second category –­ Canada and the US being the only two countries with encompassing legislations. In these two countries, waves of regulatory reform originating from corruption scandals have led to the complete institutional recognition of executive and legislative lobbying (Boucher and Saint-Martin 2012; Saint-Martin 2008). In Brazil, France, Germany, and Mexico, lobbying regulation consists of a series of procedural norms and rules that cover legislative lobbying activities. Rules regarding the registration of lobbying directed at upper and lower chambers are in place, although their enforcement seems to pose significant problems in some countries, particularly in Brazil and Mexico (Dos Santos and Da Costa 2014; OECD 2014a). Among these cases, Australia is particularly interesting. Contrary to most countries, the regulatory obligations stipulated by the Australian state only cover lobbying activities directed at government departments. There are no legal provisions concerning legislative lobbying. We know that lobbying is an integral part of both executive and legislative processes. In all these five countries, however, lobbying is only partially regulated, and its legitimacy is defined narrowly. In the UK, political debates on lobbying regulation have mostly revolved around the peculiarities of British political culture (Jordan



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Table 3.2  Lobbying regulation in Western countries States

Lobbying regulation type

Australia

Disjointed regulatory regime

Brazil

Disjointed regulatory regime

Canada

Encompassing regulatory regime

France

Disjointed regulatory regime

Germany

Disjointed regulatory regime

Mexico

Disjointed regulatory regime

United Kingdom

No regulatory framework

United States of America

Encompassing regulatory regime

New Zealand

No regulatory framework

1998). A mandatory register for consultant lobbyists has been in place since 2015. Nevertheless, the legal framework on which it relies is highly incomplete. First, only consultant lobbyists, and not in-house lobbyists, are required to register. Second, lobbying activities aimed at legislative branch members and employees are not included. These rules are (wholly) incomplete and still too weak to be viewed as a form of institutional recognition of lobbying. Finally, no legal provision or rule defines the political status of lobbyists in New Zealand. Discussions on regulating lobbying activities did not led to significant political action. Consequently, lobbying is not recognized as a legitimate practice.

Re vo lv in g D o o r L o b b y i ng as Corporate P o l it ic a l Acti vi ty Most recent surveys on ethics and transparency rules show that almost all Western countries have passed legal obligations or rules to prevent former public office holders from lobbying the government for a certain period of time (OE C D 2010, 2014a, 2015). In all but one of our cases, governments regulate revolving door lobbying through cooling-off periods. Yet many countries have enacted rules that only cover certain categories of government officials. Also, the length of cooling-off periods imposed on former public office holders differs

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Table 3.3  Revolving door regulation in Western countries States

Revolving door regulation

Australia

Limited regulatory framework

Brazil

Limited regulatory framework

Canada

Comprehensive regulatory framework

France

Limited regulatory framework

Germany

Limited regulatory framework

Mexico

Limited regulatory framework

United Kingdom

Limited regulatory framework

United States of America

Comprehensive regulatory framework

New Zealand

No regulation

from one country to another. They range from a period of less than two years (in Australia, for instance) to a period of five years (in Canada, for instance). The scope of cooling-off periods has a significant impact on the institutional recognition of revolving door practices. Table 3.3 indicates that the rules in place in Canada and the US regulate former employees and members of both the executive and legislative branches. As for Australia, Brazil, Mexico, and the UK, they only regulate the post-public career of certain categories of executive officials. Australian regulations impose a short cooling-off period to ministers and their executive and parliamentary staff. In the UK, former ministers must refrain from lobbying the government for a period of two years. Similarly, in Germany and France, cooling-off periods mostly target officials in the executive branch. In Brazil, only senior officials in the executive branch are subjected to this type of rule. Aside from a few cases, legislative branch members are exempted from revolving door regulation. Lastly, New Zealand is the only country that has not taken action to regulate the post-public career of civil servants and politicians. Nonetheless, if we look at other Western and Eastern European countries, it appears that New Zealand is not an exception. A long list of European societies have not yet taken a position on revolving door lobbying – Austria, Belgium, Estonia, Finland, Hungary, Luxembourg, Norway, Poland, and Sweden being the most notable examples (OECD 2014a, 71).



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Revolving door lobbying has been acknowledged as a legitimate political practice in almost every political system under study. On this basis, we can conclude that, despite their institutional differences, a considerable number of governments have agreed on the importance of adopting norms to regulate this aspect of corporate political activities.

C o r p o r at e C it iz e n shi p Beyond R e p r e s e n tat io nal Ri ghts So far, our study of C C R has only addressed two dimensions of the citizenship regime. We have described how legal and regulatory provisions regarding lobbying, corporate donations, and revolving door practices have brought fundamental changes to what Jenson calls the dimension of right and duties (Jenson 2007b, 55–6). They have done so by sanctioning (or rejecting) the political rights of corporate organizations. Complementing these findings, we have also explained how these rules affect the dimension of governance arrangement, which can be defined as “the institutional mechanisms giving access to the state, the modes of participation in civic life and public debates, and the legitimacy of specific types of claims-making” (Jenson 2007b, 56). It is clear, though, that the ascent of corporate organizations in the economical and political spheres of modern societies has had major consequences for other dimensions of citizenship. Paradoxically, corporate organizations, which are still presented as “creatures of the market,” are now seen as bearing important civic, environmental, and social responsibilities. In contemporary social and management sciences, the idea of corporate social responsibility is closely linked to that of the good corporate citizen, in contravention to the classic neoliberal motto coined by Friedman: “The social responsibility of business (corporations) is to increase its profits” (Friedman 1970). These new ways of considering corporations and their role in society are redefining the responsibility mix between the state and private organizations. In fact, since the partial dismantling of welfare policies, new ideas and instruments revolving around a social investment perspective that “recognizes a legitimate role for state actions” (Jenson 2010b, 63) have emerged. National states and business corporations are now envisioned as organizational partners in the elaboration and implementation of social and environmental programs aimed at the betterment of society. All in all, these changes are indicative of a

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significant shift in the public-private boundary that was at the centre of the neoliberal ideal of the minimalist state. We could also argue that, in the contemporary context of globalization, CCR has indirect effects on the definition of citizens’ membership. Indeed, in some cases, the transition to CCR has led to the granting of national citizenship rights to foreign organizations. For instance, in most countries, foreign multinational corporations have the same right to lobby the government as every other domestic organization. On the other hand, we find severe restrictions in other regulatory fields, which points to the maintenance of the national boundaries of citizenship. For instance, in countries where corporate donations are allowed, it is common to prohibit financial contributions coming from foreign organizations. Taking this into account, we should be aware that the transition to C C R is a global process that affects all aspects of citizenship. While our study mainly focuses on two specific dimensions of the citizenship regime, it seems fair to say that these changes in the political status of corporate organizations are part of a larger process that goes beyond representational rights.

C o n c l u s io n : T h e C h angi ng States o f   C o r p o r at e P o li ti cal Ri ghts Derived from Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime, the framework proposed in this chapter casts new light on the state of corporate political rights in contemporary societies. This chapter has shown the potential of the concept of citizenship regime for studying emerging forms of (corporate) political rights, some of which challenge the classical boundaries between the public and the private. This comprehensive approach also helps assess and compare the evolution of corporate political rights in divergent institutional and political contexts. Many questions have been left unanswered, however. For instance, our conclusions say almost nothing about the factors that led governments to adopt a liberal or restricted definition of corporate citizenship. The concept of citizenship regime was first used to track the evolution of social movements. For example, Jenson’s work on the Canadian citizenship regime highlights changes in the discourses and practices of the women’s rights movement. One of its research objectives was to study the “changing processes whereby representations involving



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women, their rights and needs, have been sidelined and replaced by those of children” (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004, 154). Such an approach has shown us how “the strategic choice of a name not only opens the space for making some claims but shuts out others. It identified the community of interest, and by limiting the range of actors involved, it closed the door to certain groups” (173). In this regard, our theoretical suggestions have notable limits. The CCR framework, as we have defined it in this chapter, does not directly address the discourses and practices of social movements. Rather, it focuses on the institutionalization of corporate political rights and the global impact on social and political struggles. Its contribution to our understanding of specific communities of interest is therefore more limited. More generally, however, the changes in the political status of corporations can significantly affect the advocacy and political strategies of social rights movements and other organized interests. In conclusion, by showing that there is a shared movement toward the institutional recognition of corporate citizens, we have emphasized how the transition to CCR is a general process affecting a great number of (if not all) Western societies. At the same time, it is clear that structures and dynamics specific to each country have a great effect on the political status of corporate organizations. Just like other ethic norms that regulate the behaviour of politicians and civil servants (SaintMartin 2014), corporate spending, lobbying, and revolving door rules are deeply affected by institutional and political contexts. If the transition to C C R is a general process, the legislative and / or regulatory actions that are the outcomes of this process remain embedded in each individual institutional environment.

no t e   1 In reality, however, it did not necessarily lead to an equal distribution of access: “To say that the citizenship regime gave legitimacy to such claims and claimants [social groups] does not mean that everyone had equal or even fair access … [However,] the recognition of the particular needs of disadvantaged groups for access to the state provided a protected institutional space for claims-making” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 219).

4 Structure, Agency, and the Reconfiguration of Indigenous Citizenship in Canada Martin Pap illon

On 8 December 2015, the Government of Canada announced the launch of an inquiry to address violence against Indigenous women and girls (INAC 2015). The announcement was hailed as an important victory for Indigenous women and their allies. It came after much resistance from the previous government, who refused to see any structural roots to the disproportionate number of Indigenous women victims of violence in Canada. This announcement was followed on 26 January 2016 by a scathing decision by the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal condemning the federal government for systematically underfunding on-reserve First Nation child and family services. The discrepancies in the availability and quality of care between First Nation children living on reserves and other Canadians are so deep, the Tribunal concluded, that they amount to racial discrimination (CHRT 2016). For the Tribunal, First Nations children were (and still are) treated as second-class citizens in Canada. Contrast these two recent episodes with an event that made headlines around the same time. In November 2015, the Chief of the Assembly of First Nations of Quebec and Labrador, Ghislain Picard, received a standing ovation when he declared to a Parti Québécois audience that he was a proud sovereignist. Except, the Parti Québécois members soon realized, he was not talking about Quebec sovereignty. He was talking about the right to self-determination of his own nation, the Innu peoples. His political allegiance, he specified, was not to Quebec or Canada, but to the Innu Nation (Dutrisac 2015).



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These recent events illustrate the ambiguous legacy of settler colonialism in Canada. On the one hand, Indigenous peoples are asserting through the language of self-determination a certain distance from Canada’s citizenship regime. On the other, they are actively making claims for greater recognition of their reality within this regime, as the campaign for an inquiry into missing and murdered Indigenous women and the legal battle to have First Nations children receive the same access to care as other Canadians suggest. This chapter builds on the concept of citizenship regime to unpack Indigenous peoples’ complex relationship with political membership in the Canadian community and make sense of contemporary changes in Indigenous-settler relations. Throughout Canada’s colonial history, Indigenous peoples were progressively subjugated by the Canadian state and forcibly included in the citizenship regime. In the process, their own forms of citizenship were destroyed and replaced with a ward-like status. A central aspect of this internalization process associated with settler colonialism is the denial of any form of agency for First Nations, Inuit, and Métis in defining their relationship to the state. Indigenous peoples are today reclaiming this agency and, in the process, redefining their relationship to Canadian citizenship.1 From a theoretical standpoint, this chapter illustrates how the concept of citizenship regime can be employed to understand contemporary Indigenous politics, but it also underscores some of its limits. Regimes are not fixed abstractions. They are the concrete product of politics at a given time and in a given place. Agency is therefore crucial to understand how specific regimes are produced and transformed over time. The concept of citizenship regime, with its focus on the structural dimensions of citizenship, must therefore be augmented with a theory of agency in order to account for current shifts in Indigenous-state relations. I suggest Jane Jenson’s earlier work on the politics of representation as particularly useful in this respect as it offers an analytical lens through which to look at the interplay of citizenship as a set of structural constraints (the citizenship regime) and as a form of agency (citizenship practice) in the transformation of Indigenous-state relations. Contemporary Indigenous claims also create a number of conceptual challenges for our understanding of the interplay of structure and agency in the transformation of the citizenship regime. This chapter underlines three such challenges and suggests avenues to address them. The first challenge has to do with the specific legacy of citizenship as

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a colonial institution and the consequent nature of Indigenous agency. This renewed agency, as the examples above suggest, takes place simultaneously through claims for greater inclusion and recognition within Canada’s citizenship regime and through various processes of citizenship building from without. This double movement of citizenship activism from within and from without challenges the classic view of citizenship claims as claims for inclusion in the regime. Indigenous politics suggest a different understanding of citizenship practices as a form of self-determination that involve an explicit refusal of the state regime and the reassertion of identities, norms, and practices rooted in pre-existing forms of political membership. What is emerging through such practices is a hybrid understanding of Indigenous citizenship, simultaneously part of Canada’s regime and radically distinct from it. The concept of citizenship regime needs to be adapted to account for these types of self-determination practices. The second, and related, challenge I want to underline is the concept’s analytical focus on the state as the main (and possibly sole) scale of citizenship struggles. The conceptualization of citizenship as an historically situated regime of rights, supported by a set of institutionalized modes of access to facilitate the exercise of those rights, is closely associated with the work of Marshall (1965b). In Marshall’s model, the assumption was that the boundaries of citizenship had to correspond to those of the nation-sate: one state, one citizenship, one community of citizens. This assumption can be questioned today, as the balance of responsibilities in securing rights and providing meaning to social relations is shifting away from the state, towards markets and communities. As a result, the sites of production of citizenship are more diffused. They have shifted not only above and below the national level typically associated with political membership, but also, and more importantly, outside the institutionalized modes of access and claims-making associated with the state. This post-Marshallian context creates both new challenges and new avenues for Indigenous self-determination practices. Which brings me to the final conceptual challenge I want to underline: the conception of change embedded in the notion of regime. The concept of citizenship regime is in part inspired by Jenson’s earlier foray into French regulation theory. It focuses on the institutions, norms, and accepted practices that are reproduced over time and that form a stable framework that structures, organizes, and limits how a state interacts with its citizens. To be sure, as Jenson and Phillips



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suggest in their seminal 1996 article, regimes, like all institutions, are social constructs that change over time. The assumption is, however, that regimes, once established, become relatively stable. Change, as Jenson and Phillips put it, occurs “in time of crisis” and at moments of “economic and political turbulence,” when the regime “opens up” to alternative modes of representation (1996, 112). While regime change can certainly be understood as a break with the past, the example of ongoing Indigenous citizenship transformations suggests it can also be conceived as a slow, incremental process (Streeck and Thelen 2005), under which alternate models of citizenship coexist with old ones, without fully displacing them. Regime change, in other words, may be a more continuous (and messier) process than initially suggested by the concept. In the coming pages, I first elaborate on the place of structure and agency in our conceptualization of the citizenship regime and its evolution over time. I then look back at the history of settler-colonial citizenship in Canada and underline the role of citizenship-related policies in the subjugation of Indigenous peoples. In the last section, I discuss how the tensions between contemporary Indigenous selfdetermination activism and Canada’s citizenship regime are unravelling through the layering of new citizenship practices over state norms and rules, simultaneously from within and from without. These new citizenship practices, I suggest, are both facilitated by and very much in reaction to structural shifts in Canada’s post-Marshallian citizenship regime.

T he or iz in g C h a n g e in Ci ti zens hi p Regi mes In its contemporary form, citizenship is first and foremost an institution linking members of the political community to a state. The content, nature, and extent of this relationship is structured by norms, rules, and practices established over time to form what Jenson calls a citizenship regime. By articulating the rights associated with political membership; the modes of access to exercise such rights; the allocation of responsibilities between the state, markets, and communities for the well-being of citizens; and the conditions of belonging, a citizenship regime defines the meaning, the content, and the boundaries of political membership. The citizenship regime “encodes within it a paradigmatic representation of the model citizen … It also encodes representation of proper and legitimate social relations as well as the borders of public

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and private” (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004). As I discuss below, the codes of belonging associated with successive historical versions of the Canadian regime were explicitly designed to exclude Indigenous forms of political membership. In this respect, the Canadian citizenship regime was (and still is) a deeply colonial institution. The work of Marshall is fundamental to understanding the concept of citizenship regime as it relates to the modern state. It is through the progressive expansion of citizenship rights, from civil to political and then social (some today would add cultural, see Kymlicka 2007), that the state regulates the inherent tensions between liberal democracy and market capitalism. Class inequalities, Marshall argued, are made tolerable thanks to the progressive expansion of egalitarian citizenship (1965b, 102). Citizenship, he suggested, is therefore not an abstract principle: it is an historical construct – the product of social relations and political struggles in a given place and at a given time. The content, boundaries, and scale of citizenship regimes can therefore vary from one place to another, but also in time within the same political community, as existing configurations come under stress (Jenson 1997, 628). The question, then, becomes when, how, and why does a regime change? Drawing from her earlier work on the politics of representation, Jenson (1989b, 1993) theorizes regime change as a dialectical process between structure and agency, as mediated by discursive practices. Change occurs when the regime of rights, the modes of access to those rights, and the balance of responsibilities between the state, markets, and society can no longer sustain the inherent tensions between different representations of the political community (Jenson 1997, 628). It is therefore through representation strategies – that is, the act of naming oneself in relation to others – that actors produce agency and engage in transformative citizenship practices. It is worth quoting Dobrowolsky and Jenson at length here: Names are never essences. The action of naming involves representation of the collective identity [for which] a movement speaks. This naming is the result of strategic choices with real consequences. First, selecting a name sets discursive boundaries, making some claims meaningful and others less relevant. Second, a name generates strategic resources. Drawing boundaries around a community makes the resources of that community available and generates the solidarity necessary for successful



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action. Third, the naming of one’s group locates it in relationship to others, therefore creating possibilities for alliances and drawing opponents. Fourth, a name has consequences for the routing of claims through state institutions. Routes to representation become available in accordance with the name selected. Thus, in terms of citizenship claims, we can see that making choices about names – that is, by their representational strategies – actors generate an imaginary of the boundaries of inclusion and exclusion. (2004, 157; see also Jenson and Papillon 2000b) The citizenship regime is a structural concept. It evokes stability and reproduction of power structures over time. But as the above quote suggests, citizenship is also a practice – an act of collective representation in relation to the citizenship regime. To conceptualize citizenship as both a regime and a practice allows us to unpack the role of agency in regime change. It is through citizenship practices (acts of representation) that actors reproduce, challenge, and ultimately transform how they relate to the regime. The assumption, however, is that representation (that is, the production of agency) is necessarily structured and channelled through the regime. This may well be true for most citizenship claims, especially those involving demands for recognition from within – for example, claims for the recognition of gender equality in terms of rights or modes of access, or for the recognition of certain groups in the national narrative, or for the rebalancing of responsibilities between state, markets, and communities. Some of these claims, as many of the contributions to this volume suggest, challenge the content and the boundaries of the regime, but always from within, through more or less institutionalized modes of representation. As Tully (2000a, 2008) notes, routes to representation for Indigenous peoples do not always pass through state institutions. In fact, settlercolonial state institutions, and by extension the settler-colonial citizenship regime, have long negated Indigenous peoples’ agency by progressively and unilaterally shifting their status from sovereign polities to wards of the state. Indigenous peoples, like women and other minority groups, have historically been defined by the state as outsiders looking in; as subaltern subjects, incapable of possessing the qualities required for citizenship. The very condition for their recognition as political subjects was that they renounce their own political systems and subjectivities as, for example, Anishinabek, Cree, or Mi’kmaq.

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They were expected to disappear within the regime. Under such conditions, the act of naming oneself takes a wholly different meaning. For Indigenous peoples, the act of naming oneself and defining one’s own boundary rules is an act of resistance to the regime (Tully 2008). A classic example is the insistence of some Mohawk nationals to use the Haudenosaunee passport when they cross international borders (see Simpson 2014 for an analysis of the symbolic function of such acts of resistance). Another example is the practice in a growing number of First Nations to develop their own constitution, inspired both by modern democratic principles and traditional values and governance practices (Borrows 2016). Like state-driven citizenship practices, these acts of self-determination play a boundary-setting function, but they are explicitly set against the rules of inclusion established by the state. They therefore suggest a very different type of citizenship practice, one not constructed in a relation with the state but as a form of resistance to the colonial state, or as Simpson (2014) argues, as acts of refusal in the face of an imposed regime. This brings me to my second analytical point, which has to do with the context under which such acts of citizenship as refusal are taking place. The concept of citizenship regime was developed in the 1990s as the Canadian state was undergoing profound transformations associated with neoliberal retrenchment. The “model” (ideal-typical) citizenship regime in that context was the postwar welfare state and its related conception of citizenship ­– again, most closely associated with the work of Marshall. The state played a central role in this postwar regime, not only as a site of political struggles for recognition but also as the main producer of boundary-setting recognition practices (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 113). Citizenship, the assumption was, is intimately connected to the nation-state, both in its content and its territorial reach. While the state obviously still matters, its hegemonic position in defining the boundaries and content of the citizenship regime can today be legitimately questioned. In her own work, Jenson already notes the limits of Marshall’s spatial conceptualization of citizenship in strict national-territorial terms, but citizenship claims remain ultimately directed at the state (Jenson 1993, 1997; Jenson and Papillon 2000b). I discuss further below some of the important shifts associated with what I define as post-Marshallian citizenship, under which the state can no longer be assumed to be the sole site of citizenship formation and transformation. Under this post-Marshallian regime,



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citizenship is less strictly about a relationship to a state (as the concept of regime implies) and more about the nesting of multiple communities of belonging. While still central in regulating these nested communities, the state is more permeable to market relations and to differentiated and multilayered forms of political belonging, therefore creating both new challenges and new space for actors, like Indigenous peoples, to carve out their own citizenship. The final theoretical point I want to make has to do with the logic of regime change. The notion of regime, as outlined by Jenson in her 1997 presidential address to the Canadian Political Science Association, draws its inspiration from Marshall, but also from French regulation theory and Anglo-American neo-institutionalism. The analytical focus is therefore on stability: a regime is a stabilized form of social relations that are reproduced over time and “do not alter quickly or easily” (Jenson and Phillips 1996, 113). Change occurs when the regime of rights, the modes of access to those rights, and the balance of responsibilities between the state, markets, and society can no longer sustain the inherent tensions between different representations of the political community (Jenson 1997, 628). Change, in this perspective, follows a punctuated equilibrium model, under which more or less long periods of stability are followed by short but intense periods of change, triggered by economic or political forces. It is during such moments of “crisis” and “instability” that the regime opens up to different representations from social actors seeking greater recognition within the regime (Jenson and Phillips 1996). This conceptualization of change, as a relatively focused event that unfolds under specific circumstances that are themselves triggered by external political or economic shifts does not resonate with the experience of Indigenous peoples. If anything, change has been slow and incremental rather than crisis-driven (Papillon 2012a). Citizenship regimes, like other forms of institutionalized social relations, are in fact more likely to evolve over time and adapt to changing circumstances than to unravel quickly. This is one of the lessons learned from the transformation of the welfare state in advanced industrialized societies in the past thirty years. The embeddedness of welfare regimes has resulted in patterns of path dependency (Pierson 2004) and evolutionary change (Streeck and Thelen 2005; Hacker 2005), under which the scope and direction of change are contingent on policy legacies and pre-existing configurations in social and political relations between key actors.

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Adopting an evolutionary perspective on regime change forces us to look at different mechanisms through which change occurs. Building on the work of Streeck and Thelen (2005), I suggest below that the reconfiguration of Indigenous citizenship in the Canadian context occurred less through a break with the (colonial) past than through the layering of new citizenship constructs over pre-existing ones. As Indigenous peoples mobilize to challenge their position in relation to Canadian citizenship, they develop an alternative representation of their own political communities, and with it, rules, norms, and practices that both challenge and coexist with the Canadian regime. As this alternative conception of citizenship becomes institutionalized in governance practices above and below the state, new regimes are progressively layered over the old one, without displacing it. There is, in other words, no complete rupture with the colonial regime as changes takes place simultaneously from within and from without.

In d ig e n o u s Peoples a n d S e t t l e r- C o l o n ial Ci ti zens hi p Settler colonialism is a process through which a permanent settler society takes control of a territory previously occupied by Indigenous peoples and incrementally imposes its laws, governing institutions, and economic system onto the original inhabitants. In the process, the Indigenous population is displaced, marginalized, and / or forcibly assimilated into the now dominant settler citizenship regime (Wolfe 2006). In the Canadian context, the process of land dispossession, displacement, and forced incorporation is well-documented (R C A P 1996; T R C 2015). Historic land cession treaties, the creation of reserves, the management of the Indigenous population through the Indian Act, and of course the residential school system, are all core mechanisms associated with the progressive assertion of settler authority over Indigenous peoples. The global Indigenous movement is largely constructed as a struggle against this type of settler colonialism and for the resurgence of Indigenous identities, cultures, and political systems (Niezen 2003; Alfred and Corntassel 2005). Beyond this common struggle, however, lies diversity. In the Canadian context, not all Indigenous peoples share a similar view as to their position in relation to the citizenship regime, nor do they formally experience citizenship in the same way, depending on their legal status.



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Under section 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982, the Canadian state recognizes three categories of “Aboriginal peoples”: Indians (First Nations), Inuit, and Métis. Only members of First Nations live on reserves and can qualify for Indian status, an inherited legal category that entitles one to some (limited) federal benefits. Moreover, a number of individuals who claim a First Nation identity are not considered “Status Indians” under Canadian law, many as a result of discriminatory rules that specifically targeted Indigenous women who married non-Indigenous men (Grammond 2009; Lawrence 2003). To further complicate matters, some Indigenous nations have a treaty-based relationship with the Canadian state that guarantees them specific rights (mostly to do with traditional activities on the land), which reinforces the notion of dual citizenship. Others have never negotiated or consented to their inclusion in the Canadian polity through a treaty and still see Canadian citizenship as a somewhat foreign institution. More recently, a number of Indigenous communities and nations have also negotiated self-government agreements that establish in law a dual model of citizenship. It is therefore perilous to write of Indigenous citizenship as a single reality. That being said, all Indigenous peoples share a common colonial experience that very much defines, to this day, their relationship with political membership. The relationship between Indigenous peoples and Canada’s citizenship regime can be divided into four main historical periods.2 The first period, predating the formation of the Canadian state, is often defined as a time of coexisting sovereignties between Indigenous societies and the European colonial powers that fought for control over the land. It was a period in which a plurality of legal and political orders cohabitated in North America. This coexistence of European and Indigenous systems was far from peaceful, but it was nonetheless based on an understanding that Indigenous nations had their own laws, customs, political institutions, and membership rules, the equivalent of what today would be a citizenship regime. No formal sense of shared citizenship regime existed beyond ongoing diplomatic alliances.3 Succeeding this period of coexisting and mutually exclusive regimes was a period of colonial expansion that saw the assertion of British, then Canadian, sovereignty and the subsequent denial of pre-existing Indigenous polities, with their own rules, norms, and citizenship practices. Under the settler-colonial regime that progressively took

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root after the Royal Proclamation of 1763, the more southern Indigenous peoples were dispossessed from their lands, excluded from political decision making, and eventually governed under a regime of tutelage. Inuit and First Nations located in the northern territories of the British North American empire received less attention from the state, as their presence was less of an obstacle to permanent colonial settlement. The Métis population, it was assumed, would eventually be fully assimilated into the new colonial settlements (C. Andersen 2014; Russell 2017). As subaltern subjects of the Crown, Indigenous peoples were therefore no longer considered autonomous polities with their own citizenship regimes, but neither were they considered full members of the still-developing colonial polity. For First Nations, this subordination culminated with the 1876 Indian Act, which consolidated into a single statute the colonial legislation that progressively transformed southern Indigenous societies into wards of the state.4 The purpose of the Act was to “protect Indians” from the settler society, until they were considered suitable for political membership: Our Indian legislation rests on the principle, that the aborigines are to be kept in a condition of tutelage and treated as wards or children of the State … The true interests of the aborigines and of the State alike require that every effort should be made to aid the Red man in lifting himself out of his condition of tutelage … It is clearly our wisdom and our duty, through education and every other means, to prepare him for a higher civilization. (Canada 1876) Without the franchise and basic civil rights (including the right to own private property), without proper access to decision-making authorities, and under complete state tutelage in socio-economic terms, Indigenous individuals were simultaneously denied political autonomy and excluded from the fledgling Canadian citizenship regime, unless they renounced, through enfranchisement, their status and identity as “Indians.” The boundaries of the citizenship regime and its mode of access were, in effect, explicitly designed to exclude them and reduce them to a ward-like status. The third significant period in Indigenous­-state relations corresponds to the rapid expansion of the welfare state in the postwar period. It can be defined as a period of formal incorporation of



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Indigenous peoples into Canada’s modern citizenship regime. At a time of egalitarian politics and universal rights, the discriminatory regime of the Indian Act and the dramatic socio-economic situation in many First Nations, Inuit, and Métis communities became increasingly difficult to justify. The federal government progressively moved towards expanding most benefits of citizenship to Indigenous peoples. The franchise was expanded first to Inuit and Métis, then to Status Indians who served in the Second World War, and then, in 1960, to all Indigenous individuals, without consideration of their status. In the spirit of the time, the objective was to end the discriminatory practices of the past and create a single citizenship regime for all Canadians, no matter their origins and identities. Again though, Indigenous peoples were denied any form of agency in shaping how this inclusion would take place. In 1948, a joint committee of the House of Commons and the Senate recommended the full expansion of welfare benefits to Status Indians on reserves and the transfer of federal responsibilities for on-reserve services to provincial governments in order to facilitate the integration of Status Indians into the pan-Canadian citizenship regime. The same logic motivated the 1969 White Paper on Indian policy (Canada 1969), which unilaterally proposed to abolish the Indian Act, put an end to treaties, and dismantle the federal Department of Indian Affairs in order to treat Indigenous Canadians like all other citizens. The White Paper is a product of postwar Marshallian citizenship. It was a boundary-setting policy designed to taper off differences. The federal government saw in equality of status and the principle of universality the best guarantees against discrimination and exclusion. As then prime minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau declared in defence of the controversial policy proposal: “It is inconceivable, I think, that in a given society one section of the society have treaty with the other section of the society. We must all be equal under the laws and we must not sign treaties amongst ourselves” (Cumming and Mickenberg 1972).5 The reaction of the Indigenous leadership to the White Paper and its integrationist logic marked another turning point in Indigenousstate relations in Canada. This period is characterized by renewed Indigenous activism as (federally funded) political organizations like the National Indian Brotherhood (which later became the Assembly of First Nations) reframed the question of political membership in the language of self-determination and nation-to-nation relationships.

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As Indigenous peoples progressively regained their agency, the question was no longer if they should assimilate into the Canadian polity but rather how their distinct status could be recognized by the Canadian state. Debates over recognition have since played out in multiple forums. The recognition of Aboriginal and treaty rights in the Constitution Act, 1982, is a major advance in this respect, as it opened new avenues for Indigenous peoples to challenge the Canadian regime through the courts, with some success. In 1983, a committee of the House of Commons also recommended for the first time the negotiation of nation-based self-government agreements with Indigenous communities. Almost ten years later, the failed Charlottetown Accord would have created a third order of governments in the federation through the formal recognition of Indigenous peoples’ inherent right to selfgovernment in the constitution. A similar proposal was at the core of the final report of the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (R C A P 1996). While Indigenous peoples made significant gains during this period, there are inherent limits to this model of state-driven recognition (Coulthard 2014). The R C A P ’s nation-to-nation vision of a postcolonial Canada perhaps best illustrates the tension between Marshallian citizenship and Indigenous claims for renewed agency in defining the boundaries of their own communities. The RCAP report, written in the 1990s, tried to reconcile Marshallian citizenship with a nationto-nation vision of Indigenous-state relations. It proposed a model of double citizenship, under which Indigenous peoples would be citizens of their nations and also members of the Canadian community. The report was rejected by advocates of Indigenous self-determination for not going far enough in breaking the colonial bind. It was also rejected by those defending a more classic vision of state-bound citizenship, this time for going too far in fragmenting the political community into parallel, mutually exclusive societies (Cairns 2000). Between undifferentiated integration, White Paper style, and nation-to-nation differentiation, the impasse appeared intractable.

In d ig e n o u s C it iz e n s hi p Practi ces in P o s t- M a rs h a lli an Ti mes Indigenous agency re-emerged in the aftermath of the White Paper and in following years largely in reaction to Marshallian-style



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integration pressures. Indigenous activism today continues to challenge the boundaries of the Canadian regime. The context, however, is quite different. In her seminal work on citizenship regimes, Jenson already noted the progressive unravelling of the postwar regime, characterized by an egalitarian ethic centred on the nation-state. The expansion of market relations into the social realm and the globalization of trade, two shifts often associated with neoliberalism, were major drivers of what Jenson (1997) defined as “interesting times.” Twenty years later, we have a better idea of the impact of those transformations on the citizenship regime. First, the content of citizenship has changed, as the role of the state in relation to markets and communities has shifted. Again, the work of Jenson on the social investment state is useful here (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003). Instead of focusing on rights entitlements and redistributive measures designed to protect individuals and communities against the polarizing effects of the market, the state now focuses on facilitating individual and community participation in market relations through targeted “social investments.” The goal is no longer to ensure a uniform regime. Instead, the relation to the state is increasingly variegated according to needs and contexts. While rights are still central to the production of common membership, the emphasis has shifted from an egalitarian, universalistic, and uniform logic to a more differentiated (some would say fragmented) and flexible regime that is responsive to market imperatives, local contexts, and specific conditions. The second shift associated with post-Marshallian citizenship is in the spatial configuration of the regime. As Graefe puts it, the “postwar compromise included a spatial project of attempting to integrate local communities and institutions into coherent and relatively homogenous national systems of regulation, redistribution, administration” (2005, 5). Trade liberalization, regional integration, and a renewed emphasis on place-specific governance have led to the multiplication of sites for claims-making and representation of interest upwards to transnational bodies and downwards to local and regional spaces. The result is a more complex spatial diffusion of citizenship practices from the local to the global and a corresponding diffusion of political identities (Jenson and Papillon 2000b). Again, this is not to say that the national state is no longer relevant, but rather that citizenship practices are less and less bounded to a single territorial scale. As

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rights claims and collective identity formation transcend the state, the boundaries of the citizenship regime also become more diffused. The reproduction over successive generations of fairly resilient diasporic identities among immigrants is one example of this shift. Another is the production of multiscalar mobilization strategies by social movements (Grundy and Smith 2005). The current post-Marshallian moment is therefore characterized less by a radical break with state-bound citizenship than by incremental shifts, as other representations of citizenship are layered over the state regime. Although incremental in nature, these changes create a significantly different context for Indigenous peoples seeking to reassert their agency in relation to the settler-colonial state. Between the contrasting models of undifferentiated integration (the White Paper model) and nation-to-nation coexistence (the RCAP model), I suggest that a more nuanced and complex reality is emerging today as Indigenous peoples both face the challenges of market-driven citizenship and take advantage of the loosening of the national-­ territorial bind to engage in regime-altering citizenship practices (See Papillon 2012b for a similar argument). In building on the work of Tully, who distinguishes between Indigenous struggles of freedom and for freedom (2000a), contemporary Indigenous citizenship practices can also be understood as a double movement of citizenship and for citizenship ­– that is, for recognition and inclusion within the statebound citizenship regime and for the reassertion, through acts of self-determination, of pre-existing forms of citizenship that exist independently of the state. While they may appear to contradict each other, these two movements for citizenship inclusion and differentiation are occurring simultaneously, sometimes even within the same acts of representation. The following are a series of short examples to illustrate this point. One example of this double movement is the mobilization that led to the Canadian Human Rights Tribunal decision on the discriminatory nature of on-reserve First Nations child and family services. The decision is the product of a tireless campaign by a group of activists led by Cindy Blackstock and the First Nations Child and Family Caring Society of Canada against a federal attempt to shift the responsibility for children protection services on reserves onto markets and communities, without guaranteeing sufficient funding to provide adequate services (Blackstock 2013). In a sense, the campaign is a classic example of a group making citizenship claims in



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reaction to a policy associated with a post-Marshallian (and neoliberal) approach to social programs. The plaintiffs argued that the federal program was discriminatory because it resulted in systematic underfunding for Indigenous children in need compared to what is available to Canadian children off-reserves through provincial child protection services. The Indigenous activists behind the case also used a classic route to representation in the Canadian regime (the courts system and equality rights). It was clear, however, that the settlercolonial institutions were the real target of the legal action. What was at stake for the plaintiffs was both the specific vulnerability of Indigenous kids to market-based shifts in the citizenship regime and the legacy of colonial policies that created the vulnerability in the first place. The proper remedy for this legacy, they argued, was not greater inclusion in Canada’s regime, but greater recognition of Indigenous agency in defining and asserting their own child welfare practices. Ultimately, this was about Indigenous refusal to accept the rules of the game as defined by the Canadian regime. Another interesting example of Indigenous peoples simultaneously reinvesting in Canadian citizenship from within and distancing themselves from that same regime is the Idle No More (I N M ) movement. The protest movement emerged in 2012 in response to the federal government’s push for greater market penetration in Indigenous communities, notably through the loosening of environmental protection rules and the privatization of consultation processes when Indigenous rights might be affected by natural resource extraction projects (Woo 2013). Driven by women and young activists, the movement gained prominence through contemporary social movement strategies, using social media to organize a series of events across the country. The core message of the movement was simultaneously about the recognition of Indigenous rights within the state regime, notably the right to say no to natural resource extraction on their traditional lands, and a significant moment of resurgence and self-assertion for Indigenous identities (Palmater 2013). The movement was held together by formal and informal networks though which Indigenous youths, women, and elders shared their experiences with colonialism and challenged their own assumptions about state sovereignty and settler-colonial citizenship. In the process, they reaffirmed who they were, what they were, and how they saw their well-being independently of state recognition.6 Again, the movement simultaneously produced a discourse of recognition from within and a politics of refusal from without.

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Interestingly, one of the indirect outcomes of the I N M movement was the campaign to mobilize the Indigenous vote during the 2015 federal election. Indigenous peoples, especially members of treaty First Nations, have historically had very low levels of electoral participation. The reasons are multiple, but a core rationale for boycotting the electoral process is the limited attachment members of First Nations have to their Canadian citizenship (Ladner and McCrossan 2007). This is not surprising given the previously discussed historical meaning attached to membership in the Canadian community. In 2015, however, a movement emerged to promote voting in First Nations communities. A social media campaign (#RocktheIndigenousVote) was especially effective at mobilizing young voters on reserves, to the point that Elections Canada ran out of ballots in some communities (Talaga 2015). Although it was still below the Canadian average, a recent study suggests turnout in sampled Indigenous communities was close to 50 per cent. Participation increased on average by 20 per cent in 2015 compared to 2011 in the communities targeted by the study (Dabin, Daoust, and Papillon 2016). A striking feature of the numerous Twitter and Facebook messages associated with the #RocktheIndigenousVote campaign was the association between the act of voting, a renewed pride for being an Indigenous person, and self-determination. Voting was not seen as an act of legitimation of Canada’s political institutions. It was instead an act of self-assertion of one’s identity. These examples illustrate how Indigenous peoples simultaneously engage in citizenship practices from within and from without, both using and challenging institutional representation mechanisms typically associated with state citizenship. Shifts in scales of governance and in the role of the state in relation to the market and communities have also created new challenges for Indigenous communities. As discussed, the post-Marshallian regime is characterized by a greater reliance on market mechanisms to foster prosperous communities. The role of the state has shifted from protector to facilitator in connecting individuals and communities with market opportunities. This shift is reflected in the heavy emphasis that federal and provincial governments now put on policies that foster Indigenous participation in the natural resources extraction economy. In addition to targeted investments for training and support for Indigenous businesses in the sector, federal and provincial policies now encourage direct partnerships between Indigenous communities and mining



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companies and other actors of the resource extraction sector (Papillon and Rodon 2017). These partnerships between Indigenous communities and extractive industries often take the form of Impact and Benefit Agreements (I B A s), through which Indigenous communities consent to a given project in exchange for monetary compensations, guarantees concerning its environmental impact, and a direct stake in the project through employment targets or a share of the profits. In a sense, these agreements are a perfect example of the shift to a market-centred approach to community well-being and development. For Indigenous peoples, these are often “take it or leave it” agreements. Either they accept extractive industries on their traditional lands and negotiate some compensation benefits, or they say no and face the risk of the project being built without their input and without sharing in the benefits. This is a classic example of the contraction of citizenship rights under a neoliberal regime (Altamirano-Jiménez 2004). However, faced with growing pressures to negotiate I B A s, some Indigenous communities have seized the opportunity to collectively establish basic requirements for their consent to prospective resource extraction projects. Others have established collective deliberation and consultation mechanisms to inform negotiations with mining or forestry companies. Far from being passive victims, some Indigenous communities have used this form of privatization of natural resource governance to establish their own rules and mechanisms for project approval, therefore reinforcing their agency in the process (Papillon and Rodon 2017). The capacity of Indigenous communities to achieve this type of agency in relations with private corporations varies considerably, but those who succeed can leverage these private governance arrangements into instruments of self-determination (O’Faircheallaigh 2015). In the process, Indigenous communities negotiate their own rules for who belongs and under what conditions, therefore redrawing the boundaries of their own citizenship regime outside of state-bound mechanisms. I B A s are an example of the simultaneous challenges and opportunities resulting from post-Marshallian shifts in the citizenship regime. Indigenous peoples are under pressure to redefine their relationship with the market economy, but they can also find some level of agency in the process. New sites of citizenship reconfiguration have also emerged above the state, in the global arena. The classic example is the United Nations’ Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues. The

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Forum was a key site in the process that led to the adoption of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. The Declaration has become an important tool for Indigenous peoples to challenge state polices, notably in the resource extraction sector. The Declaration and the Permanent Forum have also contributed to the emergence of a global Indigenous movement and a collective sense of solidarity and identity among Indigenous peoples that transcends state boundaries (Bellier 2012). Here, citizenship building takes place though the recognition of rights, the production of access mechanisms, and the construction of solidarities above the state. While it would be presumptuous to declare the arrival of a global Indigenous citizenship regime, the emergence of citizenship practices above the state illustrates the ongoing displacement of the state-bound regime as the sole site of citizenship production and transformation (Jenson and Papillon 2000b).

C o n c l u s i ons Indigenous peoples had their own versions of political membership long before the development of the modern Canadian citizenship regime. These systems were progressively destroyed as Indigenous peoples were forcibly included in the colonial regime, as wards of the state. In the process, they were denied any form of agency in shaping how they interacted with the colonial state. Indigenous peoples have since sought to regain their political agency through the development of their own citizenship practices. These new citizenship practices are both contributing to and in some cases facilitated by structural shifts in Canada’s post-Marshallian citizenship regime. Change, however, is more incremental than radical. The state is not disappearing. Nor is the settler-colonial citizenship regime embodied in its institutions, rules, and norms. The Indian Act is still the main institution defining First Nations’ status in relation to the state and to the broader society. As the final report of Canada’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC 2015) reminds us, the legacies of colonial policies, most notably the residential school system, are still very much apparent in the everyday lives of Indigenous individuals and communities. It is in this uncertain and changing structural context that Indigenous citizenship claims unfold from within and from without, simultaneously making claims for greater inclusion in the rights regime associated with full membership in the Canadian regime while also



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establishing alternative models of citizenship layered over the state regime. This double movement of citizenship activism from within and from without challenges not only the classic understanding of citizenship as universal membership in a state-bound political community, but also the alternative view put forward by many Indigenous leaders and intellectuals of a postcolonial Canada strictly defined by a bilateral nation-to-nation relationship. What are emerging through such multilevel practices are more complex, hybrid, and multifaced forms of Indigenous citizenship, simultaneously part of Canada’s regime and distinct from it. Much work remains to be done to understand these complex multilayered changes. The concept of citizenship regime offers a fruitful analytical lens with which to make sense of the history of settler colonialism and to unpack current changes in Indigenous-settler relations. Coupled with Jenson’s earlier work on the politics of representation, it allows us to look simultaneously at structural constrains and agency in the ongoing process of Indigenous citizenship reclamation. However, the concept also faces some challenges when mobilized in the context of Indigenous politics. None of these challenges are insurmountable, as I have argued, but they force us to rethink the concept in a number of ways. The first challenge has to do with the nature of agency under a citizenship regime that was, and still is, an instrument of settler colonialism. Indigenous politics is very much about citizenship, but it suggests a different understanding of citizenship practices, simultaneously involving claims for transformations of the settler-colonial regime from within and a politics of refusal that is accompanied by the reassertion of identities, rules, norms, and practices that are rooted in pre-existing Indigenous legal and political orders. I discussed some of the ways the concept of citizenship regime needs to be adjusted to make room for this politics of self-determination. The second adjustment has to do with the concept’s analytical focus on the state as the main site of citizenship struggles. As citizenship practices increasingly take root in sites located above and below the national-territorial scale, new identities are formed and old ones reaffirmed. New modes of participation, through negotiated agreements with market actors, through the reassertion of traditional modes of governance, or through transnational activism, emerge outside of traditional access mechanisms, therefore producing nested identities that challenge the hegemonic reach of the state as the sole producer of citizenship. This post-Marshallian context creates new challenges

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for citizenship politics, but as the examples above suggest, it also opens up new avenues for Indigenous self-determination practices. We therefore have to be careful in passing normative judgment about regime shifts and their consequences. The impact of ongoing changes is an open empirical question. Which brings me to the last conceptual point. In its original form, the concept of citizenship regime was premised on stability. Change, Jenson (1997) argued, occurs in a time of crisis, as the old regime unravels and a new one emerges. The recent history of Indigenous­settler relations suggests that a more complicated scenario is unfolding. The complex, multilayered model of citizenship that is emerging out of Indigenous self-determination practices points to a process that is multidirectional and at least as much incremental and continuous as crisis driven. As the politics of resurgence and refusal increasingly takes roots among Indigenous peoples, this transformative process is likely to continue.

no t e s   1 I use the internationally recognized term “Indigenous peoples” in this chapter as equivalent to “Aboriginal peoples.” Both are used in Canada. A further legal distinction is made between First Nations, Inuit, and Métis, all of which are recognized as “Aboriginal peoples” under section 35(1) of the Constitution Act, 1982. Indigenous peoples themselves tend to use their own self-defined, collective identity, such as Nisga’a, Cree, or Innu. I make these distinctions whenever relevant.   2 The division here reflects the one adopted by the Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (RCAP 1996). See also Russell (2017).   3 For a detailed and fascinating account of diplomatic relations of the time, see Robert Williams (1997), as well as Borrows (1997) and Russell (2017).   4 It is worth noting that the tutelage of the Indian Act was limited to members of First Nations whose names were consigned in a registry administered in each reserve by an Indian agent. Métis and Inuit, as well as members of First Nations who lost their status though marriage (women) or other means, were (and still are) excluded.   5 Prime Minister Trudeau, speaking in defence of the 1969 White Paper, Vancouver, 8 August 1969.   6 See examples of this politics of resurgence in the essays on the Idle No More movement collected in The Winter We Danced (Kino-nda-niimi Collective 2014).

5 LGBTQ Rights and the Citizenship Regime in the Neoliberal Age Miriam Sm ith

Since 1996 and 1997, when Jenson and Phillips (1996) and Jenson (1997) wrote their seminal articles on citizenship, there has been a significant expansion in the legal, political, and social rights of L G B T Q people in Canada and elsewhere. Although Jenson and Phillips did not mention sexuality or L G B T Q rights in relation to their formulation of the concept of the citizenship regime, this chapter will show how the concept can contribute to the comparative and international study of sexuality and citizenship and how it can provide theoretical guidance for understanding the meta-rules of LGBTQ rights recognition and rights implementation cross-nationally and globally. At the same time, by comparing the concept of the citizenship regime with recent discussions on sexuality and citizenship, I highlight some of the disadvantages of a state-centred approach to citizenship for current debates on L G B T Q rights. In particular, in contrast to the concept of the citizenship regime, which emphasized inclusion, recent discussions of queer citizenship have highlighted the downside of citizenship. The concepts of homonormativity and homonationalism draw attention to those who are marginalized by inclusion in the citizenship regime. The chapter begins by drawing on the concept of the citizenship regime to consider the implications of expanding human rights for LGBTQ people and same-sex couples in Canada, highlighting the ways in which rights recognition and neoliberalization are interlinked. Jenson’s, and Jenson and Phillips’s work on the citizenship regime emphasized the shift in the nature of the citizenship regime with the rise of neoliberalism. This entailed a shift from group politics and collective

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claims by groups and social movement organizations to a focus on the individual citizen. With the partial decriminalization of homosexuality in 1969 through to the passage of the Civil Marriage Act in 2005, lesbian and gay citizens (and, to a lesser extent, transgender citizens) moved from a position of invisibility and marginalization to a place of legal inclusion. Although LGBTQ citizens were named as part of the “universe of political discourse,” their pathway to recognition was shaped by the shift to individualization and away from group politics and collective claims, which was described in Jenson and Phillips’s (1996) work. The fact that policy and legal recognition of LGBTQ citizens took place through judicial empowerment is consistent with the shift to neoliberal individualization and the decline of group politics. In this way, the concept of the citizenship regime can be applied to the evolution of L G B T Q politics in Canada over this period, bringing together different strands of political development in new ways, particularly with respect to the relationship between legal rights and neoliberalism. The second part of the chapter compares and contrasts the concept of the citizenship regime with discussions of sexuality and citizenship. The emphasis on the state and on state policy and institutional rules in the concept of the citizenship regime is very different from current debates on sexuality and citizenship that emphasize social inclusion. Reading current discussions on sexuality and citizenship through the lens of the citizenship regime allows us to highlight some of the causal assumptions embedded in the sexuality and citizenship literature, which assume that law is determinative in social relations. In contrast, the concept of the citizenship regime separates political institutions, policies, and the universe of political discourse from social forms, thus allowing us to consider the relationship among and between various forms of political, economic, and social inclusion. At the same time, scholarship on sexuality and citizenship highlights the downside of citizenship, that is, the ways in which inclusion is damaging to traditionally marginalized citizens.

