Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies 2018058875, 9781138208827, 9781315458298

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series Page
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of Contents
List of figures
List of tables
Notes on the contributors
Introduction to the second edition
Reference
Introduction to the first edition
Central themes
A conceptual focus
The book’s organization
References
PART I: Theories and histories of international migration
Economic and psychological overview chapters
Economic approaches
Psychological approaches
Historical approaches by world region
Reference
Chapter 1: Economic perspectives on migration
Introduction
Theories of the initiating forces of migration?
Theories about the self-perpetuating mechanisms of migration
An alternative economic perspective on the empirical literature: an example of migrant remittances
Summary
Notes
References
Chapter 2: Psychological acculturation: perspectives, principles, processes, and
prospects
Introduction
Acculturation: a group and individual phenomenon
Psychological acculturation
Processes in psychological acculturation
Risks and rewards in psychological acculturation
Policy implications of psychological acculturation
Future directions in psychological acculturation research
Conclusions
References
Chapter 3: European migration history
Introduction
The mobility transition
Seasonal migrants
Colonization
Moves to the city
Soldiers
Settlement processes
Further reading
Chapter 4: Migration history in the Americas
The peopling of the Americas
Conquest,coercion, and colonization: early modern histories of Atlantic empire-building, 1492–1776
To populate is to govern: nation states confront settlers and labor migrants from Europe and Asia, 1776–1940
Refugees,exiles, and job-seekers in the contemporary Americas
Further reading
Chapter 5: Asian migration in the longue durée
Early human movement
States, agriculture and armies
Eurasian exchange
Early modern mobility
The creation of Asia, 1840–1940
Into the present
References
Chapter 6: A brief history of African migration
The beginnings of migration in Africa
Trans-Saharan movement
Trading networks within and outside of Africa
Forced migration within and outside of Africa
Other pre-colonial movement
Colonial migration
Colonial migration into Africa
Migration within Africa since independence
Migration out of Africa
Conclusion
Further reading
PART II: Displacement, refugees and forced migration
References
Chapter 7: Forced migrants: exclusion, incorporation and a moral economy of deservingness
Introduction
Theoretical orientations
Toward an integrated theoretical orientation
Forced migration, deservingness and the limits of compassion
Conclusion
References
Chapter 8: Refugees and geopolitical conflicts
Disaster, flight, and refuge
Expulsion
Displacement
Flight
Considerations
Notes
References
Chapter 9: Country of first asylum
Introduction
What is asylum?
Co-construction of state and statelessness
Refugee as a social category
Durability
Conclusion and future directions
Notes
References
Chapter 10: Displacement, refugees, and forced migration in the MENA region: the case of Syria
Introduction
Contemporary dynamics of the MENA region: root causes, proximate conditions and intervening factors
Root causes: economic dynamics
Proximate conditions: the political dimension of forced migration
The case of Syria
Conclusion: research gaps and areas for further investigation
References
Chapter 11: Climate change and human migration: constructed vulnerability, uneven flows, and the challenges of studying environmental migration in the 21st century
Introduction
A brief note on terminology
The challenges of measuring climate migration (and why it is time to stop pursuing the one big number)
Who is affected? Climate change, constructed vulnerability and migration
Amplified and uneven flows: people on the move
Continued vulnerability: environmental migration and the growth of slums
Conclusion
References
PART III: Migrants in the economy
Chapter 12: Unions and immigrants
Introduction
Unions and immigrants in the United States: survival over solidarity
Unions’ reluctance, immigrants’ willingness
Immigrants’ contributions to the labor movement
Unionization, Americanization, and whiteness
Organizing immigrant workers
Union campaigns
The undocumented and the law
The failure of an enforcement-only border policy
Immigrants and unions in Europe
Inclusion over exclusion
Rising anti-immigrant tide
Conclusion
References
Chapter 13: Immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship
Introduction
Conceptualizing immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship
The benefits of entrepreneurship
Entrepreneurship and assimilation
Entrepreneurship and racialized incorporation
New directions in immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship research
References
Chapter 14: High-skilled migration
Introduction
Government approaches to high-skilled migration
Skills within the migration and development debate
Skills within the integration debate
Conclusion, or what is high-skilled migration after all?
Note
References
Chapter 15: Immigration and the informal economy
Introduction
Defining the informal economy
Why do people engage in informal activities?
Sectors and occupational niches of informal activities
Measurement of informal activities: paucity of data
Concluding remarks
Notes
References
Chapter 16: Vulnerability to exploitation and human trafficking: a multi-scale review of risk
Introduction
Definitions and terms
Risk of human trafficking and exploitation
Conclusions and directions forward
Notes
References
PART IV: Intersecting inequalities in the lives of migrants
Chapter 17: The changing configuration of migration and race
Introduction
Conclusion
References
Chapter 18: Nativism: a global-historical perspective
What is nativism?
Historical nativism: defining “us” and targeting the “Other”
Racism and xenophobia
Islamophobia
The politics of nativism: nationalism, populism, authoritarianism
Conclusions
References
Chapter 19: Gender and migration: uneven integration
Introduction
The evolution of gender analysis in migration studies
Studies of gender and labor migration
Gender relations in migrant families and social networks
Citizenship, transnationalism and borders
Gender and dynamism in migration scholarship
References
Chapter 20: Sexualities and international migration
Introduction
Emerging areas of research
Juggling contradictory mandates
References
Chapter 21: Migrants and indigeneity: nationalism, nativism and the politics of place
Introduction
Autochthony
Neo-racism and the conflation between migration and colonialism
Against nationalism
Note
References
PART V: Creating and recreating community and group identity
Chapter 22: Panethnicity
Panethnic organizing and racialization
Panethnicity and internal diversities
Individual panethnicity
Panethnicity in transnational context
Challenges and possibilities
References
Chapter 23: Understanding ethnicity from a community perspective
The ethnic community revisited
The dynamics of ethnic capital for community building: old Chinatowns v. new Chinese ethnoburbs
Conclusion
Notes
References
Chapter 24: Religion on the move: the place of religion in different stages of the migration experience
Religion and the migration undertaking
Religion and the immigrant experience
Religion and transnationalism
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Chapter 25: Condemned to a protracted limbo? Refugees and statelessness in the age of terrorism
Introduction
Essentializing and essentialized categories
Massive displacement: global humanitarian crisis
Stateless: de jure statelessness
Refugees: de facto statelessness, international obligations, failures and policy proposals
Intertwined fates: the globally stateless and the search for humane immigration policies at a global scale
Notes
References
Chapter 26: Reclaiming the black and Asian journeys: a comparative perspective on culture, class, and immigration
Introduction
Tackling the puzzle: culture, class, and mode of incorporation
Black counts: immigration and race reconsidered
The Asian miracle reconsidered
The black model minority
Conclusion
Notes
References
PART VI: Migrants and social reproduction
Chapter 27: Immigrant and refugee language policies, programs, and practices in an era of change: promises, contradictions, and possibilities
Introduction
Immigrants’ and refugees’ integration: a status report
Language policies and programs for immigrants and refugees: promises, contradictions, and constraints
Monolingual linguistic citizenship for multilingual newcomers
Market-oriented immigration policy and basic language skills training
Normalized language teaching and structural barriers
Conclusions and implications
References
Chapter 28: Immigrant intermarriage
Theoretical notes on immigrant intermarriage
Methodological innovations and limitations
Empirical claims about immigrant intermarriage
International focus
The future of immigrant intermarriage
References
Chapter 29: International adoption
Introduction
A history of transnational adoption
Adoptees versus other immigrants
Critiques of adoption
Racial, cultural and national belonging
The language of kinship
References
PART VII: Migrants and the state
Chapter 30: Undocumented (or unauthorized) immigration
Undocumented immigration in historical context
Current trends and estimates
Effects of undocumented status
Discussion/conclusion
References
Chapter 31: Detention and deportation
Introduction
History of immigration detention and deportation
Research on immigration detention
The consequences of deportation
Conclusion
Notes
References and further reading
Chapter 32: Naturalization and nationality: community, nation-state and global explanations
Introduction
The extent and measurement of naturalization and nationality rates
Individual, community and ethnographic studies of naturalization
Nation-state explanations of naturalization
Comparative and global approaches to naturalization
Conclusion
Notes
References
Chapter 33: Asian migrations and the evolving notions of national community
Asia on the move
Diversity and multiculturalism in Asia
Evolving state–diaspora relations
National identity, deterritorialization and transnationalism
Conclusion: national community—where is it?
References
Chapter 34: Immigration and education
Historical and intellectual development
Major claims and developments
Main critiques
Continued relevance of the issue
Future developments
References
Chapter 35: Emigration and the sending state
Introduction
Historical overview
Development and migration in sending countries
Human capital flight and circulation
Political opposition from abroad: the role of exiles
Extraterritorial citizenship
Conclusion
Notes
References
Chapter 36: International migration and the welfare state: connections and extensions
Introduction
Background
Does immigration inhibit social cohesion?
How do welfare policies influence immigrants’ lives?
Incorporating global change
Turning the mirror: mainstream reactions and the role of race and ethnicity
Concluding thoughts
References
Chapter 37: Immigration and crime and the criminalization of immigration
Immigration and crime: public perceptions and empirical realities
Crimmigration and the immigration industrial complex
Conclusion
References
PART VIII: Maintaining links across borders
Chapter 38: The historical, cultural, social, and political backgrounds of ethno-national diasporas
Working definition
Approaches to the study of diasporas
The actual historical backgrounds of current diasporas
The cultural, social, political and economic backgrounds
Conclusions
Note
Further reading
Chapter 39: Transnationalism
Introduction
Initial conceptualizations
Open and contested questions
Outlook: beyond methodological nationalism and groupism
References
Chapter 40: Survival or incorporation? Immigrant (re)integration after deportation
Introduction
Current patterns of immigration enforcement
Contexts of reception
The new American diaspora: theoretical and methodological approaches to deportation
Areas for future investigation
Notes
Bibliography
Chapter 41: Return migration
Theories of return migration?
Return migration in historical context
Return migration that is not a return
Working and returning
Transnationalism and return migration
Emerging themes
Return migration: a contradictory story
Notes
References
PART IX: Methods for studying international migration
Chapter 42: Census analysis
Introduction
Data, questions, and issues
Analyzing migration from censuses
Addressing gaps, managing controversies, and future policies
References
Chapter 43: Binational migration surveys: representativeness, standardization, and the ethnosurvey model
Introduction
Migration process and migration outcomes
A binational approach to the study of Mexico–U.S. migration
Criticisms of survey standardization
Standardization and the ethnosurvey
Other studies based on bi- or multinational approaches
Two recent developments
References
Chapter 44: Interviewing immigrants and refugees: reflexive engagement with research subjects
Introduction
Interview methods
Applications to immigrant and refugee interviews
Conclusion
Note
References
Chapter 45: Using photography in studies of international migration
Introduction
Applications of photography in studies of international migration
Photo voice and reflexive documentaries
Photographic evidence and analysis in migration research
Limitations on the use of photography in migration studies
Conclusions
References
Chapter 46: Comparative methodologies in the study of migration
Why compare?
What to compare?
How to compare
In conclusion
Notes
References
Index

Citation preview

Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies

This revised and expanded second edition of Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies provides a comprehensive basis for understanding the complexity and patterns of international migration. Despite increased efforts to limit its size and consequences, migration has wideranging impacts upon social, environmental, economic, political and cultural life in countries of origin and settlement. Such transformations impact not only those who are migrating, but those who are left behind, as well as those who live in the areas where migrants settle. Featuring forty-six essays written by leading international and multidisciplinary scholars, this new edition showcases evolving research and theorizing around refugees and forced migrants, new migration paths through Central Asia and the Middle East, the condition of statelessness and South to South migration. New chapters also address immigrant labor and entrepreneurship, skilled migration, ethnic succession, contract labor and informal economies. Uniquely among texts in the subject area, the Handbook provides a six-chapter compendium of methodologies for studying international migration and its impacts. Written in a clear and direct style, this Handbook offers a contemporary integrated resource for students and scholars from the perspectives of social science, humanities, journalism and other disciplines. Steven J. Gold is Professor in the Department of Sociology at Michigan State University. His interests include international migration, ethnic economies, qualitative methods and visual sociology. He has conducted research on Israeli emigration and transnationalism, Russian-speaking Jewish and Vietnamese refugees in the U.S., ethnic economies, and on conflicts between immigrant merchants and their customers. Stephanie J. Nawyn is an Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and the Co-Director of Academic Programs at the Center for Gender in Global Context at Michigan State University. Her work has primarily focused on refugee resettlement and protection, as well as the economic advancement of African voluntary migrants in the U.S. with a focus on gender. She was a Fulbright Fellow at Istanbul University for the 2013–14 academic year, studying the treatment of Syrian refugees in Turkey. Her most recent work was published in the Journal of Refugees Studies and the Journal of Ethnic and Racial Studies.

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Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies Second Edition

Edited by Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn

Second edition published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business  2019 selection and editorial matter, Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn; individual chapters, the contributors The right of the Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. First edition published by Routledge 2013 British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Gold, Steven J. (Steven James), editor. | Nawyn, Stephanie J., editor. Title: Routledge international handbook of migration studies / edited by Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn. Other titles: International handbook of migration studies Description: Second Edition. | New York : Routledge, 2019. | Series: Routledge International Handbooks Identifiers: LCCN 2018058875| ISBN 9781138208827 (Hardback) | ISBN 9781315458298 (eBook) Subjects: LCSH: Emigration and immigration. | Emigration and immigration—History. | Immigrants—Social conditions. | Immigrants—Economic conditions. | Emigration and immigration—Research. Classification: LCC JV6035 .R68 2019 | DDC 304.8—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018058875 ISBN: 978-1-138-20882-7 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-45829-8 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Swales & Willis Ltd, Exeter, Devon, UK

Contents

List of figures List of tables Notes on the contributors

x xi xii

Introduction to the second edition Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn

xxii

Introduction to the first edition Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn

xxiv

PART I

Theories and histories of international migration

1

  1 Economic perspectives on migration Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

3

  2 Psychological acculturation: perspectives, principles, processes, and prospects 19 Marc H. Bornstein, Judith K. Bernhard, Robert H. Bradley, Xinyin Chen, Jo Ann M. Farver, Steven J. Gold, Donald J. Hernandez, Christiane Spiel, Fons van de Vijver, and Hirokazu Yoshikawa   3 European migration history Leo Lucassen and Jan Lucassen

32

  4 Migration history in the Americas Donna R. Gabaccia

45

  5 Asian migration in the longue durée 56 Adam McKeown   6 A brief history of African migration David Newman Glovsky

68

v

Contents

PART II

Displacement, refugees and forced migration

79

  7 Forced migrants: exclusion, incorporation and a moral economy of deservingness Charles Watters

81

  8 Refugees and geopolitical conflicts David Haines

90

  9 Country of first asylum Breanne Grace

99

10 Displacement, refugees, and forced migration in the MENA region: the case of Syria Seçil Paçacı Elitok and Christiane Fröhlich 11 Climate change and human migration: constructed vulnerability, uneven flows, and the challenges of studying environmental migration in the 21st century Daniel B. Ahlquist and Leo A. Baldiga

107

119

PART III

Migrants in the economy

133

12 Unions and immigrants Héctor L. Delgado

137

13 Immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship Ali R. Chaudhary

153

14 High-skilled migration Metka Hercog

164

15 Immigration and the informal economy Rebeca Raijman

178

16 Vulnerability to exploitation and human trafficking: a multi-scale review of risk Amanda Flaim and Celine Villongco

188

PART IV

Intersecting inequalities in the lives of migrants

199

17 The changing configuration of migration and race Miri Song

201

vi

Contents

18 Nativism: a global-historical perspective Maritsa V. Poros

212

19 Gender and migration: uneven integration Stephanie J. Nawyn

225

20 Sexualities and international migration Eithne Luibhéid

235

21 Migrants and indigeneity: nationalism, nativism and the politics of place Nandita Sharma

246

PART V

Creating and recreating community and group identity

259

22 Panethnicity Yến Lê Espiritu

261

23 Understanding ethnicity from a community perspective Min Zhou

272

24 Religion on the move: the place of religion in different stages of the migration experience Jacqueline Maria Hagan and Holly Straut-Eppsteiner

282

25 Condemned to a protracted limbo? Refugees and statelessness in the age of terrorism Cawo M. Abdi and Erika Busse

294

26 Reclaiming the black and Asian journeys: a comparative perspective on culture, class, and immigration Patricia Fernández-Kelly

306

PART VI

Migrants and social reproduction

323

27 Immigrant and refugee language policies, programs, and practices in an era of change: promises, contradictions, and possibilities Guofang Li and Pramod Kumar Sah

325

28 Immigrant intermarriage Charlie V. Morgan

339

29 International adoption Andrea Louie

351 vii

Contents

PART VII

Migrants and the state

365

30 Undocumented (or unauthorized) immigration Cecilia Menjívar

369

31 Detention and deportation Caitlin Patler, Kristina Shull, and Katie Dingeman

382

32 Naturalization and nationality: community, nation-state and global explanations Thomas Janoski

394

33 Asian migrations and the evolving notions of national community Yuk Wah Chan

416

34 Immigration and education Ramona Fruja Amthor

431

35 Emigration and the sending state Cristián Doña-Reveco and Brendan Mullan

446

36 International migration and the welfare state: connections and extensions 459 Aaron Ponce 37 Immigration and crime and the criminalization of immigration Rubén G. Rumbaut, Katie Dingeman, and Anthony Robles

472

PART VIII

Maintaining links across borders

483

38 The historical, cultural, social, and political backgrounds of ethno-national diasporas Gabriel (Gabi) Sheffer

487

39 Transnationalism Thomas Faist and Başak Bilecen

499

40 Survival or incorporation? Immigrant (re)integration after deportation Kelly Birch Maginot

512

41 Return migration Audrey Kobayashi

523

viii

Contents

PART IX

Methods for studying international migration

537

42 Census analysis Karen A. Woodrow-Lafield

539

43 Binational migration surveys: representativeness, standardization, and the ethnosurvey model Mariano Sana

553

44 Interviewing immigrants and refugees: reflexive engagement with research subjects Chien-Juh Gu

565

45 Using photography in studies of international migration Steven J. Gold

582

46 Comparative methodologies in the study of migration Irene Bloemraad

595

Index 606

ix

Figures

  3.1 10.1 32.1 32.2 32.3 35.1 36.1 41.1 45.1

Forced deportations in Russia (1920–1952) 38 Map of the MENA region 108 Individual, family and community model explaining naturalization 402 Nation-state model predicting naturalization rates 406 A global view of receiving and sending country regimes and policies 408 Outgoing resource flows to developing countries, 1990–2017 449 Advanced North countries and foreign-born populations 461 Emigration from the Philippines 1975–2015 529 Sign seeking sewing machine operators in the Los Angeles garment district 590 45.2 T-shirt with slogan “We’re NOT Terrorists!” sold along with other clothing and accessories at Dearborn Arab International Festival, 2002 591

x

Tables

  1.1   1.2   1.3   3.1 12.1 12.2 23.1 23.2 27.1 32.1

Regression results short-run (horizon 1–2 years) Regression results medium-run (horizon 2–16 years) Regression results long-run (>16 years) Total migration rates in Europe without Russia, 1500–2000 Unionization rates and immigration to the United States Unionization and nativity Interactive processes of ethnic capital in old Chinatowns Interactive processes of ethnic capital in new Chinese ethnoburbs Examples of employment before and after immigration Wide and narrow naturalization rates per 100,000 aliens from 1980 to 2012 33.1 Number of international migrants by region of origin, 2000 and 2015 39.1 Types of transnational social spaces

13 14 15 34 140 142 277 280 330 396 416 502

xi

Contributors

Cawo M. Abdi is an Associate Professor of Sociology at the University of Minnesota and a Research Associate at the University of Pretoria, South Africa. Professor Abdi’s research areas are migration, family and gender relations, development, Africa and the Middle East. She has published on these topics in various journals and is the author of the book, Elusive Jannah: The Somali Diaspora and a Borderless Muslim Identity (University of Minnesota Press, 2015). Daniel B. Ahlquist is an Assistant Professor in James Madison College (public affairs) at Michigan State University. His research and teaching explore the socio-material dimensions of agriculture and agrarian change, conservation, development, displacement, inequality and environmental justice, primarily in Southeast Asia and the United States. He holds a Ph.D. in Development Sociology from Cornell University. Fredrik N.G. Andersson is an Associate Professor in Economics at Lund School of Economics and Management at Lund University. His research focuses on the causes and consequences of long run economic change. His research includes studying the effects of migration from Eastern Europe on labor markets in EU15, the effects of financial crises on political reforms, and how the transition to a low carbon economy can be achieved. Leo A. Baldiga is a sophomore in James Madison College (public affairs) at Michigan State

University, where he is majoring in Comparative Cultures & Politics and minoring in Russian. He is particularly interested in studying how power dynamics and cultural narratives shape policy regarding disability, climate change and agriculture. Judith K. Bernhard, Professor at Ryerson University in Toronto, Canada, has spent the last

25 years researching and writing about the academic experiences of immigrant and refugee children. She has also written extensively about bilingual home language programs and Paulo Freire inspired interventions. Her book Stand Together or Fall Apart (Fernwood Publishing, 2012) includes principles of practice for teachers, settlement workers and early childhood educators working to establish respectful, productive relationships that support the integration of migrant families. Başak Bilecen is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at the University of Groningen, JFK

Memorial Fellow at the Center for European Studies at Harvard University, and affiliated researcher at Bielefeld University. Her research focuses on migration, transnational studies, social inequalities, social protection and social networks. She is the author of International Student Mobility and Transnational Friendships (Palgrave Macmillan, 2014). She has co-edited special issues in Population, Space and Place, Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies and Social Networks. xii

Contributors

Irene Bloemraad is Professor of Sociology at the University of California, Berkeley. She studies

immigrants’ incorporation into political and civic life, as well as the consequences of immigration for politics, policy and understandings of citizenship. She is a Senior Fellow with the Canadian Institute for Advanced Research and in 2014–15 she served as a member of the U.S. National Academies of Sciences committee reporting on the integration of immigrants into U.S. society. Marc H. Bornstein is Senior Investigator and Head of Child and Family Research at the Eunice

Kennedy Shriver National Institute of Child Health and Human Development. Bornstein has held faculty positions at Princeton University and New York University as well as academic appointments in Munich, London, Paris, New York, Tokyo, Bamenda, Seoul, Trento, Santiago, Bristol and Oxford. Bornstein is President of the SRCD (Society for Research in Child Development). He is author or editor of numerous scholarly volumes and several children’s books, videos and puzzles and has published widely in experimental, methodological, comparative, developmental and cultural science as well as neuroscience, pediatrics and aesthetics. Robert H. Bradley is Director of the Center for Child and Family Success at Arizona State

University. His research interests include child care, early education, fathers, socioeconomic status and family factors that affect child well-being. He served as associate editor of Child Development and Early Childhood Research Quarterly. Bradley served on steering committees for the NICHD Study of Child Care and Youth Development and the Early Head Start National Evaluation Study. He is co-developer of the HOME Inventory. Erika Busse is Assistant Professor at Macalester College (St Paul, MN). Her research examines

how transnational migration influences family, gender, identity, work and culture. She is currently researching on how people with heritage or other connections to Peru represent their identity, particularly in folk dance. She has published in Sociology of Race and Ethnicity, Racial and Ethnic Studies Journal, among other journals. Yuk Wah Chan is Associate Professor at the Department of Asian and International Studies of

City University of Hong Kong. Her research interests cover international migration, tourism, borderland, identity and China–Vietnam relations. She has edited a few volumes concerning Asian migrations and diasporas. Her single-authored book is on China–Vietnam borderland development. She also studies the Chinese Vietnamese in Vietnam, and the changing relationships between Hong Kong and China. Her current research is related to cultural governance and border relations in Asia. Ali R. Chaudhary is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at Rutgers University in New

Brunswick, New Jersey. His research specializations lie at the intersection of international migration, political and economic sociology and organization studies. He is currently working on several different projects, which investigate the determinants, processes and consequences of immigrant incorporation in North America and Europe. These projects include an analysis of self-employment prestige among immigrant entrepreneurs in the U.S.A.; research on immigrant-serving nonprofit organizations; a study looking at the effects of self-employment on voluntary behavior; and a series of papers examining immigrants’ homeland-oriented transnational political action. He was previously based at the University of Oxford as a Marie Curie Postdoctoral Research Officer at the International Migration Institute and Junior Research Fellow of Wolfson College. His work appears in the International Migration Review, the Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, Global Networks and Migration Studies. xiii

Contributors

Xinyin Chen is Professor of Psychology at the Graduate School of Education, the University of

Pennsylvania. His research interest is mainly in children’s and adolescents’ socioemotional functioning (e.g., shyness-inhibition, social competence, depression), social relationships and family socialization processes with a focus on cultural issues. He conducts large-scale longitudinal projects in Brazil, Canada, China, Italy, South Korea and the United States. Héctor L. Delgado is a Full Professor of Sociology at the University of La Verne and the

Executive Officer of the Society for the Study of Social Problems. He is the author of New Immigrants, Old Unions: Organizing Undocumented Workers in Los Angeles (Temple University Press, 1993) and numerous articles and chapters on immigrants and unionization. Katie Dingeman is Assistant Professor of Sociology at California State University, Los Angeles.

Her areas of research include Central American and Mexican migration, the undocumented experience, criminalization of migration, detention and deportation. Her research has been funded by the National Science Foundation, UC Berkeley Center for Human Rights and the Fletcher Jones Foundation. She is working on her first book, The Great Expulsion: Deportation and the Aftermath of Removal. Cristián Doña-Reveco is Associate Professor of Sociology and Director of the Office for Latino/

Latin American Studies at the University of Nebraska-Omaha. In Chile, he is a Research Associate at Universidad Diego Portales’ Instituto de Investigación en Ciencias Sociales and Adjunct Researcher in the Center for the Study of Social Conflict and Social Cohesion. He researches migration decisions, relationships between emigrants and their state of origin, and South American migration policies. He holds a Ph.D. in Sociology and History from Michigan State University. Seçil Paçacı Elitok is a Visiting Adjunct Professor at CERES (Center for European, Russian

and Eurasian Studies) at Michigan State University. Her research interests are international migration with a special focus on migration to and from Turkey, migration policy, gender and migration, mobility of highly-skilled, return migrants and remittances. Yến Lê Espiritu is Distinguished Professor and former Chair of the Department of Ethnic Studies

at the University of California, San Diego. An award-winning author, she has published widely on Asian American panethnicity, gender and migration, and U.S. colonialism and wars in Asia. Her most recent book is Body Counts: The Vietnam War and Militarized Refuge(es) (University of California Press, 2014). She is a founding member of the Critical Refugee Studies Collective. Thomas Faist is Professor for Sociology at Bielefeld University. His fields of interest are

transnational relations, cross-border migration, citizenship and social policy. He held visiting appointments at Malmö University and the University of Toronto. Among the books he has co-authored are The Volume and Dynamics of International Migration and Transnational Social Spaces (Oxford University Press, 2000, 2008), Beyond a Border: The Causes and Consequences of Contemporary Immigration (SAGE, 2010); Diaspora and Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods (Amsterdam University Press, 2010), Migration, Development, and Transnationalization: A Critical Stance (Berghahn Books, 2011), Beyond Methodological Nationalism: Social Science Research Methods in Transition (Routledge, 2012), Disentangling Migration and Climate Change (Springer, 2013) and Environmental Migration and Social Inequalities (Springer, 2016).

xiv

Contributors

Jo Ann M. Farver is Professor and Chair of the Department of Psychology at the University

of Southern California. Her research and teaching specialties are in developmental psychology, especially the social development of young children (including play, prosocial and aggressive behavior); cross-cultural developmental psychology; violence and young children; and early literacy. She is the Director of the Undergraduate Honors Program in Psychology. Patricia Fernández-Kelly, Ph.D. Rutgers University: International Economic Development; Gender, Class and Ethnicity; Urban Ethnography. Professor of Sociology and Research Associate at the Office of Population Research, at Princeton University. She is also the director of the Center for Migration and Development. Fernández-Kelly is a social anthropologist with an interest in international development and an early student of export-processing zones in Asia and Latin America. Her book on Mexico’s maquiladora program, For We Are Sold, I and My People: Women and Industry in Mexico’s Frontier (SUNY Press, 1983) was featured by Contemporary Sociology as one of twenty-five favorite books in the last decade of the 20th century. With Lorraine Gray, she co-produced the Emmy-award winning documentary The Global Assembly Line. She has written extensively on migration, economic restructuring, women in the labor force, and race and ethnicity. With Paul DiMaggio, she produced Art in the Lives of Immigrant Communities in the United States (2010). With Alejandro Portes she is the editor of The State and the Grassroots: Immigrant Transnational Organization in Four Continents (Berghahn Books, 2015). Her book The Hero’s Fight: African Americans in West Baltimore and the Shadow of the State (Princeton University Press, 2016) received a C. Wright Mills Finalist Award from the Society for the Study of Social Problems. She is currently working on a book entitled Hialeah Dreams: The Making of the Cuban-American Working Class in South Florida. Amanda Flaim is a Visiting Assistant Professor at James Madison College, Michigan State University, where she is also affiliated at the Asian Studies Center and the Center for Gender in Global Context. Formerly, she served as a Human Rights Postdoctoral Fellow at Duke University and has been the lead research consultant on issues of statelessness and trafficking vulnerability for UN programs in Asia. Christiane Fröhlich is a Research Fellow at the German Institute for Global and Area Studies (GIGA) in Hamburg, Germany. She researches human mobility in the context of political and environmental crises with a focus on the Middle East. Her work has been published, among others, in Political Geography, Global Policy, Contemporary Levant as well as a number of edited volumes. More information at www.christianefroehlich.de Ramona Fruja Amthor is Associate Professor of Education at Bucknell University. She examines the intersections among educational contexts, immigration and identity, focusing on immigrants’ transitions and their experiences with education and citizenship in their multiple forms. Her work includes the edited volume Citizenship, Identity and Belonging in the 21st Century and has appeared in journals such as Globalizations, Educational Studies and Multicultural Perspectives. Donna R. Gabaccia is Professor of History at the University of Toronto. She is the author of

many books and articles on Italian migrations worldwide, immigration to the United States and migration in global history. Her most recent book Gender and International Migration (co-author Katharine Donato) received an honorable mention for the ASA Zananiecki Prize. She is a past President of the Social Science History Association.

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Contributors

David Newman Glovsky is a historian and Ph.D. candidate at Michigan State University. His

dissertation research focuses on mobility and migration among the Fulbe of Senegal, Gambia, Guinea-Bissau and Guinea over the last 150 years. It traces how Fulbe have created larger, transnational communities across borders in the face of colonial and post-colonial efforts to limit the movement of people and goods. His research also examines the spread of Fulbe communities and Sufi orders across borders in West Africa. Steven J. Gold is Professor in the Department of Sociology at Michigan State University. His

interests include international migration, ethnic economies, qualitative methods and visual sociology. He has conducted research on Israeli emigration and transnationalism, Russian-speaking Jewish and Vietnamese refugees in the U.S., ethnic economies and on conflicts between immigrant merchants and their customers. Breanne Grace is an Assistant Professor at the University of South Carolina. Her research and

teaching areas of expertise are in humanitarian aid, immigration, race, human rights and citizenship. Dr. Grace’s research focuses on how refugees access rights in local integration and resettlement programs in East Africa and the United States. Chien-Juh Gu is Professor of Sociology at Western Michigan University. She specializes in

gender, social psychology and international migration. Gu is the author of Mental Health among Taiwanese Americans: Gender, Immigration, and Transnational Struggles (LFB, 2006) and The Resilient Self: Gender, Immigration, and Taiwanese Americans (Rutgers University Press, 2017). She has received many grants and awards. Her recent research examines Burmese refugees’ adaptation in Battle Creek, Michigan. Jacqueline Maria Hagan is a Kenan Professor of Sociology at the University of North Carolina

at Chapel Hill. An international migration specialist, she is author of Deciding to be Legal (Temple University Press, 1994) and the award-winning books Migration Miracle (Harvard Press, 2008) and (co-authored with Ruben Hernandez Leon and Jean Luc Demonsant) of Skills of the Unskilled: Work and Mobility among Mexican Migrants (University of California Press, 2015). David Haines is Professor Emeritus in Sociology and Anthropology at George Mason University

and co-president of the Association for the Anthropology of Policy. His most recent books are An Introduction to Sociocultural Anthropology: Adaptations, Structures, Meanings (2nd edition; University Press of Colorado, 2017); Maintaining Refuge (co-edited with Jayne Howell and Fethi Keles; American Anthropological Association, 2017); and Immigration Structures and Immigrants Lives: An Introduction to the U.S. Experience (Rowman & Littlefield, 2017). He is also the author of Safe Haven? A History of Refugees in America (Kumarian Press/Lynne Rienner, 2010). Metka Hercog is a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Basel and a lecturer at the

University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. Her research centers on highly skilled mobilities, politics of mobility and migrants’ civic engagement. Previously she had worked at the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology and at the International Labour Organization. Dr. Hercog received her M.Sc. degree in International Development Studies from Utrecht University and her Ph.D. degree in Public Policy from Maastricht University. Donald J. Hernandez is Professor in the Department of Sociology, Hunter College and The

Graduate Center, City University of New York. As Study Director for the National Academy xvi

Contributors

Sciences and Institute of Medicine Committee on the Health and Adjustment of Immigrant Children and Families, he was responsible for From Generation to Generation: The Health and Well-Being of Children in Immigrant Families (National Academy Press, 1998). Leading a crossnational UNICEF study, he authored Children in Immigrant Families in Eight Affluent Countries: Their Family, National, and International Context (UNICEF Innocenti Research Centre, 2009). He publishes widely on the well-being of children in immigrant families. Thomas Janoski is Professor of Sociology at the University of Kentucky. He previously taught

at Duke University and the University of California, Berkeley. He published The Ironies of Citizenship: Naturalization and Integration in Industrialized Countries (Cambridge University Press, 2010) explaining naturalization laws over two centuries by three regime types, and naturalization rates in eighteen countries over four decades. One of his major findings is that left and green parties have an effect on naturalization rates beyond the impact of the laws that they actually pass. Peter Karpestam has a Ph.D. from Lund University. His Ph.D. thesis explores the economic

consequences of migration. Since finishing his Ph.D., he has performed research on greenhouse gas emissions, financial crisis on the relationship between housing and internal migration. He has worked as a housing market analyst outside academia and is currently an Assistant Professor in Real Estate Science at Malmö University. He teaches statistics and economics. Audrey Kobayashi, Ph.D., F.R.S.C., is a Professor of Geography and Queen’s Research Chair in

the Department of Geography and Planning, Queen’s University, Kingston, Ontario. Her publications span many years of research on racism, migration, human rights and ethnocultural identities. She has also edited a number of publications including the Annals of the Association of American Geographers, A Companion to Gender Studies (Wiley-Blackwell, 2004), The International Encyclopedia of Geography the International Encyclopedia of Human Geography, 2nd edition. She recently coauthored a book on the experiences of racialized and indigenous faculty in Canadian universities. Guofang Li is a Professor and Tier 1 Canada Research Chair in Transnational/Global

Perspectives of Language and Literacy Education of Children and Youth, in the Faculty of Education, University of British Columbia, Canada. Her recent research interests include immigrant children’s bi-literacy development, new literacies studies, language teaching technology, TESOL teacher education, and language policy and practice in globalized contexts. Andrea Louie is Professor in the Department of Anthropology at Michigan State University.

She is author of Chineseness Across Borders: Renegotiating Chinese Identities in China and the United States (Duke, 2004) and How Chinese Are You? Adopted Chinese Youth and Their Families Negotiate Identity and Culture (NYU, 2015). She is writing a book on her maternal grandmother, who was selected as Mother of the Year in 1952. Jan Lucassen is Research Fellow at the International Institute of Social History (IISH) in

Amsterdam and Emeritus Professor of the Free University in Amsterdam. Leo Lucassen is Director of Research of the International Institute of Social History (IISH) in

Amsterdam and Professor of Global Labour and Migration History at Leiden University. Eithne Luibhéid is Professor of Gender and Women’s Studies at the University of Arizona. She

is the author of Pregnant on Arrival: Making the ‘Illegal’ Immigrant (University of Minnesota Press, xvii

Contributors

2013) and Entry Denied: Controlling Sexuality at the Border (University of Minnesota Press, 2002). She is the editor of “Queer Migrations,” and co-editor of A Global History of Sexuality (Wiley Blackwell, 2014) and Queer Migrations: Sexuality, Citizenship, and Border Crossings (University of Minnesota Press, 2005). Kelly Birch Maginot is doctoral candidate in the Department of Sociology at Michigan State

University. Her research explores immigrant detention, deportation, reintegration and citizenship among Salvadorans deported from the U.S. She has been supported by an Inter-American Foundation Grassroots Development Fellowship, Tinker Field Research Grant and the MSU Department of Sociology, and has published in Research in Social Movements, Conflicts and Change. Adam McKeown was a Professor of World History at Columbia University from 2002 to 2013,

and is the author of Melancholy Order: Asian Migration and the Globalization of Borders (Columbia University Press, 2008). Cecilia Menjívar holds the Dorothy L. Meier Social Equities Chair and is Professor of Sociology

at UCLA. She has examined the effects of the legislative side of the immigration regime as well as of enforcement practices on different aspects of immigrants’ lives, in particular, family formation, immigrants’ contacts with institutions and effects in sending countries. Empirically, she has focused on Central American immigrants. Her most recent book publications include Immigrant Families (Polity, 2016), co-authored with Leisy Abrego and Leah Schmalzbauer; Constructing Immigrant Illegality: Constructions, Experiences, and Responses (Cambridge, 2014), co-edited with Daniel Kanstroom, and Deportation and Return in a Border-Restricted World (Springer, 2016), coedited with Bryan Roberts and Nestor Rodriguez. Charlie V. Morgan is an Associate Professor in the Sociology Department at Ohio University.

He received his Ph.D. in Sociology from the University of California, Irvine. His research interests include immigration, race and ethnicity, intermarriage and minority groups in Japan. He is currently conducting a qualitative research project on immigration in Japan looking at international couples and the second generation. Brendan Mullan is an Associate Professor of Sociology at Michigan State University. His

research focuses on the sociological and demographic dynamics of globalization; the causes, content and consequences of international migration; and the interplay between globalization and migration with a particular focus on inequality. His research has been published in Demography, International Migration, International Migration Review, Sociological Focus and The International Journal of Sociology. Stephanie J. Nawyn is an Associate Professor in the Department of Sociology and the

Co-Director of Academic Programs at the Center for Gender in Global Context at Michigan State University. Her work has primarily focused on refugee resettlement and protection, as well as the economic advancement of African voluntary migrants in the U.S. with a focus on gender. She was a Fulbright Fellow at Istanbul University for the 2013–14 academic year, studying the treatment of Syrian refugees in Turkey. Her most recent work was published in Journal of Refugees Studies and Journal of Ethnic and Racial Studies. Caitlin Patler is Assistant Professor of Sociology at University of California, Davis, where she

is a Faculty Affiliate at the Center for Poverty Research, the Migration Research Cluster, the xviii

Contributors

Social Control Cluster and the Human Rights Program. She is currently conducting mixedmethods research on: immigration detention and the intersections of immigration and criminal law; the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program; and legally vulnerable workers. Her work has appeared most recently in International Migration Review, Social Problems and Social Science & Medicine. Aaron Ponce is an Assistant Professor of Sociology at Michigan State University. His research

examines global social change and the construction and contestation of socio-cultural diversity, with a focus on international migration and immigrant reception. His current research projects link migration-led diversity to shifting symbolic boundaries in Europe. Maritsa V. Poros is Associate Professor of Sociology at the City College of New York and the

Graduate Center, CUNY. In 2011, Stanford University Press published her book, Modern Migrations: Gujarati Indian Networks in New York and London. And in 2014 she co-authored, Key Concepts in Migration (SAGE). Her work has been supported by the National Science Foundation and she previously held positions at the U.S. Census Bureau and the University of East London, UK. Rebeca Raijman completed her Ph.D. studies at the University of Chicago. She is an

Associate Professor and Head of the Doctoral Program at the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at the University of Haifa, Israel. She has published several articles on the topic of ethnic entrepreneurship, labor market outcomes of Jewish immigrants to Israel, non-Jewish and non-Palestinian labor migration in Israel, and public attitudes to migrants and minorities in Israel and Europe. Anthony Robles is a student in the Department of Sociology at California State University,

Los Angeles. He was awarded the CSU Board of Trustees Award for Outstanding Academic Achievement, an accolade given to one student from each CSU campus annually. He is a member of Project Rebound, a university support program by and for formerly incarcerated students, and hopes to attend law school upon graduation in May 2018. Rubén G. Rumbaut is Distinguished Professor of Sociology at the University of California,

Irvine. Among his publications are Immigrant America: A Portrait (with Alejandro Portes; University of California Press, 4th ed. 2014) and Legacies: The Story of the Immigrant Second Generation (University of California Press, 2001) which won the Distinguished Book Award of the American Sociological Association and the Thomas and Znaniecki Award for best book in the immigration field. He is a Fellow of the National Academy of Education and the American Academy of Arts and Sciences. Pramod Kumar Sah is a doctoral student in Language and Literacy Education at the University

of British Columbia, Canada. He earned his M.A. TESOL with Applied Linguistics from the University of Central Lancashire, UK and M.Ed. in English Language Teaching from Tribhuvan University, Nepal. His major research areas include language policy and planning, language ideology, critical pedagogy, TESOL and Social Justice, English and Social Class, and Language Economics. Mariano Sana is an Associate Professor of Sociology at Vanderbilt University. Most of his

research is on international migration or survey methodology issues and has been published in demography and sociology journals, including Demography, Social Forces, International Migration Review and others. xix

Contributors

Nandita Sharma is an Associate Professor of Racism, Migration and Transnationalism in the

Department of Sociology at the University of Hawai‘i at Manoa. An activist scholar of national and international migration regimes, her work also looks at the materiality of consciousness, particularly in relation to ideas of “race” and “nation.” Gabriel (Gabi) Sheffer is an Emeritus Senior Professor at the Political Science Department

of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, Israel. He taught for about forty years at the Hebrew University and simultaneously part-time at other universities in Israel. He has spent many sabbatical full academic years at universities in the U.S., England, Germany and Australia. He has published numerous written and edited books and articles and won prizes in Israel and abroad. Kristina Shull is a Lecturer in History at UC Irvine and a Soros Justice Fellow at Community

Initiatives for Visiting Immigrants in Confinement (CIVIC). She is the founder and Editorin-Chief of IMM Print. Her current book project, Invisible Bodies: Immigration Crisis and Private Prisons Since the Reagan Era, explores the concurrent rise of the U.S. immigration detention system and prison privatization since the 1980s at the intersections of foreign policy and public xenophobia. Miri Song is Professor of Sociology at the University of Kent, and she is currently a Distinguished

Visiting Fellow at the Advanced Research Collaborative at the CUNY Graduate Center in New York City. She has recently published a new book: Multiracial Parents: Mixed Race Families, Generational Change, and the Future of Race (NYU Press, 2017). Christiane Spiel is Professor of Bildung-Psychology and Evaluation at the Faculty of Psychology,

University of Vienna. Her research topics include lifelong learning, bullying prevention, social relations in multicultural schools, evaluation, and implementing interventions into public policy. She has received the Austrian Cross of Honor for Science and Arts first class. Currently she is coordinating lead author of the chapter on education of the International Panel on Social Progress. Holly Straut-Eppsteiner is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Sociology at the University

of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Her research areas include Latina/o migration, work and labor markets, gender, and the role of religion in the migration process. Her work has been published in Latino Studies and the Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies. Fons van de Vijver holds a Chair in Cross-Cultural Psychology at Tilburg University, the

Netherlands and an Extraordinary Chair at North-West University, South Africa, and the University of Queensland, Australia. He has (co-)authored more than 500 publications, mainly in the domain of cross-cultural psychology. He is a former editor of the Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology. He is President of the International Association for Cross-Cultural Psychology. Celine Villongco specializes in issues related to anti-trafficking policy reform, forced labor and sexual exploitation. Her past research projects include an examination of uneven conferral of the U.S. Trafficking Visa and a comparative analysis of immigration relief programs for trafficking survivors in other countries. Currently, she oversees domestic programs focused on increasing human trafficking awareness and prevention. Celine holds a Master’s degree in Public Policy from Duke University. xx

Contributors

Charles Watters is Professor of Wellbeing and Social Care and Director of the Centre for

Innovation and Research in Wellbeing at the University of Sussex. His work centers on the reception and treatment of forced migrants around the globe and the implications of different modalities of care on well-being. His current research interests focus on migrant place making and well-being in urban areas and the well-being of refugee children in schools. He has held a range of international advisory positions on migration and health and is Founding Editor of the International Journal of Migration, Health and Social Care. Karen A. Woodrow-Lafield is Research Professor and Faculty Associate in the Maryland

Population Research Center at the University of Maryland College Park. She is a scholar in the demography and sociology of immigration and citizenship, having assessed undocumented migration levels in the 1980s, 1990s and 2000s, including comprehensive Binational Migration Study. As an invited member for the Social Security Advisory Board 2011 Technical Panel on Assumptions and Methods, she evaluated the immigration component in actuarial projections. Hirokazu Yoshikawa is a University Professor at New York University. He studies the effects

of programs and policies related to early childhood development and immigration on child and youth development in the United States and in low- and middle-income countries. He codirects the Global TIES for Children Center at NYU and serves on the Board of the Russell Sage Foundation and the Advisory Boards of the Open Society Foundations Early Childhood Program and the UNESCO Global Education Monitoring Report. Min Zhou is Professor of Sociology and Asian American Studies, Walter and Shirley Wang

Endowed Chair in US-China Relations and Communications, and Director of Asia Pacific Center at the University of California, Los Angeles. Her main areas of research are in migration and development, ethnic entrepreneurship, race and ethnicity, Chinese diasporas and the sociology of Asia and Asian America. She is the coauthor of The Asian American Achievement Paradox (Russell Sage Foundation, 2015) and The Rise of the New Second Generation (Polity Press, 2016).

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Introduction to the second edition Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn

The first edition of the Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies was published in 2013. Just three years later, in its annual review of the top ten issues in international migration, the Migration Information Source noted, “The year 2016 was a notable one for the migration world, marked by ongoing displacement crises, political upheaval, and policy developments on returns, integration, and border enforcement in countries of origin, transit, and destination.” Evidence of the degree of recent transformation in global migration can be seen in the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees’ announcement that the population of refugees worldwide as of 2017 was nearly 66 million persons, the largest number ever recorded (Edwards 2017). The publication of this second edition of the Handbook was mandated to address the profound transformations in international migration that have occurred in the last five years and to present innovative research that documents and examines recent developments in the field. This new volume follows the same plan and rationale as the first edition but features 18 new chapters, which appear in seven of the book’s nine thematic parts. They are listed below. Part I, “Theories and histories of international migration,” includes David Newman Glovsky’s chapter “A brief history of African migration.” Part II, “Displacement, refugees and forced migration,” incorporates four new chapters: Breanne Grace’s “Country of first asylum;” Seçil Paçacı Elitok and Christiane Fröchlich’s “Central Asian/Eastern European/Middle Eastern passages into Europe and Mediterranean crisis;” David Haines’ “Refugees and geopolitical conflicts;” and Daniel B. Ahlquist and Leo A. Baldiga’s “Climate change and human migration: constructed vulnerability, uneven flows, and the challenges of studying environmental migration in the 21st century.” Part III, “Migrants in the economy,” includes four new chapters: Ali R. Chaudhary’s “Immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship;” Metka Hercog’s “High skilled migration;” Rebeca Raijman’s “Immigration and the informal economy;” and Amanda Flaim and Celine Villongco’s “Vulnerability to exploitation and human trafficking: a multi-scale review of risk.” Part IV, “Intersecting inequalities in the lives of migrants,” includes Maritsa V. Poros’ “Nativism: a global historical perspective,” as well as Stephanie J. Nawyn’s chapter, “Gender and migration: uneven integration.” Part V, “Creating and recreating community and group identity,” includes two new chapters: Cawo M. Abdi and Erika Busse’s “Condemned to a protracted limbo? Refugees and statelessness in the age of terrorism;” and Patricia Fernández-Kelly’s “Reclaiming the black and Asian journeys: a comparative perspective on culture, class, and immigration.” Part VII, “Migrants and the state,” includes five new chapters. These are Caitlan Patler, Kristina Shull and Katie Dingeman’s “Detention and deportation;” Aaron Ponce’s “International migration and the welfare state: connections and extensions;” Rubén G. Rumbaut, Katie Dingeman xxii

Introduction to the second edition

and Anthony Robles’ “Immigration and crime and the criminalization of immigration;” and Yuk Wah Chan’s “Asian migrations and the evolving notions of national community.” Finally, Part VIII, “Maintaining links across borders,” includes two new chapters: Kelly Birch Maginot’s “Survival or incorporation? Immigrant (re)integration after deportation;” and Audrey Kobayashi’s “Return migration.” In addition to these wholly new chapters, we wish to point out that all but two of the chapters that appeared in the first edition of the Handbook have been revised to include new theories and data by their authors and, in several cases, additional co-authors. The information and analysis presented in this book is intended to facilitate a better understanding of international migration in the contemporary world. In addition, it is our sincere hope that this knowledge will contribute to improving the life conditions of both migrating populations as well as those not engaged in the crossing of international borders.

Reference Edwards, Adrian 2017. “Forced displacement worldwide at its highest in decades,” 19 June. Available at: www.unhcr.org/news/stories/2017/6/5941561f4/forced-displacement-worldwide-its-highestdecades.html

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Introduction to the first edition Steven J. Gold and Stephanie J. Nawyn

The current era is marked, despite increased efforts to harden nation-state borders, by an unparalleled level of human migration, which is the consequence of both recent and longterm political, economic, cultural, social, demographic and technological developments. These include the end of the Cold War; the efforts of corporations, states, social movements and religious organizations to increase both their access to and control over populations, resources and finances; the global expansion of production, commerce, consumption and communications and entertainment media; the need for both inexpensive and highly skilled labor; and the growing availability of low-cost and high-speed modes of transportation. Migration is also initiated by intergroup conflicts, environmental disasters, economic transformations and ethnic cleansing. These occurrences have brought previously isolated peoples and cultures much closer together than ever before. The resulting patterns of contemporary migration are unprecedented in both the sheer numbers of people involved as well as their diversity. In 2011, the International Organization for Migration estimated that there were a total of 214 million migrants internationally – some 3.1 percent of the world’s population or one in every 33 persons (IOM 2015). Such migrants, who remitted approximately $325 billion to their homelands in 2010, represent almost every motive and social category imaginable (Mohapatra et al. 2011). They seek work and economic opportunities, reunification with family members, a more congenial environment or, most poignantly in the case of war-weary refugees, a safe place to live. Adding to the challenges of border crossing, migrants find themselves targeted as marks, consumers and recruits by merchants, employers, religious proselytizers, criminals, human traffickers, social control apparatuses and the leaders of a wide variety of social and political movements. While some carry on unscathed others are scarred en route. Still others, including migrants, non-migrants and former migrants – engage in occupations ranging from resettlement staff and smugglers to travel agents. In so doing, they find ways to benefit from their ties to the global migration stream (Cohen 1969; Safran 1999). International migration encompasses widely varied forms of population movements, from both sanctioned and covert labor migrations, to contract labor and “guest-worker” programs, to network-driven chain migrations that link communities across international borders. Flows of highly skilled professionals traverse industrialized and developing countries, low-skilled workers risk their lives to access better labor opportunities, and displaced asylum seekers struggle to gain legal recognition in both developing and developed countries. The study of international migration explores these many modes of exit, reception and incorporation which involve varied populations in disparate political, economic, social and cultural contexts. More than just a demographic shift in population, these movements also facilitate the transmission of ideologies and identities, political and cultural practices and economic resources. xxiv

Introduction to the first edition

These transformations impact not only those who are migrating, but also those who are left behind, as well as non-migrants who live and work where migrants settle. Reactions to migration and the types of change with which it is associated take many forms. The political outcomes of migration range from declarations of global human rights, to the extension of dual citizenship to expatriates, to “extraordinary rendition,” selective incarceration and profiling, to internal exile, mass killings and expulsions of entire populations. Whatever the shape these political reactions to migration have taken, however, migration patterns often resist policies intended to mold them according to plan (Massey et al. 1993; Castles and Miller 2009). Migration and its after-effects have wide-ranging impacts upon nearly every aspect of social, economic, political and cultural life in countries of origin and settlement – altering dietary habits, tastes in clothing and music, economic patterns and religious, racial, ethnic, familial, gender and political practices and identities. Many contemporary social problems – including racial, ethnic, national and religious conflicts, economic inequalities, and the unraveling of political structures and practices – are themselves the product of previous migrations. While sometimes generating problems, migration also provides benefits and solutions. Some migrant groups record remarkable achievements. They compensate for population decline and contribute inestimable resources to the host societies while also remitting prized assets, ranging from economic support to political leadership to their countries of origin (Levitt 2001; Portes 2001; Saxenian 2006; Morawska 2001). The causes and consequences of international migration have long been among the focal concerns of social scientists, historians, legal scholars, political activists and social reformers. Hence, there is major precedent and a wide body of available theory, methods and archival literature through which these topics can be investigated. At the same time, many new forms of contemporary migration defy established categories, models and methods. Consequently, migration research demands a mastery of both conventional and cutting-edge approaches. According to available evidence, current patterns of migration – and the many critical issues associated with it for both sending and receiving environments – will become even more prominent in the future, and more consequential both for social policy and scholarship. Given the social, economic, political and ideological importance of international migration in the contemporary world, this Handbook has been devised in such a way as to provide students, scholars, policy makers and general readers with the basics of what they need to develop a sound, wideranging and forward-looking understanding of the phenomenon.

Central themes Of the many factors that have recently transformed the study of international migration, we identify four as bases for the organization of this Handbook. First, is the vast and diverse number of persons currently living outside of their countries of birth. Second, are the innumerable types of international migrants, the unprecedented ways that immigration is affecting human lives and the myriad settings in which migrants can be found. Third is the growth and transformation in the ways that academics, policy makers, journalists, artists and other observers study international migration. The earliest students of international migration relied almost entirely on the theories and methods of economics, demography and sociology. At present – reflecting both the diversity of migrants and the expansion of intellectual life and technology – international migration is explored via a whole catalogue of approaches, including, but not limited to the gaze of the social and natural sciences, humanities, journalism and the creative arts. The consequence has been the generation of a vast body of analytical materials based in multiple perspectives and the collection of plentiful and varied caches of data. xxv

Introduction to the first edition

Finally, we acknowledge the change that has occurred among the students of international migration. In the past, the academy was among societies’ most exclusive institutions, barring participation by women, racial and ethnic minorities, immigrants and those of humble birth. Several processes have altered this pattern. Academics in general, and migration scholars in particular, are now diverse in their nationality, class, gender, religion, race, life experience and sexual identity. A considerable number are themselves immigrants (Rumbaut 2000). These investigators ask questions, maintain loyalties and hold perspectives that were largely absent among an earlier generation of migration scholars. The Handbook makes a conscious effort to both acknowledge and draw upon the innovation and diversity brought to migration studies by these recent transformations.

A conceptual focus This Handbook examines international migration from a conceptual, multidisciplinary and international perspective. Based upon in-depth essays written by both leading scholars and up-andcoming specialists, the book is organized around key concepts in the study of international migration. This strategy allows us to transcend the disciplinary, geographical and methodological limitations that often hinder scholarly investigation. Accordingly, the book cites and brings together an eclectic range of disciplinary foci, methodological techniques and regional prerogatives. It allows readers to understand basic theories and principles that can be applied to multiple cases, rather than selecting only those that conform to the assumptions and conventions associated with particular outlooks. Existing readers on the topic of international migration tend to be organized around particular cities or countries, or specific social categories (race, ethnicity, generation, social class, gender, religion or occupation). Further, such compendia tend to rely on a narrow range of disciplinary perspectives and methodological approaches. While providing useful and wellintegrated information, such studies restrict the full diversity of perspectives and approaches to migration research used by the broader community of migration scholars. Moreover, by relying on models and concerns inherited from other disciplines or topics of study, such analyses treat the key issues in the study of international migration as secondary to those favored by other projects and bodies of literature. Such an approach obscures our understanding of international migration as an important social phenomenon in its own right. In contrast, Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies is organized around the field of international migration per se. Toward this end, it stresses an interdisciplinary, eclectic, complementary and integrative approach rather than relying upon the concerns and definitions derived from other fields. Chapters are written by a wide range of experts on the topics they know best. Authors explain central issues according to their own vision, using incisive reviews of pertinent literature. Moreover, in many chapters they draw upon data acquired from their own research, conducted in a globe-spanning array of locations and disciplines. Chapters reflect upon key debates and competing and contradictory approaches to the field. In introducing readers to the diversity of perspectives, methods, topics and disciplines that are currently applied to the study of migration, this book offers a realistic and nuanced grasp of perspectives on both international migration, as well as an indication of the intellectually dynamic climate maintained by scholars who examine it. The Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies is sizeable – featuring more than 40 essays – and is intentionally diverse in scope. Nevertheless, it cannot attend to every worthy topic or perspective in this expanding field. Accordingly, while covering central themes, we

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made special efforts to represent contemporary, leading-edge works that are shaping the field’s growth. These include migration control, host hostility, transnationalism and diasporas, migrant families, cultural conflict, multiculturalism, citizenship, climate change-induced migration and the experience of migrants during the global “war on terror.” Each chapter includes between 20 and 40 references that direct readers to canonical texts. This provides access to key findings while also opening up the space we require to emphasize current topics, approaches and findings.