T he C it i z e n s h ip R e g im e and LGBTQ Poli ti cs in   C a n a da , 1 969­–2005 Moving toward Inclusion: Decriminalization and Early Mobilizing The concept of the citizenship regime addresses the relationship between states, markets, and communities. In Jenson’s words (1997,



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631): “A citizenship regime includes: the institutional arrangements, rules and understandings that guide and shape state policy; problem definition employed by states and citizens; and the range of claims recognized as legitimate.” Jenson (1997, 632) goes on to say that A citizenship regime encodes within it a paradigmatic representation of identities, of the “national” as well as the “model citizen,” the “second-class citizen” and the non-citizen. It also encodes representations of the proper and legitimate social relations among and within these categories. It locates the borders of “public” and “private.” It makes, in other words, a major contribution to the definition of politics by organizing the boundaries of political debate and problem recognition in each jurisdiction. (Jenson 1997, 632) Jenson then points out that these definitions enable the identification of group interests and identities, which is the foundation of political claims-making. The state recognizes some identities as legitimate and others as illegitimate, or includes some group interests and excludes others (Jenson 1997, 632). These citizen relations reflect the legacies of previous policies and shape the possibilities for policy change. In other work, Jenson (1993) emphasized the importance of naming and self-naming by nationalist movements. Shifts in naming and selfnaming have affected resources, legitimacy, relationships with other groups, and institutional pathways to state influence for social movements. The emergence of L G B T Q social movements since the 1960s and the shifting names of the movement(s) epitomizes a process in which a group of people moved from occlusion, invisibility, marginalization, and criminalization to full-fledged claims-making in the ­Canadian citizenship regime. In the 1960s, there was little reference to or discussion of homosexuality in any form in Canadian politics and society. There were a few, very small groups of homophiles such as the Vancouver-based Association for Social Knowledge (A S K ), founded in the early 1960s, and the University of Toronto Homophile Association, founded in 1969. Prior to the passage of the 1969 Criminal Code amendments, homosexuality was illegal, and one of the few times in which gay men were publicly referenced or discussed was when they were charged and their names were printed in the newspaper. In 1967, the Supreme Court ruling in the case of George Klippert, a man who was assigned dangerous sexual offender status

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and subjected to indefinite incarceration after having been convicted of gross indecency, briefly drew attention to the criminal law as it applied to gay men. Lesbians, bisexual people, and trans people were not part of public discussion (for an overview, see Warner 2002). The concept of the citizenship regime highlights the idea that the very first step toward inclusion and claims-making is the naming process itself, a dynamic that is well illustrated in the case of L G BT Q people who have moved from “homosexual” through to “gay” (applying to both men and women), “gay and lesbian,” “gay, lesbian, and bisexual,” and “gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender.” In the 1980s and early 1990s, the name “queer” was reclaimed during struggles around H I V / A I D S , especially in the US, through the emergence of Queer Nation and through the academic emergence of queer theory. The increased visibility of two-spirit communities and the addition of intersex people has led to the use of the acronyms L G BT Q 2 and LGBTQI2, often now shortened to “queer,” now used as an umbrella term rather than as a reclaimed epithet – its original meaning. These changes are mirrored in the evolution of queer organizing in Canada. The early homophile groups in the US such as the Daughters of Bilitis and the Mattachine Society had no direct parallel in Canada, although many English-speaking Canadians read their publications and were aware of their existence. Although ASK was an early example of such a group, and was modelled to some extent on US organizations, it remained small and was predominantly Vancouver-based. The shift from homophile – primarily concerned with educating society and medical professionals about the nature of homosexuality – to the use of the terms “homosexual” and “gay” was a key change that was signalled by the establishment of groups such as the Montreal-based Front de libération homosexual (and, later, the l’Association pour les droits des gai(e)s du Québec), and the Toronto-based gay liberation newspaper The Body Politic. At the same time, the autonomous lesbian movement, the women’s movement, and the gay liberation movement drew lesbians into social and political activism. While some lesbians were drawn to participation in the women’s movement, others identified with gay liberation, and still others preferred to create autonomous lesbian spaces (M. Smith 1999, 26­–40). The emergence of these early groups and movements demonstrates the importance of the sociological rooting of citizenship practices. The first step – that of naming the group and the very process of being constituted as a group – was dynamic and complex. Because of the



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tremendous social stigma attached to queer sexualities during the 1960s and 1970s, when early groups were forming, the very act of holding a gay dance or carving out a social space for lesbians or publishing a newspaper that analyzed the complex politics of sexuality was a major political statement. The politics of naming was hotly debated and names were far from clear-cut. The social emergence of LG B TQ people in Canadian society and into the light of mainstream attention was a precursor to their recognition as citizens. This carving out of a social space for a quasi-public existence was a major challenge to a citizenship regime that, in 1969, had officially recognized homosexuals as “legal,” but only within a private space. As Jenson emphasizes, the citizenship regime defines who is in and who is out, and defines the boundaries of public and private. The 1969 changes created a private realm of toleration of same-sex behaviour, which was quintessentially defined as male, while gay or lesbian women were not officially visible in the eyes of legislation. At the same time as queers were gaining this precarious foothold in the Canadian citizenship regime, trans people, gay men, and lesbians were being policed in urban areas, thrown into the back of police vans, incarcerated, publicly outed and shamed through the printing of their names in the papers, persecuted in the public service, and subjected to ridicule and abuse on streets that are now the gay villages of major Canadian cities. The festive abuse of queers during Hallowe’en on Church Street in Toronto was well known (Bradburn 2015). Today these would be considered hate crimes. In the 1970s and early 1980s, these emphatic and often violent statements of social exclusion occurred after the legalization of homosexuality in the Criminal Code, demonstrating the fragile nature of the social tolerance and citizen status that had been extended by the 1969 change (Kinsman 1987, 2005; Kinsman and Gentile 2010; Corriveau 2011). During the debates over the 1969 Criminal Code, L G BT Q people, or specifically gay men, had become citizens. For a fleeting moment, they emerged into the light of day and were treated as worthy of reflection and debate in a citizenship regime that had previously only recognized them as criminals or deviants. Jenson reflects on the idea that the citizenship regime makes “a major contribution to the definition of politics by organizing the boundaries of political debate and problem recognition in each jurisdiction” (1997, 632). The citizenship regime of this period barely recognized the existence of LGBTQ people, and to the extent that it did, acknowledged them only

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to ask the question: Are they criminals? The institutional rules of this period offered few opportunities for LGBTQ mobilization or participation. Claims-making was rudimentary and unorganized due to lack of organized collective action. Carving out a social space for the non-criminal existence of L G B T Q people was a first step toward recognition in the citizenship regime. Despite its limitations, the 1969 reform sanctioned the move from criminal to non-criminal status and was a necessary step in the inclusion in LGBTQ people in the Canadian citizenship regime.

Movin g T owa r d In c l u s i on: Human Ri ghts C o d e s a n d R e l at io n s hi p Recogni ti on From the 1970s to the 1990s, the gay liberation movement transitioned into the lesbian and gay movement and, eventually, the LGBTQ movement. Jenson’s approach highlights the importance of the boundaries of the political in any given context, and the question of who is included and excluded in relation to state-based politics. At the same time, Jenson also emphasizes the foundations of collective action and the shift from group to individual identities and organizing in the neoliberal era. This calls our attention to the new citizenship regime in Canada in which institutional rules and procedures were fundamentally rewritten with the advent of the Charter in the post-1982 period. While judicial empowerment provided new institutional, political, and legal resources for the L GB T Q movement, it was also compatible with shifts in collective claims-making, in Jenson and Phillips’s (1996) terms. Litigation often devolved into a top-down strategy directed by legal elites, despite its grassroots origins in claims-making by individuals and couples, rather than the recognition and empowerment of collective claims. The drive for relationship recognition, parenting rights, and, eventually, same-sex marriage was driven by diverse groups, including grassroots collectives and networks of lawyers and litigants organized through groups such as Egale. In Canada, as in the US, there were debates among lawyers, grassroots couples, and groups, as lawyers often wanted to hold back on litigation around key issues such as marriage out of fear of negative precedents, while couples kept filing marriage, parenting, and relationship recognition cases, sometimes using lawyers who were themselves disconnected from the broader L GB T Q legal community or unaware of the potentially negative legal stakes for the community as a whole. In contrast,



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others within queer communities questioned the resources that were allocated to legal struggles, an argument that had long been made, back to the 1970s, when some lesbian feminists had questioned the emphasis on state recognition as being irrelevant to lesbian feminist struggles (see M. Smith 1999, 26­–40, and, on the US, Wolfson 2005). Through the 1980s and 1990s, L G B T Q rights claims were often ignored by politicians and viewed as on the fringe of political discourse. The idea that L G B T Q people, or, in the 1980s, lesbian and gay people, were subjected to discrimination in employment, housing, and other realms was only reluctantly recognized as a legitimate subject of political debate. Quebec was the first province to ban discrimination based on sexual orientation, in 1977, and, as Manon Tremblay has shown, this action was taken in part in reaction to the policing of gay bars and baths in Montreal (Tremblay 2013). Jenson (1997) has emphasized that Canada is composed of multiple citizenship regimes, and Quebec’s collective definition as a progressive nation during the first Parti Québécois government was important for the recognition of lesbians and gay men as citizens. Quebec was unique for its recognition of this discrimination. Other provinces and the federal government did not accord this recognition to LGBTQ citizens until the 1980s and, in the federal case, 1996. LGBTQ people undertook various campaigns to contest this exclusion. Some of these were collective forms of mobilization through trade unions and political parties such as the New Democratic Party (NDP). During the 1980s and 1990s, the organization of pink triangle committees within unions led to a campaign for same-sex benefits from some unions in Canada such as the Canadian Union of Public Employees (C U P E ). Within the N D P , a queer caucus organized to press the party to take progressive positions on L G BT Q issues, and in 1988, Canada’s first openly gay politician, Svend Robinson of the N D P , came out. At the same time, legal challenges in the 1980s drew attention to the potential role of the new Charter of Rights in relation to LGBTQ rights. The Mulroney government held parliamentary committee hearings on the coming into force of section 15 of the Charter in 1985, and the committee heard from a large number of lesbian and gay groups that wrote in to protest queer exclusion from human rights codes, same-sex benefits, and relationship and parenting rights. A range of social and professional groups made their voices heard before the committee, one of the most important outpourings of demands for LGBTQ rights ever heard by the government of Canada

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(M. Smith 1999, 60­–70). At the same time, key early legal cases such as Canada (A G ) v Mossop (1993) drew attention to the potential treatment of L G B T Q rights under the equality rights provisions of the Charter. Therefore, changing institutional rules played an important role in opening the way for the emergence of the policy “problem” of LGBTQ rights recognition. In the earlier period, it had been difficult for LGBTQ people to constitute themselves as a social movement challenging public policy. Cases brought through mechanisms such as provincial human rights codes were generally unsuccessful. Yet politicians did not want to take up the hot button issue. Judicial empowerment under the Charter allowed politicians to leave the problem to the courts and to depict the situation as one in which the entrenchment of the Charter had forced government action. Therefore, it was only through a period of struggle that L GB T Q rights emerged as part of the Canadian universe of political discourse. Jenson and Phillips (1996) emphasize the decline of collective identities in the citizenship regime of the 1980s and 1990s. While on the one hand it might seem that lesbian and gay rights were collective identities that were emerging in the universe of political discourse, it is important to note that the means by which policy was changed were highly individualized and driven in part by legal elites who played a key role in Charter challenges. It is noteworthy that lesbian and gay rights organizations of this period, such as Ottawa-based Egale, were relatively small and weak in terms of resources, funding, and organizational capacity. Therefore, the L G BT Q rights sector fits well with Jenson and Phillips’s (1996) arguments about the decline of collective actors in the changing citizenship regime. Although Charter challenges bubbled up from the grassroots and were undertaken by couples who often decided to file cases on their own, the cases that were filed were often moulded from the top down in an attempt to define and protect a collective interest in creating positive legal precedents that could be used in the future. This is a very difficult form of collective claims-making and very different from the collective claims of the past made by unions, women’s movements, or nationalist movements. In the past, most Canadian social movements had not engaged proactively with the courts to this extent. The rise of the LGBTQ movement and its success in obtaining legal and policy inclusion in the citizenship regime was effected through a top-down process, which is compatible with Jenson and Phillips’s view of the period as one in which collective claims-making was on the decline.



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The engagement with law and legal rights reached a pinnacle in the debates over spousal recognition and same-sex marriage. An organization was started in Ontario in the early 1990s called The Campaign for Equal Families, using in its name a precursor to the later American term “marriage equality.” The Campaign mobilized for the passage of a bill recognizing same-sex spousal and parenting rights in Ontario, which was defeated after a free vote in the legislature (Rayside 1998, 141–78). After this, the movement turned to the courts, a strategy that led to a string of legal victories. In various cases, the Supreme Court ruled that sexual orientation was analogous to other forms of discrimination named in section 15 (equality rights) of the Charter (Egan v. Canada, 1995), that provincial human rights codes could not omit sexual orientation protection (Vriend v. Alberta, 1998), that the Income Tax Act had to recognize same-sex couples and accord them the same spousal rights as heterosexual couples (Rosenberg v. Canada, 1998), and that provincial provisions on spousal support had to accord the same rights to same-sex couples as to heterosexual couples (M. v. H., 1999). These cases increasingly recognized same-sex couples as a collective interest, even though solutions such as spousal support were privatizing (Boyd and Young 2003). While the Vriend case signalled the inclusion of sexual orientation in provincial and territorial human rights codes, gender identity and expression were unevenly included, although some provinces such as Ontario declared that their provincial codes implicitly included gender identity, despite its explicit exclusion from the provincial human rights code (O H R C 2000). While success in Egan would have resulted in spousal rights under Old Age Security, the ruling in Rosenberg ensured that federal tax law would permit pension benefits for same-sex couples, and in M. v. H. that same-sex couples would have to pay spousal support, thus reducing the potential burden on the state. The logic of these decisions suggested the inclusion of couples into the normative regime of family, market, and state relations, not the disruption of those relations (Boyd and Young 2003). These changes complemented the transformation of the welfare state that was underway during this period, and, in particular, changes in the government’s role in income support and service delivery. The changes simply incorporated a new group into the existing benefits and tax rules. Although there is no empirical research on this point, one might speculate that L GB T Q inclusion reinforced the legitimacy of the processes of privatization, offloading, and deregulation by

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including a previously marginalized group. Further, some in the LGBTQ community might have welcomed private-public partnerships as assisting the delivery of social and health services to the L G BT Q community (Mulé et al. 2009). In this sense, these changes are compatible with Jenson and Phillips’s (1996) argument that the changing citizenship regime of this period undermined collective voices and privileged a pattern of individualizing relations between civil society and the state. Nonetheless, while the content of court decisions suggested a recognition and inclusion of same-sex couples as citizens, the manner in which governments avoided the issue did not. Throughout the 1990s, the Liberal government in Ottawa continued to hold back on recognizing same-sex couples or amending legislation that might be seen to discriminate unless such legislation was struck down by the courts. At the same time, the government did not challenge or appeal many of the court rulings that supported lesbian and gay rights during this period. Therefore, the government followed a policy of tacit support, under the radar, rather than an open embrace of lesbian and gay rights. In terms of the citizenship regime, the government continued to exclude the L GB T Q community from visibility and open acceptance, even while the formal-legal rights and obligations of L G B T Q people and couples were increasing. The government accepted that there was a policy problem around LGBTQ inclusion but left it to the courts to resolve. The story of enhanced L G BT Q rights in Canada is one of the empowerment of an elite-driven route to policy and political change – the courts – at the expense of collectively focused social movement contestation. Further, Jenson (1997) and Jenson and Phillips (1996) emphasize that it is not only the changes in institutional routes to change for civil society groups that are at issue, but also the credibility and legitimacy of collective action itself. Despite the success of the L G B T Q movement in the 2000s and, in particular, the policy shift toward the legalization of same-sex marriage and the acceptance of LGBTQ people as refugees, the individualizing route to change through the courts did not grant legitimacy and credibility to collective or group-based action, but rather left the impression of individuals and couples who only wished to receive the same benefits and obligations as others and then to be left in affluent peace to pursue their privatized lives. Engagement with a liberal, rights-based framework resulted in the construction of lesbian and gay rights as state-recognized and



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sanctioned forms of family, a framework that is very different from the early gay liberation and feminist movements’ critiques of heterosexual nuclear families and heteronormativity.

S e x ua l it y a n d Ci ti zens hi p In this section, I will compare the concept of the citizenship regime to that of other approaches to sexuality and citizenship. The concept of the citizenship regime has several important features that are not found systematically in the comparative and international literature on LGBTQ rights. At the same time, however, discussions of sexuality and citizenship extend beyond the state to other types of social inclusion that form the basis for public and political claims. Comparing the concept of the citizenship regime to the scholarship on citizenship and sexuality highlights the central features of the different approaches. State-Centredness The Jensonian concept of the citizenship regime is state-centred and focuses on state-directed claims-making by civil society. While Jenson (1997) and Jenson and Phillips (1996) are concerned with political mobilization, they see it in terms of contrasts between individual and collective mobilization, with collective forms of group identity and group claims being devalorized in the neoliberal era. They are interested in group politics as directed at the state, not at broader nonstate-based social change. They are alert to the new forms that were only just emerging at the time of the publication of their article, but that have been widely commented on by scholars since that time, such as responsibilization and individualization (e.g., Brodie 2007). Through their discussion of privatization and public-private partnerships, they call attention to the offloading and downloading that are features of neoliberalism. Their discussion of the forms of statedirected organizing anticipates other concepts, such as Peck and Tickell’s (2002) rollout neoliberalism and Larner’s discussions of policy as a form of governmentality (Larner 2000). This distinctive feature of the approach fits with contemporary comparative and international analyses of L G B T Q rights. With work such as Kollman’s (2009) discussion of recognition and non-­ recognition of L GB T Q rights across EU countries, for example, the Jensonian citizenship regime would provide a useful concept through

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which to develop comparative analyses. Comparing and contrasting institutions, problem definition, and claims would provide a framework for cross-national comparative analysis. Kollman’s arguments about the role of political discourse and about how E U influence is interpreted differently in different EU countries would be highlighted by the application of the citizenship regime. At the same time, however, this example demonstrates one of the difficulties of the concept. While it allows us to describe the meta-rules of political discourse and policy making at any given moment, it is not well suited to explaining how and why institutions, problem definitions, and claims-making change over time or why they take different forms in different places. Nonetheless, by focusing on how problems are defined, the citizenship regime concept calls our attention to the ways in which LGBTQ rights are viewed as a policy problem to be solved (or not) in various contexts and, through so doing, suggests pathways for empirical investigation and the potential development of explanations. The concept also allows us to track change over time as groups move from exclusion to inclusion and through various forms and types of recognition, as we have seen with the moves from non-­ recognition to recognition of L G B T Q rights from the 1960s to the 1990s. For example, the “legalization of homosexuality” in 1969 in Canada did not completely “decriminalize” homosexuality. As Kinsman (1987, 2005) has pointed out, at most it was a partial decriminalization. In relation to criminal law, there was a broad range of ongoing issues that were defined as problems by the lesbian and gay communities (especially the gay community) and a broad campaign to force changes in law, as well as in the administration of law, that is, with regard to police behaviour and bawdy house rules. The concept of the citizenship regime allows us to recognize the difference between, on the one hand, a group that is tolerated by the state and removed from the status of inherent criminality and, on the other hand, a group that is positively recognized and whose voice is deemed a part of the legitimate claims-making process. Similarly, recent discussions of state-based L G B T Q rights have emphasized the deliberate deployment of LGBTQ politics and policies by political actors for other ends (Bosia and Weiss 2013). The discussion of political homophobia as a state-directed strategy for legitimating broader state goals, such as the subordination of political opposition or distracting from other activities of political elites, can be greatly informed by the identification of institutions, problem



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definitions, and claims-making. Weiss (2013), for example, has highlighted the idea of state-based homophobia in cases in which there is no claims-making by L GB T Q groups or citizens, a strategy in which political elites anticipate the rise of an L G BT Q movement and then attempt to pre-empt it through defining the goals of this movement as being disruptive to the moral order or nationalist ends. This draws our attention to the idea that claims-making can also be notable by its absence, and that state-based problem definition can be used to marginalize minorities, rather than to recognize them. Puar’s wellknown work on homonationalism has focused on L G B T Q rights recognition as part of a normalizing discourse that is used against “others,” especially with Muslims during the rise of post-9/11 Islamophobia and the “War on Terror” (Puar 2007). Bosia and Weiss’s (2013) discussion of political homophobia focuses on state-based homophobia as a modular political strategy for state actors, in contrast to Puar’s discussion of homonationalism, which focuses on how the US lauded its recognition of L GB T Q citizens as a tolerant alternative to the homophobic and racialized other. Bosia and Weiss point out that political homophobia is as important as homonationalism. By considering L G B T Q rights recognition as a policy tool and policy resource that can be used by state and non-state actors to pursue other goals, these authors show how the shifting citizenship regime not only recognizes certain forms of action as legitimate forms of claims-making and certain actors as legitimate claims-makers, it also provides political resources and legitimacy for state-based actors. Internal Diversity The concept of the citizenship regime does not consider the internal diversity of minorities who may be incorporated or not, or whose claims may or may not be deemed legitimate in the dominant universe of political discourse. The LGBTQ communities are far from univocal, and in many cases, including in Canada, lack organizations who can credibly speak for the community at a country-wide level, given that the community or communities themselves are multiscalar and often most vital at the urban, rather than the country-wide, federal, provincial, or regional, level. There are divergent views about various political goals, and these often do not match up with particular states or scales of political action. Claims and claims-making do not always line up with legal jurisdiction. In Canadian political science, there is

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a long debate on the impact of federalism as a set of political institutions that shape politics or are shaped by social and political conflict. While institutions do play a role in shaping debates by creating veto points or points of access for claims-making, the jurisdictional divisions of federalism do not neatly draw groups into particular “levels” of political action. Urban youth, for example, have mobilized around Harper-era proposals to change the age of consent under the federal Criminal Code, while Egale, a pan-Canadian group, has involved itself in debates over education, which is a provincial jurisdiction (M. Smith 2015). Debates within the LGBTQ communities about inclusion and identity are complex and deep rooted. There is not one community; there are many. In the early days of the 1970s, lesbians often participated in the women’s movement as well as in the autonomous lesbian movement and the gay liberation movement (Ross 1995). Although trans people played pivotal roles in gay liberation, they also critiqued the movement as homonormative, that is, as excluding foundational trans identities from the definition of who belonged to the community (Stryker 2008, 145–6). Moreover, racialized queers often encountered racism in white-dominated gay organizations. Francophones in Quebec built institutions that served the francophone L G BT Q communities. Recently, a new generation of queer scholarship in Canada and the US has focused on the concept of the settler society to explore the relationships among colonialism, racialization, and queer politics, once again highlighting the homonormativity of the mainstream lesbian and gay movement (A. Smith 2010; Morgensen 2011). Despite this large diversity in sexual politics in Canada, the concept of the citizenship regime requires unitary and coherent collective actors who can mobilize claims-making in the political process. This is both practical and analytical. Practically, states seek legibility, as Scott (1998) has discussed extensively. Appealing to this requires that social groups present a coherent picture to the state; in this way, state-based actors such as politicians and bureaucrats can react to and manage a range of information and demands. When, for example, litigants want same-sex marriage while others in the L G B T Q communities critique and question this same objective, politicians and state actors are left with a conundrum. Even if they wish to recognize and include L G B T Q people, it can be unclear how to do this when the L G B T Q communities do not form one coherent group, do not speak with one clear voice, and do not seem to want the same things. The dynamics of policy making exert a structural influence on



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claims-making. One of the key dynamics is the structural demand for coherence in collective claims-making. Since the beginning of the movement, state-directed political claims from the LGBTQ community have been questioned within the community. Homophiles were criticized for being too moderate and confining themselves to demands for education about homosexuality. The gay liberation movement in English-speaking Canada was criticized in the 1970s for its focus on obtaining human rights protections. The lesbian and gay movement of the 1980s and beyond was criticized for concentrating on Charterbased legal rights and, eventually, same-sex marriage. The citizenship regime concept assumes a coherence in demands for inclusion and claims-making for the purpose of analyzing the overall shape of the citizenship regime. In this sense, the concept is “top down” rather than “bottom up.” This is not a critique of the concept; however, it does indicate that shifting our gaze to the “bottom” would give us a different view of L GB T Q claims-making. Citizenship as Social Inclusion In much of the discussion of sexuality and citizenship, citizenship is seen as a form of social inclusion, an arena that is generally not included in the idea of the citizenship regime and the universe of political discourse. For example, in Diane Richardson’s classic sociological work on sexuality and citizenship (1998, 2000, 2017), she points out that, “[i]nterestingly, and despite an almost exclusive focus on the public sphere in previous considerations of citizenship, it would seem that the everyday practices of individuals are increasingly becoming the bases of citizenship” (D. Richardson 2000, 106). L G B T Q people seek to belong, not only in the public realm, but also in the private realm, having been historically excluded from their own birth  families, socially ostracized, or forced to live hidden lives (D. Richardson 1998, 90). Further, until recently, the LGBTQ population was one that the state explicitly sought to curtail, not increase. LG B TQ people remained a minority with restricted social influence. State policies were often aimed at restricting the impact or size of the LG B TQ population, which was seen as a threat to the nation and to national security in Britain, the US, Canada, and other countries (D. Richardson 1998, 89–95; see also Kinsman and Gentile 2010). Similarly, Bell and Binnie’s (2000) human geography approach explores not only state- and market-based forms of recognition but also place-based sexual citizenship through the lens of the city, the

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home, and the family. Bell and Binnie are concerned with the extent to which social inclusion requires the marginalization of forms of sexuality that are not privatized and normalized. In other words, Bell and Binnie are concerned with the confines, limits, and requirements of inclusion (Bell and Binnie 2000, 3). In addition, however, as human geographers, Bell and Binnie consider how the changing urban landscape affects and shapes sexual citizenship. The re-privatization of public space, combined with the move toward demands for same-sex marriage, privileges the private space of the home and family (Bell and Binnie 2000, 3–5). In defining citizenship beyond state-based forms of inclusion, some social inclusion issues have been transformed into legal questions directed at government. An example is hate crime. While it used to be routine for L GB T Q people to be harassed in certain areas or to be gay-bashed and bullied, this has transitioned from an everyday occurrence of harassment to a policy problem. In 1998, the Liberal government passed a law that adds additional sentencing for hate crimes based on sexual orientation, just as exist for race and other grounds. Similarly, in 2012, the Ontario government passed an anti-bullying bill that was in part aimed at protecting LGBTQ youth. Routine institutional practices such as the issuing of a birth certificate have been challenged by trans litigants, and demands for change have been directed at federal and provincial governments and through the courts and tribunals (e.g., XY v. Ontario 2012; for an overview, see McGill and Kirkup 2013). In this sense, even though the state and the realm of formal politics are often ignored within the concepts of sexuality and citizenship, over time, some of the older forms of social exclusion (such as violence against L GB T Q people) have been drawn into the ambit of the courts, policy, and formal law. In this sense, the concept of the citizenship regime, when applied to L G BT Q rights struggles, can illuminate the shifting definitions of the problems and claims that are considered legitimate or illegitimate in policy making. Citizenship as Damage Another key question on sexual citizenship from scholars such as Duggan (2002) and Bell and Binnie (2000) is the extent to which political incorporation is damaging to LGBTQ people(s). In contrast, although the Jensonian concept of the citizenship regime does not enter directly into that normative terrain, there is a sense that



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recognition and inclusion in the citizenship regime are positive developments for the groups that are being included or whose claims are successful. According to the literature on sexuality and citizenship, however, inclusion is problematic. The idea of legal inclusion or even inclusion as legitimate claims-makers is widely critiqued as enacting homonormativity, a privatized incorporation of L G B T Q individuals and couples (Duggan 2002). As such, discussions of citizenship focus on social forms, both as a way of identifying social and political changes that have increasingly incorporated L G B T Q people but also as a means of analyzing them. Many critics of LGBTQ rights recognition have argued that the movement has moved too far toward embracing normalcy (Duggan 2002; Boyd and Young 2003). By asserting the similarities between queer families and heterosexual families, the L G B T Q movement had propelled the individualization of same-sex relationships and the privatization of economic and social life in a way that complemented neoliberal values. Inclusion entails a cultural loss of a previously identifiable queer community, even if that community was in itself highly diverse, and particular sub-­ communities within it had at times and in certain places been highly distanced from each other (for example, gay men and lesbians, or trans people and mainstream L G B organizations). These cultural losses centre in part around sex, as the homonormative mainstream repeatedly promotes the image of a happy married or partnered life, often with children, while in contrast, traditional queer cultures have been places of sexual liberation and freedom in which polyamory and recreational sex were vitally important. As well, an emerging literature on L G BT Q politics highlights the use of homophobia, homonationalism, and pinkwashing as deliberate state strategies to legitimate various government actions. These strategies involve the imbrication of citizenship claims – the inclusion or not of L G B T Q citizens – as components of policy that is used for other purposes, whether to shore up to the state’s legitimacy, cement nationalist claims, defend against attacks by other states or from public opinion (including international public opinion), or distract from other problems (Bosia 2013). Puar’s influential concept of homonationalism suggests a link between US foreign policy and the vaunting of the tolerance of the West against radical Islam. In this view, in contrast to the concerns of critics of homonormativity, the damage wrought by L GB T Q inclusion occurs when homosexuality is used to mark out a tolerant West in contrast to conservative Islam,

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thus reinforcing racism and Islamophobia. This downside of citizenship is increasingly prevalent, as the Canadian government under Harper repeatedly vaunted Canada’s tolerance, especially for the purposes of certain foreign policy goals, while on the other hand reducing LGBTQ visibility in government policy by taking other policy actions, such as cutting the Court Challenges Program of Canada, which had funded L GB T Q litigation during the 1990s, and eliminating references to LGBTQ people from the Canadian citizenship guide. Homophobia has increasingly been defined as being outside of the universe of political discourse, throughout the 2000s and beyond, as even political parties like the Harper Conservatives did not want to engage with it openly. Some discussions of sexuality and citizenship approach the question of neoliberalism in a very different way than does the concept of the citizenship regime, and this forms a useful contrast with which to consider the meaning of citizenship for L G BT Q people. Early discussions of citizenship and sexuality emphasized the link between consumerism and inclusion, and considered sexual citizenship as highly privatized. Discussions of same-sex marriage and spousal recognition, especially in the US, have considered the material consequences of recognition, such as access to employer and state benefits (D. Richardson 2017, 212). At the same time, critiques of liberal rights inclusion have often pointed to the ways in which the liberal concept of individual rights precludes discussions of poverty and economic justice (Maddie 2014; Beyond Marriage 2006). Further, the political economy of LGBTQ rights has largely been occluded in the literature on sexuality and citizenship since the debates on “new” social movements, being considered “merely cultural,” in the words of Butler (1998) (see the discussion in Bell and Binnie 2000, 70ff). This occlusion of L GB T Q material interests is of a piece with the relative marginalization of LGBTQ topics in political science, a legacy of ongoing stigma and the characterization of “gay politics” as a form of “morality politics” or “identity politics” (Novkov and Barclay 2010). Discussions of sexuality and citizenship call attention to the ways in which citizenship is gendered (D. Richardson 1998), a consideration that is not explicit in the original concept of the citizenship regime. The extent to which the citizenship regime acts to reproduce heterosexuality and recognizes claims based on heteronormative assumptions is not explicitly discussed; however, because the citizenship regime concept examines which claims are considered valid, it can be adapted



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to research questions that explore the nature of “the straight state” (Canaday 2009), that is, the ways in which public policies reproduce heteronormativity in specific ways across time and space. This would push the discussion of the citizenship regime and LGBTQ rights further back into Canadian history and allow us to ask meta-questions about the relationship between heteronormativity and political development. This work is now beginning in the scholarship of those exploring the relationship between the concept of the settler society and sexuality but could be expanded by applying the concept of the citizenship regime to an examination of the types of citizens who were considered normative and how public policies reinforced or enacted particular types of sexual citizenship. The Canadian welfare state has aimed to support and reproduce heteronormative family forms; the implications of these policies for the structuring of the citizenship regime for LG B TQ Canadians have not yet been seriously considered.

C o n c l u s ions The threefold dimensions of the Jensonian citizenship regime provide an enduring concept for developing research questions about political development in Canada and elsewhere. The concept is useful in developing research questions about change over time in a particular place, about cross-national similarities and differences, and even about global and transnational policy change and development, although this latter dynamic has not been canvassed here. While the concept is not part of an explanatory theory that purports to explain policy change, it sets up the possibility of explanation as well as exploration and understanding by calling attention to key dimensions of the process of inclusion and exclusion. In addition to considering the role and structure of political institutions and their impact on political actors, the concept of the citizenship regime equips us to ask who is included and excluded from recognition and inclusion, and who is considered to be a legitimate claims-maker. Moreover, the concept allows us to ask what types of claims are considered legitimate in the political process, thus allowing us to ask how the rules about legitimacy change over time. While homosexuality used to be “the love that dare not speak its name” in Canada, it is currently less than acceptable in mainstream political discourse to express outright homophobia. This is a momentous change, and one captured by the concept of the citizenship regime. Therefore, the strength of the

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concept is in tracing how groups and identities gain legitimacy in the policy process, as well as how they lose it. The meta-rules of the policy process and of public discourse are highlighted, as well as the institutional pathways by which collective actors are recognized (or not) in the universe of political discourse. At the same time, in the case of sexuality and citizenship, the concept of the citizenship regime does not consider the internal diversity of groups seeking inclusion or their cross-cutting relationships with other groups. In addition, the implication with the concept of the citizenship regime is that inclusion is positive, even if this normative assumption is not explicitly explored. In the case of sexuality, there are strong critiques of inclusion as a process that marginalizes the interests and identities of subgroups. Further, the state-based focus of the concept of the citizenship regime does not directly consider the many dimensions of citizenship beyond the state that are part of the more recent wave of scholarship on sexuality and citizenship. Nonetheless, Jenson (1997) and Jenson and Phillips’s (1996) discussions of the citizenship regime in Canada highlight the shift from a politics in which collective claims-making was deemed valid and legitimate, to a neoliberal form of claims-making based on individualized mobilization. The rise of the LGBTQ rights movement in Canada over this period demonstrates the validity of Jenson, and Jenson and Phillips’s analysis many years after their original work was published in the mid-1990s. Looking back to the 1970s at the rise of the LGBTQ movement and its success in claiming a place of relative public legitimacy and legal recognition, it is striking that these political successes were achieved in the main as a result of judicial empowerment and litigation. This type of elite-driven and individually-based political change is not incompatible with neoliberalism, nor, as many queer critics have made clear, with a quietist and consumer-based private realm of same-sex families and couples, which has in part occluded traditional queer cultures that were based on sexual freedom. As Jenson and Phillips (1996) identified in the mid-1990s, political institutions, problem definition, and claims-making have been individualized, undercutting grassroots and collective social movements. By highlighting the dimensions of state-based citizenship claiming, the concept of the citizenship regime provides the tools for the analysis of changing L G B T Q citizenship in Canada, as well as the tools for cross-national comparative approaches. Contemporary discussions of sexuality and citizenship highlight the “bottom up” dimensions of



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LGBTQ community politics and alert us to the world of social exclusion and inclusion beyond the state. The next step will be to integrate the structural study of gendered citizenship into our understanding of other policy areas, such as social policy and the welfare state, in order to understand how state policies produce and reproduce particular gender orders, including heteronormative and homonormative social relations.

6 Living in “Interesting Times”: Immigrants and Contemporary Provincial Citizenship Regimes Mireille Paquet

Newcomers experience the physical, practical, and symbolic boundaries of a society in more vivid ways than anyone else. This chapter focuses on the contemporary conditions, injunctions, and practices that new immigrants experience when they settle in one of the ten Canadian provinces. Because of their often precarious position and because they are experiencing a process of citizenization (Tully 2000b), newcomers are, more than others, the target of stark state and societal attentions and preoccupations. The discourses and policies that trickle down from this anxiety and enthusiasm are crucial indicators of general conceptions of citizenship and of the practices attached to it. Thus, focusing on the substantial citizenship of newcomers within Canadian provinces is a way to uncover the experiences of immigrants, while at the same time identifying trends common to all of Canadian citizenship. I use the concept of citizenship regime to account for the confluence of rules, discourses, and symbols that shape newcomers’ substantial citizenship in their province of residence. I will show, using empirical material from provincial governments and political actors, that new provincial citizenship regimes have been established in Canada since the end of the 1990s. In a break from past practices, all of these provincial citizenship regimes now include elements targeting – and discourses considering – immigrants settling in the province. As with the provinces themselves, these regimes are diverse, but at the same time they share enough similarities to hint at broader trends in Canadian society and citizenship.



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I propose that the emergence and the content of provincial citizenship regimes are tales about broader changes that have affected Canada since the end of the 1990s. The central features of provincial citizenship regimes can in large part be explained by the creation and implementation of new development models by Canadian provinces. Provincial governments have all embarked on projects of province-building, that is, the mobilization of strategies to develop provincial societies (state, public administration, economic, and population). Central to these new models of development is a definition of immigration as a resource for provincial societies. While these approaches have been translated heterogeneously in the ten provinces, enough similarities exist to demonstrate the ascent of this new conception of the relations between state and society across all Canadian provinces. At the same time, the dynamics leading to the establishment of these regimes demonstrate large changes inside the Canadian federation since the end of the 1990s. In particular, the conclusion of the dismantling of Canada’s postwar citizenship regime has had political and fiscal consequences for both the mobilization of Canadian provinces inside the federation and the dynamics animating both orders of governments in relation to Canada’s citizens. When it comes to immigration, current forms of provincial citizenship regimes, I argue, are the result of trends described in Jenson’s 1997 article “Fated to Live in Interesting Times: Canada’s Changing Citizenship Regimes.” Consequently, immigrants settling permanently in Canada are now living through Canada’s “interesting times” as they unfold, for better or for worse. This chapter will start by reviewing the concept of citizenship regime and its potential for application at the subnational and local scales. A broad presentation of contemporary provincial interventions in immigrant selection and immigrant integration will then lead to a broader discussion of the dynamics that resulted in the emergence of provincial citizenship regimes since the end of the 1990s. The last part of this chapter will present and discuss central features of the provincial citizenship regimes as they pertain to newcomers. The political implications and analytical challenges created by these “interesting times” policies will then be discussed.

T h e C o n c e p t o f C it i zens hi p Regi me Citizenship studies, in political science and in other social science disciplines, are traditionally divided between the study of “citizenshipas-legal-status … and citizenship-as-desirable activity” (Kymlicka and

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Norman 1994, 353). Contemporary insight on citizenship reminds us that state and citizen practices of citizenship must be taken into account in order to get a fully accurate representation of citizens’ lives and conditions. This also includes taking into account variations in the meaning and practices of citizenship across time, as well as queries about the locations and scales of citizenship (Maas 2013). Building on these foundations and in dialogue with the work of Marshall, Esping-Andersen, and the contribution of the regulationists (Jenson and Phillips 2001), the citizenship regime concept “denotes the institutional arrangements, rules, and understandings that guide and shape concurrent policy decisions and expenditures of states, problem definitions by states and citizens, and claims-making by citizens” (Jenson and Phillips 2001, 72). As a time-situated and practices-embedded construct, citizenship regime can be used as an analytical lens with which to consider – in relation – citizenship institutions and citizenship practices. A citizenship regime rests on an idealized conception of the citizen, as promoted by the state, and it has clear implications for practices of citizenship (Jenson and Phillips 1996). In Jenson’s work and in other applications, the concept is operationalized using four dimensions. The first of these is the responsibility mix – that is, the distribution of responsibilities for citizenship between the state, the market, the community, and the family and private individual (Jenson 2012, 67). Second is the dimension of rights and obligations, which include both formal rights and obligations as well as the broad principle(s) or objective(s) guiding their organization (for example, equality or justice). Third comes the dimension of access to the state, which includes governance arrangements (Jenson 2012, 75) as well as expected and encouraged practices of political participation for citizens. Fourth is the sense of belonging, which refers to the links that states expect their citizens to have to the state and the space that corresponds to the most important political community to which allegiance is due. These four dimensions, taken together, help identify and describe the contents of a citizenship regime at a given point in time and space. The concept of citizenship regime has not been applied in any seminal way when it comes to immigration and integration. In addition to some grey literature, the application that has come nearest to the topic of this chapter focused on the notion of legal citizenship and transnationalism (Wong 2002). The most important uses of the concept have to do with the study of social citizenship and the



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evolution of the welfare state in Canada and elsewhere (Jenson and Phillips 2001; Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003). Some have used it convincingly to explain the impacts of neoliberalism on collective action, conflicts inside Canada’s federal regime, and the contemporary mobilization of First Nations in Canada (M. Smith 2005; Jenson and Papillon 2000b; Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004). These applications confirm that the regime is spatially and historically situated. Moreover, the empirical demonstrations all hint – in different ways – at the possible and quite common coexistence of several regimes in a given space. Citizenship regimes can differ and overlap because their members are seen as responding to a different set of rights and obligations, have variegated access to the state, and experience a citizenship in which there is a division of responsibilities between different political and societal actors or institutions. This difference can be the result of actual variation in formal rights and their translation in citizenship practices, such as in the case of First Nations in Canada, or of broad social movements such as Canadian second-wave feminists. It can also be the result of states and collective actors’ efforts at remaking or reinforcing the boundaries of belonging. In the case of Canada, using the citizenship regime lens allows us to trace the efforts of the federal government, after 1945, to create a Canadian citizenship. In the absence of an organic and strong panCanadian sense of belonging, the state supported the development of one via the granting of equal social rights from coast to coast, governance arrangements that supported the ideal of social justice, and modalities of access to the state based on liberal principles (Jenson 1997, 634–6). At the same time, national minorities in Canada were also active in establishing parallel citizenship regimes (Jenson 1998a). Quebec is the flagship example of this process, its parallel regime corresponding to different boundaries of belonging, and advocating a more collective conception of the relation between state and society, as well as a distinct mix of rights and responsibilities. In the words of Banting, the Quebec government used “instruments for strengthening regional cultures and enhancing the significance of local communities in the lives of citizens” (Banting 1995, 270–1), that is, it was active in nation building. Two lessons follow from these empirical examples. First, that a state and groups can support the existence of multiple citizenship regimes in a given national or transnational context, as well as

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challenge claims about the content, forms, and practices of citizenship. Second, that different institutions, governments, and nations inside or around a given space can be active simultaneously in the production and reinforcement of citizenship regimes. While these actors might target different groups in specific geographical locations, most often they affect the same individuals, groups, and spaces simultaneously. For example, Quebec’s nation building was intertwined and in conflict with the development of Canada’s postwar citizenship regime in ways often described as “competitive nation building.” These insights make the concept of citizenship regime a very powerful tool for the study of dynamics of citizenship at the subnational scale and in the context of a federal regime like Canada.

T h e “ In t e r e s t i ng Ti mes” The use of the concept of citizenship regime for the study of citizenship in provinces is twofold. It first allows a consideration of the broader dynamics that supported the emergence of new practices of citizenship beyond the national state. It also provides an analytical grid with which to map and describe citizenship on the ground, especially in the absence of policies identified as “citizenship policies.” This section builds on two aspects of Jenson’s work – the concept of citizenship regime and its application for the analysis of broader trends in Canadian society – to describe the dynamics that have given rise to provincial citizenship regimes since the 1990s and the roles immigrants play in them. A consideration of broader changes in Canadian politics and society is necessary to explain contemporary province building and the establishment of new development models for provinces. As Jenson wrote, “[b]eing a regime, citizenship does not alter quickly or even easily. Nonetheless, we can expect and see change at moments of economic and political turbulence” (Jenson 1997, 633). Canada has experienced political, economic, and social turbulence since the 1990s and these had important consequences for the content and scales of citizenship. Writing in 1997, Jenson demonstrated convincingly that Canada was entering a period of choice regarding citizenship. The postwar Canadian citizenship regime, one that “assigned an active role to the state, in order to promote social justice; accepted a guiding role for the state in economic development; recognized a single Canadian community, albeit one composed of francophone and anglophones,



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as well as individuals of diverse ethnic origins” (Jenson 1997, 634), was starting to be questioned and unsettled. These challenges affected both the conditions of individuals as well as the roles and capabilities of the governments of Canadian societies. Two forces were at play: 1) the growing differentiation between the regime practised in Canada and the one developed in Quebec (dualism) (Jenson 1997, 638) and 2) the influence of neoliberal ideas on governance and public policies across Canada. The latter meant a questioning – and in several cases, a slashing – of direct state interventions and public policy financing by the federal government as well as the provinces. Neoliberalism altered, in the Canadian citizenship regime, the role assigned to the state and gave an increasing importance to markets in the division of responsibilities. It reinforced the already strong tendencies of the regime toward a liberal conception of citizenship and an ideal of individual access to the state. This complicated even more the challenges created by the former – the development of Quebec’s parallel citizenship regime – since it rested strongly on a conception of Canada and of citizenship in which communities are seen as valid sites of mobilization and relation to the state. This set of forces created “interesting times” for Canada and opened several roads toward which the citizenship regime could evolve. In the late 1990s and the early 2000s, these forces continued to be at play. Their impacts on the governments of Canadian society were important. Neoliberalism, broadly conceived, supported an ethos of deficit fighting in Ottawa and in the provinces. As a result, the federal government questioned several of its social policies and economic management interventions. The resulting policy orientations included drastic cost-cutting measures from the federal and provincial governments that limited the presence of governments in the lives of citizens, changes to fiscal transfers that diminished federal participation in the funding of provincial programs and priorities, transfers and downloading of policy and administrative responsibilities from the federal government to the provinces, and modifications of the policy instruments favoured by both orders of governments as well as of the tools used by the federal government in setting social and economic policies across Canada. As a consequence of these changes, typical government interventions shifted in Canada, and, in particular, the relationships between citizens and the federal state continued being restructured. The role of Ottawa was diminished in favour of the activity of the market and the community at the onset of these “interesting times.”

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Although the federal government was active in developing new modes of intervention (Boismenu 2003; Boismenu and Graefe 2004), this shift created pressures and spaces for a parallel reinvention of provincial states. These were reinforced by the general dynamics of the denationalization of national economies – supported by globalization – that then impacted subnational and local states. As demonstrated by Jenson, the addition of these dynamics and pressures generally supported “the insistence by the subnational state on gaining control over many of those levers of economic development which the national state controlled in the Fordist years. Whether the goal is to deploy large capital funds or to control education and training, the subnational states have claimed a right to manage the central levers of economic development” (Jenson 1995, 104). These downward and upward movements from both orders of government participated in dismantling the last foundations of Canada’s post-1945 citizenship regimes. As a consequence, provinces rose as new sites of economic and social development in Canada. The room for experimentation created by the federal surrender of older tools of control and homogenization in social and economic policies supported new provincial behaviours (Jenson 2003; Boismenu 2003; Boismenu and Graefe 2004). As the federal government was shifting resolutely to a market-driven development model and installing the new and fuzzy foundations of conservative national citizenship, provinces experienced variegated needs (for example, population growth, specific labour shortages, and particular regional industry challenges) that were not met by these new policies. This reinforced the need for province-specific development models and the re-centring of economic, political, and social attention on the provincial state. Finally, the dismantling of Canada’s post-1945 citizenship regime, through dramatically lowering the role of social citizenship in the establishment of a national identity for Canada, opened tremendous room for new sites of belonging. As such, the propensity of the federal government to enter into conflicts over nation building to ensure the primacy of belonging to Canada was replaced by a capacity for the cohabitation of two orders of differentiated regimes, as predicted by Jenson (1997).1 Facing new needs and new opportunities because of the space left open by the federal government, provinces responded by engaging in contemporary forms of province building. Akin to previous episodes of province building in Canada, provinces were interested in reinforcing the relation between their state and their society, through a



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specific focus on economic development and control over resources. Building on previous work on province building, it can be defined as a transformative mobilization focused on establishing strategies to develop provincial society (state, public administration, economy, and population) (Paquet 2014). Province building has often been the mechanism by which provinces have reacted to broader changes in Canadian society, and it has overlapped with the general tendency for provincial domains of responsibility to grow in importance (Atkinson et al. 2013). To develop a new model of development and justify the importance of the provincial state by responding to emerging needs, provincial political elites aimed to increase the autonomy of provincial economies (Stevenson 1979, 1980). As in the past, resources and annuities had been an important part of these mobilizations (Brodie 1990). In these “interesting times,” however, provinces have not mobilized around the maximization of natural resources such as potash or oil. Central to contemporary province building is an identification of people as a resource for provincial economies and societies.2 The new mechanism of province building, spurred by the dismantling of Canada’s postwar citizenship regime, thus aims at building a strong and competitive provincial labour force as well as supporting a vibrant population base for the provinces. The development models emerging from this movement are ones in which lifelong education and training, active labour market policies, job creation, and family policy are central responsibilities of the provincial government (Paquet 2016). Via these interventions, provincial states are able to support the economy by providing it with a large skilled and adaptable labour force. As part of the establishment of these new development models, immigrants have emerged as a central target of intervention by ­provincial states. While immigration is formally a shared jurisdiction in the 1867 Canadian Constitution,3 the historical pattern post-­ Confederation has been one of provincial avoidance of public action on immigration. During these “interesting times,” every province has broken with this stance in favour of a more active orientation. They have developed administrative structures and official immigration strategies, started to deliver more funding for immigrant integration services, and have created means to attract and select immigrants. During the same period, provincial governments have been demanding more power and resources from the Canadian federal government over immigration-related matters, and have tried to increase their

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input and influence over the direction of the country’s national immigration policy. Federal policies and programs have responded and sometimes supported this change. Financial transfers for the integration and settlement of immigrants have been ramped up and new calculation formulas have been established. In some cases, such as Manitoba and British Columbia, responsibilities over settlement were completely transferred to the provincial governments.4 A new program, the Provincial Nominee Program, allowed provinces to directly select a portion of the immigrants settling in their territory for economic purposes.5 Provincial efforts during this period have been supported by discourses about the importance of immigration as a resource for provincial societies and have centred on the implementation of policies that aim at attracting immigrants. The following excerpt from the Government of Saskatchewan’s report on immigration policies illustrates how provinces have identified immigration as a solution to the new challenges provincial governments face: Immigration is an important factor in building and sustaining dynamic communities and economic growth in Saskatchewan. Attracting and retaining skilled workers, entrepreneur immigrants and international students plays an important role in growing our communities and expanding our province’s innovation, cultural diversity and trade development. Immigrants enhance our capacity for innovation by contributing new ideas and global perspectives. Immigration is vital to Saskatchewan’s future as a high growth, diverse, dynamic and vital society. (Saskatchewan 2009, 20) Provinces worked to attract immigrants to their territory, ensure their quick incorporation into the labour force, and ensure that they remain in their territory (Tolley et al. 2011). The Government of Prince Edward Island has identified immigrants as “an important economic and social tool for future population growth and stability” (Prince Edward Island 2010, i). Immigrants are a central resource for provinces’ new development models in the “interesting times.” The dismantling of Canada’s postwar regime is a central cause of the emergence of these new models and, at the same time, has made possible the coexistence of multiple citizenship regimes, at different levels, in Canada. A focus on the expectations toward immigrants



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within these multiple regimes, as well on the principles behind state action, helps uncover the dynamics central to provincial citizenship regimes in the “interesting times.”

P rov in c ia l C it iz e n shi p Regi mes a n d   Im m ig rants This section uses the four dimensions of a citizenship regime to consider the role immigrants play in new provincial development models. A focus on rights and duties, access to the state, belonging, and the sharing of responsibilities allows us to uncover how within these development models, immigrant provincial citizenship is largely negotiated through the prism of their contribution to society and, especially, their participation in the economy. This significant trend can be observed, with particular nuances, in every one of the Canadian provinces.6 While recognizing these differences and their significant character, this section will focus on similarities in the discourses and policies among the provinces. To do so, data stemming from political actors – especially discourses and interventions held in provincial legislative assemblies – and provincial governments will be mobilized.

R e s p o n s ib il i ty Mi x Within a citizenship regime, the sharing of responsibility between the state, the market, the community, and the family helps account for the central orientation of citizenship as well as the relationship of solidarity and accountability between strata of society. In the post1945 citizenship regime in Canada, the state was a central pole of responsibility. It provided social rights and thus supported security and equality for citizens. Markets and communities were in subordinated positions to the state, providing alleviating measures and resources for state action. The family assumed a large role, albeit one that was changing as the boundaries of the private were contested within society during that period. This responsibility mix was also visible when it came to policies targeting immigrants. As Canada moved, incrementally, toward the establishment of a more liberal selection model, the role of the state grew substantially. Immigrant integration moved from being the prime responsibility of the community and the family to being orchestrated by the state. As such, the Canadian federal state became responsible

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for providing immigrants with specific social rights and for making Canadian citizens out of immigrants. The active role of the state in the process of citizenization – which contrasted with the more laissezfaire approach of the previous era – made immigration a central component of the federal government’s ongoing efforts in identity building (Vineberg 2012). The market, in contrast, remained a central actor and, in large part, a companion to state leadership. The state developed policies responding to the needs of the market, but the latter was not presented as the central actor responsible for newcomers’ integration. Moreover, as time advanced, the role of the state grew in relation to that of the market, as Canada moved from a market demand-driven model to a human capital-selection model (Green and Green 1999). Needless to say, in this version of the regime the provinces had a very limited role, and immigration, broadly conceived, was understood as the federal government’s responsibility. This division of responsibilities, as it affects immigrants, shifted in several ways in the “interesting times.” For one thing, as a result of the dynamics described in the previous section, room was created for the provincial state to have a role in immigration. As provinces identified immigration as a resource central to their contemporary development models, they started implementing policies and interventions with expectations for the market, the community, and the family. In this version of the citizenship regime, the state still plays a central role, albeit with subtle but significant changes from the post-1945 regime. The state resurfaces as a macro agent responsible for providing the market with a labour force, and the provincial community, a population. The following quote, by Manitoba’s minister of culture, heritage, and citizenship in 1993, sums up the provincial government’s understanding of its responsibilities: Mr. Speaker, what we want to do in Manitoba is get our fair share of immigrants, and we all know by the numbers that Manitoba’s numbers of immigrants have been decreasing and that, proportionately, our fair share should be around 4 percent of those who immigrate to Canada. Mr. Speaker, we want to ensure through an immigration agreement that we have some control over expeditiously allowing those to come to fill job shortages, with job skills that are not here in Manitoba, and we also want to expeditiously try to accommodate those who are coming here for family reunification. (Manitoba 1993)



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While the provincial state positions itself as an umbrella actor in the division of responsibility, political actors are adamant about its responsibility in supporting provincial markets. The following excerpt from British Columbia’s 1996 to 1997 annual report on immigration activities demonstrate this: The B C Government’s 1995 Economic Plan, sets out actions required to build on the Province’s competitive advantages and improve the economic and investment climate for the next century. Investment in immigrant settlement and the promotion of economic immigration to B C is a component of the plan, requiring an active role in maintaining the benefits of immigration to B C ’s economic development. (British Columbia 1997, 7–8) Thus, in contrast to the previous iteration of citizenship in Canada, the provincial state is openly subordinate to the wills and needs expressed by industries and economic actors. At the same time, provinces work, as part of this regime, to maintain their legitimacy as central stakeholders in the development model. They do so by positioning themselves as the representative of the market in the federal regime and, most importantly, as the implementers of immigrant selection and recruitment policies. This positioning is the same in the relation between the state and the community, as provinces work to maintain a viable and vital population, especially in rural areas. The responsibilities of the state, however, should not obscure the considerable role of the market in the new provincial citizenship regimes. Because immigrants are first and foremost acknowledged – from their recruitment to their integration – as workers, the market acts as the central agent of inclusion in provincial citizenship. Access to the labour market is the path to citizenship, and employers are considered to be able to facilitate the process. With the help of the state in providing bridges to employment, the market plays a role in marking the difference between those who are deserving and those who are less deserving. Because the regime operates with a limited conception of social rights and of the support provided by the state in the face of social risks, the market is also cast as the central site from which newcomers can obtain well-being. In some cases, the market is also explicitly charged with creating settlement and integration policies for newcomers, but in all cases the province is considered responsible for these, with the central objective to serve markets.

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Communities and families have responsibilities that are highly subordinate to those of the state and the market. Communities are presented as implementation agents for several of the state measures and may support, to a lesser extent, the activities of the market. In large part, community organizations will be especially responsible for those at the margins of the regime: newcomers facing difficulties in entering the provincial markets as well as newcomers presented as dependents. In this context, the community, especially service-­ providing organizations, is responsible for providing remedial measures to promote employment, instead of social services and support measures. The Nova Scotia Progressive Conservative government’s 2006 speech from the throne illustrates this dynamic: My government knows the more diverse Nova Scotia becomes, the stronger it becomes. To this end, my government will continue to implement the objectives of the Immigration Strategy … including increasing the number of immigrants that are settling in Nova Scotia, helping newcomers adjust to their new lives, and supporting the vital work of our settlement organizations. (Nova Scotia 2006) To a large extent, because of the lack of cultural components to new provincial citizenship regimes (see the belonging section, below), ethnocultural communities and traditional immigrant associations are not given central responsibilities, unless they act as general service providers.7 Families are given background yet important roles. They are to support workers and be responsible for the general welfare of newcomers. At the same time, because contemporary provincial development models rest on the creation and maintenance of an active population for the province, the family is also presented as a productive unit to be supported. As such, the state will often provide clear recognition of the role of the family with regard to immigration to the province. In addition, the state aims to retain immigrants and will guide them to more general policies of support directed exclusively at families.

R ig h t s a n d O bli gati ons Another crucial component of a citizenship regime involves rights and obligations. The granting of formal rights and the substantive



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exercise of rights are central to the realization of citizenship. In Canada, prior to the start of the “interesting times,” rights and obligations aligned with an individual liberal ideal, coupled with the principle of a Keynesian-inspired welfare and development model. Citizens, as individuals, were bearers of legal and political rights as well as of cultural and linguistic rights. They had a duty to participate in the economic and social life of the country but could rely on the state to support them in case of market failure. The state also had a duty of cultural support and recognition, both for founding cultures and for new Canadians. Rights, formal and substantive, were conceived as a central unifying force in relation to Canada’s ethnic, regional, and linguistic diversity. As part of this past regime, with the exception of Quebec, talk of rights was rarely directed at or rarely stemmed from provinces. This has come to change, as the result of the development of new provincial development models; to achieve province building, provincial states have incrementally reaffirmed their role in relation to citizens’ rights. The same is true for newcomers to the province, who also became provincial rights subjects, to a different extent. In provinces – now also a locus of rights – the duty of newcomers is one of effective participation in society. Participation takes the unique role of partaking in the labour market of the province. In relation to this, the provincial state has the duty to ensure access to this labour market for these citizens, based on an individual autonomy model. This can take the form, for example, of provincial support for structural changes that target direct and indirect employment discrimination. In its first speech from the throne, the Dalton McGuinty government in Ontario re-engaged with supporting access to work for newcomers: “Your new government believes our province’s diversity is a tremendous source of strength … It will keep its commitment to ensure that highly qualified, internationally trained tradespeople and professionals can work in their chosen field, here in their chosen province” (Ontario 2003). At the same time, state duties do not extend to the protection of newcomers from market forces, outside of basic social assistance and basic integration services at the beginning of their integration process. In addition, while the previous version of the federal citizenship regime gave a central importance to individual rights and harboured a partial but complex relationship with collective rights, the latter are completely absent from provincial regimes as they affect immigrants.

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This is especially striking when it comes to the detachment – and in some cases, the retreat – from multicultural policies and statements in relation to immigration. Indeed, as the following excerpt from a debate on British Columbia’s 2005 speech from the throne highlights, provincial governments favoured individual diversity, also cast as an economic asset: British Columbians benefit greatly from the economic engine of immigration. Immigration is an important part of our history. The diversity of our population translates directly into economic advantage and opportunity for all British Columbians. British Columbia’s diversity is increasingly recognized as an asset in the domestic and international markets and is a major contributor to Canadian economic prosperity … New immigrants to British Columbia can count on our government’s commitment to provide the means to become full participants in all aspects of our society. (British Columbia 2004, 8, 515) With growing provincial discourses about newcomers thus came clear declarations about their rights as workers and economic contributors but a decrease of any kind of soft cultural rights that could be associated with immigration. At the same time, the expanding role of provincial governments in the life of citizens has not resulted in a competing language of formal rights. In the case of immigrants, provinces are especially silent when it comes to formal rights, outside of issues of discrimination and employment. This points to the importance of the cohabitation of both regimes, with provinces concerned with substantive citizenships – now synonymous with economic integration – and the federal government remaining in charge of formal rights.

A c c e s s to t h e S tate The dimension of a citizenship regime that regards access to the state indicates the preferred and respected ways in which citizens can participate in political life. Access to the state can be mediated by groups or institutions, or be mostly focused on the individual. As such, it also encompasses practices of governance and, in some cases, service delivery. In the postwar Canadian citizenship regime, access to the state was practised in two main ways. First, access operated as a direct relation between the federal state and individual citizens, in which



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participation was linked to state responsibilities for social well-being. This relationship was focused on the individual; interest brokerage and deliberation about collective cleavages management, such as regional disparities, were expected to unfold within political parties and be managed in isolation by the political elite. Second, this version of the regime had a strong recognition of community as both a representative of the state in the lives of citizens – via services delivery and implementation – and as a platform for representing social interests in relation to the state. As with the other dimensions, access to the state as a practice of citizenship – be it social or political – was targeted at the federal government. As a dimension in the new provincial citizenship regimes, access to the state is, in comparison, extremely muted as it is applied to immigrants. The image of the immigrant within these new development models does not include political citizenship practices. In reviewing provincial discourses targeting immigrants, the absence of discussion regarding political integration is stunning. For provinces, newcomers remain first and foremost workers, and to a lesser extent, family members. These two identities are strongly recognized by the state and mediate immigrants’ access to the provincial state. In 2009, the British Columbia government made explicit in its settlement and integration program the difference between integration, access to the labour market and access to the state. The abilities of a new immigrant to communicate in English and to attain employment in a job that is related to their previous skills, knowledge and experience are good indicators that a ­newcomer has successfully integrated into BC society. Successful ­integration is vital for B C to be seen as a preferred place for newcomers to live and work. The Ministry’s efforts to support a ­newcomer’s successful integration into the BC economy and ­society are delivered under WorkB C and WelcomeBC … A key element of WelcomeB C is delivering English language classes to adult newcomers to ensure that they have the language skills they need to move forward in their careers and become part of their new communities, and includes targeted labour market programs referenced under WorkB C . (British Columbia 2009, 27 Newcomers are citizens for provincial states by virtue of being the target populations for selection programs, and for labour market bridging programs.8

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This absence of valid platforms and means of representation for specific immigrant interests – if they exist – outside of economic dynamics also extends to the role of social groups in terms of access to the state dynamic. Provinces strongly identify immigrant services providers as partners in the implementation of their policies targeting newcomers. These organizations are, however, not conceived as structures by which immigrants can access the state nor as sites of political participation. They are not organizations by which governance of immigrant issues unfold; they are semi-­autonomous implementation agents but are not expected to provide support for political representation.9 These two characteristics support the capacity of cohabitation of provincial and federal citizenship regimes in “interesting times.” The modalities of access to the provincial state – when looked at via the prism of newcomers – are compatible with practices of participation geared at the federal state. Interestingly, while provincial political parties have increasingly featured immigration as part of their platforms since the 1990s, they have done so by speaking of immigration and immigrants, not by stating that they were addressing the needs and interests expressed by immigrants, with the exception of rare instances regarding access to the labour market. The following quote from the Ontario government’s 2002 speech from the throne illustrates this trend: Your new government believes our province’s diversity is a tremendous source of strength. It will work with the federal government to finalize immigration and labour market development agreements that build on this strength. It will keep its commitment to ensure that highly qualified, internationally trained tradespeople and professionals can work in their chosen field, here in their chosen province. (Bartleman 2003) This has left the door open to federal strategies aimed directly at newcomers as potential political citizens and, especially, as voters.

B e l o n g ing Citizenship regimes also draw the boundaries of the community; the unit toward which people’s allegiances and solidarities must be directed. This dimension of a regime is strongly related to the three



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others, as it limits the space where rights, duties, and responsibilities should be practised. At the same time, belonging is a function of the performance of a citizenship regime; rights, duties, and access to the state create, in theory, links between citizens and a government, whereas a different configuration of responsibility mix would provide support for citizens’ attachment to a governance unit. It follows logically that the post-1945 citizenship regime in Canada supported the establishment of strong links of belonging between citizens and the federal state. As described in the previous section, over this period, Ottawa worked considerably to develop a sense of pan-Canadian identity resting on liberal norms and values, individual rights, and specific cultural markers (for example, liberal multiculturalism and bilingualism) thought to be shared across Canada (Jenson 1991, 60; Brodie 2002). The sense of belonging supported by these efforts was to be inclusive, but at the same time it could not easily cohabitate with other sites of identity, as demonstrated by the political tensions between Quebec and Ottawa regarding identity. Over the same period, while other provinces maintained their cultural specificities and were active in the provision of services for their citizens, they were hardly engaged in developing a sense of belonging among their citizens. Thus, in general, with the exception of Quebec (Jenson 1998a), the pre-“interesting times” citizenship regime was one in which belonging to Canada as a whole was supported and enhanced. The establishment of new provincial development models resulting from province building filled some of the gaps in belonging left by the dismantling of the post-1945 citizenship regime. While contemporary province building does not take the form of nation building (Linz 1993; Linz, Darviche, and Genieys 1997, 5), it nonetheless works to create stronger links between provincial governments and the provinces’ inhabitants. In the “interesting times,” these links focus on the provision of social services by the province – most of the time embedded in new paradigms such as neoliberalism or social investment – and on the province as an economic unit in a globalized world. Belonging to a province is not to belong to a provincial culture but to be part of a specific community, one in which social risks are mitigated and in which modern economic development is established, within a changing world. In this new emerging sense of belonging, messages exclusively target “provincial citizens,” and the figure of the immigrant is absent. Provinces are not explicitly active in the promotion of belonging to

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the province in ways that target immigrants. Discussion of provincial “cultures,” history, and such are absent from the mobilization of provincial governments when it comes to immigrants. As with other dimensions, belonging to the province is formulated as part of newcomers’ identities as workers and members of a family unit. The province aims to create a relation between the state – the provider of the bridges to market participation that will, in turn, support families – and immigrants. The following declaration from the Alberta government’s 2007 speech from the throne illustrates this: Despite so many people moving to Alberta each year, our ­economy is in dire need of people to answer the calls for “help wanted” across the province. To help meet this demand, your government will focus on better co-ordination of economic development, immigration, and labour force planning. It will craft a made-in-Alberta solution to labour needs. Like the early settlers who helped build our province, immigrants today come here with hopes of creating a better life for themselves and a better future for their children. The government of Alberta will help new Albertans realize their dreams. It will encourage them to put down roots, raise their families here, and contribute to and share in Alberta’s prosperity. (Alberta 2007) As such, they are part of the provincial project of economic development. In 2007, Newfoundland and Labrador’s government projected these positive boundaries of belonging in the Legislative Assembly by stating: My Government will also enrich our investment climate by encouraging those from away, not only to do business in Newfoundland and Labrador, but also to make Newfoundland and Labrador their home. My Government this year launched a comprehensive Immigration Strategy to welcome people around the world to join us in making Newfoundland and Labrador a home second to none. Newfoundland and Labrador offers immigrants the best quality of life in Canada, freedom, security, economic opportunity and a sense of family. Immigrants, in turn, bring to Newfoundland and Labrador new ideas, new ways of thinking, strong connections to foreign markets and significant benefits for the local communities in which they establish



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businesses and employ their new neighbours. Our door to newcomers is open wide and our welcome is warm and sincere. (Newfoundland 2007) This definition of belonging supports the coexistence of a sense of belonging to the federal state. Social and economic allegiance to the province does not limit political and somewhat cultural belonging to Canada for the entirety of the provincial population. Provincial discourses and policies targeted at immigrants, as part of provinces’ establishing of new development models, support a clear conception of citizenship in which newcomers are considered via the prism of their contribution to provincial economies and societies. In this model, states have large responsibilities, while at the same time are active mostly for the profit of the market. Immigrants’ rights and duties are granted and practised via the platform of labour market integration and participation, while social and cultural rights are absent from expectations in this regard. Along the same line, the citizenship regime that emerges is one in which access to the state is highly depoliticized; immigrants are in relation with the state as workers and as families. These two identities are the only ones recognized by the provincial state, and, in general, they are to be exercised via state program-mediated lines of access. Finally, while provincial states across Canada have worked tremendously during the “interesting times” period to justify their existence and strengthen links between their government and their population, they have not expressly expanded these efforts to newcomers.

C o n c l u s i on This chapter has focused on two interlinked elements related to multilevel citizenship in contemporary Canada, using the concept of citizenship regime as an analytical lens. First, the changes in Canada’s federal regime and to the country’s political and social forces have created what Jenson has labelled “interesting times.” Over this period, Canada’s postwar citizenship regime was slowly but resolutely dismantled. This change created pressures for provincial governments to establish new responses in the face of new needs. Policy and political space have been liberated during the “interesting time,” and made it possible for provinces to become proactive and

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aggressive in establishing links with their populations and with their economic elites. A central feature of this dynamic has been efforts by the provinces to create new development models to support the prosperity and sustainability of provincial societies. As part of these models, immigrants have been identified as resources, both for their labour force and for their contribution to the provincial population. Second, the result of these dynamics has been the emergence of provincial citizenship regimes, cohabitating with a new version of a federal citizenship regime. While all provinces have instated specific regimes, they all align in the roles and the injunctions targeting newcomers. Immigrants, in this context, experience a substantial citizenship mediated through the prism of their access to employment, participation on the provincial labour market, and, to a much lesser extent, their belonging to the broader categories of the family unit. Because of its focus on relation and practices, the concept of citizenship regime is a perfect tool with which to consider citizenship at the subnational scale in Canada. Indeed, it would be difficult to account for the local variations explored in this chapter with a formal or legal definition of citizenship. At the same time, this application of the concept leaves the actual experience of newcomers unexplored. How are the immigrants in different parts of the country experiencing these different regimes? While it is possible to explore this question using the citizenship regime, major challenges arise when it comes to operationalizing each dimension to account for experiences on the ground. As such, the question of the linkages between, on the one hand, the policies, rules, and discourses that generate the regime and, on the other, the experience and performance of substantial citizenship remains an issue requiring more work using the concept. The dynamics, discourses, and policies discussed here raise several questions for the future of citizenship in Canada, social justice, and the study of citizenship. Obviously, the dynamics of province building raise the impendence of national disunity and of the erosion of Canadian identity, based on heterogeneous citizenship practices across Canada. In practice, however, the “interesting times” have not proven to be a stage for national unity crisis and competitive tensions over citizenship between Ottawa and the provinces. This chapter hints, instead, at a diversification of substantial citizenship along informal status in Canada: between provincial “citizens” and “newcomers,” and between “workers” and the other, invisible, underserving members of society. Telling, in this regard, are the contrast between the



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discourses targeting immigrants, as presented here, and the overall orientations of provincial governments in terms of development models, starting at the end of the 1990s. As identified by several scholars, provinces have aligned their policy orientations with a general social investment perspective. This perspective rests on policy that both invests in human capital development (early childhood education and care, education and lifelong training and that help to make efficient use of human capital) … while fostering greater social inclusion [in a] fundamental break from the neoliberal view of social policy as a cost and a hindrance to economic and employment growth. (Morel, Palier, and Palme 2012b, 2) The discourses about immigrants as a resource for provincial societies align, more generally, with a neoliberal perspective in supporting individual responsibility, activation, access to the labour market as the central source of well-being, and in limiting the relationship between the individual and the state. As such, the figure of the immigrant worker appears as a contributor to, but not as a beneficiary of, the development models established by the provinces in response to the challenges created by the “interesting times.” The implications of this differentiation, in terms of social justice, are considerable both for provinces and for Canada as a whole.

no t e s   1 The erosion of the tendency for competitive state building can also be seen as the result of the abandonment of ambitions for formal, post-1982 constitutional reforms in favour of a more pragmatic and flexible approach to federalism after the failures of the Meech Lake and Charlottetown constitutional reform packages.   2 In itself, this shift is not surprising; it was already hinted at by Stevenson and by Brodie. Each of them proposed that province building included provincial intervention in the economy, the development of public administrations, investments in infrastructures, and, later, the management of the provincial labour force (Stevenson 1979; 1980, 266; Brodie 1990, 191–2). According to Stevenson, the labour force is managed mainly through education: “Education also belongs in [province building] since its primary

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purpose from a governmental perspective is the training of a provincial labour force” (1980, 266). The roles and responsibilities of provinces in the governance of Canada’s immigration regime are also recognized in various inceptions of national immigration laws since 1976 (Dirks 1995, 98–9; Vineberg 1987, 305–6; Kelley and Trebilcock 2010). A transfer since cancelled by the Harper federal government. As described by Citizenship and Immigration Canada: “The Provincial Nominee Program (PN P) was introduced in 1998 to give provinces a mechanism to respond to local economic development needs” (Canada 2012, 1). The PN P accounted for about 28 per cent of the total economic class of immigration in 2014 (Canada 2015). “For some provinces, such as Manitoba, New Brunswick and Saskatchewan, the program is now the primary vehicle through which they attract immigrants to their province … The P NP allows for the eleven participating provinces and territories … to nominate potential immigrants whom they believe will meet particular provincial / territorial needs, and who intend to settle in the PT of nomination” (Canada 2012, 1). This movement was also visible in the province of Quebec. Starting in the 1990s, a growing importance has been given to immigrant economic integration and contribution by both the governments and political parties (Parti libéral du Québec 1988, 15; Commission politique du Parti libéral du Québec 1989, 56; Quebec 1990). This is a central change in provincial relations to ethnocultural groups prior to the late 1990s. In several provinces, formal councils composed of ethnocultural associations and community representatives were created and supported by provincial governments (Paquet 2016). Interestingly, these were mostly abolished at the same time as provinces’ interest and action in immigration grew exponentially. This change is telling both for the division of responsibilities as well as for the access to the state dimension of these current citizenship regimes, where ethnocultural representation is clearly considered less valid than other forms of relation between the state and citizens. As clearly noted by Banting (2012), despite the multiplication of governments active in immigration-related policymaking in Canada since the mid-1990s, political integration has still not gained more attention from governments. The same dynamics have been unfolding when it comes to the relationship of the federal state with immigrant service-providing organization since the mid-1990s.

7 Managing Diversity through Citizenization: Citizenship Regime as a Framework of Analysis James Bickerton

What is it that makes democratic, multination states cohere? Why has national identity difference not undermined the social unity, political stability, and territorial integrity of such states (for instance, through minority nation secession)? What underlies this durability and resiliency? What is the source of the seeming capacity of democratic, multination states to integrate minority nations into the political and constitutional order, despite the absence or weakness of the presumed essential binding agent of a shared national identity? Not surprisingly, a variety of answers have been given in response to these questions, none of which on their own seems a sufficient explanation. Certainly in Canada there has been extensive debate on this topic, especially during the last two decades of the twentieth century when the country was intensely engaged in a drawn-out constitutional reform process, including the staging of three referenda (two in Quebec on secession and one nationwide on a constitutional reform proposal). Despite this recent history of extensive discussion and analysis, the basic question has not yet been definitively answered by scholars who have apprehended it from a number of perspectives. This chapter will not seek to rectify that, but it will suggest the need for a broad, inclusive framework of analysis in order to consider the full range of factors involved in the successful management of diversity in democratic, multination states. The concept of citizenship regime will be employed to this purpose, and will be applied here to the case of Canada.

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Mu lt i n at io n S tat e U ni ty and S tabi li ty Requejo has posited the governance challenge generated by internal diversity in terms of “legitimacy deficits” (2010). In deeply diverse societies, particularly multination states, these legitimacy deficits derive from two sources. The first is the more universal challenge posed by democratic and social justice. This refers to the political legitimacy that is secured by protecting and ensuring the conditions necessary for individual freedom, dignity, and equality within the state. The second source of legitimacy peculiar to multination states involves cultural justice. This refers to the state’s role in protecting and ensuring the conditions for cultural pluralism. In the latter case, balancing unity with diversity requires that legitimacy deficits in both realms – the democratic and the cultural – be addressed simultaneously, even when the requirements to satisfy one interferes with the conditions necessary to secure the other. Though Requejo identifies the sometimes innate contradiction that lies at the core of the governance challenge faced by multination states, this does not lead him to conclude that the management of one type of legitimacy deficit must be sacrificed or made subordinate to the other. Rather, both dimensions need to be managed through a continual search for – necessarily imperfect ­– “workable balances” within and between each realm of justice (2010). This involves the quintessential political task of practising the “art of the possible”: cobbling together, through dialogue and negotiation, a series of compromises and workable balances, including whatever asymmetries, ambiguities, silences, and constitutional abeyances are deemed necessary to manage simultaneous legitimacy deficits (Simeon and Conway 2001). National unity and political stability is gained through the search for a “satisficing” middle ground between regime types that rests on an evolving set of compromises, a pragmatic political vision that depends upon a constitutional, institutional, and ideological balancing act. In fact, all states in their constitutional and political arrangements can be said to embody a particular balance between integrationist and accommodationist approaches to managing the legitimacy deficits arising from internal diversity. The former is closely associated with the classic nation-state, which became the dominant form of governance arrangement first in Europe in the nineteenth century, before spreading across the globe in the twentieth century. It is rooted in the liberal majoritarian model, which in its conception, institutions, and



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practices tends toward a uniformity, homogeneity, and symmetry that is intolerant of the diversity required to maintain and promote significant minority difference and territorial pluralism. In contrast, accommodationist strategies recognize and seek to support the autonomy and integrity of territorially concentrated minority communities through various means and mechanisms (Simeon 2015). Many commentators have concluded that the challenge of overcoming the dual legitimacy deficit identified by Requejo is simply too great for multination states to overcome, so that they are unlikely to be sustainable in the long run, and certainly not without the presence of coercion. Yet as Kymlicka notes, democratic multination federations, contrary to these expectations, have survived and even flourished, apparently taming the force of nationalism where other political structures have failed. Kymlicka admits that these states (of which Canada is an exemplar) appear to have bonds of social unity that are weak and political loyalties that are conditional; nonetheless, the bonds have proven enduring. The glue that provides this sort of resilience remains a matter of debate: “we do not yet have a theory about how such states are possible: we have no clear account of the basis of social unity in such a multination state” (Kymlicka 2009, 42). A brief sampling of scholarly thought on this point highlights some of the political tensions endemic to multination states, and the strategies such states can employ in response. Nationalism theorist Wayne Norman argues that nation building through the reinforcement of a shared national identity (which is central to the integrationist approach) is essential to state success, so much so that even multination states must nurture a single, overarching national identity. In their case, however, majority national communities must learn to constrain their nationalism by modifying or thinning the overarching national identity to make it more “permeable” and thereby more inclusive for nested or dual identities. This allows all citizens – majority and minority – to feel part of the overarching national community (2006, 1–2). For Norman, finding a balance between the need and right of majority national communities to pursue their own nation-building project and the right of minority nations to do the same is an ongoing matter of “negotiating nationalism” and seeking reasonable limits to potentially rival nation-building projects (2006, 19). Similarly, Miller argues that in societies characterized by deep diversity, the overarching national identity must be gradually “reforged” to allow all groups to take part in a collective

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project of self-determination. Miller notes that asymmetric dual identities (where the majority simply adopts the overarching national identity) are the likely result. Still, these dual identities “have remarkable staying power,” which is related to the multiple functions they perform for the people who adopt them (2001, 312). While Resnick agrees that the majority in a multination state must accept the need to “thin” its own national identity, while extending symbolic recognition to substate nationalities, he disagrees with the notion that some kind of common or shared nationality is required for political stability. He argues instead that a common state structure and set of citizen rights – in effect, a shared citizenship – is a sufficient basis for political stability and national unity in such societies (2012, 76). He does admit, however, that persisting without a shared national identity means the multination state will need to avoid confrontation between national communities by adopting a position of ambiguity with regard to “founding principles” or other fundamentals, where insurmountable differences are likely to arise. In multination states such as Canada, this increases the political value and utility of constitutive tensions, pragmatism, and provisionality (2012, 77). O’Leary (2001) concludes that politically stable multinational federations are feasible under two scenarios. The first is the presence of a staatsvolk, a majority community who are demographically and electorally dominant – in effect a people who “own” the state and therefore can choose to be generous toward minorities. Alternatively, a sustained power balance between ethno-national groups is conducive to consociational arrangements where there is minority inclusion in core executive institutions, proportionate representation in public bureaucracies and legal institutions, and minority nation autonomy in cultural matters (292). Canada, according to O’Leary, represents something of a borderline or bridging case between the staatsvolk and consociational models. Finally, from a neo-institutionalist perspective, the role of state structure remains central to any explanation for the limited success of ethno-national movements pursuing secessionist agendas within liberal democratic states. As Urwin (1998) argues, the resilience of such states in managing or containing regionalist and minority nationalist sentiment can be attributed to both institutional inertia (an argument employed by Cairns in the case of Canada) and a willingness to bend if necessary, “to accommodate either symbolically or in limited ways the demands of minorities” (1998, 89). This experience shows that the interplay of state, territory, and ethno-national identity is



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constrained by some basic factors: “powerful and influential structures and institutions; broad and positive acceptance of pluralism and difference; tolerance as an integral element of democratic practice; and the ability of many people to live reasonably comfortably with dual identities” (ibid., 103).

C it iz e n s h ip Regi me In a 1998 publication entitled “Recognizing Difference: Distinct Societies, Citizenship Regimes and Partnerships” (1998a), Jenson presents a version of citizenship regime that is comprised of three dimensions of citizenship practice: rights, belonging, and access. The concept of citizenship regime employed here is similarly comprised of three primary dimensions: 1) a national identity and sense of belonging, 2) citizen rights and entitlements, and 3) a capacity to access the state, governed by a set of rules and representative institutions. Such regimes incorporate certain legal statuses and protections; civil and political rights, as well as citizen obligations and duties (both formal-legal and informal-political); social entitlements and benefits; and a range of representational and mediating institutions, rules, and practices that govern citizen access to state power. Some elements of the citizenship regime will change over time through constitutional, institutional, and programmatic reforms and adaptations. For instance, some of the social elements of citizenship might be “thickened” or pruned back. But because the various dimensions of the citizenship regime tend to be intertwined, change can trigger complex political tensions. For example, public health care tends to be viewed by Canadians as a social entitlement and an expression of shared core values; as such, it has taken on a highly symbolic role in the Canadian national identity. This is one reason why much of what constitutes the citizenship regime remains quite stable, subject to only incremental change. Table 7.1 provides a visual representation of the citizenship regime. It suggests that national identities are comprised of a combination of socio-cultural, ideational, and affective components. The socio-cultural element of national identity is based on someone’s linguistic, ethnoreligious, and cultural attributes, including norms, behaviours, traditions, and associations. The ideational element refers to the socially constructed idea of the nation – the imagined national community – shared by individuals within a collectivity, including its core values, beliefs, memories, myths, and symbols, all of which are continually shaped and reinforced through socialization processes and institutional

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Table 7.1  The citizenship regime Citizenship regime Nationa l identity

Rights and entitlements

D e m oc r at i c ru l e s  / ­r e p r e s e n tat i v e institutions

National attachment and sense of belonging; imagined national community; shared cultural attributes, norms, and traditions; symbols and myths; values and beliefs.

Rights and entitlements Civil and political rights and freedoms; legal ­principles, protections, and statuses; social ­entitlements and citizen obligations.

Representational and mediating institutions, procedures, and practices; “permeability” of the state.

supports (Anderson 1983). National attachment and a sense of belonging constitute the affective dimension of national identity. These feelings exist in a reciprocal relationship with the ideational and socio-cultural elements of national identity. They are mutable and contingent in terms of their content and intensity, dependent upon circumstances and context. Finally, a person’s national identity has a symbiotic relationship with nationalism, defined as an ideological movement to sustain, reinforce, and promote a particular national identity. The character of nationalisms and the boundaries they place around their political communities of belonging reflect the elements mentioned above, including the particular socio-cultural and ethnic composition of the nation, along with its history, institutions, and political arrangements. As such, national identities will vary in their ethno-cultural versus civic components, their unitary versus pluralistic character, their degree of association with particular rights and entitlements, and their intensity. Within this complex amalgam, feelings of attachment and belonging may figure more or less prominently, varying across time and political community. Internal variation in national identity is especially pertinent in multination settings where minority nations occupy distinct territorial homelands (Miller 2001; Norman 2006; Lecours and Nootens 2009).

C it iz e n iz ati on The value of the concept of citizenship regime is its utility as a framework of analysis for understanding the legal, political, and cultural



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dimensions of national citizenship. It does this by identifying and encapsulating the interrelated elements – formal, informal, and substantive – that are common to nation-state governance regimes. It provides a guide or “regime map” for understanding the regime’s institutional, ideational, and cultural foundation, or “undercarriage.” This descriptive mapping is suggestive of lines of inquiry for understanding regime stability and change, including the implications – tensions, benefits, threats – of political projects seeking to reform or modify the citizenship regime. Like all theoretical constructs, citizenship regime has its limitations, and these are linked to its strengths. It is too broad and multidimensional, with too many variables or “moving parts,” to be truly penetrative in terms of uncovering the meaning of these variables. So while it identifies national identity and sense of belonging as a key dimension of citizenship regimes, it cannot tell us how this is acquired by citizens or under what conditions it might change (or for that matter, what happens when there is more than one national identity associated with a citizenship regime). Though it points the way, it does not seek to elucidate the relationship between national identity and the other elements of the citizenship regime, namely rights and representative institutions. As a concept, it tends to privilege structure over human agency, institutionalization over political contestation, and stasis over dynamic change. Nevertheless, it is inclusive and flexible enough to accommodate other concepts and approaches – legitimacy deficits and workable balances, strategies of integration, consociationalism, negotiated nationalism, asymmetrical dual identities, cultural tolerance of pluralism – that are required to further interrogate the various dimensions of the citizenship regime. Following this, Tully, in grappling with the political consequences of multiple national identities and asymmetrical forms and levels of national attachment within plurinational democracies, developed the concept of citizenization. He defines this as the set of processes by which citizens develop a sense of national identity and belonging. He suggests that citizens who are simultaneously members of a minority nation or people, as well as the larger society or multination, can come to identify as citizens of both by participating in the process of identity formation and discussion of each political identity. He notes that it is not necessary for the development of a sense of national belonging and attachment (which he continues to see as important to securing national unity and political stability) that they

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fully agree on the definitions, or that minority-group demands for recognition be fully accepted by the larger society. It is sufficient that the processes of identity discussion and formation, the dialogue around these issues, be open to the participation of those who agree and disagree (Tully 2001). The concept of citizenization offers important insight into the amorphous nature of national identity formation and national unity in complex, multinational settings. However, it could be argued that Tully’s original version of the concept is too restrictive in its exclusive focus on the intersubjective, discursive aspects of identity, attachment, and sense of belonging. A revamped notion of citizenization that encompasses all the elements and processes tied to the meaning, status, and enjoyment of citizenship (see table 7.1 on the citizenship regime above) would better capture citizenship acquisition and evolution as a dynamic and interrelated process, inclusive of the various dimensions involved. With this in mind, citizenization will be defined here as the set of processes whereby people become recognized, enabled, and empowered as citizens within a state and national political community. However conceived, citizenization will always be imperfectly realized, as well as variable across individuals, groups, and communities. Further, as a dynamic rather than fixed set of processes, and because people can belong to a political community in different ways and feel varying degrees of attachment to it, uniformity is neither fully attainable nor a requirement for regime stability. (In any event, one can surmise that uniformity of identity is not a desirable state for a democratic, multicultural, and multinational society such as Canada, since such uniformity makes the overarching national identity less permeable; that is, more restrictive and exclusive toward diverse elements within society.) At the same time, citizenization should facilitate political integration and regime stability based on a widely held sense of shared citizenship. This can be sustained by a commonality of rights and values, shared historical experience that is open to dialogue around its meaning, inclusive national institutions, and finally, as Tully (2001) notes, a national political conversation that includes both the majority and minorities and that seeks accommodation and consensus, even if only partially or imperfectly realized. This understanding of citizenship regime and citizenization is informed by the existential political challenge facing deeply diverse, multination societies: the presence of minority identities that can both



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nest within as well as be counterpoised against an overarching national identity. But as we have seen, these identities are themselves part of the broader citizenship regime, which also includes legal, social, and representational components. Some of these are variable and contextual, while others are comparatively stable; some will take on greater importance in particular conjunctures and others less so.

T h e E vo l u t io n of Canada’s P os t- C o n f e d e r at io n Ci ti zenshi p Regi me Canada’s initial citizenship regime was largely derived from its colonial legacy within the British Empire. This was evident in the ethnic composition and inherited institutions and culture of English-speaking Canada. This is well-trodden thematic territory for many Canadian historians and analysts of Canadian politics. Ethnic ties and psychological attachment to a connection with Britain, combined with strong cultural, political, and economic ties to the British Empire, supported a shared identity that was linked to “Britishness,” along with a sense of attachment and loyalty to British institutions (including its symbols such as the monarchy and the flag). In effect, the “imagined community” of English-speaking Canadians stretched beyond the territorial boundaries of Canada, while in important ways excluding significant minorities within those boundaries (most importantly French Canadians).1 In this sense, “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there” (Hartley 1953) seems an appropriate aphorism when applied to this early form of English-Canadian identity and nationalism. This is not to deny the historical utility of this sense of nationality shared by the British-Canadian majority. It did provide the ideological and cultural glue with which to hold together an elite-brokered federation of far-flung, thinly populated, fractious colonies, and to mobilize support for a number of national undertakings (Bickerton 2011). The latter included long-term, state-initiated mega-projects such as a cross-county railway link and a protectionist “national policy” that sought to spur national development through protective tariffs and western settlement. Also inherent to British-Canadianism was a profound wariness of the United States, and a general distaste for American political institutions and culture. British Canada’s national purpose was portrayed – at least in part – as sustaining an outpost of British culture in North America, echoing in this sense French

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Canada’s ideology of “la survivance” – sustaining a French-speaking bastion of Catholicism in North America (Moniere 1981). While fear of American continentalist ambitions and military aggression waned toward the end of the nineteenth century, the perceived threat of a gradual “takeover” through economic and cultural assimilation did not. This continued to sustain a British-inflected national identity and nationalist projects and policies well into the twentieth century. The flip side of this defensive attachment to British culture and institutions, and to the British Empire as an overarching political framework for Canada, was the exclusionist, assimilationist, and repressive face it presented to the French Canadian minority. This involved restricting or banning the use of the French language in schools and other institutions (as was done in provinces outside Quebec), limiting the role of French Canadians within the dominion / federal government (partially offset by regional representation within the cabinet), ignoring or minimally recognizing the Frenchspeaking minority in the country’s national myths and symbols, and using the position of the English-speaking majority to override the strong resistance and objections of French Canada to certain national policies or key decisions (for instance, wartime conscription). These were aspects of British Canadian nationalism that not surprisingly generated a legacy of grievance and resentment within French-speaking Canada (McRoberts 1988). However, there were some key institutional adaptations and political responses to demographic realities that proved useful in defending French Canada’s linguistic and cultural diversity in the face of a majoritarian, integrationist approach that was hostile to any bicultural or binational understanding of Confederation. Within the citizenship regime, political and judicial institutions were adapted in order to protect and accommodate this diversity, even as the nationalisms and national identities of the majority and the minority remained stubbornly divergent. Three examples illustrate this. For the first three decades after Confederation, interpreting the division of powers and responsibilities in the federation was highly contentious, with the federal and provincial governments having sharply contrasting visions and understandings regarding the scope and exclusivity of governmental powers. Britain’s Judicial Committee of the Privy Council (J C P C ), the final court of appeal for Canada before 1949, ruled overwhelmingly in favour of the provinces, expanding provincial jurisdiction in the process and limiting that of the federal



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government (Cairns 1971). By so doing, a constitutional document that might well have supported a quasi-unitary system was transformed by the JCPC into a more decentralized, classical form of federalism. This not only safeguarded important jurisdictions for Quebec from federal intrusion, it transformed a potentially unworkable, overly centralized constitution into a viable framework for a country that was deeply diverse in both ethno-linguistic and regional terms. A second example of institutional adaptation is the historic practice of consociationalism, whereby English and French elites would form a partnership in order to craft political compromises acceptable to each community and thereby ensure political stability. The practice was already well-established prior to Confederation, and in one form or another has been a feature of Canadian governance practices ever since, accomplished primarily but not exclusively through the mechanism of Canada’s federalized cabinet (Thorburn 2001; Dawson 1954, 212–15). An important corollary of consociational practices was the minority voting behaviour of French Canadians. A tradition of bloc voting – predominantly for a Liberal party that styled itself as the protector of minority rights – proved an effective way of ensuring a significant French Canadian presence within the governing party caucus and government. This was a particularly effective political instrument given the long-term stability of Quebec’s demographic weight within the federation (Whitaker 1977). This story of institutional adaptation or “repurposing” in order to accommodate the French Canadian minority, despite majority resistance to the notion of a Canadian national identity based on binationalism or duality (equality of the two founding peoples), is very different from that of Indigenous peoples, who were denied citizenship status within Canada’s first citizenship regime. The settler colonies that preceded the formation of Canada did not consider “Indians” to be citizens with the same status and rights as other British subjects. Though ostensibly recognized in the Royal Proclamation of 1763 as distinct peoples in a fiduciary-based treaty relationship with the Crown, they eventually became “wards” of the state who were systematically dispossessed of their lands, restricted to reserves, and denied their treaty rights as well as the basic rights of citizenship. Their cultural and linguistic diversity was considered a primitive and fading relic of Canada’s past, shunted to the outermost margins of society to await the inescapable fate of oblivion or gradual assimilation – through such means as Indian residential schools – into the

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general population. For more than a century after Confederation, this expectation and general attitude held sway, as did the government policies associated with it. But as this long period of internal repression was coming to an end, Indigenous peoples in Canada had neither been assimilated nor been assigned to history’s dustbin. Their communities, however, were confronted with enormous challenges and obstacles as a result of internal colonialism, including cultural loss, economic underdevelopment, deep-seated social pathologies, and political alienation from the Canadian political system and constitutional order (Cairns 2000; Papillon 2014). In retrospect, the citizenship regime described above was a product of its eighteenth- and nineteenth-century origins in British conquest and colonization, and as such was not indefinitely sustainable. It began its slow unravelling as the political, economic, and cultural influence of Britain on English-speaking Canada began to ebb after the First World War. During the interwar period, a process of political and cultural decolonization took hold, and a more authentically Canadian tradition and identity began to emerge. This “colony to nation” process, as Canadian historians styled it, was propelled by the strains and demands of the severe and prolonged depression years of the 1930s and even more so by the exigencies of the Second World War (Lower 1953). A key factor in precipitating this change was the incapacity of the highly decentralized Canadian federation (as it was structured in the interwar period) to respond effectively to the challenges posed by depression and wartime. In light of this, a Royal Commission on Dominion-Provincial Relations (the RowellSirois Commission) proved to be an historic watershed, not only for the character of the relationship between governments in Canada but also for the prevailing vision and conception of the national community and the presumed bases of Canadian citizenship. The strategy and intent of its recommendations was to stimulate national integration through greater national sharing and equalization, made possible by a much more prominent role for the federal government (Bradford 1999).2 In the postwar years, the public philosophy and programmatic ideas of the Rowell-Sirois Commission “had become the federal governing paradigm” (Bradford 1999, 552). Shared-cost national social programs were the most important legacy of this vision and strategy, along with a federal equalization scheme to reduce regional inequalities in public



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services. These constituted the primary federal response to popular and provincial demands for social and territorial justice. In this way the construction of the welfare state reduced economic, social, and regional diversity, and by doing so deepened national integration by making social citizenship a key element of the citizenship regime and pan-Canadian national identity. At the same time, the ethno-centric, exclusionist, assimilationist, and majoritarian British-Canadian nationalism that prevailed in the pre-First World War period was replaced by a more open and pluralistic Canadian nationalism that was increasingly civic and political in character. This new nationalism of the majority focused primarily on the Canadian state and legitimized federal action in a wide variety of areas (Jenson 1998a; McRoberts 1997, 37–8). By the end of the 1950s, Canadian intellectuals were registering this shift in national identity. As prominent English Canadian historian W. L. Morton (1961) argued, “there is no Canadian way of life, much less two, but a unity under the Crown admitting a thousand diversities” (in Cook 1986, 140, italics mine); similarly, historian Kenneth McNaught extolled the gradual evolution of a pragmatic Canadian tradition that had come to reject a narrowly ethnic conception of Canada, be it in the form of an exclusively Anglo-Saxon nation or a bicultural partnership (McNaught 1966). English-speaking scholars were in broad agreement on multiculturalism being a key element of Canadian identity and nationality, while repudiating the idea of either a single or dual ethno-cultural basis for Canadian unity (Russell 1966, 370). Far-reaching changes were made to Canadian immigration policy at this time to remove its racial bias, reflecting this ideological shift away from an exclusivist, ethnicity-linked national identity to a more open and pluralistic concept of the nation. Finally, Canada adopted more inclusive and uniquely Canadian symbols, such as a national anthem and new flag, measures that were highly symbolic indicators of this identity shift. In both ideational and policy terms, then, the raw material for a new citizenship regime with a new national identity at its core was present in the 1960s, though the situation was still in flux. The emerging consensus in English-speaking Canada would not go uncontested, particularly by the rapid transformation of traditional French Canadian nationalism after 1960 into a secular Québécois nationalism that nurtured the dream of a sovereign Quebec state.

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T h e C o n t e s tatory Poli ti cs o f C it iz e n iz at io n, 1980–1995 Pierre Trudeau, federalism scholar and public intellectual in Quebec in the 1950s and 1960s, became a central figure in the history of the national question in Canada when he entered Canadian politics and emerged as Liberal Party leader and then prime minister in 1968. Trudeau once argued the case for federalism as a constitutional and institutional fix for ethno-linguistically divided societies such as Canada, an antidote to the threat posed by both oppressive majority and divisive minority nationalisms (P.E. Trudeau 1968). However, as Prime Minister he became a proponent of a robust Canadian nationalism anchored in his vision of a single, bilingual, multicultural nation and national identity. Of course, realizing and sustaining this vision of a new citizenship regime required the continuous support of national policies, national institutions, and most importantly a “­citizen-and-courts empowering” Charter of Rights and Freedoms. Trudeau viewed this as a necessary counterbalance to the fissiparous tendencies and balkanizing effects of both regionalism and Quebec nationalism (Clarkson 1985; Milne 1986; P.E. Trudeau 1988). Arraigned against this vision of a new citizenship regime was a Quebec nationalism deeply rooted in a “dual nation” understanding of the foundation of Canada, and seeking either a new federal arrangement through constitutional reform or a democratic decision to secede from the Canadian federation, preferably followed by some sort of new associated state arrangement, though if not negotiable then full independence. Several provincial election victories for the sovereigntist Parti Québécois between 1976 and 2011 kept the possibility of the latter option on the political agenda, and on two occasions brought it to a boil (the referenda of 1980 and 1995). But the nation-building and defending role of the Quebec state has not been restricted to periods of Parti Québécois government. Rather, it has been part of a continuous project de société of all governments since the Quiet Revolution of the 1960s. The high political drama of the secession and constitutional reform referenda between 1980 and 1995 were punctuation marks in a long-running confrontation over the fundamental character of the Canadian citizenship regime (McRoberts 1997; Gagnon 2014). There were many issues at stake in the constitutional negotiations and popular consultation that followed the first Quebec referendum



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in 1980, including the division of powers, the reform of national political institutions, and the design of an amending formula to govern future constitutional change. But virtually the only matter that drew the attention, popular participation, and eventual widespread support of both public interest groups and individual Canadians was the final form and content of Trudeau’s proposed Charter of Rights that would provide constitutional protection for individual freedoms and rights, including language rights (Simeon 1980; Banting and Simeon 1983). The political debates and developments of this period are well known, though differences of interpretation continue. Worthy of note here are the constitutional changes that were implemented in 1982 and the processes of constitutional reform that had a profound impact on the substance and intensity of identity politics in Canada, and on citizen-state relations. It is generally agreed that the 1982 constitutional package that ultimately prevailed over the opposition of Quebec conformed quite closely to the preferences and national vision of the Trudeau government. The existing federal division of powers, an ineffectual Senate, and a federal government-dominated appointments process (including to the greatly empowered Supreme Court) remained essentially unaltered (Gibbins 2004). There is no doubt that the new Charter of Rights and Freedoms3 “had a profound effect upon English-Canadian political culture” (McRoberts 1997, 124). It gave these Canadians a sense of “constitutional proprietorship,” and quickly became “a powerful new focus of Canadian nationalism” (McRoberts 1997, 124). As argued by scholars such as Samuel LaSelva (1996) and Alan Cairns (1995b), federalism – premised on territorially based majoritarianism in both province and country – was a necessary but no longer sufficient constitutional basis for a modern, democratic Canada. A constitutionally entrenched bill of rights was required in order to provide individuals and groups with the kind of recognition and protection that would place their interests on the same footing as other constitutional actors. The individualism and egalitarianism embodied in the Charter, and with which English-speaking Canadians strongly support and identify, stands in contrast to the dramatic change in constitutional standing – both symbolic and substantive in character – of treaty and Aboriginal rights.4 Prior to this, Indigenous peoples had not been included in constitutional discussions, reflecting their extreme marginalization in Canadian political life. Indeed, in terms of the attitude of Canada’s majority toward national minorities – the willingness of the majority

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to recognize and include the minority nationalities within the citizenship regime – the historical contrast between the experience of Indigenous peoples and French Canadians is quite dramatic. This is not to deny that the latter experienced various forms of oppression and cultural imperialism at the hands of the English-speaking majority. However, their winning of political rights in the nineteenth century, along with their control of a large and powerful province, ensured that French-speaking Canadians would have an important and ofttimes central role in the creation and governing of the Canadian state, its social and economic development, and in general the unfolding of Canadian history. In contrast, Indigenous peoples existed as subject peoples, dominated, impoverished, and without the basic rights of citizenship. Their struggles for recognition as rights-bearing peoples and inclusion as such within Canada’s constitutional framework only began in earnest with their successful opposition to the federal government’s 1969 White Paper on Indian policy, which proposed the revoking of treaties, dismantling of reserves, and full assimilation of Indigenous peoples into the general population (Cairns 2000). The political mobilization of Indigenous peoples and the articulation of an Indigenous peoples’ nationalism have continued in the decades since, provoking a rethinking of majority-minority relations on the part of both Canadians and Quebecers, and affecting the evolving character of each of their national identities and nationalisms, as well as the relationship between them (Cairns 2004). The clash of nationalisms in Canada – Canadian, Québécois, Indigenous – and the potential for their contradictions to produce a situation of mutual frustration, political stalemate, and a turn toward exclusive or sealed identities became evident during the churn of political events in the period from 1988 to 1995. The impact of the drawn-out, intense discussion and debate of the national question in the context of seemingly unending constitutional negotiations and referenda directly impacted the political system, especially through the changes it triggered to the Constitution and to the party system. Majority and minority views became locked in a highly politicized conflict, with citizens being asked to choose between competing visions, principles, identity communities, and national allegiances. With the boundaries of political communities, citizen-state relations, and legal rights and obligations apparently on the line in an environment of



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high-stakes elite bargaining, national identities became polarized and national unity splintered (Cairns 1995a; Bickerton 2011). Though severely tested, the Canadian political community did ultimately weather these stresses. Political and social cohesion was ultimately maintained, and further fracturing or dissolution avoided (at the cost, it should be noted, of a strong aversion to any further discussion of constitutional reform). Arguably, Canada outside Quebec underwent a strengthening of national identity and cohesion between 1982 and 1995, which McRoberts (1995b) attributes in large part to strong support for and identification with the Charter of Rights and Freedoms. At the same time, it became clear that there were certain limits regarding the formal recognition and accommodation of minority nations beyond which adherents to Trudeau’s new Canadian nationalism seemed not prepared to go. Not surprisingly, then, there was a palpable concern within the political elite, especially after the extremely close result of the 1995 Quebec referendum, about the state of attachment of the Québécois minority nation to this overarching Canadian identity (Whitaker 1993, 2005). Two lines of scholarly argument developed on how to resolve the apparently deep divisions over Canada’s new citizenship regime. One perspective (McRoberts 1995a, 1997; Taylor 1991, 1993; Kymlicka 1998; Ignatieff 1993; Resnick 1994; Resnick and Latouche 1990; G. Laforest 1995; Jenson 1998a) suggested that the national vision and identity embraced by English-speaking Canadians – essentially Trudeau’s idea of a bilingual, multicultural Canada comprised of individuals enjoying equal rights and living in provinces that were constitutionally equal – was never congruent with Quebec’s understanding of the country and its place within it. The political and psychological alienation of Quebecers could be traced to the unwillingness and / or inability of the rest of Canada to recognize Quebec as a national community of equal status and to adopt constitutional and political asymmetry to reflect this, in effect creating a multinational federation based on differentiated citizenship. Until this happened, the threat of Quebec secession (though waxing and waning) would be ever-present. A corollary to this perspective was that the pan-Canadian identity embraced by English-speaking Canada was a major obstacle to a long-term resolution of the so-called “national question.” Rather, Canada’s various national identities needed to be “disentangled,” not least

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in order to give Quebec and First Nations a true “conversation partner” in the constitutional conversation. The alternative perspective was that the problem of reconciling unity with diversity was ultimately not resolvable through strategies of disentanglement. This perspective tended to be adopted by neoinstitutional theorists of federalism (Cairns and Williams 1995; Gibbins 1998, 2005; Simeon and Conway 2001; Simeon and Robinson 2004; Cook 1986, 2005) who believed that political and social institutions exerted an independent “shaping power” on societal values and identities. This suggested to them the importance of a citizenship regime that recognized, maintained, and reinforced the inclusive national dimension of Canadians’ civic existence as well as the regional or minority nation dimensions of their political identity. Balance, participation, and engagement were its key concerns. For example, Simeon and Conway (2001) held that in cases of “divided federalism” like Canada’s, there must be institutional supports for both inclusive and nested identities, and for dual citizen loyalties. With few institutional links between levels, governments with relatively independent financial bases and concentrated executive powers, an ineffective Senate, and a regionalized party system, Canada was susceptible to an excess of “dis-building” or “out-building” institutions to accommodate diversity, without being adequately offset or balanced by “integrative counterweights” that help to create and sustain shared overarching identities and values (361). While Simeon and Conway admit that federal institutions alone are seldom the whole answer to this problem – with other devices that define and promote shared values, like charters of rights, often being necessary – their warning stood nonetheless: federations must seek to establish and maintain a balance between integrative and disintegrative institutions; more particularly, in the case of Canada the country needs to redress what they regard as an unbalanced set of federal institutions in order to ensure national integration and long-term political stability. In support of this perspective, Kernerman (2005) adopted Tully’s theory of citizenization to argue that it was the political entanglement of Quebecers in “the Canadian conversation” that would continue to bind them to the overarching Canadian community (what he called “the bind that ties”). Sanctioning or provoking the further disengagement of Quebec from the rest of Canada (constitutionally, institutionally, or psychologically) would only serve to undermine the bonds of



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a shared values- and rights-based citizenship, making any new arrangement inherently unstable.