The book’s organization The book is organized according to what we regard as a natural history of the process of international migration and adjustment to the host society. While we do not directly cover internal migration, we wish to point out that many of the forms of social, economic and cultural adjustment experienced by international migrants are very similar to those of internal migrants. Accordingly, many of these chapters are relevant to the study of internal migration. We begin with a summary of several theories and histories of international migration, outlining their focus, assumptions and methodologies. By identifying foundational theories on international migration, the text enables readers to understand assumptions about migration that underlie the thinking of scholars and policy makers associated with specific disciplines and topics of study. The book’s introduction also allows readers to link interpretations of migration with various academic disciplines’ central methodological, ideological and epistemological traditions. Finally, brief regional histories of migration in four world regions – our sole use of locality as an organizing principle in the book – provide a background for current concerns and contexts. The next section concerns forced migrants. As of 2005, about 17 million persons world-wide were in flight from their countries of residence due to political and ethnic conflicts, wars, revolutions and natural disasters. Some of these persons receive refugee status and, with it, financial assistance, health care and legal residency status in another country. Others, who may be in equally dire straits, are denied refugee status and must endure in a stateless condition (Watters 2008; Salomon 1991). The next section addresses migrants in the economy. A considerable fraction of international migration is motivated by various economic goals, including obtaining increased earnings, acquiring funds that will be sent back home to support relatives, communities or social movements; and improving ones’ own or family members’ education. Even those who migrate for other purposes – to obtain health care, for family unification, for a change of scene, to escape violence or oppression, or to pursue religious activities or an artistic or cultural calling – must find ways of supporting themselves. The economic activities and fates of international migrants are extraordinarily diverse. The most privileged of these include the skilled and professional workers who are recruited to develop advanced technology, some of whom are involved in creating global centers of production and wealth including California’s Silicon Valley. Another economic category, risktaking immigrant entrepreneurs, establish their own businesses, often drawing on group-based resources and overseas sources of business expertise, capital, labor and goods (Light and Gold 2000; Rath 2002). Their willingness to locate enterprises in impoverished areas sometimes yields conflicts with local residents (Min 1996; Chua 2003; Zenner 1991). Labor migrants often fill jobs and tolerate wages that the native-born are reluctant to accept. Undocumented workers perform a variety of tasks without the benefit of regulation, rights

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or stability. Return migrants transfer resources, skills, capital, cultural practices and networks back to their countries of origin or to a third location. In this way, migrants’ diverse economic involvements tell us much about their own goals and prospects, how they fit into the host society, and their likelihood of return or further migration (Piore 1979). Following from our account of the disparate economic fates encountered by immigrants, the next section addresses intersecting inequalities in the lives of migrants. Bearing distinct racial, cultural, linguistic, religious, familial and dietary practices from members of the host society, migrants find themselves to be targets of ridicule or harassment. For them, housing, recreation and basic social services (education, housing, health care) are difficult to acquire in the crowded and expensive settings where they often settle. Competition over scarce resources may spark turf wars with established residents or other migrants. Migrant youth, persons of stigmatized status and those associated with political, sexual and other marginalized subcultures are especially vulnerable to mistreatment. On the other hand, newcomers who are able to achieve rapid mobility and a modicum of comfort may inspire jealousy and resentment from some while receiving kudos from others (Gold 2010). Finally, disadvantaged groups such as immigrant minorities and indigenous groups may engage in conflicts with regard to the ideological dimensions of victimization and self-assertion. And migrants do not just enter existing hierarchies of inequality; their presence and actions within the receiving society reshape those hierarchies, which effect social inequality among non-migrants. Given their encounters with inequalities, immigrants build lives, communities and identities in the host society, even if they must do so under conditions that the Marxist aphorism describes as “not of their own choosing.” The section on creating and recreating community and group identity explores this process. As migrants establish communities in the host society, they often seek to compensate for what they lack. Those who are impoverished devise means of financial survival (Tienda and Raijman 2000; Cohen 1969). Those deficient in status build systems of prestige (Min 1996). Cognizant of their past, migrants frequently work to preserve aspects of the life back home that they miss. They often maintain active ties and links to the country of origin and keep in touch with co-nationals, co-religionists and relatives in other settings (Smith 2005). They also endeavor to improve prospects for their children (Zhou and Bankston 1998). Finally, because time-tested means of socialization are often altered in the course of migration, migrant organizations are committed to forms of identity formation, especially for youth (Portes and Rumbaut 2006; Kasinitz et al. 2009; Wolf 1997; Andesian 1986). These topics are examined in chapters on segmented assimilation, community patterns, panethnicity and immigrant religion. Drawing on their shared communities and identities, as well as other resources, migrants socially reproduce themselves. This occurs in several realms including family formation and maintenance, marriage and intermarriage, and the nurturance of immigrant children (Pedraza 1991; Gabaccia 1994; Zlotnick 2003). A chapter on international adoption addresses an important but understudied form of social reproduction that involves both families and immigrant children. Migrant communities do much to help their members find jobs, deal with inequalities, build communities and negotiate their position in the new society. However, the resources and limitations encountered by migrants – both individually and collectively – are to a considerable degree shaped by the actions of nation states. In many instances, the host society has the most direct access to and control over resident migrants. However, other countries exert influence as well. For example, countries of origin often act on behalf of expatriates, and encourage or prevent their return (Faist 2000; Fitzgerald 2009).

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Further, countries seeking to import workers or exclude undesirables wield considerable influence over migrant populations (Borjas 1990). States regulate a variety of activities associated with immigrants’ presence, including primary and secondary education, language training, recruitment, emigration control, naturalization, political incorporation, control of crime, regulation of health and access to various public benefits. This section examines how governments and nation states act with regard to immigrants. Until relatively recently, most scholars and policy makers assumed that migrants maintained extensive relations with only a single nation state – that of their country of origin (for shortterm sojourners) – and the host society (for longer term settlers) (Gordon 1964). However, a growing body of research and theorizing has come to recognize that various communities maintain international social, economic, political, familial, religious and identificational links. Consequently, maintaining links across borders has become a vital area of migration research (Basch et al. 1994; Massey et al. 1994; Faist 2000; Portes 2001; Guarnizo and Smith 1998; Glick Schiller 2005). To better understand such relationships, scholars have advanced an approach called “transnationalism.” Stressing the globalization of political, economic, social and cultural life, the speed and low cost of modern communication and transportation, the rights revolution that has opened opportunities for incorporation and self-determination among the women and men of formerly excluded ethnic and nationality groups, and the acceptance of expatriates in the polity of many nations, the concept of transnationalism emphasizes the various networks and links (demographic, political, economic, cultural, familial) that exist between two or more locations. From this perspective, migration is not a single, discrete event involving movement from one geographically and socially bounded locality to another. Instead, transnational communities embody and exchange concerns, relationships, resources, needs and often people immersed in multiple settings. An alternative model for understanding the interconnection of dispersed people is diaspora. Originally associated with groups encountering forced exile from their homeland – as in the case of Jews, Africans, Armenians and Indians – in recent years, scholars have applied this concept in a broader if less specific manner to codify a range of interconnections between people, cultures and nations to represent feelings of longing and displacement but also the potential for reconnection, advancement and liberation common to migrants and exiles in many settings (Cohen 1997; Safran 1999). Some individuals and groups are able to maintain citizenship in several countries, but even those who do not regularly cross borders often sustain involvements with several groups and locations (Nonini and Ong 1997; Gold 2002; Clifford 1994). The book’s section on crossing national boundaries includes chapters on diasporas, transnationalism and return migration. Finally, the book concludes with a section that summarizes and offers practical descriptions of methods for studying international migration. Exploring international migration requires researchers to deal with crossing cultural and linguistic boundaries, and to resolve ethical dilemmas associated with collecting information from groups lacking knowledge about and power within the host society. Some of the most effective approaches integrate and triangulate multiple types of data. Despite these specific needs, literature describing methods developed specifically for the study of international migration is scarce (Massey et al. 1994; Gold 2007; Iosifdes 2011). This Handbook works to fulfill this need with a section dedicated to several research methods with special application to the study of international migrants. Included are chapters on the use of census analysis, surveys and ethnosurveys, participant observation, interviews, measuring time, visual sociology, on-line sources, comparative methods and action research.

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References Andezian, S.J. (1986) “Women’s roles in organizing symbolic life.” In R. J. Simon and C. B. Brettell (Eds.), International Migration: The Female Experience (pp. 254–265). Totowa, NJ: Rowman. Basch, L., Glick Schiller, N. and Blanc-Szanton, C. (1994) Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nation States. Basel, Switzerland: Gordon and Breach Publishers. Borjas, G. (1990) Friends or Strangers: The Impact of Immigrants on the U.S. Economy. New York: Basic Books. Castles, S. and Miller, M. (2009) Age of Migration (4th edition). New York: Guilford. Chua, A. (2003) World on Fire: How Exporting Free Market Democracy Breeds Ethnic Hatred and Global Instability. New York: Doubleday. Clifford, J. (1994) “Diasporas.” Cultural Anthropology 9(3): 302–338. Cohen, A. (1969) Custom and Politics in Urban Africa. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Cohen, R. (1997) Global Diasporas. Seattle, WA: University of Washington. Faist, T. (2000) The Volume and Dynamics of International Migration and Transnational Social Spaces. Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press. Fitzgerald, D. (2009) A Nation of Emigrants: How Mexico Manages its Migration. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Gabaccia, D. (1994) From the Other Side: Women, Gender, and Immigrant Life in the U.S., 1820–1990. Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press. Glick Schiller, N. (2005) “Long Distance Nationalism.” In M. Ember, C. R. Ember and I. Skoggard (Eds.), Encyclopedia of Diasporas: Immigrant and Refugee Cultures Around the World (pp. 570–580). New York: Springer Science and Business Media. Gold, S. J. (2002) The Israeli Diaspora. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press/Routledge. Gold, S. (2007) “Using photography in studies of immigrant communities: Reflecting across projects and populations.” In Gregory C. Stanczak (Ed.), Visual Research Methods: Image, Society and Representation (pp. 141–166). Los Angeles, CA: Sage. Gold, S. J. (2010) The Store in the Hood: A Century of Business and Conflict. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Gordon, M. (1964) Assimilation in American Life. New York: Oxford. Guarnizo, L. E. and Smith, M. P. (1998) “The locations of transnationalism.” In M. P. Smith and L. E. Guarnizo (Eds.), Transnationalism from Below (pp. 3–34). New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. International Organization for Migration (IOM) (2015) About Migration: Facts and Figures. March 10. www. iom.int/infographics/migration-facts-and-figures (viewed January 20, 2019). Iosifdes, T. (2011) Qualitative Methods in Migration Studies: A Critical Realist Perspective. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Kasinitz, P., Mollenkopf, J., Waters, M. and Holdaway, J. ( 2009) Inheriting the City: The Second Generation Comes of Age. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Levitt, P. (2001) The Transnational Villagers. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Light, I. and Gold, G. (2000) Ethnic Economies. San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Massey, D. S., Alarcon, R., Durand, J. and Gonzalez, H. (1987) Return to Aztlan. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Massey, D. S., Arango, J., Hugo, G., Kouaouci, A., Pellegrino, A. and Taylor, J. E. (1993) “Theories of international migration: A review and appraisal.” Population and Development Review 19: 431–466. Massey, D. S., Goldring, L. and Durand, J. (1994) “Continuities in transnational migration: An analysis of nineteen Mexican communities.” American Journal of Sociology 99(6): 1492–1533. Min, P.-G. (1996) Caught in the Middle: Korean Communities in New York and Los Angeles. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Mohapatra, S., Ratha, D. and Silwal, A. (2011) “Outlook for remittance flows 2011–13: Remittance flows recover to pre-crisis levels.” Migration and Development Brief Migration and Remittances Unit Vol. 16, World Bank. http://siteresources.worldbank.org/EXTDECPROSPECTS/Resources/4768821157133580628/MigrationandDevelopmentBrief16.pdf. Morawska, E. (2001) “The new-old transmigrants, their transnational lives, and ethnicization: A comparison of the 19th/20th- and 20th/21st-century situations.” In N. G. Gerstle and J. Mollenkop (Eds.), Immigrants, Civic Culture and Modes of Political Incorporation (pp. 47–96). New York: Russell Sage. Nonini, D. and Ong, A. (1997) “Introduction: Chinese transnationalism as an alternative modernity.” In A. Ong and D. Nonini (Eds.), Ungrounded Empires: The Cultural Politics of Modern Chinese Transnationalism (pp. 3–33). New York: Routledge. xxx

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Pedraza, S. (1991) “Women and migration: The social consequences of gender.” Annual Review of Sociology 17: 303–325. Piore, M. J. (1979) Birds of Passage. New York: Cambridge University Press. Portes, A. (2001) “Introduction: The debates and significance of immigrant transnationalism.” Global Networks 1(3): 181–193. Portes, A. and Rumbaut, R. G. (2006) Immigrant America: A Portrait (3rd edition). Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rath, J. (Ed.) (2002) Unraveling the Rag Trade: Immigrant Entrepreneurship in Seven World Cities. Oxford, UK and New York: Berg. Rumbaut, R. G. (2000) “Immigration research in the United States: Social origins and future orientations.” In N. Foner, R. G. Rumbaut and S. J. Gold (Eds.), Immigration Research for a New Century: Multidisciplinary Perspectives (pp. 23–43). New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Safran, W. (1999) “Comparing diasporas: A review essay.” Diaspora 8(3): 255–291. Salomon, K. (1991) Refugees in the Cold War: Towards a New International Regime in the Early Postwar Era. Lund, Sweden: Lund University Press. Saxenian, A. (2006) The New Argonauts: Regional Advantage in a Global Economy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Smith, R. C. (2005) Mexican New York: Transnational Worlds of New Immigrants. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Tienda, M. and Raijman, R. (2000) “Immigrants’ income packaging and invisible labor force activity.” Social Science Quarterly 81(1): 291–311. Watters, C. (2008) Refugee Children: Towards the Next Horizon. London and New York: Routledge. Wolf, D. L. (1997) “Family secrets: Transnational struggles among children of Filipino immigrants.” Sociological Perspectives 40(3): 455–480. Zenner, W. P. (1991) Minorities in the Middle: A Cross-Cultural Analysis. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Zhou, M. and Bankston, C. III. (1998) Growing up American: How Vietnamese Children Adapt to Life in the United States. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Zlotnick, H. (2003) The Global Dimensions of Female Migration. Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute, March 1.

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Part I

Theories and histories of international migration

Economic and psychological overview chapters This section offers an overview of economic and psychological perspectives on international migration. It also summarizes migration history in four major world regions – Africa, Europe, Asia and the Americas. These chapters introduce readers to many of the disciplinary and conceptual distinctions and assumptions around which studies of international migration have been constructed. It also provides regional and historical backgrounds that trace the origins and trends that underlie contemporary migration.

Economic approaches In their chapter, “Economic perspectives on migration,” Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N. G. Andersson assert that economic literature on migration has a strong focus on labor migration. It typically distinguishes between migration within countries and between countries and focuses on the determinants of migration rather than their consequences. Motives and consequences of migration are difficult to separate. The authors explore the policy implications and empirical support of six common theories, distinguishing between theories of the initiating causes of migration and of the self-perpetuating causes of migration. Their discussion reveals the complexity of motives for migration and highlights the necessity of viewing alternative models as complementary rather than mutually exclusive. Finally, the authors show that there is support for different interpretations of migration at different time horizons (the short run, medium run and long run), a supposition commonly ignored in the empirical literature.

Psychological approaches In their essay, “Psychological acculturation,”, Marc H. Bornstein and a group of scholars known as the Acculturation Collaboration (Judith K. Bernhard, Robert H. Bradley, Xinyin Chen, Jo Ann M. Farver, Steven J. Gold, Donald J. Hernandez, Christiane Spiel, Fons van de Vijver and Hirokazu Yoshikawa) begin by pointing out that, traditionally, acculturation has been

Part I

conceived of and defined to include phenomena that result when groups of individuals, having different cultures, come into continuous first-hand contact, with subsequent changes in the original culture patterns of either or both groups. However, the authors assert that it is individuals who actually migrate and adjust. Almost 250 million individuals today are said to live outside their country of origin. That number tallies to approximately one in thirty individuals living on earth. Having made that key distinction, the chapter first reviews general theory about migration and acculturation and then differentiates individual-level from group-level acculturation. Next, it distinguishes and discusses variability of different sorts that constitutes the heart of individual psychological acculturation. Finally, the authors review profitable future directions of theory development and empirical inquiry in the area of psychological acculturation.

Historical approaches by world region A considerable body of the literature on international migration has been created by historians. The products of this research are essential for understanding the origins of contemporary migration, the nature of the migration process and in order to compare the experience of today’s migrants to those moving during earlier periods. The historical perspective is indispensable because other scholarly disciplines that examine international migration – most notably the social sciences – focus on the present. This is a consequence of disciplinary and institutional pressures to address immediate social problems, and inform social policy, in response to the dictates of funding agencies (which too often regard historical research to be without practical application). Despite the clear value of historical studies of international migration, historians have themselves become increasingly critical of many aspects of their discipline, noting that established scholarship is insufficiently complex, has failed to attend to the full variation of migrant process and populations, and is “limited and skewed” (Harzig and Hoerder 2009: 1). Focusing excessively on migrants to the U.S., the field has neglected women and non-whites, has ignored return migration, makes ill-informed and arbitrary distinctions between various conceptual categories and world regions, and devotes insufficient effort to recording the myriad social processes in countries of origin (Harzig and Hoerder 2009). In an effort to address the origins and current trends of migration, four chapters provide an historical summary of migration patterns in four world regions – Europe, by Leo and Jan Lucassen, Asia by Adam McKeown, Africa by David Newman Glovsky, and the Americas by Donna R. Gabaccia. These chapters offer a framing and contextualization of international migration while also addressing the diversity and complexity that is too often elided in existing literature.

Reference Harzig, Christiane and Dirk Hoerder with Donna Gabaccia (2009) What Is Migration History? Cambridge, UK: Polity Press.

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1 Economic perspectives on migration Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

Introduction The economic literature on migration has grown rapidly over the last decades. The literature has three distinct characteristics. First, it focuses almost entirely on labor migration, and other types of migrants (e.g. refugees) are typically ignored. Second, it contains a well-known, but often unexpressed, division between internal migration (migration within countries) and international migration (King and Skeldon, 2010). Third, it emphasizes on the determinants of migration rather than their consequences (Greenwood, 1985). The causes of migration cannot always be separated from its consequences, and because motives to migrate are complex, different theories should be viewed as complementary rather than contradictory. In this chapter we explore six common theories, discussing their policy implications and their empirical support. We end the chapter by reflecting on a commonly ignored issue in empirical surveys, i.e. we discuss the importance of accounting for different time horizons when evaluating causes and effects of migration empirically. Migration theories have been separated into two groups of theories: (1) theories of the initiating causes of migration and (2) theories of the self-perpetuating causes of migration (Massey et al., 1993). At least three theories can be placed in the first group; neoclassical theory, the new economics of labor migration theory and dual/segmented labor market theory. And, at least three theories can be placed in the second group; network theory, cumulative causation theory and institutional theory. In neoclassical theory, individuals will migrate when the expected income is higher at the destination than at their current residence. The new economics of labor migration (NELM) theory, on the other hand, stresses the importance of the household as the decision maker rather than the individual, and hypothesizes that individuals are not indifferent to risk (i.e. they are risk-averse). Dual labor market theory studies migration at a higher level of aggregation than the former theories, and emphasizes basic structural characteristics (e.g. the wage formation process) in the economy, which creates a demand for immigrant labor. The second group of theories explain how current migration flows can cause future population movements, i.e. they explain the self-perpetuating mechanisms of migration.

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Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

Network theory, for instance, belongs to this category as it acknowledges the fact that migrants provide friends and relatives back home with support and information about the destination area. Cumulative causation theory adds several self-perpetuating forces of migration, for instance the effects of migration on the income distribution and agricultural production in origin areas. Institutional theory focuses on the necessary institutions, which assist both legal and illegal (typically international) migration. One example relates to the fact that many countries restrict immigration, which generates a need for services that can assist the “underground migrants”. Therefore, former migration leads to more migration because of the formation of different underground activities such as smuggling of migrants and providing the migrants with false documents (visas, passports, etc.). In the next section we discuss theories of the initiating causes of migration. Following that, we discuss the self-perpetuating forces of migration and, finally we elaborate on empirical issues and exemplify by drawing from our own work on migrant remittances.

Theories of the initiating forces of migration? Neoclassical theories of migration For a long period of time, neoclassical theory was the dominating paradigm in economics. In neoclassical theory, it is assumed that individuals are rational, risk-neutral and that they maximize their utility (which typically implies maximizing their income). Under these assumptions, it has been possible to establish different hypotheses, which explain migration from both a micro- and a macroeconomic perspective. The early microeconomic neoclassical theories of migration state that individuals migrate when the wage is higher elsewhere than at their current residence (Sjaastad, 1962). Todaro (1969) and Harris and Todaro (1970), which are two of the most significant contributions to neoclassical migration theory, extend this proposition by suggesting that instead of actual wage differentials, migration is de facto driven by the expected wage differences between regions. To illustrate this point, assume an individual considers migrating in order to increase her income. If she evaluates that the benefits exceeds the costs, she migrates. Assume she has a real wage of 10 dollars at her current profession and residence. Further assume that if she chooses to migrate, she has a chance to double her real wage to 20 dollars. However, migrating could also result in unemployment. Let p denote the probability of being employed if she migrates and, consequently, (1 – p) the probability of being unemployed. The expected income from migrating equals p × 20 + (1 – p) × 0. If this expected income exceeds her present income of 10 dollars she migrates, otherwise she does not. This simple calculation can be made more complicated by, for example, adding the costs of migration. If migrating is associated with traveling expenses, the expected income from migrating equals p × 20 + (1 – p) × 0 – traveling costs. Her migration choice is consequently based on her perceived probability of being employed at the destination, her expected income if employed and the costs of traveling to the destination. The greater the probability of employment and the lower the traveling cost, the higher incentives to migrate. The higher the costs to migrate, the fewer who will be able to afford to move. This means that individuals who arguably have the highest incentives to migrate (i.e. the poor) may end up staying at home. At the macroeconomic level, the neoclassical models shift focus from the individual toward supply-side growth theories. At the macroeconomic level, migration is an essential part of a

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Economic perspectives on migration

developing country’s transition toward a developed economy. According to neoclassical growth models, there are three main sources of growth: technology advancement, capital accumulation and labor accumulation. Lewis (1954) and Ranis and Fei (1961) expand the neoclassical growth model to take into account the initial development stages that transition countries go through in their transformation toward a developed economy. A large part of the labor force is employed in agriculture at the initial stages of the transition period. The agricultural sector is assumed to be overpopulated with surplus labor, and the amount of land available is not enough to occupy the available labor in farming. Agricultural wages are thus driven down to a subsistence wage. Wages in the industry are higher, but limited capital availability restricts the expansion of this sector. Capital accumulation in the industry sector generates an increased labor demand. Because the industry sector offers higher wages than the traditional sector, labor migrates from agriculture to industry. This way, labor migration constitutes an essential part of the growth process in developing countries and the accumulation of capital is fundamental for sustained economic growth. Certainly, the Lewis model is relevant from many aspects but is still unable to explain the population movements from rural to urban areas that occur “despite the existence of positive marginal products in agriculture and significant levels of urban unemployment”.1 In the Lewis model, the urban sector is assumed to be able to absorb all labor coming from rural areas, and therefore there should be no urban unemployment, which is clearly unrealistic. By introducing the concept of minimum wages in the urban sector, the Harris-Todaro model is able to explain how urban unemployment arises. Harris and Todaro state that the legally determined minimum wage in many countries is considerably higher than the wage that otherwise arises when the labor markets are unregulated. Firms in the industrial sector, therefore, cannot afford to absorb all rural–urban migrants. Attempts to empirically evaluate the neoclassical model involve statistical testing of whether wages and unemployment rates at the origin and destination areas influence migratory flows. Several studies support that both higher incomes and better employment possibilities create incentives to migrate (see e.g. Todaro, 1980; Greenwood, 1985; Pederzen et al., 2004). But, the early neoclassical models have been criticized for their simplifying and restrictive assumptions. For example, in the Harris-Todaro model it is assumed that all individuals are homogeneous and therefore have an equal chance of finding employment when they migrate. But because individuals are heterogeneous and individual characteristics such as age, gender, education, etc. affect wages and the chances of employment, these attributes should also affect the decision to migrate. There are several attempts to account for heterogeneity among individuals in the neoclassical models. Borjas (1987), a major contribution in this field, suggests that the income distribution in both origin and destination areas influences migration. An unequal income distribution normally implies high economic returns (wages, etc.) to education and entrepreneurial activities. Therefore, if the income distribution is more unequal at the destination than at the origin, this induces a “positive selection” of migrants. Positive selection refers to when the average migrant is more skilled, more entrepreneurial and has more education than the average native at the origin. Positive migrant selection implies a “brain drain”, which retards economic development in origin areas. In contrast, a more equal income distribution at the destination than at the origin, implies that migrants are “negatively selected”, meaning that the average migrant is less able than the average native at the origin. Negative selection contradicts the “brain drain” hypothesis, as it rather implies a “brain gain” for origin areas. Under these circumstances, it is more likely that the typical migrant is unemployed and uneducated rather than highly educated

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and skilled. Which type of migrant selection dominates clearly influences how well migrants are assimilated in destination areas. The empirical research regarding migrant selection yields mixed results and supports the existence of both positive and negative selection of migrants. For example, Chiswick (1978) finds support of positive selection of immigrants in the United States based on the 1970 population census. Immigrants earn less than native Americans when they arrive, but they are able to catch up and go beyond natives after 10 to 15 years in the USA.2 In later years, however, the quality of immigrants reflected in, for example, the USA, have decreased, which probably is a result of the 1965 Immigrant and Nationality Act. This Act reformed US immigration policy by abolishing national origin criteria. Further, Mexican immigrants have a higher benefit of education in Mexico than in the United States (Taylor, 1986), which implies that Mexican emigrants should be negatively selected. Besides accounting for the selection process of migrants, there are additional extensions in the literature. One specific example concerns the impact on migration of welfare systems in destination countries. Borjas (1999) argues that generous welfare systems can compensate for a high risk of unemployment and help to attract immigrants. However, the empirical evidence on this topic is mixed (Zadovny, 1997; Urrutia, 2001; Hatton and Williamson, 2002). For example, there is little evidence of any effect on population movements from old to new member states when Greece, Spain and Portugal joined the European Union (EU) in the 1980s. Further, the subsequent widening of the EU in 2004 did not result in large migratory flows from postcommunist Eastern Europe to Western Europe. Despite this, the majority of the EU15 member states restricted migrant workers’ access to the labor markets and the immigrants’ eligibility to social benefits when ten countries joined the EU in 2004. Despite these extensions of neoclassical theory, some criticism remains. For example, recall the neoclassical prediction that individuals migrate as long as the expected income is higher at the destination than the certain income at the origin. This proposal originates from the assumption that individuals are indifferent to risk. But, to migrate is associated with both risks (e.g. ending up unemployed) and the possibility to improve one’s standard of living. Arguably, because of risk-aversion, potential migrants can refrain from migrating, even if the expected income is higher at the destination than the origin, which is not a possible scenario in the neoclassical models. Supplementary theories have been developed to account for these aspects.

The new economics of labor migration (NELM) NELM originates from the observation that rural–urban migration in developing countries started to increase from the 1970s, and as the rate of immigration into the cities exceeded the pace of urban job creation, this resulted in accelerating urban unemployment. Up to this point, migration had been perceived as a purely positive phenomenon, which reallocates labor from low- to high-productivity activities (i.e. as in the Lewis-Ranis-Fei model). But, alongside growing unemployment rates in the cities, the increase of rural–urban migration resulted in hygiene problems, increased crime rates and a growing urban informal sector (Todaro, 1980). The large flow of internal migrants in developing countries could not be explained based on neoclassical assumptions alone and additional theories with complementary explanations were needed. NELM became a popular theory in the 1980s as it responded to the critique against neoclassical models along at least three dimensions: (1) that migration often takes place despite lower expected income at the destination area than at the origin, (2) that migration is not always permanent, but can also be temporary (see e.g. Stark and Levhari, 1982), and (3) that households

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Economic perspectives on migration

(and individuals) are risk-neutral. Neoclassical theory focuses on the individual and does not account for migrant ties with family and friends back home. One implication of the neoclassical theory is that migrants do not have any incentive to return as long as they do not perceive that they can increase their income this way. However, NELM stresses the importance of family ties, and assumes that decisions to migrate take place at the household level, as opposed to the individual level in the neoclassical models. The unique contribution of NELM is the assumption that households, and not individuals, are the main decision makers. NELM also relaxes the neoclassical assumption that individuals are risk-neutral and assumes that households are risk-averse. Given the NELM assumptions, three main hypotheses about the determinants of migration have been formulated: (1) the insurance hypothesis, (2) the investment hypothesis and (3) the hypothesis of relative deprivation. The insurance hypothesis posits that households in rural areas send migrants to diversify their sources of income for the purpose of insuring themselves against unforeseen economic shocks such as cattle disease, crop failure or a tropical storm. Households in poor countries have more uncertain incomes than those in richer countries and typically lack social benefits such as unemployment insurance and public health care. NELM suggests that households will use other strategies, such as sending a migrant to work in the city to diversify their sources of income. The investment hypothesis posits that households engage in migration in order to overcome malfunctioning credit markets, which are typically apparent in developing countries. If households cannot obtain bank loans, they can send migrants to increase their income which they can use for productive investments in the family business. The relative deprivation hypothesis states that households send migrants to reduce their sense of relative deprivation compared to other nearby households. Households send migrants when they feel relatively poor compared to other households, to increase their relative income. From NELM, we can draw the following conclusions. First, migration does not stop when there are no regional differences in expected income. Other factors such as the local income distribution and the uncertainty of future incomes are also important determinants of migration. For example, households with highly volatile incomes are more inclined to send migrants. Moreover, policy makers are able to influence migration flows by adjusting the share of population which is eligible for different types of social benefits (e.g. unemployment compensation) or giving farmers proprietorship over their land because they can use their land as collateral when applying for a loan. NELM was first developed to explain rural–urban migration in developing countries but has become a popular theory to explain international migration, in particular migration from developing countries to developed countries. Several empirical studies find support of either one or several hypotheses of NELM (see e.g. Ryan et al., 2010; Willis and Yeoh, 2010). An early (and one of the most influential) study by Lucas and Stark (1985), found that remittances to rural households in Botswana increased during times of droughts (i.e. evidence of the insurances hypothesis). This supports the assertion that migrated relatives provide their families with economic assistance when times are hard. Moreover, numerous studies show that households use remittances for productive purposes such as schooling and entrepreneurial activities in several countries, which supports the investment hypothesis (see e.g. Cox-Edwards and Ureta, 2003; Adams and Cuecuecha, 2010; Woodruff and Zenteno, 2007). However, no theory stands unchallenged. For example, a recent study by Lartey (2016) finds that total remittances to 36 sub-Saharan countries increased alongside increased economic growth increases in the recipient countries, which contradicts the insurance hypothesis.

7

Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

The Syrian conflict – an example of how NELM manifests itself in reality and where available data is insufficient and unreliable All empirical research needs access to credible data. When it comes to migration and remittances the lack of available data is often a problem that restricts our understanding of the world. For example, UNHCR (2015) estimates that 65.3 million people have been forcibly displaced from their homes: an increase of 75 percent since 1996. Almost one-third (21 million) of these are international refugees. Currently, Syria has the highest number of international refugees living in another country (about 5 million people). One would expect that this would generate an increase of remittances being sent to Syria. However, according to available data, remittances have remained stable since the outbreak of the civil war (World Bank, 2016). This raises the question whether this is due to an actual stagnation in remittances or due to poor data quality. There is some evidence for the latter (Dean, 2015). Although economic theories are unable to explain most refugee migration, they can still be helpful to understand some underlying processes. Recall that NELM posits that migration decisions are taken at the household level and that families employ migration as an insurance strategy toward income declines. The Syrian conflict has had a disastrous effect on the Syrian economy. Gross domestic product has decreased by more than 50 percent and about 60 percent of the labor force have lost their jobs (SCPR, 2015; Gobat and Kostial, 2016). A considerable portion of the Syrian population presumably relies on relatives who live abroad and send money back home. However, the conventional and official channels for money transfers no longer operate in several regions of Syria, particularly in areas that the current regime has lost control of (Hogan, August 24, 2016). There are reports that witness an increased use of informal channels, such as Hawalas and carriers, to make sure that the money sent by international migrants will reach the right destination (Dean, 2015). Future research should attempt to present reliable data on remittances sent to Syria and to quantify to what extent the Syrian population has been compensated for falling incomes by an increased amount of remittances.

Segmented/dual labor market theory The segmented labor market theory (SLM theory) was developed to explain social problems that are often associated with labor migration, such as poverty, labor market discrimination and the observed ineffectiveness of education to render higher earnings among migrants (Cain, 1976). The perseverance of these social problems in the United States in the 1960s, despite antipoverty and training programs, motivated researchers to develop additional theories. SLM is foremost a labor market theory, which has been extended to consider the consequences of labor migration. Both the neoclassical theory and the NELM theory are mainly microeconomic theories with a focus on individuals and households. SLM, on the other hand, stresses several complex macroeconomic structural features in destination countries, which contribute to create a segmented labor market and a demand for immigrant labor. SLM theory divides the economy into primary and secondary sectors (Sousa-Posa, 2004). In the primary sector, wages are high, jobs are secure and there are significant returns to education whereas the secondary sector employs low-wage, unskilled labor, has a low degree of job security and low returns to education. The distinction between a primary and secondary sector is motivated theoretically by the existence of institutional regulations (e.g. minimum wages) which protects the primary sector from uncertain elements, e.g. business cycle fluctuations (see Piore, 1975). Some countries have established minimum wages by law while other countries adhere to negotiations between employers and labor unions. 8

Economic perspectives on migration

The two sectors are linked because the regulations in the primary sector influence the secondary sector’s recruitment of labor. Consider the determination of wages. In most industrialized countries, the wage-setting process is a combination of the negotiations between individual employers and employees on the one hand, and between employer organizations and unions on the other. This means that when employers are in need of unskilled low-wage labor, it is expensive to try to attract this category of workers by raising their wages because other categories of workers will respond by demanding higher wages too (so that their social status and prestige are maintained). Therefore, the employers are forced to find unskilled labor in other ways, for instance by hiring immigrants who are not equally concerned about their social status. This way of describing the recruitment process of labor is in contrast to the neoclassical theories, which assume one complete and competitive labor market. SLM posits that migration occurs because the poor working conditions and low wages associated with the secondary market do not attract native workers and, therefore, employers make use of immigrant labor instead (Piore, 1979). Historically, women and teenagers have supplied employers with low-skilled labor, but the increase in female labor participation and the decline in birth rates in later years have reduced the available native labor stock willing to occupy these jobs (Massey et al., 1993). SLM emphasizes perspectives that are typically neglected in other theories. However, validating SLM empirically has proven problematic as it requires being able to confirm that wage differentials are not the mere results of differences in individual skills, but also arise because of a segmented labor market. This requires defining the dual structures of the economy in an objective and non-arbitrary manner. Empirical studies often find that the labor market is segmented along some particular dimensions (e.g. age, gender) but results are often mixed and typically depend on the exact criteria used to define the duality of the labor market (Cain, 1976; Leontaridi, 1998; Sousa-Poza, 2004). Nonetheless, the underlying logic in SLM theories constitutes an essential part of understanding the labor market, and has gained increased interest since the 1980s and the 1990s when labor market conditions started to deteriorate in many industrialized countries.

Theories about the self-perpetuating mechanisms of migration As previously mentioned, several empirical surveys show that socioeconomic variables in both destination and origin areas are important determinants of migration. Moreover, empirical surveys also show that current migration flows are positively influenced by population movements that have occurred in the past. In this section, we therefore focus on the self-perpetuating forces of migration.

Network theory Social network theory has mainly been used in sociology, but it can be extended into economics. Social network theory is related to NELM in two important ways; first it assumes risk-averse individuals, and second it assumes that migrating individuals remain in touch with their family and friends back home. If individuals are risk-averse, they are reluctant to migrate even if the expected income at the destination is higher than at their current residence. However, individuals who have already migrated can provide friends and family with relevant information about jobs and traveling. This information reduces the potential migrant’s risk of unemployment if she migrates, and consequently increases the probability that she migrates. Current migration flows can, therefore, increase future migration flows. 9

Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

The explanatory power of network theory can be assessed at both the community/regional level and the individual level. At the community level, migration should be more common from regions that have a history of high outmigration (Taylor et al., 2003). On the individual level, increasing the number of contacts (i.e. social networks) in destination areas should raise the propensity among individuals to migrate. As discussed previously, international migrants and internal migrants are likely to have similar reasons to migrate. But, as emphasized by Massey et al. (1993), social networks are arguably more important for international migrants than for internal migrants. Barriers to move should be higher and more complex when migrating abroad. To move to another country often involves learning a new language and adapting to a new culture. Consequently, international migrants rely more on connections and networks with friends and relatives than internal migrants. Initial migrants do not have any connections with people at the destination area, but as more and more people move, the social connections between the origin and the destination area start to grow. This means that social networks become more and more important in explaining the migration process. Researchers agree that social networks today comprise one of the most important determinants of population movements (Taylor, 1986; Gurac and Cases, 2002; Ramamurthy, 2003).

Cumulative causation theory The term cumulative causation, initially coined by Myrdal in 1957, is a general term which refers to any reinforcing chain of events, for example, how poverty generates more poverty or how economic growth can spur even more economic growth. In our context, cumulative causation refers to additional factors, besides social networks, which can explain the self-perpetuating forces of migration. As the reader might notice, some of these explanations are developed from the same assumptions as the theories mentioned above. For instance, recall the NELM, which predicts that as households send migrants and start to collect remittances, migrant households will become richer compared to non-migrant households. This will increase the sense of relative deprivation among non-migrant households, which induces additional households to engage in migration (see e.g. Selby and Murphy, 1984). Another explanation relates to “brain drain”, which can occur when migrants are positively selected. If migrants are more productive and entrepreneurial than the average non-migrant at the origin, this will reduce the economic growth in source regions compared to the destination areas, inducing even more people to leave. This pattern is confirmed in Mexico, where the youngest and most productive household members are typically the ones who migrate from rural areas (Reichert, 1982). A third explanation concerns agricultural activities. For example, migrants may use their income from abroad to buy land back home. However, migrants are more likely than local residents to buy land primarily for the purpose of increasing their social status, and they therefore do not make the necessary investments to preserve the land. Moreover, because migrant households have access to more capital (earned from migrant remittances) than non-migrant households, they will adhere to relatively capital-intensive methods (fertilizers, machinery, etc.) when farming (Massey, 1987). Therefore, agricultural investments generated from migrant incomes will reduce the demand for farm labor, causing unemployment and even more outmigration. Other explanations, which overlap with other disciplines besides economics, relate to cultural and normative factors. Massey et al. (1993) explains how immigrants are assimilated into destination areas and, as they are starting to work, the jobs they are occupying are increasingly becoming perceived as “immigrant jobs” among natives. Hence, the presence of immigrants generates a demand for additional immigrants because certain professions are no longer desired by natives. 10

Economic perspectives on migration

Cumulative causation theory has proven particularly useful for rural communities, which is essentially explained by the fact that there are higher incentives to migrate from rural areas than urban areas in the first place. This, in turn, implies that the cumulative causation mechanisms of migration described above are stronger for rural than urban areas. For example, migrants from rural areas may use their incomes from abroad to purchase land back home, whereas the remittances and savings of urban migrants are more likely to be used for nonproductive consumption. As migrants acquire land back home, this can affect origin areas and render more migration because the migrants may let the land lie fallow and/or shift toward more capital-intensive methods. However, in urban areas, when migrant incomes are mainly used for consumption, this is not likely to generate further population movements. Also, there are higher incentives for the well-educated to migrate from rural than urban areas, because the cities have more diversified labor markets. For example, Fussell and Massey (2004) find no evidence of cumulative causation effects on migration between urban areas in Mexico and the United States.

Institutional theory In economics, institutions are typically defined as entities or communities that share the same rules, norms and conventions. Consequently, “institutions” is a broad concept and includes public authorities as well as private firms and different ethnic groups. There is a strong focus in economics on the role of institutions in the general international development process. Growing research topics include the impact of institutional development on economic growth and the influence of the current globalization process on the design of political institutions. Institutional theory can contribute to the economic literature on migration through its emphasis on the creation of institutions in the migration process. For instance, international migration can speed up the establishment of cheap flight connections between emigrant and immigrant countries. Lower transportation costs induce more people to migrate. Moreover, when rich countries restrict immigration, this creates an incentive for people to migrate illegally. This encourages the formation of different “underground institutions”, which facilitate undocumented migration. These “underground institutions” can provide immigrants with false documents (e.g. passports, visas) and smuggle them across the border (see Massey et al., 1993). The number of asylum seekers has soared in recent years and estimates suggest that illegal immigrants increase the foreign-born population in OECD countries by ten to 15 percent (Hatton and Williamson, 2002), which underlines the relevance of institutional theory as a complement to the established theories.

An alternative economic perspective on the empirical literature: an example of migrant remittances Empirical evaluations of different migration theories often rely on the use of microeconomic data, normally household surveys. Often, these surveys only have information about a sample of households and individuals for one or a few time periods (e.g. a year). An alternative is to use macroeconomic data where the same variables are commonly observed over several years. And, macroeconomic analysis allows inference about migration at the aggregate level, which is relevant for policy makers. A sometimes overlooked advantage of macroeconomic data is the possibility to differentiate between short-term and long-term effects. In the short term, a household’s ability to respond to changing circumstance is limited by existing contracts (e.g. labor contracts), funds available or information. Over the 11

Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

long term, however, the household has greater freedom to act. This implies that one theory could explain a household’s short-term behavior while another theory might explain its long-term behavior. As an example let us consider the case of remittances. Migrant remittances are a significant source of income for many households in low- and middle-income economies. With a total of US$601 billion in 2015, remittances to developing countries exceed official development assistance and are of the same magnitude as foreign direct investments.3 The empirical economic literature on remittances has explored the effects and consequences of remittances. It is not entirely possible to separate between the causes and effects of remittances, and because remittances are partially sent to compensate for low incomes, this creates a problem of “reversed causality”. Reversed causality arises because the compensatory nature of remittances can induce a negative correlation between remittances and incomes in recipient areas, even if remittances raise recipients’ incomes. Poor households might receive more remittances than rich ones because they are poor, at the same time as remittances increase the incomes for anyone who receives them. Therefore, it is difficult to use statistical methods to make inferences about causality. However, it is reasonable to assume that the correlation between different macroeconomic variables, for example remittances and economic growth, depends on the time horizons. For instance, if remittances are used for consumption, an increase in remittances can cause a temporary boom in demand but will have no long-run growth effects which will only occur if remittances are used for productive purposes. Support for the idea that the relationship between macroeconomic variables depends on the time horizon can also be found in migration theories. Recall NELM, which argues that migration is the outcome of a collective decision made by households. The insurance hypothesis, which belongs to NELM, postulates that households try to diversify their income sources in order to insure themselves against unanticipated economic shocks, and therefore they send migrants (Lucas and Stark, 1985, 1988). The insurance motive is, however, not the only possible explanation for why migrants remit. An alternative explanation is the altruism hypothesis, which states that migrants remit because of emotional ties to relatives back home (see e.g. Karpestam, 2009). When trying to separate between these two motives empirically, there is one important difference between the implications of the altruism and the insurance hypotheses. According to the altruism hypothesis, the amount of remittances is reduced as income and consumption in the receiving country increases and the need for assistance thereby decreases. The insurance hypothesis has no such implications (Rapoport and Docquier, 2006), because households are assumed to send migrants to insure themselves against unexpected events, but not to increase their overall income. Both theories, however, suggest that remittances increase when households are exposed to a temporary economic decline. Consequently, if the insurance hypothesis is true, we can expect a negative correlation between remittances and consumption/income in source countries in the short run, but not in the long run. In contrast, we can find support of the altruism hypothesis if there is a negative correlation between remittances and income/consumption both in the short run and the long run. Analyzing the correlation between macroeconomic variables over different time horizons yields fruitful insights and is a growing field of research in macroeconomics (see e.g. Andersson, 2008). To illustrate our point, we use data from 50 low- and middle-income countries covering the period 1980–2006. The data is collected from the World Development Indicators. For this exercise, we are interested in analyzing the relationship between received remittances and consumption of goods and services in remittance-receiving countries. 12

Economic perspectives on migration

The estimated model is a one-way fixed-effects panel data model: chit = α + yhit βh + rhit γh+εhit, (1) where i denotes the country, t is time, h is the horizon, c is per capita consumption, y per capita GDP and r per capita remittances. βh and γh are the parameters that will be estimated which show the relationship between GDP and consumption and remittances and consumption, respectively. For instance, if γh = 0.5, a one-dollar increase of remittances is coupled with a 50 cents increase of consumption. Note that it is not possible to identify the causal chain, i.e. we cannot infer whether a 50 cents increase causes a one-dollar increase of remittances or if it is the other way around. Even though we cannot make inferences about causal patterns, we can make inferences on whether the correlation between remittances and consumption at different time horizons supports one specific theory or several theories at the same time. We divide the data into a trend component (the long- run) and two cycles (short- and medium-run).4 The lengths of the cycles are 1–2 years (short-run), 2–16 years (medium-run) and the trend 16 years and beyond (long-run). We further divide the sample into growing economies, declining economies, lowincome and middle-income economies. In rapidly growing economies, GDP per capita at least doubled between 1980 and 2006. In declining economies, GDP per capita fell over the same period. Low-income countries have an average of less than 10 000 dollars per capita over the period and middle-income economies have more than 10 000 dollars per capita on average. The relationship between remittances and consumption is likely to differ between these categories. Table 1.1  Regression results short-run (horizon 1–2 years) Dependent variable

Consumption

GDP Remittances R2

Estimate All countries 0.533∗∗∗ 0.001 0.645

GDP Remittances R2

Std. dev.

P-value

0.123 0.227

0.000 0.498

Rapidly growing economies 0.509∗∗ –0.372∗∗∗ 0.598

0.274 0.101

0.032 0.000

GDP Remittances R2

Declining economies 0.284 1.812 0.501

0.433 1.676

0.256 0.140

GDP Remittances R2

Low-income economies 0.291∗∗∗ 0.108 0.607

0.069 0.179

0.000 0.273

GDP Remittances R2

Middle-income economies 0.536∗∗∗ 0.016 0.646

0.126 0.225

0.000 0.471

Note: ∗∗∗ = significance at the one percent level; ∗∗ = significance at the five percent level

13

Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

For instance, rapidly growing economies are likely to have a more developed financial infrastructure than declining economies, which affects how remittances are used and the channels that migrants choose to send remittances through. Tables 1.1–1.3 show the results from our statistical calculations when the data was decomposed into short-run (1–2 year horizon), the medium-run (2–16 year horizon) and long-run (>16 years) components. Starting with the short-run (1–2 year horizon), Table 1.1 shows a negative and statistically significant relationship between consumption and remittances (–0.37) for rapidly growing economies. This result is consistent with both the altruism hypothesis and the insurance hypothesis, possibly indicating that a decrease in consumption causes an increase in remittances in order to compensate for this fall. We do not find any significant relationships between consumption and remittances for any of the other sub-panels (i.e. declining economies, middle-income economies and low-income economies) in the short run. The significant parameter for rapidly growing economies may be explained by these economies having more developed financial institutions, which allow rapid support through remittances during economic shocks, for instance a recession. Table 1.2 presents the regression results for a 2–16-year cycle (the medium-run). For all subpanels except declining economies, there is a positive and significant correlation between remittances and consumption. As previously mentioned, it is not possible to draw certain conclusions about causality, but it is possible that remittances help to increase consumption in all countries except for declining economies. Declining economies might not have the necessary financial institutions to allow for rapid increases of remittances during economic downfalls. Also, declining and low-income economies generally receive fewer remittances than middle-income Table 1.2  Regression results medium-run (horizon 2–16 years) Dependent variable

Consumption

GDP Remittances R2

Estimate All countries 0.600∗∗∗ 0.893∗∗∗ 0.785

GDP Remittances R2

Std. dev.

P-value

0.108 0.291

0.000 0.001

Rapidly growing economies 0.692∗∗∗ 1.424∗∗∗ 0.908

0.260 0.204

0.000 0.000

GDP Remittances R2

Declining economies 0.561∗∗∗ 0.003 0.704

0.165 0.316

0.000 0.462

GDP Remittances R2

Low-income economies 0.319∗∗∗ 1.127∗∗∗ 0.753

0.061 0.430

0.000 0.005

GDP Remittances R2

Middle-income economies 0.602∗∗∗ 0.872∗∗∗ 0.783

0.109 0.288

0.000 0.001

Note: ∗∗∗ = significance at the one percent level; ∗∗ = significance at the five percent level

14

Economic perspectives on migration

economies and rapidly growing economies, implying that effects of remittances are small in these countries. It is interesting to note that there is a stronger positive relationship between remittances and consumption in low-income countries than in middle-income countries. Moreover, the parameter is particularly high for growing economies (1.4). The latter result is consistent with Catrinescu et  al. (2009), who concluded that remittances are more beneficial for growth in countries with good policies and high-quality institutions. Table 1.3 shows the estimated regression results for the long-run (>16-year horizon). There is a negative relationship between remittances and consumption for rapidly growing economies and middle-income countries (–0.35 and –0.51, respectively). This is supportive of the altruism hypothesis but not the insurance hypothesis. However, for low-income economies there is a significant positive relationship (0.317) and for declining economies the correlation is insignificant (–0.085). The combination of these results suggests that as the national income increases beyond a certain level of development, remittances start to decrease. Before countries have reached a specific level of income, migrants will continue to remit. Because these countries are poor, the need for remittances does not cease until a certain level of development is reached. As illustrated by our results, different theories are supported at different time horizons. This suggests that individuals/households have a more complex behavior than predicted by only one theory. From this result, we can draw two conclusions. First, different theories should be seen as complementary rather than contradictory. Second, when analyzing macroeconomic data it is important to consider different time horizons. Table 1.3  Regression results long-run (>16 years) Dependent variable

Consumption

GDP Remittances R2

Estimate All countries 0.445∗∗∗ –0.347∗∗∗ 0.801

GDP Remittances R2

Std. dev.

P-value

0.045 0.133

0.000 0.005

Rapidly growing economies 0.330∗∗∗ –0.510∗∗∗ 0.655

0.095 0.174

0.000 0.002

GDP Remittances R2

Declining economies 0.580∗∗∗ –0.085 0.983

0.034 0.316

0.000 0.394

GDP Remittances R2

Low-income economies 0.317∗∗∗ 0.687∗ 0.834

0.118 0.481

0.004 0.077

GDP Remittances R2

Middle-income economies 0.446∗∗∗ –0.349∗∗∗ 0.801

0.046 0.134

0.000 0.005

Note: ∗∗∗ = significance at the one percent level; ∗∗ = significance at the five percent level

15

Peter Karpestam and Fredrik N.G. Andersson

Summary In this chapter, we have explored common economic migration theories and discussed their different implications regarding the socioeconomic consequences of migration for origin areas as well as emigration areas. We have discussed neoclassical theories, NELM, SLM theory and different theories about the self-perpetuating forces of migration (i.e. network theory, institutional theory and cumulative causation theory). The overall conclusion is that migration theories should be seen as complementary rather than contradictory. Empirical research supports that poverty constraints in source countries, wage gaps between rich and poor countries and the migrant stock in destination areas are all fundamental in explaining world migration patterns since the 19th century (see e.g. Hatton and Williamson, 2002). The 19th century is often perceived as the initiating epoch of “mass migration”. Between 1820 and 1913, more than 50 million migrants left Europe, crossed the Atlantic Ocean and arrived in “the New World”. Ever since, immigration to the western hemisphere has been significant, with labor migration being the dominant form during the first half of the 20th century but with refugee and family reunification being on the rise during the second half. We have also shown that when using macroeconomic data there is empirical support for several theories at different time horizons, an issue that is typically ignored in the empirical literature. Our precognition is that this is going to be an important topic in the economic literature on migration as well as within other subdisciplines of economics in the future.

Notes 1 Harris and Todaro (1970), p. 126. 2 This pattern is found extensively in the literature, see e.g.Vijverberg and Zeager (1994). 3 World Bank (2016) Migration and Remittances Fact Book, 3rd edition. 4 For this purpose, we use a maximal overlap discrete wavelet transform (see Percival and Walden, 2006).

References Adams Jr., R.H. and Cuecuecha, A. (2010) “Remittances, Household Expenditure and Investment in Guatemala”, World Development, Vol. 38, No. 11, pp. 1626–1641. Andersson, F.N.G. (2008) “Wavelet Analysis of Economic Time Series”, Lund Economic Studies No. 149. Borjas, G.J. (1987) “Self-Selection and the Earnings of Immigrants”, The American Economic Review, Vol. 77, No. 4, pp. 531–553. Borjas, G.J. (1999) “Immigration and Welfare Magnets”, Journal of Labor Economics, Vol. 17, No. 4, pp. 607–637. Cain, G.C. (1976) “The Challenge of Segmented Labor Market Theories to Orthodox Theories: A Survey”, Journal of Economic Literature, Vol. 14, No. 4, pp. 1215–1257. Catrinescu, N., Leon-Ledesma, M., Piracha, M. and Quillin, B. (2009) “Remittances, Institutions, and Economic Growth”, World Development, Vol. 37, No. 1, pp. 81–92. Chiswick, B.R. (1978) “The Effect of the Americanization on the Earnings of Foreign-born Men”, Journal of Political Economy, Vol. 86, pp. 897–921. Cox-Edwards, A. and Ureta, M. (2003) “International Migration, Remittances and Schooling Evidence from El Salvador”, Journal of Development Studies, Vol. 72, No. 2, pp. 429–461. Dean, R. (2015) Remittances to Syria: What Works, Where and How. Oslo: The Norwegian Refugee Council. Fussell, E. and Massey, D.S. (2004) “The Limits to Cumulative Causation: International Migration from Mexican Urban Areas”, Demography, Vol. 4, No. 1, pp. 151–171. Gobat, J. and Kostial, K. (2016) Syria’s Conflict Economy. IMF Working Paper. WP/16/23. Greenwood, J.M. (1985) “Human Migration: Theory, Models, and Empirical Studies”, Journal of Regional Science, Vol. 25, No. 4, pp. 521–544. Gurac, D. and Cases, F. (2002) “Migration Networks and the Shaping of Migration Systems”, in M. Kritz, L.L. Lim, and H. Zlotnik (eds), International Migration Systems: A Global Approach, Oxford: Clarendon Press, pp. 150–176. 16

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Harris, J. and Todaro, M. (1970) “Migration, Unemployment and Development: A Two-Sector Analysis”, American Economic Review, Vol. 40, pp. 126–142. Hatton, T. and Williamson, J.G. (2002) “What Fundamentals Drive World Migration?” NBER Working Paper, No. 9159. Hogan, C. (2016) Syria war: Money transfer “a matter of life or death”, 24 August. Available at: www. aljazeera.com/news/2016/08/syria-war-money-transfer-matter-life-death-160821115021928.html (accessed 23 January 2019). Karpestam, P. (2009) “Economics of Migration”, Lund Economic Studies No. 153. http://lup.lub.lu.se/ record/1368368. King, R. and Skeldon, R. (December 2010) “‘Mind the Gap!’ Integrating Approaches to Internal and International Migration”, Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, Vol. 36, No. 10, pp. 1619–1646. Lartey, E.K.K. (2016) “The Cyclicality of Remittances in Sub-Saharan Africa”, Journal of Economic Development, Vol. 41, No. 1, pp. 1–19. Leontaridi, M.R. (1998) “Segmented Labour Markets: Theory and Evidence”, Journal of Economic Surveys, Vol. 12, No. 1, pp. 63–101. Lewis, W.A. (1954) “Economic Development with Unlimited Supplies of Labour”, The Manchester School of Economics and Social Studies, Vol. 22, No. 2, pp. 139–191. Lucas, R.E.B. and Stark, O. (1985) “Motivations to Remit: Evidence from Botswana”, Journal of Political Economy, Vol. 93, No. 5, pp. 901–918. Lucas, R.E.B. and Stark, O. (1988) “Migration, Remittances, and the Family”, Economic Development and Cultural Change, Vol. 36, No. 3, pp. 465–481. Massey, D.S. (1987) “The Ethnosurvey in Theory and Practice”, International Migration Review, Vol. 21, pp. 498–522. Massey, D.S., Arango, J., Hugo, G., Kouaiuci, A. and Pellegrino, A. (1993) “Theories of International Migration: A Review and Appraisal”, Population and Development Review, Vol. 19, No. 3, pp. 465–481. Myrdal, G. (1957) Rich Lands and Poor, New York: Harper and Row. Pederzen, J., Pytlikova, M. and Smith, N. (2004) “Selection or Network Effects? Migration Flows into 27 OECD Countries 1990–2000”, IZA Discussion Papers. Percival, D.B. and Walden, A.T. (2006) Wavelet Methods for Time Series Analysis, New York: Cambridge University Press. Piore, M.J. (1975) “Notes for a Theory of Labour Market Segmentation”, in R.C. Edwards, M. Reich and D.M. Gordon (eds), Labour Market Segmentation, Lexington, MA: D.H. Heath and Co., pp. 125–150. Piore, M. (1979) Birds of Passage: Migrant Labor and Industrial Societies, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ramamurthy, B. (2003) “International Labour Migration: Unsung Heroes of Globalization”, SidaStudies No. 8. Ranis, G. and Fei, J.C.H. (1961) “A Theory of Economic Development”, American Economic Review, Vol. 51, pp. 533–565. Rapoport, H. and Docquier, F. (2006) “The Economics of Migrants’ Remittances”, in S.-C. Kolm and J.M. Ythier (eds), Handbook of the Economics of Giving, Altruism and Reciprocity, Vol. 2 Applications, Amsterdam and New York: Elsevier, pp. 1135–1198. Reichert, J.S. (1982) “Social Stratification in a Mexican Sending Community: The Effect of Migration to the United States”, Social Problems, Vol. 29, pp. 422–433. Ryan, L., Sales, R., Tilki, M. and Bernadetta, S. (2010) “Family Strategies and Transnational Migration: Recent Polish Migrants in London”, Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, Vol. 35, No. 1, pp. 61–77. Selby, H.A. and Murphy, A.D. (1984) “The Mexican Urban Household and the Decision to Migrate to the United States”, Occasional Papers in Social Change, No. 4, Philadelphia, PA: Institute for the Study of Human Issues. Sjaastad, L. (1962) “The Costs and Returns of Human Migration”, Journal of Political Economy, Vol. 70S, pp. 80–83. Sousa-Poza, A. (2004) “Is the Swiss Labor Market Segmented? An Analysis Using Alternative Approaches”, Labour, Vol. 18, No. 1, pp. 131–161. Stark, O. and Levhari, D. (1982) “On Migration and Risk in LDCs”, Economic Development and Cultural Change, Vol. 31, No. 1, pp. 191–196. Syria Center for Policy Research (SCPR) (March 2015) “Syria: Alienation and Violence: Impact of Syria Crisis Report 2014” (Damascus, Syria). 17

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Taylor, J.E. (1986) “Differential Migration, Networks, Information and Risk”, in O. Stark (ed.), Research in Human Capital and Development, Vol. 4 Migration, Human Capital, and Development, Greenwich, CT; JAI Press, pp. 147–171. Taylor, J.E., De Brauw, A. and Rozelle, S. (2003) “Migration and Income in Source Communities: A New Economics of Migration Perspective from China”, Economic Development and Cultural Change, Vol. 52, No. 1, pp. 75–101. Todaro, M.P. (1969) “A Model of Labor Migration and Urban Unemployment in Less Developed Countries”, The American Economic Review, Vol. 59, pp. 138–148. Todaro, M. (1980) “Internal Migration in Developing Countries: A Survey”, in R.A. Easterlin (ed.), Population Change in Developing Countries, Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, pp. 361–402. UNHCR: The UN Refugee Agency (2015) “Global Trends: Forced Displacement in 2015”. Available at: www.unhcr.org/576408cd7.pdf (accessed 23 January 2019). Urrutia, C. (2001) “On the Self-Selection of Immigrants”, manuscript, Universidad, Carlos III Madrid. Vijverberg, W.P.M. and Zeager, L.A. (1994) “Comparing Earning Profiles in Urban Areas of an LDC: Rural-to-urban Migrants vs. Native Workers”, Journal of Development Economics, Vol. 45, pp. 177–199. Willis, K.D. and Yeoh, B.S.A. (2010) “Gender and Transnational Household Strategies: Singaporean Migration to China”, Regional Studies, Vol. 34, No. 3, pp. 253–264. Woodruff, C. and Zenteno, R. (2007) “Migrant Networks and Micro-enterprises in Mexico”, Journal of Development Economics, Vol. 82, No. 2, pp. 509–528. Zadovny, M. (1997) Welfare and the Locational Choices of New Immigrants”, Economic Review – Federal Reserve Bank of Dallas; Second Quarter 1997.