S t r e t c h in g t h e C it izenshi p Regi me a f t e r 1 995 As events during this period of constitutional turmoil and competing nationalisms were to demonstrate, the new Canadian citizenship regime established in 1982 proved highly resistant to further change. For Cairns, this was a reflection of the strong inertial force favouring “evolutionary continuity” and the “impressive mobilizing capacity [of the state] through wielding the resources of patriotism and citizenship” (Cairns 2000). At the same time, a major outcome of this bias toward continuity over change was the 1995 Quebec referendum, when the secession option lost by less than 1 per cent of the vote. This occurred during an historical moment of worsening legitimacy deficits for the Canadian state, which was labouring under simultaneous fiscal, governability, and unity crises. To cope with severe and mounting fiscal deficits, the federal government instituted a significant reduction in social transfers to the provinces, triggering a cascade of social program cuts that deepened social and economic inequalities. This unilateral federal action left a deep scar on federal-provincial relations and led to provincial demands for more autonomy and decentralization (Simeon and Robinson 2004; Whitaker 2005). In retrospect, the confluence of events in the 1990s constituted a near perfect storm for the Canadian state, which faced a deep well of alienation in Quebec and widespread distrust and resentment among the other federation partners (Gibbins 2004; Simeon and Robinson 2004). Relations between First Nations and Canadian governments (both federal and provincial) had also worsened. Unrest and militancy grew in response to stalled progress on land claims and self-government negotiations. Frustration with an apparently dysfunctional political process was directed into rights-based litigation and direct action, including blockades and occupations at numerous locations across Canada. It was these developments, and particularly the armed confrontation in 1990 at Oka, Quebec (which featured the deployment of the Canadian military), that led the Mulroney federal government to appoint a Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples (R C A P ). It was R C A P ’s report that finally

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convinced the Canadian government to acknowledge that First Nations had the inherent right to self-government, subject to negotiation (Cairns 2000; Papillon 2014). Rebalancing of the federation, reducing the Canadian state’s legitimacy deficits, and reversing the erosion of national unity involved changes within all three components of the citizenship regime (national identity, rights and entitlements, representative institutions). Rebuilding trust and cooperation with the provinces began with the negotiation of the Social Union Framework Agreement (S U F A ) in 1998. This initiative marked the beginning of a new phase of intergovernmental relations, dubbed by some observers as collaborative federalism (Cameron and Simeon 2002). Its high point was the negotiation of three Health Accords between 2000 and 2004, essentially restoring the federal share of health care funding to traditional levels and removing a major irritant in the federal-provincial relationship (Simeon and Robinson 2009). This was followed by a renegotiation of the equalization program to address a nagging complaint from many provinces, but especially Quebec, about a persistent structural “fiscal imbalance” in the federation’s financial arrangements (Bickerton 2008). In both cases, the intergovernmental agreements that were reached essentially removed two corrosive revenue issues from the political agenda. Another development that aimed at improving intergovernmental cooperation, again the result of a Quebec initiative, was the creation in 2003 of the interprovincial Council of the Federation (Gagnon 2014). It is worth noting that federal “reinvestment” in the social realm over the decade between the reappearance of federal budgetary surpluses in 1998 and the onset of the global financial crisis in 2008 did not reverse a long-term trend toward constitutional, political, and fiscal decentralization. According to one twenty-point benchmark scale measuring the degree of decentralization as well as of asymmetry, by 2008 Canada had the highest decentralization score among the nine OECD federations (Requejo 2010). A similar conclusion can be drawn from a more recent OECD comparison of the spending shares of regional governments (O E C D 2014b, 32). In effect, Canadian provincial governments had become the most powerful and autonomous subnational governments in the democratic world, with Quebec being the most autonomous of these due to the distinctive policy and program content and asymmetry in governance ambit that demarcates it from other Canadian provinces.



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A second area of rebalancing that federal authorities and institutions engaged in responded more directly to the political fallout from the failed constitutional reform process and the Quebec referendum that followed. To this end, legal, legislative, and symbolic initiatives were taken. The accommodative federal response to Quebec’s evident disaffection with the constitutional status quo was to make conciliatory gestures on the question of its status as a minority nation within Canada. In the immediate aftermath of the referendum, this took the form of federal and provincial declarations affirming Quebec’s distinct society, and federal legislation that effectively extended a veto to Quebec over further constitutional change. A decade later, this recognition was taken further by a new Conservative government, which sponsored a near-unanimous parliamentary resolution affirming the nation status of the Québécois people within Canada. As something of a corollary to this, the federal government agreed to remove its objection to separate representation for Quebec at UNESCO (Gibbins 2014). On more mundane matters of intergovernmental relations, the well-established informal asymmetry continued within the federal government of dealing with Quebec’s concerns “with special sensitivity” compared to the other provinces (Savoie 1999; Gibbins 2014). To address concerns about the absence of a federal strategy or predictable response in the event of a successful Quebec referendum, the federal government asked the Supreme Court to render an advisory opinion on the “legality” of a unilateral declaration of Quebec secession. The 1998 Secession Reference case has since been hailed as the seminal interpretation of Canada’s democratic and federal foundations. The Supreme Court’s principled, balanced and politically sensitive judgment went a long way toward restoring its own legitimacy as a sage and neutral arbiter within the federation, and confirmed the key role of the Court in contributing to the crafting of workable balances within the Canadian citizenship regime (Tierney 2003). It has given succour to a plurinational concept of Canada and defended provincial jurisdiction and the federal division of powers even in the context of a potentially centralizing Charter of Rights. In effect, the Court has demonstrated its willingness to uphold the federal bargain at the core of Canada’s constitution as a foundational element of the citizenship regime.5 Equally important, the Supreme Court has been a crucial institution in “stretching” the Canadian citizenship regime in a more inclusive and accommodative direction when it comes to the constitutional

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standing and diversity represented by Canada’s First Nations, Inuit, and Métis peoples by tending toward an expansive interpretation of Aboriginal rights that has advanced the multigenerational project of Indigenous self-government, land claims, and an equitable and just partnership with other Canadians. In a series of landmark decisions over several decades – ranging from Calder (1973), to Delgamuukw (1997), to Marshall (1999), to Daniels (2016) – the court has recognized, affirmed, and further defined the scope and nature of Aboriginal and treaty rights. In so doing, it has put “meat on the bones” of the “citizens plus” status of Indigenous peoples, while forcing federal and provincial governments, as well as other significant actors in the public policy realm (such as political parties and the private sector), to readjust if not totally reconceive their perceptions and positions on the principles and practicalities of Aboriginal rights, title, and self-government. To the extent that the citizenship regime is being restructured by the emergence of a third order of constitutionally recognized government, along with the redefinition of both government and societal obligations and responsibilities toward Indigenous peoples, the Supreme Court – and the legal-juridical realm more generally – must be considered a prime mover in this process.

C o n c l u s i ons As stated at the outset, there is no good theory on what makes multination democracies cohere: why they do not break up or break down in terms of political stability, constitutional continuity, and territorial integrity. How are the legitimacy deficits that arise from deep diversity managed in these types of states? Explaining and determining causation for these cases requires a form of macro-historical analysis that is multivariate, cumulative, and therefore complex. The concept of citizenship regime is well suited to this analytical task. With the potential to be broad, inclusive, and elastic, it is able to encompass the diverse range of factors involved, as well as change and evolution over time. This includes major crises, disruptions, and breaks with the past, as well as minor adjustments, adaptations, or advances. Where there is a bias in citizenship regime, it is toward privileging structure, inertia, and stability – in the form of institutionalization, path dependency, and stasis – over human agency, dynamics, and change. Certainly,



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these can be found within the citizenship regime, especially in the relationship between its various dimensions: national identity and sense of belonging; rights and entitlements; and the democratic rules, practices, and institutions governing access to the state. All three have been subject to contention at various points in Canadian history (and occasionally all three simultaneously). Modification or change in one of these dimensions has had, inevitably, some impact or effect on the others. In other words, while each dimension is important and relevant on its own terms, the sum is greater than the parts. The concept of citizenization attempts to capture this dynamic process of democratic political contention over the citizenship regime. As introduced by Tully, this concept was primarily concerned with the national identity dimension of the citizenship regime (particularly its inclusivity), but its processes naturally extend to the other dimensions. Together, citizenship regime and citizenization provide a conceptual framework for describing the character and content of the citizenship regime and its evolution over time as it adapts to challenges and crises that manifest in particular historical conjunctures, producing periods of instability and flux in the citizenship regime that harbour both threat and opportunity for change in citizenization processes, whereby they can become more expansive and inclusive. This chapter considers the Canadian case and examines change over time in each of the three dimensions of the citizenship regime. It seeks to describe and ultimately to understand how the current Canadian citizenship regime came to be: that is, as an exemplar of how a multination democracy manages its legitimacy deficits by gradually adapting its citizenship regime to a more accommodationist approach to diversity. In the second decade of the twenty-first century, Canada is a country less divided, more accepting of its various diversities, and more confident and optimistic about its own future than at any point in its history. The threat of Quebec secession has declined dramatically, multiculturalism continues to thrive where it has stalled or failed in other countries, and international plaudits and rankings attest to the country’s impressive social and economic achievements and successes (Simpson 2016). Canada has crafted its own particular form of national unity through trial, error, and evolution, seeking stability and integration through compromise and workable balances – a national unity that involves a degree of accommodation of diversity that is unusual if not exceptional in the world today.

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not e s   1 Politically and legally this may not have been so, but culturally, functionally, and affectively, French-speaking Canadians were marginalized, ­misrecognized, and excluded.   2 The Commission report presented “a detailed plan for institutional restructuring within federalism to balance the goals of unity and diversity, national development, and regional fairness. Federal responsibility for high levels of employment, national standards, and regional equalization would be combined with provincial discretion in social programs” (Bradford 1999, 551).   3 The Charter included legal protection for an array of individual rights (fundamental freedoms, democratic, legal, mobility, and equality rights). It also committed the governments of Canada and the provinces to uphold the principles of official bilingualism, minority language education rights, and multiculturalism. It did not recognize Quebec as possessing a status distinct or different from the other provinces.   4 This constituted the recognition of Canada’s Aboriginal peoples (Indian, Inuit, and Métis) and the entrenchment of their treaty and Aboriginal rights in section 35 of the Constitution, along with the insulation of these rights from the potentially leveling effects of the Charter.   5 This can be seen in subsequent federalism-sensitive interpretations of Charter applicability in areas of provincial jurisdiction (Kelly 2008), in its defence of provincial power over securities regulation (SC C 2011), in its rejection of the federal government’s appointee to fill a Quebec vacancy on the Court (S C C 2014a), and in the “thumbs down” the Court gave to the federal government’s proposal on Senate reform (SC C 2014b). In the last three of these cases, the Court effectively thwarted federal government proposals or actions that were particularly objectionable to Quebec.

8 From Citizenship Regimes to Protest Regimes? Pascale Dufour and M arcos Ancelovici

Making good, qualitative comparisons is probably one of the most difficult tasks of social scientists.1 Jane Jenson’s work has strongly contributed to making this task not only more feasible and rigorous but also mindful of the empirical complexity of contextualized research. Along our respective careers, as students and as professors, we have particularly thought about and used the notion of “citizenship regime,” developed by Jenson and Phillips in 1996. As the introductory chapter of this volume notes, a citizenship regime describes the way a particular state frames (legally and through public action) the relationships it has with its citizens. As Jenson argues, a citizenship regime is a notion and not a concept.2 The difference between the two is subtle but important. A concept is a built object stabilized in a knowledge-based community at a certain point in time (like the concept of reason in philosophy or the concept of the state in political science). A notion is an intuitive understanding and knowledge of a phenomenon that synthetizes its general characteristics but has no claim to scientific quality. In this respect, the citizenship regime describes the different dimensions of the particular relationship between the state and society without presuming the qualities of these relationships, neither their origin nor their development. It provides an analytical framework that allows us to systematize the relationship between the state and citizens, which is particularly useful for comparative purposes. Notions should not be underestimated: they are the first-hand tools that comparativists use to interpret social facts across contexts and cases. They are thus the first step toward

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abstraction and the possibility of explanation. This is precisely where the strength of the notion of citizenship regime lies. In this chapter, we argue that the notion of citizenship regime could be an insightful alternative to one of the main analytical concepts in social movement studies, namely the political opportunity structure (POS), and contend that variations in protest are related to variations in citizenship regimes. The first section of the chapter is devoted to the theoretical dimension of the argument. The chapter then presents one type of mobilization and protest in three societies: housing struggles in France, Quebec, and Ontario. Finally, it outlines the distinct housing regimes in each society and introduces some hypotheses linking protest and regimes. The data used for this chapter are preliminary, mainly based on available documentation, and further research is needed to be able to reach sounder conclusions. What we put forward here is more a research agenda, inspired by the notion of citizenship regime, than a full-blown argument sustained by evidence. The cases have been selected mainly on the basis of our previous research and expertise to illustrate the scope of our general argument. We distinguish between Quebec and Ontario, following Jenson’s (1998) argument about the existence of two citizenship regimes in Canada. Furthermore, Dufour (2013) and Grundy and Smith (2005) have demonstrated that in terms of social movement campaigns, networks of actors have not been pan-Canadian but rather have been much more organized by provinces. We then compare these provinces to the case of France, known for its interventionist state. We adopt a research strategy based on two distinct cases (Canada and France) to assess whether, despite strong differences, similar political processes are at work in the way policy regimes shape protest in each society. It is a classical research strategy in comparative politics (Lallement and Spurk 2003).

F ro m C it iz e n s h ip R e gi me to Publi c In t e rv e n t io n Regi me In its initial formulation, the notion of citizenship regime focuses on the question of political and social representation (Jenson and Phillips 1996). Representation refers both to the representation of collective interests by the state and to citizens’ self-representation. For a citizenship regime to be stable, the two dimensions of



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representation must be congruent. In her subsequent work, Jenson (see for example 2002, 4) formalized this notion and described it along four dimensions: 1 the responsibility mix, which defines how a given society “­produces welfare”; 2 the formal recognition of rights and responsibilities; 3 the institutional mechanisms giving access to the state; and 4 the boundaries of belonging and the national identities ­associated with it. This notion is insightful for a number of reasons. First, it is much more relevant to study politics empirically than to use approaches that only consider formal institutions or that primarily emphasize the role of ideas. It is dynamic, making civil society and collective actors significant players in the game, and does not assign, a priori, particular roles and interests to players. The use of this notion in the literature (Jenson 1998a; Jenson and Papillon 2000b; Monforte and Dufour 2011; R. Laforest 2013) has shown its potential. For example, because Jenson (1998a) was thinking about politics on the basis of the notion of citizenship regime, she was able to show how Quebec society was different from the rest of Canada. Aside from the normative debate about the distinct character of Quebec, it is possible through a comparison of citizenship regimes to show that in Quebec institutions and civil society interact in a way that is different from other provinces, because of norms, rules, and formal as well as informal practices. The notion of citizenship regime also provides the tools for a finegrained analysis, much more complete than that of its main competitor, the notion of welfare state regime. In the latter, political conflict is not really taken into account except as a step leading to the welfare state (Esping-Andersen 1990). Moreover, the notion of welfare regime is much more static and takes welfare and the state as givens rather than continuously changing realities. As many neo-institutionalist concepts and theories, it is better suited to accounting for stability than change. In contrast, the notion of citizenship regime has the capacity to analytically capture changes in something – a regime – that is stable by definition. Finally, the notion of citizenship regime allows for rigorous comparisons at the meso level, which is precisely the level at which we can make sound and cogent generalizations.

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In this chapter, we propose to use the notion of citizenship regime as an entry point to understanding variations in social struggles around the issue of housing in three societies: France, Quebec, and Ontario.

Ac c o u n t in g f o r V a r ieti es of Protes ts In the social movement studies, political sociology, and comparative politics literatures, there are two, related perspectives with which to explain variation in social struggles: the political opportunity structure and the policy-specific opportunity structure. In what follows, we briefly outline both perspectives and put forward an alternative inspired by Jenson’s notion of citizenship regime. The Political Opportunity Structure Derived from the classical work of Tilly (1978), McAdam (1988), and Tarrow (1998), the perspective of the political opportunity structure stresses how changes in the political-institutional context can foster expectations of success, and thereby the likelihood of mobilization. The main dimensions of the political opportunity structure are electoral alignments, alliance systems, elite cohesion, and state facilitation or repression. Although it is one of the most influential hypotheses in social movement studies, several scholars have argued that it is ill-specified, too broad (or too narrow), and conceptualized in a manner that does not take into account agency and cultural processes, nor the complexity of modern institutions (Ancelovici and Rousseau 2009; Armstrong and Bernstein 2008; Goodwin and Jasper 2004). The Policy-Specific Opportunity Structure The policy-specific opportunity structure is a modified version of the classical opportunity structure argument that aims to make it more specific. As one of the main advocates of this perspective puts it: In the classic conceptualization, political opportunity structures are of a very general nature and imply a pattern of influence that concerns all kinds of challenging groups in a given political context. In other words, these “classical” political opportunity structures represent a general setting that is assumed to affect all movements in a similar fashion and to a similar extent, as if they



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could be defined irrespective of the characteristics of specific issue fields and collective actors. (Giugni 2008, 300) The opportunity structure is not necessarily consistent across issue fields and policy domains. Thus, to account for variation in housing struggles across societies, we need to go beyond the political system and the state to look more closely at the sector of housing policy. Housing policy being a type of social policy, mobilization may be shaped by the historical configuration of the welfare state, particular legislation, regulations, and subsidies, as well as forms of housing provision (for more on housing and the welfare state, see Conley and Gifford 2006; Kurz and Blossfeld 2004). It is all the more necessary to focus on specific policy domains rather than national welfare models because outcomes often differ more across programs than across countries (Pierson 1996, 178). Such a perspective allows for more fined-grained analysis and nuance. Moreover, the policy-specific and the classical opportunity structure hypotheses are not mutually exclusive. They can be combined in such ways as to increase the explanatory leverage of the opportunity structure model, as Giugni (2008) does. Indeed, he adds a third, discursive layer that refers to institutionalized understandings and norms that constrain the claim-making work of activists. In the case of housing, such understandings and norms imply a given set of prevailing conceptions of housing as a commodity and a right (Patillo 2013). This perspective represents an improvement over the classical take, all the more so if it is combined with a discursive analysis. It can account for variation across countries in terms of timing, magnitude, and claims. However, it leaves out the genealogy of the social groupings that engage in contentious politics. Just as with the political process model from which it draws, it focuses on social movement organizations and other mobilizing structures at the expense of the social processes that generated the social categories in the first place, and in whose name claims are being made. Put differently, it takes interests as given and treats institutional configurations as arenas for social action rather than constitutive factors behind the very actors doing the action. Furthermore, like the political opportunity structure, it relies on the assumption that there is always a clear boundary and distinction between policy insiders and policy outsiders – or between incumbents and challengers – and thereby assigns a particular a priori

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particular role and repertoire of action to the different actors involved in the area of housing policy (see Dupuy and Halpern 2009, 706).3 The (Citizenship) Regime Perspective In order to account for variation across societies, we propose a more constructivist perspective. We begin with the premise that “the state has a significant part in shaping the content and definition of interests, and not only organizational tactics and strategies” (Berger 1981, 15). Some groups are thus formed by their stake in particular policies. It follows that these policies shape the interests and identities to which they claim to be responding. But social groupings and constituencies do not emerge automatically as a result of a given governmental decision or public policy. Together, through their interactions, social actors and the state gradually organize interests and give them a particular form defined by particular symbolic and material boundaries (Berger 1981, 10). As Swidler (1995, 37–8) puts it: The cultures of social movements are shaped by the institutions the movements confront. Different regime types and different forms of repression generate different kinds of social movements with differing tactics and internal cultures … Institutions affect the formulation of social movement identities and objectives in yet more central ways. Where the state enshrines “rights” as the crucial legal claim that trumps all others, both individuals and social movements will conceive of the claims they make as “rights” … When institutions make questions of group identity salient, they generate identity-oriented movements and a quest for identity on the part of individuals … [I]ndividuals develop common scripts in response to the features of the institutions they confront. This process is historical and dynamic in that it unfolds over time and is open-ended. In other words, contemporary struggles unfold in, and are shaped by, an environment inherited from past policies and struggles. Struggles are thus both independent and dependent variables. They are inserted in sequences of decisions and events that condition their subsequent development and trajectory. We argue that the environment inherited from past policies and struggles constitutes a particular regime, made of institutional



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arrangements, rules, and understandings that shape the definition of interests, problems, claims, strategies, and decisions of both state and social actors.4 We thus talk of a housing regime to refer to: 1 a set of laws, regulations, policies, and norms that regulate the housing question; 2 a responsibility mix between the state, the market, the nonprofit sector, and the family in the provision of housing as a commodity and / or a right; 3 the structure of representation and the institutional mechanisms that grant access to the public debate and the policy-making process in the sector; and 4 the dominant and institutionalized discourses that constrain what is thinkable and legitimate in the sector of housing policy.5 We contend that the housing regime shapes the way in which different actors involved in struggles in the sector of housing policy define their identities, their interests, the challenges they face, and the claims they make. Different regimes will thus entail different identities, interests, challenges, claims, and modes of action ­– in a nutshell: different struggles. We hypothesize that varieties of housing regimes are correlated with, and even generate, varieties of housing struggles. In the next section, we present housing struggles in France, Quebec, and Ontario during the period of 2000 to 2015, and explain how they can be characterized and differentiated from each other. We will then relate these patterns to distinct regimes.

V a r ie t ie s o f H o u s ing S truggles in T h r e e S oci eti es Housing struggles vary across societies. While in France and Quebec they are at the core of protest activities, in Ontario they are much more connected to struggles against poverty and homelessness. The object of protest and claims is also very different: in France, the right to housing has become the dominant claim, while in Ontario, the focus is on accessibility to an affordable home, and in Quebec, struggles are organized around demands for social housing. In terms of repertoire of action, the difference between the three cases is also striking: protest is much more confrontational in France and Ontario, and more diverse

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in the case of Quebec. These elements are just some of the specificities we can highlight to show how each society is characterized by a certain type of protest pattern in a particular policy domain. France In France, since the beginning of the 1990s, housing has been considered to be at the heart of social conflict (Mathieu 2012). We can roughly distinguish two phases in the period under scrutiny. The first phase (2000 to 2012) is a continuation of the dynamics established around the struggle for “le droit au logement opposable” (DALO law, or “the enforceable right to housing law”), which was adopted in 2007. New collective actors emerged in the form of informal or loose networks, such as Les enfants de Don Quichotte (Don Quixote’s Children)6 and Jeudi noir (Black Thursday). In 2006, social actors not specialized in housing issues (such as trade unions or Catholic associations) began to include housing rights in their programs, and broad national coalitions were formed (such as La Plateforme des mouvements sociaux pour le logement, which was launched in 2011 and which brought together unions like the Syndicat de la Magistrature and S U D Santé Sociaux, groups specialized in housing issues like Droit au logement [D A L ] and Jeudi noir, and global justice actors like A T T A C and the Fondation Copernic). Since 2012, with the electoral victory of the Socialist Party (P S ), the general opportunity structure has changed dramatically. Improving housing measures was a key promise of the new socialist president, François Hollande, and several legislative measures were implemented in favour of rent control. But several social actors have kept putting pressure on the government. For example, some mobilizations recently demanded the application of the law (a recurring claim), in particular the DA LO law adopted in 2007. From 31 March to 24 April 2015, 300 people who were without housing and declared a high priority in terms of D A L O organized a camp, “le camp des bafoués du droit au logement à République,” to demand housing. Beyond this, the French housing sector is structured around key groups such as D A L . Formed in 1990 as a result of a split in the Comité des mal-logés, DA L first emerged in the Paris area and then became a national federation in 1998. It has been one of the major protest actors since then. The repertoire of action developed and used by DAL, such as direct actions (squatting, illegal occupation of vacant



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housing, camps), characterizes the type of protest in this sector (Péchu 2010, 72–86). Squatting and occupations are quasi-routine actions for DA L activists. Besides this type of direct action, demonstrations and providing popular education and services to people with housing are also common. The main claims in this sector concern the demand for a better legislative framework to address rent increases, prevent evictions, and build more social housing, and, since 2012, the actual implementation and enforcement of housing laws. Quebec In Quebec, struggles around housing essentially involve community groups, and since 1970 there have been constant mobilizations. A preliminary survey of the 2005 to 2015 period in the daily newspaper Le Devoir shows that housing mobilizations are quite stable in terms of issues, even if the total number of protests is low. The main claims concern abusive rent increases, more progressive regulations to protect tenants in the case of an eviction resulting from payment default, the protection of the renting market as opposed to private properties, the improvement of social housing provision and its financing, and the introduction of social support for individuals (and not just support for housing). The three main advocacy groups7 involved in housing struggles are Front d’action populaire en réaménagement urbain (F R A P R U ), Fédération des locataires d’habitations à loyers modiques du Québec (FLHLMQ), and Regroupement des comités logements et associations de locataires du Québec (R C L A L Q). Together, their first mandate is to promote the right to housing and the rights of tenants. They are demanding social housing and / or a better regulation of the private market. The main goal of F R A P R U and F L H L M Q is the promotion of social housing,8 whereas R C L A L Q is more focused on the defence of tenants’ rights, especially in the private market.9 In addition, there are the organizations Réseau québécois des OSBL d’habitation (RQOH) and Confédération québécoise des coopératives d’habitation (CQCH), which focus on both non-market and non-state housing provision and are specialized in the defence of their members (see table 8.1 for a summary). The housing sector has been divided along these different types of housing (cooperatives and renting) until very recently. Several

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Table 8.1  Organizations involved in housing struggles in Quebec Private housing

Social housing

Community housing

R CLALQ

FRAPRU FLHLMQ

A GR T Q C QC H R QOH

coalitions emerged among these different groups. For example, after the election of the provincial Liberal Party of Quebec (PLQ) in 2014, FRAPRU organized the campaign “un logement, un droit” (one housing, one right) by publicizing its report “Dossier noir sur le logement et la pauvreté 2014” (The Black File on Housing and Poverty 2014), which illustrated housing inequalities among the Quebec population and the need for more social housing. Since then, several protests have been organized with large coalitions. One of the most recent was a protest camp that took place in May 2015 to denounce the provincial government’s cutbacks in social housing. This kind of large coalition is rare in the area of housing in Quebec and is related to the current political context and the austerity policies put in place by the PLQ government. There is a long tradition of housing mobilizations in Quebec. Generally more discreet than in other policy domains (such as education), housing activists use various modes of action, such as popular education and, less frequently, occupations, camps, demonstrations, and petitions. The targets of protest are the federal state (especially before the 2000s), the provincial state, and the Régie du logement (which is responsible for the relationship between tenants and landlords). Protests and struggles around the issue of housing are a good illustration of the “Quebec model” in that institutionalized social actors are both confronting the state and cooperating with it (White 2012a; R. Laforest 2011). Conflict and cooperation are considered complementary strategies that can be used simultaneously in different arenas (Dufour 2013). Ontario In Ontario, struggles for housing are very much linked to poverty and homelessness. There are also claims about affordable housing and public housing, but our first preliminary press survey of the 2005 to 2015 period in the Globe and Mail shows that the first issues are by



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far dominant. Two major actors stand out: the Ontario Coalition Against Poverty (OCAP) and the Toronto Disaster Relief Committee (TDRC). Although OCAP has a provincial mandate, both organizations are essentially active at the municipal level, especially in the province’s biggest city, Toronto. Another significant difference with the other two societies is that the target of protest is mainly the city of Toronto, as if housing issues did not need to be addressed outside the metropolis. The repertoire of action is very diverse: from direct actions, squatting, and demonstrations, to disruption during town meetings and collective actions for the defence of marginalized people. Given the lack of literature on housing struggles in Ontario, we only have a rough picture of the situation. Having said that, the housing sector seems highly confrontational, primarily organized at the level of Toronto, and driven by groups that are active in the fight against poverty.

T h r e e D is t in c t H o us i ng Regi mes This brief survey suggests that housing struggles vary across societies. Why does the form and intensity of protest vary across societies?10 How can we make sense of the stability or instability of organizations in the housing policy sector? Why do protests around housing not address the same issues in every society? In order to answer these questions, we propose to look at the housing regimes in the three societies under scrutiny in this chapter. We outline these distinct housing regimes in table 8.2. France Housing policies are not easily compatible with the classical models of welfare states defined by Esping-Andersen (1990). Its classification only takes into account the redistribution of wages to construct the decommodification index and does not consider numerous aspects, such as education, health, and housing. In order to capture the way housing is or is not decommodified, we need to integrate social housing and the way it is distributed (Bugeja-Bloch 2013, 54–5). Looking at housing policies in terms of organization and distribution of social housing, Ghékière (2007) points out that France is a “generalist model,” with conditions of access to social housing relatively open. Public interventions are designed to compensate for market failures, targeting people based on their level of material resources. In the last

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Table 8.2  Varieties of housing regime Structure of representation

Main ideas about housing

Welfare mix

Housing policies

France

Regulated by the state, private and public

Very few entry Strong public provision of social points housing and important statesubsidized housing

Housing as a right; quality of housing

Queb ec

Mainly private, cooperative, and residual public

Weak public intervention and mainly towards groups; municipalities play a role

In cooperative housing, many entry points for local housing committee (comités logement)

Economic development; lack of affordable housing; quality of housing

Very weak state intervention; mainly municipal level

Very few entry points

Not taken as a provincial challenge; concerned with local homelessness and poverty

Onta rio Mainly private

forty years, housing policies and measures have increasingly been directed toward helping people, while building subsidies have declined continuously. Housing conditions during the last forty years have improved significantly: less than half of households declared themselves ­satisfied with their home or apartment in the 1970s, while in the middle of the 2000s, 75 per cent declared themselves satisfied. The improvement of available accommodations (in terms of comfort) and the fact that private property developed substantially and today involves 60 per cent of housing are the two main reasons behind such a level of satisfaction (Driant 2014). On the other hand, housing inequalities are persistent and have increased in the recent period. The level of finances devoted to housing by households has increased dramatically. Renters devoted 17.7 per cent of their income to housing in 2006, an increase from 9 per cent in the 1970s (Driant 2014, 32). Finally, 3.5 million people are considered to be living in poor housing conditions, while another 5 million are considered to be living in a precarious situation. In 2013, the National Institute of



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Statistics and Economic Studies (Yaouancq et al. 2013) estimated that 141,500 people were without housing in France. This change is directly related to the 2008 financial crisis. In terms of housing policy, the French government is much more interventionist than the Quebec and Ontario governments. Programs to sustain people’s income are the most significant of these policy interventions, consisting of €14.4 billion in 2006 and around €17 billion in 2015. Two systems exist: the Aide personnalisée au logement (A P L ) and the housing allocation for those who cannot benefit from the A P L . The right to this income supplement depends on the size of the household and the level of income. The direct public support for housing construction represents around €2 billion whereas the level of public support for social housing construction has diminished constantly. Relevant for the time period considered in this chapter (2005 to 2015), a major change occurred after the 2006 to 2007 mobilization for the DA L O law. The DA L O recognizes the obligation of the state to make the right to housing effective materially and not just symbolically. This new law was seen as an important victory in the housing sector but its implementation is still problematic and a major issue of mobilization. The election of Hollande, a socialist, was another turning point in housing policy. During the 2012 presidential campaign, he promised to significantly increase social housing, thus departing from the previous right wing administration. Some changes did occur. The first measures were adopted in December 2012. The Duflot Law on social housing was designed to foster the construction of social housing.11 Several fiscal measures were also adopted to facilitate access to home ownership. In March 2014, the AL U R Law was brought in. It includes two specific measures that depart from the market principle: rents are now regulated in big cities and a universal rent guarantee (le garantie universelle des loyers, or G U L ) provides a minimum amount for owners in case of arrears in rent payments. Finally, recent studies underscore how local administrations are playing an increasing role in housing policies (Houard 2011). For example, Desage (2013) shows how mayors play a central role in the attribution of social housing. In terms of formal settings for participation for civil society groups, the picture in France is quite different than Quebec. Social groups are much less systematically associated with social housing policy implementation and are not generally involved in social housing ownership

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(such as the cooperative sector in Quebec). Nevertheless, some entry points do exist. The Haut comité pour le logement des personnes défavorisées, initiated by Abbé Pierre and created in 1992 under the socialist government of Bérégovoy, includes members of Parliament, representatives from the associative (AT D Quart Monde, Fondation Abbé Pierre, S A MU Social, F NA R S, Secours Catholique) and social housing sector, as well as civil engineers (U N AF O ). This committee has pushed for the D A L O initiative since the beginning of the 2000s and it is in charge of following up on this law. Other institutions on the financial side of social housing are composed of trade union and business representatives. Aside from this, tenant groups are formally represented at the departmental level12 in a commission regulating conflicts between renters and public owners. All in all, the housing regime in France is characterized by strong state intervention, a significant social housing sector, and relatively developed housing rights (in comparison with the other two cases considered in this chapter), but very few points of entry in the policymaking process for social actors. It induces demands for new rights or the improvement of the housing regime (and since 2012, the implementation of its new laws), and is characterized by the actions of groups from several areas (including housing but also groups involved in the struggle against poverty and exclusion), NGOs, and trade unions, as well as a confrontational style of protest. Quebec The first federal law on housing was adopted in 1935. Historically, in the context of Keynesian economics during the Second World War, the federal government was the main player in the sector. The government invested in housing as part of an economic stimulus plan. The development of social housing units began in 1946, under the responsibility of the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation. The peak period for this development was between 1964 and 1978. In the 1970s, federal policy shifted from social housing toward the community sector and cooperatives (Morin, Dansereau, and Nadeau 1990). In 1994, the federal government decided to withdraw from the sector, and gradually transferred responsibility to the provinces. At the beginning of 2000, the federal government reinvested in affordable housing through a new program, but kept itself to a secondary role compared to the Quebec government.



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In Quebec, social housing was originally the responsibility of the Catholic Church and its institutions, and the provincial government began to intervene in the sector later than in other Canadian provinces. In 1968, the Société d’habitation du Québec (SHQ) was created. In 1986, an agreement was signed between the SHQ and federal corporations, giving the SHQ a monopoly over the Quebec territory. One of the main characteristics of the housing regime in Quebec is the high proportion of cooperative and community development involved in housing compared to social housing. Since the retreat of the federal government, community housing emerged as an alternative to public social housing (Bouchard 2009). It has been and is supported by the provincial government (Morin, Dansereau, and Nadeau 1990) as well as by municipalities (Bouchard and Hudon 2008, 40). The municipal level finances part of the cost of building community housing (50 per cent SHQ, 15 per cent municipalities or groups of municipalities, and 35 per cent residents) and can act as a facilitator in cases of land acquisition. The municipal government is also in charge of municipal infrastructure and zoning, and has a de facto influence on building policies. In terms of the welfare mix, the private renting sector is dominant in Quebec as in other Canadian provinces. Nevertheless, Quebec is the province with the lowest ownership rate – almost ten points of difference with Ontario – and the highest rate of new rental housing – twice the rate of Ontario (SH Q 2008) (see table 8.3). If we add up all types of social housing (rent-controlled, associative, cooperative, and First Nation on-reserve housing), this segment represented only 11 per cent of the total rental sector in 2014. Between 2,000 and 3,000 new social housing units are added each year, much lower than the numbers demanded by F R A P R U (which demands 50,000 new units over a five-year term). Therefore, it is not surprising that one of the main issues for protests around housing in Quebec is the relationship between owners and tenants. Another major issue is the availability of affordable housing. More than 38,000 households were waiting for affordable housing in 2014, 60 per cent of which were located in Montreal (SHQ 2014). In terms of policies, Quebec is an interesting case. While it belongs to a liberal welfare regime, the most important public efforts in housing policy concern cooperatives and other nonprofit-sector organizations, and are much less directed toward helping people individually. In 1997, Quebec adopted the program AccèsLogis, designed to facilitate community housing development and financing. AccèsLogis

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Table 8.3  Ownership rate across cases

Ownership Rate

Quebec

Canada

61.3% (2011)

69.3% (2011)

France 58% (2013)

provides financial assistance for different types of organizations. It works like a loan that becomes a grant when the organization meets the conditions imposed by the SHQ (IREC 2011). This grant can cover construction, restoration, or transformation of a non-residential building into housing. Another program, the programme d’allocationlogement, was added to the regime in 1997 and is administered by Revenu Québec (the Ministry of Revenue). This program ­­– the only one dedicated to helping people pay rent – represented $72 million in 2013 and helped 104,000 households. It is the only program dedicated to people. Finally, the program Logement abordable, adopted in 2002, concerns the return of stable federal financing of social housing. This program is still marginal in the overall policies intervention. In terms of political representation structure, community groups are recognized by the provincial state and financially supported, including for their advocacy activities (White 2012b). Groups and local state actors cooperate on diverse issues in formal or informal arenas. For example, in the housing sector, local housing committees participate in institutional forums and have a paid employee in charge of coordination. Thus, when it comes to the relationship between the state and community groups in the housing policy domain, there are more formal and informal possibilities in Quebec than in Ontario and France. Ontario As in Quebec, 1994 was also a turning point in the housing sector in Ontario in that the federal government ended its financial support of social housing (Hulchanski and Shapcott 2004; N. Smith 1995). Whereas in Quebec the reaction took place at the provincial level, in Ontario the federal government withdrawal coincided with and was associated with the election of the provincial Conservative government of Mike Harris in 1995, who decided to decentralize social housing policy (Schuk 2009; Leone and Carroll 2010). Some years later, the Social Housing Reform Act (SHRA) delegated social housing



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management to municipalities through the constitution of forty-seven organizations like the Toronto Community Housing Corporation (which today manages around 60,000 social housing units) and the Ottawa Community Housing Corporation (which manages around 11,000 social housing units). Social housing is thus localized, with few public resources and with rising pressure on rents (Hackworth and Moriah 2006). This policy was confirmed by the Liberal government of Dalton McGuinty in 2003, despite McGuinty’s promise to reinvest in the social housing sector. He had promised to build 20,000 social housing units, but two years after the election, only 8 per cent had been completed (Hackworth 2008) and no additional provincial funds had been devoted to the sector. In 2011, the Housing Service Act (HSA ) replaced the SH R A as the province’s legislation on social housing and rent-geared-to-income (or subsidized) housing. The primary goal of the HSA seems to be the devolution of responsibility for social housing to local municipalities. According to the Advocacy Centre for Tenants Ontario, “the HSA provides greater flexibility to service managers, including the method of selecting households from the waiting list,” thus introducing more discretionary power in the distribution of units (A C T O 2011). Briefly put, public intervention in the housing sector in Ontario is characterized by continuity since the mid-1990s, decentralization at the municipal level, weak support for social housing, and the predominance of the private sector. Table 8.4 compares some key indicators of the housing sector in Ontario and Quebec. There are 260,000 social housing units in Ontario, 100,000 subsidized units, and 160 cooperative (or nonprofit) units (Morris 2015; Vérificateur général de l’Ontario 2011; Turner 2007). Quebec and Ontario have a low rate of social housing (6 per cent for Ontario and 5 per cent for Quebec), but if we take into account those who receive a rental subsidy in the private sector, Quebec comes up second with 10 per cent, right behind Manitoba (11 per cent), which is not the case for Ontario (Dansereau 2005, 29). All in all, social housing in Ontario is highly insufficient to fulfill the need; more than 150,000 households are on the waiting list (Lapointe 2011). The housing market in Ontario is also more dependent on private property and is more expensive than in Quebec. As a result, more people are in precarious living situations with respect to housing. Thus, we can see that poverty and access to affordable housing are  interrelated in Ontario because of the type of public sector

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Table 8.4  The housing sector in Ontario and Quebec Quebec

Ontario

Canada

Housing market situation Availability rate (apartment) (2015)

6.6%

4.3%

5.3%

Average rate (apartment, 2 bedrooms) (2016)

$751

$1,151

$927

Median rate (2016)

$700

$1,100

$855

Average value of housing (2006)

$182,223

$297,100

$262,873

Individual houses (2006)

45.73%

56.13%

55.32%

10.6%

14.53%

12.7%

1996

56.5%, 43.5%

64.4%, 35.6%

63.8%, 36.2%

2001

58%, 42%

67.9%, 32.1%

66.1%, 33.9%

Housing precarity Proportion of households in core housing need by tenure (2006) Housing distribution Owners versus tenants

Sources: SCH L 2015, 2016; Vérificateur général de l’Ontario 2011; SHSC 2010; Statistique Canada 2006.

intervention that the provincial government has designed over the years. Moreover, given that municipalities are the main actors in housing policy, we can understand why housing protest is primarily organized at the city level, whereas in Quebec, organizing at the provincial level is preferred. The main hypothesis of this chapter is that the housing regime shapes housing protest. Although more research is required to put forward a sound argument, the cases of France, Quebec, and Ontario seem to support this hypothesis. Indeed, looking at housing regimes helps us answer a number of questions regarding the way protest in the housing sector is organized in each society. For example, why do we have stability in terms of collective actors in Quebec while in France, new protests can be attributed to the emergence of new actors? Why are struggles for housing mainly related to issues of poverty and homelessness in Ontario? Why are squats a much more popular form of protest in France than in the two other societies? In order to address



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these questions, we introduce more specific hypotheses in the conclusion that point to the role of the housing regime in each society.

C o n c l u s io n : F ro m Poli cy Regi mes to P ro t e s t R egi mes? In Quebec, housing protest is characterized by the stable presence of actors and a moderate repertoire of action. Such a pattern could be linked to dimensions of the Quebec housing regime, in which the role and place of the community sector is much bigger and more publicly supported than elsewhere in Canada. The stable presence of groups over time may have facilitated the constant mobilization around housing issues, even if this mobilization has been limited to specialized actors. It follows that the representation structure of Quebec – the third dimension of the citizenship regime – is a factor facilitating the  development of mobilization but not so much of protest. Institutionalization could indeed constrain protest in that as highintensity conflict is less suitable for the kind of relationship that groups have with institutional actors. This is a classical institutionalization argument, very much recognized in the literature (R. Laforest 2013; Shragge 2013; Hanley, Kruzynski, and Shragge 2013). A systematic analysis of housing protest through the lense of the housing regime could reveal how exactly institutionalization works. Apart from the structure of representation, the type of public policies implemented in each society could also affect the type of protest, through a policy feedback mechanism (Pierson 1996). We have seen that the retrenchment of the federal government from the housing sector had a great impact, leading to a transformation of the scale of protest and the emergence of new collective actors in Ontario, and to a change in group strategies in Quebec. In Ontario, the fact that housing protest does not seem to be taking place at the provincial level, but is very much organized around municipalities (and especially Toronto), could be a direct result of a residual welfare mix in which the provincial state is almost absent from housing policies and local authorities mainly intervene with regard to extreme situations of homelessness and great poverty. Furthermore, the different dimensions of a regime can have the cumulative effect of producing new boundaries (Tilly and Tarrow 2006, 34), as in Quebec where the division of labour between collective actors is clear and salient. The regime thus contributes to a mechanism of boundary formation. Finally, the

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type of welfare mix and the type of housing policies could have produced a strong collective identity among specific groups. For example, the fact that the Quebec state funds more building of collective housing in the nonprofit sector than individual rent could have facilitated the existence of a continuous protest mobilization, even for renters. In the case of France, the housing sector is highly regulated, which may affect the formulation of housing claims in terms of rights rather than needs, as we have seen elsewhere. In this case, “framing” could be the mechanism at work. Aside from this, in line with political process arguments à la McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly, the scarcity of formal relationships between state agencies and collective actors in the formulation and implementation of housing policies – namely the structure of representation – could be connected to the choice of protest tactics and could foster more transgressive and confrontational modes of action than elsewhere (see also Ancelovici 2008). Combining Jenson’s notion of citizenship regime and policy regime adds value to the analysis of contentious politics in two ways. First, we hypothesize that analysis should link protest and repertoires of tactics and actions to policy regimes. Rather than assuming that each nation-state is characterized by a single, overarching repertoire of action (as the work of Tilly is often depicted as doing), we argue that analysis should break down the state and identify specific sectors of public intervention. For example, in housing regimes, multiple levels of institutions are involved in the three cases (municipal, regional / national, and national / federal), while in other sectors, like education, the national / societal government is the main interlocutor. In this respect, repertoires of collective action should be characterized and understood by sector of state intervention. Second, our argument does not presuppose a direction in the transformation of the politics of contention. Changes in the setup of state intervention could go in multiple directions, and may not even be congruent. For example, the policy regime can foster highly conflictual situations in one sector while simultaneously contributing to more cooperative relations between state representatives and social groups in another sector. Third, the manner in which we build on the notion of citizenship regime is particularly rich, through comparing not only current contexts of action but also the historical structure of relationships and ways of protesting in a given society. In our perspective, policy regimes do not consider context as a given or as something exterior to mobilization and something wherein the action simply unfolds.



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We treat context as an integral part of political dynamics, continuously built by relations among actors, both state and non-state.

no t e s   1 This chapter builds on research supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (S S HRC) of Canada.   2 This point is based on several discussions we had during seminars at the Centre de recherche sur les politiques et le développement social (C PDS) at the Université de Montréal over the years.   3 For more on the conceptual and empirical problems with the insider /­outsider distinction in social movement studies, see Banaszak (2010).   4 This is a paraphrase of Jenson’s (2007b, 55) definition of a citizenship regime.   5 This dimension is slightly different from the question of “belonging” and national identity mentioned by Jenson in the original definition. Briefly, we suggest that in a given policy domain, the ways of thinking about a problem (in this case, housing) and the conflict of ideas that prevail play a central role and determine in part what and who belongs to this domain. For example, in Ontario, housing problems are closely related to poverty, while in France, housing is mainly framed as a right. The way we think about housing will influence who is considered legitimate to speak about it and what can be considered as valuable claims.   6 See Ancelovici (2008).   7 Some of the following information is taken from Renaud Goyer’s doctoral dissertation in progress, from the Department of Sociology, Université de Montréal, 2015.   8 For more information, see http://www.flhlmq.com and “Pour une politique québécoise de logement social,” retrieved from http://clvm.org/wordpress/ wp-content/uploads/2015/09/41-Pour-une-politique-qu--b--coise-de-­ logement-social.pdf.   9 For more information, see http://www.rclalq.qc.ca. 10 Or, if we were to look at several sectors within a single society, why does protest vary across sectors? 11 See http://www.lesechos.fr/12/11/2012/lesechos.fr/0202379398016_legouvernement-et-le-1--logement-signent-un-accord-pour-davantage-delogements-sociaux.htm. 12 In France, the “départements” are geographical administrative units. There are 101 départements.

9 “Weapons of Mass Distraction”? Migration, Multiculturalism, and Citizenship in Two Contrasting Election Campaigns Alexandra Dob rowolsky

In a discipline in which narrowly defined political institutional analysis dominated, at a time when multidimensional identity politics were decidedly overlooked or out of favour, Jane Jenson boldly asserted, “it is useful to remember that politics … is always identity politics. The implication of this conceptual starting point is that analysis must always take into account the constitution of actors” (1991, 50). Politics, then, is not merely about “who gets what, where and how,” but about “which collective identities have a right to make claims,” and about “where politics takes place” (1991, 52), encompassing various representational forms. And so, political fundamentals – like citizenship regimes – involve states, markets, families, and communities (Jenson and Phillips 1996; Jenson 1997), and shift over space and time, as was made manifest by Jenson’s influential comparative work. Concomitantly, with her concept of the “universe of political ­discourse” (1989a), Jenson stressed that discourse is not just about language or text, but about statements, understandings, meanings, and beliefs that are historically, institutionally, and culturally contingent. Discourses do not just “fall from the sky,” nor are they stuck in time; they are created and recreated through the political actions of individuals and groups whose forms, interests, identities, and influence are not fixed: “Because actors with a variety of collective identities co-exist in this universe, their practices and meaning systems jostle each other



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for attention and legitimacy” (Jenson 1991, 52). Moreover, the claims that are mounted depend on the “internal life” of political forms, the resolution of their strategic dilemmas, and “battles over names, representation, and action” (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004, 156). Jenson’s work thus contributed to more sophisticated institutional and sociological approaches with discursive, identitarian, and comparative analyses becoming much more prevalent in both. Clearly, my own scholarship has been indelibly marked by, and indebted to, these more complicated and contested understandings of politics. Whereas other chapters in this volume consider citizenship regimes with respect to social movements, or in light of a single policy area, here I examine a quintessential arena of politics – general elections – and conventional representational vehicles – political parties. But, à la Jenson, a more complex politics unfolds with partisan ideas and identities that are not static; are historically, institutionally, and cultural specific; and are fundamental to understandings of how and why central actors in elections can shape and promote very different notions of citizenship. Although all four dimensions of the citizenship regime are typically found in election campaigns, I will mostly reference the responsibility mix, rights, and senses of belonging, given the close attention paid in this chapter to the relevance of immigration and multiculturalism. Immigration and multiculturalism are revealing indicators of the contours of citizenship. Beyond the official requirements of a country’s immigration policies, and its formal recognition of multiculturalism, or lack thereof, both serve to convey what newcomers can expect, and how they will be received, in terms of rights, responsibilities, and belonging. Immigration and multiculturalism obviously involve not only states, but also families, markets, and communities, and they serve to animate lines of inclusion and exclusion based on gender, race, ethnicity, class, and nation that are part and parcel of citizenship norms and practices. In this chapter I examine the elections that took place in Canada and Britain in the same year, 2015. As will become evident, the choice of these two countries can be justified, in comparative politics terms, by a logic of “most similar systems,” given their historic colonial connections and shared parliamentary and electoral traditions, as well as contemporary similarities in that both have competitive multiparty systems, although there are typically only two, but sometimes three, main parties in contention.

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Although there were several striking similarities in the party politics of Britain and Canada in the periods leading up to their 2015 general elections, respectively held on 7 May and 9 October, their outcomes were very different. The British election concluded with an unanticipated Conservative majority win. Five years after forming a coalition government with the Liberal Democrats (Lib Dems) in 2010, the Conservatives succeeded in securing a majority, a result not seen by the party since 1992. Conversely, Canada’s 2015 election culminated in an equally unexpected Liberal majority government. This party had been all but decimated in the previous 2011 election, had been out of office since 2006, and in 2004 had formed a precarious minority government. Given the initial parallels, what explains these divergent election results? My contention is that the impact of pivotal imaginaries and concerns around identity, especially in relation to migration, multiculturalism, and citizenship, are the most telling when it comes to putting together the pieces of this political puzzle. Justin Trudeau’s Liberal campaign was successful because it not only referenced old elements of the postwar regime, but also presented newer discourses, symbols, and ideals associated with Canadian citizenship. The Liberals conjured expansive ideas and identitarian associations, conjoining immigration and multiculturalism with explicit, positive appeals to gender, ethnicity, and middle-class families. In Britain, the election was won through a narrow politics of fear around the economy and a nation under threat. David Cameron’s Conservatives drew on neoliberal tropes, a neoconservative, anti-immigration ethos, and identities circumscribed by class, nation, location, racialization, and gender. This chapter thus details respective political actors’ strategic deployment of both inclusive and exclusive imaginaries and identities that worked to recreate, revise, and re-vision citizenship in context-specific ways. My hope is that this research question, comparison, and form of analysis will make a thought-provoking contribution to a contemporary context in which we see more diametrically opposed platforms, and, in particular, increasingly extremist positions on the right, in liberal, or even left-liberal democratic states. Examples abound from Trump America to a range of European countries in the north, south, and east, such as Sweden, Greece, and Hungary, respectively. But here, let us begin our study of the cases of Canada and Britain.



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Ju s t if ic at io n s a n d In s t i tuti onal Detai ls From an institutional standpoint, Canada and Britain provide a logical choice for comparison. Though different in significant respects, the comparison can be justified with a most similar systems rationale. To be sure, key differences include Canada’s federal state and entrenched Charter and Constitution, and Britain’s historic, unitary state and unwritten constitution. The former has also been acknowledged for its classic brokerage or pragmatic parties (Brodie and Jenson 1996; Carty 2013), whereas the latter was renowned for the opposite, that is, its ideological, programmatic, two-class, two-party model (Webb 2002). But there have been shifts on these fronts from United Kingdom devolution (with Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland), to the degree that both countries now have multiparty systems (as well as more “fragmented” party systems [Geddes and Tonge 2015, 1]). Notable similarities include British colonial and Crown ties, common Westminster models, and single member plurality (SMP) electoral systems, which tend to produce majority governments. Furthermore, coming into the 2015 elections, both countries had: 1) ideologically conservative incumbents (albeit the British Conservative Party had led the coalition while the Conservative Party of Canada [CP C] had governed with a majority) drawing on a mix of neoliberalism and neoconservatism, and even hiring the same (Australian) campaign strategist, Lynton Crosby; 2) social democratic parties in opposition that had become more centrist, the Labour Party and the New Democratic Party (NDP); 3) struggling liberals, with the British Liberal Democrats weakened after their experience with the 2010 to 2015 coalition government, and the Liberal Party of Canada’s (LPC) extraordinary relegation to third-party status after the 2011 election; 4) compelling “third parties,” that is, Greens in both, and nationalist challengers including the Scottish National Party (S N P ), the United Kingdom Independence Party (UKIP) (and less centrally to this chapter, the Welsh nationalist party, Plaid Cymru, and Sinn Féin in Northern Ireland), and, in Canada, the Bloc Québécois (BQ); and finally 5) both races were depicted as being “neck and neck” (Curtice 2015, 4). Indeed, in Canada, “over the course of the campaign each of the three parties would occupy the lead in at least one publicly released national poll measuring vote intention … a historical first” (Coletto 2016,

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305) while in Britain, the final results ultimately “confounded the expectations of almost all pollsters and most pundits” (Geddes and Tonge 2015, 3). Since parties do organize themselves “partially in response to incentives embedded in the institutional environments within which they compete for public office” (Koop 2011, 3), institutional explanations for these results cannot be discounted. For instance, S M P helps to explain the majority wins in the two countries, while the decisive victory for dissimilar parties can be better understood with an understanding of distinctive party governance norms: the Conservative Party is the traditional party of governance in Britain, whereas Canada’s Liberal Party has been the natural governing party and historically the “government party” as well (Whitaker 1977; Clarkson 2005; Carty 2015). Party resources, and the strategic decisions that flow from them, are also important. The C P C , described as a “fundraising behemoth” (Ellis 2016, 25), had the healthiest party finances by far (Press and Bryden 2016, A4). It could afford an extra-long, seventy-eight-day campaign (in lieu of the usual thirty-seven days), wagering that this would provide ample opportunity to support the Tories’ claim that the young, gaffe-prone Liberal leader was “just not ready.” However, finances were not a deciding factor (Press and Bryden 2016, A4), and the long campaign managed to undo their investment in negative advertising. As Burgess (2015, 19) has written, “Trudeau’s momentum built slowly over the course of 11 weeks and five leaders’ debates, peaking just in time for voting day.” Instead, the protracted campaign revealed that the C P C platform had little new on offer (CP C 2015) and fuelled an “A B C ” movement ­– anything but the Conservatives – that not only helped to oust Harper, but also hurt the N D P . The Conservative Party in Britain also had a financial advantage that bolstered “nationally promoted messages and sophisticated local operations, including the deployment of 100 paid campaign organisers in target seats and the effective use of social media” (Tonge and Geddes 2015, 257). This “brutal Conservative micro-targeting blitz” picked off Liberal Democrats so effectively that only “eight survived” (Cutts and Russell 2015, 70). Success also lay in appealing to an idealized, stable, Tory-governing past; that is, the united, “one nation,” fiscally prudent Conservative Party was effectively counterposed to the alleged perils of electing a shaky Labour ­­– or worse, a LabourS N P – government.



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At the same time, and as will become more apparent, because the Liberal Party has historically been Canada’s leading brokerage, and governing party, it was in a much better position organizationally and politically than the Labour Party, as the latter experienced greater fragmentation, and different forms of radicalization. Evidently, political institutional factors matter, but they are also bound to ideas and ideals to which we will now turn.

T h e R e s p o n s ib il it y Mi x Redefi ned a n d   R e c r e ated The 2008 recession affected both Canada and Britain, but this financial earthquake and its aftershocks were felt more intensely in Britain. In response, the Conservatives’ successful campaign played up the party’s historic reputation for fiscal stewardship, but in the context of contemporary austerity politics. Cameron’s Conservatives committed to a Thatcher-inspired responsibility mix, and took credit for the austerity measures put in place by the coalition government. By portraying themselves as “fiscal hawks” and accusing Labour of being “deficit deniers” (Gamble 2015, 156, 158), the Tories sharply redefined right- versus left-wing approaches to social spending. In contrast, Canada’s Liberals harkened back to earlier times, recreating a robust responsibility mix that would be supported by deficit financing, obscuring the intense neoliberal restructuring that had in fact taken place under the Chrétien Liberal government of the mid-1990s (Harder and Patten 2006). To elaborate, in Britain in the 1990s and into the 2000s, a rebranded New Labour had paved a middle road to power between the Old Labour Left and the New Right of Thatcher, distinguishing their party of social investment from the Conservative Party of cuts. But given that the 2008 global economic meltdown took place under the watch of Labour prime minister Gordon Brown, a leading social investment proponent (Dobrowolsky and Lister 2008), the Tories could now frame the citizenry’s choice as being one of “sound finance” with them, versus “bankruptcy” with Labour (Gamble 2015, 157). Here, fiscal aptitude entailed drawing on well-worn neoliberal responses: eliminating the deficit, growing the economy, creating jobs, cutting taxes, and engaging in “fairer,” as opposed to higher, public spending (Conservative 2015, 25). Having been a party to the coalition government that had launched deep cuts in programming, Nick Clegg’s Liberal Democrats were hard

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pressed to campaign against austerity, and thus the message coming from both the Conservatives and the Lib Dems drowned out any dissenting voices from Labour. At the same time, because Labour was portrayed as overspending and was blamed for the economic crisis, Labour leader Edward Miliband was careful not to appear too antiausterity, seemingly distancing himself from his early days as leader when tackling inequality took precedence (Stears 2015, 216). Instead, Labour felt compelled to commit to a balanced budget (Gamble 2015, 162), and “thrashed around, launching three-month wonder ideas: ‘pre-distribution’; ‘squeezed middle,’ ‘one nation Britain,’ ‘predators versus producers’” (Tonge and Geddes 2015, 259). Furthermore, both the Labour and Lib Dem platforms lacked spending details, reinforcing the Tories’ claim of having A Clear Economic Plan (their platform was entitled Strong Leadership; A Clear Economic Plan; A Brighter, More Secure Future [Conservative 2015]). The strongest proponents of anti-austerity were the nationalist parties in Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland. For example, akin to its stance in the September 2014 Scottish independence referendum, the SNP appealed to a progressive Scottish identity, one that was more supportive of redistribution. This was in stark contrast to Labour, and in turn contributed to the latter’s plummeting Scottish support in 2015 (Mitchell 2015, 95). In Canada, it was less clear that the governing Conservatives were the sound fiscal managers that they claimed to be. The 2008 economic crisis took its toll while they were in office and necessitated abandoning the C P C ’s cherished balanced-book principles, resulting in a large deficit, one that had been eliminated by their Liberal government predecessors. Nonetheless, the Tories’ 2015 platform lacked innovation and imagination, and instead focused narrowly on the economy (C P C 2015), based on the assumption that voters would give their party “credit for the relatively good shape of the Canadian economy and not risk turning the government over to its irresponsible opponents at a time of global economic instability” (Ellis 2016, 38). In contrast, the Trudeau Liberals could distance themselves from basic neoliberal tenets, calling on an earlier, more far-reaching responsibility mix – one often associated with the Liberal leader’s father, former prime minister Pierre Elliott Trudeau – by advocating deficit spending. Of course, Liberals were known for campaigning on the left and governing on the right. For example, the Chrétien



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Liberal’s 1993 election-winning “Red Book” contained welfare liberal pronouncements that were soon abandoned in favour of market liberal consolidation (Harder and Patten 2006). Nonetheless, in 2015, the Liberals were in a better position to risk reimagining the responsibility mix, pointing to past achievements in relation to the historic Keynesian welfare state, and to more recent efforts around social investment (Dobrowolsky and Jenson 2004). Deficit financing would distinguish the Liberals from the Conservatives, but it also painted the N D P , under Thomas Mulcair, into a corner. Having initially campaigned as the governing party in waiting, Mulcair was forced to change tactics to deal with the “impression that voting ND P is somehow a wasted vote because the Liberals can actually deliver on their promises as the governing party” (McGrane 2015, 33). The NDP’s strategic miscalculation of promising a balanced budget compounded the problem. Its strategists “strongly believed that, while the Liberals could get away with proposing deficits, the NDP could not ” as this would have just played into “negative stereotypes” perpetuating notions “that an NDP government would engage in ‘out of control spending,’ leading Canada to economic ruin” (McGrane 2016, 103). Running on a balanced budget was thus meant “to show that the historic protest party was serious about wielding power. But the NDP ’s promise … very quickly turned into a political own goal” (Andrew-Gee 2016, A6). Having previously been a cabinet minister in the right-of-centre Quebec Liberal government, Mulcair’s ideological credentials had always been in question. Making matters worse, midway through the campaign, progressives’ nerves were “jangled” when a blogger in Quebec “dug up video of the then-MLA praising Margaret Thatcher on the floor of the National Assembly in 2001” (Andrew-Gee 2016, A6). Party president Rebecca Blaikie later confirmed, in the N D P election post-mortem, that their campaign message lacked cohesiveness, and the abandonment of deficit financing was a huge mistake (Taber 2016, A5). The latter appeared counterintuitive at best, and, at worst, a betrayal of the left. It was also quite reminiscent of what befell the Labour Party under Miliband in its 2015 campaign. Given the foregoing, the Liberals in Canada could pitch “Real change” and “A New Plan” (L P C 2015) in comparison to the Conservatives, and could also claim “the progressive high ground by promising stimulus spending at a time of weak economic growth.”

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This, in turn, “dampened rank-and-file enthusiasm” for the NDP under Mulcair, “who was already fighting charges of insufficient ideological purity” (Andrew-Gee 2016, 16).

Di s tin c t iv e Im ag in a r ie s of Hope and Fear Trudeau also epitomized a new, fresh politics by selling hope and optimism through iterations of an idealized Canadian imaginary: an internationalist, multicultural, open door Canada, one that supported social programs and promoted equality of opportunity. Representing the mirror opposite of Harper’s nasty politics of division (Chwalisz 2015; Strumm 2015), Trudeau later encapsulated his approach by referencing the iconic Liberal Prime Minister Wilfred Laurier, who had worked to consolidate the party, and the country, 120 years earlier, through “sunny ways”; that is, governance practices that worked to bridge differences, using politics as a positive, powerful force for change. In Britain, however, scare tactics predominated. The Conservatives hammered home Labour profligacy, and fears related to a Labour-SNP alliance, insinuating that voting Labour would lead to the dissolution of the United Kingdom. Although the SNP was the “governing party” in Scotland, it was definitely the “challenger party” in Westminster (Flinders 2015, 251), and nerves were still raw given the narrow nationalist loss in the Scottish referendum. Insecurities around “English” identity and culture that were already prevalent around devolution were further compounded by immigration (Skey 2012; Johnson and Rodger 2015). Anti-immigrant sentiments espoused by far-right parties in Europe had not left the UK unscathed. Since the early 2000s, there had been a “surge in concern about immigration as a major national issue” in Britain, despite “the public having a very poor understanding of the scale and nature of immigration” (Duffy 2014, 259–60). By the 2010 British general election, immigration was one of the two (along with the economy) most salient “valence” issues, that is, those around which a widespread consensus had developed. The British public, therefore, was “not divided on immigration. A large majority of the population want[ed] levels of immigration reduced” (Dennison and Goodwin 2015, 175; Duffy 2014, 259). The Conservatives used their usual immigration clampdown refrain, but by 2015, U K I P secured “ownership” of this position (Dennison



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and Goodwin 2015, 169). What is more surprising (or not, given McGhee’s [2009] analysis of policy shifts under Tony Blair) was Labour’s more explicit anti-immigrant stance in the campaign. This consensus responded to fundamental identity-related anxieties that will be elaborated upon next.

T h e P o l it ic s o f Id enti ty, Ri ghts , a n d   B e l o ngi ng Identity politics speak to issues of rights and notions of belonging that in turn define citizenship ideas and practices. Class, nation, place, gender, race, and ethnicity will be examined separately in the fourth part of this chapter, but because they work in intersecting, mutually constitutive ways, there will inevitably be some overlap. Moreover, these interconnections confirm the critical role of identity politics in the British Conservatives’ majority consolidation, as well as the rising fortunes of UK I P and the SNP , along with the successful Canadian Liberal campaign of reclaiming core identities and ideals after nine years of Harper rule. Class Intersections and U-Turns Unlike Canada, in Britain, class had been the historic, defining feature of party politics; that is, a “closed class” system effectively distinguished the Labour and Conservative parties. Consistent with this past, in 2015 the latter represented the socially privileged (Geddes and Tonge 2015, 3). However, New Labour had already distanced the Labour Party from its working-class roots under Blair and Brown, and because “Middle England” was still key to its electoral success, Miliband would now mostly sidestep the issue of class and respond to the economy as a valence issue, with hazy Labour mottos such as: “Building an economy that works for working people” (Labour Party 2015). When class was mentioned, Miliband conflated it with immigration and security in loaded ways, declaring: “Eastern European immigration is a class issue because it increases competition for jobs, particularly those at lower wages. It looks very different if you are an employee rather than an employer. We refused to recognise that sufficiently” (Dennison and Goodwin 2015, 172). Moreover, the Labour platform contained calls to control “immigration with fair rules” and

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to ensure that citizens “feel secure in the strength of our borders, our communities, and in the workplace” (Labour Party 2015, 49). Immigration has indeed become a class issue in Britain. Up until recently, the country had “the manual working classes most concerned and the highest social class least concerned” with immigration, but “this gap has closed significantly,” and now, ironically, it is “actually the better off who are most likely to say the reason for their concern is immigrants’ impact on public services and benefits” (Duffy 2014, 262). These “better off” voters stayed with the Conservatives, while the worse off left Labour for UK I P . Nigel Farage’s UKIP was more adept than Labour at combining an anti-immigration stance with a populist critique that would appeal to certain marginalized groups. UKIP’s platform, “Believe in Britain,” combined anti-immigration, populism, and patriotism (U KI P 2015) in ways that spoke to the “financially vulnerable, disaffected working class” (Goodwin 2015, 14), as well as over “half of routine and semi-routine workers” who held “negative views of the effects of immigration” (Dennison and Goodwin 2015, 176). The 2015 campaign “entrenched the relationship” between U K I P “and Britain’s economically left behind working class voters” that had already been established in the European parliamentary elections the year before (Goodwin 2015, 14). Historically, Canada’s brokerage parties avoided class-based appeals, and instead focused on regional, ethnic, and linguistic cleavages (Brodie and Jenson 1996). However, the 2015 fight for the middle ground saw all three leading parties – the CPC, NDP, and LPC – battle over middle-class families. This was most clearly and successfully articulated by the Liberals, as indicated by their platform title: Real Change: A New Plan for a Strong Middle Class (L P C 2015). This came alongside the usual brokering, however, as regional and national identities, along with the so-called “ethnic” vote and racialized identities, continued to be contested grounds.

R e g io n , N at io n , a nd Locati on Canadian party leaders have always “moved about strategically in different regions” (Wiseman 2015, 99), and while regional distribution of partisan support had fluctuated in previous elections, 2015 saw a reverting to familiar patterns. For instance, the CP C received 60 per cent of the vote in Alberta, and no more than 18 per cent in



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Quebec and Nova Scotia; whereas the Liberals won a majority in each of the Atlantic provinces and 65 per cent in Newfoundland, yet no more than a quarter of the votes in Alberta (Wiseman 2015, 98). Although the Greens ran candidates in every province, they concentrated support in British Columbia, where they captured “more than double the percentage of the vote they gained nationally” (Wiseman 2015, 99). In Quebec, BQ support had waned, as had the appetite for sovereignty. The provincial Parti Québécois (P Q ) government had gone down to an early, disastrous defeat in 2014 (in part due to debates that pitted culture against gender), and both the PQ and BQ were dealing with leadership concerns. A sovereignist fist-pump by the PQ’s new leader did not go over well, while Gilles Duceppe came out of retirement to lead the BQ with a lackluster campaign. In the end, 80 per cent of Québécois voted for parties that opposed sovereignty, and as Montigny and Gélineau argue, this reflected a drop in saliency of the nationalist debate, with the primary loser being the BQ (2015, 100). First Nations nationalism had more of a role to play in 2015, serving to highlight the Harper government’s intractability. The Liberals, despite a long history of assimilationist approaches (including the infamous White Paper of 1969), instead focused on more recent efforts at accommodation, from former Prime Minister Paul Martin’s Kelowna Accord and efforts around Indigenous education, to a pledge to launch an inquiry into missing and murdered Aboriginal women (L P C 2011, 2015). Not known for their electoral mobilization, Indigenous leaders encouraged support for the ABC movement (Palmater 2015), resulting in record-breaking voter turnout. The 2015 British election repeated longstanding patterns in that the Conservatives were again the party of southern England shires and of its “socially privileged bastions,” while the election saw “Labour retreating into its northern heartlands” (Geddes and Tonge 2015, 3). What changed was UK I P ’s above average support in several conventionally Labour-held northern seats through its appeal to racial nationalism (Goodwin 2015, 14), and Labour’s wipe out in Scotland, given the saliency of Scottish nationalism: “Labour’s 50-year domination of Scotland’s representation at Westminster was shattered” and “no less than 90 per cent of those who voted Yes in [the 2014 referendum], and turned out again in May, backed the SN P ” (Curtice 2015, 4–5). Progressive nationalist parties (especially SNP, but also Plaid Cymru and Sinn Féin), with their anti-austerity stances, negatively affected

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Labour. Moreover, as noted above, the Conservatives strategically deployed the threat of an SNP-Labour alliance, in an appeal to English nationalism. This was also a key component of UKIP’s success, which served to challenge both Labour and the Tories. Specific national identities thus helped shape election outcomes in both countries. Gender: Quotas, Numbers, and Symbols In the British election, more women than ever led parties: in Scotland, Nicola Sturgeon headed the S N P and Ruth Davidson the Scottish Tories; Leanne Wood was leader of the Welsh nationalist party, Plaid Cymru; and Natalie Bennett led the Green Party of England and Wales. Nevertheless, there seemed to be “an odd disjuncture between the rise in the number of women campaigning and the decline in the significance of women’s issues” (Perkins 2015a). Exceptions included Labour’s pink bus with shadow cabinet ministers, most of whom were female, that travelled from town to town encouraging women to vote and discussing how “austerity has worn a woman’s face” (Perkins 2015a). Labour ultimately elected the most women, ninety-nine, and increased the number of women in its parliamentary party from 35 per cent to 43 per cent, reflecting its continued use of all-women shortlists (Kenny 2015, 13). The S N P also made significant inroads, with a 36 per cent female parliamentary party (burgeoning from 17 per cent), electing women in 20 out of its 56 seats. Sturgeon had made “powerful symbolic statements on women’s representation, including her appointment of a 50 / 50 cabinet, and her support for the Scottish campaign group Women 50:50” (Kenny 2015, 14). While Cameron had “adopted the language of liberal feminism, stressing the need for more Conservative women politicians, and fairer access to paid employment for women” as early as 2005 (Campbell and Childs 2015a, 206; Campbell and Childs 2015b), gains made in attracting women to the party had faltered (Perkins 2015b). Appeals to women resurfaced as the Tories recognized that the gender gap could hurt them in this close race. Still, they only placed women in 28 per cent of their target seats, “which was an improvement on their historic record but still considerably behind the other main parties” (Campbell and Childs 2015a, 223), and the end, just 68 out of 331 elected Conservative MP s were women.



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The gender gap was dramatic in the case of UKIP, which was far less representative than the Conservatives, with only 14 per cent women candidates (Campbell and Childs 2015a, 223) and none elected. Moreover, when it did invoke women, U K I P used women’s rights rhetoric “to make racism look progressive,” promoting “us” versus “them” formulations with spurious notions of a “gender-equal majority” set against an “oppressed,” “helpless” Muslim women minority (Murray 2015), which served to denounce immigrant communities. The Lib Dem election free fall resulted in all seven of its women MPs being ousted from Parliament. Neither were any women elected from Northern Ireland’s Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), although two Irish women did secure seats (a Social Democratic and Labour Party [SDL P ] candidate, and an independent). Plaid elected its first woman M P , and the only Green MP elected was a woman. Gender certainly played a part in the British election, most visibly with the presence of women leaders in the televised debates, and numerically, in that the percentage of elected women did grow from 22 to 29 per cent (Campbell and Childs 2015a, 221). Substantively, however, the attention paid to women largely appeared to be strategic, most noticeably with the Tories (Perkins 2015a, 2015b) and U K I P (Murray 2015). Moreover, longstanding tendencies were hard to shake, as with media portrayals, where “old fashioned misogyny was [still] in play, particularly in the coverage of Nicola Sturgeon” (Campbell and Childs 2015a, 223). In Canada, all parties courted the women’s vote. The CPC’s strategic micro-targeting of female archetypes / stereotypes (such as “Sheila,” the suburban “soccer mom,” and “Zoey,” the urban, yoga-practising sociology major not worth pursuing) had already been exposed after the 2011 election (Goodyear-Grant 2013). Yet, although the Tories had persistently tried to invisibilize concerns about equality (Dobrowolsky 2015), in 2015, Stephen Harper justified his party’s controversial stance against the wearing of niqa¯bs or any other face covering during citizenship ceremonies by saying that, in the name of gender equality, he would not want his daughter to cover her face. This was spurred by a Muslim woman named Zunera Ishaq who had launched a court challenge resulting in a Federal Court judge striking down this policy in February 2015. The Conservative government appealed, with Harper justifying this move by stating, “It is offensive … that someone would hide their identity at the very moment where

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they are committing to join the Canadian family” (as quoted in Dornan 2016, 18). As Dornan explains, “The implication was that people unwilling to abandon specific cultural practices on government edict­– practices that just happen to be specific to a particular culture – should not be welcome in the Canadian family, no matter the opinion of the courts” (2016, 18–19). Then, at the tail end of the election campaign, when the Federal Court of Appeal upheld the previous court’s ruling, the Conservative government again declared that it would appeal, but this time to the Supreme Court of Canada. The Tories used these developments not only to pit gender against culture, instrumentally, but also to toy with Islamophobic, anti-immigrant, anti-multicultural, and exclusionary citizenship tendencies, such as were more common in Britain and Europe. The BQ perpetuated similar associations, reflecting divisive debates that had occurred in Quebec around legislative attempts to prohibit state officials from wearing religious garb and symbols. One B Q campaign ad distressingly resembled those used by extremist parties in Europe by evoking “Muslim peril,” with a simulation consisting of a “drop of oil spreading into the form of a sinister black veil beneath the motto, La goutte de trop (a drop too much)” (Barber 2015, 9). However, the BQ had taken progressive stances on a range of feminist issues (Dobrowolsky 2015) that had been consistently delegitimized by the Harper government (Brodie and Bakker 2008; Jenson 2009b; Strumm 2015), making the Tories’ gender-equality ploy especially hard to stomach. The Conservatives had initially considered the N D P to be their main foe, and used the “veil card” to put Mulcair in an impossible position in Quebec. But the move ultimately backfired. Trudeau promptly challenged the Tories’ anti-niqa¯bs position, while Mulcair hesitated, fearful of jeopardizing electoral inroads in Quebec, but then criticized Harper for using this as “a weapon of mass distraction” (McGrane 2016, 104). As anticipated (Economist 2015, 37), “insider polling” saw the ND P “drop 20 points overnight” in Quebec (Copps 2016, 9). Party strategists concluded that “the episode hurt Mulcair’s brand in Quebec … [because] Quebecers had believed that the N D P and Mulcair really understood their concerns but the niqa¯b controversy appeared to show otherwise” (McGrane 2016, 104). Less predictably, this also negatively affected the party more broadly: “Since Quebec accounts for 23 per cent of Canada’s ridings, the NDP’s decline in the province lowered its national poll numbers. This clarified for



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voters in the rest of Canada that the N DP was unlikely to win” and in turn “accelerated the consolidation of the anti-government voters around the Liberals” (Wiseman 2015, 199). Although the NDP had made more progress on affirmative action than other parties, and had remained consistent in its “baseline commitment to equality” (Laycock 2015, 130), Trudeau succeeded in “one upping” Mulcair by drawing on an imaginary of Liberals as longstanding champions of gender, racial, ethnic, sexual minority, and Indigenous issues (L P C 2015). Trudeau went further, symbolically, than the ND P , with his promise to have a gender-balanced cabinet, which he justified after the election with the oft-quoted “because it’s 2015” – all this despite the N D P ’s shadow cabinet having already been predominantly female. The Liberals’ egalitarian image provided a mirror opposite to the Harper Conservatives and worked to the detriment of the N D P . Nevertheless, the gap between rhetoric and reality became apparent as the Liberals ran 31 per cent female candidates compared to 43 per cent for the New Democrats, and the Liberal sweep ultimately garnered only a one percentage point improvement in women’s representation in the House of Commons from 2011. With the House consisting of only 26 per cent women, Canada had now fallen three points behind Britain. Racialization, Migration, and Multiculturalism Large majorities of white Britons see immigration as having negative economic and cultural effects, while racialized minorities hold the “reverse view,” along with those with a university education, or who live in London, or who are part of cosmopolitan “super diverse” clusters (Dennison and Goodwin 2015, 176). Northern “‘manufacturing and industrial towns’ and areas of ‘low migration’ are amongst the keenest to see immigration reduced a lot” (Duffy 2014, 263), but the same holds true for white Britons living in asylum dispersal areas (a policy of transferring asylum seekers to less densely populated regions in an attempt to relieve housing and social pressures in London and southern England), as these tend to be places with “high worklessness and high social housing levels, where the perceived threat of competition for resources from asylum seekers is likely to be keenly felt” (ibid., 263). Nevertheless, beyond these concentrated areas, anti-immigration is a “strangely unifying issue, as even those at the

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more sympathetic end of the spectrum often agree it has not been treated seriously enough” (ibid., 265). This helps to explain why anti-­immigration and its concomitant racialization took hold in the 2015 campaign. While the far right British National Party (B N P ) graphically illustrates a racist take on immigration (Halikiopoulou and Vasilopoulou 2010), U K I P ’s steady rise represents a slightly toned down version of this reactionary response. UKIP quadrupled its vote between 2010 and 2015 (Geddes and Tonge 2015, 3), mobilizing “nearly four ­million votes or 12.6 percent of the vote … replacing the Liberal Democrats as the third most popular party, delivering the most impressive general election performance by an independent party since the rise of Labour” (Goodwin 2015, 13). Its supporters are disproportionately white, older, less well-off, with relatively low levels of education and few qualifications (Curtice 2015, 6), and are more likely to be male than female. U K I P voters are also more likely to say that they did not feel the economic recovery (Goodwin 2015, 14) and, of course, are especially concerned about the economic and cultural consequences of immigration. Anti-immigration and racialization typically go hand in hand. For instance, in recent elections, ethnic minority candidates have been adversely affected, as the white British majority perceives different minority groups differently, with Muslims receiving “among the most hostile reactions,” and in 2010, “those with anti-immigrant feelings were less willing to vote for Muslims” (Fisher et al. 2015, 883). UKIP’s growing support, reflecting a palpable unease around immigration and identity, put obvious pressure on the Tories, but also affected Labour. The party, in opposition, had “mirrored the government’s ostensibly tough stance on immigration, with Ed Miliband distancing the Party from the Blair-Brown eras … swiftly overhaul[ing] Labour’s stance on immigration, acknowledging that the party had mishandled the issue and empathising with public anxiety” (Dennison and Goodwin 2015, 178). Canada, conversely, has clung to its progressive reputation regarding (im)migration and multiculturalism. Yet in many respects, the C PC ’s campaign ran counter to this vision, propagating a politics of cultural division through the conflation of security and immigration, as well as the racialization and the instrumentalization of particular ethnic groups. For example, the Tories wanted “to maintain military operations against Islamic State insurgents and to keep suspected



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terrorist out of the country” by rejecting “widespread demands … [to] throw the doors open to refugees, as Canada has … done in similar crises in the past,” and instead “explicitly warning against the alleged threat posed by Syrian refugees” (Barber 2015, 9). One analyst encapsulated this approach, calling it a “culture war,” as the C P C battled against the niqa¯bs, pushed to deport dual citizens convicted of terror-related offences, and even pledged to establish a tip line to report “barbaric practices” (Radwanski 2015, A7). Underlying this elision of culture and inegalitarianism or “barbarism” is the assumption that it is immigrants of colour who are engaging in culturally problematic behaviour, thereby implicitly reinforcing whiteness. Because these connections were also being made in Britain, some attributed the C P C ’s racialized fear-mongering, with its anti-Muslim feel, to the mid-campaign arrival of the British Conservative Party’s strategist, Lynton Crosby (Barber 2015, 9). The CPC’s position could also be seen as being consistent with its Reform Party roots, given Reform’s anti-immigrant, anti-multicultural stance (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002; Ryan 2009). But in the end, the CPC’s campaign proved more complex and contradictory than both of these influences. Unlike Reform, the CPC worked concertedly to attract the so-called “ethnic vote.” However, it may have gone too far in 2015, when the Tories distributed flyers written in Punjabi and Cantonese and published attack ads in the “ethnic” press warning that a Trudeau government would mean easier access to marijuana for children, “‘illegal drug injection sites in … neighbourhoods,’ and ‘brothels in … communities’” (Chase and Hager 2015, A 5). The instrumentalization was blatant. As one editor of the Indo-Canadian Voice, a publication based in Surrey, British Columbia, suggested, “In a way, they’re looking down on ethnic communities because they think they’re so stupid they’ll be easily swayed by any scare tactics” (Chase and Hager 2015, A5). On the other hand, and perhaps in an act of desperation toward the dying days of the campaign, the Tories also proposed the abovementioned “snitch line” and called for extending the niqa¯bs ban to all public employees (Radwanski 2015, A7). This, in the end, played right into the Liberals’ hands. In the early 2000s, the rehaul of the governing Liberals’ immigration policy epitomized securitization and marketization: responding to various threats, ramping up economic immigration pathways, downplaying family and refugee streams, and perpetuating racialization as well as the invisibilization and instrumentalization of women’s

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issues (Dobrowolsky 2007). This was consonant with subsequent Conservative government policies, yet Trudeau effectively presented himself as the foil to Harper. Contrary to the CP C’s undercutting of lofty myths around Canada as a welcoming, cultural mosaic, the Liberal platform underscored a “compassionate Canada” (LPC 2015, 64), pledged to “reopen Canada’s doors, and … make reuniting families a top priority” (ibid., 62), and vowed to “restore Canada’s reputation and help more people in need through a program that [was] safe, secure and humane” (ibid., 65), thereby committing to bring in more Syrian refugees (25,000), and faster, than other parties. The C P C had made inroads into the “ethnic vote,” but this was traditional Liberal territory (Carty 2015; Harell 2015), and now Trudeau was making more expansive refugee and family reunification promises. What is more, he could reinforce the fact that his father had championed Canada’s policy, constitutional commitment, and identity of multiculturalism. This, combined with the Liberals’ proniqa¯bs and gender equality proclamations, were made to appear consistent with the party’s past, as well as an inclusive, present-day Canadian citizenship imaginary. In these ways, the intersecting identities of race, ethnicity, gender, class, and nation undercut NDP support, especially in Quebec, consolidated anti-CPC sentiments, and substantially boosted L P C fortunes.

Con c l u d in g C o m m e n t s and Fi nal Thoughts As Jenson has shown us, ideas and identities matter, and relate to actors grappling with opportunities and constraints that shift over space and time in contingent contexts. Here we have seen strategic deployment by partisan political actors of both inclusive and exclusive imaginaries and identities that worked to recreate, revise, and re-vision citizenship, shedding light on two very different election results. The Liberal majority win in Canada can be attributed not only to the “anything but the Conservatives” push, but also to the Trudeau Liberals’ successful evocation of hope and change, with a highly optimistic, and largely unrealistic, take on Canadian identity. This idealistic vision weaves elements of the postwar citizenship regime into a more contemporary citizenship, one that conjoins immigration and multiculturalism, and portrays Canada as a country of middleclass, or aspiring middle-class, families that enjoy equality in relation to gender, race, and ethnicity. Obviously, the reality is far less rosy



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(Galabuzi 2006; Stasiulis and Abu-Laban 2008), but this is what the Liberals were “selling” (Abu-Laban and Gabriel 2002), and it was what a majority of voters “bought” in 2015. The Conservatives won a majority in Britain through scare tactics relating to the economy, but also to the nation and immigration. Here, both the Tories and Labour veered right while the populist, patriotic U K I P nipped at their heels. In doing so, they reinforced neoliberal and neoconservative messaging, as well as an exclusive citizenship, consolidated through anti-immigrant, racialized narratives (including those pitting gender against culture), aimed both within Britain and outside it. Consequently, socially privileged voters reaffirmed their Tory support, while white, disadvantaged Britons left Labour for U K I P . In the end, then, both countries deployed “weapons of mass distraction”; however, the Conservatives in Britain deftly drew on a politics of fear, while this tactic worked against the C P C in the distinctive Canadian context. Here Liberals took command of an imagined community of “sunny ways,” promised stimulus spending, and rhetorically embraced immigration, multiculturalism, and equality. A column published in the Guardian pithily encapsulates the associations conjured by the Trudeau Liberals and how they contrast with politics in Britain, and elsewhere: Trudeaumania isn’t just about him, it’s about the country he ­represents. Who else is still pulling off the whole hopey-changey thing, still surging a wave of sunny progressive feeling when the US and much of Europe are increasingly convulsed with rage against either poor migrants or privileged elites, or both? While Britons contemplate a supposedly “kinder, gentler politics” of the left that turns out to come garnished with vicious personal attacks and repulsively anti-Semitic undercurrents, lucky old Canada gets a photogenic ex-snowboarding instructor calmly explaining why it’s not so mad to run a deficit. (Hinsliff 2016, 48) What will unfold between now and the next general election in Canada is hard to predict, but what this writer is willing to wager is that it will become exceedingly difficult to sustain such “hopey-­ changey” messages in light of the enormous, contemporary challenges facing both countries in relation to (im)migration, multiculturalism, and citizenship.

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Since 2015, while the Trudeau government has struggled to translate its words into deeds, Britain has experienced unprecedented upheavals from the unanticipated Brexit referendum results, which lead to the resignation of Cameron, the installation of Prime Minister Theresa May, and her call for a snap election on 8 June 2017. May won, but only just, and her approach was to push the party even further to the right in terms of its ideas and identitarian appeal. The Conservatives’ 2017 election manifesto indicated a “lurch to the right” and indeed was intended as a “scooping up” of U KI P supporters, “rather than disillusioned Labour voters,” which in turn has “emboldened the right,” and in one commentators view resulted in May “taking us back to Thatcher’s 1970s” (Foster 2017). While UKIP’s vote ultimately fragmented, the Tory’s feverish pitch to its supporters is noteworthy, with British Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson even appealing to it as “a lost Tory tribe” (Travis 2017). In contrast, Miliband’s contentious and, initially, highly disparaged replacement, Jeremy Corbyn, campaigned on ideas and evocations more akin to “Old Labour,” with an “unplugged style of mass rallies” that ironically appeared new again to the young voters who came out in enthusiastic support of the party and made for an unexpectedly close election race. In an election with a higher than average voter turnout, an alleged “youthquake” was initially identified as “a key component of Corbyn’s ten-point advance in Labour’s share of the vote – exceeding even Blair’s nine-point gain in his first 1997 election landslide” as “Labour gained strongly among younger, more affluent urban voters while the Conservatives reached working-class voters who had never supported them before” (Travis 2017). In the final analysis, what this chapter does is carefully illustrate that a citizenship regime – along with its attendant responsibility mix, notions of rights, and sense of belonging – is contingent, and can be recreated and revisioned. It highlights the importance of remaining attentive to the role of actors, the discourses they promote, and the identity politics they may mobilize, but also to how a citizenship regime can invisibilize and / or instrumentalize certain issues. These ideas and identities, then, are by no means ephemeral, but rather can shape and sway dramatic political outcomes for states, markets, families, and communities. Lastly, some thoughts on the way forward with respect to the citizenship regime framework. Jenson’s citizenship regime primarily rests on three firm pillars: 1) presuppositions around democratic rules that



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govern access to state institutions, 2) their attendant citizen rights and entitlements, and 3) senses of national identity and belonging. In this chapter, I argue that it is in the latter that we find Jenson’s most thought-provoking contributions. However, in the current socioeconomic and political context of uncertainty, all three pillars are less than firm, and in some countries they may even be crumbling. With the resurgence of far-right movements, white nationalism, and neofascist partisan responses of various kinds, it seems that we are moving farther from postwar norms and ideals around democracy, citizen rights, and entitlements, while notions of identity and belonging have become far more contested and complex. New formulations of the citizenship regime, therefore, will not only need to unpack assumptions around the solidity of institutional and legal norms in liberal democratic states, they also will require more complicated takes on identity and belonging. This will necessitate thinking through the challenges and opportunities of intersectional identities, such as gender, race, ethnicity, and age, as well as notions of identity and belonging that are increasingly retrogressive and that ultimately work to undercut democratic rules and citizenship. This kind of updating and fleshing out of the citizenship regime will go a long way in making sense of these exceedingly turbulent and troubling times.

A c k n ow l e d g ments Sincere thanks to the editors of this collection for their energy, enthusiasm, and multipronged efforts. I would also like to thank Dan Corry and Leslie Seidle for their incisive comments on a draft paper that laid the foundation for this chapter.

10 Cities and Citizenship: Place, People, and Policy Neil Bradford

Over the past decade or so, cities have become objects of considerable interest in terms of public policy. Governments at all levels, international organizations, and research institutes are acknowledging that in an increasingly urbanized world many of the central issues determining national prosperity and individual well-being play out most profoundly in cities. Some cities are the financial command centres and technological hotbeds of the knowledge economy, just as others concentrate the most intractable forms of poverty and exclusion. Not surprisingly, a robust interdisciplinary research community tracks the economic and social drivers of urbanization. Much is known about urbanizing phenomena such as economic clusters, ecological footprints, and neighbourhood revitalization. However, this sustained attention to the socio-economic dynamics of cities has not been matched by the study of public policy implications. A diffuse urban politics literature continues to debate the meaning of public policy “in and for” cities, asking whether localized interventions are undergoing national renewal in a global age or withering away in a wired and placeless world. The role of public policy in mediating urbanized citizenship experiences is now a significant question for urban scholars and city-builders alike. This chapter takes up these issues about cities in national development and specifically the form and content of urban policy over time and across OECD countries. The position stated in this chapter is that urban policy deserves a greater profile in comparative politics and public policy research, and not simply because cities are where the



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vast majority of their citizens live and work. I conceptualize cities as key sites of territorial experimentation within the embedded postwar governing frameworks of first the Keynesian welfare state and then its neoliberal replacement, revealing a more nuanced interpretation of policy transitions than the abrupt realignments described in conventional postwar policy periodizations. With urban policy, national governments confront fundamental and enduring tensions between respect for local diversity and concern for national equity. Situating cities in a larger flow of transnational and domestic policy ideas, I probe how urban policy offers a unique window on national styles of social learning as well as everyday experiences of social citizenship. To make the case for giving a greater role to urban policy research, I apply Jane Jenson’s scholarship on the role of ideas to a policy area that received limited coverage in her research (Jenson 1989b, 1990; Jenson and Mahon 2002). While Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime certainly acknowledges that “cities matter,” there are now good reasons to push further. Bringing cities into macro-level analysis of rights and identities highlights the important spatial dimensions of social citizenship; at the same time, bringing ideas to cities reveals how national discourses shape paths of urban development and patterns of citizen belonging. Building on Jenson’s concept of the “universe of political discourse,” we incorporate insights from other historical institutionalist scholars who distinguish levels and types of ideas to explore country-specific mechanisms of urban policy formation. Through a comparative case study of the United States, Sweden, and Canada, I explore the interplay of ideas, interests, and institutions in urban policy’s “founding moment” in the decade of the 1960s, showing how distinctive trajectories emerge and evolve with consequences for national citizenship regimes. The analysis reveals cities as moving between public policy “light and shadow” (Jenson 1989b, 239), as “idea brokers and bridge builders” (Hemerijck 2013) institutionalize urban discourses in national settings.

C it ie s in P o l icy Ti me: B ac k o n t h e N at ional Agenda Recently there has been an explosion of research interest on cities as strategic places of economic, social, and cultural interaction in the global age (Sassen 2005). The “new localism” informs a multidisciplinary literature analyzing how globalization’s most important flows

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– of people, investment, and ideas – intersect in cities. Geographers studying innovation in the knowledge-based economy emphasise the importance of localized knowledge clusters for national economic success. Analysts of social inclusion and infrastructure planners encounter the multiple barriers faced by individuals and families living in distressed neighbourhoods. Common to all these perspectives is appreciation of how local territorial contexts – the geographic form and social nature of places – shape people’s opportunities and citizenship experiences. As Gertler summarizes, “all of the great social policy questions of the day – education, health, poverty, housing and immigration – become urban policy questions” (2001, 32). Taking stock, two influential communities of knowledge have addressed the implications for cities and citizens. First, urban sociologists, anthropologists, and planners have produced insightful studies of “insurgent citizenship” detailing how grassroots social movements gain recognition and seek rights in urban settings (Holston 1998). With nuanced local ethnographies, this research captures the actual experience of citizenship and belonging. While national constitutions formally codify rights, much of their substantive value is determined in the cities, where critical services come together, or not, for diverse peoples. In their everyday interactions, urban residents “negotiate what it means to be a member of the modern state” (ibid., 47), sometimes supported by “insurgent planners” who reimagine “co-existence in shared spaces” (Sandercock 1998; Healey 1997). Cities are contested places where identities collide in producing urban communities and narratives of governance that recognize some voices and institutionalize certain claims. For all their insight into processes of meaning-making and political representation, localized ethnographies underplay the ways in which nation-states continue to structure what happens in cities and to whom. This wider lens is adopted by urban critics of neoliberalism, who offer a scalar approach that places cities at the socio-spatial nexus of state restructurings that shift political authority upward and outward, and policy responsibility downward (Brenner and Theodore 2002). Local actors – municipal officials and community organizations – find themselves on the front lines of national welfare reform and global economic shocks. Governments pursue “urban locational policies” for the business infrastructure of high technology competition (Brenner 2004) and the management of “new social risks” through local activation packages for work, welfare, and care (Hemerijck



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2013). Cities are strategic places where the details of neoliberal restructuring are worked out and its differential burdens imposed. The literatures of both insurgent citizenship and state rescaling enhance understandings of the globalizing urban age. They imaginatively frame cities as simultaneously strategic policy spaces and contested citizenship sites. Yet gaps remain in analyzing the forces that motivate the state and its urban interventions. While both give explanatory weight to state policy in recognizing identities and rewarding interests, neither develops an adequate “urban lens.” Insurgent citizenship scholars foreground agency and contingency, but their analysis remains highly localized. State rescaling scholars consider public policy, but in generalized accounts that downplay contestation and variation. What is needed is a national urban policy framework that joins the agency-oriented narratives of insurgent citizenship with the multilevel analyses of state rescaling. In search of the synthesis, Cochrane makes three salient observations in his imaginative study of urban policy (Cochrane 2007, ch. 1). First, he notes that the field lacks consensus about basic purposes and instruments, remaining “a chaotic conception” with “many meanings, not just one” (ibid., 13). Second, Cochrane sees urban policy as a strategic field, one through which the tensions and contradictions of the successive governing projects of Keynesianism and neoliberalism have been initially expressed, positioning cities as key sites of policy learning in modern governance. Urban policy can be interpreted “as having had, and continuing to have, a key role in the reshaping of postwar welfare settlements” (ibid., 12). Urban analysis speaks to larger policy upheavals and state restructuring as cities become test beds for new governance practices and harbingers of intergovernmental innovation. Through such territorial experimentation, cities and urban policy become crucial to conflicts over inclusion and exclusion that help define citizenship regimes. Third, Cochrane reminds us that urban policy as an intentional state activity is a fairly recent phenomenon and one with a notably episodic government shelf life. The founding moment is in the early 1960s when almost all industrialized countries began to weave urban and regional measures into their nationalizing economic and social policy frameworks. Following a decade or so of experimentation with community-based “spatial Keynesianism” (Brenner 2004), cities retreated into the policy shadows as states restructured economies and rationalized services with little distributive regard, social or spatial. In the early

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2000s, a second round of urban policy activism took off as states, in a search process not unlike that of the 1960s, rediscovered cities. With their unique population density and diversity, they became attractive policy venues for a host of “after neoliberalism” social investments in human capital and business innovation (Jenson and Mahon 2002; Larner and Craig 2005). Cochrane thus calls for a “distinct approach” to urban policy, one that situates the field historically at transition points within the Keynesian and neoliberal governing projects and comparatively in national contexts of discourse and institutions (Cochrane 2007, 14). Lacking the integrated paradigms that guide economic and social policy making across countries, urban policy has never been rolled out according to a universal blueprint or template. While cities have emerged as priority areas on governing agendas across O E CD countries in similar decades – the 1960s and the 2000s – it is clear that urban policy remains a country-specific invention, reflecting ideas and practices deemed legitimate and feasible in a given polity. Social learning in urban policy has always been more a process of domestic translation of general claims about the benefits of devolution and localization than international diffusion of a policy paradigm with, as Blyth (2003) puts it, the instruction sheet attached. Not surprisingly, urban scholars report great variety in how – and even whether – national governments “do” urban policy. As Cochrane concludes, “[t]o understand the nature and meaning of urban policy it is necessary to explore the ways in which it has been constructed in practice” (Cochrane 2007, 14). For such explorations, a map or menu of destinations is helpful, in this case identifying possible urban policy frameworks. From a vast scholarly and grey literature exploring the merits of “place” and “people” urban policies, I propose a three-fold typology that conceptually orders the main alternatives and provides a template for comparative analysis (Turok 1999; Harding and Nevin 2015; Dreier, Mollenkopf, and Swanstrom 2013). Place-based approaches are geographically targeted interventions, explicitly formulated on an area basis through local governance networks, leveraging the assets and inputs of communities for holistic strategies. The risk is that such localized interventions are either isolated from, or undermined by, more general policies in economic or social policy. A second national urban policy is people-oriented, eschewing targeted measures to rely instead on general or “aspatial”



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policies not focused on particular areas but serving individuals in their family or household context on the assumption that using macropolicy levers that transfer income and opportunity to people, most of whom live in cities, is the optimal route to well-being for all. A critical issue for this second approach is whether people-oriented measures recognize that the local environment has wider effects on individual and family outcomes that require consideration. The third framework, which addresses the limits of both targeted and general urban policies, is the place-based people approach. It constitutes the hybrid, bringing an urban lens to general policies on housing and labour markets and social security such that they reinforce the targeted neighbourhood interventions through “bending mainstream programs” (Turok 1999). Relaxing regulations, extending resources, or harmonizing universal and special benefits can empower the people and places left behind without displacing problems from one area to another or grouping different income or racial groups into the same few neighbourhoods. Institutional innovations arising out of hybrid urban policy include multilevel governance, pooled program funding, and local discretion within a central direction. This typology enables the interpretation and differentiation of existing urban policy. It also encompasses the tensions inherent in urban policy between respecting diversity in local places and seeking equity across national space. Indeed, the place-based and peopleoriented approaches imply a trade-off between local diversity and national equity, whereas the place-based people hybrid suggests a balance. The rest of this chapter explores how these different national urban policy approaches play out in practice across three countries, offering an explanation for the variation in trajectories. The next section develops an analytical framework for a comparative case study of the United States, Sweden, and Canada.