Data source World Bank, Migration and remittances data, April 2016. www.worldbank.org/en/topic/migration remittancesdiasporaissues/brief/migration-remittances-data (obtained September 13, 2016).

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2 Psychological acculturation Perspectives, principles, processes, and prospects Marc H. Bornstein, Judith K. Bernhard, Robert H. Bradley, Xinyin Chen, Jo Ann M. Farver, Steven J. Gold, Donald J. Hernandez, Christiane Spiel, Fons van de Vijver, and Hirokazu Yoshikawa

Introduction Acculturation traditionally includes “those phenomena which result when groups of individuals having different cultures come into continuous first-hand contact, with subsequent changes in the original culture patterns of either or both groups” (Redfield, Linton, & Herskovits, 1936, pp. 149–150, emphasis added). Since this formative definition was first advanced, the sociological and anthropological origins of acculturation theory and research have engendered continuing and appropriate focus on group-level acculturation. However, it is well to recall that individuals actually migrate and adjust. This chapter focuses on psychological acculturation. Almost 250 million individuals today are said to live outside their country of origin. That number tallies to approximately one in 30 individuals living on earth. For the vast majority of international migrants, leaving their native country to settle in a new country engenders daunting alternatives between allegiance to and association with one way of life that includes family, social, and economic connections against usually contrasting economic, philosophical, religious, and political conditions or investments. When considered in this way, migration and acculturation constitute thoroughly transforming forces on individual people. On this argument, we contend that a more encompassing approach to acculturation must embrace dual processes of group cultural and individual psychological adjustment that result from contact between two or more groups and their individual members. This chapter touches on some prominent principles, processes, and prospects of this perspective on individual-level psychological acculturation. We first review relevant general theory about migration and acculturation. We then differentiate individual-level from group-level acculturation. Individual-level acculturation is not a uniform process as implied by a grouplevel approach. Next, we distinguish and discuss variability of different sorts that constitutes the heart of individual psychological acculturation. Psychological acculturation raises methodological, disciplinary, and policy considerations, and we overview those also. Finally, we point to some profitable future directions of theory development and empirical inquiry in the area of 19

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psychological acculturation. Migration signifies physical relocation between geographic locales; acculturation signifies psychological adjustment. This chapter focuses on the individual-level aspects of this adjustment.

Acculturation: a group and individual phenomenon Acculturation When an individual from one culture emigrates to a new culture, that individual conveys his or her original culture. Acculturation is the study of how people with one culture negotiate adjustment as they settle and adapt in a new culture (Bornstein, 2017). Twentieth-century theory and research on acculturating groups and individuals was initially characterized by unidimensional and unidirectional models of change where immigrants were seen to relinquish their culture of origin as they acquired a new culture of destination. In short, acculturation equated to degree of assimilation (Gordon, 1964). Accumulating evidence eventually suggested that most acculturating individuals adopt cognitions and practices of the new culture while simultaneously retaining those of their old (e.g., celebrating holidays of the culture of destination as well as holidays of the culture of origin). That is, individual immigrants have (varying degrees of) competence in and adherence to two cultures.

Group and individual Acculturation takes place on both group and individual planes. Group-level processes and effects provide a deep understanding of global acculturation experiences and help to identify social forces (e.g., attitudes toward immigrants, immigration policies) and aggregate acculturation trajectories. However, just as different immigrant groups retain and adopt culture-specific cognitions and practices differently, so too do different individual immigrants in a group. Indian migrants to the United Kingdom may be considered to have acculturated because a large proportion of Indians have, for example, learned to speak British English. However, individuals within the migrant Indian community vary widely in the ways they have adapted and differ considerably in their level of acculturation, as for example in their British Englishlanguage proficiency. From the example just given, it is clear that the two planes of acculturation do not necessarily change in lockstep, and there are good reasons for adopting a multi-level perspective of individuals nested within groups – and, therefore, of acculturation transpiring at the group and individual levels. Furthermore, each level informs and influences the other. Compare acculturation histories of newer Mexican immigrants in New York City with more established Dominicans. Mexicans are scattered across neighborhoods with low co-ethnic concentrations, compared to Dominicans many of whom have lived in a predominant urban enclave for over 50 years (Yoshikawa, 2011). Mexicans arrived in a period without a pathway to citizenship; in contrast, many Dominicans experienced amnesty in the late 1980s following the U.S. Immigration Reform and Control Act. Recent migrants from the Dominican Republic are much more likely to have family members in the United States with residency or citizenship and accompanying language and systems navigation skills than recent migrants from Mexico. Mexican parents and their young children have lower availability of supports for child care and finances as well as fewer multi-generational family networks. For children, this means that grandparents and other older family members with English-language skills are far more likely

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to be present in Dominican households than in Mexican households. As can be seen, individual acculturation patterns are influenced by group histories of migration. Individual immigrants from the former Soviet Union (FSU) to Israel in the 1990s experienced reduced migrationrelated trauma because their exodus comprised whole families. In brief, acculturation involves complex processes that occur in groups and in individuals. On the group plane, acculturation involves changes in social structures and institutions and in cultural practices. On the individual plane, acculturation involves changes in each person’s cognitions and practices. At the group level, acculturation encompasses social change in demographic, health, and economic systems in society and affects civic, educational, social service, and legal systems. At the individual level, migrants often think, feel, and behave differently from the native-born in a culture of destination and they also differ from one another on indices of health, well-being, education, and so forth.

Psychological acculturation International migration is not a single discrete event involving movement from one geographically and socially bounded locality to another. Rather, international migration entails dynamic exchanges, multiple domains, diverse resources, and immediate needs that are simultaneously unique and indigenous to multiple settings. Migration and acculturation are inherently individual experiences that precipitate thoroughgoing changes of social identity and self. Immigrants must negotiate new cultures and learn to navigate new systems. Just to communicate effectively in their culture of destination requires of immigrants an array of new competencies, for example, in speaking, listening, reading, and writing. Such transformations entail gaining new knowledge as well as adjusting deeply ingrained life scripts. Immigrants face multiple challenges in acculturating to a new society – including deciding explicitly or implicitly which cognitions or practices to retain from their culture of origin and which to adopt from their culture of destination. Not every individual enters into, participates in, or accommodates during acculturation in the same way; one individual in a group might embrace full assimilation, whereas another in the same group might strive for a bicultural equilibrium. Individual differences are the hallmark of psychological acculturation, and there is great variability in the ways individuals go about acculturating as well as in the levels and forms of acculturation they achieve. Here, we discuss several kinds of variability that define psychological acculturation. Migration transcends identity sensu “Who am I?” and raises considerations of “Where do I fit?” and “What are my present and future roles within my new society?” Individual-level analyses focus on images of self within place or context. Along the way, considerations of variability pose methodological, disciplinary, and policy questions. For example, most studies measure acculturation at a single point in time and generally employ a cross-sectional research design. This methodological orientation leads to an artificially cropped “snapshot” of acculturation and invariably to portrayals of acculturation status as static. In reality, however, acculturation in individuals is dynamic and nonlinear, as acculturating individuals retain some cognitions or practices of their culture of origin and undergo periods of stabilization as well as change in their culture-of-destination cognitions and practices alike. Individual immigrants’ modes of acculturation may vary over time as a function of ongoing experiences in their culture of destination or as a function of new developments in their culture of origin. Examinations of acculturation true to its process nature call for multiple-wave microgenetic and longitudinal designs.

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Within-group variability Migrants vary in many general individual-difference characteristics that likely affect acculturation (e.g., age, gender, personality) as well as specific acculturation-related characteristics (e.g., motives for migration, commitment to the adopted homeland, length of settlement). Psychological acculturation is concerned with both, and how immigrants acculturate is a product of combinations of individual-difference and acculturation-related factors. Within-group variability is also likely in availability of resources and in acculturation strategies or options. Here we parse and illustrate some main sources of variability that likely shape psychological acculturation. Learning new cultural norms and values, adjusting behaviors according to those norms and values in social interactions, and building competencies based on multiple, perhaps even conflicting, norms and values are common challenges to individual immigrants. Individual adjustment generally is an ongoing dynamic process in which personal characteristics and learning experiences interact to shape mental and socioemotional functioning. Moreover, people are not passive registrants of their experiences (read new culture), but rather play active roles in self-socialization (Bornstein, Mortimer, Lutfey, & Bradley, 2011). The constructive and agentic parts immigrants play in their acculturation (read re-socialization) are reflected in their maintaining or jettisoning components of their past culture and adapting or rejecting components of their new culture. What are the principal individual characteristics that channel the course of immigrant psychological acculturation?

Age and developmental status From a lifespan perspective, immigrants acculturate differently depending on their age or developmental status. That is, acculturation is developmentally sensitive. When Richman, Gaviria, Flaherty, Birz, and Wintrob (1987) explored acculturation among migrants to Peru, they learned that age at the time of migration was associated with level of adjustment achieved. Not only do migrants enter the acculturation stream at different points in their individual development, but the course of subsequent currents of both adjustment and development can also be expected to eddy differently downstream for those who start the process at different life stages. Individuals who enter into acculturation in childhood may embrace culture-of-destination cognitions and practices and lose or reject those of their culture of origin as a way of fitting in (Benet-Martínez & Haritatos, 2005; Schwartz, Unger, Zamboanga, & Szapocznik, 2010). Thus, young people immigrating to ethnic enclaves are more likely to be bicultural, whereas adults are less likely to acquire the new culture (Schwartz, Pantin, Sullivan, Prado, & Szapocznik, 2006). Life’s developmental stages are intrinsically associated with certain developmental tasks. As children enter adolescence, for example, their improved capacity for self-reflection, coupled with the task of forming a socially acceptable identity, herald increased sensitivity to the opinions of significant others and constant re-assessment of social relationships. Few studies directly examine how processes of acculturation differ depending on the developmental status of the child, adolescent, or adult (Bernhard, 2010). Indeed, the intersection of development and migration is an oddly neglected issue in light of the fact that children constitute a large proportion of the migrant population worldwide and often fill unique roles in mediating between cultures of origin and destination. Being more adjusted, immigrant children are frequently language “brokers” for adult immigrants, for instance. In brief, lifespan developmental processes inform acculturation in individuals. 22

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Gender Gender is often treated as a nuisance variable or covariate in acculturation science. However, research points to distinct pathways of acculturation by gender (Güngör & Bornstein, 2009). First-generation women often carry the culture of origin, perhaps because of their typically more limited connection to the wider culture of destination beyond the home (Ward, Bochner, & Furnham, 2001); however, young girls are more likely to be bicultural, perhaps because of their greater sensitivity and adaptability to new social networks (Berry, Phinney, Sam, & Vedder, 2006). A study on the transmission of gender role values in Turkish German immigrant families revealed that Turkish daughters are more egalitarian than their mothers and their male peers whereas sons are not more egalitarian than their fathers (Güngör & Bornstein, 2009). Among Vietnamese Australians and Chinese Canadian university students, sons score more similarly to their parents in terms of traditionalism than daughters. In brief, acculturative change is in differential evidence among girls and boys, and women and men.

Personality As individuals, immigrants naturally possess different constellations of personality characteristics that help or hinder their acculturation. Choosing to emigrate may reflect certain personality characteristics (assertiveness, ego control), and developing a bicultural identity through internal processes of change may be facilitated by certain personalities (open, extraverted, communicative; Matsumoto & Hwang, 2013) more than others. Differences in attitude, risk taking, and level of anxiety tolerance doubtlessly contribute to variability in individual acculturation. In brief, a broad constellation of intrapersonal factors condition individual psychological acculturation.

Cognition Before following any feasible course of acculturation, individuals with one culture need to be exposed to and incorporate information from a new culture (Padilla & Perez, 2003). In all cases, individual differences in cognitive functioning must come into play. Educated immigrants adapt more proficiently, just as educated immigrant parents are better positioned to advance their children, to help with homework, and to negotiate on behalf of their children with teachers and school administrators, whereas parents (even in the same immigrant group) with limited education might lack both the experience and the knowledge to provide similar support. Individual differences in language proficiency further condition acculturation. Speaking the language of the culture of destination is requisite to success for children enrolled in mainstream schools just as it is in the labor market and other settings for adults. New language use is the most important explanatory predictor of individual differences in ethnic friendship homophily (Titzmann & Silbereisen, 2009). As proficiency in the new language improves, homophily bias decreases, a finding that stands independent of length of stay or opportunity in the host country. In brief, accounting for individual variability in cognition fleshes out a conceptual framework that improves understanding of individual acculturation.

Generation Acculturation has, in the past, been equated to generation of immigration. However, individuals in different generations face different issues vis-à-vis their cultures of origin and destination and thus likely follow different trajectories of acculturation. People born outside the culture 23

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of destination often self-identify with their culture of origin, in contrast to those born and reared their entire lives in the culture of destination. For example, second-generation (just like younger) Latin immigrants to the United States adjust better to the majority culture than firstgeneration (like older) immigrants (Sabogal, Marín, Otero-Sabogal, Marín, & Perez-Stable, 1987). Parents and children who share the same language and birth country may still differ in their psychological acculturation (McQueen, Getz, & Bray, 2003). Even siblings within the same family – who are titularly the same “generation” – do not necessarily acculturate in the same ways or to the same degree (on account of differences in age, gender, etc.). Generational discrepancies in acculturation are therefore common in immigrant families because the primary socialization of parents transpired in their culture of origin, whereas, depending on their age of arrival, children may experience primary socialization in the culture of destination (Birman, 2006; Farver, Narang, & Bhadha, 2002). In brief, generations vary in acculturation in ways that have consequences for individual immigrant adjustment.

Domain Acculturation is multifaceted, impacting individuals in their affective, cognitive, and behavioral spheres of functioning. Individuals do not necessarily acculturate in all domains of life on a single timetable or even in the same direction. Rather, different psychological domains can and do show different patterns and rates of acculturation. For example, parenting practices appear to acculturate more readily than parenting cognitions (Bornstein & Cote, 2001, 2004). U.S. Japanese immigrant mothers’ cognitions resemble cognitions of mothers in Japan, or are intermediate between those of Japanese and European American mothers, whereas Japanese immigrant mothers’ parenting practices with their children resemble those of European American mothers more closely than practices of Japanese mothers. Ethnic behaviors may decrease from the first to the second generation, even where beliefs do not change. Individual immigrants may embrace certain aspects of the culture of destination (e.g., language, dress, and music) and actively reject others (e.g., religious practices, customs, and emotions). Perhaps the most widely acknowledged illustration of domain variability in psychological acculturation comes from the observation that immigrants tend to acculturate differently in public and private spheres of life (Arends-Tóth & van de Vijver, 2004). Generally, the public domain involves participation in the social lives of both cultures of origin and destination, contacts with nationals, use of mass media, and schooling, whereas the private domain involves personal and value-related matters such as preferences in socializing children, language spoken at home, and sanctioned ethnicity of persons to marry. Cultural adaptation is often preferred in the public domain and cultural maintenance in the private domain. For example, Phalet and Swyngedouw (2003) found that Turkish and Moroccan immigrants in the Netherlands attributed more importance to cultural maintenance in the home and family (private domain), whereas adaptation was more important in school and at work (public domain). In brief, acculturation does not affect all aspects of the psyche in an identical way, and domain specificity predicts that different aspects of psychological acculturation can and will vary in the course of adjustment.

Motives and means Migrants vary in their motives to emigrate and acculturate. For some, international migration is voluntary; for others, it is involuntary. Some individuals emigrate with a goal to stubbornly retain the ways of their culture of origin, and some with a goal to joyously embrace those of

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their culture of destination; others with a plan to bridge the two cultures as best they can; and still others with no plan at all (Berry, 2007). Each motive conditions individual acculturation. Refugees, sojourners, and permanent immigrants vary with respect to their reasons for migrating (which can affect their psychological profiles) and plans for remaining in the culture of destination (which can affect their motivation to acculturate), and so follow different trajectories of acculturation. Foreign-born individuals also arrive in new cultural settings via multiple different mechanisms, each of which may portend unique consequences for their psychological acculturation. One frequent migrant pathway is through family reunification; other policies that may account for different patterns of individual international migration include employment programs, diversity protocols, and humanitarian efforts. In brief, individual motivations and means to acculturate inform psychological explanations of acculturation.

Context Individual differences in acculturation derive not only from variability in what people bring to the process of acculturation but also variability in the structural affordances of the situations in which individual migrants find themselves vis-à-vis those which they left. Consider variability associated with each context. Generally, people tend to emigrate from developing nations, and sending societies (and so their emigrants) represent a wide range of national origins and cultures that uniquely shape the profile of international acculturation. The relation between parental harshness and child aggression is positive for Canadians of European ancestry but negative for Canadians of South Asian ancestry. Harwood, Leyendecker, Carlson, Asencio, and Miller (2002) detailed variability found among Latin American families in socialization goals faithful to their individual countries of origin. Communities of Turkish immigrant worker families in European societies are generally more cohesive (e.g., showing higher levels of ethnic density, language retention, and co-ethnic marriages) than otherwise similar Moroccan immigrant communities. Accordingly, Turkish immigrant parents are more effective in transmitting cultural values and religious beliefs and practices to their children than are Moroccan parents (Phalet & Schönpflug, 2001). For their part, modern, Western, industrialized receiving societies differ in their cultures, policies, and so forth and are themselves inhomogeneous, many having experienced sociopolitical changes associated with past immigration. An individual’s path in acculturating is affected by whether the receiving context encourages or discourages interaction with and acquisition of the mainstream culture. Some receiving contexts suppress migrant diversity; others segregate or marginalize immigrants; still others promote pluralism and support diversity (Berry & Kalin, 1995). Societies with positive multicultural ideologies provide more positive settlement contexts for individual migrants through social supports from institutions (e.g., culturally sensitive health care and multicultural curricula in schools), and they are less likely to enforce cultural change (through assimilation) or exclusion (through segregation and marginalization). Individuals within these varying contexts are positioned to take differential advantage of them. Compare three groups of countries in Europe: countries with long histories of considerable and diverse immigration (England and the Netherlands), countries with guest-worker histories (Germany and Austria), and countries with short immigrant histories (Norway and Finland). Different immigrant groups have gravitated to these countries, where they are treated differently. In historical immigration countries, such as Australia, Canada, and the United States, heritage and mainstream cultural orientations are more compatible and less conflicting, hence individual biculturalism is more prevalent, than in Central European receiving countries where

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integration policies are less developed or absent altogether. However, influxes of migrants are changing European countries. A related factor that affects individual acculturation is the “cultural distance” between the two contexts. For example, for Peruvians migrating to Chile the same continent and shared language presumably constitute a closer distance over which to acculturate than Chinese migrating to Chile across continents and languages. The evaluation of ethnic groups according to social distance is called the “ethnic hierarchy”. In the Netherlands, because of the oceangoing history of the country, Surinamer and Antillean immigrants are evaluated more positively than Turks and Moroccans. Local contexts also shape individual acculturation. In longstanding migration gateways, such as Amsterdam and New York City, neighborhoods have incorporated successions of immigrant groups, promoting contact and comingling. Here, individual immigrants may find multicultural networks that provide a range of choice as to whether and how much to participate in the culture of destination. In some ethnic culture-of-destination communities immigrants can purchase items from, converse entirely in the language of, and lead a life that differs little from their culture of origin. By contrast, immigrants who settle in less multicultural areas are likely to follow contrasting patterns of acculturation. For example, lower co-ethnic concentrations experienced by newer immigrants, in comparison to well-established ones in larger ethnic enclaves, afford services and support networks that differentially cater to the ethnic community. Availability in turn shapes individual ethnic vitality. Diversity policies in education focus either on equality and inclusion (emphasizing equal rights and combating discrimination) or cultural pluralism (valuing diversity). Students in schools without such policies report diminished well-being (Schachner, Noack, van de Vijver, & Eckstein, 2016). Spiel and Strohmeier (2012) found that native Austrian children showed much higher homophily bias when compared with migrant children; outside school, however, all children showed a strong homophily bias in their friendship choices. In brief, individuals from diverse cultures of origin migrate to diverse cultures of destination, and so migrants acculturate in unique combinations of the two, and where individual immigrants come from, where they arrive, and the intercultural distances between the two all matter to their psychological acculturation.

Processes in psychological acculturation Individuals acculturate. How? What processes are involved? At base, acculturation entails some internal negotiation between the cognitions and practices of (at least) two cultures. Eventual adaptations therefore must have core psychological features (Ward, Bochner, & Furnham, 2001). Different processes have been proposed that accord with different theoretical perspectives of acculturation. Early unidimensional models of acculturation presumed additive/subtractive processes. Later bicultural models posed questions about how individual immigrants integrate cultures. Individuals might combine – alternate, balance, or merge – contrasting cultural orientations generally, or do so for specific situations or domains. Different process models of individual acculturation harbor idiosyncratic assumptions and implications. For example, alternation rests on the twin expectations that it is possible to maintain positive relations with two (or multiple) cultural systems, without having to choose (permanently) between them, and the ability to switch between the two. Immigrant adolescents from the FSU to Israel have been reported to balance their established Russian identity with their new Israeli identity rather than reject one at the expense of the other. It is also feasible that immigrants create new cultures with unique features that are not typical of either culture of 26

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origin or destination. Indian immigrant mother–infant dyads in the United States engage in vocal interaction patterns that differ from both Indians in India and European Americans in the United States (Gratier, 2003).

Risks and rewards in psychological acculturation A focus on the individual in acculturation has, almost from the start, raised mental health concerns, and that longstanding clinical orientation has rather consistently stressed deficits, disorders, and disabilities. Not unexpectedly, healthcare practitioners are occupied with immigrants who seek remediation for their psychosocial struggles. However, acculturation is as much a well-spring of opportunities as a source of problems, and entails individual rewards as well as risks. In dwelling on challenges, it has been easy to overlook the successful adjustment of most immigrants.

Risks The tendency to “pathologize” acculturation is partly attributable to roots of its study in psychiatry. Theories and research on acculturation were initially strongly influenced by medical fields concerned with pathological symptomatology believed to accompany “culture shock.” Living in two cultures was deemed problematic because managing the complexity of dual reference points generates identity ambiguity, confusion, and anomie. Migration is sometimes associated with stress and increased risk of mental health problems, such as anxiety, alienation, psychosomatic symptomatology, depression, and identity diffusion (Sam & Berry, 2016). Turkish children in the Netherlands reportedly manifest higher levels of internalizing and externalizing problem behaviors than their native peers. Compared with native youth, first-generation immigrants in Austria report more depressive symptoms and more daily hassles (Stefanek, Strohmeier, Fandrem, & Spiel, 2011). Because immigrant families straddle two cultures, intergenerational discrepancies can also arise, as between parents who wish to inculcate traditions of their culture of origin in their children, and children who wish to conform to and be accepted by peers in the culture of destination (McQueen et  al., 2003). Asian Indian immigrant parents attempt to engage their Americanborn adolescents in Indian cultural practices, observe religious rituals and beliefs, feel a sense of pride and moral commitment to their ethnic group, and they may take them to visit India. But their adolescent children often prefer to speak primarily English, participate in U.S. American culture activities, have mostly European American friends, want an unarranged marriage, and refer to themselves as American or Asian American (Farver et al., 2002). Thus, within immigrant families, individuals differ with respect to their acculturation, and this gap in acculturation statuses can generate intergenerational tension and conflict, socioemotional difficulties in adolescents, and parenting challenges characterized by poor communication, uncertainty, and diminished satisfaction (Birman, 2006). Chinese immigrant parents who adhere to the importance of education and the traditional hierarchical parental role at home and emphasize superficial, performative levels of old-world Chinese parenting in their new U.S. American cultural context tend to have distressed Chinese American adolescents, whereas those who adapt the broader, general principles and tenets of Chinese parenting (e.g., importance of respect, education, and self-cultivation) tend to have non-distressed Chinese American adolescents (Qin, 2006). Manifold other psychological challenges attend individuals who rear children transnationally. At the individual level, attachment difficulties have been noted because children withdraw from parents from whom they have been separated, and some transnational parents bear hardships because they are unable to live up to their own (cultural) expectations of providing appropriate care. 27

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Rewards Stressing individual troubles associated with immigrant status obscures successes that individual immigrants may achieve in self-esteem, mental functioning, and life satisfaction. Filipino and Chinese immigrant youth may suffer elevated familial problems, but they are often accompanied by high academic achievement. People who live in two cultures need not inevitably suffer; indeed, some unique advantages accrue to living in two worlds. Individuals who effectively blend cultures reportedly exhibit higher cognitive functioning and greater mental health status (Rogler, Cortes, & Malgady, 1991). Cross-cultural experiences open one to self-discovery, personal growth, and escape from culturally restrictive perceptions and social roles. Numerous immigrants build good lives in their new cultures, as history amply attests. Contemporary research has unveiled a plethora of immigrant strengths, including large majorities of intact two-parent families, a strong work ethic, home ownership and religiousness, and notable commitments to the culture of destination. These dual views of risks and rewards have consolidated in an emerging perspective that acculturation is a multidimensional and bidirectional process in which individuals can forge cognitions and practices from cultures of origin and destination in a positive framework.

Policy implications of psychological acculturation The foregoing theoretical, empirical, and clinical considerations about psychological acculturation have implications for policy re individual immigrant citizenship, social welfare, health, and education (Waters & Pineau, 2015; Yoshikawa, Suarez-Orozco, & Gonzales, 2016). Immigration policies vary across countries (www.mipex.eu/ and www.queensu.ca/mcp/), just as public acceptance of immigrant diversity varies. Norms of the heritage context may be construed as problematic when practiced in the mainstream context. Muslim head covering in French schools is a notable example. Many policy factors affect individual immigrants’ acculturation and also their well-being. Immigrants who live in an undocumented legal status hesitate to seek medical attention unless in emergency or acute situations; as a result, they fail to benefit from preventative healthcare (Bernhard, Goldring, Young, Berinstein & Wilson, 2007). The assumptions of researchers, practitioners, and policymakers about the lives of individual immigrants matter for the interventions and programs they provide, and the regulations they develop and implement. When their assumptions are misplaced, the effects on immigrants may be adverse. Insofar as systematic relations exist between how individuals acculturate and how they adapt, the possibility exists for the development of some “best practices” in how to promote positive psychological acculturation. Policies and programs, as macro-level influences on the individual, often operate through the family level from effects that originate at even higher ecological spheres, such as communities, neighborhoods, and social networks (Yoshikawa & Hsueh, 2001).

Future directions in psychological acculturation research We have so far hinted implicitly or discussed explicitly several future directions of an individual psychology of acculturation. Acculturation is today treated holistically, but an individual-level analysis calls for disaggregation. Research has relatively neglected how bicultural competencies originate at the level of the individual, processes by which bicultural skills develop and are expressed in the individual, and the psychological sequelae of biculturalism for individuals. Future research needs to look more carefully as well at the speed, completeness, and felt comfort 28

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in individual acculturation within and across domains of psychological functioning. In this connection, longitudinal research will likely yield unique insights into so-far under-researched temporal processes and trajectories of individual acculturation. Future research should also target native populations in places with high rates of immigration; these people are not only migrating, they are also acculturating. As acculturation research becomes sensitive to the dizzying array of global emigration and immigration actualities, and spreads its net to examine a greater multiplicity of migration contents and contexts, similarities and differences in processes of individual acculturation and associated adjustment or maladjustment of individuals will rise to challenge accepted notions that have derived from group-level acculturation research. Findings in one cultural arena or area of the world do not necessarily generalize to others. The next generation of acculturation study needs to differentiate and to examine variability associated with the 1, 1.5, 2, and successive generations. Acculturation studies also tend to lump subgroups from any culture of origin together, when in actuality they demand differentiation: Hong Kong Chinese differ from Mainland Chinese arriving on Canadian shores, and Chinese migrants to the United States differ depending on whether they emigrated from rural or urban areas of China. Similarly, when acculturation investigators focus on general processes or orientations, the more differentiated domain-specific nature of individual acculturation is masked. Domain variability further suggests that acculturation is flexible and sensitive to situation-specific norms or demands. Thus, immigrants may seek to identify with the culture of destination economically (assimilation), keep their native and learn a new language (integration), and only marry within their culture of origin (separation). As our knowledge of the individual in the midst of international migration experiences advances, we will need to alter our acculturation conceptions, theories, and designs. To paint a more complete picture of individual acculturation, future research will do well too to focus on positive migration and acculturation and identify keys for individual successes.

Conclusions The numbers of individuals living outside their country of birth is large and will continue to grow. Recent surveys indicate that perhaps approximately 700 million individuals (of around 7 billion on the planet, or one in every ten) would migrate to a new country permanently if they had the chance. The demographic, political, economic, religious, and familial networks that exist through individuals who are situated between two (or more) cultures has mushroomed based on the globalization of contemporary life, the speed, ease, and economy of communication and transportation, and the worldwide rights revolution. Acculturation has consequently become one of the most salient individual-difference constructs in psychology, and the burgeoning psychological literature has begun to refine our understanding of immigrants and their individual acculturation. This individual perspective is requisite to understand psychological processes of continuity and change attendant to migration and acculturation (Bornstein, Putnick, & Esposito, 2017). Given contemporary circumstances, immigrants are likely to gain competence in two (or more) cultures, move among them flexibly and maintain transcultural ties, blurring historical boundaries of social and psychological space. Still, immigrants need to master key skills to function optimally in different worlds – this fundamental individual aspect of acculturation endures. Major theories of acculturation in the past have tended to neglect the raft of individual differences we have discussed that facilitate, inflect, or retard acculturation in favor of a focus on the group level, hearkening back to Redfield et al.’s original emphasis on the group. Actually, however, individuals compose groups, and individuals acculturate. How international 29

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migrants adjust psychologically is a product of many factors. Ours is not the first or only exposition of psychological acculturation, and in this chapter we have intended neither a comprehensive nor exhaustive account of psychological acculturation. Rather, our goal has been to alert acculturation theorists and researchers alike to some not unimportant guideposts that constitute a psychology of individual acculturation, one that complements the historically singular focus on the group.

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Padilla, A. M. and Perez, W., 2003. Acculturation, social identity, and social cognition: A new perspective. Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences, 25, 35–55. Phalet, K. and Schönpflug, U., 2001. Intergenerational transmission of collectivism and achievement values in two acculturation contexts: The case of Turkish families in Germany and Turkish and Moroccan families in the Netherlands. Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 32, 186–201. Phalet, K. and Swyngedouw, M., 2003. A cross-cultural analysis of immigrant and host values and acculturation orientations. In: Vinken, H. and Esther, P., eds. Comparing cultures. Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill, 185–212. Qin, D. B., 2006. Our child doesn’t talk to us anymore: Alienation in immigrant Chinese families. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 37, 162–179. Redfield, R., Linton, R., and Herskovits, M. J., 1936. Memorandum for the study of acculturation. American Anthropologist, 38, 149–152. Richman, J., Gaviria, M., Flaherty, J., Birz, S., and Wintrob, R., 1987. The process of acculturation: Theoretical perspectives and an empirical investigation in Peru. Social Science & Medicine, 25, 839–847. Rogler, L. H., Cortes, D. E., and Malgady, R. G., 1991. Acculturation and mental health status among Hispanics: Convergence and new directions for research. American Psychologist, 46, 585–597. Sabogal, F., Marín, G., Otero-Sabogal, R., Marín, B. V., and Perez-Stable, J., 1987. Hispanic familialism and acculturation: What changes and what doesn’t? Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences, 9, 397–412. Sam, D. L. and Berry, J. W., eds. 2016. The Cambridge handbook of acculturation psychology. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Schachner, M. K., Noack, P., Van de Vijver, F. J. R., and Eckstein, K., 2016. Cultural diversity climate and psychological adjustment at school: Equality and inclusion versus cultural pluralism. Child Development, 87, 1175–1191. Schwartz, S. J., Unger, J. B., Zamboanga, B. L., and Szapocznik, J., 2010. Rethinking the concept of acculturation: Implications for theory and research. American Psychologist, 65, 237–251. Schwartz, S. J., Pantin, H., Sullivan, S., Prado, G., and Szapocznik, J., 2006. Nativity and years in the receiving culture as markers of acculturation in ethnic enclaves. Journal of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 37, 345–353. doi:10.1177/0022022106286928 Spiel, C. and Strohmeier, D., 2012. Peer relations in multicultural schools. In: Masten, A. S., Hernandez, D., and Liebkind, K., eds. Realizing the potential of immigrant youth. New York, NY: Cambridge University Press, 376–396. Stefanek, E., Strohmeier, D., Fandrem, H., and Spiel, C., 2011. Depressive symptoms in native and immigrant adolescents: The role of critical life events and daily hassles. Anxiety, Stress & Coping: An International Journal, 25, 201–217. doi: 10.1080/10615806.2011.605879 Titzmann, P. and Silbereisen, R. K., 2009. Friendship homophily among ethnic German immigrants: A longitudinal comparison between recent and more experienced immigrant adolescents. Journal of Family Psychology, 23, 301–310. Ward, C., Bochner, S., and Furnham, A., 2001. The psychology of culture shock (2nd edition). London, UK: Routledge. Waters, M. and Pineau, M. G., eds. 2015. The integration of immigrants into American society. Washington, DC: National Academy Press. Yoshikawa, H., 2011. Immigrants raising citizens: Undocumented parents and their young children. New York, NY: Russell Sage. Yoshikawa, H. and Hsueh, J., 2001. Child development and public policy: Toward a dynamic systems perspective. Child Development, 72, 1887–1903. Yoshikawa, H., Suarez-Orozco, C.S., and Gonzales, R. G., 2016. Unauthorized status and youth development in the United States: Consensus statement of the Society for Research on Adolescence. Journal of Research on Adolescence, 1–16. doi: 10.1111/jora.12272

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3 European migration history Leo Lucassen and Jan Lucassen

Introduction Most overviews of migration in Europe in the modern era are – implicitly or explicitly – based on the so-called mobility transition. This still influential interpretation claims that until ‘modernization’ – meaning roughly the Industrial Revolution and the accompanying massive population growth and urbanization – European societies were largely static and levels of migration therefore low. Only through the modernization process did people become uprooted and leave the countryside to flock to the city in large numbers; not only within Europe, but also to destinations overseas. This explains the disproportionate attention paid to the 50 to 60 million Europeans who went to the Americas and other western offshoots. Only after World War II, so the conventional view continues, did migration to Europe become significant, first triggered by the decolonization of western European countries such as the United Kingdom (with migrants coming from South Asia and the Caribbean), France (from Africa, South East Asia and the Caribbean), Belgium (from the Congo), Portugal (from Mozambique and Angola) and the Netherlands (from Indonesia and Surinam). Another large immigration consisted of guest workers and their families from Northern Africa and Turkey and finally the number of asylum seekers from Africa, Asia and the Middle East increased significantly from the 1980s onwards, with peaks in the 1990s and 2010s. This standard history, however, is highly selective as it largely ignores intra-European migrations and important internal flows within countries. Furthermore it is not very consistent as it strongly favors emigration to the Americas over people who left Europe for Siberia, Central Asia and the Middle East, and it ignores circular and return migrations. Finally it is completely silent about unfree migrations from, to and inside Europe. In this chapter we use a different perspective that builds on the vast new historiography of the last decades which started with the pioneering work in the 1980s of historians such as Klaus J. Bade, Gérard Noiriel, Dirk Hoerder, Nancy L. Green, Leslie Moch and many others. Moreover, we follow the recent theoretical approach of Patrick Manning, who developed a cross-community approach to migration. In contrast to people who move within their ‘home community’, whose members share the same language and culture, the migration of people who join or invade another community is fundamentally different and often leads to social and cultural change. As people 32

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from different communities, in isolation, have developed different ideas, technologies and artefacts, cross-community migration almost always leads to innovation and change. Whereas Manning defines community in linguistic terms we also include social and cultural parameters. For the long 19th century, ending with World War I, this means that we not only focus on people who leave (emigration) or enter (immigration) European countries, but, first, include internal migrants who move to cities, because by doing so they entered a different socio-cultural world. As nation states became much more homogeneous in the course of the 19th century and cultural differences between the countryside and the city within nation states became less significant, we decided for this chapter to exclude all migrants (rural and urban) moving within states in the ‘age of extremes’ that started with World War I. From that time onwards we concentrate on rural–urban moves of an international and later on intercontinental nature, for example Italians from the Sicilian countryside and Moroccans from the Rif mountains to Paris, Brussels and Amsterdam. Second, we discuss seasonal migrants who moved between more traditional and highly commercialized regions, sometimes across national boundaries, but not necessarily so. Third we will pay serious attention to the migration of soldiers (and sailors) who moved over national boundaries, a category that is often overlooked. Many of these moves may have been temporary, but the cross-community experience did influence both the migrants as well as the societies they entered. In the case of soldiers, this could be either as combatants or as occupiers/peace keepers. One can think of intra-European wars, but also the migration of millions of soldiers within empires, including Russia and the Ottoman Empire, who left for Asia and Africa, and also of Americans, Australians, Canadians and colonial soldiers from all continents who fought during the two World Wars, and part of whom functioned as occupying forces in Europe, for example Americans in postwar Germany and Russians in eastern Europe. Finally our cross-community approach also includes colonization migrations, which we define as people who settled in different ecological settings in rural areas, often in different countries. In the modern era this form of cross-community migration was rather small and largely limited to eastern and southeastern Europe.

The mobility transition In 1971 the geographer Wilbur Zelinsky published a seminal article in which he launched the idea of a mobility transition that would have unchained Europeans and hugely stimulated migration. At the same time, however, as a geographer, he fully acknowledged that we should not value international over internal moves. He rightly argued that black families moving a city block into a white district experience often a more dramatic social shift than families moving over thousands of miles by their employer and ending up in a duplicate of their former neighborhood. Furthermore, he considered early modern mobile scholars, merchants, soldiers, sailors and so on as ‘full-fledged’ migrants, only assuming that these were exceptions to the sedentary rule. And given the state of the art in historical migration studies at the time, he could not be blamed for underestimating migration in early modern Europe. Forty years later, however, there is ample proof of worldwide structural mobility and migration long before the so-called modernization set in, and we have become aware of the structural function of migration for the human species from the very beginning when people left Africa some 60,000 years ago. This does not rule out, however, an increase during the 19th century as a result of the transportation (steamships and railways) and communication (telegraph, telephone, newspapers) revolutions, which made travel cheaper and faster, enabling 33

Leo Lucassen and Jan Lucassen Table 3.1  Total migration rates in Europe without Russia (without internal migrations after 1900), 1500–2000

1501–50 1551–00 1601–50 1651–00 1701–50 1751–00 1801–50 1851–00 1901–50 1951–00

Average population (millions)

Total migrations (millions)

Cross-cultural migration rate, without European Russia, averaged for life expectancy (%)

101 119 126 130 146 177 239 319 395 512

8.7 11.7 17.5 15.2 17.0 21.9 40.9 81.3 174.2 95

6 6.9 9.7 8.2 8.2 8.7 12 21.7 48.5 25.1

Source: Lucassen et al. 2014: p. 86 (table 170).

massive intercontinental and other long-distance moves. And this is indeed what we see when we estimate cross-community migrations in Europe (without Russia) between 1500 and 1900, adjusted for life expectancy: already high levels before 1800 and an increase especially after 1900 (Table 3.1). If we had included European Russia the levels in the 20th century would rise (52% in the first part and 34% in the second), especially due to the millions of forced migrations under Stalin, soldier migrations and people moving to cities within Russia, who due to the significant cultural differences within Russia should be counted as cross-cultural migrants. The broad pattern, however, does not change. Different from what Zelinsky assumed, this increase did not start from scratch, so that the term ‘transition’ is misleading. Instead, what we see, first, are shifts in scale, not in the nature of migration. The biggest jump did not occur during the age of industrialization (and first round of globalization), but in the first half of the 20th century, to a large extent caused by the huge migrations of soldiers, forced migrations of refugees and the massive deportations of demonized minorities (especially Jews, but also huge numbers of politically and ethnically Russian citizens, deemed untrustworthy under Stalin) and coerced laborers during and after the two World Wars that scourged the continent. After this first part of the ‘age of extremes’ total mobility rates fell, because of healthier cities (thus lower mortality and higher natural increase), fast transportation (enabling commuting), more fixed jobs (decreasing circulatory moves between the countryside and cities), and less seasonal migration. And, most of all, the absence of war. This decrease was only marginally balanced by immigration from other continents after 1945, such as (post) colonial migrants, ‘guest workers’ and refugees, who made up only a quarter of the total crosscultural migrations. In the remainder of this chapter we will use the four basic sub-categories of cross-community migration to give a thematic/diachronic overview of the major migrations to, from and within Europe. This diverges from the standard story and introduces different comparisons and relationships that stress the structural and systemic dimension of migration for human societies. At the same time it explicitly acknowledges the contingent political and cultural factors that shaped and colored migrations within the context of nation states, empires, welfare states, warfare and repression, economic and political inequalities, and changing family systems and gender roles. 34

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Seasonal migrants Seasonal labor was a widespread phenomenon throughout Europe since the Middle Ages, especially in the western and southern regions. Annually large numbers of peasants left their small farms to work for higher wages in areas where labor was in great demand, especially during harvest times. Thanks to a systematic attempt to quantify this form of migration during the Napoleonic period the numbers around 1811 are well known. For the 19th century we have some good additional data. Absolute numbers of Europeans who were involved in this type of migration increased from an estimated half a million in the 17th century to almost 25 million in the second half of the 19th century. Around 1800, the largest systems (attraction poles with their hinterland) were to be found in France, Italy and Spain. Smaller systems could be found in the western part of the Netherlands (attracting Germans) and around London (attracting Irish). In the course of the 19th century not only did numbers swell in Europe, but we see important shifts: shrinkage in southern and western Europe and a huge increase in Germany (mainly Polish-speaking Russians) and Russia. The Russian empire is of special interest because it is often assumed that because of the second serfdom peasants were tied to the soil. We now know, however, that mobility restrictions notwithstanding, Russian peasants were very mobile and that this increased tremendously in the second half of the 19th century up until World War I, from half a million around 1800 to 7 million a century later. The reason for this growth is not so much the abolishment of serfdom in 1861, but the opening up of farmland in the southern parts of the quickly expanding Russian empire. Seasonal migration systems also changed through the transport revolution. As soon as cheap and fast shipping lines developed between southern Europe and the Americas, large numbers of Italians, Spaniards and Portuguese (mainly men) joined the transatlantic great migrations. Some even worked part of the year in Argentinean agriculture and in North American mines. At least initially this work was combined with a small farm in their countries of origin where spouses and children remained. Although in the longer run this often resulted in permanent settlement overseas, it explains partially the very high rates of return migration of southern European migrants until World War I. After the Great War total numbers fell quickly as seasonality diminished and machines took over, but the phenomenon did not vanish entirely. In a way new forms of seasonal labor developed that fit in our cross-community approach. This is most obvious in Spain and Italy (and to a lesser degree Greece), where in the last decades of the 20th century Moroccans as well as Poles, Bulgarians and Romanians have found work in both agriculture and construction. Other systems have sprung up in northwestern Europe, where, since the end of the 1990s, large numbers of Eastern Europeans have filled vacancies in the same economic sectors. Strictly speaking these migrants differ from the prototypical seasonal migrant, because they do not combine this work with a small plot of land back home, nor is all the work of a seasonal nature. Finally, the role of the state has changed. Not so much for Eastern Europeans who since 2014, as EU citizens, can move freely, but for North Africans the situation is quite different. Many of them entered the ‘weak southern belly’ of Europe as illegals, and those who were not lucky enough to become regularized find themselves in a very vulnerable position.

Colonization In contrast to the Chinese Empire since the High Middle Ages colonization migration has been of minor importance in Europe. Exceptions were the Ottoman and Russian empires. We are especially well informed about the latter, where imperial policies since Catharina the Great 35

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opened up vast territories in the south and the east. A conservative estimate is that between 1750 and 1900 some 10 million peasants settled in the Forest heartland and the Steppe regions of European Russia. To some extent the massive population movements in southeastern Europe, in the wake of the crumbling Ottoman Empire might also be subsumed under the heading of colonization. In most cases this involved forced population exchanges between Greece (1922/1923) and the Balkans on the one hand and the new Turkish state on the other. Many of these migrants ended up in cities, but a considerable number involved rural to rural moves, which reshaped the rural landscape in this part of Europe. Other colonization migrations concern Europeans moving outward, especially to the American and Siberian frontiers. Again, this involved in each case at least 10 million migrants, who as emigrants settled in sparsely populated lands where the native population was either killed or marginalized.

Moves to the city During the early modern period considerable numbers of Europeans flocked to cities. Their numbers were especially high because of the high urban mortality, which necessitated a constant stream of migrants, as well as the spectacular urbanization in the area that covered northern Italy, southern Germany and the northwest (Belgium, the Netherlands and England). This urbanization process, which intensified and spread in the 19th and 20th centuries, to a large extent due to the permanent settlement of country folk, is often studied and discussed separately from the ‘great migration’ to the Americas. This mental membrane often hides more than it reveals. There are good reasons to consider the Atlantic, including Europe and the Americas, as one migratory space from the mid-19th century onwards. The transportation and communication revolutions in particular expanded the geographical scale of European migrations and brought the Americas, as well as other imperial spaces (especially within the British and French global empires), in direct reach of potential migrants. Moreover, as economic historians have shown, the ‘first round of globalization’ (1820–1914) quickly led to a gradual convergence of wages and created a common space in which the bright lights of the city could be Vienna, Paris, Amsterdam, but also Chicago, Buenos Aires or Toronto. Seen in this light it makes perfect sense to analyze the bulk of the great transatlantic migrations together with the cityward moves within and between European countries. Good examples include the well-known emigrations of tens of millions of Italians, Poles and Irish to the Americas, especially the United States. Between 1870 and 1940, however, almost as many Italians migrated to countries like France, Switzerland, the Austrian-Hungarian Empire and Germany. Poles also settled in large numbers in Germany and France, whereas a minority of Irish, but still hundreds of thousands chose the UK and not the US as their final destination. Their motives often did not differ fundamentally. In all cases the search for work and a better living dominated.

Labor migrants before World War I The same was true for many internal migrants up to World War I. Especially the low-skilled among them were seen as different by their co-patriots and stigmatized as country bumpkins who lacked basic cultural refinement and whose dialects were incomprehensible. Well known are the Bretons and peasants from the Massif Central who during the 19th century were considered as dangerous and alien nomads wrecking the social fabric of the city. To quote Eugen Weber, only gradually did these peasants turn into Frenchmen, Germans etc. And for some 36

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countries, such as Italy, this process of internal cultural and national homogenization lasted until the 1950s and 1960s, when millions of southern ‘bruti, sporchi e cattivi’ (ugly, dirty and bad) Italians moved to northern cities like Turin and Milan. It is no coincidence that the new social sciences were captivated by the assumed dramatic uprooting effects of rural to urban migrations, as the work and preoccupation of Tönnies, Weber, Durkheim and the founders of the Chicago School, including Robert Park, testifies, and which buttressed the modernization paradigm that guided Zelinsky’s idea of a mobility transition. We now know that alienation, anomy and uprooting were largely smoothed by the cushioning effects of migrant networks and urban institutions, and furthermore that many peasants combined rural with urban work, because of the volatile nature of both labor markets. Only after World War I did urban and industrial jobs become more stable and did most rural migrants settle permanently in cities. Apart from low-skilled peasants, European cities bustled with skilled workers, artisans and career migrants and civil servants, who navigated various urban networks and added to the very high mobility. In particular, networks of journeymen, working in small-scale urban workshops, showed high levels of circular mobility and multiple moves. This included both men and women. Well known are young women who found employment in small and large cities as domestics, factory workers or shop assistants, throughout Europe. In the 20th century this type of migration decreased, as formal education became more important and new technologies replaced manual labor. Moreover, as we explained earlier, due to the increasing national integration and cultural homogenization most internal migrants no longer meet the cross-community criteria and for that reason have not been included as cross-cultural migrants in the 20th century (Table 3.1). For the larger part of the 20th century our attention therefore shifts to foreign migrants who move to cities. Most Europeans who went for shorter or longer periods to other European countries ended up in cities, either as workers in mines and industries, as domestics, artists, skilled workers or merchants. Some settled for good, others – like the Poles in the Ruhr area and Italians in French industrial areas – moved on when industry declined or better wages were to be earned elsewhere. But many stayed only temporarily, like the almost 200,000 German (and Austrian) young women who crossed the Dutch border to work as domestics in Dutch households. Due to the dismal German economy and towering inflation in the 1920s their labor was very cheap and came in the reach even of the lower Dutch middle classes. Most of them returned in the course of the 1930s when the German economy recovered, although some 15% in the end married Dutch men and settled definitely.

Forced migrations and mass killings Internal European labor migrations reached massive proportions during the two World Wars, in which both captives and forced laborers were needed to keep the labor market buoyant. During both wars Germany developed the most extensive forced-labor system, but also in France some 200,000 colonial workers were imported from South East Asia and Africa, to fill the gaps that the drafted men had left. The most pernicious policies, however, were developed by Nazi Germany and Stalinist Russia. Under Hitler’s rule millions of men and women from occupied countries were forced to work in German factories, mines and agriculture, which amounted to almost 10 million Europeans (75% being civilians) who spent years against their will in Germany. They were vital for the German economy as they made up 50% of the total labor force in agriculture and munitions factories and one-third in the metal, chemical, mining and construction industries. Most of them came from eastern Europe (Poles and Russians), but France and Italy also contributed heavily. It included both men and women, in the case of 37

Leo Lucassen and Jan Lucassen 4000000 3500000 3000000 2500000 2000000 1500000 1000000 500000 0 1920 1922 1924 1926 1928 1930 1932 1934 1936 1938 1940 1942 1944 1946 1948 1950 1952 Internal

international

Figure 3.1  Forced deportations in Russia (1920–1952) Source: Polian 2004: p. 313.

Russians and Poles half of them were (young) women. Apart from them the Nazis sent some 2.5 million political prisoners, homosexuals and other ‘unwanted elements’ to concentration camps (85% from abroad). All of them were used as workers for shorter or longer periods and at least a third of them died. Finally, at least 3.5 million German and foreign Jews were sent to death camps, many of whom were put to work before they were killed. Large-scale forced deplacements (and killing) of people is also well documented for Soviet Russia, where Stalin instigated a systematic policy of forced migrations of various kinds of ethnic groups (from descendants of German migrants in the Volga region to Korean migrants in the southeast) to central Asia and Siberia. Furthermore, large numbers of ‘class enemies’, such as the Kulaks (medium- and large-scale farmers), were deported to Gulags where they were put to work under atrocious conditions. In total some 12 million people were forcefully moved to remote areas of Soviet Russia. These deportations had already started on a small scale under Lenin in the 1920s with Cossacks from the Terek region as well as Kulaks, and assumed massive proportions from 1930 onwards, especially of Kulaks, but also through the cleansing of the western (Poles, Finns) and eastern frontiers (Koreans). During the war followed a plethora of groups from the Caucasus, ‘Germans’, Jews and members of ‘punished religions’, such as ‘old believers’ (orthodox Christians).

Guest workers and beyond After World War II the demand for migrant labor soon made itself felt. In Germany this was partly met by the large-scale immigration of so-called ‘Volksdeutsche’ from eastern Europe, but these ‘returnees’ were soon insufficient to meet the demand. Soon in Germany, Belgium, France and the Netherlands agreements were concluded with southern European countries (Greece, Spain, Italy, Yugoslavia), as well as Turkey, Tunisia and Morocco, whereas in France hundreds of thousands of workers from Algeria filled the demand. In most cases these migrants came from the countryside and settled in cities. This was also the case in the United Kingdom, where the bulk of the migration to cities such as London, Birmingham, Liverpool, Leicester 38

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and Manchester were colonial migrants from India, Pakistan, Bangladesh (after 1971) and the Caribbean, taking the place of the Irish. So in a way we can consider these postwar crosscommunity migrants as rural to urban moves, whose motives to migrate and settlement process show more similarities with earlier internal cityward newcomers than one might think at first sight. Although these, on average, low-skilled migrants are only one part of the migration puzzle, those coming from other continents dominate the public and political discussion. This easily makes us forget the almost equally large migrations of higher skilled migrants, both between European countries and those coming from other parts of the world. In the Netherlands, for example, in 2010, 154,000 people officially settled in the country. Almost 30,000 of them were born there and may be called ‘return migrants’. Of the rest, two-thirds were classified as ‘western’ migrants (born in Europe, North America, Japan and Indonesia). Studies on these ‘western’ migrants are conspicuously lacking and many people do not consider them as migrants in the first place, showing how much in the public discourse ‘migration’ is equated with lower class non-western migrants, especially the Muslims among them causing ‘problems’. Again the large majority of all immigrants from abroad in European countries settle in cities, and both the lower and higher skilled contribute to the very diverse nature of these cities; a diversity which often stimulates creative and cultural industries and has a much greater added economic value than is normally assumed. As Saskia Sassen has shown, both the unskilled and problematized and the (high) skilled are part of the same system. Whereas the elites among the migrants earn high incomes, they increase the need for all kinds of personal services, running from restaurants to ironing services, domestics and doormen. Cities such as Paris, London, Frankfurt, Rome and Amsterdam are well-known examples.