C it ie s A c ro s s P o li cy Space: M e a n in g - m a k in g i n Acti on Jenson’s mode of comparative policy analysis, specifically her insistence on the importance of ideas in political life and ways in which representational struggles over identities and interests produce institutionalized meaning systems, lends itself well to urban policy studies. Her discursive approach respects Cochrane’s baseline observations about the ill-structured nature of the field and the historical attention

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paid to periodization and variation. It combines the agency-centred methodological strengths of insurgent citizenship research with the state spatial strategy focus of rescaling perspectives. In so doing, it also addresses gaps in existing urban policy approaches that shed light on either the institutional description of constitutional rules and municipal resources, or interest-based bargaining between levels of government (Keating 1993; Savitch and Kantor 2002). Such studies excel in detailing the what of urban policy, but consideration of ­historical and comparative context tends to be thin, setting aside questions about the when, why, and where of national approaches. Attention must be paid to the ideas in national settings that give meaning to interests as well as a mandate to institutions. Guidance comes not from further institutional description or bargaining models but from interpreting public policy as “meaning-making in action” (Jenson 2010c, 10). Jenson’s policy analysis begins by asking how particular ideas come to structure political preferences, including those of the state, making certain identities visible and projects legitimate while casting others aside. Given that urban policy is an especially protean policy area with many possible meanings, the links between interests and preferences are likely to be unclear for multiple actors. Far from being generally understood or self-evident, state choices will almost always be defined in practice, shaped by processes of representation and recognition as different actors mobilize behind their own interpretations of appropriate central-local relations and urban policy priorities. While the representational process is fluid and contested, it is not an unstructured policy space. Jenson writes that the “terrain in which actors struggle for representation is the universe of political discourse, a space in which socially-constructed … practices and meanings jostle with each other for social attention and legitimacy” (Jenson 1990, 663). On the terrain of discursive struggle, any “number of institutions – ranging from political parties, trade unions and other social movements to the varied apparatus of the state, churches and scientific establishments” (Jenson 1989b, 239–40) may institutionalize meanings that shape policy thought and action. Through such struggles, states and societies validate politically salient cleavages and filter policy solutions. Studying the construction of authoritative frameworks in the universe of political discourse, Jenson’s attention to “meaning-making in action” supplies the analytical foundation for interpreting how



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urban policy actors “puzzle” and “power” through ambiguity (Heclo 1974). Public policy is recognized as multilayered and textured, reflecting the interaction of identity-based norms and interest-driven strategies. Here, Jenson’s theorization intersects with research from other historical institutionalist scholars who focus on the role of ideas in complex or ill-defined policy areas. In her study of “bounded innovation” in American employment policy, Weir demonstrates how the varying compatibility between ideas and politics at critical conjunctures channels policy change (Weir 1992). Weir distinguishes between normative ideas as “public philosophies” expressing identities and moral values, and cognitive ideas as “technical programmes” clarifying interests and causal theories. In effect, she asks how or whether such different ideas are woven together in the universe of political discourse. When public philosophies and programmatic solutions are mutually reinforcing, the resulting discourses channel innovation down particular policy paths. In ill-structured fields, however, such dynamics are more the exception than the rule, and analysts must be alert to possible incompatibility or even contradiction among levels and types of ideas, leaving discourses incoherent and incapable of framing political coalitions or acquiring institutional position. The insights of both Jenson and Weir about meaning-making in action and the contingent interplay of normative and cognitive ideas that condition policy innovation feed into discussions that conceptualize the mechanisms that institutionalize discourses (Kjær and Pedersen 2001). Campbell suggests the term “bricolage” to describe the boundary-crossing agents who connect different levels and types of ideas, and carry policy discourses from the world of experts to the world of politics (Campbell 2004; Carstensen 2011). Bricolage is the work of “institutional entrepreneurs” – idea brokers and bridge builders in the universe of political discourse – who combine locally available principles and practices in innovative packages that yield policy change (Campbell 2004, 74). Operating at the interstices of several ideational and institutional domains, their creativity and strategy aligns programs with values and connects political goals with administrative resources. Echoing Weber’s view of ideas as the ideational “switchmen” that determine the course of action, Campbell situates operative mechanisms in the specific discursive and institutional contexts of national political economies. The “social location” of institutional entrepreneurship matters. Bricolage processes that are managed by gatekeeping bureaucrats will produce policy change at

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a pace and scale quite different from contexts in which party competition or social movement strategy orchestrates discursive interaction (Campbell 2004, 81–3; Schmidt 2002). The chapter will now apply this discursive institutional framework to an interpretation of cross-national variation in public policy across three highly urbanized countries. The focus is urban policy’s founding moment in the Keynesian heyday of the 1960s in the United States, Sweden, and Canada. The analysis reveals the formation of nationally specific place and people urban policy discourses that address local diversity and national equity concerns in distinctive ways. Through a “contextualized comparison” (Locke and Thelen 1995) I reveal country-specific urban policy responses that reflect unique configurations of political cleavages, national identities, and meaning systems.

Un it e d S tat e s : U r ba n Poli cy i n Place Place-Based Policy for Community Action Disc ou rse The American postwar settlement has been termed “commercial Keynesianism,” underscoring a core belief in the efficacy of capitalism and a residual welfare state that targeted selective assistance to the “deserving poor” (Weir 1992). As Davies argues, this settlement embodied three enduring ideals in the “nation’s dominant social philosophy” (Davies 1996, 8). Most fundamental was “opportunity liberalism,” a political economy framework that celebrated individual economic achievement, viewed dependency on government as an “un-American condition,” and emphasized individual uplift through education rather than entitlements. Opportunity liberalism informed the ideals of American progressivism in rehabilitating the poor and promoting mobility through reform of the physical and social environments of marginal neighbourhoods where those who were most “at risk” settled (O’Connor 2015). These two elements in the American public philosophy were framed by a third overarching political ideal – what Morone terms the “democratic wish” (Morone 1998). In a polity biased against broad-based collective action, challenges to state authority drew on principles of mutuality and voluntarism, succeeding where “movements that focus more bluntly on a raw redistribution of power [were] more likely to provoke hostility and charges of illegitimacy.”



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In the late 1950s, America’s commercial Keynesianism encountered problems that brought into focus tensions between the national public philosophy and the actual experience of the millions of citizens who migrated from southern rural areas into industrial cities (Biles 2011). Across the American northeast, inner-city neighbourhoods became locales of concentrated poverty, racial discrimination, and limited opportunity. The social and spatial exclusion were reinforced by the effects of commercial Keynesianism in cities as federal programs for urban renewal undermined the working class neighbourhoods that progressives saw as springboards to opportunity. Tensions within the postwar settlement found their first and most profound expression in cities, with early concerns focused on retaining the civilizing features of urbanism amid an expanding metropolis. While Jane Jacobs railed against modernist planning, civil rights leaders began to protest the volatile mix of innercity poverty, political disenfranchisement, and spatial segregation. As then mayor of New York City Robert Wagner Jr put it, “local officials” are “the field grade officers who must daily and at first hand direct the battle against the nation’s prime domestic problems” (in Biles 2001, 80). Amid such turbulence, the universe of political discourse came alive with new connections forged between national priorities and local problems. Numerous critics dissented from the optimism of the “affluent society.” Galbraith and Harrington published best-selling books identifying the “culture of poverty” that trapped some fifty million Americans in localized pockets of despair, cut off from improvements in national growth (Galbraith 1958; Harrington 1962). They looked for federal leadership against America’s “invisible poverty,” arguing that existing municipal service bureaucracies and allied social work professionals were incapable of mounting comprehensive or coordinated attacks on complex, localized poverty, whether urban or rural. Other policy experts generated technical proposals ranging from national redistributive polices to New Deal-style public works and limits on job-replacing automation (Davies 1996, 48–9; Myrdal 1964). However, these solutions jarred with the embedded norms of opportunity, rehabilitation, and community that defined the American public philosophy. Although Galbraith and Harrington had tapped public anxieties about “poverty amidst plenty” and created an appetite for corrective action guided by professional expertise, the proposed solutions failed to resonate politically. At this juncture, another set of idea brokers married aspiration and practice (Mariss and Rein 1972; Duhl 1963). In metropolitan centres

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such as New York and Chicago, philanthropic foundations were mounting action-research projects exploring concentrated poverty and youth alienation. Their fieldwork generated policy knowledge that bridged normative ideals about the government’s rehabilitative role and causal theories on reform. Most prolific was the Ford Foundation’s urban program, led by a skilled institutional entrepreneur, Paul Ylvisaker, who coalesced policy expertise in juvenile delinquency, social services, and urban governance for demonstrations of individual empowerment through community action. The “Gray Areas” projects, targeting the transitional neighbourhoods along the focus of progressives, reframed 1950s debates about urban poverty, shifting the focus away from both a psychological emphasis on individual deficiencies and a structural interpretation of economic system failure (Halpern 1995). Employing sociologists Lloyd Ohlin and Richard Cloward, the Ford Foundation wove the concepts of “competent community” and “opportunity structures” into an evidencebased poverty-reduction framework, combining citizen participation, service coordination, and policy experimentation to remake urban neighbourhoods for the advantage of residents. Foundation projects became experiments in moving welfare policy from means-tested benefits for individuals toward networked community supports to help the “deserving poor” enter the mainstream. As the tensions of commercial Keynesianism played out in urban expressions of alienated youth and racial segregation, the foundation-generated discourse of individual uplift through community action created a stir that was out of proportion to its local design, helping to “provide a philosophical rationale for the poverty program of the Kennedy-Johnson administrations” (Unger 1996, 56). B r ic ol age The fragmented and permeable organization of American policymaking institutions creates both openings for outside experts to carry their ideas into government and incentives for federal executives to seize on them for innovative policy (Weir 1992). In the 1960s, foundations were well positioned to play the role of idea broker, tapping into academic expertise and evocatively packaging theories and findings for policy consumption. Urban policy became the leading edge for new professionals, combining idealism and pragmatism through applied social science for evidence-based policy making. The Ford Foundation’s community action discourse embodied this ethos, and



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the election of President John F. Kennedy provided a crucial opening. Described as “unregenerately a city man … deeply anxious about the mess and tangle of urban America,” Kennedy had written in the 1950s about the urgency of a federal urban agenda that would counter and challenge the inertia of the states and the parochialism of municipalities (Biles 2011, 110). Once in office, his administration developed proposals for transit, metropolitan governance, affordable housing, and a dedicated urban development department. However, congressional opposition and bureaucratic resistance produced a “paltry record of urban legislation” (ibid., 108). Kennedy looked elsewhere for leverage on city problems, seeking new ideas, different advisors, and implementation vehicles. Most significant was Kennedy’s interest in poverty, apparently sparked by Harrington’s Other America. He instructed his Council of Economic Advisers to explore the “facts and figures” on the “poverty problem” in the United States, and to solicit fresh perspectives beyond what he saw as the conservative Washington establishment (Mariss and Rein 1972, 245). It was into this political space that the Ford Foundation team moved, supplying a federal policy framework for the facts and figures gathered by the president’s economic advisors. Ylvisaker proved adept in communicating action-research policy concepts to government decision makers and shared Kennedy’s anti-bureaucratic bias. He framed community action ideas in a persuasive discourse of evidence-based neighbourhood intervention and progressive urban ideals that resonated with the mix of idealism and rationalism of Kennedy’s New Frontier (ibid., 43). In effect, in presenting an alternative social development policy framework, Ylvisaker situated community action agencies as mechanisms with which to align central policy design and local delivery, customise services based on client input, and monitor program impacts in relation to goals. More than an “ideas person,” he leveraged his administration contacts to place Ford Foundation experts on government task forces, including opportunity theorists Ohlin and Cloward on the influential President’s Committee on Juvenile Delinquency and Youth Crime. In this foundation-led bricolage, the lessons from the 1950s demonstration projects were transferred into federal urban programming. Administration officials “developed a crusading faith in the empowering potential of community action” and cultivated a political and administrative constituency for urban policy innovation (Davies 1996, 50).

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Across the 1960s, community action progressed in three policy stages. First, Kennedy’s Council of Economic Advisers endorsed it as an attractive addition to their Keynesian tax cut, supplying “exit ramps” from poverty for those unable to take advantage of general stimulus. Second, Kennedy’s successor, President Lyndon Johnson, embraced the discourse, seeing in its community thrust a link to his own experience as a New Deal administrator, and an urban economic complement to his civil rights strategy with nearly 80 per cent of African-Americans living in cities at the time he took office. Johnson explicitly cast community action as the centrepiece of federal urban policy, declaring that “our society will never be great until our cities are great” (in Biles 2011, 121). His War on Poverty legislation introduced two streams of community action: national programs designed in Washington but delivered through local partners, and special grants for community coalitions. When racial unrest escalated in the mid1960s, Johnson expanded community-based urban policy with a national Model Cities Program for comprehensive city building and neighbourhood revitalization. New emphasis was placed on municipal approvals for local plans alongside incentives for foundations to support community development corporations as service integrators and project administrators. Leg ac ie s In the 1960s, a place-based approach to urban policy through community action became central to the American domestic policy agenda. The discourse spoke to presidential strategies and acquired congressional support as a “great national purpose … [raising] up every American not by a handout, not by a giveaway … but by the same fine American principles that have supported this country” (Davies 1996, 43). Buffeted by the escalating racial crisis in cities, the approach also found allies in the Civil Rights Movement, providing entry points into government for African-Americans and anti-poverty groups who used its neighbourhood legal services to contest discriminatory regulations (Cazenave 2007). In 1970, the Office of Economic Opportunity was abolished and community action agencies spun off to regular government departments. Policy intellectuals began to question the place-based urban approach for its disconnect from more general economic and social policies, a critique that has endured (Moynihan 1970; O’Connor 2015).



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Yet America’s place-based orientation persisted in subsequent ­ ecades, with foundations and nonprofits mobilizing as federal comd munity policy evolved inconsistently. Picking up threads from the War on Poverty, the Carter administration passed legislation for community development and capacity building in the 1970s. When the Reagan Revolution drastically reduced federal urban support, the Ford Foundation was joined by other nonprofits in advancing technical ideas about community asset building and neighbourhood revitalization that informed the Clinton administration’s 1990s urban empowerment zones. According to one community practitioner and scholar in the early 2000s: “It would have been unthinkable 30 years ago that the United States would have had a set of financial and capacity-building intermediaries that wield significant influence in Congress, state capitals, and city halls and are reshaping the local landscape through the aggregation of local resources and informing public policy” (Anglin 2011, 100). The Obama administration launched a Promise Neighborhoods program while issuing a government-wide directive that “place-based policies” would inform all domestic policies to “leverage investments by focusing resources in targeted places and drawing on the compounding effect of cooperative effort” (White House 2010). Some observers saw in this the roots of a new generation of American place-based urban policy at the neighbourhood and metropolitan scales (Stone and Stoker 2015).

S w e d e n : U r ba n P o l icy by Other Means Place-Based People Policies for Social Democracy Disc ou rse Compared to the United States or Canada, Sweden is a small, unitary state with a homogeneous population and integrated polity where people “feel strongly ‘plugged in’ to their national society and culture, which in turn, provides them with a strong sense of meaning and identity” (Heclo and Madsen 1987, 240). Scholars have emphasized the hegemony of the social democratic labour movement, combining the influence of ideas and exercise of political power to align national goals with organizational needs (Berman 2006; Mahon 2000). At critical moments in Swedish development, the movement has arranged “deals and compromises” with other political parties and business

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interests to balance a universal welfare state and innovative private economy. Initially expressed in a series of cross-class policy settlements in the 1930s and 1940s, Sweden’s highly organized governance partners forged “collective memories” that valued cooperation (Rothstein 2005). Throughout the twentieth century, such orientations were expressed politically by Social Democratic Party politicians, who articulated Sweden’s public philosophy as the “people’s home” and the “strong society.” Social democratic hegemony and policy reformism “imparted a quality to Swedish political life that is at once pragmatic and ideological, adaptable and moralistic” (Heclo and Madsen 1987, 27). The Social Democratic Party first gave substantive expression to this blend of public philosophy and technical ideas in its landmark 1944 postwar program for Swedish social Keynesianism that proclaimed an interdependent policy triad of full employment, welfare universalism, and international competitiveness. Following an initial decade of success in balancing the program’s goals, the project began to drift in the late 1950s when trade-offs emerged among the three pillars (Steinmo 2010, 54). Adjustment problems were seen in the labour markets for workers displaced by industrial restructuring as economic activity shifted from rural and resource communities to urban centres. In the economy, expectations regarding the commitment to full employment led to inflation, and the government found itself pushing trade unions for wage freezes. By the early 1960s, Sweden’s postwar boom exhibited pressure points that threatened the cohesion of the political and labour wings of the social democratic movement. Accepting market-driven structural change as integral to the Swedish cross-class consensus, Swedish leaders decided that it was crucial to equitably distribute the burdens of efficient adjustment. Party and union representatives began to discuss “selective interventions” within social Keynesianism, specifically in labour and housing markets (Rothstein 1998). In the search process, policy intellectuals discovered cities as pivotal sites of economic adjustment, and therefore strategically important in the overall social democratic project. As Nilsson puts it, although Swedish policy officials paid “little explicit attention” to cities, they looked to incorporate “elements of urban policies in different sector policy areas,” most notably labour market and housing policy (Nilsson 2007, 361). Sweden’s urban approach thus conformed to the “place-based people” model. Consistent with the values of the “people’s home” and a “strong society,” national



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policy has supplied incentives and supports for individual adjustment to a rapidly urbanizing economy. In these terms, Swedish social democrats remained critical of the American place-based approach and its internationally famous War on Poverty. Speaking at Harvard University and publishing in the New Republic, the renowned expert Gunnar Myrdal called for American policymakers to implement a domestic equivalent of the Marshall Plan, tackling poverty, as in Sweden, through universalistic income supports underpinning customized training in the most robust local labour markets (Myrdal 1963, 1964). B r ic ol age In the 1960s, Swedish Social Democrats aligned the universalistic policies at the heart of their governing project with spatially sensitive selective interventions. For this, the ideas of the labour movement fit well with the institutional structures of the policy-making system. Swedish policy acquired meaning and direction through “a neverending conversation and at times arguments” between party and union leaders about social democratic theory in practice (Heclo and Madsen 1987, 323). A discursive division of labour evolved, with trade union researchers working at the level of technical concepts to produce policies that could be normatively framed by politicians in national narratives about identity and community. Social Democrats then used their own organizational networks to disseminate goals and strategies, engaging in intensive civic education campaigns such that rank-and-file union and party members understood both the national ideology motivating action and their roles in local implementation (Rothstein 1996). This strategy for securing deep policy buy-in was reinforced by the decentralized structures and collaborative traditions of the Swedish public administration. Politicians set policy directions in small ministries refined through an elaborate network of advisory commissions, arm’s length agencies and boards, and relatively autonomous municipalities. In these institutions, peak associations with impressive representative coverage and policy capacity worked out the details of government policy in key areas such as housing, education, care, and labour markets. The social democratic labour movement built legitimacy for its reform proposals with key professional or functional organizations while securing implementation in partnership with urban or regional authorities (Elander and Strömberg 2001). As Jenson and Mahon (2002, 5) summarize, the Swedish government “uses a variety of instruments to achieve national

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goals, while leaving room for local authorities to exercise both real financial autonomy and policy choice.” The two major Swedish policy reforms that came on stream in the 1960s – active labour market policy and an ambitious housing program – illustrate well the instruments of place-based people policy. Active labour market policy is widely seen as the linchpin in Swedish social democracy, embodying its ideals in practice (Steinmo 2010). Named after the two union economists responsible for its invention, the RehnMeidner model joined together international economic competitiveness goals with domestic social solidarity. It did so by embedding national policy goals in local, especially urban, networks of community-driven implementation. Setting wage levels at uniform levels throughout the economy, the government could simultaneously reward the most productive firms and squeeze the marginal ones, releasing capital – both human and financial – to find its optimal return. The schema depended on the willingness of workers to move, and union experts proposed a novel way to link mobility and placement measures. With the former, substantial investments were mandated in labour market interventions such as employment matching services, education and training upgrading, and subsidies for moving costs. With the latter, the delivery of labour market policy would be given over to an arm’s length national labour market board empowered by the government to depart from centralized decision making. Instead, active labour market policy became the mission of a “cadre organization” working through functional and territorial partnerships (Rothstein 1996). For staff, the labour market boards eschewed formal qualifications and administrative training to recruit union and business representatives who commanded the respect of policy constituencies and possessed front-line, tacit knowledge about local conditions. Practitioner handbooks were distributed that explained labour market policy as the centrepiece of a societal project for social solidarity, and directed street-level officials to customize mobility and placement packages for people in their unique geographic settings. The O E CD lauded the handbook not for its “mechanical or procedural instructions” but for how it created “an understanding and appreciation of policy and program objectives” (ibid., 128). As Meidner explained the approach rested on “a generous assortment of policy instruments, and an extensive network of regional and local administrations, with the task of deciding on the combination of instruments they deem to be most effective” (in Rothstein 1996, 133).



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Flanking the active labour market policy and exhibiting the same political logic was housing policy (Elander and Strömberg 2001). Viewed as a critical component of the activation ethos, it targeted the placement challenges with regard to looming housing shortages in Sweden’s growing metropolitan centres. Anticipating correctly that 80 per cent of the population would be urban by decade’s end, the government launched a Million Homes program in 1964. Applying the principle of universality, the Social Democrats centrally regulated the cost, quality, and distribution of shelter through negotiation and consultation with nationally representative housing and tenant associations. A nonprofit housing sector anchored in local cooperatives was granted access to public capital and state-guaranteed loans on terms more favourable than with private builders and given voice in community design and planning. The program delivered impressive results, meeting the targets for new housing within the ten-year time frame and eliminating shortages in the largest cities. The Swedish social democratic approach to urban policy by other means – principally, active labour market and comprehensive housing policies – reinforced national values and identities while modelling multilevel governance. The reflections of a business leader about the activation polices of the 1960s are testament to the power of an embedded discourse. In Sweden, he noted, mobility was widely seen as “morally right,” an attitude and behaviour “so self-evident that we do not give a thought to how remarkable it actually is” (in Rothstein 1996, 114). Leg ac ie s Reflecting on the postwar achievements in 1969, one of Sweden’s foremost idea entrepreneurs, Alva Myrdal, observed: “Our great social reforms have been, above all, universalistic – offering benefits to the broad mass of citizens [but] … [i]t is natural that society should now look in some ways for new means – through ‘well-targeted’ and complementary reforms – to concentrate on those who have shared in part in the greater prosperity but only partially” (in Heclo and Madsen 1987, 177). In the decades that followed, Myrdal’s call became a guidepost for further Swedish policy innovations that extended the place-based people approach. In the 1980s and 1990s, economic pressures saw rising unemployment, currency devaluations, and housing shortages, with much distress borne by new immigrants who were overwhelmingly settling in Sweden’s three largest cities. In 1997, the

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State Commission on Metropolitan Areas published a report titled “Divided Cities” that highlighted the spatial segregation of ethnocultural groups in deteriorating neighbourhoods. A national metropolitan policy for sustainability and integration was announced, anchored in twenty-four multipartite local development agreements for shelter and employment needs in the urban public housing estates. The metropolitan policy and development agreements represent a Swedish blend of “targeting within universalism,” tackling pressure points in the flagship programs for employment and shelter. Framed by national policy goals and mobilizing local implementing coalitions, the metropolitan framework was seen as a holistic approach to urban tensions. An OE C D assessment summarized a familiar Swedish hybrid: The Swedish policy approach has attempted to take into account the fact that segregation is usually the result of a complicated mixture of social and economic dynamics by focusing on both “people prosperity” (ex. providing assistance to individuals in areas such as employment) and “place prosperity” (ex. targeting distressed neighbourhoods through urban renewal). (O E CD 2006, 119)

Can a da : U r ba n P o l icy Mi s si ng i n Acti on People-Oriented Policies for National Unity Disc ou rse Central to the English-Canadian public philosophy is abiding concern about national unity and the concomitant policy “imperative” of territorial integration (Hodge and Robinson 2001, 4). Dating back to the 1839 Durham Report, which named some of the country’s fault lines as well as the political compromises that would eventually join the disparate settler colonies together in the 1867 Confederation, Canadian public policy has been distinguished by the federal effort to confirm the bonds of a diverse, dispersed population with a fragile national identity. At critical moments of uncertainty, major statesponsored commissions have offered detailed technical policy analysis of evolving unity challenges while also affirming the founding national principles of unity in diversity (Bradford 1998). Grand narratives of nation-building in defiance of fragmenting forces proclaim that an east-west economy linking “hinterland” commodity extractors with



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“heartland” secondary manufacturers delivers prosperity and cohesion. At the same time, regionalized conflicts shape the practice of Canadian politics and much of the substance of federal policy (Brodie and Jenson 1988). “Matters of regional disparity,” it has long been argued, “more than defence, transportation, agriculture, or social welfare have proved insatiable in their appetite for public funds and creative solutions” (Careless 1977, 6). Within this national unity public philosophy, Canada’s Keynesian settlement found a midpoint between American commercial and Swedish social Keynesianism, mixing categorical, contributory, and universal programs to deliver uniform levels of income assistance to citizens regardless of place of residence. However, the integrative effects of this early version of spatial Keynesianism were called into question during the recession of the mid-1950s. An emergent Canadian economic geography was shifting the axis of national development from rural and resource communities to growing cities. The smaller communities faced an exodus of people and employment while metropolitan centres confronted expanding welfare caseloads and shortages of affordable housing. Canadian cities were newer than their American (or continental European) counterparts and in the postwar boom years underwent much less physical decline or racial tension. Still, problems existed, and for those few observers willing to look, these were neither trivial nor transient. In Winnipeg, for example, a 1957 report on inner-city poverty documented a range of extraordinary stresses in particular neighbourhoods as rural migrants arrived, noting: “there appears to be no attempt to rehabilitate the core of the city” (Silver 2016, 118). In both rural and urban settings, therefore, the prevailing national Keynesian framework was fraying: economic restructuring in communities exposed development blockages while social adjustment in the cities exposed gaps in income security (Struthers 1994). Acknowledging the problems, policy experts sought new technical ideas to update the unity-within-diversity formula underpinning the Canadian public philosophy. Several public inquiries weighed in, and their prescriptions all highlighted the regional rather than urban dimensions of emergent spatial imbalances. A royal commission on the national economy underscored the federal obligation to spread opportunity among all regions and introduced a framework for regional economic development (Bradford 1998, ch. 4). Indeed, as the commission’s research program demonstrated, Canadian policy

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communities were becoming recognized for leadership in regional policy and planning (Hodge and Robinson 2001; Carver 1962). Keynesian macroeconomic models were supplemented by “regional science” concepts of industrial location, agglomeration effects, and growth poles. Keynesian redistributive frameworks incorporated novel ideas about inter-regional fiscal equalization to compensate for market forces and equalize services and taxation levels among provinces. The postwar Canadian development discourse featured few urban representations, either philosophical or programmatic. The “urban visionary” Humphrey Carver was an isolated voice at the Canada Mortgage and Housing Corporation fighting a losing battle in the late 1940s and 1950s to bring a community-planning perspective to federal housing and urban renewal programs that remained resolutely “bricks and mortar” (Logan n.d., 5). Canadian policy debates featured neither an American-style urban community action research tradition nor national perspectives such as those resonant in Sweden for embedding macro-level policy in local institutions. There was no policy attention to neighbourhoods, and public housing programs were delivered through top-down “mass production” (Logan n.d., 6). In a revealing passage, the royal commission on the postwar economy noted that while “Canadians have flocked to cities,” their “institutions, their habits of mind, and especially, perhaps, their mythology, have lagged behind” (Canada 1958, 292). In contrast to the attractive proposals for regional development, Canadian policy offered little on urban policy. No government had articulated “a clearly stated set of urban objectives that derive from and contribute to the nation’s goals” (Lithwick 1970, 37). Federal and provincial policies ignored “the unique material needs of urban centres … treating them as general categories” (ibid., 172). Provincial and municipal regional planners exhibited an environmental-­ architectural bias that remained disconnected from the economic and social dynamics of cities (Hodge and Robinson 2001). Land-use planning featured notable metropolitan innovations but rarely considered community economic or social development and federalprovincial policy coordination. Leonard Marsh, the intellectual architect of Canada’s postwar welfare state, lamented the policy gaps in cities, where urban renewal proceeded in the absence of neighbourhood-based social planning. Canada’s spatial Keynesianism thus institutionalized what later urban scholars termed “an astounding policy vacuum in urban affairs”



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(Wolfe 2003). In the 1960s, as other countries put cities on the public policy agenda either explicitly or implicitly, Canada’s urban challenge was different: to coordinate “a melange of programs and policies that affect urban communities, but which are not specifically tailored for urban communities” (Lithwick 1970, 170). Without an urban lens, postwar federal and provincial policies landed in cities without a “strategy designed to achieve consistency and common purpose” (ibid., 179). While many social and economic problems took an urbanized form, the discourse that framed solutions ignored spatial contexts. B r ic ol age The discursive vacuum that made Canadian cities invisible in public policy has been reinforced by an inhospitable constitutional context for tackling urban problems. The division of economic and social policy responsibilities between federal and provincial governments, and the sharing of issues of land use and infrastructure between provincial governments and municipalities has created significant barriers to coordination. For their part, city officials have taken a narrow view of their mandate, further separating the physical and social dynamics of cities and dividing metropolitan planning from policy practice. Lacking the integrated ideas that powered regional policy advocates through similar institutional constraints, Canadian urban initiatives for housing and infrastructure remained subsumed within “turf conscious” federal and provincial governments with “limited capacity to generate broad and systematic policy initiatives” (Haddow 1993, 9; Silver 2016, 116). Complex problems of poverty concentrating in Canada’s larger cities in the late 1950s were addressed indirectly through departmentalized, top-down decision making. Policy formation was a classic example of closed bureaucratic learning; federal and provincial officials from welfare departments amended existing social assistance measures to improve intergovernmental finance and rationalize income support programs. The only time that cities were explicitly a policy focus was as an adjunct to regional development in the form urban growth poles (Savoie 1986). Through targeted industrial location incentives, the federal government, with provincial participation, launched a place-based policy for smaller cities with the potential to encourage growth in lagging regions. Although an increasing number of cities were eventually made eligible, there was little policy evidence that the growth poles were anything more than “spin-offs from other-directed policies” (Lithwick 1970, 208).

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By the mid-1960s, Canadian policymakers were taking note of the intellectual gaps and institutional barriers that kept cities in the policy shadows (Kent 1988; Davies 1997). With the national mood inspired by the American New Frontier / Great Society, concerns about poverty “exploded into public consciousness” (Struthers 1994, 211). The Ford Foundation, which had advanced the American urban agenda, created a $500,000 grant to support a Canadian Council on Urban and Regional Research. When the Canadian government matched the Ford contribution, the first organized effort to build urban policy capacity was launched. Sensing momentum, political parties urged federal and provincial governments to learn from the experimentation underway in the United States (Struthers 1994). The federal government had recently introduced “cooperative federalism” to engage the provinces in social policy innovations that were establishing national standards in health, welfare, and pensions. Could the same logic of cooperation extend to urban policy and community development? Pursuing the possibility became a preoccupation of Tom Kent, perhaps the decade’s most influential idea broker. Gaining recognition in the late 1950s as a Keynesian thinker, Kent became a powerful federal Liberal government advisor in the 1960s, keen to connect federal-provincial income stabilization policies with local “opportunity programs” (Kent 1988, 384). For this synthesis, Kent proposed a Canadian version of the American War on Poverty whereby the federal government would seek community direction for its regional development and income support. A special policy secretariat was established to coordinate departments and governments around community projects for economic and social development. In addition to the Ford Foundation’s research support, bureaucratic delegations visited the American Office of Economic Opportunity, culminating in a 1965 conference at which government officials and policy experts convened to develop consensus on national poverty reduction priorities. Despite the enthusiasm, the urban and community policy effort fizzled. The animating vision remained “too vague, and nebulous” to mobilize federal departments and engage provincial or municipal interest in community-based programming to supplement the major cost-shared people policies (ibid., 384). A federal committee to define community development in fighting poverty “sank without a trace” (Lotz 1977, 8) and Ontario officials concluded that federal policy remained regionally focused, “giving help to rural impoverished areas rather than to urban areas” (Struthers 1994, 226).



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Indeed, Canada’s short-lived War on Poverty confirmed established policy routines. A new Canada Assistance Plan nationalized income assistance, and regional development supports were expanded. Each reflected years of federal-provincial bureaucratic negotiation and represented adjustments in technical ideas that matched federal programs with shifting national unity norms. Acknowledging the fit between such policies and Canada’s discursive and institutional context, Kent deferred to the entrenched bureaucratic view that further federal policy experimentation should be suspended, while still holding the belief that place-based approaches could enhance Canada’s macrolevel policies (Kent 1988). In fact, these concepts resurfaced in the late 1960s in an explicit push to link the federation’s people and place urban policies. A cohort of self-styled “urbanologists,” many trained at the recently created Canadian Council on Urban and Regional Research, published technical studies on poverty, housing, transit, and diversity to supply the knowledge base for a national urban policy directed by the federal government in cooperation with provinces and municipalities. The potential fit between urban ideas and national politics was enhanced by the election of the Pierre Trudeau Liberal government, with its strong urban base and desire to tackle complex problems at the interface of departments and governments, transcending bureaucratic silos. Following a task force, internal review, and intergovernmental conference, the federal government established a Ministry of State for Urban Affairs (MSUA) to coordinate nearly 120 urban-related programs and promote comprehensive policy in cities. Launched in 1971, M S U A existed for eight years, much longer than the War on Poverty secretariat but still an insufficient length of time to institutionalize an urban lens in Canadian social and regional frameworks. Almost all observers judge the M S U A a policy failure. Without program resources, officials could not connect vision to practice through place-based demonstrations of housing or welfare innovations. Institutional entrepreneurs were unable to build alliances with federal housing or regional development departments. Federal expenditures in cities remained tied to “programs in search of a policy” (Dennis and Fish 1972). Internal bureaucratic obstacles became compounded by external political factors. In the 1970s, Canada underwent an intensive round of national unity tensions as movements in resource-producing regions and, more profoundly, in Quebec challenged the federation. Prime Minister Trudeau proclaimed regional

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disparities and Quebec separatism as existential threats to the country. As national unity narratives resumed their dominance over policy, MSU A officials became a “collection of somewhat remote and highflying intellectuals,” idea brokers without political or administrative interlocutors (B. Richardson 1972, 79). Some of the recent success in redeveloping derelict federal lands in larger cities was lost in multiple policy forays that bore little relation to one another, even as the problems were increasingly understood by urban researchers as interconnected. MS UA ’s demise in 1979 met little resistance. Leg ac ie s Canada in the 1960s – a time when cities appeared on O E CD policy agendas in the wake of initial postwar uncertainties – offers a clear example of the people-oriented approach that marginalized municipal or community perspectives. Public philosophy and technical ideas consistently merged around regionalized economic and social additions to the Keynesian package, casting little light on cities as either policy targets or strategic spaces for macro-level interventions. This orientation has endured. The 1980s was marked by further national unity efforts in regional development and income support, both substantively and symbolically. Substantively, regional growth poles became institutionalized in some 250 local community development corporations covering all non-metropolitan areas; in symbolic terms, the 1982 Constitution entrenched policy commitments to equalize individual services and reduce regional disparities. Meanwhile, community economic development practitioners lamented the “glaring gap” in federal and provincial policy in Canada’s cities (Lewis 1994), and municipalities were not included in the constitutional negotiations. Canadian policy analysts continued to find the “weakness of the urban dimension disquieting” (Andrew, Graham, and Phillips 2002) and lamented the “culture of non-recognition and neglect” for cities (FC M 2001). In 1993, the federal government ended its social housing policy, a decision that amply confirmed Canada’s missing urban lens. In the late 1990s, the specific problems of large metropolitan centres came into focus as fiscal pressures, government downloading, and forced amalgamations gave rise to calls for a “New Deal for Cities.” With the OECD highlighting Canada’s “disjointed approach” to cities, and two prime ministerial advisory bodies calling for “place-based policies,” the federal government and several provinces decided to



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take action (Bradford 2007). The early 2000s witnessed much experimentation with multilevel policy innovation in search of “socially sustainable cities.” But the embedded national unity discourse continued to structure debate and limit urban policy – the New Deal for Cities was transformed to include all municipalities, while initially ambitious plans for city-driven economic and social innovation lapsed into modest tax transfers and rebates for physical infrastructure. The Canadian policy system remains defined by its people-oriented policies with a regional inflection, unable to either target resources to metropolitan centres or adapt general programs to meet the needs of different cities.

C o n c l u s i on This chapter used an ideational analysis based on Jenson’s scholarship to explore the formation of national urban policy over time and across space. In so doing, it revealed country-specific American, Swedish, and Canadian expressions of the transnational “place and people” discourse about public policy in and for cities. Taking the position that interests in ambiguous areas of action like urban affairs rarely arise directly from material conditions, the comparative analysis highlighted the idea brokers and bridge builders who produce discourses that align normative matters of public philosophy with strategic considerations in technical ideas. In the founding moment of the 1960s, formulations that resonated with national identities and were attached to viable causal models channelled urban policy down particular pathways, each of which informed subsequent interpretations and experiences as cities reacquired policy visibility in the 2000s. As depicted in table 10.1, each country is ideal-typical of one of the three policy approaches: American place-based, Swedish place-based people, and Canadian people-oriented. The chapter’s comparative findings speak to several related lines of theoretical inquiry. The logic of evolutionary transitions as opposed to revolutionary breaks that defines urban policy connects with incrementalism research, which differentiates change processes through layering, drift, and conversion (Streeck and Thelen 2005). Applied to our national urban policy cases, the American preoccupation with place-based approaches, from the Kennedy-Johnson community development of the 1960s to the Obama neighbourhood strategies of the 2000s, represents a form of layering. Canada’s ongoing search

Table 10.1  National urban policy compared Cleavage

Discourse

Bricolage

Policy

Delivery

Logic

United States

Race

Opportunity liberalism and community action

Foundation action research

Place based; “War on Poverty to Promise Neighborhoods”

Community agencies

Targeted; local diversity

C anada

Territory

National unity and regional development

Techno-bureaucratic puzzling

People oriented; “urban policy vacuum to New Deal for Cities and Communities”

Functional departments

Aspatial; national equity

Sweden

Class

People’s home and social activation

Labour movement strategy

Place-based people; “active labour/housing policy to National Metropolitan Policy”

Cadre administration

Integrated equity and diversity



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for an urban fit between its people-oriented and regional policies represents drift. And Sweden’s place-based people hybrid appears to have undergone a conversion from initially being embedded in active labour and housing policy during the postwar period to the recent area-based holistic metropolitan strategy. More broadly, our discursive institutionalist interpretation of urban policy addresses the value of “contextualized comparison.” As Locke and Thelen (1995) explain, such comparisons ask researchers to situate their topics in discursive and institutional settings such that the investigation of common questions or similar issues leads to different empirical foci across countries. Their illustration is of labour relations policy, but as we have seen, the contextual orientation also applies strongly in urban policy, where the “starting points” and framing narratives sharply differ: neighbourhood revitalization and community action in the United States, regional development and national unity in Canada, and metropolitan inclusion and social democracy in Sweden. Deeper contextualized comparison could explore links between these urban trajectories and the fault lines or cleavages in each country that resonate in the universe of political discourse: race in the United States, region in Canada, and class in Sweden. Returning full circle to Jenson’s scholarship, this analysis of urban policy sheds light on the relationship between her core concepts of the “universe of political discourse” and “citizenship regime.” Cities are significant locales in which citizenship struggles play out, with regard not only to rights and identities, but especially to access to appropriate services and communities that give substance to inclusion and confirm a sense of belonging. As such, ideas and representations contested in the universe of political discourse about the form and content of national urban policy, including the balance struck between local place diversity and national spatial equity, have consequences for the workings of the citizenship regime. Indeed, recent urban scholarship conceptualizes city regions as “new state spaces” – crucial loci of national public policy where ideas, investment, and people now converge (Brenner 2004; Gertler 2001). Citizenship regimes are defined through historically contingent and mutually constitutive relations among rights and responsibilities, access, and community belonging. As Polèse and Stren (2000, 9) observe, it is in cities with their population density and diversity where “many of the major questions and challenges of our civilization are being raised.” Among these questions and challenges, the most urgent

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asks how urban governance and policy influence the experience of citizenship for all residents. The place-based perspective adopted in this chapter highlights significant cross-national variation in the operative national urban policy discourses that structure access, rights, and belonging. The key conceptual links between urban dynamics and citizenship regimes are threefold. First, Jenson’s concept of citizenship regime refers to neither a universal philosophical vision nor a standard liberal democratic model; rather it represents a blend of political norms and policy practices, with particular packages varying over time and across space (Jenson 2007b). Our analysis revealed the scalar differences in the influential idea sets about urban governance in Canada, the United States, and Sweden. Substantive policy issues regarding service access and social rights acquired political meaning at different spatial scales: American urban neighbourhoods, Canadian regional communities, and the Swedish national state. Attention to the spatial dimensions of citizenship regimes opens a promising line of multilevel policy and governance research. Second, Jenson emphasizes that the boundaries and content of citizenship regimes are continually contested and “in motion” (Jenson 2007b). A spatial lens highlights the dynamics of localized change often overlooked in conventional postwar narratives. As this chapter’s urban policy periodization demonstrated, major governing paradigms, with their respective alignments of citizen-state rights, service access, and national belonging, came under scrutiny in both the 1960s and the early 2000s. A spatially sensitive political analysis reveals how established policy and governance frameworks were initially questioned and differentially reset across national cases through placebased experiments. American, Canadian, and Swedish governments at these conjunctures made a “local turn,” using urban and regional spaces to test new ideas for reconnecting the economic and social dimensions of national citizenship. Implementing their respective Keynesian and neoliberal adaptations required careful attention to the fit between policy innovation and localized contexts. Third, and with regard to the technological disruptions and social dislocations of contemporary globalization, the spatial perspective foregrounds the most compelling citizenship challenges. The national settlement of immigrants and refugees is simultaneously a profound citizenship-recognition struggle and a complex urban policy question, with cities overwhelmingly where newcomers choose to live.



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Equally, the income inequality and digital divides that accompany globalization put local and regional governments on the frontlines of the major issues that determine the quality of citizenship, ranging from housing adequacy and public health to cross-cultural supports and accessible services for all. The legitimacy of national states in articulating collective solidarity may increasingly depend on their capacity to co-produce good public policy with place-based partners who are themselves skilled in democratic citizenship practices. If cities are the places “where the work of globalization gets done” (Sassen 2005) then the issues at play are certainly of national consequence. Interpreting how national governments mediate the global flows and local mobilizations is an important scholarly project addressing the big twenty-first century challenges of innovation, inclusion, and sustainability. Studying cities in discursive and institutional contexts deepens our understanding of urban policy while also offering insight into citizenship regimes.

11 Abortion Rights: Rights and Practices of Citizenship in a Multilevel Setting Bérengère Marques-Pereira

The concept of “citizenship regime” includes institutions’ actions, rules, and meanings, which guide and shape decision making about policy and spending, and problem definitions by the state and by citizens, as well as the claims-making of citizens. With this extension and broadening of the concept of “citizenship,” we are able to understand the claims of groups and social movements, and their struggles for recognition as “full citizens.” This way of thinking about citizenship helps shed light on the boundaries that shape these struggles (Jenson 2007a). In this chapter I use the concept to analyze a major issue for women’s individualization everywhere: the right to abortion and the recognition of this right. In doing so, I will also lay out the route by which I have come to employ the concept of citizenship regime as an analytic approach to understanding the politics of abortion rights. The concept is useful first because of its decomposition of the general notion of citizenship into four dimensions: the responsibility mix, rights, access, and belonging. The first dimension goes beyond any state-centric understanding of social citizenship to ask about the mix of responsibilities among the market, the family, the community, and the state. The second dimension is more statutory in content, relating to the rights and responsibilities of citizenship, and leads to this question: To what extent is there a public and political debate leading to a redefinition of the rights and responsibilities of citizenship? The third dimension encompasses the routes of access to political decision making, in particular the new governance practices that tend to open



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up space for the third sector and seek to overcome the crisis of representation. Here the focus is on citizenship practices. The fourth dimension involves identities and addresses the problem of feelings of belonging to the polity in a context of increasing inequalities and patterns of difference. The concept, with these four dimensions, can provide an analytic solution leading to a contextualization of citizenship beyond any state-centric or national limits, in order to reveal a configuration that goes from the national to the supranational and includes the international and transnational. Indeed, to take full advantage of the potential of the concept, I treat the four dimensions of any citizenship regime from a multilevel perspective. The formal recognition of rights, the rules and institutional mechanisms providing access to the state, the feelings of belonging to the polity, and the mix of responsibilities for societal well-being among the market, family, community sector, and state can be operationalized through the observation of actors’ discursive and strategic practices. These may be deployed at several or even all levels – national, supranational, international, and transnational – and they establish the range of possible institutional change. This is because no matter if the focus is on public policy or mobilization of social movements (or both), it is impossible in the contemporary world to understand national politics without thinking about cross-level linkages. The intent of this chapter is to better understand the demand as well as the recognition of the right to abortion by using the concept of citizenship regime. I cannot in this short analysis provide a comprehensive comparative discussion. Rather, I will use the Belgian case, including its multilevel setting, to scrutinize the politics of abortion and the limits on abortion rights. My analysis will reveal that these demands, as well as their institutional recognition, result from a wide range of actions within a network of national, international, transnational, and supranational actors. The discursive and strategic practices of these actors, with respect to abortion rights and to reproductive rights more generally, provide a clear indicator of what I have elsewhere called public responsibility, giving content to citizenship practice via three types of action: participation in the working out of social normativity, reflection on women’s individualization, and the vigilant monitoring of institutions (Marques-Pereira 2018, forthcoming). To do so, this analysis will first identify the right to abortion as a citizenship practice in claiming a new right. The next section will then

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describe the international, transnational, and national working out of a new social normativity around abortion. Next, I will describe the ways in which considerations of women’s individualization challenge state sovereignty and control over reproduction. And finally I will examine the supranational and national practices that involve careful monitoring of institutions in order to protect or, from the other side, undercut abortion rights. In each of these four sections I indicate the dimensions of the citizenship regime that are implicated by actors’ discursive and strategic practices.