Soldiers In the period 1500–1800 soldiers constituted the most important category of cross-community migrants, which is not so remarkable given the constant warfare between European states and the widespread practice of (foreign mercenaries). Nevertheless it is often overlooked that many people, until recently only men, experience cross-community migration as soldiers and sailors. The first group encounters new cultures while fighting or by being part of an occupying force abroad. This could mean Europeans inside their continent as well as in other parts of the world, including the colonies, or non-Europeans fighting on European soil. At the beginning of the 19th century this mainly concerned millions of French, Dutch, English, Germans and AustrianHungarians enlisted in or fighting against the French revolutionary army. Russians also fought, but remained largely within their own empire. Apart from the Crimean (1856) and FrenchGerman (1870) war, the long nineteenth century was a rather peaceful interlude between the early modern period and the 20th century. The only exceptions were the colonies which drew hundreds of thousands of European soldiers through imperial circuits. During the ‘Great War’ some 65 million soldiers were enlisted, of whom 10 million died, 21 million were wounded and some 8 million were taken captive. The cross-cultural contacts and exchanges were largely limited to bullets and grenades, due to the narrow battlefield in the west (Belgium and northern France) and the east (Ukraine). Moreover, most soldiers were sentenced to a gruesome stay in the trenches and, apart from a few surreal football matches against the enemy between the front lines during Christmas breaks, they had little contact with either the local population or the enemy. This was quite different during World War II. In 1939 and 1940 The Blitz reduced the period of actual fighting to a few weeks and – at least on the Western Front – the war consisted mainly of Germans occupying and administering large stretches of Europe. It brought millions of German soldiers to foreign lands where they stayed 39

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for years at a time, as well as West European volunteers for the Waffen SS at the Eastern Front. Led by General Rommel, hundreds of thousands of German soldiers also ventured into northern Africa, until their retreat in 1943. This year also marked the inflow of increasing numbers of English, Canadian, Australian and American forces, first in southern Italy and, from D-Day onwards, also in western Europe, until Germany’s defeat in May 1945. In the east, Russian soldiers reached Berlin and beyond. The interaction between foreign soldiers and the local European population did not end with the armistice. Germany was occupied and divided into four zones (English, American, French and Russian) and with the outbreak of the Cold War millions of soldiers from these countries set up bases, most of which were only finally closed after the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989. Americans such as Elvis Presley and many others spent years of their adulthood in a foreign country and continent, adding to the global spread of American popular and consumer culture and the dominance of the English language. Furthermore, especially at the end of World War II, allied soldiers befriended local women, many of whom followed fiancées to overseas destinations, adding to the postwar emigration wave from the Netherlands and Belgium in particular. Recent research shows that contact between American soldiers and the German population was much more intense than often assumed. Moreover, African American soldiers were deeply influenced by the lack of racial segregation outside the military bases in Germany and, upon return, large numbers joined the NAACP, thus co-determining the course of the Civil Rights Movement. In the second half of the 20th century, European soldiers fought decolonization wars outside Europe, which involved hundreds of thousands of young men: most importantly, Dutch in Indonesia between 1945 and 1949, French in Indochina in the beginning of the 1950s and subsequently in Algeria during the savage war of independence (1954–1961), Portuguese in Angola and Mozambique until 1975, Belgian soldiers in Central Africa, and Europeans enlisted in the French Foreign Legion, active in Africa. In France the frustration of losing their North African colony also had long-term effects on the settlement process of Algerian workers and their families in Metropolitan France, which already started in the interwar years. Think of French soldiers (like Jean Marie Le Pen) but also some 200,000 French colonials (‘pieds noir’), who had to leave Algeria and many of whom soon occupied important positions in the French state. Especially in institutions that dealt with the Algerian immigrants, they greatly added to the negative attitude toward them, which was further stimulated by a series of terrorist bomb attacks by the Algerian Liberation Movement during the war of independence. Finally, in more recent years European soldiers were found in large (British troops in Iraq) or small (various countries serving in UN missions) numbers in Africa and Asia, as well as in Yugoslavia since the breakup of this federation in 1989. Less numerous but not insignificant were European sailors. Their numbers quickly dwindled in the course of the 19th century with the shift from sailing to steamships. In the 20th century, we see a gradual shift in recruitment from western and northern European sailors to Greece and the Middle East. They predominantly manned the international fleets who more recently were relieved by Asians (Chinese, Filipinos) and Africans (Cape Verdians). Apart from working on ships, a number of them also became the pioneers of important chain migrations and permanent settlement in European port cities, both before and after World War II.

Settlement processes How migrants settle in new societies depends on the prevailing ‘membership regime’ that sets the rules. In Europe since the Middle Ages different regimes can be distinguished: multi-ethnic 40

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empires (Ottoman, Austrian Habsburg, Russian), mono-religious territorial states, as well as republics (like the Dutch) that accommodate ethnic and religious differences. In the course of the 19th century these three regimes converged into the dominating nation state model, inspired by the principles of the French Revolution, expecting migrants to integrate or assimilate. Furthermore, in the course of the 19th century these states started regulating international migration. Especially after World War I, the monitoring and regulation of migration increased, stimulated by the emergence of nationalism and state-induced welfare states. Nevertheless, millions of migrants settled in European states, partly enabled through the increasing (embedded) social and legal rights of migrants in liberal democracies which restricted the power of nation states to regulate migration. Finally we see a gradual liberalization of the intra-European migration as the European Union expanded from the 1960s onwards, shifting the migration controls to the outer border of the EU. The combination of the nation state model and a heightened attention to the immigration and settlement of foreign migrants in the 20th century has made immigration and integration into a salient political topic. The attention to non-European and culturally distinct newcomers, however, obscures the continuity in settlement processes in the last two centuries. Thus, it is almost considered common knowledge that the settlement process means that postwar migrants from African, Asian and Caribbean origin, often subsumed under the Eurocentric label of ‘nonwestern migrants’, have greater trouble adjusting to their new environment than their intra, let alone internal, European precursors. Or, the more optimistic version, that their settlement process at least evolves along different lines than before. The problem with these assumptions is that it is too early to tell, at least if we accept the historical analogy that the settlement process takes time, often several generations. The integration of many recent groups, including many colonial migrants, is far from completed and the third generation is only in its infancy. Furthermore these predictions are based on unproven and untested assumptions about the past. Internal migrants, such as the Bretons and Auvergnats in Paris, were confronted with similar problems (both in terms of finding their place and the way they were viewed) as more recent newcomers from other continents. Earlier migrants were often low skilled and through their different dialects and customs perceived as culturally distinctive. This is even truer for European migrants who crossed national borders like the Italians, Poles and Irish. Especially in the latter case there were violent clashes between the first generation and native workers. Furthermore, the receiving states often perceived them as a threat to national identity. This was especially the case with Polish-speaking migrants who settled in the German Ruhr area. Technically speaking they were German citizens, living in the eastern part of the German Empire that had been united in 1871. The powerful Chancellor Bismarck, however, was afraid that their virulent Polish nationalism would stimulate the claims for an independent Polish state. Poland had been divided among Russia, Prussia and Austria Hungary at the end of the 18th century and its resurrection would have serious territorial and geopolitical consequences. Many ‘Poles’, however, did indeed resist assimilation and established a vibrant Polish associational life and tried their best to shield their children from becoming German. In reaction the German police kept a strict watch on all Polish cultural and political activities and tried to break their nationalism. In the long run this repressive policy was successful. At least, the second and third generations did become much more German than their parents and grandparents would have liked and within half a century these Poles were much more integrated than many held possible. Whether this was the direct effect of repression, is doubtful. Integration processes have a logic of their own and are to a large extent autonomous, at least when migrants and their 41

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descendants share the key institutions (schools, public space, media, the army, shops, etc.) with the native population. Some of these Poles, after World War I for economic reasons moved on to France, where they were joined by more recent fellow countrymen who were recruited by French organized employers. As in Germany, a vibrant Polish life soon developed during the first decades of their stay, but here also within two generations they became more French than many could have predicted. This conclusion also extends to the hundreds of thousands of Italians who left for France from the 1870s onwards to work in mines and industry in the east, northeast and the Paris basin. Initially they were treated with great distrust and hostility, though in their case not so much by the French state, but by French workers who accused them of strike breaking and accepting low wages. Moreover, Italians were seen as footloose, as ‘nomads’, because they were single young men who seemed to have no intention of taking root. This was considered particularly problematic because their very mobile life style made it difficult to integrate them into French unions. Italians and French workers shared the same workplaces, but initially the Italians kept to themselves and indeed did occasionally weaken the bargaining position of their French co-workers. In the 1890s this led to a series of violent clashes, which cost dozens of Italians their lives. After the turn of the century relations became better and many Italians started their own families (mostly marrying Italian women), joined French unions and integrated through the workplace. The third telling example of ‘old’ mass migrations within Europe is that of the Irish who settled in the United Kingdom from the 1830s onwards. Although most of them chose the United States as a destination, especially during and after the potato famines of the 1840s, some 300,000 preferred a shorter trip across the Irish Sea and ended up in Scotland, the Midlands (Manchester, Liverpool) and London. As with the Poles they posed a threat to the nation (due to separatist leanings) and like the Italians they were accused of strike breaking and lowering the standards of the working class. On top of that, however, came a religious threat. The great majority of the Irish were Catholics who settled in a Protestant country and at that time Catholics, ruled by the pope in Rome, were seen as fundamentally different and considered a menace to the core values of British society. Catholics were accused of being anti-democratic, anti-national and anti-liberal. Catholicism was presented as an authoritarian, repressive religion that left its members no room for deciding for themselves. Finally many Protestants believed that Catholics were planning to rule the world, by – among other things – reproducing much faster than Protestants. These ideas, which show remarkable similarities with the anti-Islam rhetoric of recent decades in Europe, were mobilized by zealous political entrepreneurs whose activities (e.g. lecture tours in cities with a large Irish minority) led to pogrom-like situations in the 1860s in various English cities, such as Stockton and Birmingham. As in the other two cases, with time the animosity between the immigrants and the native population diminished, although anti-Irish sentiments lasted well into the 20th century, partly fueled by terrorist activities of the IRA and its precursors.

Postwar immigration These three large-scale immigrations roughly occurred between the middle of the 19th century and World War I, and in France the immigration continued during the 1920s due to a deliberate policy of the state and employers. The second wave started after the War and – apart from large numbers of displaced persons – consisted initially of young male southern Europeans and later on North Africans and Turks who were recruited for low-skilled mining and industrial

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work in western Europe, except for the United Kingdom. As they were meant to stay only temporarily, it took until the 1970s before a full-scale integration process really started by way of family reunification. The long economic downturn, triggered by the oil crisis of 1973, urged many a migrant not to return, despite massive unemployment, but rather to bring over wives and children. This unexpected mass immigration of Turks, Algerians and Moroccans, to mention the three largest groups, was unique in the sense that it coincided with a long economic recession which made their settlement process much more difficult than that of the three earlier intra-European groups mentioned in the preceding paragraph. The reason for this unfortunate timing can be explained by acknowledging the changed nature of the receiving states which became visible in three ways. First, the effects of the welfare state, which enabled guest workers to build up social rights; second, the principle of equality which strengthened their residence rights, i.e. the longer they stayed (including that of family reunification); and finally the unintended consequences of the restrictive aliens policy that most countries adopted after 1973. It was only then that guest workers from outside the European Union realized that returning to their countries of origin meant giving up their social and legal rights. As a result many of them decided to stay and exercise their rights to reunite with their families, at the beginning of a long recession and mass unemployment. For colonial migrants the timing of their migration followed political dynamics, as they were the product of independence movements within the colony. During the decolonization process, European states were often slow to limit the entrance of people from the former colonies, either because of their inclusive imperial ideology (the UK, France, and to a lesser extent Belgium and Portugal), or because of large mixed Eurasian populations who were considered to belong to the mother country (Eurasians in the Netherlands). Hence some groups arrived at an economically favorable moment, at the beginning of the long postwar economic boom (Dutch Eurasians from Indonesia, some of the Algerians, and the West Indians in the UK), whereas the immigration of others coincided with the recession of the mid-1970s (Surinamese in the Netherlands in 1975, some of the Algerians in France, and some of the Pakistanis and Bangladeshis in the UK). Their settlement process was further influenced by the pre-migration socialization, in terms of language, religion and education. ‘Black’ migrants who already spoke the language and had converted to Christianity, such as the Creoles from Suriname identified much more quickly with the culture at destination (and were seen as belonging to that society) than, for example, ‘white’ Turkish Muslim guest workers. These differences, among other things, transpire in the level of mixed marriages. At the same time Europe increasingly closed its borders, turning into a ‘Fortress Europe’, and started to question the loyalty of its newly won migrants. Events like the Rushdie Affair in 1988, and 9/11 and the subsequent terrorist attacks in Madrid, London, Paris, Brussels, Nice and Berlin in particular made Muslim immigrants highly suspect. To what extent the settlement process of these newcomers from Asia, Africa and the Americas in the long run will differ fundamentally form earlier (European) migrants remains to be seen. Apart from acknowledging the increasing possibilities to build transnational spaces, the effect of the recent transport (cheap flights) and communication (cell phones, internet) revolutions, it is clear that the role of the state has also changed, and therewith to some extent the migration dynamics. Integration politics that dominated since the 1970s have come under fire in the last decade, especially by the rise of populist parties. Migration rates up to 2016, however, do not differ substantially from those in the 1990s. Even the ‘refugee crisis’ of 2015 did not change that, as the number of asylum seekers in the 2010s – so far – is more or less at the same level as in the 1990s.

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Further reading Bade, K. (2003). Migration in European history. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Bade, K., Emmer, P., Lucassen, L. and Oltmer, J., eds. (2011). The Encyclopedia of migration and minorities in Europe: From the 17th century to the present. New York: Cambridge University Press. Freitag, U., Fuhrmann, M. et al., eds. (2011). The city in the Ottoman empire: Migration and the making of urban modernity. London: Routledge. Gabaccia, D. (2000). Italy’s many diasporas. London: UCL Press. Green, N. L. (1997). The comparative method and poststructural structuralism: new perspectives for migration studies. In: J. Lucassen and L. Lucassen, eds., Migration, migration history, history: Old perspectives and new paradigms. Bern etc.: Peter Lang, pp. 57–72. Herbert, U. (1997). Hitler’s foreign workers: Enforced foreign labor in Germany under the Third Reich. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hoerder, D. (2002). Cultures in contact: World migrations in the second millennium. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Höhn, M. and Moon, S., eds. (2010). Over there: Living with the U.S. military empire from World War Two to the present. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hollifield, J. F. (1992). Immigrants, markets, and states: The political economy of postwar Europe. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lucassen, J. and Lucassen, L. (2009). The mobility transition revisited, 1500–1900: what the case of Europe can offer to global history. The Journal of Global History 4(4), pp. 347–377. Lucassen, J. and Lucassen, L. (2010). The mobility transition in Europe revisited, 1500–1900: sources and methods. IISH Research Papers. Amsterdam, International Institute of Social History, nr. 44. Lucassen, J. and Lucassen, L. (2011). From mobility transition to comparative global migration history. The Journal of Global History 6(2), pp. 299–307. Lucassen, J. and Lucassen, L., eds. (2014). Globalising migration history: The Eurasian experience (16th–21st centuries). Leiden, Netherlands and Boston, MA: Brill. Lucassen, J. and Lucassen, L. (2017). Theorizing cross-cultural migrations: the case of Eurasia since 1500. Social Science History 41(3), pp. 445–475. Lucassen, L. (2005). The immigrant threat: The integration of old and new migrants in western Europe since 1850. Urbana and Chicago, IL: The University of Illinois Press. Lucassen, L. and Laarman, C. (2009). Immigration, intermarriage and the changing face of Europe in the post war period. The History of the Family 14(1), pp. 52–68. Lucassen, L. and Lucassen, J. (2015). The strange death of Dutch tolerance: the timing and nature of the pessimist turn in the Dutch migration debate. The Journal of Modern History 87(1), pp. 72–101. Lucassen, L., Lucassen, J., de Jong, R. and van de Water, M. (2014). Cross-cultural migration in Europe 1901–2000: a preliminary estimate. IISH Research Papers. Amsterdam: International Institute of Social History, nr. 52. Manning, P. (2013). Migration in world history. New York and London: Routledge. Moch, L. (2003). Moving Europeans: migration in western Europe since 1650. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Noiriel, G. (1988). Le creuset français: histoire de l’immigration, XIXe–XXe siècles. Paris: Éd. du Seuil. Polian, P. (2004). Against their will: the history and geography of forced migrations in the USSR. Budapest: CEU Press. Sanborn, J. (2005). Unsettling the empire: violent migrations and social disaster in Russia during World War I. The Journal of Modern History 77(2), pp. 290–324. Sassen, S. (1991). The global city: New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Siegelbaum, L. and Moch, L. (2014). Broad is my native land: Repertoires and regimes of migration in Russia’s twentieth century. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press. Spulber, N. (2003). Russia’s economic transitions: From late tsarism to the new millennium. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tozzi, C. (2016). Nationalizing France’s army: Foreign, black, and Jewish troops in the French military, 1715–1831. Charlottesville, VA and London: University of Virginia Press. Weber, E. (1976). Peasants into Frenchmen: The modernization of rural France, 1870–1914. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Zelinsky, W. (1971). The hypothesis of the mobility transition. The Geographical Review 61(2), pp. 219–249.

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4 Migration history in the Americas Donna R. Gabaccia

The peopling of the Americas At least 38 autonomous nation states (with the addition of a few remaining European territories and former colonies in the Caribbean) make up the modern Americas. Concepts such as emigration and immigration, which facilitate study of movements of people into and out of national territories, are not useful for the study of earlier times. Thus, many world historians write about the mobility of people rather than about emigration or immigration; they also analyze mobility and change at a scale much larger than the modern nation state. Studies by scientists and archaeologists suggest that humans originated in Africa around 200,000 years ago; over one 60,000-year period, humans walked or traveled by simple boats, gradually “peopling the earth.” Peopling the earth resulted from millions of incremental moves made by kin-based groups as populations expanded, segmented socially and split or separated spatially. Humans typically moved into uninhabited regions, sometimes peacefully, sometimes as they retreated from conflict with their nearest neighbors. In both cases, humans adapted to new ecological conditions, creating enormous cultural and linguistic diversity as they moved. Although it is widely accepted that humans first arrived in the Americas over a land bridge from Siberia into Alaska some time between 12,000 and 30,000 years ago, the exact time of arrival and the routes by which early humans traveled to Tierra del Fuego and eastward from the first Pacific routes are disputed, with both seaside movements and movements through the valleys of the long mountain chains of North and South America considered as possible. Archaeologists describe early human groups occupying the Americas as living highly mobile lives. Hunting, fishing, foraging, and gathering required patterned, seasonal movements, often over large territories. Some foraging societies integrated cultivation of domesticated crops into their cycle of seasonal moves, first in northern South America and in Middle America, and eventually elsewhere in southwestern, central and eastern North America and the Caribbean Islands too. After 3000 bc, more intensive cultivation of corn and of potatoes created the basis for rapid population growth, urbanization, a more sedentary way of life, and the creation of early states in coastal and central Mexico and in the Andes mountains. Long-distance trade accompanied the development of the Olmec, Toltec, Incan, Mayan, and Aztec civilizations and created longdistance contacts among groups of hunters and gatherers and seasonal cultivators everywhere. 45

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Although poorly understood and intensively debated, the lives of Americans remained mobile even after the rise of agriculture: foraging, hunting, raiding, conquest, and population growth could produce social segmentation, colonization of unoccupied or defeated territories, and relocations in response to climatic change and social conflict. By 1490, the population of the Americas has been estimated at between 25 and 100 million persons. The outcome of millennia of shorter and longer-distance migrations, cultural differentiation in the Americas was pronounced: several hundred languages, along with thousands of local variations, were spoken. Outside of a few large empires, identities remained local, with many people calling themselves simply, in their native tongues, “humans.”

Conquest,coercion, and colonization: early modern histories of Atlantic empire-building, 1492–1776 Massive numbers of deaths accompanied the introduction of new germs by the Europeans arriving from Europe after Christopher Columbus’s first voyage in 1492. The total population of the Americas declined by 80 to 95 percent in the century between 1500 and 1600 as Spain’s empire quickly expanded from the Caribbean to include much of coastal South America, Central America and the southern parts of North America. By the 1530s the Portuguese claims in South America too had expanded to support more permanent colonization in Brazil. England, France, and the Netherlands established permanent colonies in the Caribbean and in North America somewhat later, in the 1600s. Remaining populations of Indigenous Americans often retreated from European incursions, sparking inter-group conflict, cultural transformation, and new alliances. Because of the devastating demographic consequences of colonization, some historians refer to this era of European empire-building, too, as the peopling of the Americas while others prefer to call it instead the transformation of the American hemisphere into a neo-Europe. Most scholars label the migrations from Europe that accompanied empire-building as conquest or settler colonization, to distinguish them from emigration and immigration. However scholars label them, the earliest migrations of relatively small numbers of Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch, French, and British merchants, soldiers, gold- or adventure-seekers, and missionaries set in motion a larger movement of coerced, forced, and enslaved laborers, mainly from Africa. European conquest continuously transformed surviving indigenous peoples into refugees or exiles, fleeing the territories newly occupied by Europeans. Few migrated from Europe to the Americas during empire-building. Estimates of the number of Spaniards arriving in the Americas before 1700 fall well under a million, and the numbers of Portuguese traveling to Brazil before 1700 probably did not exceed 100,000. The exercise of European power did not rest on massive settler colonization but on superior weaponry and transportation technologies and a system of plantations based on slave labor. The coercive and brutal capture of laborers and the transatlantic slave trade produced the gold, silver, sugar, and timber that enriched Europe’s maritime empires. The slave trade was an unprecedented forced migration of 12 million people who were treated as exchangeable commodities and shipped in boats under horrific conditions. The transported slaves constituted about 3 percent of total world populations in 1500 and .5 percent in 1700. Until 1800, Africans crossing the Atlantic outnumbered Europeans by a factor of four. More than 200,000 Africans arrived in the Americas to work on plantations in the 16th century; 2 million in the 17th century; and well over 7 million in the 18th century. High rates of death and low rates of childbearing among enslaved laborers continuously drove demand for new “importations.” Only as abolitionist campaigns began to denounce the immorality of the slave 46

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trade did the numbers of captured and transported slaves decline; still, two million more arrived after 1800. Over the entire colonial era, 40 percent of all slaves worked in Brazil; most of the rest labored in French, Spanish, and Dutch sugar-raising colonies in the Caribbean. About 300,000 were brought to British North America to cultivate tobacco, indigo, rice, and later, cotton. In the 1700s, Britain’s, France’s and Portugal’s colonization efforts expanded and the balance of African and European settlers changed. About 600,000 Portuguese migrated to Brazil, where many worked in new mining regions; migrants to British North America numbered over 100,000. Britain’s rulers were almost alone in encouraging colonization by their most marginal subjects, including Catholics, Jews, Quakers, Pietists and Puritan minorities, prisoners, and even foreigners from Germany. Many impoverished men and women traveled under indenture; by embracing seven years of servitude, “servants” worked to pay off the debts they incurred for the transatlantic passage. As Europeans settled the eastern provinces of North America and expanded inland in search of farmlands, natives continued to resist sporadically; more often they fled inland, again precipitating new alliances and conflicts among indigenous peoples, too. The early modern migrations of conquest, missionizing, slave trade, and settlement redrew the cultural map of the already diverse hemisphere. In tropical areas, unbalanced migrant sex ratios and huge variations in the personal power exercised by Europeans, natives, and slaves, facilitated sex and violence between white males and African or native females. In the Spanish and Portuguese empires, governing elites attempted to categorize the resulting linguistic and physiognomic variations by creating new racial taxonomies of creoles, Africans, Indians, and mixed-race peoples. In Mexico and in the Andean mountains of South America, native populations again grew and intermarried with persons of European descent. In British and French North America, by contrast, populations of both indigenous peoples and slaves of African origin were much smaller; both law and English culture discouraged sexual mingling. Far from imperial capitals, new ways of life also emerged, creating many local but American or creole identities. When French, Spanish, and British Empires began their imperial wars in the 1700s, they unintentionally created foundations for both political rebellion and the re-orientation of human mobility.

To populate is to govern: nation states confront settlers and labor migrants from Europe and Asia, 1776–1940 Hemispheric analysis of the modern Americas reveals the close relationship of nation-building and the new migrations that came to be called “immigration.” In the years after 1776, nationalist revolutions began to unravel the European empires built during the early modern era. Beginning in British North America, continuing with the Haitian independence from France in 1804, and rendering most of Spanish America independent by 1824, these revolutions produced a patchwork of politically unstable new states. While many abolished slavery immediately, the United States did not. Everywhere, civil war and border battles became more common; such conflicts generated refugees and exiles that fled to and then sometimes also plotted from adjoining countries. The rise of nation states transformed imperial patterns of labor recruitment as newly independent nations gradually substituted for the importation of enslaved laborers with competitive searches for European settlers and wage workers as potential citizens. To entice migrants, the new nations of the Americas departed from the customs of Europe by promising relatively easy naturalization and by declaring the newborn children of newly arrived immigrants to be citizens. Many of the new countries of the Americas were shaped by the vast international migrations of the 19th and early 20th centuries. Still, national mythologies diverged sharply as historians and 47

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political elites interpreted the mixing of peoples that made each individual nation. And, while many nationalists in the new nations of the Americas embraced the principles of liberalism, few proved willing to accept and welcome all persons arriving on their shores. Between 1820 and 1940 as many as 60 million persons migrated to the Americas. More than 35 million went to the United States, while Argentina attracted over 6 million, Canada, over 5 million, Brazil, over 4 million, Cuba, almost a million, and Chile and Uruguay, over 700,000 each. The majority originated in Europe; roughly 3 million came from India, China, Japan or Africa. This means that rates of international, long-distance migration equaled or slightly surpassed those of our own times, with 60 million migrants constituting over 5 percent of the world’s population in 1820 and about 3 percent of that population in 1940. (U.N. statistics suggest that, today, slightly more than 3 percent of the world’s population lives outside its country of birth.) The early modern empires left a migratory legacy, too. The slave trade continued but diminished as first Haiti and the British Empire and then other new American nations abolished it and slavery itself, until the final abolition of slavery in Brazil in 1888. Imperial Atlantic shipping and trade routes also persisted, but ships plying these routes increasingly profited by carrying passengers and commodities. Since Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands, France and Britain had all also acquired early modern colonies in Asia, Asians too began to travel across the Pacific to the Americas. Until the 1890s, the largest groups of migrants to the U.S. and Canada still traveled from the lands of its former imperial ruler in the British Isles (England, Scotland, Ireland) with smaller numbers coming from Germany and the Scandinavian countries. Migrations to Brazil and to Argentina more often originated in Portugal, Spain, and Italy. By the last years of the 19th century these two migratory systems began to converge, with increasing numbers traveling to the Americas from the southern and eastern peripheries of Europe and from first China, and then Japan, Korea, and India. Migrants from Italy moved in large numbers along both North and South Atlantic shipping routes, while Japanese too went to both North and South America. The abolition of slavery transformed labor recruitment. In the Caribbean, landowners looked beyond Africa and imperial networks directed recruitment toward Chinese and South Asian “coolies.” Newly emancipated slaves sought to leave plantation districts where they worked, moving inland to take up subsistence farming or seeking work in towns. Thousands of indentured workers from India and China replaced slave labor in cultivating and harvesting sugar in Cuba and in Trinidad. The building of the Panama railroad and later Canal, first under French and later under U.S. management, also raised demand for newly emancipated African-origin laborers. For Panama Canal labor bosses, China, the nearby islands, and the peripheries of Europe seemed plausible sites for recruitment. In Brazil, Italian immigrants were recruited to replace African slaves on coffee plantations. Across the Americas, European immigrants generally avoided settlement and work in areas where slavery persisted or where large populations of newly emancipated workers of African-descent crowded local labor markets. Throughout the 19th century, the identification of agricultural frontiers on native territories in Argentina, Canada, and the United States created enormous incentives to rural European migrants suffering the consequences of agriculture’s commercialization and the onset of industrialization in their homelands. While settlers perceived these frontiers as empty, nation states were, in fact, forcing indigenous peoples to ever-more marginal reserves or reservations that encouraged European settlement. Called “emigrants” in English-speaking countries and “inmigrantes” in most parts of Latin America, settlers hoped to recreate threatened traditions of family subsistence farming and artisanal production. Many hoped to become landowners or to recreate close-knit communities of friends and family. But the growing demands of export-driven and large-scale commercial agriculture, especially on the pampas of Argentina and on the North 48

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American Great Plains, rarely facilitated fulfillment of such dreams. By the late 19th century, men instead traveled to Argentina, the U.S., and Canada to work for wages as seasonal harvesters on large farms or estates. Others combined agricultural harvest work with seasonal labor in industry or construction, often on the vast railroad systems under construction to unite new nations by connecting inland agricultural regions to cities and ports where beef or wheat were processed and exported. Traveling across the Pacific, Chinese and Japanese migrants also sought employment in largescale commercial agriculture, especially on the west coast of North America, as well as in construction, logging, fishing, and mining. Many Asian migrants tried to escape the exploitative work by turning to petty trade and commerce and by operating small grocery stores, restaurants, and laundries. By the end of the 19th century, urbanization and industrialization increasingly concentrated employment in a few economic sectors—construction, food processing, mining, industry, and domestic service—and re-shaped patterns of mobility. As wage-earning replaced agricultural settlement, the proportion of females among international migrants dropped (to only 10 percent of migrants from China and from the Balkans, for example) and the representation of jobseekers from Asia and the southern peripheries of Europe continued to increase. Circulation and return became common among migrant men called sojourners or golondrini. As the volume of transatlantic migrants again rose after the depression of the 1890s, urban centers and workplaces in southern Brazil and in Argentina, in Toronto and Montreal, and in New York, Chicago, and San Francisco became largely immigrant sites, with populations in constant flux. Many sojourners transformed themselves into permanent settlers once they had gained familiarity with local labor markets, married or called for family members and children from their home countries. In Canada, Argentina, and the U.S., natives objected that newcomers threatened to alter the nature of the new nations, undermining fragile cultural solidarities by introducing new customs and ideas. Especially in countries with republican systems of governance, fiercely xenophobic movements of citizen voters demanded that national legislatures offer greater protection against the threat of immigrant invasions. Citizens saw immigrants as a threat, not only as competition on the labor market but also by their supposed attraction to foreign political ideologies (notably anarchism, socialism, and syndicalism) or in immigrants’ preference for their own religious and cultural customs, expressed through the creation of newspapers, associations, and businesses where they continued to speak their own languages. Along with Catholics in Protestant North America, migrants from China initially faced the greatest levels of hostility. Beginning already in the early 1850s, soon after the first Chinese arrived in the U.S. in search of gold, white Californians began to insist that the Chinese were racially incapable of acquiring the habits of western, civilized life. With the legislators of the United States leading the way, restrictive laws began to limit the liberty of workers to move about and reside in the countries of the Americas. The U.S. forbade entrance to Chinese laborers in 1882; it secured an agreement from Japan’s government to end the migration of Japanese laborers (the so-called Gentlemen’s Agreement) in 1908. After 1921, by act of Congress, the United States excluded all immigrants from Asia. Many other nations, including Canada and Australia, followed suit in the 1920s and 1930s, as World War I, the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia, and global depressions intensified nationalist passions and fears of labor market competition. In the U.S., restrictions soon spread to other groups, especially as the origins of settlers and workers shifted away from Protestant northern Europe toward the southern and eastern margins of Europe, where large numbers of Catholics, Jews, and Orthodox Christians lived in relative poverty. Between 1885 and 1903, the U.S. prohibited entry to contract laborers, anarchists, and “those likely to become a public charge” (that is, to require assistance because of unemployment 49

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or poverty). In 1906 it raised its requirements for naturalization to include English-language facility. Restrictions against workers and radicals spread throughout the Americas—Argentina excluded anarchists, for example—and by 1936 even Mexico prohibited entry to laborers. The walls against immigration were high enough that refugees fleeing from civil war in Spain and fascism in Germany or Italy in the 1920s and 1930s faced enormous difficulties in finding asylum; for refugees, only Mexico held open its welcome. Although the transatlantic migrations attracted the greatest attention (for their enormous size) and the transpacific migrations fueled widespread and successful movements to racialize and then to exclude Asians, movements of people within the Americas were also significant, even if less often the focus of scrutiny. The largest movements within the Americas linked neighboring countries and many nations did not bother even to count entries from their neighbors or the number of departing migrants. In the 19th century, movements of farmers, workers, and family members across the largely unmarked border between the United States and Canada were so routine and large that cultural differences between the two countries seemed meaningless in some sites. Persons born in the U.S. were 4 percent of Canada’s population in 1910, while the numbers of Canadians living in the United States equaled a quarter of Canada’s total resident population. No easy co-mingling occurred along the border between Mexico and the U.S., although there, too, movement itself remained relatively free and common; the number of Mexicans traveling north to find work increased rapidly after 1880. Americans from the U.S. also became the largest of the foreign populations of Mexico. Indigenous peoples, too, frequently re-located across borders when they found advantage in doing so. Thus, when Mexico at the turn of the century sought to remove the Yacqui living from northern Mexico to hemp plantations in the south, many Yacqui crossed over into Arizona. Intra-American movements were more likely to be temporary and circular than were the longer-distance Atlantic or Pacific migrations. North and South American border areas experienced largely unregulated daily, circulatory commuting. As the economies of first northeastern, then Great Lakes and prairie Canada and the U.S. were integrated by rail lines in the 19th century, Canada’s white population shifted toward the unpatrolled international border while indigenous populations became more marginalized; efforts to remove indigenous children from their families remained common in both countries into the 20th century. After the Mexican revolution, the new government of Mexico sought at first to limit emigration to citizens possessing a valid temporary labor contract in the United States. By the 1940s, the U.S. and Mexican governments began to cooperate in recruiting temporary workers in this fashion. Four and a half million Mexican men eventually traveled to the U.S. as braceros until the program was discontinued in 1963. Restrictions placed on first Pacific and then Atlantic migrations succeeded in diminishing the east–west and west–east circuits of 19th-century labor recruitment only by generating new circuits that pulled rural residents toward prospering cities such as Buenos Aires or São Paulo and, especially in North America, from the poor rural south toward the industrial powerhouses of Chicago and New York. The fact that the U.S. refrained from restricting the numbers of immigrants from the Americas proved a powerful influence. The completion of the Panama Canal re-oriented circum-Caribbean labor-seeking toward New York, which by the 1920s had a large Jamaican population. The cities of the Northern U.S. increasingly drew labor from the southern states: the Great Migration of African Americans, which had begun after the Civil War, with movements toward the cities of the upper south, now substituted new arrivals from South Carolina and Alabama for newly arrived immigrants. Under unsettled conditions in revolutionary Mexico, too, small migrations of men seeking work in Texas and in California grew 50

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into large streams. Although the Great Depression also forced many Mexican workers out of the United States, the Mexican-origin population of the United States declined only temporarily and the Bracero Program set off a new round of chain migrations that continue to the present. Within large countries such as the United States, significant internal population shifts responded to changes in international migrations. As had been true during the early modern era of European empire-building, the vast migrations of the 19th and early 20th centuries generated enormous levels of both cultural conflict and cultural creativity. For many new nations, the place of migrants in the nation required careful consideration. Throughout the Americas, historians and social scientists, alongside philosophers and political leaders, began to offer new post-colonial stories of how their nations had been and were being built or constructed as independent and separate from Europe. These stories of nation-building differed from country to country. The United States took pride in being a nation of immigrants or a melting pot that both tolerated religious and cultural diversity (for example, in the form of hyphenated African-, Native-, Asian- Hispanic- or various kinds of Euro-Americans) while also expecting assimilation into its English-speaking and British rooted political and civic traditions. To the north, Canada acknowledged its bilingualism and origins in two warring empires—the French and the British—while making room in a multicultural mosaic for postwar newcomers and its First Nations—the indigenous peoples with deeper American roots. Argentina spoke of its long history as a “crucible of races,” while insisting that the product of its marital melting pot were Argentineans without hyphens. Brazil too emphasized its long history of racial amalgamation, contrasted its “racial democracy” based on intermarriage to the segregation of races and ethnic groups in the United States. Mexico, along with most of the newer nations of the Caribbean, also differentiated themselves from North Americans by emphasizing the limited salience of color in their systems of governance and in their national cultures. Mexicans referred to their own cosmic race—understood to be the cultural product of mestizaje, or mixing—while in Cuba, theorists instead discussed how Africans, indigenous peoples, Chinese and Europeans had all been transformed through daily interaction, a phenomenon they labeled transculturation. With such national myths the countries of the Americas confront renewed migrations during the late 20th century.

Refugees,exiles, and job-seekers in the contemporary Americas Recent discussions of globalization portray contemporary world migrations as unprecedented and transformative. Certainly, short-term moves of tourists, businessmen and corporate managers, and international students are unprecedented. By contrast, mobile wage-earners and refugees more often encounter firm barriers to movements and fall well within the rates of the long 19th century. Migrations in the Americas were transformed in the middle years of the 20th century through a combination of a global depression in the 1930s, restrictive legislation worldwide, and the subsequent international hot and cold wars of the 1940s, 1950s, and 1960s. Trans-oceanic migrations collapsed during the 1930s and 1940s and were replaced by hemispheric moves from what is now called the “global south” toward the “global north” (North America, Australia, and Europe). In the Americas, inter-American, local, regional and hemispheric movements of refugees, exiles, and laborers have not completely replaced trans-oceanic migrations, especially since 1970. Asia continues to generate sizeable migrations to Canada and to the United States, and Latin Americans now migrate also to Europe. However, throughout the Americas, migrants from immediately neighboring countries are still often the largest groups of migrants—a pattern that the recent fascination with globalization often misses. 51

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Although the harshest and most racist of restrictive measures aimed especially at migrants from Asia were gradually abandoned during the 1960s and 1970s, immigration remained restricted numerically throughout most of the Americas. Restrictions on the migration of laborers remain stringent, making unauthorized entry or work, and illegality, especially common among construction and farm and factory workers and domestic servants throughout the hemisphere. Simultaneously, however, the proportion of highly educated migrants seeking professional and technical positions outside their home countries has increased, and many immigration policies in the Americas now seek to admit more of these workers. Just as the persistent and tightening restrictions on migrations in the 20th century worked to transform temporary labor migrants within the Americas into illegal aliens, so too restriction created a new category of migrants called refugees and asylum-seekers. In response to the horrors of the Holocaust, the United Nations sought to manage refugees, overseeing the creation and operation of camps for refugees in Asia and Africa. It then supervised selective relocations of refugees from camps to countries such as Canada and the United States. Recent wars in the Middle East have triggered protests against such relocations, especially in the United States. By contrast, persons fleeing political discrimination and violence in Central and South America and the Caribbean before 1990 typically encountered U.S. laws and immigration practices that denied entry to asylum-seekers from non-Communist countries. The distinction between labor migrants and asylum-seekers is especially hotly disputed and often difficult to draw. While rising rates of illegality make immigration restriction seem ineffective, the total numbers of immigrants living in the Americas tell a different story. Compared to the past, the numbers of foreigners seeking jobs or homes in the Americas is not particularly impressive. The United States continues to attract the largest number of immigrants; about a third of international migrants live there. Nevertheless, in 2005 the 35 million foreign-born in the U.S. constituted only 12.4 percent of the resident population, which is slightly below the historical peak of 14.8 percent. With only 5.6 million immigrants, Canada is more heavily impacted, with foreigners constituting over 18 percent of its population. Argentina and Brazil still draw migrants—many of them of indigenous and rural origin—but from their nearest neighbors. Argentina’s 1.5 million foreigners are only 4.2 percent of its population—a far cry from the turn of the last century, when a third of the country’s population was foreign-born. Brazil’s 600,000 immigrants constitute a minuscule .3 percent of the nation’s residents. Today, Mexico has almost as many immigrants as Brazil, although in Mexico, too, the foreigners are a small proportion (.6 percent) of its population. Mexico views most of these foreigners as headed northward, hoping to enter the United States. Most social scientists studying migrations in the Americas focus exclusively on immigration and thus on the U.S. and Canada. The immigrant populations of the two countries are strikingly different. In 2008, Mexicans constituted 30 percent of all immigrants living in the US, dwarfing the next largest groups from the Philippines, India and China (which each contribute about 4 percent of the foreign-born U.S. population), from Vietnam, El Salvador, Cuba, and Korea (at about 3 percent each), and from Canada and the Dominican Republic (2 percent each). Among these large groups are many refugees: Cubans arrived in large numbers after the Cuban revolution and Vietnamese fled in the aftermath of the U.S. withdrawal from its anti-communist war there. Filipino and Korean immigrants come from countries with long-standing ties to the U.S., established through investment, empire-building and the continued presence of U.S. military bases. Many of the other largest immigrant groups are labor migrants seeking work at both the bottom and the top of the U.S. job market. Mexicans and Dominicans are more likely to work in blue collar jobs, while migrants from China are more occupationally mixed and migrants from India are most likely to work in professional and technical occupations. As economic 52

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development in the U.S. shifted from the border with Canada to the border with Mexico, both U.S. and Mexican citizens moved toward that border, creating the so-called U.S. “sunbelt.” The result has been increases in the already heavy flow of people in both directions, provoking intensifying fears of unauthorized crossings by migrants, drug dealers, and terrorists. The sunbelt includes large areas, such as the southeastern states, which in the past had almost no history of immigration but which now see proportions of foreigners rising. Canada, a country of many smaller immigrant groups, also carefully controls entry. The largest of its immigrant groups still hails from the United Kingdom. But even this group constitutes only 11 percent of the foreign-born in Canada. The next largest groups—from mainland China, India, Italy, and the United States—each contribute less than 5 percent to the foreign-born population. While cities such as Vancouver and Toronto have become multicultural icons and Toronto is now an immigrant majority city, few newcomers reside in large parts of rural and western Canada. Internationally, Canada has also recently renewed its reputation for a relatively generous refugee policy by admitting 10,000 from Syria. Still, none of its largest immigrant groups arrived as refugees. Less constrained than the U.S. by geo-political Cold War pressures, Canada, unlike the U.S. before 1980, granted asylum to small numbers fleeing military dictatorships in Central America in the 1960s and 1970s. Confronting the country’s need for labor, Canada has also created temporary work programs that, while flawed, were more generous in allowing for permanent settlement than policies in other countries. Canada’s immigration point system is also sometimes seen as a model for other countries hoping to attract “the best and brightest,” but both immigration lawyers and highly skilled workers often tell different stories. The highly educated make up at least a third, and possibly more, of Canada’s immigrant population, but that figure is not much different from the United States, which has no point system. Both countries instead privilege family ties and admit most immigrants under such provisions. The southern cone of South America has emerged as a region of South–South migrations. Most of the immigrants in Argentina come from Uruguay, Paraguay, Bolivia, and Chile. Immigrants from Italy and Spain still figure prominently among the largest groups in the country, largely because of migrations that occurred already a half-century ago. Chile and Venezuela also number among the magnets for other South Americans, while Bolivia, Paraguay, Peru, and Columbia generate more of the emigrants. Even South American countries that once attracted large numbers of transatlantic immigrants have seen emigrants departing for other countries. The harsh authoritarian regimes of Argentina and Central America in the 1970s and the collapse of the Allende Socialist government in Chile in 1973 forced substantial numbers of political activists to seek refuge in Europe and North America. In 2000, almost 800,000 Brazilians—mainly labor migrants—lived in the United States. Under the nationality laws of countries such as Japan and Italy, furthermore, the children and grandchildren of immigrants in Brazil and in Argentina can re-claim their citizenship with relative ease. Faced with the economic crises of the 1980s and 1990s, over 200,000 Brazilians of Japanese descent sought work in Japan. By 2009, Japan’s government began offering such workers cash settlements to return to Brazil. Many countries of the European Union expressed displeasure with Italy’s nationality policies once, for example, Spain discovered nonItalian-speaking Argentines who entered Italy to re-claim citizenship, quickly re-located to Spanish-speaking areas. Departures from Latin America for Japan or Italy—much like the migrations to the U.S. from Canada of highly educated workers—do not fit neatly within the post-colonial frameworks that seek to explain south–north migrations. By contrast, departures for the United Kingdom or the Netherlands from Jamaica or Curacao in the years after World War II clearly reversed the routes of imperial rule—and were sometimes labeled as “the empire striking back.” 53

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Historians of North America also sometimes view the vast migrations from Mexico to the U.S. initiated under the Bracero Program (1943–1963) as resembling post-colonial migrations and guest worker migrations into Europe. The emigrant nation par excellence of the contemporary Americas is, of course, Mexico. The majority of Mexico’s migrants follow a century-old path into the U.S. southwest and often to worksites that became familiar under the Bracero Program. Soon after the Bracero Program ended in 1963, the United States for the first time imposed numerical limits on the numbers of visas granted to citizens of Mexico and other American nations. With migration and employment patterns already well-established, the numbers of persons working in the United States without authorization rose during every subsequent period of economic expansion. Workers from Mexico form a large part of this population of the so-called illegal or undocumented alien workforce. Estimates of unauthorized entry into the U.S. from Mexico spiked after the implementation of NAFTA but declined sharply during the financial crises of 2009–2010. For several years, more migrants left the United States to return to Mexico than entered the United States. Immigrants from Asia have replaced Mexicans as the largest group entering the U.S. Mexican nationals living in the U.S constitute about 15–20 percent of Mexico’s resident population. Mexico’s government both cooperates with the United States in seeking to find a solution to unauthorized border-crossing and seeks ways to encourage migrants already in the United States to maintain ties to their birthplace through remittances (which totaled over $26 billion in 2006), voting rights, and participation in hometown associations and even elections. In sharp contrast to the European Union, efforts at economic integration under NAFTA did not allow for free movement of people across borders. Other agreements among the nations of the Caribbean and among nations in South America’s southern cone similarly encouraged and strengthened regional commercial ties but did little to stem human mobility of people, and probably even increased rates of illicit border-crossing. The long-term consequences of this mismatch of neo-liberal trade policies and national restrictions on immigration are still not obvious. While critics claim that restrictions on immigration create a form of global apartheid, especially within the United States, many American citizens instead see the governance of immigration as broken, thus undermining their trust and support for their own governments. Prominent and negative attention to Mexican immigrants and Muslim refugees during the 2016 American presidential campaign illustrated how little voters trusted their government to regulate what many continued to perceive wrongly as uncontrolled immigration.

Further reading Altman, I. and Horn, J., eds. 1991. “To Make America”: European Emigration in the Early Modern Period. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Baily, S. and Míguez, E., eds. 2003. Mass Migration to Modern Latin America. Wilmington, DE: Scholarly Resources Books. Bauder, H. and Shields, J. 2015. Immigrant Experiences in North America: Understanding Settlement and Integration. Toronto: Canadian Scholars Press. Fitzgerald, D. S. and Cook-Martin, D. 2014. Culling the Masses: The Democratic Origins of Racist Immigration Policy in the Americas. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hoerder, D. 2002. Cultures in Contact: World Migrations in the Second Millennium. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Hoerder, D. and Harzig, C. 2009. What Is Migration History? Cambridge: Polity Press. Hoerder, D. and Faires, N., eds. 2011. Migrants and Migration in Modern North America: Cross-Border Lives, Labor Markets and Politics. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Kalia, K., ed. 2010. “Country Resources.” Migration Information Source. [Online]. Available: www.migration information.org/Resources/ [September 15, 2010.] 54

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Lee, E. 2015. The Making of Asian America: A History. New York: Simon and Schuster. Lesser, J. 1999. Negotiating National Identity: Immigrants, Minorities and the Struggle for Ethnicity in Brazil. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Massey, D., Durand, J., and Malone, N. 2002. Beyond Smoke and Mirrors: Mexican Immigration in an Era of Economic Integration. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Moya, J. 1998. Cousins and Strangers: Spanish Immigrants in Buenos Aires, 1850–1930. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Nugent, W. 1992. Crossings: The Great Transatlantic Migrations, 1870–1914. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Portes, A. and Rumbaut, R. 2006. Immigrant America: A Portrait. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rodriguez, M. 2005. Repositioning North American Migration History: New Directions in Modern Continental Migration, Citizenship, and Community. Rochester, NY: University of Rochester Press. Spickard, P. 2007. Almost All Aliens: Immigration, Race, and Colonialism in American History and Identity. New York: Routledge. Ueda, R. 2016. Crosscurrents: Atlantic and Pacific Migration in the Making of a Global America. New York: Oxford University Press. Waters, M. and Ueda, R., eds. 2007. The New Americans: A Guide to Immigration since 1965. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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5 Asian migration in the longue durée Adam McKeown

Asia is the home of diverse linguistic and genetic groups, few of which remained contained within the current boundaries of Asia. Starting about two thousand years ago, the overland movement of trade and peoples across northern and central Asia did start to forge some common cultural and political commonalities across Asia. The rise of maritime mobility after the fifteenth century also brought southern Asia and Europe more firmly into those networks. But even as trans-Eurasian economic connections expanded through the twentieth century, new forms of institutional and cultural discrimination as well as uneven development created distinct spheres of human mobility. The delimitation of Asian mobility peaked in the 1880s with a series of migration laws and racist policies that excluded Asians from most non-Asian destinations and confined their migration to separate Asian systems. This segregation came hand in hand with an erasure of the historical memory of Asian mobility over the previous five centuries. Although Asians continued to migrate at rates comparable to Europeans, they were depicted as immobile land-bound peasants without the resources or structures necessary to migrate. When Asian migration was recognized, it was usually in small numbers as “coolies,” “sojourners,” victims of famine and corruption, or other forms of tradition-bound mobility that made Asians distinct from the modern and free mass migrations thought to characterize the Atlantic world. The segregation of Asian mobility from the rest of the world was brief. It has broken down rapidly since the 1940s, as Asians have moved in increasingly large numbers both within and outside of Asia. Historical memory, on the other hand, has not changed so rapidly. Much current migration policy, historical accounts and social scientific research is based on assumptions that mass migration in Asia is a recent phenomenon. Contemporary mobility is then presented as a new challenge for regions thought to be characterized by relative immobility, “coolies,” and isolation from the trends of modern history and globalization.

Early human movement Our picture of early human movements out of Africa that probably started around 60,000 bce is still murky. It is likely that one of the most important early movements followed the southern coast of Asia, arriving in Australia by about 50,000 bce. But our picture is constantly changing 56

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in the wake of new genetic, linguistic and archaeological research. Dates for the initial migration of Asians into the Americas range from 25,000 to 12,000 bce. Speculations about the geographic origins of the first migrants into Europe include Africa, central Asia, the Middle East and North India. Despite these uncertainties, this research does point to the fact that we have to look at early human mobility in terms of multiple waves and diverse directions that often folded back on previously settled and traversed regions. Geneticists and historical linguists have used statistical techniques to postulate the existence of a handful of major groups in Asia. Geneticists have identified three major population groupings (Cavalli-Sforza & Cavalli-Sforza 1996; Tishkoff et al. 2009): 1 2 3

A group ranging from southern China through Southeast Asia into the Pacific Islands, of which New Guineans and Australians are distinct subgroups. A group that includes native Americans, northeastern Asians (including Japanese, Koreans and northern Chinese) and Arctic peoples, with the Americans being the most distinct. A group that spreads from South Asia through the Middle East and North Africa and across Europe, with South Asians being the most distinct subgroup.

Historical linguists, some following the methods of Joseph Greenberg, have also identified several major linguistic groupings as of 1500 ce (Dolgopolski 1998; Greenberg 2000–02; Manning 2006): 1

2

3 4 5

Eurasiatic/Nostratic, which spreads across the northern latitudes from western Greenland to western Europe. Speakers of these languages moved south into Iran and north India about 3000–4000 years ago, and more recently (post-1500) into the Americas and Australia. Dene-Caucasian, which is mostly comprised of Sino-Tibetan speakers but may include a handful of Caucasian and central Siberian languages as small islands within the Eurasiatic sea of northern Asia. Austric, which covers most of mainland and insular Southeast Asia as well as the Pacific Islands, with the exception of interior New Guinea and parts of Melanesia. Dravidian, which probably once predominated in India but are now restricted to southern India. Afroasiatic, which predominates in North Africa and spread to the Arabian peninsula as the Semitic languages.

Regardless of whether any of these groupings survive later research, they already point to a principle to guide further investigation: that the movement of people (genes) may or may not correspond with the movement of culture (as represented by language or archaeological findings). For example, the core areas of the northern and southeastern Asian gene groups have significant overlap with the Eurasiatic and Austric language groupings, respectively. But Chinese speakers cross both these genetic groups, encompassing equally large chunks of each. And the third genetic grouping from northern India to Europe includes portions of at least three major language groupings: Eurasiatic, Afroasiatic and Dravidian. This kind of research also points toward the existence of frequent and layered movements over time as a key aspect of human history. Few peoples in the world can trace both their genetic and linguistic heritages back to the original settlers of their region. The movements of Indo-European and Austronesian speakers are two of the most recent and well-studied of these early (i.e. before large agricultural states and written records) migrations. The Austronesian migrations were a movement of both genes and language into Southeast 57

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Asia and the Pacific, often by sea. By about 1000 ce they had arrived in New Zealand, Hawaii and Easter Island, some of the last unsettled frontiers in the world. The Indo-European migrations, on the other hand, left a stronger legacy of language and culture than of genes. They spread overland across much of central Asia and Europe by 1000 bce. Both migrations were associated with new forms of technology, and the spread of cultural and linguistic forms that have shaped the world to the present. Neither was confined to Asia. Austronesian speakers probably emerged in what is now southern China, and spread to Taiwan by 3000 bce. Their expansion was associated with outrigger canoes, rice, terraced agriculture, pottery, stilt houses and tattoos. After moving to the Philippines, Borneo and Java by 2000 bce, Austronesians divided into two main groups. Malay speakers spread through maritime Southeast Asia, where they still dominate many of the coastal areas to this day. They migrated as far as East Africa and Madagascar during the first millennium ce. The languages of Madagascar still show a strong Malay influence and the gene pool is nearly half Malay in origin. The second branch had its origins in the Lapita culture that began around 1500 bce in what is now called the Solomon Islands east of New Guinea. This culture was a mix between Austronesian immigrants and pre-existing residents (the linguistic and genetic perseverance of which can be found in highland New Guinea). Over the next 2,500 years, Austronesian speakers used their sea-going skills to spread to nearly all the islands of the Pacific, while losing some of their early technologies such as pottery and rice. Inter-island voyaging and communication probably continued until after 1600 ce (Bellwood 1997; Kirch 2002). Indo-European speakers emerged around 4000–3000 bce in the area to the north of the Black Sea that was a frontier between expanding agriculturalists and hunter-gatherers. This region was associated with horse domestication. Horse-riding and pastoralism became a dominant mode of life by the third millennium bce, with some groups living exclusively as pastoral nomads by the first millennium. The rise of Indo-European language was also associated with a cultural complex characterized by patriliny, militaristic culture, large entourages (comitatus), hero myths, hospitality, wealthy graves and a polytheistic pantheon mediated by shamans (Anthony 2007; Beckwith 2009). While large groups of Indo-European speakers may have moved across the Central Asian steppes, migration beyond the steppes was mostly made up of smaller groups of elites as mercenaries, as conquerors, or through alliances with local elites. In this way, languages and cultural practices spread more than the actual genes. Indo-European speakers first began to spread into Europe around 3000 bce. The appearance of wealthy graves suggests their elite status, but there is little evidence of violence or conquest. The development of saddles and chariot warfare in central Asia after 2000 bce was associated with the expansion of Iranian and Indic speakers through central and into South Asia. The culture of chariots and wealthy burial was also apparent in the rise of the Shang Dynasty in China around 1200 bce, although there was limited linguistic and genetic impact from Indo-European speakers. Altaic speakers such as Turks, Mongols and Manchus also began to adopt Indo-European cultural forms and move widely across north Eurasia. Genetic exchange between the different groups was extensive, and cultural and linguistic interactions were probably quite complex. The resultant Central Asian cultural complex was a dominant feature of Asia until the eighteenth century, and shaped many of the empires and political structures of western, southern and eastern Asia to this day (Beckwith 2009).

States, agriculture and armies After the third millennium bce, Central Eurasian horse cultures dominated movement in the interior of Asia, as did Austronesian seafaring culture in much of maritime Asia. The space 58

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between them, from the coast to a few hundred kilometers inland, was increasingly dominated by agricultural states that were associated with forms of mobility that were different from the nomadism and communal relocation that was common in the hills, steppes and littoral areas. These states and the rise of agriculture often reduced mobility by fixing the homes and villages of previously mobile hunter-gatherers and swidden agriculturalists. But the concentration of wealth and power in cities and the military also created new kinds of mobility (Manning 2005). Military power was often an important context of mobility. Conquest often caused preexisting populations to flee. Those that did not flee could be coercively relocated near capitals or to distant border areas for security or to contribute to economic development. The armies themselves were major sources of mobility in their constant recruitment of slaves, prisoners and subjects for army service and public works. This was an important link with Central Asian peoples, who remained one of the major sources of both slaves and soldiers for the agricultural empires. Soldiers and their families were often settled in frontier areas both as garrisons and agricultural colonists. These pacified frontiers also attracted the immigration of independent farmers and merchants, who were sometimes encouraged through state subsidies and tax breaks. Even without direct military coercion, corvée labor (unpaid labor required by states or local lords), tribute transport, public works, active slave trades and elite circulation were important aspects of many of these states. The concentration of wealth required a constant flow of labor and craftsmen into cities, palace construction, canal and wall maintenance and other works. The administration of power also encouraged the circulation of elites into new administrative positions and as beneficiaries of land grants in return for services. The specifics varied from place to place. In many states, the peasantry were obliged to perform corvée labor. In western Asia, slaves were a common form of labor and military migration. In India by the second millennium ce, castes and distinct groups who engaged in perpetual itinerant labor mobility emerged (Kerr 2006; Ludden 1985). Large states also supported the formation of regional markets that encouraged less coercive mobility. Sometimes entire villages or itinerant castes and groups would specialize in certain crafts and professions such as stonework, acting or construction, and travel the circuits from markets to manors to practice their crafts. The transportation routes themselves became a further cause of migration, requiring the labor of numerous porters, animal drivers, guides, guards and sailors (Skinner 1976).

Eurasian exchange The concentration of wealth and military power also facilitated long-distance trade by securing trade routes and markets, and creating a clientele for expensive products. Common motifs found on merchant seals show the existence of trading networks stretching from northern India to the eastern Mediterranean by the second millennium bce—much of which would be conquered by Alexander the Great in 323 bce. By the beginning of the Common Era, these trade routes reached across Asia to China, India, Africa and the Mediterranean, both overland and via the oceans. The integration of these trading routes supported the rise of two interrelated phenomena: trade diasporas and the spread of universal religions. Although the states provided some security against bandits and fraud, long-distance trade was still plagued by problems of trust, information and balance of payments. Agents linked across great distances by ties of kinship, adoption, religion and ethnicity had more incentive to maintain trust and think of their endeavors as a longterm, even multigenerational project. Their personal futures were bound up with the success of their groups. And the success of their groups helped to identify them as people to whom rulers and other merchants would turn when looking for information, loans and goods. This success 59

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was best maintained through control of knowledge and opportunities, a control that could be buttressed by the maintenance of unique culture and bloodlines (Curtin 1984). Distinct forms of religious worship often helped bind these trading diasporas together, as was the case for Jews and Parsis. But these trading diasporas also interacted well with the universalizing religions such as Buddhism, Christianity, Manicheanism, Islam and some forms of Hinduism that have spread throughout Eurasian trading networks over the past two millennia. These religions not only broke ties with local and family gods, but also developed institutional structures delinked from particular states (as opposed to, say, Confucianism or Zoroastrianism which retained strong institutional ties to the Chinese and Iranian states) and could move easily with merchants. Most of them also developed ideologies of thrift, self-control and family virtues that fit well with the behavior of successful merchants (Foltz 1999). These religions, especially in their more missionary incarnations, developed at major crossroads of world trade. Most of the monotheistic religions developed out of the contact between people in the region between Iran and the Levant. Similarly, Mahayana Buddhism—a more populist and missionary form of Buddhism—developed around 100 bce in the Kushan Empire. The Kushan was located at the heart of the silk roads in what is now Afghanistan, and was home to a mix of Greek, Indian, Persian and Central Asian cultures. Buddhist monasteries and temples soon spread along the trading routes in conjunction with wealthy traders. They offered places for merchants and transportation workers to rest, exchange information and mediate disputes with people who shared common values. In return, the monasteries and temples flourished with the help of generous donations from the merchants. Initially associated with merchant enclaves in the first centuries of its spread, Buddhism eventually spread to local societies in East and Southeast Asia (Liu 1996). Monotheistic sects from western Asia followed these same routes, including Nestorian Christian, Manichean and Jewish traders and proselytizers. Islam appeared in the trading centers of Mecca and Medina. It followed the trade routes in its initial expansion, embracing a generous portion of Persian and Hellenic culture along the way. Throughout much of Asia east of Iran, however, it continued to remain just one religious alternative out of many until after the thirteenth century when Sufis (who emerged from central Asia), scholars and merchants began to deepen and extend its reach. Wandering Sufis did much of the hard work of attracting peasant converts. Migrant scholars accepted jobs and advisory positions at states throughout Asia. And merchants were often the cutting edge of expansion. Much as with Buddhist monasteries, Islamic ummah (communities) and mosques provided spaces for merchants to network and display trustworthy behavior. Islamic law and resident scholars established common guidelines to judge disputes and inheritance issues. The elites of some Southeast Asian states converted precisely because of the access to trade offered by adherence to Islam. By the mid-sixteenth century, Islamic states and traders were established across a huge swath of Eurasia from the Philippines to West Africa. Pilgrimage to Mecca also became more common in this period, establishing a concrete mode of interaction between these disparate regions (Chaudhuri 1985; Eaton 1996). The skills and knowledge of pastoral peoples in central Asia and Arabia in navigating the steppes and deserts were a crucial part of these trade routes. Much is often made of the over 3,000 years of military conflict between agricultural states and nomadic peoples as an important theme in world history. Perhaps even more than with agricultural states, the high mobility of Central Asian armies, and their willingness to incorporate new tribes, slaves and experts contributed to expansive mobility of peoples, objects and skills. Central Asia was not only a space of nomadic peoples and armies, but also of settled agriculturalists, merchants and rulers who also had a strong interest in the wealth that could be gained 60

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through trade. Sogdian traders from the cities of central Asia were often translators of major religious texts. And the repeated conquest and rule of landed empires by nomadic peoples such as Turks and Mongols helped Central Eurasian political practices spread across the whole of Asia and Russia (Beckwith 2009). The pervasiveness of Central Asian peoples and practices, and the resistance of peripheral states that opposed them, marked the beginnings of a distinctly Asiatic space. Southern India and Southeast Asia, however, remained relatively distinct until modern times, maintaining its own circuits of religion and political forms. The Mongol conquest was the culmination of all these forms of overland interaction. By the 1260s, Mongol rule spanned the trade routes of Asia, integrating confederacies of pastoral peoples with bureaucratic states in China, Russia and Iran. Even the conquest itself was made possible by the integration of Central Asian cavalry and siege warfare experts from settled states. With the establishment of the Mongol Empire (divided into four sections), trade and the movement of experts flourished even more (Abu-Lughod 1991). This was the context in which famous travelers such as Ibn Battuta and Marco Polo crossed the continent. The routes followed by travelers and merchants were the same routes followed by the Black Death as it spread from southeastern China to India and the Mediterranean in the middle of the fourteenth century. The mass deaths catalyzed the fall of the Mongols and the emergence of a new world of mobility that shifted decisively to the oceans and peripheral states, and also saw the return of Europe and Europeans into the main circuits of mobility.

Early modern mobility In the half-millennium after the spread of the Black Death in the 1340s and 50s, two major and related changes happened with respect to migration. The first was that maritime routes overtook the overland routes as the main channels of long-distance trade and mobility. The second was the massive expansion of agricultural empires in China, Russia, India, Iran and the Middle East. These states gradually overwhelmed the Central Asians and pastoral peoples. They also supported the expansion of peasant frontier settlement, urban migration and domestic labor and craft migration, often with reduced state coercion and control. This mobility of individuals and their families for the sake of new land or work became the dominant framework for human mobility in Asia and across the early modern world. The rise of maritime mobility came hand in hand with proliferation of port cities from the Mediterranean and East Africa, around the South Asian peninsula, across Southeast Asia and up to Nagasaki, replacing the inland oases as the main centers of global trade. Most of these entrepôts—with the exception of European, Japanese and Chinese ports—actively encouraged the business of as many different traders as possible. New trade diasporas also spread throughout Asia, including Armenians, Bugis, Chinese, Dutch, Gujaratis, Hadhramis (Yemenis), Iranians, Jews, Portuguese and Sindhis (Dobbin 1996; McCabe, Harlaftis & Minoglou 2005). The ports worked to accommodate these merchants, and many of these travelers took up positions in local governments, leading to the growth of a common culture of hospitality and trading norms across the Asian oceans from Amsterdam to the East Indies. The large empires benefitted from this trade but remained focused on the development of agricultural revenue. In an age of growing population and competition between empires, this often meant the encouragement of massive frontier settlement as well as increased urbanization and growing labor markets. The details looked different in each empire. In China, after evicting the Mongols, the early Ming resettlement of the depopulated Yangtze valley and the area around Beijing was one of the last great examples of mass state-sponsored migration. By the time of the Qing (1644–1911), however, the massive settlement of some 30 million people 61

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in western China, Taiwan and the hill areas of central China was largely through independent migration or mild state encouragements such as tax breaks for new settlers. Chinese cities became some of the largest cities in the world, and a large periodic market system and networks of migrant merchant associations spread through much of the empire (Cao, Ge & Wu 1997; McKeown 2014; Skinner 1976). In Russia and some Southeast Asian states such as Siam, on the other hand, state control of mobility continued to predominate and even intensified. The czarist government allowed escaped serfs to settle freely on empty frontiers. But most mobility came in the form of serfs granted to elite estates, and the regulated transfer of population to eastern regions (Hellie 2002). All of these states increasingly clamped down on uncontrolled nomadic and semi-nomadic mobility at their borders. Russia and Qing China were the most aggressive and successful, militarily subduing most of their Central Asian enemies by the late eighteenth century (Perdue 2005). The “gunpowder” Islamic empires of western Asia also put intense pressure on nomadic peoples and their habits of unregulated communal mobility (Streusand 2010). China and the states of mainland Southeast Asia increased pressure for the assimilation of the mobile people of highland Southeast Asia. Many of these peoples responded by packing up their villages and relocating to where labor recruiters, armies and tax collectors could not find them. But by the late nineteenth century even this option was becoming untenable (Scott 2010). By 1800, migration across Asia looked more like the kinds of migration we now know. They were migrations of families to settler frontiers, of workers and craftsmen to cities, mines, local markets and transportation work, of peasants into armies, and of traders, workers and soldiers to increasingly distant locations across the face of the planet.

The creation of Asia, 1840–1940 Migration boomed around the world in the century after the 1830s. European industrialization generated a mutually reinforcing expansion of labor needs, markets, resource demands and mass communication technologies. All of these both produced and benefitted from a rapid expansion of urban and long-distance migration. The impact of these transformations was global. Asians made up more than half of this long-distance migration. They moved to work in ports, mines and plantations, to grow and mill rice for laborers to eat, and as traders, shopkeepers and moneylenders who expanded the reach of industrial markets into the farthest corners of the globe. The great bulk of this migration—both in Asia and the Atlantic world—was of independent individuals, organized through family, fellow villagers and informal recruiters (Amrith 2011; Bose 2009). But even as the common context for this migration boom expanded around the world, migration grew more segmented into distinct regional systems. Most of this long-distance migration moved from the most highly populated parts of the world to the less-populated frontiers. Three main systems can be identified, two of which were in Asia (McKeown 2004): 1

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The transatlantic system. 60 million people moved to the Americas, nearly 3 million of whom were from China, Japan, India and the Middle East. These flows peaked during 1903–1913 at an average of 1.5 million per year. The Southeast Asian system. 30 million Indians (mostly from southeastern India) and 20 million southern Chinese moved mostly into Southeast Asia, but also to islands around the Pacific and Indian Oceans. This migration grew concurrently with the transatlantic migrations, but at slightly lower rates. It did not peak until the 1920s, averaging over 1 million per year.

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3

The North Asian system. About 13 million Russians migrated to Central Asia and Siberia, 30 million northern Chinese to Manchuria, and a few million Japanese and Koreans throughout the region. This migration only started to reach massive numbers in the 1890s, and peaked in the late 1920s and 30s at about 1.3 million per year.

These migrations contributed to a redistribution of the world’s population toward the frontier regions. From 1850 to 1950 the proportion of the world’s population in the three main sending regions decreased from 76 percent to 60 percent, while the proportion in the main receiving regions increased from 10 percent to 24 percent. These migrations around the globe were similar and connected. When we compare emigration regions of similar population and size, we find that peak annual emigration rates were quite similar. Counties in south and north China and northeastern India ranged from 13–15 emigrants per thousand in the late 1920s, rates that are similar to peak years in Norway, Great Britain, Portugal and Italy. And although Asian migrants are often remembered as indentured “coolies” in the service of European planters, only a small fraction of them signed indenture contracts with Europeans. Less than 3 percent (about 750,000) of Chinese emigrants were ever indentured. The great majority of Chinese migrants worked for family or Chinese employers and profit-sharing ventures. And while over 95 percent of Indians traveled to destinations within the British Empire and over half of them worked on European plantations, most were still recruited by Indian gang bosses and family. Less than 10 percent (about 3 million) of Indian migrants signed indenture contracts directly with Europeans. And with the exception of coerced Korean labor in Japan during World War II, the vast majority of Asian migration to North Asia was free and independent. Their mobility was supported through a variety of debt and sentimental obligations to friends, family and employers. In other words, their mobility was not much different from that of European migrants (Gottschang & Lary 2000; McKeown 2010; Treadgold 1957). The most striking example of the growing connectedness of migration around the globe is the convergence of return rates (return migrants as a proportion of outbound migrants) over the nineteenth century. Economists have shown that return migration corresponds well with business cycles. When employment abroad is good the return rates are low, and vice versa. Asian migrants are often depicted as “sojourners” who only intended to migrate temporarily, as distinct from European settlers in the Americas. In the middle of the nineteenth century there was some truth to this distinction, when an average of 60–70 percent of Chinese and Indian migrants returned each year, as compared to rates that varied from 20 to 60 percent for European migrants to the United States. By the 1880s, however, both the timing of return cycles and the average numbers of returns for all three groups started to converge, averaging about 60 percent for all groups by the early twentieth century. The cycles and proportions of return migration from Manchuria joined this convergence in the 1920s. Whatever differences existed between Asian and Atlantic migration in the middle of the nineteenth century, the aspects of migration shaped by economic forces were increasingly similar by the early twentieth century. (McKeown 2010). At the same time as the context of migration grew increasingly integrated, migration destinations were becoming segregated. In the 1850s and 60s, migrant destinations were truly global. Nearly 40 percent of Chinese and 20 percent of Indians traveled to destinations beyond Asia. By the 1880s, Asians were increasingly restricted to Asian destinations. By the early twentieth century, less than 5 percent of all Chinese and less than 1 percent of Indians traveled beyond Asia. This happened even as overall Asian emigration increased eightfold. Japanese emigration bucked this trend a bit. The Japanese fought hard and bitterly against discriminatory immigration laws, and the majority of Japanese emigrants traveled to Hawaii, North America, Brazil 63

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and Peru. But this ultimately amounted to fewer than 750,000 emigrants, not a big dent in the overall trends from Asia. Asian migration was compelled into these regional systems by the erection of exclusionary laws and other migration controls that kept them hemmed within the continent. In just the brief period from 1881 to 1883, the United States, New Zealand and several Australian colonies enacted anti-Chinese immigration laws; the Ottoman Empire set up a quarantine station at the entrance to the Red Sea and imposed a head tax on pilgrims (encouraging the rise of a passport regime that made it more difficult for Asians to pass through the Suez Canal); the Russian and Qing empires both passed laws promoting settlement and fortification of the Russia-ChinaKorea border area so as to block each other’s expansion; and the Indian Emigration Act consolidated past legislation on Indian migration and defined “emigrants” as migrants who travel beyond India to destinations other than Ceylon or the Straits Settlements. Latin American countries soon followed with their own Asian exclusion laws. Asia became encased within borders, and the idea of “Asian” migration became a reality (McKeown 2008; Zolberg 1999). The segregation of Asia and the creation of three systems had a concrete impact on the context of Asian migration. All of the regions were part of an expanding global economy, but each was differently inserted into that economy. Atlantic migration was associated with a virtuous circle of development, in which investment followed labor migration, creating profits that were then invested both in America and back in Europe. Over the course of a century, migrant-sending regions shifted from northwestern to southeastern Europe, as wages in the original sending regions began to converge with those in the Americas. In Asia, on the other hand, migration was less associated with economic dynamism. The same villages and counties that sent migrants in the 1850s were still sending migrants in the 1930s. There is little evidence of any wage convergence between sending and receiving regions. The flows of migration and money were cross-cutting rather than a virtuous circle, as much investment came from Europe and profits were returned there. There was also much less urban migration within Asia. In both India and China, the dynamic global economy of the second half of the nineteenth century was largely experienced as war, famine and flood. Only in the early twentieth century did migration within China and India start to resemble nineteenth-century European patterns of intensive urbanization and domestic labor mobility.

Into the present Asia has been an integral part of the second wave of global mass migration since the 1950s. Asian urbanization has overtaken that in Europe and North America. Asians have also had an important role in the rise of global long-distance migration since the 1960s. Now the majority of Asian emigrants are as likely to leave as to remain in Asia, with net emigration outside of Asia amounting to 1.3 million a year. But large numbers also travel within Asia. As is the trend around the world, they no longer travel to frontier areas but to more developed economies such as Japan, Malaysia, Taiwan and Thailand. Indeed, Asia has some of the states with the highest proportions of immigrants in the world: over 40 percent of the population in Singapore, and more than 70 percent in smaller Gulf states such as Qatar and the UAR (IOM 2010). One legacy remains from the earlier era of segregation: the erasure of historical memory. Most accounts of the first wave of mass migration in Asia still reproduce the same characterizations that had justified the exclusions and racist policies of the 1880s: that Asians were sojourner, coolies, tied to the land, unable and unwilling to migrate without European intervention, not “true” immigrants. There is little sense of immigrant heritage in most Asian countries. And policies are

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often rooted in the idea that contemporary migration is a break from longstanding patterns of immobility, an unprecedented challenge caused by current globalization. To some extent this historical forgetting is understandable because of the relatively meager demographic legacy of Asian migrants and their descendants. In the 1950s, only 11 million Chinese could be found outside China and 4.5 million Indians outside of India (Poston & Yu 1990; Davis 1951). This was less than the European-descended population of Argentina alone. From this perspective, Asian migration had a much smaller impact on the world than European. But we must understand this difference as a product of different historical contexts. Nearly all emigrants to Southeast Asia moved into tropical areas with well-established native or colonial states. In contrast, Europeans tended to move into sparsely populated temperate areas where they became the majority and held political power. Tropical plantations and mines were much less amenable to long-term settlement and families than small farms on temperate frontiers or the new cities of the Americas. Asian return rates were also higher than European before the 1880s, giving the descendants of those early European settlers more generations to proliferate. Also, far fewer Asian women migrated than Europeans throughout the entire first wave. Asian women generally ranged from 5–20 percent of emigrants until the 1920s, while European women were more likely to range from 25 to 50 percent of emigrants. There was also a much larger and better-established native population in Southeast Asia. When Asian immigrants intermarried with locals, their descendants were just as likely to be considered Burmese, Vietnamese or Thai as to be considered Chinese or Indian. The Manchurian migrations resemble European migrations more closely. This was an example of migration to a temperate frontier with substantial urbanization, where the natives were almost entirely displaced and where, despite interludes of Russian and Japanese intervention, Chinese ultimately maintained political control (not least because they overwhelmed the place with migrants). Fifty million Chinese resided in Manchuria by 1953, nearly five times as many Chinese as could be found abroad. This happened despite the fact that average rates of return and female migration were similar for the southern Chinese emigrants. On the other hand, both the United States and Manchuria started with populations of about 6 million in 1800 and received similar numbers of migrants over the next 140 years, yet this produced a population of 134 million people of European descent in the United States by 1955, nearly three times the population of Manchuria. Lower return rates, higher rates of female migration, and greater economic growth in the United States all conspired to produce this disparity. The lack of memory about migration has contributed to immigration policies in Asia that are some of the most restrictive and discriminatory in the world. They are grounded in state-based developmentalism and temporary labor emigration schemes at the expense of immigrant rights (Oishi 2005; Seol & Skrentny 2009). A broader appreciation of the fundamental role of migration in Asian and world history could help to moderate the fear and discomfort that surrounds contemporary mobility.

References Abu-Lughod, J.L. 1991, Before European hegemony: the world system A.D. 1250–1350, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Amrith, S.S. 2011, Migration and diaspora in modern Asia, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Anthony, D. 2007, The horse, the wheel and language: how Bronze-Age riders from the Eurasian steppes shaped the modern world, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Beckwith, C. 2009, Empires of the Silk Road: a history of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the present, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ.

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Bellwood, P. 1997, Prehistory of the Indo-Malaysian Archipelago, 2nd ed., University of Hawai’i Press, Honolulu. Bose, S. 2009, A hundred horizons: the Indian Ocean in the age of global empires, Harvard University Press, Cambridge. Cao, S.J., Ge, J.X. & Wu, S.D. 1997, Zhongguo yimin shi (China’s immigration history), 6 vols. Fujian Renmin Chubanshe, Fujian. Cavalli-Sforza, L.L. & Cavalli-Sforza, F. 1996, The great human diasporas: the history of diversity and evolution, Perseus Books, New York. Chaudhuri, K.N. 1985, Trade and civilization in the Indian Ocean: an economic history from the rise of Islam to 1750, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Curtin, P.D. 1984, Cross-cultural trade in world history, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. Davis, K. 1951, The population of India and Pakistan, Russell and Russell, New York. Dobbin, C. 1996, Asian entrepreneurial minorities: conjoint communities in the making of the world-economy 1570–1940, Curzon, Richmond. Dolgopolski, A. 1998, The Nostratic macrofamily and linguistic paleontology, Institute for Archaeological Research, Cambridge. Eaton, R.M. 1996, The rise of Islam and the Bengal frontier, 1204–1760, University of California Press, Berkeley, CA. Foltz, R. 1999, Religions of the Silk Road: overland trade and cultural exchange from antiquity to the fifteenth century, St. Martin’s Press, New York. Gottschang, T. & Lary, D. 2000, Swallows and settlers: the great migration from North China to Manchuria, The University of Michigan, Center for Chinese Studies, Ann Arbor, MI. Greenberg, J. 2000–2002, Indo-European and its closest relatives, 2 vols. Stanford University Press, Stanford. Hellie, R. 2002, “Migration in early modern Russia, 1480s–1780s,” in D. Eltis (ed.) Coerced and free migration: global perspectives, Stanford University Press, Stanford, CA, pp. 292–323. IOM 2010, World migration report. The future of migration: building capacities for change, International Organization for Migration, Geneva. Kerr, I.J. 2006, “On the move: circulating laborers in pre-colonial, colonial and post-colonial India,” International Review of Social History, vol. 51, supp., pp. 85–109. Kirch, K.V. 2002, On the road of winds: an archaeological history of the Pacific islands before European contact, University of California Press, Berkeley, CA. Lewis, M. & Wigan, K. 1997, The myth of continents: a critique of metageography, University of California Press, Berkeley, CA. Liu, X.R. 1996, Silk and religion: an exploration of material life and the thought of people, AD 600–1200, Oxford University Press, Oxford. Ludden, D. 1985, Peasant history in South India, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Manning, P. 2005, Migration in world history, Routledge, London. ––– 2006, “Homo sapiens populate the earth: a provincial synthesis privileging linguistic data,” Journal of World History, vol. 17, pp. 115–58. McCabe, I.B., Harlaftis, G. & Minoglou, I.P. (eds.) 2005, Diaspora entrepreneurial networks: four centuries of history, Berg, London. McKeown, A. 2004, “Global migration, 1846–1940,” Journal of World History, vol. 15, pp. 155–89. ––– 2008, Melancholy order: Asian migration and the globalization of borders, Columbia University Press, New York. ––– 2010, “Chinese emigration in global context, 1850–1940,” Journal of Global History, vol. 5, pp. 95–124. ––– 2014, “A different transition: mobility in Qing China, 1600–1900,” in J. Lucassen & L. Lucassen (eds), Globalising migration history: the Eurasian experience (16th to 21st Centuries), Brill, Leiden, pp. 279–306. Oishi, N. 2005. Women in motion: globalization, state policies and labor migration in Asia, Stanford University Press, Stanford, CA. Perdue, P.C. 2005. China marches west: Qing conquest of Central Eurasia, Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, Cambridge. Poston, D.L. & Yu, M.Y. 1990, “The distribution of the overseas Chinese in the contemporary world,” International Migration Review, vol. 24, pp. 480–508. Scott, J.C. 2010, The art of not being governed: an anarchist history of upland Southeast Asia, Yale University Press, New Haven, CT.

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Seol, D.H. & Skrentny, J.D. 2009, “Why is there so little migrant settlement in East Asia?” International Migration Review, vol. 43, pp. 578–620. Skinner, G.W. 1976, “Mobility strategies in late imperial China: a regional systems analysis,” in C.A. Smith (ed.) Regional analysis, vol. 1, Economic systems, Academic Press, New York, pp. 327–64. Streusand, D.E. 2010, Islamic gunpowder empires: Ottomans, Safavids and Mughals, Westview, Boulder, CO. Tishkoff, S. et al. 2009, “The genetic structure and history of Africans and African Americans,” Science, vol. 324, pp. 1035–44. Treadgold, D. 1957 The Great Siberian migration: government and peasant resettlement from emancipation to the First World War, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ. Zolberg, A. 1999, “The great wall against China: responses to the first immigration crisis, 1885–1925,” in J. Lucassen & L. Lucassen (eds.) Migration, migration history, history: old paradigms and new perspectives, Peter Lang, Bern, pp. 291–305.

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6 A brief history of African migration David Newman Glovsky

The beginnings of migration in Africa According to the work of historical linguists and population geneticists, human beings (Homo sapiens sapiens) first evolved in Africa about 300,000 years ago. While it is unclear exactly where they originated, the earliest fossil records have been found in the Great Rift Valley of East Africa and in South Africa. These early humans slowly expanded little by little across the African continent, first crossing out of Africa into western Asia likely 60,000–70,000 years ago. Some archaeologists put a wider range on these estimates, believing it could have occurred 50,000–135,000 years ago. Climate was a particularly important factor in migration over long spans of time, as climactic swings made certain lands inhabitable, and others more inviting. During the last interglacial period (before the one we are in today), human beings likely left Africa for the first time. These movements were facilitated by increasing rainfall in the Sahara and Arabia, areas today noted for drought. Until desertification, beginning about 6,000 years ago, the Sahara was full of grasslands, offering an opportunity for mobility that would be impossible today. Migration was a slow process, not done by deliberate large-scale movement, but by repeated movement, generation after generation. As populations increased in size, small groups, usually based on familial ties, began to spread across Africa, often a kilometer or two at a time. As groups came into conflict with one another, whether violent or not, the need to move further away became increasingly important. Given humanity’s head start in Africa, the process of movement and adaptation over hundreds of thousands of years has resulted in an immense diversity within the peoples of Africa, linguistically, genetically, and culturally. Much of our knowledge of African prehistory, of population movements and the adoption of new technologies, comes from reconstructions of the past made by historical linguists and archaeologists working to reconstruct long lost languages now only distantly related. NiloSaharan language speakers in the Sahara domesticated cattle and became pastoralists but slowly spread toward East Africa around 2500 bce as the desert slowly took over their lands. Upon arriving in East Africa, they found speakers of Afroasiatic languages. The most famous of the early migrations are the Bantu migrations, which began in what is today northern Cameroon. Speakers of the Bantu languages of the Niger-Congo family spread out to the south, southeast, and east beginning around 1000 bce, eventually populating most of southern and eastern Africa. 68

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By 300 ce, Bantu speakers had reached KwaZulu-Natal, the southeastern-most part of the continent. Assisted by the development of iron tools, these Bantu migrants slowly integrated and in some cases replaced existing populations, typically replacing their languages and leaving only small populations of Khoisan hunter-gatherers in their wake. Migration was a way to leave overpopulated areas for new lands with potential. Mobile populations shared their technology with new societies in an incredibly gradual process. For much of these migrations, the pace of movement was slow—less than 15 miles per decade. During the same period, the island of Madagascar off the coast of East Africa was settled by the Malagasy, Austronesian language speakers from Indonesia. Navigating by ship, they traveled west to colonize the island of Madagascar, just as Polynesian speakers headed east to new islands in the Pacific. Even today, Malagasy remains the dominant language in Madagascar, the only Austronesian language in regular use in Africa today.

Trans-Saharan movement Over the course of the first millennium ce, trade began to connect West Africa across the Sahara to the north. While some travelers had crossed the desert earlier, it was a daunting prospect before the introduction of camels to the region from the second to the fifth century. By the fourth century, gold was being imported from West Africa to North Africa. Camel caravans traversed throughout the Sahara, from Morocco south to the Senegal and Niger rivers and from Egypt south to Sudan. Salt played an important role in trans-Saharan commerce, going both north and south from the Sahara. In sub-Saharan Africa, salt was traded for dried fish and agricultural products, necessary items in the harsh desert heat. Migration in Africa was not just limited to people and goods. By 640 ce Arab armies had invaded the lower Nile, bringing with them a new religion: Islam. These Arab armies spread rapidly across North Africa, and by 711 ce arrived at the Atlantic coast and crossed the Strait of Gibraltar into Spain. Islam penetrated slowly in North Africa, further spread by the migration of Arab peasants into the region during the eighth and ninth centuries. Around 1000 ce, members of the Banu Hilal and Banu Sulaym tribes migrated from Arabia, furthering the Arab and Islamic presence in North Africa. These movements resulted in the Arabization of much of North Africa as well as large parts of the Sahara, but this was not a unidirectional process. While Arab migrations spread Arab language, culture, and religion, there was a process of creolization in the Arab encounter with different local cultures throughout Africa. The movements of Arabs into North Africa altered, but did not replace, previously existing cultures and societies. Islam proved to be an important factor in promoting mobility and migration throughout much of Africa. Islamic trade networks began to spread south, leaving communities of Muslim traders in villages throughout the Sahara, including in the kingdoms of Ghana and Mali. Through these traders and others, Islam spread throughout the northern part of subSaharan Africa. Islamic religious networks played a crucial role in mobility within and outside of Africa, as African Muslims were connected to a wider world of Islamic learning and scholarship. Timbuktu became a central location of Islamic learning, attracting students from both sides of the Sahara. Many Muslims migrated locally, regionally, or over larger distances in search of Islamic knowledge. Some Muslims were able to make pilgrimage to Mecca, most notably the king of Mali, Mansa Musa, whose voyage was noted for his generosity in giving away enough gold to depreciate its value from Cairo to Mecca. Since Mansa Musa’s time, Muslims have continued to make pilgrimages, not just to Mecca but to other sites of religious importance 69

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within Africa. Muslim religious and economic migrations were closely tied together, as both helped facilitate other forms of migration. Other Muslim migrations were tied to the jihads of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries that swept through large parts of the West African Sahel from Mauritania to Guinea in the west, and to the east in Mali and Nigeria.

Trading networks within and outside of Africa Coastal North Africa had long been tied into the Mediterranean world economically, culturally, and politically to both the north and east. Within Africa, particular groups became known as traders and moved to towns across wider areas. For many of these groups, their languages became trade languages as myriad groups came together to exchange goods. The Hausa language, primarily spoken in southern Niger and northern Nigeria, has become a trade language throughout much of West Africa and parts of Equatorial Africa due to links with Hausa trading communities. The same process was at work with the Dendi language of southern Niger in much of northern Togo and Benin, Yao from Malawi in parts of East Africa, Bobangi of the middle Congo in Central Africa, and Swahili along the East African coast. A trade diaspora of Mande language speakers stretches throughout West Africa from Gambia to Liberia on its western edge, and east to Mali and Côte d’Ivoire. Commercial migration during the precolonial period in West Africa was more developed among Muslim communities, whose shared religious ties often transcended ethnic and religious divisions that constrained the creation of far-flung trade networks. Similar in many ways to the Sahara, trade across the Indian Ocean dates back over a millennium. Coastal East Africa—particularly the area from Somalia south to Tanzania—was integrally tied to the Arab world and other parts of the Indian Ocean dating to at least the first century bce. Inland groups, such as the Kamba and Nyamwezi, carried products to the East African coast, trading with littoral groups that worked with foreign Arab and Persian traders. It seems that Arab traders did not usually visit the interior, but made an exception for the Zimbabwean goldfields, where they were found as early as the sixteenth century. Goods from China made it to East Africa typically through intermediaries, but the Chinese explorer and trader Zheng He arrived on the Somali coast during the fifteenth century on at least three occasions, traveling as far south as Malindi on the Kenyan coast. The Swahili coast served as an important source for migration from both outside of and within Africa. Arab settlers traveled to the Kenyan coast where they intermarried with coastal residents. They integrated into these societies, adding Arabic vocabulary to the language that would become Swahili. From the tenth to the fourteenth centuries, coastal Swahili established a series of important trading towns, most notably on the islands of Kilwa, Lamu, Pemba, and Zanzibar. These Swahili city-states traded ivory and gold to Byzantium and Fatimid Egypt, creating prosperous towns known across the Indian Ocean world. From 1050 to 1200 ce, more Arab Muslims migrated to the East African coast from Oman and the Persian Gulf. This pushed Swahili Muslims to move southward as far as northern Mozambique, and to settle islands such as the Comoros. Omani migrants settled in East Africa after the Omani Sultanate captured much of the region, and in the nineteenth century the Omani court even moved to the island of Zanzibar. As early as the fifteenth century, Gujarati merchants arrived on the East African coast, settling in Mozambique, Zanzibar, Madagascar, and elsewhere, serving as traders and intermediaries, primarily in textile and ivory trading. These migrants came to compete for trade with Europeans, most notably the Portuguese, who established themselves on the East African coast beginning in the sixteenth century. 70

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Forced migration within and outside of Africa Before the arrival of Europeans on the West African coast during the fifteenth century, millions of Africans were sold into slavery and sent across the Sahara. The trade began as early as the seventh century, and between 800 and 1900 ce, approximately four million people were enslaved and brought north, with an additional two million taken to Egypt from Ethiopia and southern Sudan. Unlike the transatlantic slave trade, most slaves brought to North Africa and Arab lands were female. Most of these slaves were put to work in the home serving a variety of functions. Male slaves served a different role, typically as soldiers, miners, or agricultural workers. Like slaves transported to the Americas, a substantial portion of slaves died during their trans-Saharan forced migrations. More slaves were transported from the Central Sudan—the area today consisting of Niger, Burkina Faso, and Chad—than from areas further to the west, which focused on trading gold rather than slaves. Within the Islamic world, slaves were more integrated into families and communities than they were in the American context. From the first decades of Portuguese exploration along the West African coast, slaves were bought or captured and brought to Europe. Upon discovering the uninhabited islands of São Tomé and Principe in the late fifteenth century, Portuguese settlers developed sugar plantations and brought slaves from nearby regions of Africa to work on them. These plantations would become the mode for the Americas, adopted by Portuguese, Spanish, French, and British plantation owners throughout the Americas. While forced migration through the trans-Saharan slave trade took place over more than a millennium, by contrast the enslavement and transport of approximately 13 million Africans through the transatlantic slave trade started only in the sixteenth century and took place primarily between 1650 and 1850. In the initial decades of the European slave trade, slaves primarily came from Senegambia. However, as time went on, slaves began to come from areas further south and east along the coast of western Africa. There were always places where African rulers and peoples were willing to sell those captured in war, alongside criminals and other marginal people. Most slaves were not captured directly by Europeans, who had neither the military strength nor the stomach to raid the African interior. Instead, Europeans traded on or near the coast with African intermediaries, who used the sale of slaves to fund their own states and wars, or simply to gain wealth. Beginning in the 1630s, as the slave trade moved past its early Portuguese and Spanish roots to include the Dutch, French, and English, the demand for slaves rose greatly. Most of these slaves went from West Central Africa (from Gabon in the north to northern Angola in the south) or the Slave Coast, consisting of Togo, Benin, and western Nigeria. At its peak during the eighteenth century, Europeans forcibly sent between 50,000 and 100,000 Africans to the Americas each year. While that number decreased in the nineteenth century after the abolition of the slave trade, slave ships still clandestinely arrived in the Americas until the 1860s, most notably to Brazil and Cuba. Over 40 percent of the total number of African slaves who arrived in the Americas went to Brazil, with substantial others ending up in the British, French, and Spanish Caribbean, as well as Spanish colonies on the mainland. The number of African slaves brought to the United States was relatively small as compared to these other regions, but that did not make the African presence any less significant. Before the 1840s, Africans made up most of the migrants across the Atlantic to the Americas, only later being replaced by Europeans. With rare exceptions, few Africans ever returned to the continent, though a small number returned later in life. Starting in the late eighteenth century, the British began to settle freed slaves from their North American colonies in the British colony of Sierra Leone, and tens of thousands more, known as Liberated Africans, arrived after the abolition of the slave trade. From the 71

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United States, beginning in the 1820s freed slaves returned to West Africa to found the colony of Liberia, which became an independent republic in 1847. Forced migration did not just occur across the Sahara and the Atlantic Ocean but involved the Indian Ocean as well. Enslaved Africans were an important part of the early Islamic world. One of the prophet Muhammad’s first companions and the first to lead the call to prayer was a freed African slave, Bilal, originally from Ethiopia. Beginning during the era of the Abbasid Caliphate (c. 750–1258 ce), the scale of this Indian Ocean slave trade increased substantially as Abbasid rulers bought slaves coming from northeast Africa and the Swahili coast. Many of these slaves were shipped from Red Sea ports or towns further south around Arabia to the Persian Gulf, or transported overland across Arabia to southern Iraq to convert swampland for agricultural use. In the ninth century ce, slaves of African descent rose up against their taxing conditions, leading to the Zanj Revolt from 869 to 883. As a result of this revolt, the Indian Ocean slave trade decreased substantially, not to return at such a large scale until the late eighteenth century. The forced migration of East Africans in the Indian Ocean resumed in large numbers in the nineteenth century. This trade was facilitated by the Omani Empire, which ruled over Zanzibar and the Swahili coast at the time, after having ejected the Portuguese from the region. Though the Sultan of Oman, Seyyid Said, had signed an anti-slavery treaty with the British in 1822 that forbade the sale of slaves to Europeans, it allowed for Omani slave trading over a large area, ranging from northern Mozambique across the Indian Ocean as far as Gujarat in western India. In the late 1830s, Seyyid Said moved permanently to Zanzibar and in 1840 made the island Oman’s capital. During this period, cloves were introduced to Zanzibar, and clove plantations on the islands of Zanzibar and Pemba regularly employed massive quantities of slave labor. Rampant slave trading resulted, not just because of clove production, but because date plantations and pearl diving in the Arabian Gulf needed a ready supply of slaves. European slave traders also operated in East Africa in substantial numbers, bringing slaves to the French and British colonies on the nearby islands of Mauritius, Reunion, and Comoros during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. French and Portuguese slavers also brought slaves from southeastern Africa across the Atlantic to slave plantations in the Americas. Some areas could serve as both importers and exporters of slaves. In Madagascar, over the course of the nineteenth century, slaves were both imported from East Africa to serve as a labor force for the Kingdom of Merina and exported from the island throughout the western Indian Ocean.

Other pre-colonial movement It was not just overseas slave trading that resulted in large-scale migration. Internal enslavement, typically through war or raiding, resulted in the movement of people across large parts of West Africa. In some parts of the region by the time of European conquest in the late nineteenth century, more than half of the population were slaves. Military conquest could also lead to large migrations. During the nineteenth century, the building of empires like those of Umar Tal and Samori Turé led conquering armies across much of West Africa, resulting in the movement of not only soldiers and settlers, but also of displaced peoples fleeing oppressive rule. Warriors migrated throughout West Africa for centuries before the arrival of Europeans, moving from Niger to the west and south, conquering local peoples and founding the Dagomba kingdom in Ghana and Mossi kingdoms in Burkina Faso. Lobi migrants moved north from northern Ghana into Burkina Faso during the late eighteenth century and continued to move from Burkina Faso to northern Côte d’Ivoire during the nineteenth century. These migrants maintained ties to their previous homeland, creating a much more dispersed Lobi community. 72

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During the late eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, communities speaking Nguni languages expanded across southern Africa. Most notable among these groups were the Zulu, led in the early nineteenth century by the famed Shaka, as well as the Xhosa. These groups expanded westward and came into contact with migrants of Dutch descent migrating to the northeast from the Cape Colony at the southwest corner of Africa. Many of these movements to the west were due to the expansion of the Zulu kingdom, which led many to flee in all directions from KwaZulu-Natal in southeastern South Africa. Last, while our records of urban development during the pre-colonial period are incomplete, important trading towns and seats of government were a key aspect of African migration before the advent of colonial rule.

Colonial migration Information about migration in pre-colonial Africa is often sparse, with very little writing, archaeological artifacts, and linguistic documentation about the numerous population movements and shifts within and outside of the continent available. In contrast, documentation on migration during the period of European rule, while still incomplete, is much more detailed. During the colonial period, Africans moved for many reasons. They crossed borders in search of better opportunities and less oppressive rule, moved within colonies to developing urban centers and ports, and became migrant workers looking for opportunities growing cash crops. The introduction by colonial governments of taxes paid in cash, not in kind, created more incentives for people to move in search of income-generating activities. Migration was both welcomed and feared by colonial governments, who desired a growing population but feared growing urbanization, believing that African urban life would be unruly and difficult to control. Despite their fears, colonial urban centers grew rapidly as Africans sought greater opportunity. Even before the end of slavery, enslaved people crossed nearby borders in search of freedom in other colonies, or even moved within colonies as laws often differed between colonial cities and their hinterlands. In French West Africa, economic policies, the creation of new labor markets, and the French suppression of slave raiding and trading all created incentives for slaves to flee their villages. In Senegal, Mali, and Guinea from 1905 to 1913 alone, an estimated 650,000 to 800,000 slaves left their masters. Additionally, the abolition of slavery incentivized the movement of many former slaves. Although in some cases freed slaves remained in relationships of dependency with their former masters, others found opportunities for wage labor in new colonial economies. In much of Africa, former slaves or those of slave descent made up much of the colonial military, particularly during World War I, and refused to return to their communities as second-class citizens. Many colonies competed over citizens, particularly in border regions where small changes in policy could lead to an influx in the taxable population or seasonal migrant labor. Colonial rule encouraged population movements for economic development. In many cases, this was the development of an urban professional and laboring class, but just as important was the production of cash crops across the continent. In Senegal and Gambia, groundnuts served as the principal incentive for migrant farmers, known in Gambia as “strange farmers” due to their foreign origins, and in Senegal as the “navétanes,” from the Wolof nawet, meaning the rainy season. These migrants came from within their colonies, but also from other colonies. In both colonies, seasonal migrants came from Mali, Guinea, Guinea-Bissau, and southern Senegal to work on small-scale groundnut farms, hoping to earn income to better their families’ lives and to raise the necessary money to pay colonial taxes. Many of these migrants eventually settled in the places they worked, rather than returning home at the close of each harvest. The production 73

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of groundnuts was facilitated by the building of the Dakar-Bamako Railway by 1905. In Ghana (the British colony of the Gold Coast), cocoa was introduced by a local metalworker in 1879, which was followed by the rapid development of cocoa plantations in the interior of Ghana. Ghanaian farmers migrated northward within the colony into the forest zone, where they developed plantations. By 1914, Ghana was the world’s largest producer of cocoa. Migrants also came south from Burkina Faso (then Upper Volta) to produce cocoa in Ghana as well as coffee in Côte d’Ivoire. Southwest Nigeria became an additional producer of cocoa, and migrants came from further north in Nigeria and from as far away as southern Niger. Large-scale labor migration occurred across the continent, for a variety of crops and due to both colonial incentives and local initiative. Within Portuguese colonial networks, migrants went from Angola to São Tomé to work on coffee and cotton plantations. Migrants from Chad and western Sudan headed east to produce cotton along the White and Blue Niles. In northern Uganda, migrants moved south both within Uganda and into Kenya to produce a variety of crops, as cotton and groundnut farms popped up near Lake Victoria. Migrants from Rwanda, Angola, and Congo moved into the Copperbelt that straddled Belgian Congo and Zambia (Northern Rhodesia) to produce copper for export to the rest of the world. Malawi (Nyasaland) served as a labor reserve for both Zimbabwe (Southern Rhodesia) and Mozambique, and South Africa saw migration for gold, diamonds, copper, and other products from the surrounding British colonies of Botswana (Bechuanaland), Zimbabwe, Mozambique, Lesotho, and from other regions within South Africa. Migration was a way to escape colonial demands for a variety of reasons. In Mali, Niger, and Burkina Faso, the French enacted compulsory cotton cultivation, as did the Portuguese in Mozambique. In locations such as Belgian Congo and French Guinea, colonial governments forced rubber collection on rural populations. In other cases, migration was a tool to escape military conscription or taxation burdens. In virtually every region where French colonies bordered possessions of other European colonizers, military conscription campaigns led to the migration, often temporary, of hundreds of thousands of people. Smaller movements occurred during peacetime military conscription as well. In addition to the movement of those fleeing military service, during World War I over 400,000 within French West Africa were conscripted to fight on behalf of the French, primarily in Europe, but in Africa as well. African troops participated in the conquest of the German colonies of Togo and Cameroon, and British subjects went to South and East Africa to fight against German colonies in Namibia, Tanzania, Rwanda, and Burundi. African soldiers from German colonies also fought on the German side across Africa. Forced labor also contributed to migration, either because Africans were avoiding colonial requirements, or because they had to move temporarily in order to accommodate colonial demands. Forced labor projects occurred throughout Africa, and colonial governments put Africans to work on a variety of different products. These tasks included the collecting of rubber; the clearing of trails and the building of roads and bridges; working as porters; building colonial houses and government buildings; and later the construction of wells, telegraph lines, dams, and airstrips. This list is by no means exhaustive, as colonial subjects were put to work on whatever projects needed to be done. These workers were paid in only the most extreme of circumstances and often were not even provided food. Colonial education brought students from one village to another, and eventually on to towns, cities, and colonial capitals. Particularly promising students could find themselves in France, the United Kingdom, or Portugal, where they would meet other Africans as well as colonial subjects from all over the world. Many of the independence leaders of a variety of African countries came out of these contexts, and the leaders of independence movements in Portuguese colonies first met in Lisbon to discuss plans to liberate their homelands from 74

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Portuguese rule. Others, such as Nnamdi Azikiwe and Kwame Nkrumah, went to study in the United States at historically black colleges like Lincoln University, bringing them into different worlds of activism than those who went to Europe.

Colonial migration into Africa European settlers arrived in colonies throughout Africa but were most notable in particular places. By the time of Algerian independence in 1962, one million Europeans lived in the colony. There were also substantial European populations in other colonies, especially in South Africa, Mozambique, Angola, Kenya, Zimbabwe, Namibia, Zambia, Tunisia, and Libya. Settler populations tended to be largest in more temperate climates and sparsest in tropical or desert regions. Many of these settlers established farms on some of the best farmland, displacing Africans in the process. It was not just Europeans who arrived in Africa during the colonial period. From 1815 to 1837, about 15,000 Indian convicts were shipped to British Mauritius, which after the abolition of slavery needed laborers to work on plantations for new colonial agricultural products. This initial migration was followed by the movement of 450,000 indentured Indian laborers to Mauritius between 1834 and 1910. While Mauritius was primarily African and Malagasy in the early 1830s, by the late 1870s, it was two-thirds Indian. Indian indentured laborers found themselves throughout the Indian Ocean, but in the African context were mostly located in Mauritius, KwaZulu-Natal in South Africa, and Kenya and Uganda. Indians provided most of the labor for building the Uganda Railway linking Kenya and Uganda in the first decades of the twentieth century and controlled a great deal of commercial business in both countries as well. In most of French West Africa, the primary immigrant group was not Indians, but Lebanese, whose introduction to the region predated the French Mandate in Lebanon, which gave the French supervisory authority in Lebanon and Syria through the League of Nations. Part of a larger diaspora that spread people of Lebanese descent around the world, Lebanese settled in cities and towns throughout the region, serving as traders, commercial operators, and professionals. They primarily served as traders and shopkeepers, dealing with different products depending on the colony, whether groundnuts in Senegal; kola nuts, coffee, and cocoa in Côte d’Ivoire; or palm kernels and rubber in Guinea. Lebanese merchants also operated in the British and Portuguese colonies of the region, although in smaller numbers. In some French colonies, the number of Lebanese outnumbered those from metropolitan France, and many of the descendants of these original Lebanese settlers continue to live and work in the countries of independent Africa.

Migration within Africa since independence The groundwork for much of post-colonial African migration was laid during the colonial period. Previous labor migrations—whether within or across colonies, or from rural to urban settings—created extensive networks that could be relied on to further future migration. Kinship and community networks facilitated migration, and migration strengthened those networks themselves. The migration of young men from villages to towns and cities ceased to be exclusively male, as women sought to find opportunities economically or to join their husbands and establish roots in rapidly expanding African cities. Migrants saw some countries as more desirable than others, with Senegal, Nigeria, Ghana, and Côte d’Ivoire seen as particularly attractive within West Africa. Labor migration to South Africa continued despite apartheid rule, but was highly restricted as the South African government tried to limit permanent migration and 75

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promote circular labor migration. The apartheid government regulated migration through pass laws in an attempt to control the mobility of non-Europeans within and across its borders. The end of apartheid made the country even more desirable to people from neighboring countries and from elsewhere in Africa, as the growing population of Nigerians in South Africa indicates. Other migrants, such as Malian Soninke migrants in Brazzaville, the capital of the Republic of the Congo, have migrated to countries in similar economic conditions to their own to reduce pressure to redistribute their earnings to family back at home. However, the end of colonial rule did not lead to open movement within the continent, and often resulted in xenophobia toward those deemed as outsiders. In 1968, the Ghanaian government expelled 100,000 “foreigners,” mostly from Nigeria and Burkina Faso. In the 1990s, Côte d’Ivoire embarked on a campaign of “Ivoirité,” designed to exclude those whose ancestors had recently migrated into the country from places such as Burkina Faso and Mali. In South Africa, economic anxiety after the end of apartheid resulted in the expulsion and demonization of Mozambicans and others from neighboring countries. Other governments have sought to restrict the movement of people attempting to leave their countries, as was the case in Guinea during much of Sekou Touré’s time in power. Campaigns like these led to the demonization of groups originally from outside Africa as well. During the Zanzibar Revolution of 1964, violence against Arabs, Indians, and Comorians led to a mass exodus from the country. In 1972, Idi Amin threw out the Indian population of Uganda, claiming to be returning Uganda to the Ugandans. A steady process of urbanization has seen rural and semi-rural Africans move in increasing numbers to the towns and cities of the continent. As of 1960, only 15 percent of Africans lived in cities. By 1975, that percentage had grown to 20, and by the early 1990s, to 30 percent. By 2010, 36 percent of Africans were urban dwellers, and by 2030, estimates predict that half of all Africans will live in urban areas. Almost half of Nigeria’s nearly 200 million people live in cities, a dramatic increase from the demographics of the country at independence. Many Africans have also been forced to migrate due to violence or conflict in their home countries. The Biafran War of the late 1960s displaced somewhere between 2 and 4.5 million people, and created refugees who fled to neighboring countries or outside of the continent. The bloody wars for independence in the Portuguese colonies of Mozambique, Angola, and Guinea-Bissau led many to find shelter in neighboring countries or other regions or communities within their own countries. By 1994, violence in Sudan had displaced three million southern Sudanese, scattered between northern Sudan, southern Sudan, and refugee camps in Uganda, Congo, Kenya, Ethiopia, and the Central African Republic. War and violence in Liberia created two million refugees, while civil wars in Angola and Mozambique displaced perhaps a million more. The Rwandan genocide and war in Sierra Leone caused many more to flee their homes, and as of 2002, 6.3 million Africans had fled their countries as displaced persons, and another 10 million were displaced within their own countries. In 2015, the UNHCR estimated that there were 4.4 million refugees in Africa. Refugees from Somalia, South Sudan, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sudan, and the Central African Republic accounted for 80 percent of that total. While many Africans migrated, and continue to migrate, “voluntarily” from one area to another, it is important to remember that many more have been forced to migrate due to political circumstances.

Migration out of Africa In the initial decades after independence, colonial ties dictated most of African migration to Europe. From Francophone Africa, migrants searching for educational or economic opportunity abroad generally moved to France and Belgium, while those from British colonies arrived 76

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in the United Kingdom. However, as immigration laws became stricter, migrants began to seek opportunities in other countries where they did not have linguistic ties. Over the last two decades, many African migrants have traveled to Italy or Spain. While Africans from Portuguese colonies such as Angola and Mozambique have long traveled to Portugal, today there are new migrants coming from elsewhere on the continent, typically Francophone migrants from Senegal or Guinea. Other skilled professionals have left for Europe for schooling or professional opportunities, creating a shortage of qualified doctors and nurses in many African countries. African migration to North America has increased since the mid-1960s, with the flow of African migrants to the U.S. shifting from majority white to majority black during the 1980s. While there were only 80,000 foreign-born Africans in the U.S. in 1970, by 2015 that number had grown to 2.1 million. Almost half of those who immigrated came from five countries: Nigeria, Ethiopia, Egypt, Ghana, and Kenya. However, the African immigrant community in the U.S. is very diverse, made up of people from every corner of the continent. Contemporary black African migrants to the U.S. and Canada are among the highest educated of all immigrants, with average educational attainment higher than native-born averages. But there is also a much smaller movement of African refugees migrating to the U.S. and Canada; these are almost entirely refugees being resettled, rather than the asylum seekers going to Europe. During the twenty-first century, West Africans have increasingly risked their lives in an effort to migrate to Europe. Whether by taking boats northward to the Canary Islands or traveling overland through Mauritania or Libya, migrants have sought opportunity abroad even in the face of grave danger. In 2016, more than 5,000 people died while attempting to cross the Mediterranean to Europe, although not all were from Africa. For those who arrived in Europe, they have generally looked to find employment in whatever field they can, often working on construction crews or selling inexpensive merchandise on the street. In cities and towns throughout southern Europe, street sellers can be heard speaking to each other in the Wolof language of Senegambia while engaging customers in a variety of European languages. Additionally, African migrants in Europe provide a valuable resource for back in Africa, sending home remittances to support families and communities across the continent. Following the independence of African countries, most Europeans who had settled in the colonies returned to Europe, although some remained. At independence, an estimated 80 percent of Algeria’s one million French pieds-noirs left the country to return to France. Soon to follow were Algerians themselves. By the mid-1980s, a million Algerians lived and worked abroad, primarily in France. Many Moroccans and Tunisians also migrated to Europe, primarily to France, but in increasing numbers to elsewhere in Europe. Since independence, Africans have continued to move, both within and outside of the continent. Like migrants in the rest of the world, Africans find themselves threatened with a changing world, economically, politically, and climatically. Though most of the public attention is on Africans trying to migrate to Europe, internal migration affects Africans in much more demographically significant ways, both within individual countries and across national borders. States within the continent have increasingly worked to monitor and regulate the movement of these migrants, with varying degrees of success.

Conclusion Over the last several thousand years Africans have used migration as a tool to spread languages, technology, and culture, for religious pilgrimage, to escape violence and oppressive governments, or to find better economic opportunity. While initial migrations were small groups moving small distances over long periods of time, over the past 2,000 years Africans have increasingly 77

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migrated longer distances, both due to forced migration and, in later periods, in search of economic opportunity. During the colonial period, European governments attempted to limit migration to particular channels, but since independence, migration within Africa has increased. In recent years, large-scale violence has led to involuntary migration and the creation of over ten million refugees across the continent, while others have attempted to cross the Mediterranean to Europe due to limited opportunity and increasing desertification. Migration has been, and will continue to be, central to the lives of Africans of an ever-changing world.

Further reading Alpers, E. A. 2014. The Indian Ocean in World History, New York, Oxford University Press. Arsan, A. 2014. Interlopers of Empire: The Lebanese Diaspora in Colonial French West Africa, New York, Oxford University Press. Austen, R. A. 2010. Trans-Saharan Africa in World History, New York, Oxford University Press. Bellwood, P. S. 2013. First Migrants: Ancient Migration in Global Perspective, Chichester, UK, Wiley Blackwell. Campbell, G. 1989. The East African Slave Trade, 1861–1895: The “Southern” Complex. International Journal of African Historical Studies 22, 1–26. Cavalli-Sforza, L. L., Menozzi, P. & Piazza, A. 1994. The History and Geography of Human Genes, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press. Cohen, A. 1969. Custom & Politics in Urban Africa: A Study of Hausa Migrants in Yoruba Towns, London, Routledge & K. Paul. Cooper, F. 2002. Africa since 1940: The Past of the Present, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Cordell, D. D., Gregory, J. W. & Piché, V. 1996. Hoe and Wage: A Social History of a Circular Migration System in West Africa, Boulder, CO, Westview Press. Curtin, P. D. 1995. Why People Move: Migration in African History, Waco, TX, Baylor University Press. Curtin, P. D. 2002. Cross-Cultural Trade in World History, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Ehret, C. 2011. History and the Testimony of Language, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press. Ehret, C. & Posnansky, M. 1982. The Archaeological and Linguistic Reconstruction of African History, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press. Eltis, D., Richardson, D., Davis, D. B. & Blight, D. W. 2010. Atlas of the Transatlantic Slave Trade, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press. Fisher, M. H. 2014. Migration: A World History, New York, Oxford University Press. Kane, A. & Leedy, T. H. 2013. African Migrations: Patterns and Perspectives, Bloomington, IN, Indiana University Press. Klein, M. A. 1998. Slavery and Colonial Rule in French West Africa, Cambridge; New York, NY, Cambridge University Press. Levtzion, N. & Pouwels, R. L. 2000. The History of Islam in Africa, Athens, Ohio University Press. Lovejoy, P. E. 2012. Transformations in Slavery: A History of Slavery in Africa, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Manning, P. 2005. Migration in World History, New York, Routledge. Miers, S. & Roberts, R. L. 1988. The End of Slavery in Africa, Madison, University of Wisconsin Press. Reid, R. J. 2012. A History of Modern Africa: 1800 to the Present, Malden, Wiley-Blackwell. Swindell, K. & Jeng, A. 2006. Migrants, Credit and Climate: The Gambian Groundnut Trade, 1834–1934, Leiden, Brill. Thornton, J. K. 1992. Africa and Africans in the Making of the Atlantic World, 1400–1680, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Tinker, H. 1993. A New System of Slavery: The Export of Indian Labour Overseas, 1830–1920, London, Hansib. Vansina, J. 1990. Paths in the Rainforest: Toward a History of Political Tradition in Equatorial Africa, London, James Currey. Vansina, J. 2004. How Societies Are Born: Governance in West Central Africa before 1600, Charlottesville, VA, University of Virginia Press.

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Part II

Displacement, refugees and forced migration

The scholarly literature on refugees and forced migration has historically followed separate paths compared to the literature on other types of migration that we often refer to as “voluntary.” Separate literatures between forced and voluntary migration formed in part because of the former’s focus on policy and the latter’s focus on theory. Because of migration histories of different regions in the West, there have also been different geographic emphases, with European scholars focusing more on refugees while North American scholars placed emphasis on voluntary migration, which may also contribute to a “separate conversations” dynamic. The two literatures developed to treat forced and voluntary as distinct categories, despite arguments such as that made by Anthony Richmond (1993) that migration did not fall into two discrete categories but that “forced” and “voluntary” fell on a continuum (this article was published in the Journal of Refugee Studies and perhaps was not read by many non-refugee scholars). But this separation may be in the process of changing. In the last five to seven years there has been an increased number of refugees worldwide resulting from new wars and violent displacement in Syria, Myanmar and the Central African Republic, as well as continued instability and violence in Iraq, Afghanistan, Sudan and Iran. In Europe, there was a large influx of irregular migrants, many seeking asylum, at levels not seen since the aftermath of World War II, and a spike in asylum seekers from Central America arriving at the U.S./Mexico border that garnered considerable press because so many migrants were unaccompanied children. This has spurred greater interest from migration scholars, particularly those who had not previously contributed to the forced migration literature. Additionally, a surge of xenophobia that has ushered in new national leaders with severe anti-immigrant agendas has pushed all migration scholars to turn purely theoretical contributions into work that can speak to sound policies (especially the soundness of policies that recognize the different ways migrants are compelled to cross international borders and which seek to integrate rather than repel migrants). Most importantly, there are more conversations happening between “forced” and “voluntary” migration scholars; case in point is the recent Annual Review of Sociology article by FitzGerald and Arar (2018), which argues that migration scholarship as a whole would benefit from greater integration of the theoretical frames that shape the forced and voluntary migration literatures. In that spirit, we have compiled these five chapters that describe the empirical patterns and consequences of migration that occurs primarily as a result of displacement, each grounded in

Part II

an understanding that this type of migration is not theoretically or empirically separated from other types of migration in which people have more options about where, when, and whether to migrate. And perhaps more importantly, these chapters frame migration within contexts of disparate and uneven migration management and rights regimes; contexts that provide differing constraints and opportunities for migrants. The first two chapters in this section provide broad overviews of forced migration and displacement. In the first chapter, Charles Watters explains the varied ways in which forced migration happens, illustrating how the particular context of a given refugee movement is shaped by the politics of displacement in that situation. In doing so, he argues for greater scholarly attention to nation-states and the policies that provide (and more often do not provide) safe passages for forced migrants. Next, David Haines’ chapter “Refugees and geopolitical conflicts” describes the history of different types of conflicts within and between states that have led to people either being expelled or compelled to flee, or even become displaced with shifting boundaries rather than their own movement. Haines also highlights how acceptance and rejection of refugees is uneven and inconsistent, depending on current political circumstances and the characteristics of the refugees in question. In the remaining chapters, the authors provide more focused analysis on particular kinds of displacement. Breanne Grace writes about migrants seeking protection in the country of first asylum. Intended as a temporary solution, countries of first asylum often become the place that refugees reside long-term, even if they never become “settled” in a holistic sense. This raises the issue of how migrant rights can be protected in the context of what is almost always an unmanaged (and for the country of first asylum, unwelcomed) movement. While traditionally scholars have understood refugee rights has being determined by states, Grace argues that increasingly rights are based in markets, which can make the acquisition of rights a more precarious and diffuse process. The contemporary situation of refugee migrations in the Middle East and North African region is grounded in a longer history of migration spurred on by economics, and Seçil Paçacı Elitok and Christiane Fröhlich provide that background in their chapter on displacement in MENA and the Mediterranean passage, with a special focus on Syria. By connecting the root causes and intervening factors in the current conditions that have uprooted historic numbers of people, they demonstrate how the current crisis is not without precedent and consequently was not unforeseeable, and how it is made worse by states unwilling to share the burden of assisting refugees. In the final chapter, Daniel Ahlquist and Leo A. Baldiga describe how climate change and related environmental changes are producing a different kind of displacement. Falling outside the legal boundaries of “refugee,” environmental changes that make a certain place unlivable (either because it becomes unsafe or because the modes of making a living and surviving become difficult or impossible) can present people with the same kind of constrained choices that refugees fleeing violence or persecution experience. However, because there is no legal category of “environmental refugee,” the rights that such migrants have is limited under international law. Using a number of exemplars, Ahlquist and Baldiga demonstrate why greater scholarly and policy attention needs to be paid to people displaced internally and internationally by climate change and ecological disasters.