P r ac t is in g C it iz e n s hi p by Clai mi ng N e w   R ig h t s : A b o rti on Ri ghts In earlier work I have documented the types and stages of politicization around abortion rights in Belgium. The politicization process encompasses the dynamics of mobilization within civil society and political society that allowed the taboo about abortion to be shattered and that provoked public and political debate. These dynamics were found both within and outside institutions and derived from the agency of feminists and secular and left-wing doctors, as well as of Belgium’s non-confessional political forces (Marques-Pereira 1989, 1993). This analysis led me to understand how reproductive freedom involves, on the one hand, the interconnections across civil, social, and political levels of citizenship (Marshall 1992), and, on the other hand, a fourth generation of citizenship rights different in nature from those of the other three, being tied to biological reproduction.1 In this way, I broadened Jane Jenson’s treatment of access to abortion – the fundamental demand of second-wave feminism – as being only a civil right involving control over one’s body and person (Jenson 1996). My argument was that, in addition to involving the individual’s freedom from interference by the state in a personal decision, it was necessary to consider the articulation between such a freedom and an individual’s right to state action, which requires a guarantee of access. In this second conceptualization, access to abortion is an integral element of the public health system, the costs of the intervention must be covered by that regime, and institutions providing the service must be publicly supported. In fact, reproductive freedom was legitimized as part of the struggle against clandestine and unsafe abortions, and as such was framed in terms of equal rights for women in need of a medical service and as a public health policy that would



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end “backstreet” abortions. This broadening of the treatment of abortion rights as part of citizenship made use of the rights dimension of the citizenship regime, bringing together the civil and social aspects of those rights. To the extent that I see the acquisition of new rights neither as a linear process nor as happening without struggle, I analyze citizenship as a practice. In this way, reproductive freedom is part of the assertion of political agency that feminists make when they affirm the need for a new political subject: struggling for and negotiating a collective identity based on rendering visible the social relations of gender. From this perspective, and just as Jenson does, I conceptualize citizenship as a dynamic construction and not as a fixed set of rights. The concept of citizenship is thereby connected to practices that are both conflictual and consensual. It is a conflictual practice expressed in struggles by actors for recognition as being legitimate, while making claims that are themselves also asserted to be legitimate. It is a consensual practice in that actors accept the rules of the game for settling conflicts. Such practices touch on the citizenship regime in two ways. On the one hand, using or claiming rights in the exercise of democracy contributes to a sense of belonging to a political community as well as to collective identities, and in particular the definition of their boundaries. On the other hand, playing by the rules of the democratic game, participatory forms of civic life, and public debate gives legitimacy to the claims and the ways of achieving them. In the first case we see the belonging dimension of the citizenship regime, and in the second the dimension of access. As such, the principle underlying the practice of citizenship is one of participation in working out new social norms that destabilize the power relations and social relations of the status quo. This is why treating the right to abortion as a citizenship right requires an analysis of its construction via the stages in its politicization and the forms that this takes as actors make their claims in different national institutional contexts. The partial recognition of the right to abortion in Belgium occurred in 1990, which was before Belgium became a federal state. The reform of abortion laws resulted from the exercise of social and political citizenship by feminist, left-wing, and secular actors. Before 1990 the issue of abortion reform had failed to gain the necessary political accommodation from the political elites of the consociational system still in place. The actors demanding change, therefore, developed a strategy involving a process of mobilization and politicization in

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which they rejected any legal change they saw as tainted by moral conservatism and likewise embraced civil disobedience, in the form of providing abortions that were “illegal” under the existing legislation. This civil disobedience practised in particular by feminist women and secular doctors as well as female and male health care providers helped destroy the taboo around abortion and advanced the politicization of the issue.2 The next stage went from subversion to fundraising. The compromise reform in 1990 that partially decriminalized abortion made abortion available in both hospitals and health centres.3 The third and current stage involves mobilization around a proactive defence of access to abortion in the face of transnational and international activism against abortion rights. In this sense the right to abortion in Belgian, as elsewhere, is threatened.4 The dynamic driving the move from one stage to another in Belgium involves three methods of exercising public responsibility (practising citizenship) (Marques-Pereira 2018, forthcoming). The first involves deliberation about the forms and limits of inclusion and exclusion of women from full citizenship. This deliberation is located in reports, seminar publications, and conferences, as well as in training sessions about women’s rights. With respect to abortion, such analysis involves disconnecting sexuality and procreation, and detaching “mother” from “woman” by refusing to consign women to maternity and by permitting women’s individualization. The second method concerns participation in the elaboration of a social normativity in a way that questions the sexual order, located not only in calls for the defence of women’s rights in international forums, in lobbying, and in steering government policy, but also in national and international campaigns focused on particular issues, including reproductive rights. This method has been particularly important with regard to claims for and recognition of the right to abortion. A third method of exercising public responsibility involves active protection of legal gains and policies of gender equality. The task is to monitor and track state commitments made via the ratification of international conventions and at international conferences organized by the United Nations and other international agencies. With respect to abortion, the issue is with access and the conditions under which access is available. As I am arguing here, these methods not only involve the four dimensions of the citizenship regime but also their multilevel linkages. The exercise of public responsibility by organized actors of civil society is a social and political citizenship practice that needs to be positioned



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within a multilevel setting – from the national to the supranational and including the international and transnational – because citizenship can no longer be reduced to a national-level phenomenon. Taking into account the levels at which citizenship is practised constitutes several challenges for the concept of citizenship regime, however, including identifying the appropriate level at which to locate citizenship rights (Jenson and Papillon 2000b; Auvachez 2009). This challenge leads to two questions. To what extent is the national state still the guarantor of citizenship rights? In a multilevel configuration, what kinds of interactions are likely to assure these rights? My position is that global citizenship does not exist.5 International and transnational political institutions cannot adequately guarantee full citizenship because no body is charged with guaranteeing the rights and duties inherent to citizenship, nor are there any institutional mechanisms to ensure their formulation and effectiveness. Moreover, actors in the global arena are not seeking to modify the borders of citizenship regimes but rather are asking for recognition by international authorities so as to pressure national governments to respond to their claimsmaking at home. This is why this chapter seeks to document the challenges posed in the multilevel setting of any citizenship regime by examining the interconnections of the four dimensions.

T h e In t e r n at io n a l , Transnati onal, a n d   N at io n a l F ormulati on o f a N e w S o c ia l Normati vi ty To take into account that citizenship henceforth will unfold in a multilevel setting implies grasping reproductive rights and particularly the right to abortion as the working out internationally, transnationally, and nationally of a new social normativity around reproductive freedom. The actors who have promoted this new social normativity are part of the United Nations system and transnational networks, as I will document here. The conflictual aspects that have sparked this new normativity in the international and transnational sphere are considered in the next two sections that deal with women’s individualization and the vigilant monitoring of institutions. Here I also take up the connection between abortion rights and practices in the Belgian case and this new normativity. Since 1979, this new normativity has been expressed in the emergence and development of the notion of reproductive rights. These

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include the right to choose without undue restraint the sexual partner with whom one wishes to have, or not to have, children; the right to control the number and spacing of those children; and the right to reproductive health. If reproductive rights provide a sphere of individual autonomy in which procreation occurs, and thus also the right not to reproduce, they do not provide any right of the child to be born (Turner 2008, 52–3). Such a conceptualization of reproductive rights allows for consideration of the complexity and plurality of women’s actual experiences that intersect in multiple social relations, whether of gender, class, or ethnicity, or over the life cycle. With respect to the recognition of equality between women and men, the Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women (C E D A W ) is a key marker. C E D A W was the fruit of the labours of women in the U N Commission on the Status of Women, created in 1946. For thirty years the commission called for the organization of an international conference on women’s rights. The first finally took place in Mexico City in 1975, the result being the adoption in 1979 of C E D A W by the U N General Assembly. The convention laid out a bona fide international charter of women’s rights that would bind states that ratified it. Included in C E D A W were a right to nondiscrimination that proclaimed that “the role of women in procreation should not be a basis for discrimination” (U N 1979, preamble); the right to the protection of health, including the function of reproduction (art. 11f); a call for signatory states to ensure equality in access to educational information to help ensure the health and well-being of families, including information and advice on family planning (art. 10h); a call for states to ensure nondiscrimination in access to health care, including family planning (art. 12; art. 14b); and calls for states to take appropriate measures, including leaves and child care services, to promote women and men’s reconciliation of family, work, and participation in public life (art. 11.2). It is important to note, however, that article 16 only guarantees “the same rights” to women and men “to decide freely and responsibly on the number and spacing of their children and to have access to the information, education and means to enable them to exercise these rights” (art. 16). Consequently, if the state decides not to provide men and women access to choice or to family planning (art. 10), it is nonetheless in conformity with the convention. Thus, nowhere is there a right to abortion. Numerous states also formally presented “reservations” to the articles of the Convention



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that touch on reproductive and sexual rights. This stance was taken in particular by Latin American governments and states with large Muslim populations, a position they shared with the Vatican. They feared opening the door to a right to abortion. Transnational actors have also been important, including the Women’s Global Network for Reproductive Rights, created at the first international conference with this theme in Amsterdam in 1984 (Correa 1994). The transnationalization of the issue of reproductive rights happened concomitantly with the international mobilization for the recognition of the human rights of women. The recognition of women’s rights within fundamental human rights is summarized in this formulation: “the human rights of women and of the girl-child are an inalienable, integral and indivisible part of universal human rights” (UN 1993, para. 8). It was first included in the Declaration and Program of Action adopted at the Vienna World Conference on Human Rights in 1993, and reiterated in the same terms at the 1994 International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo (in the Programme of Action, principle 4) and the 1995 Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing (in the Declaration, paragraph 9). This is the perspective from which I see reproductive rights as a new generation of rights. In the current context of globalization, citizenship rights can be seen as the foundation of human rights (Isin and Turner 2007, 13). The deployment of a political discourse of human rights gives legitimacy to the advocates of reproductive freedom and establishes it as a legitimate claim expressed and supported by legitimate actors. This perspective places the institutionalization of claims made by movements and organizations of women at the international level in a context of growing interdependence. Indeed, it was through the building of new public spaces that one found states (international conferences) and civil society organizations (parallel forums) that helped create at the global scale what the 1995 Beijing Conference labelled “the common good,” including human rights and reproductive rights. The struggle against gender discrimination gained international recognition and legitimacy, thereby encouraging states to modify their legal regimes. But at the same time many states have reduced material and political means to allow for the exercise of these rights, a situation that certainly risks compromising the adoption and maintenance of public health policies and thus of social rights. The existence of these new spaces and actors working at the international and transnational level may challenge a citizenship regime.

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The idea is not, however, to transform the configuration of the national citizenship regime or even of its access dimension. Opening these new routes of access to claims-making is not about creating a new global order; the goal is rather to put pressure on the national government from the outside, by using the now well-documented “boomerang effect” (Keck and Sikking 1998, 165–98). In Belgium, even if the original legal change in 1990 was not the result of any boomerang effect, the partial decriminalization of abortion since 1990 has reshaped gender relations in congruence with the new international normativity recognizing the concept of reproductive rights. Indeed, the law is grounded in a social normativity that anchors a new common sense that distinguishes medicalized abortion from clandestine abortion. The former involves an intervention under safe medical and psychological conditions and thus covers a wider range of situations than simply therapeutic terminations (for cases of foetal malformation, serious risks to the mother’s health, or rape). This new common sense also provides grounding for the recognition of modern methods of contraception, which are now a positive norm and according to which abortion is only to be used as a last resort, not as a contraceptive measure. Such social normativity makes abortion a matter of public health and establishes the connection between the medical procedure and social rights embedded in health policy. It goes along with a broad framing of women’s individualization and raises the question of their freedom to choose and their self-­ determination with respect to their bodies.

I n div idua l iz at io n o f W omen: Ques ti oni ng S tat e S ov e r e ig n t y ov e r R eproduci ng Bodi es Another method for exercising public responsibility consists of exposing the forms of and limits to the individualization of women. This issue is at the heart of the recognition of reproductive rights in the national, international, and transnational spheres. Here I will argue that in this situation the recognition of the right to abortion questions the sovereignty of the state over reproduction, and its consequences can be measured in three of the four dimensions of a citizenship regime: rights, belonging, and the responsibility mix. In 1968, the Proclamation of Teheran of the International Conference on Human Rights recognized that parents (not individuals) “have a basic human right to determine freely and responsibly the number



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and the spacing of their children” (UN 1968, art. 16). It was only in the 1990s that the big international conferences on population (Cairo in 1994) and women’s rights (Beijing in 1995) focused on the rights of individuals to contraception and in reproduction (Gautier 2012, ch. 7). This constituted a paradigm shift away from the earlier demographic priority that instrumentalized women’s bodies. It is not surprising to find that this shift was the result of feminist practices in lobbying, advocacy, and expertise developed in the international and transnational spheres by organizations and networks such as the International Women’s Health Coalition and the Women’s Global Network for Reproductive Rights.6 Nor is it surprising that these big international conferences also spawned anti-abortion activism in international bodies in support of the Vatican’s religious traditionalism, in alliance with Muslim fundamentalism (Buss 1995). This activism reveals the transnationalization of traditionalist discourses and religious fundamentalism in opposition to the transnationalization of feminist discourse on gender, equality of the sexes, and reproductive and sexual rights. With such discourse and practices, these actors seek to renaturalize the hierarchy of the sexes and the sexual order, because in their eyes the separation of sexuality and procreation is unimaginable. Respecting life from the moment of conception makes the generational point (biological reproduction) appear as an expression of heteronormativity that involves every individual and that cannot be treated as a contract. For the hierarchy of the Catholic Church, this is where the autonomy of the individual ends. There is no doubt that here the dynamic of individualization is being targeted, being the major risk to religious traditionalism for which individual autonomy is unthinkable. The only possibility is subjugation to the natural order, never individualization. The political project behind this conservative normativity is to halt any extension of the civil and social rights of citizenship by trying to undermine the legitimacy of actors in sectors as varied as family planning, feminist groups, and even, when sexual rights are at issue, LGBT groups. In a context of economic crisis and globalization, the challenge is a fundamental one for such groups; their continued existence is threatened. Having become professionalized and institutionalized, and faced with the rise of neoliberalism, the situation in which these associations found themselves led them to shift from a logic of subversion to one of fundraising, a change that made sense in order to protect social rights. In addition, religious groups use a strategy of

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delegitimization to block the spread of ideas about new social norms that favour reproductive freedom as a civil right. We will return to the Belgian and European actors in more detail in the section on monitoring (see also Marques-Pereira and Pereira 2014). In the context of crisis and globalization, abortion rights remain a major issue – full reproductive freedom is far from having been achieved, and at this time women in many parts of the world do not fully control their own bodies. As Outshoorn and her colleagues have documented recently, where and when significant women’s movements in Europe were not and have not been active, only minor reform of abortion laws has occurred and the medical profession has maintained its control (Outshoorn et al. 2012). Furthermore, abortion carries significant stigma, which limits the capacity to present it as a reproductive right and to provide reproductive freedom (Roseneil et al. 2013, 904). Indeed, it was in just this way that in 1990 the notion of a state of distress (état de détresse) was introduced into Belgian law, following the example of neighbouring France and Luxembourg. In a compromise with the opponents of any decriminalization of abortion, the partial decriminalization of abortion created a legal exemption in which a woman who wishes to end an unwanted pregnancy invokes a “state of distress.” Formulated in this way, the state seems to acknowledge women’s autonomy and be unwilling to interfere with their privacy. Nevertheless, the law, which legalizes abortion but relies on a medical paradigm for access to the procedure,7 allows the state to retain control, albeit a loose control, over women’s decisions through a form of delegation to medical authorities. In this sense, protecting women from the “distress” to which a clandestine abortion would subject them derives more from a public health paradigm than from one of free choice and full control over one’s body. Therefore, the issue for Belgian feminists continues to be the removal of abortion completely from the Criminal Code and the elimination of the notion of “distress.” France and Luxembourg did this in 2015. With respect to the citizenship regime, the issue is the following: when it comes to the recognition of the individualized woman based on the separation of sexuality and procreation, and the recognition of the concept of reproductive rights from the angle of women’s autonomy and their equality with men, both imply that the regulation of reproduction is no longer a state monopoly, and that it has been transferred to the field of individual autonomy. Thus, the demand to



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remove abortion from the Criminal Code implies that women have full sovereignty over their own bodies, rather than the state having sovereignty over sexuality and reproduction. In this sense, having a full and complete right to abortion reflects the statutory dimension of the citizenship regime. In a general fashion the individualization of women involves a demographic challenge, and a challenge particularly to natalist and anti-natalist policies. The state is called upon to define the boundaries of “reproductive citizenship” in a citizenship regime. These boundaries move according to the gender arrangements that are operative as the regime is restructured. In this way, motherhood as a citizenship duty, which paralleled conscription into the army for men, was disputed as an element in the formation of the national community (YuvalDavis 1996) as new gender arrangements altered the belonging dimension of the citizenship regime. From this perspective, too, the partial decriminalization of abortion in Belgium opened the way to women’s choice, altering gender arrangements. It is a limited autonomy, however, because abortion is still in the Criminal Code and in the family chapter, rather than being included as part of the protection of the person. It does grant some real autonomy, nonetheless, by providing women with the capacity to control their bodies without any involvement of state or religious authorities. It does so by relying on a medical definition of abortion in terms of public health rather than any moral or criminal definition. It needs to be remembered, therefore, that social rights must include certain conditions in order to be realized. Without hospitals, without the network of health centres that fall within the purview of public responsibility, there is no real right to health. Thus women’s autonomy depends on the presence of social services, and as such they are part of the responsibility mix of the citizenship regime.

N at io n a l a n d E u ro pean Vi gi lant M o n ito r in g   o f Insti tuti ons A third form of the exercise of public responsibility depends on the careful monitoring of institutions in a multilevel setting. At a time when abortion rights are precarious both in Belgium and internationally, it is essential that there be careful monitoring of state institutions and also the positions adopted on reproductive rights by supranational institutions (such as the European Parliament) and transnational ones (for example, the Vatican and its participation in U N bodies). It is

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not only that reproductive freedom is far from being achieved, but also that there has been serious decline (Heinen 2013). Facing antiabortion activism by the Vatican in European and international bodies, and confronting “pro-life” campaigns around the world, the defence of abortion rights has entered a new phase, characterized by the development of national and international coordination of monitoring. Progressive forces have moved to create platforms such as Abortion Right,8 self-described as a platform for the right to abortion in Europe and the world. In Belgium, this platform has returned to one of the main feminist slogans of the 1970s and 1980s, “abortion out of the Criminal Code,” in response to attacks from “pro-life” groups that oppose the law partially decriminalizing abortion. Facing such attacks, progressive campaigns bringing together feminists and secularist groups have resorted to proven action repertoires such as marches, petitions, lobbying, and advocacy. Their focus is not limited to the Belgian situation; they claim abortion rights for women across Europe, targeting in particular countries that still criminalize it, such as Cyprus, Ireland, Malta, and Poland. This vigilant monitoring is completely nested in European monitoring. One example comes from Spain, where vigilance was particularly successful. The Socialist government had recognized a right to abortion in 2010, and later the right-wing Rajoy government tried to retract the reform so as to permit only therapeutic abortions. The proposed legislation was abandoned after numerous abortion rights demonstrations in Spain and across Europe (as well as dissension within Rajoy’s People’s Party between conservatives and Catholic fundamentalists). The Spanish example is a sign of what may happen across Europe. This is what the vote in December 2013 in the European Parliament also presages. A small majority of 334 to 327 rejected the Estrela Report on sexual and reproductive health and rights (Estrela 2013). The report called on the European Union and its member states to protect and promote the full exercise of these rights in Europe and elsewhere in a context characterized by three phenomena that threatened to weaken reproductive rights: 1) an economic crisis that reduced the financial resources available for family planning, 2) the rise of extremists and religious fundamentalists opposed to women’s rights, and 3) the reinforcement of anti-choice forces in the institutions of the European Union. Faced with campaigns by ultraconservative European organizations such as La Manif pour tous,9



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European Dignity Watch,10 and the Federation of Catholic Family Associations in Europe (F A F C E ),11 European coalitions for reproductive rights have mobilized as well. These include the European Humanist Federation,12 Catholics for Choice,13 and the European Women’s Lobby.14 It is also worth noting that the accession of new member states into the E U in the last decade have not improved the situation with respect to reproductive rights. For example, as a condition for entering the E U in 2004, Poland demanded a sort of “cultural exception” around abortion, in recognition that the country is under the sway of the Catholic Church (Heinen 2013); abortion is legal only in very limited situations, and indeed, since 1989, access to a termination has become de facto impossible. The EU has no direct competence over abortion rights, which remain a matter of subsidiarity and are therefore controlled by member states. This means that the EU provides no guarantee that reproductive rights will be respected, although free movement of persons and cross-border health care are guaranteed, thereby providing access to abortion for women who are better off. The citizenship regime is challenged substantively, and it is by no means linked to any creation of a new global order. Rather, the claim to full recognition of a right to terminate a pregnancy exposes new gender arrangements, which then provoke conservative resistance. This set of new arrangements and resistance translates into a new configuration of the citizenship regime. Abortion remains a national, European, and international matter. Thus it is not surprising that the forms of public responsibility exercised by national, supranational, international, and transnational actors involved with reproductive rights continue to work out the terms for the interrelation of civil, political, and social aspects of citizenship, as well as the four dimensions of the citizenship regime.

C o n c l u s i on The analytic framework provided by the concept of citizenship regime reveals that the claim for and institutional recognition of abortion rights at the national level cannot be fully understood without attention being paid to their connection to other levels. In this way, Jenson’s concept is useful for opening up analysis of the role of the state in two directions. On the one hand, even if the development of citizenship policies is always the responsibility of state authorities, the concept’s four dimensions make visible the complex nature of this role

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within a decision field for which the agency of civil society actors in any country includes discursive and strategic resources, each of which permit action congruent with that of international, supranational, and transnational actors. The multilevel setting in which these actors are situated allows them to gain legitimacy with the state in order to legitimize their own claims in an extended definition of citizenship. On the other hand, the development of the politics of citizenship policies through the claim for and recognition of abortion rights is located at the intersection of the four dimensions of a citizenship regime: rights, access, belonging, and the responsibility mix. In this context, new gender arrangements transform the configuration of a national citizenship regime. These two analytic directions make the concept useful for studying the role of the state as guarantor of citizenship policies within a multilevel setting, and for an understanding of these changes. At the same time, however, the concept would gain from a critical engagement regarding the rise of linkages between citizenship rights and human rights. These linkages go beyond attempts to legitimize actors and dynamics of political claims-making. The rise and development of a discourse about rights, since the 1970s, has supported the emergence of new actors who have campaigned for human rights – in public and domestic venues – as a way to reinvent citizenship. This reinvention is based on a displacement of the boundaries between the private and the public, and a shift of the separations between the universal and the particular. The theoretical challenge this development creates is especially intense in the case of access to abortion. Indeed, the call for human rights is necessarily contentious, as it brings into opposition activists engaged with the rights of women and activists mobilized for religious reasons – the latter highlighting the right to life of the fetus, and the former the right to health and to a freedom with regard to the physical self. In general, the imbrication of a politics of citizenship with a politics of human rights will demand a fresh look at the concept of citizenship regime.

no t e s   1 I argued for treating reproductive rights as a fourth generation of rights in the late 1990s (Marques-Pereira 1998). Later, other scholars also proposed



  2

  3   4   5   6

  7

  8

  9

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a broadening of the category of citizenship to include reproductive rights and sexual rights within the citizenship frame (for an overview of several positions see Richardson and Turner 2001). Indeed, Turner has argued for analyzing reproduction within this frame, by treating reproductive citizenship alongside civil, political, and social citizenship, and as linked to social rights (Turner 2008). The doctors and other health care providers who disobeyed the law engaged in open resistance to the judicial system. When brought before the courts, they proclaimed their intention to continue providing abortions, even at the risk of being charged and punished by the courts. Similarly, women practised resistance to male control over their bodies when they publicly revealed they had had abortions, despite the legal prohibition. Marques-Pereira (1989) describes conflicts among Belgian political actors during the early politicization process. For the details of how abortions are practised in Belgium’s three regions of Flanders, Wallonia, and Brussels, see Marques-Pereira and Pereira (2014). This position is shared by Isin and Turner (2007, 13–14). The International Women’s Health Coalition was created in 1984, with its head office in New York City. It is an N G O that works on the sexual and reproductive health of women and girls in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East. It works to establish bridges between Southern women and decision makers, and its advocacy is based on achievements ranging from the Cairo Conference of 1994 to the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, adopted unanimously by the 193 members of the UN General Assembly in September 2015. The Belgian legislation requires that the procedure take place in a hospital or health centre within the first twelve weeks of the pregnancy or fourteen weeks since amenorrhea (menstruation). The doctor must certify that the woman is in a “state of distress,” and there is a waiting period of six days between the request for termination and the procedure so that the woman can give her “free and informed” consent. She must also receive full information about contraception. After twelve weeks, only medical reasons can be used to justify termination, and this requires the agreement of two ­doctors. A commission is charged with providing a report evaluating the law to the Senate. Abortion Right is based in Brussels and brings together associations ­supporting abortion rights, particularly those of women and feminists, and family planning federations. See http://www.abortionright.eu. Created in France in November 2012, this is the main collective of rightwing associations that organized large demonstrations against legalizing

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same-sex marriage at the time. After the law was adopted in May 2013, demands were extended to include opposition to same-sex parenting, whether by adoption, medically assisted pregnancy, or surrogacy. See http://www.lamanifpourtous.fr. 10 This NGO was created in April 2010, and is based in Brussels. It advocates and lobbies EU institutions for the protection of the family and marriage, as well as of traditional views on the complementary roles of women and men. See http://www.europeandignitywatch.org. 11 This group was created in 1997 to act as an advocate and lobbyist to EU institutions and the Council of Europe. Acccording to the group, “FA FC E ensures a political representation for family interests from a catholic perspective.” See http://fafce.org. 12 Created in 1991 as an umbrella organization for fifty-five humanist and secularist organizations in twenty-two European countries, and headquartered in Brussels, this N G O works for separation of church and state, and counters the lobbying of religious organizations in European institutions, in particular around women’s sexual and reproductive rights. See http:// humanistfederation.eu/about.php. 13 Based in Washington, this N G O was created in 1973 “to serve as a voice for Catholics who believe that the Catholic tradition supports a woman’s moral and legal right to follow her conscience in matters of sexuality and reproductive health.” (See http://www.catholicsforchoice.org/about-us.) Several church leaders and bishops’ conferences have denounced its selfidentification as Catholic. 14 This group was created in 1990 and is the largest and most important coalition of national and European women’s organizations. It is based in Brussels and is the interlocutor of the European Parliament, Commission and Council of Ministers. See http://www.womenlobby.org.

A f t e rword

Thinking about the Citizenship Regime Then and Now Jane Jen son

In the first half of the 1990s, when the concept of citizenship regime was being developed, the Canadian political world was in rapid motion. The federal election of 1993 put an end to the two-and-ahalf-party system that had dominated Canadian politics since the end of the Second World War. Two upstart parties – the Bloc Québécois (B Q ) and the Reform Party, respectively – became the second and third largest parties in the House of Commons. Indeed, supporters of the independence of Quebec were the Official Opposition, able to promote their views of Quebec-Canada relations at the heart of federal institutions, and the 1995 Quebec referendum was on the horizon. Debates about Canada’s economic future conducted between Canadian nationalists opposed to freer trade and neoliberal international trade enthusiasts had structured discussions of the country’s economic directions for the whole of the previous decade, but were decided politically by the North American Free Trade Agreement (N AF T A), which came into effect on 1 January 1994. In 1993 the government of Brian Mulroney abruptly abolished an institution, the Economic Council of Canada, that had been created to provide expert and technical advice to Canadian governments in the 1960s. The Science Council of Canada was also dismantled the same year. Dismissed as elite and technocratic institutions, they were unpopular in an era in which the voices of “ordinary Canadians” were celebrated as the repository of knowledge about policy direction. From the perspective of the present we can see that the trajectory of Canadian politics was sharply turning. Through the decade of the

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1990s, Canadian politics underwent a sea change. Ranging from large and significant choices about the directions of the economy to seismic adjustments to the party system, a new era in relations with Quebec, and challenges to decades-long practices of state-civil society relations, the disparate events mentioned in the previous paragraph all underpinned the invention of the concept of “Canadian citizenship regime.” By combining perspectives on political economy and party systems with in-depth analytic understandings of the third sector and social movements, Susan Phillips and I sought to make sense of what was happening in what seemed to us even at the time to be a moment of significant change for Canada (Jenson and Phillips 1996). We can now observe that all three terms in the expression “Canadian citizenship regime” are differently inflected now than in the mid-1990s. When each of the three terms is examined separately, as is done in the next three sections, we observe that we got some things right, and were less than accurate about others. Indeed, as these three sections also describe, in several areas we did not predict, and really could not have predicted, the directions of political movement.

C it i z e n s h ip, as S o c ial Ci ti zenshi p In their much-cited article “The Return of the Citizen,” Kymlicka and Norman (1994) described “an explosion of interest in the concept of citizenship among political theorists.” They attributed this new interest, and the revival of attention to Marshall’s (1965a) classic work, in the 1990s to “a natural evolution in political discourse because the concept of citizenship seems to integrate the demands of justice and community membership … Citizenship is intimately linked to ideas of individual entitlement on the one hand and of attachment to a particular community on the other” (Kymlicka and Norman 1994, 352). This explosion of literature in political philosophy could be equally identified in other subfields of political science, such as political economy and sociology, if one used, as Kymlicka and Norman did, a broad approach to citizenship, never narrowly confining it to issues of access to nationality or passport rights. These literatures on citizenship spotlighted the neoliberalism of Margaret Thatcher and of Ronald Reagan’s United States as one factor changing social citizenship, along with debates about multiculturalism and resurgent nationalist movements, including in post-1989 Eastern Europe, that



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were altering definitions of community. All these factors were triggering this “explosion of interest.” The architecture of social citizenship in Canada was no exception to these trends. Indeed, the reshaping of this architecture was one of our key concerns in the mid-1990s, as we watched it being modified according to the new ideas – labelled variously neoconservative or neoliberal – and then driving political choices. Several key decisions marked breaks with past practices of a social citizenship that had only reached its full postwar form in the mid-1960s.1 Prince (2003, 127) identifies three periods from the 1980s to the 2000s that distinguish the federal government’s actions with respect to the social architecture. Efforts to restrain costs of social programs characterized the years 1984 to 1988, years that might be qualified as “neoliberalism lite.” But from 1988 to 1997 the objective was to engage in a larger restructuring of the social role of government. This was true under both Conservative and Liberal governments. The decade brought a number of significant changes in program design and instruments. A third phase, which Prince termed “repairing the social union,” began in 1997. The federal government announced that it had tamed its deficit (by offloading costs to the provinces) and could think again about investing in the social architecture and reasserting its place in the social union – the name developed at the time to describe intergovernmental relations in key areas of social policy. In the first half of the 1990s, then, social citizenship seemed to be menaced via an upheaval in intergovernmental relations. The Canada Assistance Plan (C A P ) was one cornerstone of social rights. Through it, the federal government promised a measure of income security to all citizens by deploying its spending power, transferring funds to the provinces to cover half the costs of their social spending. The Conservative government’s 1990 budget imposed “the ‘cap on C A P ’ [that] decapitated the Canada Assistance Plan and put all the provinces on notice that they too could no longer count on the same level of federal largesse” (Battle 1998, 329).2 Then in 1995, CAP was ended unilaterally by the Liberal government, in the name of its politics of deficit and debt control, and of restructuring the social role of the government. In its place, there would be the Canada Health and Social Transfer (CHST). Using a carrot and stick approach, albeit more stick than carrot, the federal government released the provinces from almost all conditions on spending the money transferred to them, conditions

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that had been meant to ensure a measure of similarity in social programs across all provinces. In exchange they lost billions of dollars of transfers and the guaranteed counter-cyclical funding that allowed them to respond to rising loads of social assistance claims and health care costs during times of economic downturn (Boismenu and Jenson 1998). Of course the federal government quickly tried to get back in the game and rebuild the “social union,” using a variety of tools (Boismenu and Graefe 2004). Nonetheless, the result of this reform was ongoing significant reductions in levels of disposable income available to social assistance recipients. Looking at change over time and comparing 2005 social assistance incomes to the peak year of each province and family type, the National Council of Welfare documented that overall, one-third of all household types lost $3,000 or more in income (Jenson 2010a). The abolition of C A P and subsequent reforms to the social assistance regime in all provinces meant that social assistance recipients’ real incomes, which were below the poverty line at the best of times, forced them to rely increasingly on family solidarity, where it was available, or on community support in the form of food banks and other charitable supports. Similarly, when the postwar Unemployment Insurance program became Employment Insurance (EI) – a 1996 change in name clearly indicating the influence of neoliberalism – conditions for accessing the benefits became much more restrictive. The government was signalling a shift away from the 1970s focus on social cohesion, as well as toward significantly reduced coverage (Banting 2006, 426). These years represented the start of the trend toward significantly rising inequality and what has been termed the “redistributive fade” (Banting and Myles 2013, 17). Thus social citizenship by the mid-1990s was changing. At first it seemed that this retrenchment was simply in contradiction to Marshall’s teleological expectation of constant progress. We saw the modifications as providing less of a safety net for the labour market’s failures to provide an adequate source of income. As Myles, and others, continually reminds us, Canada has always been classified within the family of liberal welfare regimes, whose defining characteristic is “a preference for market solutions to welfare problems” (1998, 342). The labour market is central, but so too are other markets, including those for retirement income via private pensions and for private services such as supplementary health care or child care. What was new in these years was not the underlying preference for



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market solutions, but changes in the instruments used to shape the mix of responsibilities among the family and community, as well as among markets and the state, what we might term the “welfare diamond” (Jenson 2013). What we saw was social citizenship being shrunk, sometimes dramatically. But more was going on than simply retrenchment. What Susan Phillips and I could not see in 1996, of course, was that Canada would then construct an architecture that effected a turn toward the social investment perspective and thereby change certain key principles that had underpinned the post-1945 citizenship regime (Jenson and Saint-Martin 2003). A new perspective on social citizenship has spread around Europe and Latin America, arising out of critiques of the Washington Consensus and neoliberalism more generally. Its target is poverty reduction more than Marshall’s “full and equal membership” (Kymlicka and Norman 1994, 354) and as such it is child-centred and seeks to improve the labour market participation of parents (especially lone parents) and young people. It moves away from both the male breadwinner model of the post-1945 years and the gender equality goals incorporated into social citizenship in the 1970s and 1980s (Jenson 2010b; Nagels 2016). But as a perspective for after-neoliberalism it posits that the state will undertake new actions, intervening in order to foster human capital development as well as social inclusion (Mahon 2008; Saint-Martin and Dobrowolsky 2005, 247–8). Its implementation involves reconfiguring the welfare diamond of neoliberalism and reclaiming space for state action. Thus the state sector would remove, for example, portions of early childhood education and care from the market, and emphasize earlier kindergarten. It would also mean that labour markets, not a male breadwinner or social assistance, would provide most women with their income, although not necessarily one equal to men’s. These ideas were not homegrown in Canada, although Canadians contributed to their development (Dobrowolsky and Saint-Martin 2005). They circulated in international networks to which the federal government (and some provinces) sent representatives, and they percolated through policy communities in the late 1990s, all of which were in search of responses to the challenges and conundrums created by earlier institutions and instruments (Saint-Martin and Dobrowolsky 2005, 255ff). Initiatives within federal-provincial relations, such as the National Child Benefit and the Multilateral Framework Agreement on Early Learning and Child Care, can be interpreted in this context of new

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ideas about the proper directions of social policy and how to rebalance the welfare diamond. Nor could we have foreseen in 1996 the effects on social citizenship of almost a decade of Harper government and the move back toward traditional neoliberal stances. Indeed, these Harper years were probably more in line with what we feared in 1996 than the intervening decade of social investment turned out to be. The federal election of 2006 sparked a federal policy withdrawal from the social investment perspective.3 In 2006 there was a retreat from a key component of the perspective – public funding of child care infrastructure – and the continued retrenchment of EI and social assistance did not look much like the supports for employability that characterized the social investment perspective elsewhere (Morel, Palier, and Palme 2012a). In other words, social citizenship in 2016 was not what it had been in 1996. The swing toward and then away from social investment had both altered some basic principles and shrunk the place of the state in the welfare diamond. But neither was it clear that a new regime with new principles of social citizenship was yet in place. The fragility of the reforms to the social architecture made under the Chrétien and Martin Liberals, as well as the efforts to yet again rethink the role of the federal government after the 2015 election, remind us that not every new policy innovation or changed direction leads to a new regime.

R e g im e , o r C o n c eptuali zi ng “ R e p r e s e n tati on” The notion of stability is essential to any concept that uses the term “regime.” The basic notion is that a range of practices can be effectively captured under a single label and that it represents a larger and more general vision of numerous social relations, from economic to familial, from public to private, from class to gender, and so on. In effect, we chose the label “citizenship regime” precisely to indicate both that it had been stable and that it covered a wide range of institutions and practices that were usually treated as distinct or even unrelated in both public and academic discourse. Our goal was to demonstrate that in the many spaces of movement in Canadian politics observed in the mid-1990s – the party system, the political economy, bureaucratic practices, civil society, and so on – there was a move away from what had been a coherent set of ideas, principles, and



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resulting practices that had been built over several decades. We were, at the time (and probably still are), better able to document the moves away from the previous regime than we were able – as already noted above – to identify what, if anything, would constitute a new regime. The lineage of the concept of regime is important; its intellectual inspiration came from two sources. First was the French regulation approach and its notion of regimes of capitalist social relations. The concept of citizenship regime inherited key premises from this approach: that a regime covered a wide variety of social relations and institutions, and that these, within all modern capitalist development, generated different variants of Fordism in individual countries (Lipietz 1987b; Noël 1987). The analytic task was to identify the characteristics of each. Canada’s was “permeable Fordism,” a capitalist development in which forms of representation such as federalism and brokerage party politics limited the emergence of the clear left-right cleavage that characterized many European countries (Jenson 1989a). The second source of inspiration was the then recently published Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism (Esping-Andersen 1990). The book made the strong claim that to understand the characteristics of different architectures of welfare capitalism (not, it should be noted, welfare states) it was not sufficient to focus on differential industrialization or even capitalism and its classes. Rather, claims-making by social movements and parties, and the state power they could exercise in specific historical contexts, accounted for the differences among social democratic welfare regimes, and liberal or corporatist ones. Moreover, the claims that were made by these parties, unions, and allied organizations such as women’s groups were citizenship claims (Esping-Andersen 1990, ch. 1). These two influences both pointed, in other words, to the centrality of “representation” to any regime, even if the welfare regime literature highlighted this somewhat more than did the regulation approach. They also shared another premise, which was that the label “regime” should be reserved for identifying something big, a stable assemblage of seemingly disparate institutions, such as electoral and party systems, intergovernmental relations, the composition of the political economy (industry or resource extraction, secondary or tertiary), bureaucratic and voluntary sector traditions, and so on. A regime was not simply a policy or even a policy domain.4 These influences taken together led to our combining several types and levels of representation, from collective identities to the relations

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between the state and civil society, in order to understand the drivers of change as well as the characteristics of the postwar regime. The late 1960s had seen the explosion of numerous social movements around the world, calling for protection of civil rights, gay and lesbian rights, reproductive rights, and cultural (especially linguistic) rights. Numerous modern nationalist movements also gave rise to visions of civic nationalism. In the decades that followed, the political situation was often one of ferment, with claims-making serving both to transmit a claim to public authorities and to solidify the identity of the movement itself. As we developed the concept of citizenship regime, the women’s movement in its multiple versions often served as an exemplar of social movement actions and identity work, in part because of our own histories of living through the uprising of secondwave feminism and the many-facetted (and not always positive) reactions to it, and in part because of our own research expertise in such movements.5 We observed, as did social movement scholars everywhere, that social movement organizations made claims that went well beyond the expression of individual preferences via electoral politics. Until the early 1990s, when the Reform Party, the BQ , and then the new Conservative Party of Canada renounced some brokerage positions and practices, the brokerage nature of the party system had meant that in Canada a social movement’s claims were rarely funnelled through a single party. Social movements, including the labour movement, could expect the Progressive Conservatives as much as the Liberals or the New Democratic Party to look favourably on their claims. Feminists were found in all three parties (Dobrowolsky 1998). Indeed, it was the Progressive Conservatives under Mulroney who finally offered a national child care strategy, albeit one with a significant place for the private sector that thereby provoked its (perhaps too hasty) rejection by movement activists (Phillips 1989). Postwar governments also provided symbolic and programmatic acknowledgment of particular categories of equality seekers. There was a shared understanding that translating rights into greater equality would require support for intermediary associations and the advocates within them (Pal 1993; Banting 2010, 810). With respect to immigration, for example, as early as 1951 the Citizenship Branch funded voluntary organizations for programs in the area of training for citizenship (Pal 1993, 79, 85). The notion of multiculturalism as a Canadian value was promoted discursively, and state resources were



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granted to ethnic organizations, as was funding provided to women’s and official language minority groups. But the electoral success of the Reform Party in 1993 spread its discursive enthusiasm for “ordinary Canadians.” This discourse challenged these practices that were supporting (and valuing) intermediary association, making the mid-1990s quite different from before. Women’s groups were dismissed as little more than “special interests” (Dobrowolsky 1998). The shift had effects well beyond feminism. Indeed, Susan Phillips has told the complex story of the “advocacy chill” of these earlier years and how it affected those making claims for greater socio-economic equality. These advocates could exercise some influence during the years when the federal government’s agenda and those of equality seekers coincided, especially around child care, which could be framed in terms of both gender equality and social investment. However, more common was the pattern, especially after 2006, that if they criticized the federal government too much, they found themselves shut out of both consultation and funding. Defunding as well as the government’s willingness to simply ignore their claims led to the collapse of many longstanding organizations, although some moved their advocacy to the provinces (Phillips 2013). In many ways, therefore, our fears in 1996 about the health of civil society have been confirmed. Capacity has been lost and representation has been significantly reduced. Nonetheless, Phillips also points to the ways that civil society organizations that are focused on social citizenship have also followed a road very similar to that of likeminded organizations in Europe, who also needed to adjust their strategies to after-neoliberalism. In the area of social policy, for example, they have been recruited to deliver many of the programs associated with the social investment perspective. As they do, they too have begun to frame their work in terms of social innovation and social enterprise, thereby joining the “social innovation community” now very active on the European and “Global South” political scenes (Phillips 2013, 132ff).6 Beyond that, what we did not clearly see in 1996 was the emergence of successful equality-seeking campaigns by actors concerned less with social rights and more with the civil rights of citizenship. The best example of this has been the success of social movements for gay and lesbian rights that succeeded in their campaigns for same-sex marriage as well as other forms of recognition and reconciliation (M. Smith, this volume). In an increasing number of countries, such

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movements achieved what was almost impossible to imagine in 1996, and there are now widespread practices of recognition and inclusion in sexual politics, all extending the civil rights of citizenship (Paternotte and Kollman 2013). These have also, of course, provoked countermovements, such as those opposed to adoption or access to A R T (artificial reproductive technologies) by same-sex families, while movements opposed to reproductive rights have gained ground in many countries (Heinen 2013; Marques-Pereira, this volume). Here, too, can be mentioned the successes of strategies such as those Kymlicka (2013) has termed “social liberal multiculturalism,” being multicultural policies and practices that emphasize inclusion of new arrivals and established ethnic groups or national minorities into both citizenship and market relations. He cites evidence that even the social relations of neoliberalism may actually, in some situations, be empowering and provide foundations for resilience. Seriously examining such claims leads directly to the third term of the concept, the term that both located the citizenship regime and provided some notion of the content of its belonging dimension.

Is it s t il l “ C anadi an”? The post-1945 Canadian citizenship regime was one that rested on and contributed to the constitution of a pan-Canadian national identity, a sense of belonging. Identity work redefining “Canadian” had begun much earlier, during the 1930s, borne by a generation of intellectuals, activists, and policy makers who represented Canadians to themselves as part of a single, autonomous country, stretching from sea to sea, and open to exercising its international responsibilities in emerging international organizations.7 While most often associated with English-speaking Canadians, this pan-Canadian nationalism could also be expressed in French by, for example, Pierre Trudeau and others like him who rejected a binational, dualist representation of Canada (McRoberts 1997). This work moved forward as the very identity of “Canadian citizen” was given shape by the formal creation of a separate Canadian nationality by the 1947 Citizenship Act, although it did not yet banish the status of “British subject,” promoted by others as an alternative, equally modern identity (Kaplan 1993, 7).8 The notion underpinning the legislation was that “Canada” would subsume more than recognize its regions. When Paul Martin, Sr, presented the Citizenship Act to



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the House of Commons in 1946 he said: “it is not good enough to be a good ‘bluenose’ or a good Ontarian or a good Albertan. Sectional differences and sectional interests must be overcome if we are to do our best for Canada. The only way this can be done is through encouragement of the feeling of legitimate Canadianism” (ibid., 73). The regime rested on numerous country-spanning institutions, including the CBC (television broadcasting began in 1952), and huge construction projects, such as the Trans-Canada Highway (begun in 1950) and the St Lawrence Seaway (1954 to 1959), as well as social programs. The health care system, put into place in the mid-1960s, quickly morphed into a marker of national identity (Banting and Myles 2013, 7). The capstone was in many ways the Official Languages Act that came into effect in 1969, but that had been in gestation since the mid-1960s, and during the widespread public discussion – and changing positions – associated with the Royal Commission on Bilingualism and Biculturalism. Accompanying the 1969 Act was another, equally important piece of legislation for Canadian identity: the 1971 Multiculturalism Act (Pal 1993, ch. 7 and 8). Nonetheless, as we also know, the vision of pan-Canadian nationalism with two official languages recognized from sea to sea was disputed from the start, and from three main sources. Quebeckers claimed that the dualist vision of two founding peoples was the only appropriate representation, one that would give them a distinct place in Canada. Proponents of this dualist vision were challenged on two fronts: by the anti-nationalist Trudeau vision and by those who rejected a Canadian project altogether, such as the movement for Quebec independence (among many available analyses, see G. Laforest 1992; McRoberts 1997). Not surprisingly, by the mid-1990s, after three decades of heated political and social debate, an alternative understanding of citizenship and its practices had emerged in Quebec, one that made it possible even in the mid-1990s to identify a distinct Quebec citizenship regime, and that structured politics in the province (Papillon and Turgeon 2003). What we could not yet see in the mid-1990s, however, was the extent to which the “distribution fade” and decentralization of the federation (Banting and Myles 2013, ch. 1) had left more than adequate space for all provincial governments to rework crucial dimensions of citizenship rights – from social rights to entry rights for immigrants (Paquet 2016). For some of the dimensions that compose a citizenship regime, there may no longer be a single, predominant

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definition. Indeed, as the largest cities – Toronto, Vancouver, Montreal, Calgary – find themselves faced with the challenge of providing holistic environments of inclusion and protection for their residents, and as local identities grow, the content of national and even provincial “citizenship” becomes more varied. The second key source of rejection of the post-1945 vision of panCanadian citizenship came from Indigenous peoples. Just as the regime was reaching its most elaborated form in the late 1960s, Indigenous movements were contesting both the long-standing practices of the colonialist Indian Act of 1876 and, even more forcefully, the 1969 White Paper on Indian Policy, with its assimilationist goals. By the mid-1990s, when we developed the concept of citizenship regime, there had already been more than three decades of political mobilization and response to it, including the 1982 Constitution Act’s recognition of Aboriginal rights. It was abundantly clear that the representation of Canada as bilingual and multicultural failed to satisfy Indigenous peoples. Instead, the “politics of recognition” appeared to be building a significant, new understanding of what Canadian citizenship would be like in the future. In the popular imaginary, even the geography had changed, as “sea to sea” became “sea to sea to sea,” to acknowledge the role of the northern territories and peoples. What we could not see at the time was that two decades later the politics of recognition would itself be disputed by the appearance within Indigenous communities of an even more radical critique of colonialism and its consequences, a critique that does not seek recognition or even Aboriginal self-government, but rather a whole new relationship. One manifestation of this position is the Idle No More movement that became widely visible in 2014, which claims: “The impetus for the recent Idle No More events lies in a centuries old resistance as Indigenous nations and their lands suffered the impacts of exploration, invasion and colonization. Idle No More seeks to assert Indigenous inherent rights to sovereignty and reinstitute traditional laws and Nation to Nation Treaties by protecting the lands and waters from corporate destruction” (Idle No More 2017).9 The positions that support this stance are intersectional, insisting on the inextricability of the problems of, for example, violence against Indigenous women, youth suicide rates, poverty, and so on. But rather than seeing these as repairable through good public policy and a respect for rights, the roots of the problems are described as being the very consequence of, and inherent in, the structural relations with the settler colonial state called “Canada.” The premise is that these



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conditions cannot be addressed without addressing the structural oppression of settler colonialism, with Indigenous sovereignty being accepted alongside Canadian sovereignty (see Coulthard 2014, whose book title, Red Skin, White Masks: Rejecting the Colonial Politics of Recognition, summarizes the argument). Whether this movement will gain widespread support and sufficient force to challenge political institutions and practices remains to be seen, but it does signal that what appeared in the mid-1990s to be a shared consensus about how to address Indigenous issues is now far less consensual, especially within Indigenous communities themselves. One of the characteristics of this politics signals the third way that the post-1945 citizenship regime and its emerging characteristics identified in the mid-1990s have shifted. The “indigeneity movement” is transnational, and the scale of claims-making ranges from the smallest local community to the fully international. This perspective raises the issue of the scale of the citizenship regime. If originally it made perfect sense to identify citizenship regimes with the name of a country, and if identifying subnational regimes needed ample justification in terms of institutional arrangements as well as political discourse, this country-centred common sense is now less useful. To be sure, countries still have citizenship regimes, but subnational regimes have become easier to identify. In addition, the notion of transnational regimes is no longer an innovation. Antje Wiener saw a transnational regime from the beginning, with her pathbreaking work on the European citizenship regime (1995, 1998). Since then, however, it has become clear that one can think about citizenship regimes well beyond the singular or sui generis case of the European Union, which has long had pretensions of becoming a locus of identity and granted citizenship rights, including by providing a European cover for passports still granted by member states. Processes of citizenization, without necessarily being labelled as such by their promoters, can be identified in some international regimes (e.g., Auvachez 2009). This blurring of boundaries, both below the national level and above it, is now one of the large political processes that creates a challenge for those who use the concept of citizenship regime.

C o n c l u si on Several of the chapters in this book approach the concept of citizenship regime through an examination of its constitutive dimensions, using them to examine politics in Canada and elsewhere, both at the

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national and subnational levels. Others provide analyses of the ways citizenship is now being invented and regulated at transnational and international as well as supranational levels. This chapter has taken another tack. It has broken down and examined the three keywords implied by the concept of “Canadian citizenship regime,” as it was first imagined by Susan Phillips and myself in the mid-1990s. Via this reflection on the patterns and directions of politics over more than two decades, my conclusion is that the second and third keywords remain fully relevant for thinking about contemporary politics. If we could not anticipate the future in 1996, that is normal. Social scientists have little if any capacity to predict political futures, if only because politics and policies are the result of agents’ strategies, albeit under constraint. Thus, the failure to anticipate is not the test of a concept’s utility. The real measure of thinking in terms of citizenship regimes, rather than multiple and constantly changing policy regimes, or simply policies, is the way in which the concept forces attention on the intersection and interdependence of multiple phenomena – including most generally representation, identity, and policy choices – most often treated separately by analysts. It is the third keyword, one that was always empirical rather than theoretical, that has become more problematic. It was always possible to provide another adjective for another national or subnational case (such as Quebec, Belgian, Peruvian, and so on). Now, however, the imbrication of national citizenship regimes in supranational and transnational institutional and political assemblages makes it necessary to rethink the scale at which the rights, access, and belonging dimensions of citizenship ideas and practices are being deployed and are setting the conditions under which citizens and their movements can make their claims. This means, of course, that research at these frontiers of citizenship is tremendously promising.

no t e s   1 The design of the regime was an ongoing process, with the 1960s being the moment when the “postwar” regime actually had all of its pieces in place. (This longer story is presented in Jenson 2010a.)   2 Instead of the open-ended financing in which the federal government matched the spending choices of the provinces, the Conservative government imposed a limit of 5 per cent annually for any increase in transfers to the three richest provinces.



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  3 Some instruments, such as the National Child Benefit, were not completely abandoned, while several provinces continued to orient their social policy according to the principles of the perspective (Jenson 2013, 59–60). Nonetheless, neoliberals’ preference for reinforcing the family corner of the welfare diamond returned in 2006 with, for example, the so-called Universal Child Care Benefit (U CCB) that did nothing to ensure access to affordable child care.   4 In this sense, this approach to the citizenship regime encompasses a much wider range of policy domains than the nationality conditions or immigrant reception practices sometimes described as citizenship regimes (e.g., Vink and Bauböck 2013). These are more properly labelled policy regimes (e.g., Wright and Bloemraad 2012).   5 Susan Phillips’s PhD thesis (1990) on the Canadian women’s movement (“Projects, Pressure and Perceptions of Effectiveness”) was an organizational analysis of the movement, tracking the network and links among social movement organizations. At the same time, Jenson was writing on the French women’s movement and the Canadian reproductive rights movement.   6 The concept of social enterprise (usually termed the économie sociale) has shaped Quebec social citizenship practices for decades. More recently, those promoting the concept of économie sociale et solidaire within the francophone world have joined with the promoters of social innovation coming from other continental welfare regimes (like Germany), as well as social democratic and liberal welfare regimes, in the vast movement toward reforming old practices via social innovation, and particularly under the guidance of social entrepreneurs (Jenson 2017; Ewert and Evers 2014).   7 See for example the prize-winning 1942 book The Unknown Country by leading journalist Bruce Hutchison, as well as the discussion by Guy Laforest (1992).   8 Despite the hopes of many who originally proposed a new law, controversy surrounding the Act resulted in retaining the status of British subject for more than a generation. Some reasons for why that status was popular, beyond the ranks of imperialists, can be found in an intriguing vision of the “wider” postwar world. For example, enthusiasts of keeping the category of British subject often described membership in the Commonwealth as a way that Canadians could embrace pluralism. After describing the loyalty to Canada inherent in Canadian citizenship, Lindal wrote: “But this man of Manitoba is also a British subject … It is relatively easy to be loyal to your native land, to be nothing but a Canadian, a Greek or a Belgian. The wider the outlook the more adjusting has to be done in our

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thinking. From that point of view and in that sense it is more difficult to be a British subject than a Canadian citizen.” A few paragraphs later he says: “If the people of Canada succeed in properly correlating their diverse loyalties, they have reason to feel that Canada is providing a pattern which other nations may well follow” (Lindal 1947, 153–4, 157).   9 See http://www.idlenomore.ca/story.