References FitzGerald, D. S. and Arar, R. (2018) The sociology of refugee migration. Annual Review of Sociology. Available online at: https://doi.org/10.1146/annurev-soc-073117-041204. Richmond, A. H. (1993) Reactive migration: sociological perspectives: On refugee movements. Journal of Refugee Studies, 6(1): 7–24.

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7 Forced migrants Exclusion, incorporation and a moral economy of deservingness Charles Watters

Introduction The late 20th and early 21st centuries have witnessed a remarkable growth in the extent and in the diversity of international migration. The pattern has changed from significant migration from one country to a particular destination – form example, the large-scale movement of populations in the mid-20th century from former colonies of European powers such as India and Algeria to the UK and France – to more diverse forms of migration not readily explicable in terms of colonial histories. Part of this phenomenon is, of course, the result of a more globalized economy or what Castells terms the ‘network society’ linking the production of goods and services to an ever expanding interdependent global economy (Castells, 2000). Investments in certain localities generate spaces of concentrated labor migration, production, distribution, exchange and consumption that can be severely disrupted by fluctuations in the global market (Harvey, 2006). While migration in general has increased and diversified, forced migration in particular has undergone a comparable range of transformations. The scale and diversification of forced migration is due in no small part to the changing nature of war in which large-scale conflicts involving battles between soldiers of opposing armies have given way to a plethora of ‘low-intensity conflicts’. These mirror shifting power dynamics in the post Cold War age. Conflicts between a relatively small number of ‘great powers’ and their allies jostling for strategic and material advantage have, in many instances, given way to more fractured forms of conflict. Following military engagements in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya and other Muslim countries, disparate but often networked groups increasingly resort strategically to civilian targets such as subways, trains, tourist resorts, theaters and airports as evident, for example, from the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center, the 2004 Madrid train bombings, the 2007 subway bombings in London, the attacks at the Bataclan Theatre and the Stade de France in Paris in 2015, the killings of tourists in Tunisia in 2015, and the Brussels Airport and Nice attacks in 2016. The complexities of contemporary conflict are demonstrated in the case of Syria, where the Assad regime has been supported by an international coalition including Russia and Iran, while opposition forces have been backed by uneasy alliances involving Western powers such as the USA and UK and regional partners including Saudi Arabia and Turkey. 81

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Conflicts in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan are major driving forces of contemporary forced migration. According to 2015 figures provided by the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, 65.3 million people were forcibly displaced at the end of 2015, the highest figure ever recorded by the agency. This is equivalent to more than the total population of the United Kingdom. Of this number, 12.4 million people were displaced by conflict within 2015 alone. This figure includes a significant number of internally displaced persons (IDPs) with the number of people uprooted in their own countries growing to an unprecedentedly high number of 40.8 million (UNHCR, 2015). These figures are also exacerbated by a very low proportion of those crossing international borders feeling able to return to their own countries owing to protracted violence and upheaval. The origin of refugees reflects the changing face of global conflict, with over half coming from Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq alone. The broad impacts of displacement are also illustrated in the multiple destinations of refugees showing, for example, that the 4.9 million Syrian refugees are present in no less than 120 receiving countries worldwide. Evidence that all parts of civilian society experience the impact of armed conflicts is provided by breakdown of the population of concern by age and gender, indicating that approximately 48% are women and 51% children under the age of 18 (ibid.). In sum, current trends point to the fact that forced migration is a growing phenomenon in the modern age. It is increasing in terms of the sheer numbers of persons involved, in the types of migrant journeys that are taking place, in the diversity of migrants’ nationalities, ethnicities and religions as well as in the diversity of gender and age. Despite its numerical growth and increasing humanitarian impact, theoretical reflection on the phenomenon of forced migration is often embedded in theoretical orientations more broadly applicable to migration in general. I will consider the usefulness of some key theories before reflecting further on the particularities of contemporary forced migration and the theoretical approaches that might prove most illuminating.

Theoretical orientations A useful outline of theories of migration is provided in Castles and Miller’s influential book, The Age of Migration (2003). The authors outline a range of influential theoretical perspectives from neo-classical push-pull theory, to a historical-structural approach and migration systems theory. I offer, below, reflection on these approaches, specifically assessing their potential value in illuminating contemporary forced migration. Push-pull theory presents particular challenges in terms of its applicability to forced migration. Migration here is viewed in terms of rational choice involving assessing the circumstances within one’s home environment, or ‘push factors’, and weighing up the potential benefits of moving to another locality, so-called ‘pull factors’. The theoretical approach generates a vision of migrant individuals and groups making calculated decisions in relatively stable circumstances in which a period of reflection is possible. However, for those who are forced migrants, the decision to move may be sudden and based on immediate threats to individual and group wellbeing. An aerial onslaught in the proximity of a village, may, for example, lead the population to flee for their lives, little caring about potential destinations provided they are seen to offer an opportunity for immediate safety. In other circumstances an element of deliberation may be present. Thousands of young people in Somalia, for example, have felt their situation in the homeland to be filled with both danger and an absence of opportunities. These act as push factors leading to decisions to flee the homeland in pursuit of better lives.

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The young people have not only decided to leave Somalia but have developed aspirations to reach countries that they envisage providing them with good opportunities, for example, for education and decent livelihoods. In these circumstances one can detect a complex interplay of push and pull factors and the movement of forced migrants cannot be adequately explained without reference to both dimensions. To take another example, the past two decades have witnessed the converging of tens of thousands of migrants at French and Belgian ports such as Calais and Zeebrugge, enduring extremely harsh living conditions while desperately seeking passage to the UK. A high proportion of these migrants have been from dangerous war-affected countries such as Iraq and Syria and, as such, one can envisage compelling push factors that might have led them to flee. However, these ports offer a further specter, of migrants in the ostensibly safe countries of France and Belgium daily risking their lives to reach the UK. The pursuit of a measure of safety is here mixed with powerful aspirations toward better lives; thus invoking both push and pull factors. A further theoretical orientation is provided by what Castles and Miller define as historicalstructural approaches and world systems theory. This orientation centers analysis on global economic disparities and their impact on patterns of migration. For example, uneven geographical development encompassing legacies of colonialism and exploitation give rise to huge economic differences between and within countries and regions. The examination of economic and geopolitical factors goes some way toward explaining large-scale migratory patterns in the modern age, for example the movement of millions of people from former colonies such as India, the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Algeria to seek better lives in the then colonial powers of Britain, Belgium and France (Hobsbawm, 1994). Moreover, this perspective highlights the impact of a perennial and rapacious movement of global capital in seeking to create optimum conditions for maximizing profit, giving rise to circumstances in which areas of the world may be devastated and traditional forms of livelihood destroyed (Harvey, 2006). The movement is generative of what Bauman refers to as migrants with ‘wasted lives’ and Castells refers to as a ‘fourth world’ (Bauman, 2004; Castells, 2000). A feature of internal migration is massive movement of people from the countryside to ever burgeoning cities where they eke out livelihoods at the margins, as low-paid workers, street children, waste pickers and so on. Within this context Bauman pointedly refers to those displaced by poverty and instability as ‘human waste’ invoking an image of powerless people swept along by the flotsam and jetsam of global capital. In these present-day dystopias, poverty and displacement are simultaneously deterritorialized and ubiquitous (Harvey, 2010). Historical-structural theories can tell us much about migration in general and forced migration in particular. Forms of labor migration, for example the movement of Turks to work in the German automobile industry in the 1960s, can be theorized in relation to the strategic political and economic interests of Turkey and Germany. While uneven geographical development produced by global capitalism has certainly been, and continues to be, a highly significant factor in migratory flows, it may however tell us little about the specific routes and destinations taken by individual migrants. Why, for example, do some Afghanis seek asylum in France while others risk their lives trying to get to the UK? Why do Congolese asylum seekers present their applications in London rather than in Belgium, their former colonial power? The numerous questions that arise in the study of forced migration call for an analysis that examines both what may be referred to as the macro level of international politics and economics and a micro level concerned with the examination of forced migrants’ individual and collective aspirations and the opportunities that might be available to them in the process of flight.

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The recognition of the importance of a multi-level approach underpins Castles and Miller’s advocacy for what they term ‘migration systems theory’. According to them: The basic principle is that any migratory movement can be seen as a result of interacting macro and micro-structures. Macro-structures refer to large-scale institutional factors, while micro-structures embrace the networks, practices and beliefs of the migrants themselves. (Castles and Miller, 2003: 28) In addition to macro and micro levels they suggest study of a meso level that includes those mediating between migrants and political and economic institutions, including ‘recruitment organizations, lawyers, agents, smugglers and other intermediaries’ (ibid.: 29). This form of multi-level approach is certainly promising in relation to the study of forced migrants. To take one of numerous potential examples, the ongoing conflict in Syria may be appropriately studied at both a ‘macro’ geopolitical and economic level and at the ‘micro’ level of the opportunities and decisions made by Syrian families and individuals to flee their country and seek better lives elsewhere. The hazardous journeys undertaken by forced migrants involve contact with a range of ‘meso’-level actors whose actions can have a critical influence on opportunities for safety and wellbeing. Within this context, the role of intermediaries includes the ongoing practices of border guards and shipping police who may have decisive impacts on migrants at the ports of Zeebrugge in Belgium, Calais in France and Dover in the UK (Watters, 2008). To take another example, the Mediterranean country of Malta has witnessed tens of thousands of arrivals from migrants trying to reach Europe from North Africa. It has one of the highest rates of asylum seekers, with 4,980 applications per million inhabitants compared to the EU average of 660 per million. These migrants, many from the Horn of Africa who have traveled to Libya in an attempt to reach Europe, generally have no idea about the country Malta and simply have the aspiration to reach a European shore. Their arrival in Malta is crucially conditioned by the seaworthiness of the boats they travel in, as they often arrive in Malta having been rescued by the Maltese navy after getting into distress in Maltese waters. Thus, while global geopolitical and national events may have led to their decision to flee, and individual and collective agency may have been crucial factors in aspiring to reach particular countries, the role of intermediate actors at a meso level may have been crucial in determining their actual arrival at a particular destination, in this case entry into Malta (Pace et al., 2009). The interplay of these levels within the migratory process is generative of what could be described as a circumscribed liminality. In exploring this phenomenon I have borrowed a phrase from V.S. Naipaul, and characterized these migrants as experiencing the ‘enigma of arrival’ (Watters, 2008). Their place of arrival might well be a hitherto unknown and largely unanticipated territory in which they experience the disturbing and enigmatic process of being viewed as people whose intention is to reap the benefits of the welfare systems available to the taxpaying locals. In Malta and within the wider context of the European Union as a whole, migrants and receiving countries experience the impact of the Dublin Convention under the provisions of which, after making a claim for asylum, migrants are required to remain on the territory of the first country they enter until their claim is concluded. The Convention, however, rests on an ideal image of the EU in which there is reasonably uniform and equitable treatment of asylum seekers across the territory. However, there are considerable differences as demonstrated, for example, by widely differing success rates for asylum claims across the EU and failure to be granted refugee or other forms of humanitarian protection may result in the asylum seeker being deported. These examples suggest the importance of viewing forced migration through both the lens of global economic disparities and political violence and that of human aspiration. 84

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Thus locations in which asylum seekers arrive, sometimes purely through chance, can have a decisive influence on their prospects for being accepted as refugees and being allowed to build lives in new countries. Migration systems theory offers a capacious and compelling alternative to the potential limitations of push-pull and historical-structural theories. It engages with the lived experiences and attendant complexities of forced migration and eschews dichotomies implicit in the juxtaposition of push-pull and historical-structural theory; the rational choice and role of agency implicit in the former and the role of an overdetermining structure in the latter. Migration systems theory may be enhanced further by embracing insights provided by Zolberg in his seminal paper ‘The Next Waves’ (1989) in which he points to the importance of the shifting laws and policies of nation states as providing changing possibilities for would-be migrants. In elaborating on Zolberg’s contribution, I have likened this to a series of doors, some growing in size while others shrink, in offering opportunities or restraints to different categories of potential migrants. A country might, for example, have laws and policies that provide generous opportunities for persons who have been previously assessed to be refugees to enter its territory (known often as ‘quota refugees’) while being simultaneously very strict in treatment of asylum seekers. One thinks, for example, of Australia, which accepts large numbers of refugees – whose status is determined before entering the country – while having a reputation for strict policies of deterrence toward would-be asylum seekers (Crock, 2006).

Toward an integrated theoretical orientation Reviewing the strengths and limitations of these theoretical formulations in the light of the lived realities of forced migrants, provides an opportunity to articulate the outlines of an integrated theoretical and methodological orientation. First, on a macro level it is important to identify the political and economic forces that have given rise to people fleeing their homes. If one considers any population of forced migrants, from Syrians on the Turkish border, to Somalis in Northern Europe and the USA, or Zimbabweans in the UK, a broad engagement with a historical-structural approach is essential for deepening our understanding of the macro-level factors at play. However, within this it is important to engage with contemporary political and economic dynamics regarding the ways in which laws and policies generate what I have described as ‘avenues of access’ for forced migrants (Watters, 2001b). Moreover, these may be enacted, or superseded within what Agamben, following Benjamin, refers to as ‘states of exception . . . a point of imbalance between public law and political fact’ that exists at an ‘ambiguous, uncertain borderline fringe between the legal and the political’ (Agamben, 2005: 1). Commenting on the contemporary situation in Europe, Agamben argues that government ‘instead of declaring the state of exception prefers to have exceptional laws issued’ (Agamben, 2005: 21). For asylum seekers and refugees, a set of political considerations, not least those construed as linked to terrorism and security and, in some countries, media-induced scares regarding the country being ‘flooded’ by migrants, routinely provoke the implementation of increasingly draconian laws and policies. These avenues are both geographical and categorical; geographical in the sense of the ways in which asylum seekers’ journeys may be diverted owing to shifting policies within and between countries. One can consider, for example, how passage to Europe from North Africa has been filtered through the Spanish territories in Spain and the Canary Islands. At the time of writing, the opening and closing of doors across Europe in response to the humanitarian crisis in Syria is generating thousands of arrivals by land and sea across Europe. It has been responded to by ‘exceptional’ measures such as the closing of borders across many Eastern European states while simultaneously generating initial measures to welcome migrants in Germany. Macro-level 85

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developments such as these not only influence the scale of migration but also the national and ethnic compositions of migrants, with certain groups being welcomed or restricted at specific political and economic junctures. The avenues are also categorical in that the recognition of forced migrants in countries of reception shifts historically, giving rise to changing politics of compassion and laws and policies. As Fassin (2005) noted, earlier decades witnessed widespread admiration and support for refugees. They were celebrated and admired as heroes who had successfully escaped persecution from repressive communist or fascist regimes. In recent decades, a politics of compassion has, to a large extent, given way to a politics of suspicion that is framed in distinctive ways by the ways countries respond to asylum seekers. An aspect of the latter is the widely diverging acceptance rates for those making asylum claims from country to country within the EU. In the third quarter of 2016, for example, the UK accepted 21% decisions on claims in the first instance, Germany 30% and Italy only 6% (European Commission, 2016). Vagaries of law and policies are not met mutely or impassively by forced migrants and, where circumstances allow a degree of calculation, decisions regarding countries of destination may be influenced by perceptions of the fairness or otherwise of countries’ treatment of would-be refugees. This appears to be a factor, for example, in migrants on the coast of France resisting opportunities to claim asylum until they manage to travel to the UK.

Forced migration, deservingness and the limits of compassion The specter of thousands of people being forced to flee their homes and countries in seeking safety ordinarily provokes feelings of compassion. In recent times, there have been manifestations of this response in the reception of Syrian refugees in Germany, where they have been greeted at borders by words of welcome and practical support. However, the sentiment of compassion has been eroded in recent times by a depiction of asylum seekers as not legitimate refugees but cynical economic migrants, ruthlessly exploiting the governments and populations of host countries. With large numbers of asylum seekers in the past decade arriving in Western countries from Syria, Iraq and Somalia, they have been depicted in Western media as a Muslim ‘other’, part of a population linked to enemy combatants or pirates that pose a threat to Western interests and embodying a primitive zealotry and barbarism antithetical to human rights. The politics of suspicion has arguably reached new heights with the election of Donald Trump as President of the US in 2016 on a platform of stopping the flow of refugees, or other migrants, from Muslim countries while simultaneously addressing a perceived flow of undesirable migrants from the south by building a wall on the southern border with Mexico. A view of migrants as undeserving may be seen within the context of a historically situated dialectical relationship between belongingness and otherness within a moral economy. A moral economy in this sense not only governs the relationships between members of a group or community bounded by moral codes and mutual obligations, but is always crucially linked to ideas of the ‘deserving’ or ‘undeserving’ (Watters, 2001a, 2007). I have previously linked the idea to medieval notions in England of the deserving and the undeserving poor with the deserving poor legitimized through the wearing of ‘pauper’ badges assigning them as appropriate subjects for charitable support. Arguably, a similar movement has taken place in modern times. As discrimination toward settled members of minority ethnic and racial groups has increasingly become illegal and publically unacceptable, asylum seekers and undocumented migrants, particularly from Muslim countries, constitute a new ‘other’ occupying a marginal space outside the limits of compassion. Within this context the forced migrant represents what Agamben has 86

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termed ‘bare life’ (1998). His or her rights are not those of a citizen, but reside in the sphere of human rights. The rights thus accorded are viewed by Arendt as residual, only available as a result of most fundamental of human attributes – being human (Arendt, 1968). A contemporary shift toward a discourse of human rights in relation to forced migrants is manifest in reductions in the numbers of asylum seekers receiving refugee status in industrialized countries but simultaneously having enhanced opportunity to be allowed to remain in countries of asylum under humanitarian provisions. Fassin, for example, writing on the situation sans papiers in France, observed the declining numbers receiving political asylum while noting that concomitantly similar numbers were receiving leave to remain on the grounds of ill health, and in particular mental ill health (Fassin, 2001). Asylum seekers thus occupy specific ‘problem spaces’ in which it is not their political bodies, the traditional route of legitimation, but their ‘sick bodies’ that offer avenues of access toward legitimacy in receiving countries. Within these circumstances, intermediaries working as advocates for would-be refugees adopt processes of ‘strategic categorization’ in which they respond to these predefined opportunities for legitimacy by highlighting the problems forced migrants face that are most likely to achieve successful outcomes (Watters, 2001b). In practical terms this might involve highlighting the presence of mental health problems, for example posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD), in forced migrants. In doing so, I am not suggesting that those offering support to forced migrants are operating by deception and trying to present conditions that are not present. Rather, they are receptive to contemporary politics of deservingness and are strategically categorizing their problems to enhance their opportunities for support and legitimacy. This is, I believe, a dimension often missed by authors preoccupied with offering critiques of the ubiquity of concerns with PTSD and other mental health problems among refugee populations (Summerfield, 1999). In some ways critical writing on the application of PTSD to refugee populations echoes limitations inherent in the historical-structural approaches discussed above, in that there is a preoccupation with top-down macro-level factors in which forced migrants are merely passive recipients of global political and economic forces. What this orientation fails to engage with is the role of refugees themselves in interpreting and responding to the very problem spaces that they are placed within or, in terms employed by de Certeau, their use of tactics within the strategic spaces available to them (de Certeau, 1984). Not only refugees but the various intermediaries, or what Castles (2003) refers to as ‘meso’-level actors who represent forced migrants in various institutional contexts, be they health centers, social work offices or immigration courts and so on, respond to and may resist political and economic structures. Like the Cambodian refugees in Ong’s study of the interfaces between refugees and institutions in one American city, they do not simply absorb the designations and problems ascribed to them but respond to them often in astute ways to enhance their own life chances (Ong, 2003). A further aspect of what may be referred to as the agentic and tactical role of migrants and those who work on their behalf relates to the phenomenon I have referred to above as ‘strategic categorization’ (Watters, 2001b). The political discourse surrounding forced migrants in industrialized countries creates a sharp division between ‘genuine refugees’ deserving of the support and protection of host countries, and what are variously referred to as ‘economic migrants’, ‘scroungers’ or ‘queue jumpers’, terms used to refer to migrants who are seen as arriving spontaneously and who may seek asylum. The first category and the one representative of the ‘deserving’ poor who should be entitled to the host societies’ support, consists of those who are seen to have fled persecution. As such, they are viewed de facto as not exercising agency in choosing a country of destination. To suggest that they might have exercised a degree of rational choice has the potential to undermine their asylum claims. This thinking underlies the Dublin Convention referred to above, which is explicitly in place to deter economic migrants 87

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‘shopping around’ to find a country in Europe with the best living conditions. If asylum seekers are genuinely fleeing persecution, so the thinking behind the measure goes, they will be happy to have their claims considered by the first safe country they arrive in. Within this context, to talk of those seeking asylum as having aspirations toward life in particular countries and not only preoccupied with questions of their own safety is to potentially undermine the arguments that are the basis of their asylum claims. In my view, this polarization between a view of ‘genuine’ refugees as lacking agency and ‘bogus’ refugees who are making choices with respect to potential destinations, is deeply flawed. Is it not the case that, save for circumstances of immediate danger, such as just before or during an attack on a village, within processes of flight there is always an intermingling of fears and aspirations? Moreover, just as agencies such as the UNHCR seek ‘durable solutions’ to refugee problems, is it not the case that forced migrants seek both freedom from persecution and the chance of experiencing living conditions in which there are opportunities for education, jobs and housing? What I refer to as this ‘aspirational’ dimension of forced migration is at present under-researched but has to be engaged with to understand the well-documented movement of migrants across Europe to ports such as Calais and Zeebrugge and the large-scale phenomenon of secondary migration in Europe. In the latter instance, forced migrants who had received refugee status in Sweden, Denmark and the Netherlands frequently make a secondary migration to the UK in the hope of better lives (Watters, 2008). The example demonstrates the importance of theoretical and methodological orientations in which forced migration is simultaneously viewed as a quest for short-term safety and for long-term wellbeing in which the migrant and her or his family can realize dreams for more fulfilled lives.

Conclusion The above discussion has highlighted some of the complexities of contemporary forced migration and tentatively indicated ways forward in terms of theoretical and methodological approaches. As recent United Nations High Commission for Refugees (2015) data indicates, forced migration is a growing phenomenon but not one growing in any straightforward manner. The shifting nature of global conflicts has resulted in highly diverse populations seeking asylum by crossing international borders. These can range from large-scale displacements to neighboring countries such as the millions who have crossed from Afghanistan to Pakistan and Syria to Turkey, to protracted processes of flight resulting in forced migrants crossing numerous countries to seek durable solutions for themselves and their families. These movements are governed by a politics of displacement that has wide-ranging theoretical and methodological implications. Attempts to reduce our understanding of the phenomenon of forced migration to considerations of rational choice as implicit in push-pull formulations are unsatisfactory, as are formulations associated with historical-structuralist orientations. I have argued for an approach that recognizes the complexity of forced migration through engagement with different levels; from the macro level of global political and economic factors to a micro level at which decisions are made by individuals, families and communities and a meso level that examines the role various actors play in the relationships between forced migrants and the national and international institutions that have decisive impact on migrants’ futures. I argue that research programs on forced migration must be cognizant of the role of nation states and international bodies in presenting or constricting ‘avenues of access’ through which forced migrants seek protection. These are manifested within the context of a politics of compassion in which receiving states view forced migrants as ‘deserving’ or ‘undeserving’

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in ways that may be decisive for their future prospects. Far from being passive recipients of the impact of laws, policies and public attitudes, forced migration is underpinned by geographies of aspiration, in which the quest for fulfilled lives generates new migrant trajectories, dreams, risks and opportunities.

References Agamben, G. (1998) Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press. Agamben, G. (2005) State of Exception. Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press. Arendt, H. (1968) The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York, Harcourt. Bauman, Z. (2004) Wasted Lives: Modernity and its Outcasts. Cambridge, Polity Press. Castells, M. (2000) End of Millennium: The Information Age: Economy, Society and Culture. Second Edition. Oxford, Blackwell. Castles, S. (2003) Towards a sociology of forced migration and social transformation. Sociology 37(1), 13–34. Castles, S. & Miller, M. (2003) The Age of Migration. Third Edition. London, Macmillan. Crock, M. (2006) Seeking Asylum Alone: A Study of Australian Law, Policy and Practice Regarding Unaccompanied and Separated Children. Sydney, Federation Press. de Certeau, M. (1984) The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Derluyn, I. & Broekhaert, E. (2005) On the way to a better future: Belgium as a transit country for trafficking and smuggling of unaccompanied minors. International Migration 43(4), 31–56. European Commission (2016) Asylum Decisions in the EU27. Luxembourg, Eurostat Press Office. Fassin, D. (2001) The biopolitics of otherness: Undocumented foreigners and racial discrimination in French public debate. Anthropology Today 17(1), 3–7. Fassin, D. (2005) Compassion and repression: The moral economy of immigration policies in France. Cultural Anthropology 20(3), 362–387. Harvey, D. (2006) Spaces of Global Capitalism. London, Verso. Harvey, D. (2010) The Enigma of Capital. London, Profile Books. Hobsbawm, E. (1994) The Age of Extremes: The Short Twentieth Century 1914–1991. London, Abacus. Ong, A. (2003) Buddha Is Hiding: Refugees, Citizenship, the New America. Berkeley, CA, University of California Press. Pace, C., Carabott, J., Dibben, A. & Micallef, E. (2009) Unaccompanied Minors in Malta. Valetta, European Migration Network. Summerfield, D. (1999) A critique of seven assumptions behind psychological trauma programmes in war affected areas. Social Science and Medicine 48, 1449–1462. United Nations High Commission for Refugees (2015) Global Trends: Refugees, Asylum Seekers, Returnees, Internally Displaced and Stateless Persons. Geneva, UNHCR. Watters, C. (2001a) Emerging paradigms in the mental health care of refugees. Social Science and Medicine 52, 1709–1718. Watters, C. (2001b) Avenues of access and the moral economy of legitimacy. Anthropology Today 17(2), 22–23. Watters, C. (2007) Refugees at Europe’s borders: The moral economy of care. Transcultural Psychiatry 44(3), 394–417. Watters, C. (2008) Refugee Children: Towards the Next Horizon. London, Routledge. Zolberg, A. (1989) The next waves: Migration theory for a changing world. International Migration Review 23(3), 403–430.

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8 Refugees and geopolitical conflicts David Haines

Disaster, flight, and refuge Refugees have long been an essential component in human migration. Whether their movements have roots in political, religious, economic, social, or cultural issues, refugees provide a general contrast to those whose movement is more in the pursuit of opportunity than in flight from disadvantageous conditions. The forces that propel refugee movement may be severe—outright expulsion or the threat of death—but also sometimes reflect more gradual constriction of opportunities for a meaningful life. Thus refugees move. Sometimes their movement is very local and viewed as temporary. People leave their homes and go to stay with relatives, hoping that conditions will improve and they can return. Sometimes their movement is over great distances and permanent with no hope of return. The meaning of their movements also varies. Even the basic words used to describe them suggest that variability. East Asian languages, for example, use the term nanmin, the two components of which are “difficult[y]” and “people”; these are people who have faced difficulty. Germanic languages tend to emphasize the issue of flight itself: these are people who have fled: flüchtling, vluchteling, flykting, etc. In English and the Romance languages, the common word is tied to refuge: these are people who seek a place that can give refuge: réfugié, refugiado, refugiat. In Arabic, there are many options, but in the context of Mohammed’s own life, the most relevant may involve the notion that refuge is temporary: it leads to return.1 Those linguistic variations are a reminder that discussing the experience of refugees requires bridging the issues of why people flee, how they flee, where they end up, and whether they stay there. As people flee from disaster toward refuge, they cross geopolitical boundaries and sometimes have those boundaries cross them. The boundaries may also be cultural or linguistic, rather than simply political. Even a simple difference in accent can underline how different is the new place from the old. The boundaries may be relatively porous and inconsequential; they may also be very rigid and highly consequential. The borders of contemporary nation states tend to be rigid and forbidding for most refugees. Crossing them is likely to be costly in financial and emotional terms. Refugees will need some help from those on the other side of those national borders. Yet their movement challenges those borders and often invokes very strong reactions among the people in the countries toward which they move. Some of that reaction is positive: a desire 90

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to reach out to refugees. Some of that reaction is negative: a desire to exclude and to refortify geopolitical borders. This very human story of disaster, flight, and refuge is lodged within a geopolitical framework that shapes the conditions from which people are fleeing, the twists, turns, and depredations of their journeys, and the nature of the temporary and permanent refuge they find. Consider some of the major contemporary movements of refugees. Afghan refugees continue to be a major presence in Pakistan and Iran after decades of conflict in Afghanistan that partly reflect internal conditions and tensions in the country, but were also fueled by unresolved geopolitical conflicts, first between the United States and the Soviet Union, and then between the United States and radical Islamic forces. In the Middle East, first Iraq and then Syria have been the sites of intensive internal conflict which also involved outside involvement of countries favoring particular factions. Those conflicts have historical roots in geopolitical strategies of Western nations as they enforced arbitrary borders between countries, for example, with the break-up of the Ottoman Empire. Those conflicts have also expanded outwards in their geopolitical implications, especially with massive numbers of refugees from Iraq (roughly 2 million at the end of the U.S. military action) and Syria (3 million in Turkey alone). Those effects are strongest in neighboring Middle Eastern countries, but expand outwards along tenuous migration paths toward Europe. That pattern of expanding waves of refugees is also seen in Africa. War and genocide in Rwanda spilled out into the Congo causing even more death there than in Rwanda itself. Here too, colonial strategies yielded often arbitrary borders and unresolved ethnic tensions. In recent years, even what had been relatively settled countries also became the sources of refugee flight, for example, from the Central African Republic. As in the Middle East, the roots of refugee flight might seem largely regional, but the origins of African borders reflect Western colonial interventions. The effects are also more than simply regional. The flight of African refugees has contributed to the overall migration crisis in the Mediterranean countries that are the initial destinations for refugees and migrants aiming toward northern Europe.2 That helps explain why the Middle East and Africa today not only are the sources of people in flight but also the places that themselves host well over half of the world’s displaced population.3 Rather than attempt an overall synthesis of all these refugee and refugee-like groups and how they stem from and, in turn, create geopolitical conflicts, this essay provides a series of case examples that show the different facets of the interrelation between refugees and the geopolitical order. The discussion addresses, in order: (1) situations in which refugees are forcibly expelled from one place because of geopolitical conditions; (2) situations in which they are displaced because of shifting geopolitical conditions; and (3) situations in which they must flee in order to avoid the current and future implications of geopolitical conditions.

Expulsion There is a general tendency to think of refugees as people who must decide whether to flee, how to flee, and where to seek refuge. However, the reality is often simpler. People are forcibly expelled. In many cases, this involves individuals who lack or lose their legal status in a country and are physically deported. However, there have often been group expulsions as people are forced across borders to a different country or sometimes forced across borders back to the countries that they had left. Expulsion is, perhaps, the rawest form of how geopolitical conflicts create refugees. 91

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As an example of expulsion, consider the early colonial case of the Acadians. The geopolitical context was a common one at the time: hostility between France and England. Caught in between the two were the French-speaking Acadians in what is now Atlantic Canada.4 The original French landing in the area was in 1605 near the current Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia. A few of that group ultimately remained and married local women. But the first real settler colonization began in the 1630s. These settlers and their descendants prospered in the mild basins off the Bay of Fundy. They were, however, unable to avoid the geopolitical conflicts that swirled around them as the English took control from the French, the French regained control, the Dutch briefly gained control, and finally permanent English rule was established in 1710. While the Acadians had remained in place, the geopolitical borders of the colonizing European powers had swept back and forth across them. With final English rule, there was a compromise between the Acadians and the Crown. Crucial to the compromise was the fact that the Acadians did not have to sign an unconditional oath of allegiance that might force them into military service against the still-French colony of what is now Quebec. With renewed hostilities between England and France, however, the English moved decisively against the Acadians, deporting at least half of the population. The action at Grand Pré, in particular, was immortalized in Longfellow’s Evangeline, based in part on the detailed account of the English captain who oversaw the expulsion there. The action was sudden and the deportation total. Houses were burned in a graphic demonstration that there would be nothing for the Acadians to come back to. The cause of the expulsion lay in this renewed geopolitical conflict between England and France. But the process of the expulsion also reflected geopolitical considerations. The Acadians were to be resettled in the English colonies to the south and dispersed according to the population of those colonies. The biggest quotas thus went to Massachusetts and Virginia. The English soon had further problems since the response of the colonies was grudging. Virginia, in fact, refused its quota entirely and those Acadians were transported to England and imprisoned there. When war ended, they were repatriated to France. Lacking any experience or connections in France—other than issues of long-past origins—many returned to the new world. One place that was especially appealing was the New Orleans area which provided a relatively neutral refuge because of its combined English, French, and Spanish influences. The Acadians are an interesting case since they are not refugees in the usual sense of people choosing to flee intolerable circumstances. They were simply expelled. The rest of their journey, however, looks much like that of other refugee groups. Theirs was an uncertain passage by boat and rife with delay, disease, and rejection at entry ports. Their future lives retained that uncertainty in places of refuge that were sometimes relatively permanent but often decidedly temporary. Dislodged because of geopolitical conflict, their subsequent journeys, havens, rejections, and very lives continued to be shaped by geopolitical structures, tensions, and conflicts. Even when, years later, some of them were allowed to return to Atlantic Canada, still they were not allowed to settle in any great concentration and not at all in former core communities like Grand Pré. When they crossed the border back into Acadia, it was a different place. The world had changed.

Displacement Often, refugees are neither directly expelled nor in a situation in which they flee conditions that are—or seem—intolerable. Instead they find themselves in a different place for what were supposed to be temporary reasons, and they cannot return. Or they find themselves in the same physical place but it is now a different country or a country so radically changed that it might 92

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as well be a foreign country. They exist in a new geopolitical context to which they do not belong or to which they belong in a different way. They have, in effect, been written out of a new geopolitical order.5 Consider, for example, the geopolitical upheavals and transformations of the two World Wars of the twentieth century. In both cases, there was enormous temporary dislocation of people and, of course, enormous loss of life. The border changes during and after World War I created, for example, a new Middle Eastern set of borders that underlie much of the current instability in the Middle East, and also lay much of the basis in Europe itself for the conflicts that became World War II. At the end of World War II, the situation was especially complex since there was a radical realignment of national geopolitical power that sequenced almost immediately into a radical regional realignment as Stalin solidified control over the Soviet Union and extended that control into Eastern Europe. There were new borders between countries but also a kind of super-border between opposed blocks of countries—what Churchill called an “iron curtain.” With the triumph of communist forces in China in 1949, that regional alignment turned decisively into a global one. The people caught on the wrong sides of the new borders did not choose to leave in the usual refugee sense. They were simply displaced, in part because they were in a different place than they used to be, and in part because the places themselves had new geopolitical meanings. In Europe, some were held as prisoners of the Germans, including those who had been in concentration camps. Many others were laborers, brought from their home countries to aid in the war effort. With the realignment of national borders, and the partition of Germany into different zones of post-war occupation, their place of origin was not always in the same national territory. Furthermore, increasing polarization with the Soviet Union made it more difficult to arrange returns from Western zones of occupation to areas under Soviet control. Even a return to place of origin might mean a return to a very different place under very different political control. It also probably meant a return to areas that had been demolished by the war—a “barren countryside that marked much of the continent, with odors of corpses rotting in bombed basements and washing up along the shores.”6 In Western Europe, some ten million people were displaced at the end of World War II and there would soon be a similarly high number composed of German soldiers who would return to Germany, German forced laborers who would return to their home countries, and ethnic Germans returning to Germany from areas that had become part of Poland. Most of the original displaced people returned to their places of origin by the end of 1945. However, some could not. Instead they often ended up in refugee camps, which housed some 750,000 displaced persons (“DPs”) by the end of 1945. The original intention had been to repatriate these people, the majority to Poland. But it was soon clear, at least to the DPs, that repatriation was not a desired outcome. So the DPs were in the cross-hairs of a shifting geopolitical system that made return a less viable option. For the Allied Powers as well, repatriation became a less desired outcome. It would require, from their point of view, a forced repatriation of people into territory controlled by a Soviet system that they viewed as antithetical to the goals of freedom and peace that had animated their war effort. The new geopolitical alignments that made repatriation undesirable also created an alternative solution. Those countries who opposed return of the DPs to Soviet-controlled areas would themselves resettle these people in their own territory. In some cases, the offers of resettlement were quite economically based, with countries seeking DPs with particular skills, from the manual labor of coal miners to the professional skills of doctors. In other cases, the offers were more broad-based and humanitarian. The experience of World War II created a shift from the frequent disavowal of refugees trying to escape Germany before and during the war to a new 93

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regime of commitment to rescuing refugees. That shift is seen in United Nations actions that produced, first, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights in 1948 (with its explicit right of people to flee) and the Refugee Convention of 1951 (with its prohibition of forcibly returning refugees). From this time on, there would be a new element in the global geopolitical environment: an explicit humanitarian agenda aimed at those who were displaced. That agenda would operate through individual countries and through a shared international framework centered on the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. As the displaced person issue evolved, and new international agreements were developed for refugees in the European context, other reverberations of World War II created yet other geopolitical contexts in which refugees were generated. The search for a Jewish homeland, for example, yielded a new state of Israel in 1948 that, in turn, generated large numbers of Palestinian refugees. The acceleration of independence movements and national unification wars led to other population movements, whether people fleeing mainland China as it turned communist, Muslims and Hindus fleeing toward religious safety in the partition of India, or former colonialists fleeing back to their home countries from the dangers and anger of newly independent countries. As borders stabilized, however, the meaning of being a refugee would conform more to the standard narrative of flight, rather than to that of expulsion or displacement.

Flight The combination of a geopolitical divide between the communist and non-communist worlds, and this new U.N.-based humanitarian framework can be seen in many of the refugee crises that occurred during the latter part of the twentieth century. In particular, as people fled from communist-controlled areas, at least some found acceptance in Western countries. Here both the individual country borders and the overall geopolitical border between the communist and non-communist world were clear. Whether fleeing from East to West Germany, across other eastern European borders, from communist China into Hong Kong, from Fidel Castro’s Cuba into the United States, from a Soviet-occupied Afghanistan into Pakistan, or from newly communist control in Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam, refugees were viewed as deserving of support in their quest for freedom. When their acceptance in neighboring countries became strained, both the international apparatus of the United Nations and the efforts of Western European, North American, and South Pacific countries propped up temporary asylum and provided significant opportunities for a more permanent refuge. Out of these experiences came a general refugee model of flight, temporary asylum, and the three durable solutions of repatriation, settlement in place, and resettlement in third countries. The Vietnamese case is a classic example. The wars that convulsed the country from 1945 to 1975 were initially about national liberation but then were caught within the wider global conflict between communist and non-communist states, with the United States and its allies supporting one side and China and the Soviet Union supporting the other. With the ultimate collapse of the U.S.-supported Republic of South Vietnam in 1975, tens of thousands of Vietnamese in the south fled, some by air but mostly by sea. Many had already been refugees in Vietnam fleeing either from the north to the south at the time of partition, or from rural areas to cities during the course of the war. There were rumors of a coming blood-bath, and many people fled in fear for their lives. Others fled more from the possibility of imprisonment and loss of livelihood. Many countries stepped in in different ways to help these refugees. Those fleeing were, after all, refugees from communism and that squared well both with the international refugee system and with the anti-communist views of the countries providing both 94

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temporary and permanent refuge. There were also more personal connections. Many of those fleeing Vietnam were ethnic Chinese; some went across the land border into mainland China while others went by sea to Hong Kong.7 France, as the former colonial power in Vietnam, accepted many Vietnamese refugees for permanent settlement. The United States, because of its intense involvement, predictably took the largest numbers. Other countries in the region itself provided more temporary refuge, accepting across their borders, onto their shores, and into their ports the fleeing refugees. Their support was, however, often conditional and it was the involvement of countries outside the region that was crucial in maintaining their willingness to host refugees.8 This ordered global geopolitical framework, in which refugees had a stable niche, weakened at the end of the twentieth century, sometimes dramatically (as with the fall of the Berlin wall) and sometimes more prosaically (as with gradually increasing economic and diplomatic ties). People might still be fleeing as refugees, but the meaning of their search for refuge no longer had an axiomatic place in the overall world geopolitical order. In that sense it was the end of an era in which the meanings of refuge and the overall geopolitical order had been intertwined and mutually structuring: the geopolitical order produced certain kinds of refugees and those refugees helped reproduce that geopolitical order. The new era, however, also had its antecedents.9 There had long been refugee situations that were more localized in their geopolitical implications. Some were internal to individual countries but then spread across borders. In Africa, as noted, the 1994 genocide in Rwanda resulted in internal displacement but then large flows across the borders as people took flight from the genocide and then those involved in the genocide fled from the new government. Conflict and disorder in many countries, perhaps especially Somalia and Sudan (and now the new Republic of South Sudan) have created huge refugee presences in other countries such as Kenya. In Asia, lingering ethnic exclusion in places like Nepal and Myanmar has produced actual cross-border flight but also created enclaves of people within those countries who need to be resettled elsewhere because they cannot be fully accepted into those countries. All these cases are in some ways localized but also reflect the broader global forces of the colonial past and are wound into the broader contemporary international framework of human security.10 The Middle East deserves particular attention for the way in which refugee issues have intersected geopolitical considerations that are very local in some ways but also global in their causes and implications. The situation of Palestinians is the classic example of a refugee crisis that was never resolved, leaving people living in camps or other temporary situations for generations. That pattern has echoes in the millions of Iraqis displaced both internally and across borders in other Middle Eastern countries. While small numbers may find a more permanent refuge in European, North American, and Pacific countries, the proportion is very low. More recently, millions have been displaced within Syria and across its borders. The nearly five million registered refugees from Syria make it the largest single source of contemporary refugees.11 In the Syrian case, the conflict itself has been internationalized with competing factions supported by competing outside countries. The refugee flows have also been internationalized as Syrian refugees cross into neighboring countries, seek refugee there, and also seek passage through them to yet other countries that may provide more secure refuge. The response to recent Syrian refugees has been especially erratic with some countries strongly welcoming proportionately very large numbers of Syrian refugees for resettlement (Canada and Germany, for example), some welcoming but reconsidering the extent of their welcome (Sweden, for example), and some rejecting nearly any involvement in accepting these refugees (Hungary and Poland, for example). The United States has been particularly erratic, making an important (but proportionately modest) effort at resettlement of Syrians under 95

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President Obama in 2016 but attempting a complete ban on Syrian refugees under President Trump in early 2017. The meaning of the flight of these refugees has found no consistent resonance in the broader international community. The willingness to offer refuge now rests on an unsteady mix of national interests, international commitments, and humanitarian concerns. The interactions between refugees and geopolitical conflicts remain crucial, but a steady framework for those interactions is lacking.

Considerations These cases do not cover the full range of refugee and refugee-like situations and I have tended to slight those cases—often large and protracted—that are more localized. Nevertheless, these examples do suggest some crucial points about the interactions between refugees and geopolitical frameworks. Sometimes geopolitical factors completely overwhelm people—as with the Acadians—and the result is refugees who lack any opportunity to decide their fates. In other cases—as with the DPs after World War II—people find themselves displaced after the fact and must find a way either to return home or to find some new home. In yet other cases—as with most contemporary refugees—people find themselves in situations where they must decide whether to flee, how to flee, and what is the best path to the most durable refuge. The experience of all these refugees is created out of geopolitical frameworks and conflicts but not in a uniform way. Furthermore the subsequent journeys and places of refuge—whether temporary or permanent—also reflect geopolitical conflicts, and these too are far from uniform. In a classic flight-from-communism case like the Vietnamese, the forces that make refugees flee and the places that provide both temporary and permanent refuge are both part of a coherent geopolitical framework. But that is far from always the case. Contemporary Syrian refugees provide an example of that instability with an ever-shifting array of countries involved in the conflict in Syria itself and a different (although sometimes overlapping) array of countries in which and through which the Syrians have sought refuge. The countries of passage and those of refuge are sometimes constant in their support or opposition, but often torn between acceptance and rejection. The conflict between those who would provide refuge and those who would deny it exists in all countries. That conflict exists on many levels. One level is economic as governments and people debate the relative value of refugees. Refugee contributions are often high in the long term but with shorter term costs. Another level is humanitarian, but even humanitarian commitments can be riven by competing definitions of what humanitarian means. For example, there is potential inconsistency between an international human rights-based humanitarianism and a more nationally oriented creed of welcome to certain kinds of refugees—co-religionists, for example. Another level of conflict is more cultural: how do people assess whether those seeking refuge have values, beliefs, and skills that match the receiving society? There is also much public concern about whether refugees can be trusted not to cause harm. Such internal national conflicts undermine the possibility of broader international agreements on refugees. If the reasons refugees flee are not assessed in the same ways in different countries, the refugee policies in those countries are likely to diverge. That, in turn, is likely to make the journeys of refugees to and through temporary places of refuge more difficult and more unpredictable. Thus the increasingly ambivalent contemporary response to those seeking refuge places the international humanitarian framework at risk. As people and countries turn against refugees, the danger is that refugees will no longer have any place at all in a fractured and more rawly nationalistic geopolitical order.

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Notes 1 For the Arabic case, see Elmadmad (2008).There are, of course, multiple options in all languages, each of which conveys a different variant on why people flee, how they flee, where they end up, and whether they stay there. “Exile,” for example, is often used in English to convey a necessary but temporary refuge rather than a new land that promises a new life. 2 For a particularly vivid and thoughtful discussion of the human dimensions of these migrant journeys from Central and West Africa north into Europe, see Lucht (2011). 3 UNHCR data on refugees and forced displacement appear in a number of formats. The annual Global Trends report is perhaps the best basic source. Note that the United Nations uses rather precise definitions of “refugee” versus other kinds of displaced persons. In this essay, the word “refugee” is used in its more generic sense of people forced to move, whether within or across national lines, whether legally approved or not. 4 The crucial source for the Acadian discussion is Faragher (2006), but useful first-hand insights come from the journals of John Winslow and Jeremiah Bancroft, discussions of which are available on the web. The full text of Winslow-relevant journals on the expulsion are online at http://novascotia.ca/archives. An NEH-supported museum exhibit on the Acadians in Massachusetts is online at www.sec.state. ma.us/mus/muspdf/Lobby-Exhibits/Acadien-Exhibit.pdf. Also see the web site www.acadian-home. org for a variety of useful background material. 5 This can also occur with a single country. Consider, for example, the partition of India in which millions of Hindus found themselves in a Muslim Pakistan, and millions of Muslims found themselves in a Hindu India. So they moved. For some examples of the human dimensions of what was often a horrible process, see the accounts at www.1947partitionarchive.org 6 Wyman (1998) is the crucial source for this discussion, but see also such overall discussions of refugees in the United States as Loescher and Scanlan (1986), Zucker and Zucker (1987), and Haines (2010). For a more international perspective, see Betts and Loescher (2011). 7 For useful reflections on how the Vietnamese exodus affected Hong Kong, see Chan (2011). 8 Over time the nature of this refugee situation changed as increasing numbers of refugees also came from Cambodia and Laos and as the flow from Vietnam was increasingly in the form of orderly departures resembling more normal immigration flows. The best single source on the overall Indochinese exodus remains Robinson (1998). There is a very large literature on the experience of Cambodian, Laotian, and Vietnamese refugees in countries of resettlement, but it tends to be framed within the social science literature of particular countries. Useful introductions can often be found in edited volumes: in the U.S. case, for example, in Waters and Ueda (2007) or Haines (1997). 9 These antecedents also included regional agreements about refugees that were often much broader than the U.N.-based emphasis on refugees as people crossing national borders for a very specific list of reasons. Both the Organization of American States and the African Union have much broader definitions of refugees than does the United Nations. 10 Two good sources on these refugee crises from the UNHCR perspective are Betts, Loescher, and Milner (2012) and Ogata (2005). 11 This is a recent refugee flow so journalistic and agency accounts are likely to be most helpful. The New York Times has published several extensive reports and basic data are available from the UNHCR. For discussions of the North American response, the Huffington Post has been particularly attentive. For the European situation, see the UK Refugee Council (www.refugeecouncil.org.uk), the European Council on Refugees (www.ecre.org), and Deutsche Welle (English version at www.dw.com/en).

References Betts, A. and Loescher, G. eds., 2011. Refugees in international relations. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Betts, A., Loescher, G., and Milner, J., 2012. UNHCR: The politics and practice of refugee protection. New York: Routledge. Chan, Y.W., ed., 2011. The Chinese/Vietnamese diaspora: revisiting the boat people. New York: Routledge. Elmadmad, K., 2008. Asylum in Islam and in modern refugee law. Refugee Survey Quarterly, 27(2), pp. 51–63. Faragher, J.M., 2006. A great and noble scheme: the tragic story of the expulsion of the French Acadians from their American homeland. New York: W. W. Norton & Company.

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Haines, D., ed., 1997. Case studies in diversity: refugees in America in the 1990s. Westport, CT: Praeger. Haines, D., 2010. Safe haven? A history of refugees in America. Sterling, VA: Kumarian Press. Loescher, G. and Scanlan, J., 1986. Calculated kindness: refugees and America’s half-open door, 1945 to the present. New York: The Free Press. Lucht, H., 2011. Darkness before daybreak: African migrants living on the margins in southern Italy today. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Ogata, S., 2005. The turbulent decade: confronting the refugee crises of the 1990s. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Robinson, C., 1998. Terms of refuge: the Indochinese exodus and the international response. New York: Zed Books. Waters, M. and Ueda, R., eds., 2007. The new Americans: a guide to immigration since 1965. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wyman, M., 1998. DPs: Europe’s displaced persons, 1945–1951. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Zucker, N.L. and Zucker, N.F., 1987. The guarded gate: the reality of American refugee policy. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich.

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9 Country of first asylum Breanne Grace

Introduction Asylum is a right outlined in the Declaration of Human Rights and codified in the 1951 Convention on the Status of Refugees and 1967 Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees. Asylum-seekers flee persecution in their home country in search of safety and security in another country. By requesting asylum, individuals ask the state for a legal status that captures their plight. This process conveys refugee status.1 In this chapter I will explain asylum in legal terms and then contrast the legal categorization of refugee with the social categorization of refugee. Next, I briefly describe how asylum processes may grant temporary or long-term reprieve from persecution. Finally I establish new directions for future research on integration and first asylum.

What is asylum? The legal basis for the protection of refugees is found in the refugee convention,2 whereby a refugee is defined as a person who owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country; or who, not having a nationality and being outside of the country of his former habitual residence . . . is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to return. (United Nations 1951: Article 1(A)(2)) As an individual flees their country of origin seeking protection, the first country where they arrive and are recognized as a person in need of protection is considered the “first country of asylum” given that: (a) s/he has been recognized in that country as a refugee and s/he can still avail him/ herself of that protection; or 99

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(b) s/he otherwise enjoys sufficient protection in that country, including benefiting from the principle of non refoulement; Provided that s/he will be re-admitted to that country. (ibid.: Section 11) While the categories of refugee and first country of asylum are clearly delineated in international law, in application there is less clarity around what protections first country of asylum claimants are provided and entitled to and how these categories facilitate refuge from persecution.

Co-construction of state and statelessness Writing after World War II, Hannah Arendt questioned where human rights—or the Rights of Men—are inherently located (Arendt 1973). For those without states, it was not their humanity that conveyed protection and rights, but their belonging to a state via citizenship. When individuals fled war, the categories—race, religion, sexuality, ethnicity—that led to their flight followed them through the denial of asylum. Like the Rights of Man, the Right to Asylum requires the blessing of the state for enactment and a reciprocity between states to take in those in exile and provide them with rights (Arendt 1973: 281). It is the very creation of the state that leads to statelessness: “Only with a completely organized humanity could the loss of home and political status become identical with expulsion from humanity altogether” (Arendt 1973: 297). Asylum becomes the only mechanism to emerge from statelessness and return the individual to state recognition and thus a reclamation of rights. First country asylum claims operate within a fluid geopolitical context: the politics of race, religion, ethnicity, and other forms of membership do not operate merely within the confines of the state. The denial of protection for Jewish refugees in World War II cannot be understood outside of global anti-Semitism and xenophobia (Ogilvie and Miller 2010); the politics of ethnicity in Rwanda and Burundi must be understood within the historical context of Belgian colonial policies (Newbury 1998); and the US’s interest in protecting Amerasian Vietnamese refugees must be understood within the race and gender politics of the Vietnam War (Thomas 2015). Categories of exclusion are not bound by nation states, but ebb and flow and intersect with country policies, and country asylum policies. In Liisa Malkki’s terms, the unquestioned reliance on the “national geographic” of displacement and belonging complicates the assumptions of citizenship and rights and challenges our expectations of the facility of asylum (Malkki 1992). As Malkki and Arendt both note, although rights are territorialized within the confines of a state, the terms of discrimination within the state rarely cease at state borders. Instead, categories of persecution—such as race, ethnicity, religion, or political affiliation—span borders and serve to pathologize asylum seekers for both their statelessness and their membership of the group that led to their exclusion (Arendt 1973: 177; Malkki 1995: 6). Refugee status itself may reify these forms of persecution, leading to persecution on the basis of affiliation and asylum or refugee claims.3 For instance, the 2017 refugee travel ban in the United States under Donald Trump is an example of how refugee status becomes an additional source of persecution for refugees. As Syrian refugees flee terrorism and seek resettlement in the US, they are re-defined in US policy and national discourse as terrorists or potential terrorists because of their refugee status. In theory, countries of first asylum are supposed to provide a corrective to the exclusion refugees face from the system of states. Instead, the neutrality of the 1951 Refugee Convention elides the complicated geopolitics of identity and belonging that shape the need for asylum 100

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and the receptivity of first country claims. First country asylum claims are often temporary. A significant number of the world’s refugee crises are protracted humanitarian crises; as states grow wary of providing first country protections, there has been an increase in repatriation, or facilitated return to the home country. While there are instances where repatriation is initiated by refugees, there have been noted examples of “imposed return” whereby first asylum claims are forcibly ended as individuals are non-consensually returned to their country of origin (Crisp and Long 2016). Often the result is a forcible return to violence, known as refoulement, undermining first safe country claims by returning refugees to persecution. The system of states that allows for citizenship also creates spaces for statelessness and maintains the power of threat: the threat to return individuals to violence without protection. Countries deny first country claims not only through overt rejection of individuals or repatriation, but also through passive acts that facilitate rejection through a failure of bureaucratic recognition (Frelick 2015). For instance, the United States Government Accountability Office notes that for unaccompanied children attempting to make asylum claims, Border Patrol agents regularly failed to conduct required asylum screenings (known as “Credible Fear Interviews”), utilized inconsistent decision making and categorization when interviews were conducted, and generally lack knowledge or understanding of the purpose of asylum thereby denying children access to asylum by default (Government Accountability Office 2015: 27–28). Similarly, many countries of first asylum simply fail to provide documentation of status to refugees, rendering them without the legal documents necessary to make claims to services, establish citizenship rights of their children, and impeding potential resettlement opportunities. For example, the Norwegian Refugee Council estimates that 70% of Syrian refugees in Jordon, Lebanon, and Iraq were structurally inhibited from receiving required refugee documentation due to bureaucratic processes or requirements that functionally excluded refugees (Aburass 2017). The result in both the case of unaccompanied children in the US and Syrian refugees is that their ability to make asylum (refugee) claims is structurally inhibited due to bureaucratic processes. First asylum claims thus exist at the whims of the country of asylum and this space cannot be understood as inherently neutral. Instead, persecution often travels with refugees in the form of regional or global exclusion, emerges through refugee status, or is embedded within state bureaucracies in a way that hinders even emergent claims to asylum. States retain the power to exclude and forcible repatriation itself is a form of persecution that targets refugees as a class. Refoulement is persecution by returning to persecution.

Refugee as a social category Refugee status is defined by a disjuncture between an individual and their state. The term refugee is often colloquially used to refer to anyone who has fled their home (not necessarily their country) and is seeking safety. This use of refugee emphasizes the disjuncture between an individual, rights, and the state. Although the legal definition requires being outside of one’s country of origin because of a specific form of persecution, Margaret Somers (2008) has demonstrated how the term refugee has also been used to illustrate when individuals’ rights are not protected or recognized by the state. Somers demonstrates how in post-Hurricane Katrina New Orleans, Black, poor US citizens were referred to as “refugees” by the media as a means of Othering and emphasizing the disjuncture between the official narrative of equality through citizenship and overt racism and structural violence at the hands of the state leading to local displacement and disenfranchisement. This colloquial use of refugee draws 101

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attention to the uneven relationship between states and citizens and the arbitrary and unequal rights access because of structural racism that leads to a negation of social protections—even for legal citizens. Yet, the social use and categorization of refugee remains murky, even for those who have fled persecution. The conflation of refugee with statelessness and encampment has created confusion in European contexts for those who seek first country asylum protections without entering camps (Lochak 2013). Likewise, in the United States the term refugee is often used in perpetuity; if individuals have ever fled war they retain the title, even though refugee is a legal status that only lasts for one year after arrival, at which point individuals are required to apply for legal permanent residency (green cards) and thus leave refugee as a legal status for permanent residency. The social use of refugee is not only imprecise, it also has an evolving historical meaning with variable social implications (Park and Kemp 2006; Park 2008). Recently, with climate change and increased environmental displacement, there are also moves to expand the definition to include those who face the inadequacy of state social protections and stability due to environmental degradation (Cooper 1997; Adamo 2016). Thus while the social use of refugee does not always align with the legal definition under international law, the social meaning of refugee is also imprecise and contested. Even for refugees who fit the strict legal definition, there is uneven social treatment and fractured application within the legal category (Shacknove 1985; Zetter 2007). The confusion around the term refugee is further exacerbated by the differentiation between refugee and asylee in the US. In the US, the term asylee is used to describe those seeking first country protections in the US, which is in contrast to the term refugee, which is used to describe refugees who received first country protections in a different country and were brought to the US through the US refugee resettlement program (resettlement is considered “third country” protection). Although asylees receive the same benefits as refugees after their asylum claims are established, the threshold for asylum adjudication varies by country and, in the US case, the functional definition is constantly changing as government agents interpret, understand, and process asylum claims (Magner 2016). As the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (2014) and Legomsky (2007) have noted, this low-level bureaucratic implementation and procedural shifts fundamentally change the definition of asylum. According to Syracuse’s Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (2016), overall affirmative asylum case decision rates have increased from 17% in 1996 to 43.4% in 2016. Yet, there is huge variation between individual judges, with some denying 100% of the cases they decide and one judge granting asylum in 97.8% of cases he heard. Moreover, there is huge variation in asylum case outcomes by country of origin, within court systems, over time, and across the record of individual judges. While changes in bureaucratic procedure can influence how asylum cases are adjudicated, the Refugee Roulette project illustrates that asylum case outcomes reflect intersecting forms of structural inequality more than they reflect the legal definitions of asylum (Ramji-Nogales, Schoenholtz, and Schrag 2007). While legal views of country of first asylum claims focus on the relationship between individuals and the state, social refugee categorizations reflect the relationship between individuals and the state—and the state’s uneven provisioning—of rights and protection. Thus first country of asylum, and the goal of safe asylum, must be understood within the biases and inequalities present within states as well as the broader global dynamics of persecution. Thus the social categorization of refugee reflects spaces of inequality within the relationship between state and citizen and the legal status of refugee serves as an axis of inequality that is reified in the enduring categorization of refugee long after individuals become naturalized citizens. These forms of social inequality structure successful asylum claims in the first place. 102

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Durability First country asylum provides protection for those seeking persecution, but is generally intended and designed as a short-term solution. First country asylum alone does not reach the threshold of what the United Nations calls a “durable solution” (Chimni 1999). The exception is when a country of first asylum provides refugees with an opportunity for local settlement and integration (Stein 1986). Local integration and local settlement are not simultaneous processes. Local integration is about becoming part of the economic, social, and legal fabric of the host state by acquiring rights and fulfilling obligations (Crisp 2004; Jacobsen 2003). Local settlements focus on providing a long-term material infrastructure to facilitate refugees remaining in the country of asylum in a situation more permanent than camps. Refugee settlements are not new. During the post-colonial period, local settlements were commonly used in developing countries to deal with protracted and large refugee populations following the end of colonialism and throughout apartheid (Kweka 2007). While some local settlements are designed and intended to facilitate local integration (Grace 2013), others are explicitly designed to limit local interactions (Kibreab 1989). Recently there has been a renewed interest in local settlements, and the concept of local settlement has been effectively expanded to include non-typical forms of local settlement, including self-directed and urban settlement (Jacobsen 2003). This is especially true in East Africa where Tanzania, Uganda, and Mozambique have all experimented with renewed local settlement programs. These countries also housed local settlements during the post-colonial period, largely in response to regional anti-imperial and anti-apartheid movements (Kweka 2017). But settlements do not necessitate integration and local integration is not necessarily driven by settlement infrastructure. Indeed, much of the literature on the Burundian refugee camps, settlements, and urban settlements across history in Tanzania illustrate how place and context (such as a refugee camp) matter in integration outcomes, but are not the only determinant in limiting or facilitating integration (Kuch 2016; Malkki 1995; Sommers 2001; Waters 2003). Like the larger literature on migration, citizenship, and integration, scholars of settlement and integration question what the relationship is between legal and social belonging for refugees transitioning to citizens (Kweka 2017). The perspectives of these processes and their meanings remain largely rooted in top-down approaches. Yet there is a growing literature that emphasizes that refugee decision making and experiences of rights are far more complex than binary understandings of state and stateless or citizen and refugee (Grace 2013; Turner 2016).

Conclusion and future directions Asylum cannot and does not exist within a vacuum. The identity through which an individual is persecuted which leads to the need to flee and seek asylum cannot be shelved in flight; rather, the global politics of structural inequality often mean that the basis for asylum may reemerge as the basis of persecution—or exclusion from asylum. Moreover, refugee status can also emerge as a proxy for the category of persecution in order to justify persecution in the country of asylum. While states have long been conceptualized as the conveyer of rights, examining the social category of refugee provides insights into the fact that there is uneven access to rights within states and the internal exclusion of individuals from state protection serves to undermine rights claims. Recognizing the role of the market in rights access becomes imperative, not only for those outside of the state, but also for those who seek the durability of “durable solutions.” For many, rights such as education, health care, housing, food, and water are contingent upon money in hand—even as citizens. 103

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As the number of people seeking asylum has increased, so too has the number of people facing protracted displacement. First country of asylum may provide a respite from persecution, but it alone provides few rights and operates within a context that may be influenced by the politics that necessitated exodus in the first place. As I discussed in the section above, there is an increased focus on local settlement and integration as a means of transforming the limited support provided by first country asylum into a long-term solution. However, this focus is largely within developing country contexts. The refugee-hosting burden is changing; with an increase in the number of asylum seekers in Europe, the European Union (EU) has shifted the way it manages refugees, with a goal of distributing refugees among member states (Office of the European Union 2013). As the relationship between asylum seekers and states continues to be moderated and transformed by the EU and questions of minimum rights in asylum are debated, future research needs to document how asylum across Europe is implemented and experienced and the consequent degrees of “durability” that follow. Likewise, there have been significant social pushes toward xenophobic and nativist movements like Brexit. Tracking and understanding what social integration looks like for refugees in Europe in light of these social movements is important. Finally, the EU and its member states have provided significant humanitarian resources toward refugee crises elsewhere in the world. It is increasingly important to observe how EU and member state funding initiatives change in light of increased Europe-based asylum seekers. These questions are not unique to Europe. In the United States there has been an increase of unaccompanied children at the US–Mexico border (Roth and Grace 2015); the United Nations research indicates that the vast majority of children who have been detained en route to the US have legitimate humanitarian claims to asylum (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees Regional Office for the United States and the Caribbean 2014). Yet, most cases end in deportation and, consequently, many result in effective refoulement. Like Brexit, the US has responded to increased migration by enacting barriers motivated by xenophobia—travel bans and a wall—partially in order to limit effective asylum claims while decreasing the number of refugee resettlement opportunities available. How will these limitations shape global politics of asylum, including the impact on developing countries that often abut conflict countries? As society largely fixates on refugee policy and institutional means of addressing asylum claims, it is imperative to ask what refugees are doing in search of rights. Studies on the sources and locations where refugees acquire rights, and at what social costs, may provide insights for developing additional opportunities for durable solutions. The forced migration literature broadly remains heavily focused on particular refugee populations or particular refugee-hosting countries, but what can we learn from asylum cases in aggregate and from the commonalities across asylum sites instead of the particulars? Here I want to suggest that the differentiation between legal and social refugees becomes important. Are rights tied to states, as scholars of forced migration assumed following World War II? If they are, how can state asylum policies be improved to better meet the needs of asylum seekers? If refugee rights—like citizen and immigrant rights—are largely market driven (Grace, Nawyn, and Okwako 2017; Nawyn 2011; Ong 1999; Somers 2008), how must we redefine the legal and social categories of refugee in order to re-imagine asylum as refuge and what it means to be stateless? That is, in order to provide asylum, states need to not only provide a place apart from persecution, but to proactively include the Other through an explicit conveyance of rights. When rights are dependent upon resources through which to access the market, asylum requires not only state protection but protection from the market. In a re-thinking of Hannah Arendt’s axiom, “the right to have rights” is no longer simply determined by inclusion

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in a state, but through the resources to engage markets in order to create protection. The questions that elucidate the foundations of first country asylum are inherently connected to questions of citizenship, belonging, and rights.

Notes 1 Individuals displaced because of persecution and remaining within their country of origin are referred to as internally displaced persons, or IDPs. The social category of refugee is often in much broader terms than those who meet the official UN definition or the legal definitions used in individual countries. Recently there have been attempts to limit asylum claims by using the language of “first safe country” to require asylum seekers to claim asylum in any country they pass through that is a signatory to the Convention on the Status of Refugees, regardless of their ability to access protection. Signatory status alone does not designate a country as safe for all people nor does it designate a country’s ability to process asylum claims. 2 The 1951 Geneva Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees, as amended by the 1967 Protocol to the Convention, are together known as the “Refugee Convention.” 3 The 2017 travel ban in the United States under Donald Trump is an example whereby refugees face persecution on the basis of their refugee status. Refugees fleeing terrorism are re-inscribed as terrorists in policy and in national discourse because of their refugee status.

References Aburass, S. (2017) Syrian Refugees’ Right to Legal Identity: Implications for Return. Briefing Notice, Norwegian Refugee Council. Available from: www.nrc.no/resources/briefing-notes/syrian-refugeesright-to-legal-identity-implications-for-return/. Adamo, S. (2016) “Migration, Displacement and Climate Change.” Policy 21: S3–11. Arendt, H. (1973) The Origins of Totalitarianism. San Diego, CA: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Chimni, B. (1999) From Resettlement to Involuntary Repatriation: Towards a Critical History of Durable Solutions to Refugee Problems. Centre for Documentation and Research, United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Retrieved April 4, 2017 from: www.researchgate.net/profile/B_Chimni/publication/ 31137020_From_Resettlement_to_Repatriation_Towards_a_Critical_History_of_Durable_Solutions_ to_Refugee_Problems/links/55f15f9108ae0af8ee1d5c95.pdf. Cooper, J. (1997) “Environmental Refugees: Meeting the Requirements of the Refugee Definition.” New York University Environmental Law Journal 6(2): 480–530. Crisp, J. (2004) The Local Integration and Local Settlement of Refugees: A Conceptual and Historical Analysis. UNHCR, Evaluation and Policy Analysis Unit. Retrieved April 4, 2017 from: www.alnap.org/ resource/12422. Crisp, J. and Long, K. (2016) “Safe and Voluntary Refugee Repatriation: From Principle to Practice.” Journal on Migration and Human Security 4: 141. Frelick, R. (2015) Why Don’t Syrians Stay in Turkey? Human Rights Watch. Retrieved March 22, 2017 from: www.hrw.org/news/2015/09/29/why-dont-syrians-stay-turkey. Government Accountability Office (2015) Unaccompanied Alien Children: Actions Needed to Ensure Children Receive Required Care in DHS Custody. Report to Congressional Committees, Washington, DC. Available from: www.gao.gov/assets/680/671393.pdf. Grace, B.L. (2013) “Development and the ‘Right to Have Rights’ in Intra-African Refugee Resettlement.” International Journal of Sociology 43(3): 11–28. Grace, B.L., Nawyn, S.J., and Okwako, B. (2017) “The Right to Belong (If You Can Afford It): Marketbased Restrictions on Social Citizenship in Refugee Resettlement.” Journal of Refugee Studies 31(1): 42–62. Jacobsen, K. (2003) “Local Integration: The Forgotten Solution.” In United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees Working Paper Series, vol. 45. Kibreab, G. (1989) “Local Settlements in Africa: A Misconceived Option?” Journal of Refugee Studies 2(4): 468–90. Kuch, A. (2016) “Naturalization of Burundian Refugees in Tanzania: The Debates on Local Integration and the Meaning of Citizenship Revisited.” Journal of Refugee Studies 30(3): 468–87.

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Kweka, O. (2007) The Impact of Structural Adjustment Program on the Refugee Policy in Tanzania: Implications for Survival Strategies of Burundian Refugees in Camps. University of Minnesota. Retrieved April 4, 2017 from: http://search.proquest.com/openview/91f7f175626f95ec3e031d731d06f09e/1?pq-origsite=gsc holar&cbl=18750&diss=y. Kweka, O. (2017) “Citizenship without Integration: The Case of 1972 Burundian Refugees in Tanzania.” The African Review 42(2): 76–93. Legomsky, S.H. (2007) “Learning to Live with Unequal Justice: Asylum and the Limits to Consistency.” Stanford Law Review 60(2): 413–74. Lochak, D. (2013) “Qu’est-ce qu’un réfugié ? La construction politique d’une catégorie juridique.” Pouvoirs (144): 33–47. Magner, T. (2016) “Refugee, Asylum, and Related Legislation in the US Congress: 2013–2016.” Journal on Migration and Human Security 4(4): 166. Malkki, L. (1992) “National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National Identity among Scholars and Refugees.” Cultural Anthropology 7(1): 24–44. Malkki, L. (1995) Purity and Exile: Violence, Memory, and National Cosmology among Hutu Refugees in Tanzania. University of Chicago Press. Retrieved October 9, 2013 from: http://books.google.com/ books?hl=en&lr=&id=NygCDTgtB5sC&oi=fnd&pg=PR9&dq=Liisa+Malkki&ots=wWIPpqMuqV &sig=evP8mLWun-GcjifES1SI3Om6IKo. Nawyn, S.J. (2011) “I have so many successful stories”: framing social citizenship for refugees. Citizenship Studies 15(6–7): 679–93. Newbury, D. (1998) “Understanding Genocide.” African Studies Review 41(1): 73–97. Office of the European Union. (2013) Regulation (EU) No 604/2013. Ogilvie, S. and Miller, S. (2010) Refuge Denied: The St. Louis Passengers and the Holocaust. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Ong, A. (1999) Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Park, Y. (2008) “Making Refugees: A Historical Discourse Analysis of the Construction of the ‘Refugee’ in US Social Work, 1900–1957.” British Journal of Social Work 38(4): 771–87. Park, Y. and Kemp, S. (2006) “‘Little Alien Colonies’: Representations of Immigrants and Their Neighborhoods in Social Work Discourse, 1875–1924.” Social Service Review 80(4): 705–34. Ramji-Nogales, J., Schoenholtz, A., and Schrag, P. (2007) “Refugee Roulette: Disparities in Asylum Adjudication.” Stanford Law Review 60(2): 295–411. Roth, B. and Grace, B. (2015) “Falling through the Cracks: The Paradox of Post-Release Services for Unaccompanied Child Migrants.” Children and Youth Services Review 58: 244–52. Shacknove, A. (1985) “Who Is a Refugee?” Ethics 95(2): 274–84. Somers, M. (2008) Genealogies of Citizenship: Markets, Statelessness, and the Right to Have Rights. Cambridge University Press. Sommers, M. (2001) Fear in Bongoland: Burundi Refugees in Urban Tanzania. Berghahn Books. Retrieved April 4, 2017 from: https://books.google.com/books?hl=en&lr=&id=zKc_qgOuGjUC&oi=fnd&pg= PR8&dq=fear+in+bongoland&ots=G6aPe8yx5L&sig=zDiQ7zGflbC_9R2Nncnr4gQ-IdU. Stein, B. (1986) “Durable Solutions for Developing Country Refugees.” International Migration Review 20(2): 264–82. Thomas, S. (2015) “The Value of Dust: Policy, Citizenship and Vietnam’s Amerasian Children.” Arizona State University. Retrieved April 3, 2017 from: https://repository.asu.edu/attachments/150477/ content/Thomas_asu_0010E_14705.pdf. Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (2016) TRAC Asylum Denial Rates. Syracuse, NY: University of Syracuse. Available from: http://trac.syr.edu/immigration/reports/judgereports/. Turner, S. (2016) “Staying out of Place: The Being and Becoming of Burundian Refugees in the Camp and the City.” Conflict and Society 2(1): 37–51. United Nations (1951) Convention and Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees. Retrieved May 21, 2014. United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees Regional Office for the United States and the Caribbean (2014) Children on the Run: Unaccompanied Children Leaving Central America and Mexico and the Need for International Protection. Washington, DC: United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Waters, T. (2003) “Ethnicity and Burundi’s Refugees.” African Studies Quarterly 7(1): 68–76. Zetter, R. (2007) “More Labels, Fewer Refugees: Remaking the Refugee Label in an Era of Globalization.” Journal of Refugee Studies 20: 172–92.

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10 Displacement, refugees, and forced migration in the MENA region The case of Syria Seçil Paçacı Elitok and Christiane Fröhlich

Introduction The year 2016 has witnessed the highest levels of displacement on record (UNHCR 2016). According to the Global Trends 2015 Report of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), an unprecedented 65.3 million people around the world have been forced from their homes as a result of conflict or persecution (nearly 34,000 people per day). Among them are nearly 21.3 million refugees, over half of whom are under the age of 18. There are also 10 million stateless people who have been denied a nationality and access to basic rights such as education, healthcare, employment, and freedom of movement. In 2017, 53% of refugees worldwide came from three countries: Somalia, Afghanistan, and Syria. Countries of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) have been suffering from multiple political, socioeconomic and ecological crises for decades. Their interplay has contributed to migrations of different sorts, including forced migration-displacements, refugee movements, asylum seeking as well as internal mobility. Based on this broader context, this chapter sheds light on the case of Syria with a special focus on the current ‘refugee crisis’. Conceptually, the chapter draws on the works of Turton (2003), Schmeidl (1997), Lischer (2007), and Castles (2003). Following Turton (2003) and his paper on conceptualizing forced migration, we caution against separating out forced migrants as a sub-category, and we aim to shed light on the danger of ignoring the most important quality of all migrants, namely their agency. Taking Turton’s points about methodological and ethical problems, as well as the potentially dehumanizing effect of the language of forced migration, into account, this chapter seeks to analyze forced migrants’ experiences and choices within their embeddedness in particular social, political, and historical situations in a globalized world divided along the cleavage between Global North and South (Turton 2003: 12). Similar to Castles (2003), we understand forced migration not as a result of a string of unconnected emergencies, but rather as an integral part of North–South relationships. We use Schmeidl’s (1997) categorization of the causes of forced migration to structure the chapter: root causes (economic underdevelopment and population pressures), proximate conditions (oppressive governments and human rights violations, ethnic and civil conflicts, external

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involvement, and international and interstate wars) and intervening factors (facilitators and obstacles). Since our focus is on forced migration following violent conflict, we apply Lischer’s (2007) distinction between civil and international conflict as well as her analysis of the impact of conflicts upon displacement and vice versa.

Contemporary dynamics of the MENA region: root causes, proximate conditions and intervening factors Definitions of the MENA region vary; the most common definition includes the area from Morocco to Iran. For instance, in the classification of the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the MENA region comprises 20 countries: Algeria, Bahrain, Djibouti, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, Mauritania, Morocco, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Sudan, Syria, Tunisia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), and Yemen (Israel and Palestinian Territories are excluded, assumedly because Israel is not a developing country and because the Palestinian Territories are not yet a universally accepted state). More recently, the IMF has started to work with the acronym MENAP, also including Afghanistan and Pakistan. The World Bank definition of MENA comprises Algeria, Djibouti, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya, Malta, Morocco, Oman, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Tunisia, and Yemen. Neither does it include the high-income countries of the Gulf or Israel, nor are Sudan and Mauritania included despite their Arab character, since the challenges they face are more typical of sub-Saharan Africa. In addition, the Arabic term maghreb refers to the Western Arab States, including Algeria, Libya, Mauritania, Morocco, and Tunisia, whereas mashreq (also referred to as Levant) is the region of Eastern Arab states, namely Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Lebanon, and Syria, as well as the Palestinian Territories (see Figure 10.1).

N

Syria Iraq Lebanon Occupied Palestinian Territories Israel Jordan Kuwait

Tunisia Morocco Algeria

Libya

Egypt

Saudi Arabia

Iran

Bahrain Qatar United Arab Emirates Oman

Yemen

MIDDLE EAST AND NORTH AFRICA

Figure 10.1  Map of the MENA region 108

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From 1946 to 2015, 12 out of 59 conflict episodes in MENA lasted more than eight years, and in about half of these episodes, the ensuing peace lasted less than ten years (Rother et al. 2016). According to the Uppsala Conflict Data Program (Rother et  al. 2016), the region accounts for 40% of the estimated global total of battle-related deaths since 1946, and for about 60% of all casualties since the year 2000. The determinants of forced displacement in the MENA region have included conflicts over borders and/or natural resources, ethnic disputes, as well as colonial/postcolonial experiences. After briefly introducing the major issues that are producing migration in the region, this chapter uses Syria as a case study to address trends in research on refugees, displaced persons, and forced migration.

Root causes: economic dynamics The Middle East, with its nearly 350 million inhabitants and its natural gas and petroleum dependent economies, is among the most fragmented parts of the world. Due to the Arab uprisings, which started in 2011, the economic and political importance of the region has increased even more. From a macro-economic perspective, the MENA states can be differentiated into more stable economies that are reliant on rentier income, and more unstable ones which depend on the neoliberal economic transition for their growth and development. The term rentier state applies to economies that are substantially dependent on the external rent generated by abundant natural resources. Bush (2004) points to the high dependency of the MENA region upon rentier income (petroleum, real estate, and/ or remittances) at the macro-economic level. The rent economies of MENA also reflect their dependency on the global economy (Bush 2004), since these states are products of an uneven integration in the global economy as well as of the reluctance and failure of MENA regimes to extricate themselves from rentier politics. Therefore, corporatism and clientelism have been essential in tying different social groups and classes to the respective state apparatuses. Through this definition, it can be argued that in oil-exporting countries, such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar, and the UAE, the main explanation for their dominant power structure is the rentier state model (Sika 2012: 9). The rest of the Arab countries, such as Morocco, Jordan, Yemen, and Tunisia, which do not have a significant rentier income, depend on less reliable rents, such as foreign aid, remittances from their migrants elsewhere, and private investments. For these reasons, they are much weaker economically and more vulnerable to global and domestic shocks than oil-exporting rentier states. Many Arab regimes underwent a transition from state-led economic development to economic liberalization during the 1980s that led to a transfer of welfare responsibilities from the government to the private sector. This established new patterns of wealth distribution in which Arab states provided market access to favored clients and military allies. The end result of such economic transformation often is crony capitalism: high levels of corruption, poor state services, and the absence of a decisive and developmental state (Heydarian 2011). There are three strong narratives that are emerging in the MENA region related to its location in the post 9/11 world order. At the core of one of these narratives is the idea that the end of the national economy has arrived, giving way to the emergence and dominance of globalization forces. The result would be a new global society in the new information age, where the benefits of poverty reduction, economic growth, and modernization will only be delivered if hitherto closed and inward-looking economies open up to the forces of economic liberalization (Bush 2004). The second narrative is that globalization is nothing more than the continued (but transient) capitalist (uneven and combined) development. The third narrative is 109

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what Ferguson (1999: 236) has called abjection: ‘a process of being thrown aside, expelled or discarded’. Following the same argument, Talani (2015: 137) presents that far from catching up with the rest of the world, the MENA area seems to be increasingly marginalized from the global political economy. Indeed, the analysis of all usual indicators of integration, such as the level and share of global FDI, the number and values of mergers and acquisitions, and the performance of exports and trade openness all indicate a growing ‘peripherisation of the area’. Regarding the economic liberalization period, migration has played a crucial role in the transition which the MENA region experienced since the beginning of the 1980s. It is estimated that in the three decades from 1980 to 2010, the share of the population living in rural areas in Arab countries declined from 60% to 40%, which means 70 million people moved out to urban areas. This estimate is nearly equivalent to the total number of rural–urban migrants in Arab countries from the beginning of the 20th century until 1980 (Kadri 2012). Pant (2012: 336) argues that the urban economy in the region has been a result not of industrialization, but of the decay in the rural economy, where the informal sector became unable to absorb the surplus labor force. The export income is unequally distributed within the MENA region, which consists of countries with different income levels including upper middle income countries such as the oil-producing Gulf States, Libya, and Algeria; lower middle income countries including Egypt, Tunisia, and Morocco; and low income countries such as the Republic of Yemen. Unlike their counterparts elsewhere, the middle income Arab countries have not undergone democratization. Rauch and Kostyshak (2009) explain this by further arguing that unlike the pure rentier states in the region, they have relatively small oil and natural gas endowments and are, thus, constrained in their expenditures. None of these regimes in the MENA region, neither the rentier states nor the others, however, were able to build a truly developmentalist state. According to the 2016 IMF World Economic Outlook Database, with regard to GDP per capita, the gap between the richest country (Qatar with $68,940 GDP per capita) and the poorest country (Yemen with $1,334 GDP per capita) is almost seventyfold. In 2016, despite the relative success of Iran and Iraq, economic growth slowed in most of the other countries of the MENA region due to low oil prices, scarce liquidity in domestic financial markets, and falling government spending as well as spillovers from regional conflicts. Castles (2003) indicates that globalization is not a system of equitable participation in a fairly structured global economy, society and polity, but rather a system of selective inclusion and exclusion of specific areas and groups, which maintains and exacerbates inequality. In the MENA region, processes of exclusion from the global order have been, and are, causing social inequalities and conflict which have resulted in forced migration. Castles mentions that Northern economic interests (trade in oil in the case of MENA) play an important role in starting or prolonging local wars. Following Schmeidl (1997), we see such economic underdevelopment and population pressures as root causes of forced migration which potentially lead to further political issues analyzed in the next section.

Proximate conditions: the political dimension of forced migration Violent conflicts: borders, resources, religious and ethnic cleavages The 1916 Sykes-Picot Agreement was signed between two colonial powers, Great Britain and France, to shape the borders of the MENA region following World War I. It includes arbitrary 110

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demarcation lines which have created conflicts that remain unresolved after a century. Apart from ‘classic’ inter- and intra-state wars and independence conflicts, the Middle Eastern region has also experienced conflicts over natural resources. Especially the abundance of non-renewable oil and natural gas resources has sparked the interest of oil- and gas-dependent international actors who, in order to secure continuous access to regional resources, have strongly influenced Middle Eastern affairs throughout the 20th and the 21st centuries. The Gulf wars in the 1980s and 1990s can at least in part be explained through this lens of resource abundance. The fact that many states in the region are characterized by an economy which is based on oil rents both makes these states susceptible to influence from their customers and has contributed to largely autocratic political systems in which power and wealth are being distributed along highly informal but extremely resilient patronage networks. Human mobility in the context of conflicts over non-renewable resources can either take the form of forced out-migration in the case of violent outbreaks, or the form of in-migration of people wanting to work in the oil sector. What is more, the already limited renewable resources, especially water, have suffered from severe overuse and pollution throughout the region, leading in part to severe water scarcity, for instance in Jordan, which is considered one of the most water-scarce places on the planet. In addition, the current borders of the Middle East lead to differing degrees of access to the available fresh water resources, making the Jordan, the Euphrates, and Tigris as well as the Nile basin strongly contested areas internationally as well as on the sub-state level. Migration in the context of renewable resource scarcity is mostly internal, however, with people using circular/seasonal and rural to urban migration as a means to diversify their livelihoods in the context of growing water scarcity and land degradation (Hugo 1996). The region has also been characterized by religious and ethnic cleavages of varying degrees. Historically, the Christian-Muslim divide can be traced back to the emergence of Islam, with the Christian crusades only representing the most visible aspect of this rift. The Sunni-Shia divide has been politically instrumentalized by various regional and external actors to influence regional and state policies. In the Syrian war in particular, external powers, arguably, have fostered sectarianism in what was a broadly secular state, playing the Syrian Sunni majority against Bashar al-Assad’s Shia Alawite sect. Similar dynamics are visible in the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, which is characterized not only by the Jewish-Muslim divide, but also by differences between alternate ideas of Islam, as is illustrated by the conflict between the Islamic fundamentalist Hamas and the secular Fatah, as well as by different interpretations of Judaism (Baumgart-Ochse 2014). The Sunni-Shia divide has been used by two aspiring regional hegemons, namely Saudi Arabia (characterized by Wahhabism) and Iran (Shia), as a tool to form alliances and enmities in the quest for regional dominance.

Arab-Israeli conflict The Arab-Israeli conflict arose from Jews and Arabs laying claim to the same territory (Faath and Mattes 2014: 167; LeVine and Mossberg 2014). It began with the systematic immigration of Jewish Zionists into Palestine in 1882 in successive waves (aliyot), following Theodor Herzl’s idea of a Jewish homestead as the only solution to continuing anti-Semitic violence throughout Europe and Russia. During World War I, the British promised both the Arab and the Jewish population land (Hussein-McMahon correspondence 1916; Balfour Declaration 1917), but at the same time divided the Levant between France and Great Britain in the above-mentioned Sykes-Picot agreement (1916). After the violent end of the British Mandate in Palestine, David Ben Gurion proclaimed the Israeli state, which was immediately followed by the first ArabIsraeli war in 1948/9. This war is called ‘war of independence’ by Israel and nakhba (catastrophe) by the Palestinians, since hundreds of thousands of Palestinians became refugees as a result. 111

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Since 1948, practically every decade has seen a major war between Israel and its neighbors, with varying involvement of external actors such as the US and Russia/the Soviet Union (Bregman 2003): the Suez war in 1956; the June (Six-day) war in 1967; the October (Yom Kippur) War in 1973; the Israeli-Lebanese wars of 1982 and 2006; the first Palestinian intifada (uprising) from 1987 onwards; and the second intifada from 2000 onwards; as well as several outbreaks of violence between Israeli and Palestinian armed forces in the Gaza Strip, which had been occupied by Israel between 1967 and 2005 and which is today a de facto open-air prison, because its borders are controlled by Israeli forces. The war of 1948/9 and the war in 1967 caused the biggest population movements in the Israel/Palestine region: In the first Arab-Israeli war, more than 700,000 Palestinians were displaced (UNRWA, undated), and an additional 350,000 fled their homes during the hostilities in June 1967 (Machairas 2017: 6). After Israel’s creation, the United Nations formed the United Nations Relief and Work Agency for Palestinian Refugees (UNRWA), the sole purpose of which is to care for Palestinian refugees, who are the only refugee group worldwide that can pass the refugee status on to their offspring. Palestinian refugees today number approximately five million people (Abu Zayd 2008; Feldman 2012). Israel remains in a perpetual state of war with most of its neighbors (Syria, Lebanon, Iran, and Iraq) and without any diplomatic relations with the Arab states in the region (the only exceptions are the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan and Egypt, as well as (limited) Oman; Lea 2002). At the core of the enduring Arab-Israeli conflict is the Palestinian struggle for nationhood; with Israeli occupation of the Gaza Strip, the West Bank, and the Golan Heights, this struggle evolved from an international war between Palestinian allies (such as Jordan or Syria) and Israel into a ‘sub-state’ war with Israeli state forces on the one hand and Palestinian quasi-state forces on the other. Moreover, the conflict has been heavily influenced by external powers, most importantly the US as Israel’s key ally. The conflicts in and surrounding the Israeli-Palestinian conflict nexus have also been the site of several proxy wars from the Cold War until today, with external powers following their own national agendas while actively engaging with states in the region (Rabinovich 2004). The Oslo Peace Process between Israel, the Palestinians, Jordan, as well as (to an extent) Syria and Lebanon, in the 1990s followed the end of the Cold War and was accompanied by high hopes that an end to the decades-old Middle Eastern conflict was imminent. Despite international efforts to achieve a lasting peace between Israel and the Palestinian people in particular, and Israel and its neighboring states more generally, only the Israeli-Jordanian peace agreement (1994) and the earlier peace treaty with Egypt (1979) turned out to be durable and reliable. The American government’s official acceptance of Jerusalem as the capital of Israel in December 2017 did nothing to alleviate the tensions.

Environmental issues The MENA region is affected by global environmental change in numerous ways. The most prominent and pressing issue is fresh water availability. This refers both to availability of and access to natural renewable ground and surface water resources, as well as to rain variability and drought frequency. Many of the states in the region are suffering from the impacts of anthropogenic climate change, which potentially increases weather extremes as well as the severity of drought periods, and which may set off a chain of environmental changes, including land and water resource decline and degradation. Together with unsustainable practices like overuse and pollution, as well as the fact that regional fresh water resources ignore national boundaries and are frequently issues of inter- and sub-national strife, this has led to decades of declining quantity and quality of the available natural resources in the region (Fröhlich 2012). 112

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The case of Syria The migration history of Syria is characterized by various phases of both emigration and immigration (Chatty 2017). Syria is among the major migrant-sending countries of the MENA region, together with Algeria, Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Morocco, Tunisia, and Yemen. Syrian emigrants primarily moved to other Arab countries; the 1950s witnessed the emigration of the Syrian elite and highly qualified emigrants seeking better job opportunities, while the 1970s saw the emigration of low-skilled Syrians, often to Lebanon. Due to the restrictive immigration policies of Arab countries in the 1980s, and political developments particularly between Syria and Lebanon, emigration waves first slowed and then transformed into return migration to Syria (especially in the aftermath of the political conflict between Syria and Lebanon in 2005). With respect to immigration patterns before 2011, three migrant groups co-existed in Syria: refugees (mainly Palestinians and Iraqis), labor migrants (mostly female migrant workers from Asia and highly skilled employees), and transit migrants. The migration profile of Syria is also shaped by its demographic profile, which is characterized by a youth bulge, high unemployment, and high population growth. According to the World Population Prospects of the United Nations (UN), Syria’s population was 3.413 million in 1950, 18.735 million in 2015 and is expected to reach 26.608 million in 2030, which reflects a high population growth. In 2017, Syria was among the ten countries with the youngest populations, with 59.1% of its population between the ages of 15 and 64. Moreover, the total fertility rate was 3.10 between 2010 and 2015. According to the World Bank, the unemployment rate in Syria was 19.06% in 2010 and peaked at 34.93% before the Arab uprisings in 2011. Total youth unemployment (ages 15–24) was 19.06% in 2010 and 31.45% in 2016. The ongoing war in Syria began as a peaceful uprising of Syrian civil society against the Syrian government led by Bashar al-Assad in 2011. Since then, it has caused mass displacements of Syrians both within the country and to neighboring states. Bashar al-Assad had succeeded his father Hafez al-Assad in the year 2000 and began to half-heartedly reform Syrian state economy. Large segments of the population complained about high unemployment, extensive corruption, a lack of political freedom, and state repression throughout Bashar al-Assad’s rule (Fröhlich 2016). These protests culminated in pro-democracy demonstrations in 2011 which were inspired by the Arab uprisings in Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Morocco, and other Arab states, but were violently crushed by government forces. This violence sparked further uprisings throughout the country, which through continued government crackdowns quickly escalated into a full-blown civil war. The main conflict parties within Syria today are Syrian government forces; Syrian rebel forces (an extremely disparate group); Syrian-Kurdish forces, who want to establish a Kurdish state in parts of Syria, Turkey, and Iraq; and the so-called Islamic State, a violent extremist Islamist group. Furthermore, the intervention of external actors has been a key factor for the war, with regional powers such as Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Turkey following their own regional agendas and external actors including the US and Russia doing the same. Military, financial, and political support for both government and opposition forces by these external actors has contributed directly to the intensification and continuation of the fighting, and has turned Syria into a proxy battleground. The Syrian war, therefore, is arguably the most complicated battlefield of today and alliances as well as interests continue to change rapidly. The violence has led to the massive emigration of Syrian refugees, first to neighboring countries, then spreading to other regions, including European Union member states. In fact, Syria has become the central sending state for what Lischer (2007) calls ‘conflict induced displacement’. António Guterres, then United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, defined the 113

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Syrian situation as ‘the most dramatic humanitarian crisis the world has faced in a very long time’ (Guterres 2014). Syrian refugees are now the largest refugee group under UNHCR’s mandate: according to UNHCR, conflict-led migration in and from Syria has resulted in 5.6 million internationally and 6.6 million internally displaced people. To better understand this “displacement crisis” (rather than ‘refugee crisis’; Lischer 2007: 143), it is necessary to differentiate between different kinds of international and civil conflicts as well as the different factors intervening with a displacement crisis, including geopolitics, demographics, political context, and humanitarian situation (Lischer 2007: 145). Turkey, Lebanon, Jordan and Iraq are the four main hosting countries for Syrian refugees (Phillips and Starup 2014; Zetter and Ruaudel 2014). As of early 2019 Turkey was hosting almost 3.6 million Syrian refugees – the largest number of any country in the world. The Syrian population in Turkey is larger than that of some countries, such as Cyprus, Luxembourg, or Iceland. As a result of this, and together with the 2016 Turkey-EU so-called ‘refugee deal’, Turkey has become a key global and regional actor with regard to international migration. Turkey and other neighboring countries, such as Jordan and Lebanon, have played a facilitator role (Schmeidl 1997) by opening their borders for Syrian refugees. Turkey’s policy toward Syrians was composed of four elements which have shifted over time and partly became ineffective after the 2016 ‘refugee deal’ between Turkey and the EU. First, the open door policy, which allowed Syrians with passports to enter Turkey based on the free visa regime between Turkey and Syria came to an end as Turkey began to build a ‘security wall’ at the border to stop the crossings. Second, Turkey has provided ‘temporary protection’ to Syrian refugees, which has been extended many times since the first inflow of Syrian migrants in 2011. Temporary protection has become dysfunctional both legally and practically, however, since it remained as a temporary solution for a permanent issue. Third, Turkey has applied the non-refoulement principle for the Syrian refugees. Arguably, this is the most significant right granted to refugees by the 1951 Convention – the right not to be returned to any country where they risk persecution (Loescher and Milner 2011: 192). Given the status of the principle of non-refoulement, states are generally understood to have a duty to offer, at the very least, temporary protection to refugees in their territory (Loescher and Milner 2011: 192). However, since the refugee deal of 2016, Turkey has been deporting and sending back Syrians who returned from Greece. Thus, following the EU-Turkey refugee deal, substantial changes became visible in Turkey’s policy discourse toward Syrians. Moreover, Turkey began to sign additional re-admission agreements with third countries so as to resettle Syrian migrants from Greece. Finally, the government has committed itself to providing the best possible living conditions and humanitarian assistance for the refugees. However, Turkey is under criticism due to the poor conditions in camps; refugees’ lack of access to basic services; exploitation of refugee children’s labor; humiliation of Syrian refugee women; as well as an increase in the anti-immigrant and racist attitudes including protests and physical attacks on Syrians. Notably, Turkey, Jordan, and Lebanon, who have taken in most of the Syrian refugees who crossed international borders, had largely been left to their own devices in bearing the burden of the Syrian refugee issue up until 2015. Since the summer of 2015, this picture has changed, as Syrian refugees have begun to move from Turkey to Europe in large numbers. The poor conditions of Syrians in Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan (particularly urban refugees), ambiguity of temporary protection and seeking permanent legal status and better living standards in Europe played a facilitating role (Schmeidl 1997) in refugees’ move from Syria’s neighboring countries toward frontline states of the EU. This is due at least in part to the ‘West’ not complying with the principle of ‘burden sharing’, which has been recognized as a ‘virtual sine qua non for the effective operation of a 114

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comprehensive non-refoulement policy’ (Loescher and Milner 2011: 192, quoting Fonteyne 1983: 175). The EU has been obliged to face up to the Syrian refugee issue and was forced to find solutions. The existing EU system regarding migration and asylum was put to the test and member states responded differently to the crisis. Once the security of national borders became the main concern, unified EU legislation (Dublin II) became ineffective and the EU began to look for effective gatekeepers who could keep refugees out of EU territories. Germany took the lead and urgently started negotiations with Turkey, which led to the 18 March 2016 Turkey-EU Refugee Agreement, which has received criticism due to its legal, moral, and ethical pitfalls (Rossi and Iafrate 2016; Den Heijer and Spijkerboer 2016; Chetail 2016; Roman et al. 2016; Collett 2016). Overall, the EU has failed to manage the crisis in the case of mass immigration of Syrians. As part of its externalization policy, similar to various other countries of the Global North, the EU has shifted the burden upon the shoulders of Turkey and other countries from the region such as Jordan and Lebanon. Yet the ‘refugee crisis’ is neither exclusively Syria’s nor the MENA’s issue; it is rather a global humanitarian crisis which is the responsibility of the entire globe and requires a collective response.

Conclusion: research gaps and areas for further investigation This chapter describes the complicated history of migration from, to, and within the MENA region. Although not a region that has garnered much attention from migration scholars, MENA migration encapsulates much of the major drivers of human mobility within the context of political, economical, and social fragmentation. MENA migration is also tightly connected to natural resource scarcity, which will be of growing importance in many regions globally. As such, a greater understanding of the history of MENA migration is essential for expanding our knowledge of human mobility broadly. There are several significant research gaps that MENA migration studies have identified. One important one is the issue of ‘trapped populations’ (Bank et al. 2017; Collyer and Black 2014; Zickgraf 2018), i.e. those people who are affected by one or combined drivers of migration, but who do not have the resources to move. This also points to the fact that migration is a costly activity and requires thorough decision-making and complex cost-utility calculations. Trapped populations can be groups of people like the residents of Yarmouk refugee camp, but also people affected by fast- or slow-onset environmental change who do not have the means to move. Another important research gap is the issue of multiple and/or protracted displacement, which includes rejecting the common viewpoint that migratory movements are a straightforward movement from A to B when, in reality, many migrants may either be circular migrants, i.e. returning to their home town after a period of time, or continue to move onwards, for instance from Syria to Turkey, then to Greece, then back to Turkey and again toward Europe via the Balkan route. Another case in point are Palestinian refugees, who often have been displaced more than once in their lifetime and whose lives have been severely affected by their displacement (Loescher and Milner 2009). Regarding European/Western/Northern engagement in the issue of forced migration, it seems necessary to point out that the absolute majority of migrants either stay within their states or in neighboring states (UNHCR 2010; Bakewell 2009). Well over 80% of refugees live in the developing Global South, not in the industrialized North. It is also necessary to outline very briefly the role of globalization for human mobility, in particular the asymmetry between the Global North and South. The industrialized world spends one billion US dollars per day on product and export subsidies to be able to sell their products in the developing world, thereby 115

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often destroying local markets and, consequently, livelihoods (see, for instance, Borders and Burnett 2006). What is more, the walling-off policy practiced by many Western states stands in contrast to their rhetoric of humanitarian aid and global responsibility as well as to international law, namely the Convention and Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees (Geneva Convention) of 1951, which has become a hollow promise since applicants for asylum have to stand on European soil to claim asylum, but the European borders have been systematically sealed off since the early 1990s and the Schengen agreement. All of these issues need to be taken into account when engaging with debates about so-called ‘illegal migration’ toward Europe and the Global North more generally. The issues raised in this essay draw attention to the fact that effective and sustainable (im)migration policies need more holistic lenses and the empirical basis of micro-level studies in order to fully understand the complexities as well as the historical, political, and socioeconomic context of each case, and to bring the migrants themselves back to the issue. This may be counter-intuitive, since a perceived increase in human mobility on the global scale often leads to a perceived need for ad hoc measures; it is, however, the only way to honor the humanity of people on the move and is a necessary step to fully protect them from physical, psychological, and structural harm.

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11 Climate change and human migration Constructed vulnerability, uneven flows, and the challenges of studying environmental migration in the 21st century Daniel B. Ahlquist and Leo A. Baldiga

Introduction When writing about climate change and human migration, it is all too easy to fall into the trap of sensationalism. Rising seas swallowing small island states and overwhelming coastal cities. Superstorms and withering droughts rendering vast areas uninhabitable. Massive waves of desperate climate refugees flooding across international borders. These dramatic images make for compelling storylines that garner the clicks of media consumers and the attention of politicians and funders. And, indeed, climate change is expected to increase human migration by triggering or intensifying such environmental stresses as rising sea levels, shifting weather patterns, increased flooding and erosion, more frequent and intense storms, and salinization of soil and fresh water, among others. However, the story of climate change and migration is far more complex, and more difficult to see and understand, than such narrow, sensationalist narratives suggest. Migration as a response to environmental change is nothing new. People have always used mobility as an adaptation strategy to secure food, water, shelter, and security in the face of environmental and other stresses (Crumley, 2012). Yet, for most of the 20th century, migration scholars treated the physical environment as little more than a backdrop to the story of contemporary human migration (Black et al., 2011). It was not until early works by El-Hinnawi (1985) and Myers (1993), as well as the 1990 report by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), which predicted large-scale human migration as an imminent outcome of climate change, that the physical environment began to factor more meaningfully into migration scholarship (Marino, 2012; Black et al., 2011). Since the turn of the 21st century, as climate change has evolved in the public consciousness from a potentiality to a reality, scholarship on the relationship between environmental change and human migration has grown considerably in volume, theoretical sophistication, and methodological rigor. 119

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In this chapter, we identify some key threads in the burgeoning literature on climate change and migration, including the influence of climate change on migration decisions and patterns, the challenges of empirically measuring and predicting the scale of climate migration, the likely patterns climate migration will take, and some of the looming governance and human rights questions posed by climate migration. The story of climate migration, however, is not simply about the movements of people. Because both climate change and migration occur within a dynamic and highly unequal social, political, and economic landscape, we seek here to highlight the unevenness of vulnerability in the face of both climate change and climate migration, as well as the ways in which such vulnerability is produced and perpetuated.

A brief note on terminology As the conversation around climate change and migration has intensified in recent years, so has the debate over terminology. In this chapter, we use the terms “climate migrants” and “environmental migrants” to refer to people who move – whether voluntarily or involuntarily, temporarily or permanently, internally or internationally – at least in part due to environmental change, be it rapid-onset (e.g. floods) or slow-onset (e.g. shifting weather patterns). We use both “climate migrants” and “environmental migrants” because: (1) not all environmental changes are related to climate change; (2) in many cases it can be difficult to parse out whether, how, and to what degree climate change is influencing environmental change; (3) both terms are widely used in the relevant literature; and, (4) in some instances we are referring specifically to climate change, while in other instances we are referring to environmental change or stresses more broadly. As we discuss below, both terms are fraught to some degree by the complexity of interaction between factors influencing migration decisions, which blurs the lines between “environmental” and other types of migration (Black et al., 2011; Hugo, 2013; Marino & Lazrus, 2015). Nevertheless, we find them preferable to the widely used but problematic term “climate refugees.” Applying the term “refugee” to environmental migrants – forced or otherwise – is technically inaccurate under current international laws and conventions (Brown, 2013; Lister, 2014), and its use in this context has sparked intense debate in legal, political, and academic circles. Those arguing in favor of the term contend that the definition of “refugee” ought to be broadened to account for “climate refugees” due to the extreme power inequalities involved and the corresponding unevenness of suffering, and because doing so would better facilitate effective governance of environmentally displaced populations (Gemenne, 2015; Lister, 2014). These important points notwithstanding, we side with critics who argue that the term “climate refugees” diverts attention from the plight of internally displaced people, who are not considered refugees because they do not cross international borders; that it obscures the political and socio-economic conditions that render certain communities vulnerable in the first place; and that it holds the potential to weaken existing supports for refugees fleeing other forms of violence and persecution (Brown, 2013; Farbotko & Lazrus, 2012; Hugo, 2013). Furthermore, as we discuss below in the context of Kiribati and Tuvalu, the term “climate refugees” can be disempowering – and can actually exacerbate power inequalities – by stripping affected communities of their voice, history, and agency, and by signaling a capitulation by powerful actors to the inevitability of significant climaterelated environmental change and displacement (see: McNamara & Gibson, 2009; Farbotko & Lazrus, 2012; Dreher & Voyer, 2015). 120

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The challenges of measuring climate migration (and why it is time to stop pursuing the one big number) It is now widely recognized that climate change will reconfigure our physical and social landscapes in ways that we are just beginning to understand. When it comes to predicting the impact of climate change on human migration, the literature suggests that climate change will likely contribute to greater migration flows over the course of the 21st century. However, there is little clarity, let alone agreement, among migration scholars around the answers to such fundamental questions as the role of climate change in driving human migration, the potential magnitude of climate migration, or how to measure it. Like environmental migration more generally, climate migration is difficult to see and even more difficult to measure or predict for a number of reasons. First, environmental migration drivers – or what Lee (1966) might call environmental “push” factors, such as sea level rise, riverbank erosion, or shifting weather patterns – do not operate in isolation, but rather interact with a complex and interrelated set of political, economic, social, demographic, cultural, and other factors to shape household migration decisions and broader migration patterns (Black et al., 2011; Hugo, 2013; Marino & Lazrus, 2015). Because of this complex interaction, environmental factors are often not identified by migrants as their primary migration driver, and thus often go unrecorded in migration surveys (Hugo, 2013; Black et al., 2011). To borrow an example from Hugo (2013), farmers who migrate because incremental environmental changes have made it difficult to earn an agricultural livelihood might label their migration as economic, rather than environmental. What’s more, in cases like this, households will often attempt to adapt in situ through the short- or long-term labor migration and remittances of one or more household members (Warner & Afifi, 2014; Adri & Simon, 2017), thus blurring the lines between migration and in situ adaptation. For some migration scholars, the complexity of interactions between factors, along with the corresponding difficulty in parsing out the influence of one factor over another in shaping migration decisions, calls into question the utility of “drivers” or “push factors” as analytical constructs (Crumley, 2012), as well as the binary framing of “voluntary migration” versus “forced displacement” (Marino & Lazrus, 2015). As such, many scholars now foreground multiscale and context-specific interactions between environmental and non-environmental factors instead of trying to isolate individual “push” or “pull” factors (Morrissey, 2013; Crumley, 2012). Regardless of the framework one uses, however, it is increasingly clear that environmental change is but one influencing factor among many interrelated factors shaping migration decisions, and that its effects on migration “can only be understood within the context in which it occurs” (Morrissey, 2013: 1501; Black et al., 2011; Hugo, 2013). Second, the mere presence of migration drivers does not guarantee migration – indeed, many will not move – and migration decisions and outcomes vary widely, even within communities facing the same environmental stresses (Hugo, 2013; Thiede & Gray, 2016). In any given population, individual actors experience environmental stresses through their respective filters of race, class, gender, age, culture, connection to place, social networks, and other factors that influence their decisions about whether, when, and where to move, as well as whether or not to return or remit money (Black et al., 2011; Crumley, 2012; Hugo, 2013). In the face of such environmental stresses, migration as an adaptation strategy may be a more (or less) appealing option to certain stakeholders than others, and may take disparate forms (e.g. temporary labor migration versus long-term household relocation) due to a range of factors largely independent of changes in the physical environment. As such, as environmental stresses intensify under climate change, it will become increasingly difficult to quantitatively measure, let alone predict, their impacts on migration flows at the global or even regional scale. 121

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Third, in part because of these challenges, there is a great deal of ambiguity around who “counts” as an environmental or climate migrant (Hugo, 2013; Gemenne, 2011; Morrissey, 2012). For example, to what degree must a migrant explicitly identify environmental changes or events as migration drivers to “count” as an environmental or climate migrant? Would those migrating due to slow-onset environmental change (e.g. declining agricultural productivity due to shifting weather patterns) be classified similarly to, or differently from, those who migrate due to rapid-onset change (e.g. a hurricane or flood), or those fleeing conflict over increasingly scarce fresh water? How might such definitions account for disparate forms of migration (e.g. temporary or cyclical migration of some household members versus the short- or long-term relocation of entire households or communities)? Far from simply an academic exercise, the definitional debate around who counts as a climate migrant has significant ramifications both for the study of climate migration and for the formulation of national and international policy, the mobilization of resources, and the wellbeing and human rights of migrants. Fourth, most environmental migration is and will continue to be internal, meaning that migrants stay within the borders of their country of origin (Hugo, 2013). This presents a data quality problem when it comes to measuring or predicting global climate migration numbers. “While progress has been made in measuring the changing incidence and spatial patterns of international migration,” argue Bell et al. (2015: 33), “statistics on internal migration . . . remain poorly developed” due to a range of methodological, technical, and definitional challenges. Furthermore, “comparative measures of internal migration remain largely absent from international statistical collections” (Bell et al., 2015: 33). As such, there is a strong case to be made that the available migration data are simply not sufficiently reliable or complete enough to make empirically robust climate migration projections on a global scale (see: Gemenne, 2011). For these reasons and others, quantifying potential climate migration flows across diverse geographic, political, economic, cultural, and demographic contexts becomes an imprecise endeavor to say the least. Nevertheless, perhaps in part to satisfy a thirst for numbers in a media and policy climate where quantification is currency, a number of scholars have attempted to predict the global number of climate migrants. Projections such as Myers’ (2002) estimate of 200 million climate migrants by 2050 have been picked up and repeated by other scholars (see: Stern, 2007) and are now widely touted in the media and policy discourse (Black et al., 2011). Unsurprisingly, such projections and their “‘creative’ calculation methods” (Adamo, 2009: 15) have been plagued by methodological and definitional vagaries, insufficient and unreliable data, lack of clarity around the role of climate change in driving migration, and lack of nuance in distinguishing between types of migration, among other shortcomings (Gemenne, 2011; Black et  al., 2011; Findlay, 2011). As a result, they have yielded wildly inconsistent projections – ranging from 150 million to as many as a billion climate migrants (Leckie et al., 2012) – and have justifiably garnered criticism for lack of empirical robustness (see: Gemenne, 2011). Beyond these empirical challenges, argues Findlay (2011: S57), the pre-occupation with forecasting a single number of environmental movers has diverted attention from thinking more creatively about uncertainty, and about how to plan for the impacts at different migration destinations in relation to the multiple and complex ways in which environmental migration is, and will be, produced. In this spirit, Gemenne (2011) argues that, while the development of robust quantitative data is necessary to inform policy, “the current quest for global figures [must be] abandoned” (p. S48) and replaced with more empirically robust, context-specific, policy-relevant studies of environmental change and migration outcomes. Recent empirical studies of this sort have 122

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begun to reveal a story that runs counter to many of the common-sense threads of prevailing climate migration narratives. For example, contrary to narratives that drought will be a primary migration driver under climate change, recent studies reveal a relatively stronger relationship between temperature and migration than between precipitation and migration, though such patterns are inconsistent and context-specific (Gray & Wise, 2016; Bohra-Mishra et al., 2014; Thiede & Gray, 2016). Empirical findings such as these are important in that they unsettle popular narratives that climate change will result in a consistent migratory response across contexts (Thiede & Gray, 2016). Just as importantly, they highlight the need for quantitative studies to be read in conversation with grounded, qualitative research that engages local complexity, foregrounds local voices, and helps us answer the “who,” “why,” “where,” and “how” questions so fundamental to understanding environmental migration and the conditions that produce vulnerability. Taken together, studies such as these can help governments, NGOs, and communities grasp the range and scale of challenges, mobilize resources, and formulate effective adaptation responses.

Who is affected? Climate change, constructed vulnerability and migration Crumley (2012) suggests that studies of human migration must begin with the question “who is moving?” as a way to sketch out the social, economic, political, and demographic contours of a migration pattern. When exploring the relationship between climate change and migration, foregrounding the question “who is moving?” or “who is most affected?” draws attention to the ways in which vulnerability is produced and experienced, as well as the ways in which certain groups are rendered more vulnerable than others and are thus more likely to experience climate change as a migration driver (whether or not they actually migrate). Upon posing these questions, it takes little investigation to see that those most vulnerable to the effects of climate change are, in most cases, those who have contributed few greenhouse gases (GHGs) to the atmosphere; who have been marginalized by the political-economic system of production, consumption, and wealth-generation driving climate change; and who have little voice in climate change mitigation, adaptation, and migration policy decisions. In this section, we briefly discuss two such cases: the low-lying South Pacific island countries of Kiribati and Tuvalu, and the indigenous communities of coastal Alaska. In outlining these cases, we seek to emphasize the points that: (a) environmental hazards do not cause vulnerability, but rather “reveal both physical vulnerability (such as weak infrastructure) and social vulnerability (such as poverty, power structures that undermine certain groups)” (Warner, 2010: 403, italics ours; see also: Ribot, 2010; Marino & Lazrus, 2015); and, (b) that both the vulnerability of these communities to environmental change and their constrained adaptive capacity are historically, discursively, politically, and materially constructed within the context of highly uneven relations of power at multiple scales (see: Ribot, 2010; Dreher & Voyer, 2015; Marino, 2012; Marino & Lazrus, 2015).