References

L e ga l C ase s Calder et al. v. Attorney-General of British Columbia [1973] S.C.R. 313. Canada (A.G.) v. Mossop [1993] 1 S.C.R. 554. Daniels v. Canada (Indian Affairs and Northern Development) [2016] S.C.C. 12. Delgamuukw v. British Columbia [1997] 3 S.C.R. 1010. Egan v. Canada [1995] 2 S.C.R. 513. M. v. H. [1999] S.C.J. No. 23. R. v. Marshall [1999] 3 S.C.R. 456. Reference re Securities Act [2011] S.C.C. 66. Reference re Supreme Court [2014] S.C.C. 21. Reference re Senate Reform [2014] S.C.C. 32. Rosenberg v. Canada (Attorney General) [1998] 38 O.R. (3d) 577. Vriend v. Alberta [1998] 1 S.C.R. 493. XY v. Ontario (Government and Consumer Services) [2012] H.R.T.O. 726.

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Contributors

M a rc o s A n c e l ov i c i holds the Canada Research Chair in the Sociology of Social Conflicts and is an associate professor in the Department of Sociology at the Université du Québec à Montréal (U Q A M ). He works on social movements and contentious politics and has been studying anti-austerity protests in Europe and North America, as well as housing and student protests in Spain, France, and Quebec. He is simultaneously working on how to apply the ­sociology of Pierre Bourdieu and field theory to the study of contentious politics. He recently coedited, together with Pascale Dufour and Héloïse Nez, Street Politics in the Age of Austerity: From the Indignados to Occupy (Amsterdam University Press, 2016). Ja mes B ic k e rto n is a professor of political science at St Francis Xavier University. His research interests span the fields of Canadian federalism and regionalism, as well as party and electoral politics. He has published thirteen books, including most recently Canadian Politics (2014) and Governing: Essays in Honour of Donald J. Savoie (2013). He is the author of Nova Scotia, Ottawa and the Politics of Regional Development (1990), and co-author of Freedom, Equality and Community (2006), Ties That Bind: Parties and Voters in Canada (1999), and The Almanac of Canadian Politics (1995). He has served on both the federal and provincial Electoral Boundary Commission for Nova Scotia. M a x i m e B o u c h e r holds a PhD in political science from the Université de Montréal. He is currently a postdoctoral fellow at the University of Waterloo. Maxime’s research has appeared in the

316 Contributors

Canadian Journal of Political Science and Administration contemporaine de l’État. His research focuses on two complementary aspects of lobbying and corporate political activities. He makes use of “big data” sources such as the lobbying registry to show how Canadian political institutions affect the relations between organized interests and policymakers. He is also interested in the regulation of corporate lobbying and other forms of corporate political activities in North America and Europe. His research on the topic shows how lobbying regulation affects corporate political rights in contemporary democracies. N e i l B r a d f o r d is a professor and chair of the Department of Political Science at Huron University College, University of Western Ontario. His research interests cover urban and regional development, multilevel governance, and the role of ideas in political life and public policy. Between 2003 and 2009 he was the research fellow in Cities and Communities at Canadian Policy Research Networks (C P R N ), and he has advised governments at all levels, as well as international research organizations, on place-based policy. Along with many articles, chapters, and reports, he is the author of Commissioning Ideas: Canadian National Policy Innovation in Comparative Perspective (1998) and the coeditor of Governing Urban Economies: Innovation and Inclusion in Canadian City-Regions (2014). A l e x a n d r a D o b rowo l s k y is a professor of political science at Saint Mary’s University and an adjunct professor in the Faculty of Graduate Studies and the Schulich School of Law at Dalhousie University. She is an award-winning teacher and researcher. She teaches in the fields of Canadian politics; comparative politics; and women, gender, and politics. She has published in an array of national and international journals and written, edited, and coedited five books on issues of representation and citizenship, broadly conceived. Her books include The Warmth of the Welcome: Is Atlantic Canada a Home Away from Home for Immigrants? (2015), Women and Public Policy in Canada: Neo-liberalism and After? (2012), and Women, Migration and Citizenship: Making Local, National and Transnational Connections (2006). She has coedited a special issue of the Review of Constitutional Studies, and most recently is the coeditor of the Finding Feminisms special issue of the Canadian Journal of Political Science (July 2017).

Contributors 317

Pasc a le D u f o ur is full professor at the Université de Montréal in the Department of Political Science. She is working on social movements and collective action in comparative perspective (Canada, Europe). She is the editor of Politique et Sociétés and director of the undergraduate program on feminist studies. Her current research projects concern the institutional foundations of protest in education and housing (with Marcos Ancelovici), informal participation (with Laurence Bherer), and building transnational solidarities in the World March of Women through food sovereignty (with Dominique Masson and Janet Conway). She has recently published Trois espaces de protestation: France, Canada, Québec (2013) and coedited Street Politics in the Age of Austerity (2016). Aude-Claire Fourot is an associate professor of political science at Simon Fraser University. Her research combines public policy, comparative politics, and Canadian politics. Her publications deal with ethnocultural, religious, and linguistic diversities in Canada and Europe, particularly at the municipal scale. She published a book on the integration of immigrants in the cities of Montreal and Laval in the province of Quebec (L’intégration des immigrants: Cinquante ans d’action publique locale, 2013). Her work has been featured in Canadian and international journals, such as the Canadian Journal of Political Science, Canadian Public Administration, Gouvernement et action publique, and Politique européenne. Ja n e Je nson is a professor emerita at the Université de Montréal, where she became a professor of political science in 1993. In 2001 (renewed in 2008) she was awarded the Canada Research Chair in Citizenship and Governance. Between 1999 and 2004 she was the director of the Family Network of the Canadian Policy Research Networks (C P R N ), a policy think tank. In that position she wrote numerous research reports on Canada’s social architecture. She earned her BA Honours from McGill University and a PhD from the University of Rochester. She taught at Carleton University until 1993. She was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada in 1989 and named a fellow of the Trudeau Foundation in 2005. In 2004 she became a senior fellow of the Successful Societies program of the Canadian Institute for Advanced Research (C I F A R ). She has been a visiting professor at several European universities, including the Universität Augsburg, Freie Universität Berlin, the European University Institute

318 Contributors

in Florence, and the Université libre de Bruxelles. At Harvard University she held the William Lyon Mackenzie King Chair in Canadian Studies in 1989 to 1990. Rachel Laforest is an associate professor and head of the Public Policy and Third Sector Initiative in the School of Policy Studies, Queen’s University. Her areas of expertise are the study of governance and intersectoral collaboration. Her current research interests are poverty reduction strategies, mental health and addictions, and education policy. She is also interested in intergovernmental relations and Canadian politics. She is the author of Voluntary Sector Organizations and the State (2011), which won the ANSER-ARES Best Book Award in 2014. She is also the editor of Government-Nonprofit Relations in Times of Recession (2013) and The New Federal Policy Agenda and the Voluntary Sector: On the Cutting Edge (2009). R i a n n e M a h o n holds a Global Commission on Internet Governance (CIGI) Chair at the Balsillie School of International Affairs and is a political science professor at Wilfrid Laurier University. She has published comparative work on labour market restructuring, the politics of child care policy, and the redesign of welfare regimes at the local, national, and global scales. She has coedited numerous books, and recently coauthored Advanced Introduction to Social Policy with Daniel Béland. Her current work focuses on the role of international organizations and the (lack of) governance of transnational care chains. Bérengère Marques-Pereira is a professor of political science and social science at the Université libre de Bruxelles. She has been the president of the Belgian Association of Political Science, where she created the group Gender and Politics, over which she still presides. She is also the past president of the Université des femmes, an adult education organization officially recognized by the Federation WalloniaBrussels. She has authored several publications focused on the citizenship of women and on Latin American politics. N o r a N ag e l s is an assistant professor in political science at the Université de Québec à Montréal (UQAM). She received her doc­torate in development studies from the Graduate Institute, Geneva, in 2013.

Contributors 319

Her thesis is titled “Genre et politiques de lutte contre la pauvreté au Pérou et en Bolivie: Quels enjeux de citoyenneté?” She received a postdoctoral fellowship from the Fonds national suisse de la recherche scientifique (SN F ) and held the 2013 Research Chair in Citizenship and Governance, in which she pursued research on gender and conditional cash transfers (C C T ) in Latin America. She then received a postdoctoral fellowship from CÉRIUM at the Université de Montréal (2013 to 2014) to continue this research, and in particular to examine the patterns of gender relations diffused with the social investment perspective in Latin America. Her research is concerned with gender, citizenship, and social policies in Latin America. She has recently published on comparative politics, C C T s, development, citizenship, and gender in leading journals such as Social Policy and Administration, Social Policy and Society, Revue internationale de politique comparée, and Lien social et Politiques. Ma rtin P a p i l l on is an associate professor of political science at the Université de Montréal. His research looks into the ongoing transformation of citizenship in Canada, with a focus on Indigenous politics. He has published on the interplay of Indigenous governments with Canadian federalism, the implementation of land claims and self-government agreements, and multilevel governance in the context of Indigenous social policy. He recently coedited Canada: The State of the Federation, 2013 ­– Aboriginal Multilevel Governance and Les Autochtones et le Québec: Des premiers contacts au Plan Nord (2013). His most recent publications focus on the implementation of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Mir eille P aq ue t is an assistant professor of political science at Concordia University and the cofounder of Concordia’s Centre for Immigration Policy Evaluation (C I P E ). She conducts research on immigration policy and politics in Canada, North America, and Australia. Her current work focuses especially on the contemporary influence of the public service on immigration policy design in Quebec and Canada. Her work has appeared in the Canadian Journal of Political Science, Policy and Society, the Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, Politique et Sociétés, and the Journal of International Migration and Integration. She is the author of La fédéralisation de l’immigration au Canada (2016).

320 Contributors

Su sa n P h il l i p s is a professor at the School of Public Policy and Administration, Carleton University, and graduate supervisor of its Master of Philanthropy and Nonprofit Leadership. Her research focuses on comparative public policy governing civil society organizations and philanthropy. She serves as editor-in-chief of the leading journal in this field, Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly, and is coeditor of The Routledge Companion to Philanthropy (2016). She is proud to have had Jane Jenson as her doctoral supervisor and later to work with Jenson on advancing the concept of citizenship regimes, particularly as coauthor of the 1996 article “Regime Shift: New Citizenship Practices in Canada.” Denis Saint-Martin is a professor in the Department of Political Science at the Université de Montréal. He studied at Carleton University and at the Harvard Center for European Studies. He is an expert in comparative public administration and policy. His research focuses on the regulation of ethics in politics, welfare state reform, and the role of expertise in policy development. He was recently awarded an SS HR C grant to study the political economy of corruption and transparency in public and private sector organizations in OEC D countries. Mir ia m Smi t h is a professor in the Law and Society program in the Department of Social Science at York University. Her research areas are Canadian and comparative politics, with a focus on LGBTQ political and legal mobilization. Among other works, she is the author of A Civil Society? Collective Actors in Canadian Political Life (2005) and Political Institutions and Lesbian and Gay Rights in the United States and Canada (2008).

Index

abortion rights: anti-abortion activism, 14, 19, 23, 240, 247, 250; in Belgium, 241–2, 246–9; and European integration, 251; medical paradigm, 248–9; monitoring, 19, 249–51; multilevel setting, 239–40, 252; public responsibility, 239, 241, 242, 247, 249; stigma, 248 Abu-Laban, Yasmeen, 203, 205 access: Canadian postwar regime, 50, 63–4, 132–3; change, 44, 49, 64, 80–1, 83, 241, 246; corporate, 18, 64–5, 67; definition, 5, 145; immigrants, 129, 133–4, 135, 137, 138; inclusion, 9, 86; institutional arrangements, 10, 34, 45, 63–4, 73, 78, 94, 95, 110, 120, 121, 123, 163, 167, 171, 207, 239; scale, 13. See also citizenship as regime: dimensions Acheson, Nicholas, 57 A C T O (Advocacy Center for Tenants Ontario), 181 agency, 8, 15–7, 32, 147, 162; change, 15, 17, 30, 79, 80, 81,

90; class, 26; inclusion, 19, 24; Indigenous politics, 77–9, 81, 87, 88, 91, 93–5; and insurgent citizenship scholars, 211, 214; and neoliberalism, 9; and political opportunity structure, 168; representation, 24; and reproductive freedom, 19, 241, 242; and scale, 252 Alberta, 136, 196–7 Alfred, Taiaiake, 84 Alic, John, 41n7 Altamirano-Jiménez, Isabel, 93 Ancelovici, Marcos, 14, 16, 21, 22, 168, 184, 185n6 Andersen, Chris, 86 Andersen, Jørgen, 48–9 Anderson, Benedict, 146 Andrew, Caroline, 232 Andrew-Gee, Eric, 193, 194 Anglin, Roland, 221 Armstrong, Elizabeth, 168 Atkinson, Michael M., 125 Auvachez, Élise, 15, 243, 267 Bakker, Isabella, 200 Banaszak, Lee Ann, 185n3

322 Index

Banting, Keith, 121, 140n8, 155, 258, 262, 265 Barber, John, 200, 203 Barclay, Scott, 114 Bartleman, James K., 134 Battle, Ken, 257 Bauböck, Rainer, 269n4 Béland, Daniel, 41n3, 41n4 Bell, David, 111–12, 114 Bellier, Irène, 94 belonging, 3, 13, 35, 83, 120, 187, 195, 209, 238, 241, 246, 264; assessing, 34, 86; Canadian postwar regime, 10, 12, 121, 124, 135; change, 18, 34, 87, 89; cities, 210, 235, 236; and citizenization, 148; definition, 6, 34, 35, 74, 79, 120, 135, 167, 207, 239; exclusion, 80; extension of rights, 19; gender, 249; immigrants, 138, 187; and identity, 6, 207; Indigenous, 87, 89, 94, 95; and membership, 34, 74, 77, 78, 85, 87, 89, 256; national identity, 145–8, 163; and outputs, 46; province building, 135–7; scale, 15, 20. See also citizenship as regime: dimensions Berger, Suzanne, 170 Bergqvist, Christina, 31 Berman, Sheri, 221 Bernstein, Mary, 168 Bevir, Martin, 43 Beyond Marriage, 114 Bickerton, James, 6, 17, 18, 22, 149, 157, 160 Biles, Roger, 217, 219, 220 Binnie, Jon, 111–12, 114 Blackstock, Cindy, 90 Blau, Benjamin M., 67

Bloemraad, Irene, 269n4 Blossfeld, Hans-Peter, 169 Blue Ribbon Panel, 59 Blyth, Mark, 212 Boismenu, Gérard, 57, 124, 258 Borrows, John, 82, 96n3 Bosia, Michael J., 108, 109, 113 Bouchard, Marie J., 179 Boucher, Maxime, 5, 18, 19, 22, 70 Boyd, Susan, 105, 113 Bradburn, Jamie, 101 Bradford, Neil, 8, 23, 152, 164n2, 226, 227, 233 Brenner, Neil, 210, 211, 235 bricolage, 215, 234; United States, 218–20; Sweden, 223–5; Canada, 229–32 British Columbia, 126, 129, 132, 133, 197 Brodie, Janine, 27, 28, 29, 107, 125, 135, 139n2, 189, 196, 200, 227 Brough, Tyler J., 67 Bryden, Joan, 190 Bugeja-Bloch, Fanny, 175 Burgess, Mark, 190 Buss, Doris, 247 Butler, Judith, 114 Cairns, Alan, 88, 144, 151, 152, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160 Cameron, David, 160 Cameron, David (politician), 188, 191, 198, 206 Campbell, John, 215, 216 Campbell, Rosie, 198, 199 Canada (as author), 86, 87, 140n5, 228 Canaday, Margot, 115 Careless, Anthony, 227

Index 323

Carroll, Barbara W., 180 Carstensen, Martin, 215 Carty, R. Kenneth, 189, 190, 204 Carver, Humphrey, 228 Castles, Francis, 31 Cazenave, Noel, 220 C E D A W (Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women), 244 Chari, Raj, 67 Charter of Rights and Freedoms (Canada), 11, 102, 103, 104, 105, 111, 154, 155, 157, 161 Chase, Steven, 203 Childs, Sarah, 198, 199 C H R T (Canadian Human Rights Tribunal), 76 Chwalisz, Claudia, 194 citizenization, 118, 128, 146–8, 154, 158, 163 citizenship as regime: as analytical toolkit, 6, 9, 13, 14, 116, 122, 138, 165, 167; challenges, 15–21, 40, 41, 43, 46, 77, 95, 97, 107–15, 116, 138, 147, 162, 206–7, 268, 252; contributions, 3–4, 12, 16, 24, 30, 33, 40, 41, 43, 95, 108, 115–16, 122, 147, 165, 167, 238, 251–2, 268; definition, 4, 13, 32, 44–5, 79, 98–9, 120, 165, 238–9; dimensions, 4–6, 33–4, 45, 79, 115, 120, 127–37, 145, 167, 187, 206–7, 238–9, 246, 268; genesis, 3, 6–8, 9, 23, 255, 256, 257; regime (change and stability), 17–19, 78–9, 80, 83, 84, 95–6, 108, 239, 260 citizenship practices, 20, 89, 94, 95, 100, 120, 138, 241, 256;

belonging, 195, 239; corporate strategies as, 65; heterogeneity, 138; immigrant, 133, 187; Indigenous, 78, 79, 82, 85, 92, 94, 95; and state legitimacy, 237; transformative, 19, 22, 63, 79, 80, 81, 82, 90, 121, 122 citizenship studies, 119–20, 256 Civil Marriage Act (2005), 98 civil society, 40, 43, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56–9, 60, 106, 107, 167, 177, 240, 242, 245, 252, 256, 260, 262, 263 Clarkson, Stephen, 154, 190 class, 7, 9, 16, 24, 25–30, 31, 32, 34, 40, 41, 50, 80, 187, 195–6, 204, 217, 222, 234, 235, 244, 260 class power resource thesis, 26–7 Cochrane, Allan, 211, 212, 213 coexistence of regimes, 12, 19, 47, 59, 79, 84, 85, 120–2, 126 Coletto, David, 189 collaborative federalism, 160 Coman, Ramona, 67 Commission politique du Parti libéral du Québec, 140n6 community sector, 24, 33, 38, 178, 183 Conley, Dalton, 169 Conservative Party (Britain), 188, 189–90, 191–2, 194, 195, 197, 198–9, 203, 205 Conway, Daniel-Patrick, 142, 158 Cook, Ramsay, 153, 158 Copps, Sheila, 200 Corntassel, Jeff, 84 corporate citizenship regime, 18, 22, 61, 65; comparative perspective on, 61, 62, 66, 68; corporate

324 Index

donations, 68–9; corporate political rights, 5, 61, 62, 65, 66, 68, 69, 74, 75; lobbying, 22, 61, 62, 64–71, 75, 242, 247, 250; lobbying rules, 69–71; regulatory provisions, 66–73; representation, 65, 73–4; revolving door lobbying, 71–3; roots, 63; transition to, 64–6 corporate social responsibility, 73 corporatist regime, 31, 32, 33, 37 Correa, Sonia, 245 Corriveau, Patrice, 101 Coulthard, Glen S., 88, 267 Council of the Federation, 160 C P C (Conservative Party of Canada), 189–90, 192, 196, 199–200, 202–4, 205–6, 262, 268n2. See also Harper, Stephen; Harper government Craig, David, 212 Crozier, Michael, 43, 47 C R P (Center for Responsive Politics), 67 Cumming, Peter, 87 Curran, Rachel, 58 Curtice, John, 189, 197, 202 Cutts, David, 190 Dabin, Simon, 92 Da Costa, Paulo Mauricio Teixeira, 70 Dansereau, Francine, 178, 179, 181 Daoust, Jean-Francois, 92 Darviche, Mohammad-Saïd, 135 Davies, Gareth, 216, 217, 219, 220, 230 Dawson, Robert McGregor, 151 Deacon, Bob, 41

decommodification, 8, 26, 27, 31, 175 defamilialization, 30–2, 37 Dennis, Michael, 231 Dennison, James, 194, 195, 196, 201, 202 Desage, Fabien, 177 Dirks, Gerald E., 140n3 Divay, Gérard, 15 Dobrowolsky, Alexandra, 5, 6, 9, 13, 14, 16, 18, 20, 22, 32, 34, 39, 41n1, 75, 80, 121, 187, 191, 193, 199, 200, 204, 259, 262, 263 Dornan, Christopher, 200 Dos Santos, Luis Alberto, 70 Dreger, Joanna, 67 Dreier, Peter, 212 Driant, Jean-Claude, 176 dual earner, 36–7, 40 Duchin, Ran, 67 Duffy, Bobby, 194, 196, 201 Dufour, Frédérick Guillaume, 14 Dufour, Pascale, 14, 16, 21, 22, 166, 167, 174 Duggan, Lisa, 112, 113 Duhl, Leonard, 217 Dupuy, Claire, 170 Dutrisac, Robert, 76 Easton, David, 46 Economist (weekly), 200 Elander, Ingemar, 223, 225 elections, 22, 187, 188; Canada vs Britain (institutional comparison), 189–91; class, 195–6; ­distinctive imaginaries, 194–5; gender, 198–201; racialization, 201–4; responsibility mix, 191– 4; regions, 196–8

Index 325

Ellis, Faron, 190, 192 Esping-Andersen, Gøsta, 8, 24–32, 33, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41n3, 42n9, 120, 167, 175, 261. See also welfare regime Estevez-Abe, Margarita, 32 Estrela, Edite, 250 European citizenship, 15, 35 European citizenship regime, 35, 267 European Union, 15, 35, 37, 38, 250, 267 Evers, Adalbery, 8, 269n6 Ewert, Benjamin, 269n6 exclusion. See inclusion F C M (Federation of Canadian Municipalities), 232 feminism: advocacy, 240, 241, 247, 262; in Belgium, 240, 241, 248, 250; in Canada, 121, 262, 263; civil disobedience, 242; heteronormativity, 107; reaction to, 40, 198, 200, 247; moni­ toring rights, 19; recognition, 103 Ferragina, Emanuele, 32 Ferrera, Maurizio, 31 financialization, 53, 55 Fish, Susan, 231 Fisher, Stephen D., 202 Fleckenstein, Timo, 32 Fletcher, Neil, 55 Flinders, Matthew, 194 Forcier, Mathieu, 14 Ford Foundation: urban program, 218, 219, 221, 230 Foster, Dawn, 206 Fourot, Aude-Claire, 12 Fraser, Nancy, 40

Friedland, Roger, 25, 42n9 Friedman, Milton, 73 Gagnon, Alain-G., 13, 15, 154, 160 Galabuzi, Grace-Edward, 205 Galbraith, John Kenneth, 217 Gallie, Duncan, 42n9 Gamble, Andrew, 191, 192 Gautier, Arlette, 247 Geddes, Andrew, 189, 190, 192, 195, 197, 202 Gélineau, François, 197 gender: as electoral issue, 188, 197, 198–201, 204, 205; gendered citizenship, 114, 117; heteronormativity, 105, 114, 117; inclusion, 187; inequality, 7, 14, 16, 29, 30, 34, 40, 245, 247; new gender arrangements, 249, 251, 252; protecting gains, 242; representation, 16, 81, 241, 260, 263; reproductive rights, 244, 246, 249–52, 259; and social investment perspective, 36, 39. See also abortion rights; feminism; LG B TQ politics; reproductive freedom Genieys, William, 135 Gentile, Patrizia, 101, 111 Gertler, Meric, 210, 235 Ghékière, Laurent, 175 Gibbins, Roger, 155, 158, 159, 161 Gifford, Brian, 169 Giugni, Marco, 169 Glendinning, Caroline, 31 Glick-Schiller, Nina, 20 global cities, 32 global citizenship, 243 globalization, 35, 36, 74, 89, 124, 209, 236–7, 245, 247–8

326 Index

Global Social Impact Investment Steering Group, 54 Global South, 14, 24, 30, 31, 33, 38, 40, 263 Goodwin, Jeff, 168 Goodwin, Matthew, 194, 195, 196, 197, 201, 202 Goodyear-Grant, Elizabeth, 199 Gough, Ian, 31, 33, 40 governance: arrangements, 33–5, 38, 45, 48, 49, 58, 59, 73, 82, 120, 142, 238; beyond the state, 43, 84, 93, 95; Canadian postwar regime, 10, 50, 121, 151; vs citizenship as regime (concept of), 46; legitimacy deficit, 142; meta-governance, 49; nationstate regime, 147; neoliberalism, 123; and outputs, 43, 46, 47, 49, 132; provinces, 134, 160; scale, 21, 24, 35, 41, 92; and urban policy, 210, 211, 212, 213, 219, 225, 236 Graefe, Peter, 57, 89, 124, 258 Graham, Andrew, 59 Graham, Katherine A., 232 Grammond, Sébastien, 85 Green, Alan G., 128 Green, David A., 128 Greenwood, Justin, 67 Grundy, John, 90, 166 Gulian, Thomas, 14, 15 Gustavesen, Annelin, 44, 48, 57 Hacker, Jacob, 83 Hackworth, Jason, 181 Haddow, Rodney, 229 Hager, Mike, 202 Halikiopoulou, Daphne, 202 Halpern, Charlotte, 170

Halpern, Robert, 218 Hanley, Jill, 183 Harder, Lois, 191, 192 Harding, Alan, 212 Harell, Allison, 204 Harper, Stephen, 199–200, 204 Harper government (Canada), 52, 60, 110, 114, 190, 194, 195, 197, 199, 200, 260 Harrington, Michael, 217, 219 Hartley, Leslie Poles, 149 Hassenteufel, Patrick, 14 Healey, Patsy, 210 Heclo, Hugh, 215, 221, 222, 223, 225 Heinen, Jacqueline, 250, 251, 264 Hemerijck, Anton 38, 42n9, 209, 210 Herzenberg, Stephen, 41n7 heteronormativity, 107, 114–15, 247. See also homonormativity; normativity Hinsliff, Gaby, 205 historical institutionalism, 3, 7, 15 Hodge, Gerald, 226, 228 Hogan, John, 67 Holly, Grant, 12 Holman, Craig, 67 Holston, James, 210 homonationalism, 97, 109, 113 homonormativity, 97, 110, 113. See also heteronormativity; normativity homophobia, 108–9, 113, 114, 115 Houard, Noémie, 177 housing regime, 166, 171, 175, 176, 178, 182, 183, 184; France, 172–3, 175–8; Ontario, 174–5, 180–3; policy, 22, 169, 170, 171, 175, 177, 179, 180, 182, 222,

Index 327

232, 234, 235; Quebec, 173–4, 178–80; struggles, 171–2 Hrebenar, Ronald J., 67 Hudon, Marcellin, 179 Hudson, John, 32, 59 Hulchanski, J. David, 180 human rights, 35, 52, 97, 102–7; and abortion rights, 245, 252 Hutchison, Bruce, 269n7 Iacovino, Raffaele, 13 idea brokers, 209, 215, 217, 232, 233. See also bricolage ideas, normative vs cognitive, 215 identity politics, 12, 114, 155, 186, 195, 206 Idle No More, 91–2, 96n6, 266 Ignatieff, Michael, 157 immigration, 14, 18, 27, 119–20, 125–6, 128–30, 132, 134, 153, 187–8, 194–6, 201–5, 210, 262. See also integration I NA C (Indian and Northern Affairs Canada), 76 inclusion: boundaries of, 4, 5, 26, 40, 46, 115; consequences of, 19–20, 97, 98, 105, 111, 112–15, 242; consociational arrangements, 144; instrumentalization of, 16, 19, 20, 113, 114; immigrants, 129, 187; and Indigenous politics, 78, 81, 85, 87, 90, 91, 94, 156; and LG BTQ politics, 100, 102, 104, 106, 108, 110, 116, 117; outputs, 58; representation, 16, 18, 100; social investment, 51, 259; urban policy, 210, 211, 235, 237 Indian Act, 84, 86, 87, 94, 96n4, 266

Indigenous politics: Canadian status (four periods), 85–8; challenges to citizenship regime, 14, 17, 19, 20, 21–2, 33, 77–9, 83–5, 89–92, 94–6, 156, 162, 266–7; dual citizenship, 85; as global movement, 84, 94; postMarshallian context, 78, 88–94; representation, 82; resource extraction, 92–3; settler colonialism, 77, 78, 79, 81–2, 84, 85, 90, 91, 94–6, 151–2, 155–6 individualization: abortion rights, 238, 239, 240, 242, 243, 246–9; LG B TQ politics, 18, 98, 104, 107, 113 Innu peoples, 76 inputs. See outputs institutional entrepreneurs, 215, 231. See also bricolage institutionalization argument, 183 integration, 14, 87–90, 119–20, 125–9, 131–3, 137, 148, 152–3, 158, 163, 226. See also immigration integrationist approach (vs accommodationist), 142, 143, 150 Inuit, 77, 85, 86, 87, 162 I REC (Institut de recherche en économie contemporaine), 180 Isin, Engin, 245, 253n5 Islamophobia, 20, 109, 114 James Bay Cree, 33, 34, 35 Jasper, James, 168 Jessop, Bob, 7 Johnson, Craig, 194 Jordan, Grant, 67, 70 Kantor, Paul, 214

328 Index

Kaplan, William, 264 Kautsky, Karl, 25 Keating, Michael, 214 Keck, Margaret, 246 Kelley, Ninette, 140n3 Kelly, James, 164n5 Kenny, Meryl, 198 Kent, Tom, 230, 231 Kernerman, Gerald, 158 Keynesianism, 10, 11, 38–9, 131, 178, 193, 209, 211–12, 216–18, 220, 222, 227–8, 230, 232, 236 Kim, Yeong Soon, 32 Kino-nda-niimi Collective, 96n6 Kinsman, Gary, 101, 108, 111 Kirkup, Kyle, 112 Kjær, Peter, 215 Kollman, Kelly, 107, 108, 264 Koop, Royce, 190 Korpi, Walter, 24, 26, 27 Kruzynski, Anna, 183 Kurz, Karin, 169 Kymlicka, Will, 13, 43, 80, 119, 143, 157, 256, 259, 264 Labour Party (Britain), 189, 191, 193, 195, 196 Labrador, 136 Ladner, Kiera, 92 Laforest, Guy, 157, 265, 269n7 Laforest, Rachel, 5, 18, 22, 44, 48, 49, 51, 57, 59, 167, 174, 183 Lallement, Michel, 166 LaPira, Tim M., 67 Lapointe, Linda, 181 Larner, Wendy, 107, 212 Lasby, David 55 LaSelva, Samuel, 155 Latin America, 14, 39, 51, 245, 259 Latouche, Daniel, 157

Lawrence, Bonita, 85 Laycock, David, 201 Lazarus, Jeffrey, 67 Lecours, André, 146 Lee, Soohyun Christine, 32 legitimacy deficit, 142–3, 147, 159– 60, 162, 163 Leijonhufvud, Christina, 54 Leone, Roberto, 180 Lewis, Mike, 232 LG B TQ politics: consequences of recognition, 17–18, 21, 104, 112–15; decriminalization in Canada, 98–102; emergence, 99–100, 101, 103, 104; extension of rights, 14, 22, 97, 98, 101–2, 103, 106; homonationalism, 97, 109, 113; homonormativity, 19, 97; homophobia, 109; human rights, 102–7; inclusion, 110–11; individualization, 98, 106; instrumentalization, 20, 108; internal diversity, 109–11; neoliberalism, 98, 107; representation, 16, 100 Lindal, W. J., 269–70n8 Linz, Juan J., 135 Lipietz, Alain, 7, 261 Liptak, Adam, 66 Lister, Ruth, 31, 191 Lithwick, Harvey, 228, 229 localism, new, 209 Locke, Richard, 216, 235 Logan, Steven, 228 Lotz, Jim, 230 Lower, Arthur, 152 LPC (Liberal Party of Canada), 154, 189–91, 193, 196–7, 201, 204. See also Trudeau, Justin; Trudeau, Pierre Elliott

Index 329

Luccisano, Lucy, 41n5 Luneburg, William, 67 Maas, Willem, 120 Macdonald, Laura, 41n5 Maddie, 114 Madsen, Henrick, 221, 222, 223, 225 Mahon, Rianne, 8, 16, 21, 22, 38, 41nn3–5, 209, 212, 213, 221, 223, 259 Malone, Margaret Mary, 67 Manitoba, 126, 128 marginalization, 5, 27, 36, 52, 84, 97–9, 106, 109, 112, 114, 116, 155, 175, 196, 216 Mariss, Peter, 217, 219 marketplace of ideas, 51, 64, 65 Marques-Pereira, Bérengère, 14, 19, 21, 23, 239, 240, 242, 248, 252n1, 253nn3–4, 264 Marsh, Leonard, 228 Marshall, T.H., 8, 14, 20, 63, 78, 80, 82, 83, 87–8, 120, 240, 256, 258, 259; post-Marshallian ­citizenship, 21, 78–9, 82–3, 88–95 Martin, Andrew, 26 Martin, Claude, 14 Martin, Paul, 16, 197 Martin, Paul, Sr, 264 Mathieu, Lilian, 172 McAdam, Doug, 168, 184 McCrossan, Michael, 92 McGhee, Derek, 195 McGill, Jena, 112 McGrane, David, 193, 200 McKay, Amy Melissa, 67 McLaughlin, Eithne, 31 McNaught, Kenneth, 153

McRoberts, Kenneth, 150, 153, 154, 155, 157, 264, 265 methodological nationalism, 20, 32, 34, 35, 41. See also state, centrality of Métis people, 77, 85, 86, 87 Mickenberg, Neil, 87 Miliband, Edward, 192, 193, 195, 202, 206 Miliband, Ralph, 25 Miller, David, 143–4, 146 Milne, David, 154 Mitchell, Deborah, 31 Mitchell, James, 192 mobilization: and change, 17, 18, 156, 168; civil society, 50, 63, 65, 103, 121, 123, 240, 241; and individualization, 48, 107, 116; institutionalization, 173, 174, 183; mediation, 237; and policy, 110–11, 169, 184; and protest, 166, 183, 184; provincial, 125, 136; representation, 16; scale, 14, 15, 90, 239, 242, 245; working-class, 27 Mohawk, 82 Mollenkopf, John, 212 Monforte, Pierre, 14, 167 Moniere, Denis, 150 Montambeault, Françoise, 14 Montigny, Eric, 197 Morel, Nathalie, 11, 139, 260 Morgan, Gareth, 55 Morgensen, Scott Lauria, 110 Moriah, Abigail, 181 Morin, Richard, 178, 179 Morone, James, 216 Morris, Marika, 181 Morton, W.L., 153 Moynihan, Daniel, 220

330 Index

MS UA (Ministry of State for Urban Affairs), 231–2 Mulé, Nick J., 106 multiculturalism, 23, 132, 135, 153–4, 157, 163–4, 187–8, 194, 200, 202–5, 256, 262, 264, 266 Multiculturalism Act, 265 multilevel: analysis, 211, 239; citizenship, 95, 137, 211, 239, 242– 3, 249, 252; governance, 213, 225, 233, 236; linkages, 242; practices, 95; setting, 239, 243, 249, 252. See also multiscalar; scale multiscalar; analysis, 30, 32; citizenship, 21; communities, 109; mobilization, 90; perspective, 21, 24, 36. See also multilevel; scale municipalities, 11, 36, 176, 179, 181–3, 223, 229, 231–3 Murphy, Gary, 67 Murray, Rainbow, 199 Myles, John, 31, 42n9, 258, 265 Myrdal, Gunnar, 217, 223, 225 Nadeau, Daniel, 178, 179 Nagels, Nora, 6, 14, 259 Nakainura, Akira, 67 Nakamura, Akio, 67 nationalism, 14, 146; and belonging, 6, 34, 145; binationalism, 151; in Britain, 197–8; and Canadian postwar citizenship, 50, 89, 124, 153, 264, 265; changes, 18, 43; and citizenization, 147–8; civic, 262; clash of nationalisms, 156; constraint on, 143–5; denationalization; 124; English-Canadian

nation­alism, 149–50, 153; French Canada ideology, 150; Indigenous nationalism, 156, 197; and LGB TQ politics, 109, 111; multinational, 15, 34, 141, 144, 146; national identity, 145, 146; nationalist movements, 99, 104; national unity, 142, 143; negotiating, 143–5, 147; Québécois nationalism, 153, 154; resurgence, 207; Pierre Elliott Trudeau, 154–7. See also homonationalism nation building, 12, 50, 121, 122, 124, 135, 143, 154, 226 neo-institutionalism, 83, 144, 167 neoliberalism: abortion rights, 247; change, 10, 18, 63, 64, 82, 89, 91, 93, 97, 107, 121, 123, 236; and citizenship as regime (concept of), 9, 16, 256, 255, 257; corporate social responsibility, 73; financialization, 53; immigration, 135, 139; individualization, 98, 102, 113, 116; and LGB TQ politics, 98, 116; neoliberal citizenship regime, 14; Quebec, 12; recognition, 97; social investment, 11, 39, 51, 259, 263; urban policy, 209–12 neo-Marxism, 24, 25–26, 30 Nevin, Brendan, 212 Newfoundland, 136, 137, 197 Nicholls, Alex, 54 Niezen, Ronald, 84 Nilsson, Jan-Evert, 222 Noël, Alain, 261 Nootens, Geneviève, 146 Norman, Wayne, 13, 43, 120, 143, 146, 256, 259

Index 331

normativity, 23, 239–40, 242–3, 246–7. See also heteronormativity; homonormativity Nova Scotia, 130, 197 Novkov, Julie, 114 NP C (New Philanthropic Capital), 55 O’Connor, Alice, 216, 220 O’Connor, Julia S., 31 O’Donohoe, Nick, 54 O E C D (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development), 22, 39, 42n9, 68, 70–2, 160, 224, 226, 232 O’Faircheallaigh, Ciaran, 93 O H R C (Ontario Human Rights Commission), 105 O’Leary, Brendan, 144 O NN (Ontario Nonprofit Network), 59 Ontario, 22, 57, 105, 112, 131, 134, 230. See also housing regime open method coordination, 37–8 Orloff, Ann Shola, 31 Østerud, Øyvind, 44, 48 outputs (focus on), 18, 22, 46–9, 53–6, 59–60 Outshoorn, Joyce, 248 Pal, Leslie A., 63, 262, 265 Palier, Bruno, 11, 139, 260 Palmater, Pamela, 91, 197 Palme, Joachim, 11, 18, 139, 260 Panitch, Leo, 25 Papillon, Martin, 4, 5, 7–8, 12–14, 17, 19, 21–2, 23n1, 33–4, 41n1, 43, 45, 76, 80, 82–3, 89–90, 92–4, 121, 152, 160, 167, 243, 265

Paquet, Mireille, 12, 15, 18, 19, 22, 34, 125, 140n7, 265 Paternotte, David, 264 Patillo, Mary, 169 Patten, Steve, 191, 193 Péchu, Cécile, 173 Peck, Jamie, 7, 38, 41n5, 107 Pedersen, Ove K., 215 Pereira, Sophie, 248, 253nn3–4 Perkins, Anne, 198, 199 Peters, Guy, 44, 47, 48 Phillips, Susan, 3, 5, 7, 10–11, 13, 16, 18, 20, 22, 32, 34–5, 41n6, 49–52, 54, 56, 59, 61, 63–4, 75, 78, 82–3, 97–8, 102, 104, 106–7, 116, 120–1, 165–6, 186, 232, 256, 259, 262–3, 268, 269n5 Picard, Ghislain, 76 Pierre, Jon, 44, 48, 57 Pierson, Paul, 83, 169, 183 Pijl, Maarja, 8 PLQ (Parti libéral du Québec/ Liberal Party of Quebec), 140n6, 174 Polanyi, Karl, 8 Polèse, Mario, 235 policy regimes, 166, 184, 268 policy-specific opportunity structure, 168–70 political economy, 3, 24, 25, 28, 114, 216, 256 political opportunity structure, 16, 22, 35, 166, 168, 169 political parties, 10, 16, 28, 49, 66, 103, 114, 133, 134, 162, 187, 214 post-confederation citizenship regime, 149–53 Postero, Nancy, 14

332 Index

postwar regime: American postwar settlement, 216–18; characteristics, 50, 56–7, 64, 82, 122, 132–3, 262; and Indigenous politics, 86, 87, 89; as political campaign reference, 137, 204; restructuring, 9–12, 38, 63, 119, 125, 126, 137, 209, 257, 262; and Quebec, 122; urban policy, 207, 211, 217, 222 Poulantzas, Nicos, 25, 26 Press, Jordan, 190 Prince, Michael, 257 Prince Edward Island, 126 provinces: access to state, 132–4; belonging, 134–7; immigration, 125–6; independence, 160; province building, 19, 119, 122, 124– 5, 135, 138; provincial citizenship regime, 22, 118, 119, 122, 127, 129, 130, 133, 138; responsibility mix, 127–30; rights and obligations, 130–2 Przeworski, Adam, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30 Puar, Jasbir, 109, 113 Quebec: as author, 140n6; belonging, 135; citizenship regime, 12, 121–3, 157, 167, 256, 265; L GB T Q politics, 103, 110; referendum, 154, 157, 159, 161, 255. See also nationalism queer politics, 19, 97, 100, 101, 103, 110, 113, 116. See also L GB T Q politics Radwanski, Adam, 203 Rayside, David, 105 R C A P (Royal Commission on Aboriginal Peoples), 84, 88, 90, 96n2, 159–60

regulation approach, 7, 15, 78–9, 83, 261 Rehn-Meidner model, 224 Rein, Martin, 217, 219 repertoire of action, 170–2, 175, 183–4, 250 representation (politics of), 7–9, 16, 18, 24, 29–30, 34, 63, 77, 79–84, 89, 90, 95, 99–101, 145–6, 166– 7, 171, 176, 186, 261–3, 268; corporate, 62, 64, 65, 69, 74–5; immigration, 134; Indigenous politics, 91, 92; and outputs (focus on), 44–6, 48–53, 56, 58–60; representation structure, 180, 183–4; urban policy, 210, 213–14, 235 reproductive freedom, 240–1, 250; and rights, 243–5. See also abortion rights Requejo, Ferran, 142, 143, 160 Resnick, Philip, 144, 157 responsibility mix, 4–5, 8, 11, 13, 18, 33, 44, 46, 73, 120, 127–30, 135, 167, 171, 191–4, 206, 238, 246, 249, 252. See also citizenship as regime: dimensions Richardson, Boyce, 232 Richardson, Diane, 111, 114 Richardson, Eileen, 253n1 rights and obligations, 5, 11, 45, 106, 120, 121, 130–2, 156, 167, 235, 238. See also citizenship as regime: dimensions Robinson, Ian, 158, 159, 160 Robinson, Ira, 226, 228 Rodger, Sunil, 194 Rodon, Thierry, 93 Røiseland, Asbjørn, 44, 48, 57 Ronit, Karsten, 67

Index 333

Roseneil, Sasha, 248 Ross, Becki L., 110 Rothstein, Bo, 40, 44, 47, 222–5 Rousseau, Stéphanie, 168 Russell, Andrew, 190 Russell, Peter, 86, 96nn2–3, 153 Rutherford, Tod D., 15 Ryan, Phil, 203 Sainsbury, Diane, 40 Saint-Martin, Denis, 5, 8, 11, 17–20, 22, 33, 35–6, 38, 41n1, 41n6, 51–2, 75, 89, 259 Salamon, Lester, 53 Salisbury, Robert H., 65 Salltuk, Yasemine, 54 Sandercock, Leonie, 210 Sarrasin, Rachel, 12 Saskatchewan, 126 Sassen, Saskia, 209, 237 Savitch, H.V., 214 Savoie, Donald, 161, 229 scale, 30, 32, 36, 41, 109, 239; global, 21, 24, 29, 41, 115, 246; international, 14, 21, 24, 32, 38–9, 57, 212, 239–40, 242–3, 245–7, 250–2; national, 6, 13, 15, 20–1, 29, 35–6, 38–9, 41, 74, 78, 82, 89–90, 95, 121–2, 209, 212, 217, 239, 243, 246, 250–1; subnational, 13, 15, 35–6, 38, 41, 119, 122, 124, 138, 160, 267–8; supranational, 13, 15, 35–6, 41, 239–40, 243, 249, 251–2, 268; transnational, 14, 20–1, 24, 35–6, 39, 41, 89, 95, 115, 120–1, 209, 239–40, 242, 245–7, 249, 267. See also mobilization; multilevel; multiscalar; province-building

Schambra, William, 59–60 Scharpf, Fritz, 22, 44, 46–7 S C HL (Société Canadienne d’hypothèque et de logement), 182 Schlozman, Kay Lehman, 65 Schmidt, Vivian, 216 Schneider, Volker, 67 Schuk, Carla, 180 Scott, James C., 110 Seeleib-Kaiser, Martin, 32 Selle, Per, 44, 48 service delivery, 44, 56, 57. See also outputs Shapcott, Michael, 180 Shaver, Sheila, 31 S HQ (Société d’habitation du Québec), 179, 180 Shragge, Éric, 183 S HS C (Social Housing Services Corporation), 182 Sikking, Kathryn, 246 Silver, Jin, 227, 229 Simeon, Richard, 142, 143, 155, 158, 159, 160 Simpson, Audra, 82 Simpson, Jeffrey, 163 Skey, Michael, 194 Smith, Andrea, 110 Smith, Miriam, 5, 14, 16, 17–20, 55, 90, 100, 103–4, 110, 121, 166, 263 Smith, Nancy, 180 Smith, Ralph, 55 social democratic regime, 31, 37 social democratic theory, 26, 223 social investments: perspective, 36–40, 139, 259–60, 263; regime, 11, 21, 25, 36–40, 51–3, 55, 73, 89, 135, 139. See also neoliberalism; postwar regime

334 Index

social movements, 21, 23, 25, 74, 90, 99, 104, 114, 116, 170, 210, 238, 256, 262 Social Union Framework Agreement (S U FA), 160 Sosyura, Denis, 67 Spurk, Jan, 166 Stasiulis, Daiva, 205 state, centrality of, 14, 20–1, 34–6, 41, 78, 82, 107–9. See also methodological nationalism Statistique Canada, 182 Stears, Marc, 192 Steinmo, Sven, 7, 22, 222, 223 Stevenson, Garth, 125, 139n2 Stoker, Robert, 221 Stone, Clarence, 221 stratification, 27, 31, 40 Streeck, Wolfgang, 79, 83, 84, 233 Stren, Richard, 235 Strömberg, Thord, 223, 225 structure. See agency Strumm, Brianna, 194, 200 Struthers, James, 230 Stryker, Susan, 110 Swanstrom, Todd, 212 Sweden: bricolage, 223–5; placebased approach, 222–3; postwar program, 221–3 Swidler, Ann, 170 Taber, Jane, 193 Talaga, Tanya, 92 Tarrow, Sydney, 168, 183, 184 Taylor, Charles, 157 Teorell, Jan, 47 Thelen, Kathleen, 7, 79, 83, 84, 216, 233, 235 Theodore, Nik, 38, 41n5, 210 Therborn, Göran, 25

Thomas, Clive S., 66 Thomas, Diana W., 67 Thomas, Herschel F., 67 Thorburn, Hugh, 151 Thümler, Ekkehard, 53 Tickell, Adam, 107 Tierney, John T., 65 Tierney, Stephen, 161 Tilly, Charles, 168, 183, 184 tolerance, 113–14 Tolley, Erin, 126 Tomkinson, 54 Tonge, Jonathan, 189, 190, 192, 195, 197, 202 Travis, Alan, 206 TR C (Truth and Reconciliation Commission), 84, 94 Trebilcock, Michael, 140n3 Tremblay, Manon, 103 Trudeau, Justin, 60, 188, 190, 192, 194, 200, 201, 204, 205; government, 54, 58, 60, 203, 206. See also LPC (Liberal Party of Canada) Trudeau, Pierre Elliott, 87, 154, 155, 157, 231, 264, 265; government, 155. See also nationalism; LPC (Liberal Party of Canada) Tully, James, 81, 82, 118, 147–8, 163 Turgeon, Luc, 14, 265 Turner, Bryan, 244, 245, 253n1, 253n4 Turner, Sally, 181 Turok, Ivan, 212, 213 U K IP (United Kingdom Independence Party), 20, 189, 194–6, 197–9, 202, 205–6 Unger, Irwin, 218

Index 335

Ungerson, Clare, 8 United Nations, 242–5, 247, 249; UN-led citizenship regime, 15 United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, 94 universe of political discourse, 8–9, 25, 29–30, 32, 98, 104, 114, 186, 209, 214, 235 urban policy, 23, 212, 226–9; insurgent citizenship studies, 210; lack of, 228–9; national urban policy framework, 211; people-oriented approach, 232–3; perspectives on, 209–13; place-based approach, 212, 220–1, 223, 231, 233, 236–7; postwar settlements, 211, 236–7; regional focus (Canada), 227–8 Urwin, Derek, 144 Vasilopoulou, Sofia, 202 Vérificateur général de l’Ontario, 181, 182 Vineberg, Robert, 128, 140n3 Vink, Maarten Peter, 269n4 Warhurst, John, 67 Warner, Tom, 100 Webb, Paul, 189 Weir, Margaret, 215, 216, 218 Weiss, Meredith, 108, 109

welfare regime, 7–8, 10, 15, 22, 24, 27, 30, 31, 40, 167. See also Esping-Andersen, Gøsta Whitaker, Reginald, 151, 157, 159, 190 White, Deena, 14, 174, 180 White, Linda, 12 White House, 221 White Paper on Indian Policy (1969), 87, 88, 90, 96n5, 156, 197, 266 Wial, Howard, 41n7 Wiener, Antje, 3, 13, 15, 267 Williams, Fiona, 31, 40 Williams, Robert A., 96n3 Wimmer, Andreas, 20 Wiseman, Nelson, 196, 197, 201 Wolfe, Jeanne, 228 Wolfe, Patrick, 84 Wolfson, Evan, 103 Wong, Lloyd, 120 Woo, Grace Li Xiu, 91 Wood, Geoff, 31, 33, 40 Wright, Erik Olin, 25, 42n9 Wright, Matthew, 269n4 Yaouancq, Françoise, 177 Yashar, Deborah J., 14 Yeates, Nicola, 32 Yishai, Yael, 67 Young, Claire F.L., 105, 113 Yuval-Davis, Nira, 249