Small islands in a rising sea: Tuvalu and Kiribati For small, low-lying island countries such as Tuvalu and Kiribati in the South Pacific, climate change poses nothing short of an existential threat. With average elevations just a few meters above sea level, limited fresh water, small land bases, and low levels of economic and infrastructural development, they are maximally susceptible to the effects of climate change, including rising sea levels, coral reef degradation, intensifying storms, and salinization of their limited 123

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agricultural land and freshwater resources. As climate change intensifies these threats, the distinct possibility arises that many or even all residents of these small island nations might be forced to migrate in the coming decades. This extreme climate vulnerability and the prospect of mass displacement has given rise to a narrative of Tuvaluans and I-Kiribati as destined to become some of the world’s first “climate refugees” (see: Morris, 2009; Noack, 2014). While some residents have used the “climate refugee” narrative to secure relocation assistance (see: Noack, 2014), many residents and politicians reject the “climate refugee” label, which they see as disempowering because it strips them of their voice, agency, and sovereignty in navigating the challenges ahead (Dreher & Voyer, 2015; McNamara & Gibson, 2009); ignores their history of mobility as an adaptation strategy (Farbotko & Lazrus, 2012); denies their resilience (Hingley, 2017); and conceals internal inequalities that render some residents more vulnerable than others to the effects of climate change (Farbotko & Lazrus, 2012). Critically, it also represents a dangerous discursive shift away from climate change prevention and toward adaptation, signaling a capitulation by those in power (e.g. governments from the global North) to a future scenario in which some lands will inevitably be lost and some populations will inevitably be forced to relocate (McNamara & Gibson, 2009; Dreher & Voyer, 2015). Certainly, the threats posed by climate change are not simply discursive constructs. The combination of current and projected atmospheric GHG levels and emissions, the associated rise in average global temperatures, melting ice sheets, and the thermal expansion of sea water mean that we are likely to see a global mean sea level rise of between 0.3 and 2.5 meters by 2100 (Sweet et al., 2017). As such, adaptive interventions will become increasingly necessary in the years to come. However, because “discourses form our understanding of the problems we face and of the options we have for change and improvement” (Marino & Ribot, 2012: 325), the discursive shift from prevention to adaptation may further increase the vulnerability of already-vulnerable groups. As governmental and non-governmental organizations increasingly question the longterm viability of vulnerable communities and accept that migration is inevitable, they become less willing to invest in infrastructure and other in situ adaptation measures that would reduce the communities’ vulnerability to the hazards that threaten their viability (Marino & Lazrus, 2015). The worst-case scenario of entire island nations being forced to relocate internationally exposes a number of gaps in international laws and conventions, which are not currently equipped to deal with such a scenario (Hampson, 2012; Bronen, 2014; Yamamoto & Esteban, 2017). Hampson (2012), for example, asks: if a nation’s entire population is forced to move from its homeland, can citizenship retain its meaning when the state to which it is bound ceases to exist? And, does migrants’ citizenship status or membership in an indigenous community entitle them to certain rights in their new country of residence, including the right to remain a collectivity? As politicians and scholars engage these and other looming questions (see: Yamamoto & Esteban, 2017; Burkett, 2011), the governments of Tuvalu, Kiribati, and other low-lying island states have begun preparing for a future in which migration will almost certainly play a role. For example, while the government of Kiribati continues to press the international community to combat climate change and its effects, it has initiated a number of measures in recent years to lessen its citizens’ vulnerability to climate change and increase their resilience through education and skill-building programs designed to increase opportunities for I-Kiribati to secure work in foreign countries (Yamamoto & Esteban, 2017). Kiribati also became the first island country to formally secure land in another country as a part of its climate change-adaptation planning when it purchased 20 sq. km. of territory on Fiji’s Vanua Levu in 2014 (Caramel, 2014). The site will be used for agriculture and aquaculture to ensure Kiribati’s food security, and as a site on which to resettle some or, if necessary, all of its citizens if/when the islands 124

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become uninhabitable (Caramel, 2014; Yamamoto & Esteban, 2017). While Tuvalu has been more reluctant to undertake such dramatic measures, other low-lying countries, including the Marshall Islands, are following Kiribati’s lead (Caramel, 2014) in advocating for climate change prevention while also preparing for an uncertain future in which the security of their citizens and the continuance of their nations may depend on adaptive migration and novel forms of ex situ governance and nationhood (see: Burkett, 2011).

Constructing indigenous vulnerability: coastal Alaska Native communities Indigenous communities around the world are disproportionately vulnerable to the effects of climate change (Whyte, 2017), and the coastal Alaska Native communities now threatened by rising sea levels, diminishing sea ice, frequent flooding, and accelerating coastal erosion are no exception. Like the Pacific islanders to whom they became moored in the “climate refugee” media frenzy of recent years, these communities find themselves vulnerable to an environmental crisis not of their own making, and a political landscape unable to sufficiently accommodate them (Marino, 2012; Shearer, 2012). However, while international inequalities form the broad strokes in the story of climate change and migration in the South Pacific, the story of Alaska’s indigenous communities highlights the role of historically constructed domestic inequalities and governmental incapacity in shaping and perpetuating vulnerability (Marino, 2012; Shearer, 2012; Whyte, 2017). Like many indigenous communities around the world, Alaska Native communities historically depended on mobility as an adaptation strategy in response to seasonal variability, environmental stresses, and other pressures (Marino, 2012; Marino & Lazrus, 2015; Whyte, 2017). However, for colonial states – including in this case both the State of Alaska and the federal government of the United States – the mobility of indigenous groups has historically served as a barrier to imposing administrative legibility and centralized state control, as well as to the operation of extractive industry such as mining and logging (Marino, 2012; Scott, 1998, 2009; Whyte, 2017). In Alaska and around the world, states have solved the “problem” of indigenous groups’ mobility by sedentarizing them – or fixing them in place – through some combination of forced (re)settlement, restrictions on movement and land use, the allotment of private property, the development of permanent physical infrastructure (often in sites selected by states and not by the communities), civil registration campaigns, and the linking of key state supports such as schooling, healthcare, food aid, etc. to designated geographic spaces and residential requirements (Marino, 2012; Scott, 1998, 2009; Vandergeest & Peluso, 1995). In the process, local histories, knowledges, and practices are erased, adaptation mechanisms are disabled, and both “expertise” and decision-making powers are relocated to the distant seats of state power (Marino, 2012; Whyte, 2017; Scott, 1998, 2009). For communities such as the Iñupiaq village of Shishmaref, which now occupies a vanishing slip of coastline on Alaska’s remote Seward Peninsula, the process of sedentarization shaped their vulnerability by situating the village in an exposed location and disabling their most important adaptation strategy: mobility (Marino, 2012). In the past, the coastal erosion, flooding, and other environmental stresses threatening Shishmaref might have been eluded by moving the village to higher or more secure land. Today, however, the community is now physically rooted in place by its infrastructure (homes, school, businesses, etc.), thus making relocation both difficult and costly. Furthermore, because the surrounding lands to which the community might have moved now fall under the jurisdiction of the colonial state that appropriated them, decision-making power over relocation and development resides in Juneau and Washington, D.C. (Marino, 2012; Shearer, 2012). 125

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For the residents of coastal Alaska Native communities, vulnerability is not limited to rising seas and eroding lands, and its construction is not confined to the past. As these communities come to see relocation as a necessity, they find themselves both dependent on and constrained by the state and federal governments that shaped their vulnerability to climate change in the first place, and which lack the organizational capacity to effectively facilitate relocation (see: Marino, 2012; Shearer, 2012). The village of Kivalina, for example, voted as early as 1992 to relocate due to the erosion of their island on Alaska’s northwest coast. Yet, despite the concurrence of numerous federal agencies, including the US Army Corps of Engineers in 2006, that relocation is necessary, the village has yet to be relocated and little progress has been made toward doing so (Shearer, 2012). The reason climate change-related relocation is proving so difficult for communities like Kivalina, Shishmaref, and others, argue Shearer (2012) and Marino (2012), is because, in the United States, there is no comprehensive policy and no federal agency capable of proactively facilitating climate change adaptation through relocation. And with no guiding policy and no lead agency with an appropriate mandate, agencies remain confined by their existing, limited mandates (Shearer, 2012; Marino, 2012). For example, the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), which coordinates federal disaster relief efforts, only responds to “‘institutionally recognized’ disasters, often preventing them from taking action on earlier signals of concern and danger” (Shearer, 2012: 180). Furthermore, FEMA requires that communities damaged by disasters be rebuilt in place, without improvement (Marino, 2012). For communities of limited means whose lands are being rendered permanently uninhabitable due to climate change, rebuilding in place makes little sense and does little to alleviate the conditions of their vulnerability (Marino, 2012; Shearer, 2012). Having initially been rendered vulnerable by settler colonial states of Alaska and the United States, the future of communities like Kivalina and Shishmaref now depends on the political willingness of those very state and federal governments to develop more accommodating policies that will make relocation – one of the communities’ oldest adaptation mechanisms – possible once again.

Amplified and uneven flows: people on the move Despite the many necessary caveats and exceptions noted above, it is virtually certain that climate change will play a role, both directly and indirectly, in millions of people’s decisions to migrate in the coming decades. While the debate rages over the potential scale of climate migration, a number of patterns are emerging in the literature around the questions of who is likely to move and where they are likely to go. In short, most climate migration will likely occur within the global South and, despite alarmist narratives, it is unlikely that climate change will cause massive migration events; rather, it will likely amplify or alter existing migration streams, including the global trend of rural-to-urban migration (Black et al., 2011; Hugo, 2013; Findlay, 2011). Migration decisions are likely to be heavily influenced by migrants’ social networks and their ability to mobilize human and social capital, and most moves are likely to be short distance, within-country, to proximate urban areas, and made initially as temporary moves by one household member (Findlay, 2011; Hugo, 2013). Within this more general pattern, however, environmental migration streams are likely to diverge somewhat along the lines of socio-economic status. While there is no hard-and-fast rule as to the relationship between socio-economic status and environmental migration, evidence suggests – with some exceptions – that those commanding high levels of human capital are more likely to migrate, to migrate farther, and to cross international borders than those commanding lower levels of human capital (Chiswick, 2008; Findlay, 2011). On the other end of the spectrum, socio-economically and politically marginalized groups are disproportionately vulnerable 126

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to the effects of climate change (Ribot, 2010; Hugo, 2013) and often remain in place even in the face of environmental stresses (Chiswick, 2008; Hugo, 2013). When they do migrate, their moves are often reactive – the result of rapid-onset hazards and thus not planned in advance (Adri & Simon, 2017) – and they are more likely to migrate shorter distances and to remain within international borders (Findlay, 2011; Black et al., 2011). Because climate change will layer over and interact with many social, economic, political, demographic, and other factors influencing migration decisions, it is likely to produce an “uneven migration destination map” (Findlay, 2011: S50). Fortunately, past and current migration flows give some sense as to what future environmental migration patterns might look like. The term “migration streams” refers to a pattern wherein migrants tend to follow the pathways established by members of their families or communities who have previously migrated, such that migrants from a given sending community often settle in a particular destination community. Once a critical mass of people from a given sending community or region becomes established in a destination community, social networks and other economic and cultural “pulls” (Lee, 1966) may make the destination attractive to a broader sub-set of migrants. The degree to which environmental change amplifies or alters existing migration streams will depend significantly on national and international migration policies, the political will and infrastructural capacity in destination communities, and the effects of climate change on destination communities. While some destinations may become more attractive to migrants for a variety of reasons, environmental change or political sentiments may make some destinations less attractive. For example, looking at the potential effects of sea level rise on internal migration patterns in the US, Hauer (2017) projects that the Austin, Orlando, and Atlanta metropolitan areas are likely to receive the most migrants from coastal areas, while low-lying coastal cities such as Miami and New Orleans will likely see significant net outmigration. When it comes to international migration, especially from the global South to destinations such as Europe and the United States, where surging anti-immigrant sentiments may shape immigration policy and destination desirability for years to come, political factors will likely prove at least as significant as environmental factors in shaping the migration destination map.

Continued vulnerability: environmental migration and the growth of slums Climate change will contribute to the growth of many cities – and, likely, their slums – by amplifying rural-to-urban migration flows (Black et al., 2011) and triggering migration from low-lying coastal cities to other urban areas (Hauer, 2017). Cities traditionally feature in the migration literature as destinations. However, when it comes to climate migration, it is important to recognize that cities, themselves, are also vulnerable to the environmental stresses posed by climate change, and that those stresses are exacerbated by such factors as location (e.g. in floodplains or low-lying coastal areas), poor planning, and socio-economic inequality (see: Adamo, 2010). While the move away from environmental hazards or diminishing livelihood prospects may alleviate acute or chronic stresses for migrants, the move to a city – especially to an urban slum – may accentuate or introduce vulnerability in a number of ways (McNamara et al., 2016; Adri & Simon, 2017). As “poverty’s niche in the ecology of the city” (Davis, 2007: 121–122), slums are characterized by high population density, poor planning, their location in floodplains, swamps, toxic sites, or steeply sloping and unstable land, and their limited infrastructure and social or legal protections. As such, they are acutely vulnerable to environmental hazards (UNISDR, 2015; Ribot, 2010; Davis, 2007). Every year, environmental events such as hurricanes, floods, and landslides 127

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inflict a terrible human toll – loss of life and property, displacement, diminished health – in slums across the global South, and some in the global North. But while these events may be a proximate cause of pain and suffering for slum dwellers, they are not the ultimate cause. Rather, they ignite the accumulated tinder of “on-the-ground social inequality; unequal access to resources; poverty; poor infrastructure; lack of representation; and inadequate systems of social security, early warning, and planning” (Ribot, 2010: 49). In the context of these “everyday conditions [that] are unacceptable even in the absence of climate stress,” environmental hazards can push slum dwellers “over an all-too-low threshold into an insecurity and poverty that violate their basic human rights” (Ribot, 2010: 50). In Bangladesh, as environmental stresses such as rising sea levels, salinization of agricultural land, cyclones, flooding, and riverbank erosion increasingly threaten livelihoods and wellbeing in the countryside, growing numbers of people are choosing to migrate to Dhaka, the country’s capital and largest city. These migrants often settle in densely populated, low-lying slum areas with few services, poor sanitation, and limited access to clean water; a situation that renders them vulnerable to floods and illness, and presents drainage, sanitation, and public health problems for the city (Adri & Simon, 2017; Alam & Ahmad, 2013). The difficulties faced by environmental migrants to Dhaka’s slums illustrate Marino’s (2012: 375) observation that “the way in which migration occurs and the resources migrants are able to access before, during, and after moving will necessarily shape social outcomes for environmental migrants.” Indeed, recent studies suggest that environmental migrants to Dhaka often lack access to the services necessary to meet their basic human needs (McNamara et al., 2016), and that they experience worse social outcomes than other migrants who arrived in the same slum around the same time, but whose migration decisions were not driven primarily by environmental hazards (Adri & Simon, 2017). In their study of one of Dhaka’s largest slums, for example, Adri & Simon (2017) find that “climate-induced migrants” demonstrate lower adaptive capacity than other migrants due to lack of social networks, lower income and education levels, less savings and access to credit, and the fact that their moves were often not planned sufficiently far in advance. Because the authors in this particular study focused on migration resulting from rapid-onset environmental disasters (flooding, riverbank erosion, and damage from cyclones) in a particular context, their findings may or may not translate to other contexts or to those who migrate as a result of slowonset environmental change. Regardless, studies like this illuminate a harsh reality facing environmental migrants: while migration may alleviate certain stresses, it often introduces new forms of vulnerability for migrants in their destination communities because the underlying conditions of their vulnerability – e.g. socio-economic inequalities, racial and ethnic discrimination, inadequate infrastructure and social supports, political marginalization – persist.

Conclusion The literature exploring the relationship between climate change and human migration has exploded over the past decade, and will surely continue to grow in both volume and sophistication in the years to come as climate change accelerates and the story of climate migration unfolds. To date, there is little agreement within the literature as to the magnitude of climate migration or how to measure it, or even whether there is value in attempting to generate climate migration estimates at the global or regional scale. What is becoming clear, however, is that environmental factors do not influence migration in isolation; rather, they interact in complex ways with a range of social, political, economic, cultural, and even personal factors in shaping migration decisions. Furthermore, there is growing consensus among climate migration scholars that, while not all households and communities faced with environmental stresses 128

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will migrate, and while we are unlikely to see massive climate migration events, climate change will likely amplify or alter existing migration flows. When environmental migration does occur, most moves will be internal and will take a variety of forms (permanent, shortterm, cyclical, etc.), including some forms that blur the lines between environmental migration and in situ adaptation. Finally, just as climate change will not affect everyone equally, the adaptation possibilities available to different actors – whether they involve migration, in situ adaptation, or some combination thereof – will vary according to factors ranging from geopolitical location to socioeconomic status, gender, race, and ethnicity. In this chapter, we have sought to emphasize this last point by highlighting some of the ways in which environmental changes play on and exacerbate existing inequalities to produce conditions of vulnerability for certain groups and shape the uneven landscape of climate migration and adaptation. When we trace the story of climate migration to its roots, we can see that the future wellbeing of vulnerable communities – whether they migrate or adapt in situ – depends fundamentally on understanding and addressing the conditions that produce their vulnerability in the first place.

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Findlay, A. M. (2011). Migration destinations in an era of environmental change. Global Environmental Change 21S: S50–S58. Gemenne, F. (2011). Why the numbers don’t add up: a review of estimates and predictions of people displaced by environmental changes. Global Environmental Change-Human and Policy Dimensions 21: S41–S49. Gemenne, F. (2015). One good reason to speak of “climate refugees.” Forced Migration Review (49): 70–71. Gray, C., & E. Wise. (2016). Country-specific effects of climate variability on human migration. Climatic Change 135(3): 555–568. Hampson, F. (2012). The human rights situation of indigenous peoples in states and other territories threatened with extinction for environmental reasons. Pp. 238–246 in Climate Change and Displacement Reader (S. Leckie, E. Simperingham, & J. Bakker, Eds.). London: Earthscan. Hauer, M. (2017). Migration induced by sea-level rise could reshape the US population landscape. Nature Climate Change 7(5): 321–325. Hingley, R. (2017). “Climate refugees”: an oceanic perspective. Asia & the Pacific Policy Studies 4(1): 158–165. Hugo, G. (2013). Introduction. Pp. xv–xlii in Migration and Climate Change (G. Hugo, Ed.). Cheltenham, UK: E. Elgar. Leckie, S., E. Simperingham, & J. Bakker. (2012). Introduction. Pp. 1–5 in Climate Change and Displacement Reader. New York: Earthscan. Lee, E. S. (1966). A theory of migration. Demography 3(1): 47–57. Lister, M. (2014). Climate change refugees. Critical Review of International Social and Political Philosophy 17(5): 618–634. Marino, E. K. (2012). The long history of environmental migration: assessing vulnerability construction and obstacles to successful relocation in Shishmaref, Alaska. Global Environmental Change-Human and Policy Dimensions 22(2), 374–381. Marino, E. K., & H. Lazrus. (2015). Migration or forced displacement? The complex choices of climate change and disaster migrants in Shishmaref, Alaska and Nanumea, Tuvalu. Human Organization 74(4): 341–350. Marino, E. K., & J. Ribot. (2012). Adding insult to injury: climate change and the inequities of climate intervention. Global Environmental Change 22(2): 323–328. McNamara, K. E., & C. Gibson. (2009). “We do not want to leave our land”: Pacific ambassadors at the United Nations resist the category of “climate refugees.” Geoforum 40(3): 475–483. McNamara, K. E., L. L. Olson, & M. A. Rahman. (2016). Insecure hope: the challenges faced by urban slum dwellers in Bhola slum, Bangladesh. Migration and Development 5(1): 1–15. Morris, R. (2009). What happens when your country drowns? Meet the people of Tuvalu, the world’s first climate refugees. Mother Jones, November/December. Morrissey, J. (2012). Rethinking the “debate on environmental refugees”: from “maximilists and minimalists” to “proponents and critics.” The Journal of Political Ecology 19: 36–49. Morrissey, J. (2013). Understanding the relationship between environmental change and migration: the development of an effects framework based on the case of northern Ethiopia. Global Environmental Change 23: 1501–1510. Myers, N. (1993). Environmental refugees in a globally warmed world. BioScience 43(11): 752–761. Myers, N. (2002). Environmental refugees: a growing phenomenon of the 21st century. Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society London B 357(1420): 609–613. Noack, R. (2014). Has the era of the “climate refugee” begun? The Washington Post. Aug. 7. Ribot, J. (2010). Vulnerability does not fall from the sky: toward multiscale, pro-poor climate policy. Pp. 47–74 in Social Dimensions of Climate Change: Equity and vulnerability in a warming world (R. Mearns & A. Norton, Eds.). Washington, DC: World Bank. Scott, J. C. (1998). Seeing Like a State: How certain schemes to improve the human condition have failed. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Scott, J. C. (2009). The Art of Not Being Governed: An anarchist history of upland Southeast Asia. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Shearer, C. (2012). The political ecology of climate adaptation assistance: Alaska Natives, displacement, and relocation. The Journal of Political Ecology 19: 174–183. Stern, N. (2007). The Stern Review: The economics of climate change. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Sweet, W., R. Kopp, C. Weaver, J. Obeysekera, R. Horton, E. R. Thieler, & C. Zervas. (2017). Global and regional sea level rise scenarios for the United States. NOAA Technical Report NOS CO-OPS 083. Silver Spring, MD: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. Thiede, B.. & C. Gray. (2016). Heterogeneous climate effects on human migration in Indonesia. Population and Environment 10/2016. UNISDR (2015). Global Assessment Report on Disaster Risk Reduction 2015. Geneva: United Nations Office for Disaster Risk Reduction. Vandergeest, P., & N. Peluso. (1995). Territorialization and state power in Thailand. Theory and Society 24(3): 385–426. Warner, K. (2010). Global environmental change and migration: governance challenges. Global Environmental Change 20(3): 402–413. Warner, K., & T. Afifi. (2014). Where the rain falls: evidence from 8 countries on how vulnerable households use migration to manage the risk of rainfall variability and food insecurity. Climate and Development 6(1): 1–17. Whyte, K. P. (2017). Is it colonial déjà vu? Indigenous peoples and climate injustice. Pp. 88–105 in Humanities for the Environment: Integrating knowledge, forging new constellations of practice (J. Adamson & M. Davis, Eds.). New York: Routledge. Yamamoto, L., & M. Esteban. (2017). Migration as an adaptation strategy for atoll island states. International Migration 55(2): 144–158.

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Migrants in the economy

Economic factors are basic to understanding international migration. Indeed, increasing one’s standard of living or at least accessing a survival income is among the major motives for going abroad. And those who cross borders for other reasons generally have to find a means of supporting themselves in the host society. While the goal of economic improvement motivates international migration, a sizeable body of research suggests that non-economic factors – including migrants’ geographical and social location, social and demographic characteristics, legal status and embeddedness in communal and family networks – will shape it as well. Employers and the host society generally evaluate migrants in terms of their nationality, age, gender, race, language skills, legal status and educational background, as well as assumed cultural characteristics. Such appraisals often place migrants at an economic disadvantage as they compete with the native-born. This is why migrants trained as doctors or engineers sometimes drive taxis or clean toilets in the point of settlement. Certain employers, however, prefer migrant workers, including those lacking legal status, over natives because they are believed to be harder working, more compliant or more accepting of low wages. In fact, migrant workers often endure wages and working conditions unacceptable to natives because, at least initially, their point of reference is to the country of origin, where circumstances are even worse. In order to compensate for their disadvantages, migrant workers rely on various forms of cooperation – involving family members, co-nationals and others – through which employmentrelated information and resources are shared. Such trust-based organizations allow migrants to control economic niches ranging from donut shops and jewelry stores to child care and construction work in numerous settings. Despite these collective arrangements, the record shows that migrant communities are hardly immune from exploitation and abuse from both internal and external sources. Aware of their disadvantages, immigrants often gravitate toward jobs that native workers find degrading, dangerous or poorly remunerated. At the same time, highly skilled immigrants command generous salaries, excellent working conditions and expedited residency status through their mastery of the advanced knowledge and education vital to high technology industries. Despite the generous rewards associated with such skills, young people in developed countries often eschew STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics) fields. As a

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consequence, with government approval, universities seek to both recruit international students and facilitate job placements and visa acquisition for those seeking to work after graduation. Because of the global demand for professional and technical workers, high tech industries and academic departments in many countries are characterized by an international workforce. Héctor L. Delgado’s chapter on migrant workers and unions examines the history of relations between immigrant workers, unions and employers. Noting that unions commonly regard immigrants as a threat to their control over jobs, wages and working conditions, Delgado points out that employers and their political allies have long exploited this conflict in order to control the entire labor force. At least since the era of Asian exclusion in the mid-1800s, racial and ethnic prejudice has inspired this “divide and rule” strategy in the US, where only the most radical unions sought to organize racial minorities. European workers were sometimes accepted on the basis of the whiteness they shared with natives. However, during hard times, Hungarians, Italians, Russians and others were also subject to national, ethnic or religious discrimination. Despite native workers’ fears that cooperating with immigrants would be harmful to their own interests, migrants, who were often familiar with cultures of solidarity, contributed much to the American labor movement. Recalling this record, Delgado points out that in recent years, the growing number of migrant workers, coupled with the decline of US union membership has stimulated efforts to organize migrants in service industries. (In fact, disciplinary associations – including The American Sociological Association and American Anthropological Association to which many migration scholars belong – have a recent record of relocating their annual conferences in order to support labor actions by immigrant-heavy service workers unions). There were few migrant workers in Europe until the mid-20th century. However, unionists there tend to be more embedded in cultures of labor activism than are those in North America. Consequently, they are more open to organizing migrants. As Delgado concludes, in both the US and Europe, union members increasingly realize that they can do little to regulate the presence of migrants. Further, legal restrictions against newcomers only reduce their wages and make organizing them more difficult. In contrast, when immigrants join local unions, the entire workforce stands to benefit. Ali R. Chaudhary’s chapter defines immigrant entrepreneurship via a review of fundamental concepts in the field. He then examines ways by which self-employment affects migrants’ economic mobility and incorporation into the host society. A unique form of this process, called “racialized incorporation” by which immigrants and their second-generation children are sorted into racial categories associated with uneven propensities for self-employment and industry-sector prestige receives special attention. The chapter closes with a discussion of several cutting-edge perspectives in the study of immigrant entrepreneurship. Metka Hercog defines high-skilled migration and reviews three focal areas of research literature on the topic: immigration policy analysis, research on the migration-development nexus, and studies on integration/incorporation of skilled migrants in receiving countries. In this manner, she depicts highly skilled migrants as those who are economically useful and contribute to economic competitiveness; benefit development outcomes in their countries of origin; and are easily integrated in labor markets and societies at large. The chapter shows how candidates are selected to fill desired positions in host societies and critiques the problematic distinction between low- and high-skilled migration. It this way, the chapter contributes to our understanding of how changing government priorities provide opportunities for mobility among some migrants while erecting barriers that exclude others. Rebeca Raijman’s chapter focuses on involvement among less-skilled migrants in the informal sector of the labor market. Next, it summarizes the conditions under which informal activities 134

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are most likely to occur and reviews four realms – agriculture, construction and domestic and care services – where informal economic activities flourish. The role of informality as a steppingstone to self-employment and business ownership is then discussed. Last, measurement issues are analyzed, with emphasis on the need for the acquisition of data sufficient to capture the economic activities and income generation in the informal sector. Finally, the section on immigrants in the economy concludes with Amanda Flaim and Celine Villongco’s chapter on human trafficking. Acknowledging the significant challenges inherent in the study of this activity, the authors also note the growth of reliable research on the phenomenon. Their chapter concludes with a discussion of how migration and mobility intersect with other socio-structural, political, economic and individual-level dynamics across regions to heighten or reduce risk associated with trafficking and exploitation.

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12 Unions and immigrants Héctor L. Delgado

Introduction For well over a century, organized labor in the United States came down on the side of restriction in the immigration debate. But in 2000, the Executive Council of the AFL-CIO, the oldest and largest federation of labor unions in the United States, adopted a pro-immigrant resolution in favor of a new amnesty program for undocumented immigrants and the repeal of the employer sanctions provision of the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) of 1986. The shift was reflected in The Labor Movement’s Framework for Comprehensive Labor Reform (AFL-CIO 2009), which included support for: 1. An independent commission to assess and manage future flows, based on labor market shortages that are determined on the basis of actual need; 2. A secure and effective worker authorization mechanism; 3. Rational operational control of the border; 4. Adjustment of status for the current undocumented population; and 5. Improvement, not expansion, of temporary worker programs, limited to temporary or seasonal, not permanent, jobs. One critic of the AFL-CIO’s shift is the labor economist Vernon M. Briggs, Jr. By focusing on the organization of immigrant workers, and thereby tying itself to immigrant causes, Briggs (2001) avers, the federation robs native workers of the only protection they have from unfair competition by the undocumented for low-skilled jobs. While Burgoon et  al.’s (2010) time series analysis of data on immigration and union density did not find a statistically significant relationship between the two, the issue remains an important one for organized labor in the United States – and Europe. Trade unions in Europe are also confronted with the challenge of what to do about and with large numbers of immigrant workers in the labor market. This chapter focuses on and compares the relationship between labor unions and immigrants in the United States and Europe, beginning with and focusing principally on the U.S. case. The economic, political, and social climate in which unions are operating today in the United States is very different from the one in which the nascent labor movement operated in the 19th and for much of the 20th century. Globalization and the virtually unfettered movement of capital and workers across borders changed the playing field, and a growing local and 137

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international human rights movement, including advocacy groups for immigrants and workers in the United States and Europe, emboldened immigrant workers and pressured trade unions and states to adopt more relaxed immigration positions and policies. The immigrant labor force is a significant one by any measure. In 2013, for example, the International Labour Organization reported that 232 million people were working abroad (Luce 2015). The United States’ experience with immigrant labor is a much longer one than Europe’s, but the increase of the immigrant population in Europe during the past thirty years has been dramatic. Today, nearly 10 percent of the European Union’s population is foreign-born (Marino et al. 2015). With these workers on their doorstep, and unable to influence immigration policy and the enforcement of immigration laws effectively, organized labor in the United States chose to organize both documented and undocumented immigrants in order to reduce employers’ incentive to hire them. While labor unions in several European countries arrived at the same conclusion, a rising tide of anti-immigrant sentiment in the United States and Europe – evidenced in some measure by the Brexit vote in Britain, the election of Donald Trump in the United States, and the growing popularity of right-wing political groups and parties in Europe – may once again require unions to reassess their positions. It will not be the first time for organized labor in the United States.

Unions and immigrants in the United States: survival over solidarity In the late 18th century, the new republic generally welcomed immigrants. In a country that had just divested itself of British rule, there were many who believed that the United States should be a refuge for people fleeing tyranny. Furthermore, expansion and security required immigration. But the period was not completely free of fears and prejudices. All of the colonies denied the franchise and the right to hold office to Roman Catholics and Jews, and concerns about the immigration of paupers was widespread, as were fears among artisans about wage and price competition. Increasingly, industrialization robbed artisans of their independence and control over the means of production, placing them in more direct competition with immigrant workers. Initially, artisans recognized that the “enemy” was not the immigrant, but rather capitalists and financiers, and they formed organizations to protect their interests. But in the face of the Panic of 1837, and the five-year depression that ensued, and a rapidly growing nativist movement, the mechanization and de-skilling of work, and an expanding pool of unskilled labor, principally immigrant, solidarity gave way to survival and ethnic antagonism (Lane 1987; Bonacich 1972). The second half of the 19th century and early 20th century witnessed the rapid growth of the factory system and the demand for more and more labor that native workers alone could not satisfy. Immigrants would have to make up the difference, and they did. Industrialization created enormous wealth, but those who performed the backbreaking work in the factories saw relatively little of it. Workers recognized as they never had before that they had to organize, and did so at an unprecedented pace. In city after city, labor organizations were formed, including the Knights of Labor, whose membership exceeded 700,000 in the 1880s. Many of these organizations, including the Knights, were short lived, and they and others eventually affiliated with the American Federation of Labor (AFL). While the Knights of Labor was much more inclusive in its membership, the AFL, founded in 1886 and modeled after Britain’s Trade Union Congress (TUC), focused on the skilled crafts. Most new immigrants were unskilled. Meanwhile, immigration into the United States in the 1880s nearly doubled from the previous decade, so that by 1890 the foreign-born population surpassed 9 million. 138

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Unions’ reluctance, immigrants’ willingness The AFL was slow to take up the fight for strong immigration restrictions, but in its 1897 convention adopted a resolution in support of a literacy test for immigrants, which found its way into the Immigration Act of 1917. In fact, the AFL-CIO supported, and in some cases helped to initiate, virtually every piece of restrictive immigration legislation passed in the first two decades of the 20th century. In 1902 organized labor supported the enactment of the Chinese Exclusion Act and in 1907 the “Gentleman’s Agreement,” designed to curb Japanese immigration. In 1905 in San Francisco, over sixty labor unions formed the Asiatic Exclusion League to restrict immigration from Asia for the “preservation of the Caucasian race upon American soil” (Takaki 1989, 201). In 1921, organized labor welcomed passage of the Immigration and Naturalization Act (INA), enacted to curtail dramatically immigration from Eastern and Southern Europe, and in 1924 the Johnson-Reed Act, which, in addition to reducing quotas even further, barred the immigration of “aliens” ineligible for citizenship. The national origins quota system established by the 1921 and 1924 Acts, and the Immigration Act of 1917, guided immigration policy in the United States until 1952. While the restrictive immigration reforms of the 1920s placed numerical quotas on European immigrants, they did not establish quotas on immigrants from Mexico. A literacy test, fees, and taxes, however, made it more difficult for Mexicans to enter the country legally. Consequently, a growing number entered without the proper immigration credentials. This was a boon for employers who wanted cheap and disposable workers. As one foreman put it, “‘When we want you. We’ll call you; when we don’t – git’” (McWilliams 1939, 125). During economic downturns, Mexican workers were pushed out, as they were during the Great Depression, but when the economy rebounded they were “welcomed” back. Meanwhile, little effort was made by the AFL to organize them. The federation’s reluctance to organize these workers, however, did not prevent them from striking, sometimes with the help of communist labor organizations and organizers. For the most part they formed their own organizations (Jamieson 1976; Weber 1972). Between 1933 and 1939, for example, California farms witnessed over 180 strikes (Maciel 1981). Mexican workers comprised the bulk of the strikers. Efforts by the Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO) to organize Mexican workers were only marginally better than the AFL’s, despite the fact that Mexican workers had demonstrated a high level of militancy and receptivity to unionization. This was true of European immigrants as well. Yet, despite the mainstream labor movement’s persistent attempts to exclude them, immigrants played an important role in organized labor’s development.

Immigrants’ contributions to the labor movement Organized labor had its roots in previous immigrant communities and some of the most important early labor leaders were, themselves, immigrants or the children of immigrants. Among them were Samuel Gompers, the first president of the AFL, who was born in London and emigrated to the United States as a teenager, and Eugene Debs, a founder of the International Workers of the World (IWW) and the son of French immigrants. Prior to 1900 large numbers of skilled workers with union experience had emigrated to the United States. One example was English mill operatives from Lancashire who struck on several occasions during the 1870s in Fall River, Massachusetts. Skilled English immigrants brought with them labor-organizing skills they had honed during a period of substantial union activity in England during the mid-1800s and tactics such as the creation of cooperatives to reduce living expenses, selective strikes, and levies on the wages of workers who continued to work during strikes. Some of these English 139

Héctor L. Delgado Table 12.1  Unionization rates and immigration to the United States Year

Private sector union membership

Percentage of private sector employees

Immigration to the United States

1900 1901 1902 1903 1904 1905 1906–10 1911–15

917,000 1,167,000 1,500,000 1,908,000 1,995,000 1,923,000 2,109,000 2,508,000

6.51 7.70 9.26 11.47 12.19 11.07 10.47 12.23

448,572 487,918 648,743 857,046 812,870 1,026,499 4,962,310 4,457,831

Source: “U.S. Private Sector Trade Union Membership” (The Public Purpose, Labor Market Reporter 2003) for the union figures and the Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) for the immigration numbers.

craft unions were transplanted in the United States. In 1872, Illinois passed a mine safety statute as a result of a campaign by immigrant coal miners. Several of these miners’ leaders, themselves immigrants from Staffordshire, helped form the American Miners’ Association, the first national miners’ union in the United States. English miners, in fact, played a prominent role in the formation of the United Mine Workers of America. But English immigrants were not alone in this regard. In Chicago, for example, German immigrant workers, under the leadership of seasoned union activists from Germany, also formed trade unions (Bodnar 1985, 85–88). Union membership increased dramatically at the end of the 19th century and through the 20th, accompanied by a dramatic surge in immigration. In 1900, union membership was just below 1 million, but by 1915 exceeded 2.5 million. Nearly 450,000 immigrants arrived in 1900, but between 1905 and 1915 the number of immigrants entering the country averaged roughly 1 million a year (see Table 12.1) This called into question the assertion that immigrants had a dampening effect on unionization; an assertion based in part on numerous instances in which high levels of immigration coincided with low levels of unionization. But as Hourwich (1969, 30) observed in his study of immigration, first published in 1912: The fact is . . . that the origin and growth of organized labor in the United States are contemporaneous with the period of ‘new immigration,’ and that the immigrants from Southern and Eastern Europe are the backbone of some of the strongest labor unions. Unions, in turn, played an important role in the “Americanization” of immigrants.

Unionization, Americanization, and whiteness At the turn of the 20th century, the process of “Americanization” was in full gear. Americanization was “a kind of crusade as employers, nationalist groups, and various state and federal agencies” attempted to remake immigrants in the American mold (Barrett 1992, 997). The process took place in many settings, including the workplace, where workers from different ethnic and racial groups labored side by side. When ethnic groups formed their own unions, as they did their own churches and fraternal and other organizations, the Americanization process was retarded. Racism, nativism, and chauvinism in the labor movement in the late 1800s and early 1900s

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had a similar effect. In explaining unionism to workers, organizers also had to explain the basic “values and ideas that gave the movement its rationale, its soul” (Barrett 1992, 1009). Foremost among these values were the freedoms of association and speech. And it was in labor unions that many immigrants learned not only that solidarity could be achieved across ethnic lines, but that it was essential if they were to improve their conditions of work. Americanization often meant defining and protecting whiteness. The AFL more readily embraced eastern and southern Europeans than it did non-Europeans, conferring on them what Roediger (2005) calls an “inbetween” status. This unique status provided them with a foot in the door to “whiteness.” Most AFL unions were “exclusionary by definition” and marshaled economic, and to a lesser extent political, arguments to exclude women, Chinese, Japanese, African Americans, the illiterate, the noncitizen, and the new immigrants from organized workplaces, and, whenever possible, from the shores of the United States. (Roediger 2005, 79) Citing work by Robert Lee (1999), Gwendolyn Mink (1990), and Andrew Neather (1993), Roediger (2005) argues that AFL campaigns to restrict immigration were not driven solely by economic concerns, but by racial ones as well. Opposition by craft unions to Chinese immigrants in the second half of the 19th century was especially pronounced and racist, but “much” of the same rhetoric “was fastened onto the Hungarian immigrant in the 1880s and then recycled in the AFL’s campaign to restrict the ‘new immigrant’ generally over the next four decades” (Roediger 2005, 80). Hungarians were referred to as “filthy Huns” in trade union publications and pasta joined rice as an un-American and uncivilized food. Eugene Debs, also a founder of the American Railway Union, the first industrial union in the United States, said of Italians that they lived “‘far more like a wild beast than the Chinese’” (Roediger 2005, 80). Another argument for restriction was the Russian Revolution and the rise of communism, which in the mind of some made eastern and southern Europeans suspect. Changes in technology and the relations of production, and the availability of a large pool of unskilled workers, predominantly immigrant, eventually forced AFL unions to organize Italians, Slavs, and even the “filthy Huns.” This, in turn, called for changes in the way unions organized, including the hiring of organizers from workers’ ethnic groups. In Los Angeles today most unions that organize Latina/o immigrant workers have numerous, some a preponderance of, organizers who are Latinas/os.

Organizing immigrant workers After WWII, and prior to its merger with the CIO in 1955, the AFL held to its restrictionist position on immigration, while the CIO adopted a more liberal one based largely on humanitarian grounds. The CIO, unlike the AFL, for example, called for the abolition of the national origins quota system. Stating the CIO’s position, Walter Reuther said before a Senate committee in 1955, “‘Our unions are open to all, and all are accorded equal treatment, equal rights, and equal opportunity’” (Haus 2002, 71). After the merger, the AFL-CIO adopted a position more in line with the CIO’s position prior to the merger, but was slow to organize immigrants initially, despite a steady decline in membership since the late 1950s, when nearly 40 percent of private sector workers were unionized. This started to change in the 1980s, when the AFLCIO, led by unions such as the Service Employees International Union (SEIU), started to form

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Héctor L. Delgado Table 12.2  Unionization and nativity

1996 1997 1998 1999 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2010

Percentage of workers covered by a union contract by nativity, 1996–2010

Percentage of foreign-born and native-born workers among union-represented workers, 1996–2010

Foreign-born wage and salary workers

Native-born wage and salary workers

Foreign-born wage and salary workers

Native-born wage and salary workers

13.6 13.1 12.1 12.6 12.0 12.0 11.4 11.3 10.8 11.1 10.3 9.0

16.5 16.0 15.8 15.6 15.3 15.2 15.1 14.8 14.4 14.1 13.7 11.9

8.9 9.4 9.1 9.7 10.3 10.6 10.3 11.5 11.4 12.2 12.1 12.0

91.1 90.6 90.9 90.3 89.7 89.4 89.7 88.5 88.6 87.8 87.9 88.0

Sources: Velma Fan and Batalova (2007), Batalova (2011), BLS (2011).

coalitions with immigrant advocacy groups, among them the National Immigration Forum, and to accelerate their efforts to organize undocumented immigrant workers. They had little choice. Immigrant workers, especially in some cities and sectors of the economy, simply comprised a portion of the workforce too large for organized labor to ignore. Foreign-born workers represented 15.3 percent of the workforce in the United States in 2010, or 18.8 million workers, an 8 percent increase over 2005 (Batalova 2011). In 2010, 9 percent of foreignborn wage and salary workers were covered by a union contract, compared to 12 percent of their native-born counterparts (BLS 2011). Between 2005 and 2010, the number of nativeborn and foreign-born union workers declined, but the former declined by 10.3 percent and the latter by only 1.5 percent (Batalova 2011). While “immigrant workers” typically are assumed to mean immigrants from Mexico and other parts of Latin America, the percentage of unionized black immigrants from Jamaica, Haiti, and other countries in the Caribbean and the African continent increased from 7 percent in 1994 to 15.4 percent in 2015 (MorganTrostle and Zheng 2016). The labor movement in the United States recognizes that its ability to make up lost ground rests in some, if not considerable, measure on its ability to organize immigrant workers. As Ruth Milkman (2000, 1), a leading labor scholar in the United States observes, “recruiting immigrants is an increasingly urgent imperative for the besieged labor movement.” The economic downturn that began in earnest in 2007 stalled modest gains in union membership. The fraction of workers unionized in 2009 was 12.3 percent, a .1 percent drop from the previous year, but the number of wage and salary workers belonging to unions was 15.3 million, or 771,000 fewer members than the previous year. Another 1.6 million workers, half of whom are government workers, are covered by a union contract. But even the 12.3 percent is misleading, since, despite employing fewer workers than the private sector, 7.9 million of 15.3 million union members in 2009 were employed in the public sector. The rate for private industry was 7.2 percent compared to 37.4 percent in the public sector. In 2015 only 11.1 percent of wage

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and salary workers were members of unions, compared to 20.1 percent in 1983 (BLS 2016). The task for organized labor is a formidable one, especially in the private sector, but if recent attacks on public-sector unions by Republican governors and legislators, and the election of Donald Trump in 2016 are any indication, organized labor in the United States will be engaged in an even more contentious fight for survival on both fronts.

Union campaigns In some parts of the country, organized labor took up the task of organizing the undocumented before the AFL-CIO announced its new policy. This pattern is reflected in the flowing literature that was published between 1990 and 2000. In New Immigrants, Old Unions: Organizing Undocumented Workers in Los Angeles, I provide an in-depth deviant case analysis of one of these campaigns in the mid-1980s, in which the International Ladies Garment Workers Union (ILGWU) organized a factory in which virtually its entire workforce was undocumented (Delgado 1993). Milkman’s (2000) edited volume, Organizing Immigrants, contains in-depth analyses of other campaigns in the Los Angeles area prior to 2000. These campaigns revealed unions’ desire and willingness to change in order to organize immigrant workers, immigrants’ receptivity to unionization, and the difficulties, not unique to immigrant workers, entailed in organizing them. Perhaps the best known and heralded of these campaigns was the Justice for Janitors (JFJ) campaign orchestrated by the SEIU in 1990. But there were others. Miriam Wells’s study of the Hotel Employees and Restaurant Employees International Union (HERE) in San Francisco found that immigrant workers in the city’s hotel industry were receptive to unionization and the local union in turn reshaped its practices and programs to organize them. HERE was among the first unions to target immigrant workers, in part, because of the rapidly changing demographics of the work force in the industry over the previous twenty years. Between 1970 and 1990, for example, the immigrant share of cooks increased from 43 percent to 77 percent, food preparers from 67 percent to 80 percent, and room cleaners, who comprise 27 percent of all hotel workers, from 15 percent to 85 percent (Wells 2000, 116–117). In the same volume, Carol Zabin (2000) analyzed a successful organizing campaign in the Los Angeles area, by the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers (IAM), of an overwhelmingly immigrant workforce at American Racing Equipment Company, which resulted in a contract in 1991. Highlighting the militancy of the immigrant workers and the role played by their strong social and family ties, Zabin underscores the substantial commitment in resources by the IAM. A year later, drywallers, the vast majority of them immigrants, waged a successful campaign in southern California. In November of 1992 the Pacific Rim Drywall Association (PRDA), an organization of drywall firms north of San Diego ratified a union contract with drywall workers. But as Milkman and Wong (2000) observe, San Diego’s residential drywall industry remained steadfastly nonunion and the campaign did not lead to the level of organizing that some hoped it and the American Racing and Justice for Janitors campaigns would spur. While organizing them was possible, it was not easy, and it would not get any easier.

The undocumented and the law The majority of people in the United States want the federal government to control the country’s borders, especially after 9/11. Business and the state generally have resisted calls for more

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restrictions, although there have been exceptions. Employers seek to reduce their costs and increase profits. Cheap, more malleable, unskilled and semi-skilled immigrant workers, in a union-free environment, would allow them to do this more easily. The federal government’s reluctance to enact more restrictive immigration and worker protection legislation strengthens employers’ hands and weakens labor’s. Unions have all but given up on closing the border and instead are focusing their efforts on making undocumented immigrant workers less attractive to employers by advocating for strong worker protections for all workers, including the undocumented. This was at the crux of a case in Alabama in the late 1980s. In Patel v. Sumani Corp., Inc., a judge in Alabama ruled in 1987 that undocumented workers were not protected by the Fair Standards Labor Act (FLSA), contending that by protecting them it would encourage them to cross the border illegally. The following year, in Patel v. Quality Inn South (1988), the 11th Circuit Court reversed the decision, noting that by not protecting them, the result would be an increase in both the demand for and supply of these workers. Furthermore, the Supreme Court of the United States in 1984 had ruled in Sure-Tan, Inc. v. NLRB that undocumented workers were “employees” under the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA) and therefore entitled to employee protections. In 2002, however, in Hoffman Plastic Compounds, Inc. v. NLRB (2002), the conservative majority on the Supreme Court ruled that undocumented workers were not entitled to back pay remedies under the NLRA. The ruling did not deny undocumented workers wages for work performed, but rather wages they would have earned had they not been fired illegally, a remedy applied many times in the past by the NLRB. The majority based its decision principally on what it claimed was a contradiction between immigration and labor law. Writing for the majority, Chief Justice Rehnquist observed that when Sure-Tan was decided in 1984 it was not illegal to hire undocumented workers, but that changed with IRCA two years later. IRCA required employers to verify applicants’ eligibility to work and to fire individuals they discovered were not authorized to work in the United States. Employers who knowingly employed undocumented workers were subject to penalties. On the other hand, the Chief Justice noted, workers who used fraudulent documents to obtain work also were violating federal law. There was no question that the worker in question used fraudulent documents to obtain work. The majority reasoned that awarding him back pay would subvert the policies underlying the IRCA; policies the NLRB had “no authority to enforce or administer.” Consequently, the Court held that the award lay “beyond the bounds of the Board’s remedial discretion.” Awarding the undocumented worker back pay, the Court held, “would have unduly trenched upon explicit statutory prohibitions critical to federal immigration policy, as expressed in the IRCA.” Furthermore, the Court noted that the NLRB could not impose punitive remedies on employers. It could only compensate individuals harmed, but, technically, Rehnquist wrote, the worker in this case could not be harmed because he was in the country illegally. There was no reason to believe, Rehnquist added, that Congress wanted someone who used false documents to receive back pay. But the legislative history of the IRCA and a section in IRCA appropriating funds to enforce the law on behalf of undocumented workers “in order to deter the employment of unauthorized aliens and remove the economic incentive for employers to exploit and use such aliens,” suggests rather strongly, contrary to Rehnquist’s assertion, that it was not Congress’s intent to limit undocumented workers’ labor law protections. While union and immigration activists were relieved that the Hoffman decision did not change the designation of undocumented workers as “employees” under the NLRA, this designation and the protection that accompanied it would not have any teeth without the back pay remedy. In fact, in his dissent, Justice Breyer argued that by not penalizing the employer more

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severely, there was little disincentive to hire undocumented workers – and this, in turn, did more to undermine immigration policy than a back pay remedy. Breyer wrote: As all the relevant agencies (including the Department of Justice) have told us, the National Labor Relations Board’s limited backpay order will not interfere with the implementation of immigration policy. Rather, it reasonably helps to deter unlawful activity that both labor laws and immigration laws seek to prevent. He then added that without back pay in its arsenal of remedies, “employers could conclude that they can violate the labor laws at least once with impunity.” Breyer reminded his colleagues that the Court in Sure-Tan recognized the need to protect undocumented workers in order to make them less attractive to employers. A back pay award, Breyer continued, did not serve as a magnet of any significance, “for so speculative a future possibility could not realistically influence an individual’s decision to migrate illegally.” In Hoffman, immigration law trumped labor law, despite the fact that the enforcement of both is not only possible, but, arguably, necessary if the desired result is to discourage employers from hiring undocumented workers. While Hoffman may weaken unions’ ability to organize undocumented workers, it has done little to stem the flow of undocumented immigrants crossing the border, as has an “enforcement-only” policy at the border.

The failure of an enforcement-only border policy In a critique of an “enforcement-only” approach to immigration reform, Hinojosa-Ojeda observes that declines in authorized immigration to the United States from Mexico have occurred only during economic downturns, as they have in the past few years. He avers that “declining birth rates in Mexico will likely accomplish what tens of billions of dollars in border enforcement clearly have not: a reduction in the supply of migrants from Mexico who are available for jobs in the United States” (Hinojosa-Ojeda 2010, 3). Between 1990 and 2008, the number of undocumented workers in the United States more than tripled, from an estimated 3.5 million to an estimated 11.9 million. During the same time period, the Border Patrol’s budget increased 714 percent and the cost per apprehension increased from $272 in 1992 to $3,102 in 2008. As many as 98 percent of unauthorized immigrants keep trying until they make it, but not as many try when the jobs on the U.S. side of the border dry up, as has been the case since 2007. Predictably, during the recession, the number of undocumented immigrants crossing the border decreased (Hinojosa-Ojeda 2010). Enforcement-only border policies have had the unintended consequence of making the border more dangerous, especially for undocumented immigrants, and the people-smuggling business even more lucrative. According to the American Civil Liberties Union of San Diego and Imperial Counties and Mexico’s National Commission of Human Rights, an estimated 5,600 immigrants lost their lives crossing the border between 1994 and 2000 (Hinojosa-Ojeda 2010). The border enforcement strategy adopted after the passage of IRCA in 1986 is one that Massey et al. (2002) contend has not only not achieved the goal of deterring undocumented immigration, it has also yielded unforeseen negative consequences for people on both sides of the border. These policies, they contend, “have had less to do with stopping undocumented migrants than with pushing them into remote sectors of the border where they will be neither seen nor heard, and most important, where they will not be videotaped” (Massey et al. 2002, 106). There are other unintended consequences as well.

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The more difficult it becomes to cross the border without the required documents, the more dispersed the points of entry become, thereby converting a regional problem into a national one and a transitory population into a more permanent one. Instead of risking apprehension and other dangers by crossing the border repeatedly, immigrants increasingly settle on the northern side of the border (Massey et al. 2002). This, in turn, means an increase in the number of family members coming to join their spouses, siblings, grandparents, children, and grandchildren, whom they would not see as frequently as they did when the border posed fewer risks. This also increases the number of unemployed undocumented immigrants. Another consequence of these policies, and one especially important to organized labor, has been a lowering of wages paid to the undocumented, which employers attempt to justify by pointing to the risks and costs they incur as a consequence of these policies. The tendency toward permanent settlement, however, can be a boon for organized labor, if it wants to take advantage of it. Once a worker decides to stay indefinitely, the worker is more receptive to unionization overtures (Delgado 1993). In Europe, immigrants, including undocumented immigrants, increasingly are settling and becoming permanent fixtures in the workforce, thereby presenting organized labor in these countries with some of the same opportunities as, and challenges facing, organized labor in the United States.

Immigrants and unions in Europe With minor exceptions, Western European countries did not become importers of labor until the 1950s, a century after the United States opened its doors to millions of foreign workers. Trade unions in Western Europe feared, as did their counterparts in the United States, that immigrant workers would drive down wages and depreciate working conditions. At the same time, they recognized the demand for foreign labor, especially in some sectors of the economy. The response initially was a system of temporary employment, in part, to prevent industries that relied heavily on immigrant workers from outsourcing their work. Many of these workers returned home, but as the United States saw at the turn of the century, many more remained and became “a structural part of the West European labour markets” (Penninx and Roosblad 2000a, 5). They formed their own communities, with their own organizations, just as European and Mexican immigrants at the turn of the 20th century in the United States had done, and this infrastructure and social ties made it easier for others to follow and stay. With settlement, and the passage of time, immigrants became part of new networks that made it easier not only for them to find work, but also, as noted earlier, for unions to organize them. Within a relatively short period of time, they no longer compared themselves to others in their homeland, but rather to workers in their new home. “The shift from temporary migration to permanent settlement,” as Piore (1979, 109) observes in his classic Birds of Passage, “implies a fundamental change in perspective, which has repercussions in political and other forms of organizations.” I found clear evidence of this in my own study of the unionization of undocumented workers in Los Angeles (Delgado 1993). This change in perspective was welcomed by labor unions, since the new comparisons changed expectations and contributed to a growing dissatisfaction among these workers, which they could, and did, tap. While labor unions in the 19th century in the United States opted rather quickly to turn a cold shoulder to immigrant workers, European trade unions initially were friendlier, in part because of a widely held ideological belief that a labor movement must attend to the needs of all workers (regardless of borders). In the end, however, organized labor in Europe also chose practicality over solidarity. As Penninx and Roosblad (2000b, 187) observe, “although trade unions may commit themselves verbally in varying degrees to the international solidarity of all 146

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workers, the dominant frame of reference is that of the nation state and the national arena.” During the Cold War especially, any talk of international solidarity smacked of communism. The rebuilding effort after the war “demanded” national, not international solidarity (including solidarity between workers, employers, and the state). But organized labor in Europe, and in the United States, discovered that they could do little to prevent immigrants from entering their respective countries, principally because of the demand for their labor by politically powerful employers. Once they were here, and as their numbers grew, organized labor could not afford to ignore them.

Inclusion over exclusion In a comparison of France and the United States, Haus (2002) analyzed why unions in these two countries changed their positions on immigration. Immediately following the end of World War II, the French labor federation Confédération Générale du Travail (CGT) supported restrictive immigration policies. By the end of the century, the CTG and AFL (prior to its merger with the CIO) had changed their positions in the face not only of the internationalization of labor markets, but also a new international human rights regime that “called into question the ability and/or right of the state to fully control migration” (Haus 2002, 156). Restriction, in the eyes of organized labor, seemed ineffective or undesirable, or both, under these conditions, so it opted for the carrot over the stick. In her study of immigration and unions in France, Italy, and Spain, Watts (2002) arrives at a similar conclusion, and observes that, unlike unions in the United States, unions in these countries have been able to influence immigration policy in favor of a more relaxed border for legal immigration and legislation protecting immigrant workers. For organized labor in Europe and the United States, then, as immigrant worker numbers swelled and immigrant workers’ propensity to settle increased, the question turned increasingly from how to keep them out to whether they should organize and extend to them the same rights and protections enjoyed by native workers. Owen Tudor (2010), head of the TUC’s European Union and International Relations Department, wrote in a blog: Attempts to close the border and crack down on illegal immigrants don’t work. What is needed, instead, is to ensure that everyone working in the US is treated fairly, and migrants should be offered a path to citizenship so that they don’t disappear into the informal economy. This is pretty much the same prescription as the TUC and others have advocated for the UK. Union leaders on both sides of the Atlantic ultimately chose to organize immigrant workers, including the undocumented, and clearly globalization was a pivotal factor (Haus 2002; Watts 2002). But it will take comprehensive and innovative campaigns. In their analysis of three campaigns in Europe and the United States – the CGT-led sans papiers campaign (2008–2010) in France, the “Justice for Cleaners” campaign led by TGWU/UNITE (2005–2010) in the UK, and the “CLEAN Carwash” campaign led by the Community-Labor-Environmental Action Network and the United Steelworkers in the United States (2008–2012) – Tapia et al. (2014, 15) report that all three “deployed an arsenal of overlapping tactics: rank-and-file mobilization, coalition building, media attention, social justice framing that won public support, pressure on employers through strikes and demonstrations, and pressure on local and national governments.” Nothing short of this approach is likely to have a chance of succeeding in this political and economic climate. 147

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States’ capacity to regulate immigration has become extremely difficult with the onset of globalization, given the demand for immigrant workers in labor-intensive sectors of developed countries’ economies and the social networks that facilitate both documented and undocumented immigration. Furthermore, if unions push for or otherwise support restrictive and punitive immigration policies, they place themselves at odds with the very workers they are trying to organize. Only by organizing them, union organizers concluded, can they prevent them from undercutting wages and working conditions, and avoid deepening a divide between native and immigrant workers that employers can exploit. In fact, many labor leaders in Western Europe and the United States have come to believe that restrictive policies do little more than force immigrants into a precarious legal and economic position, which ultimately undermines the wages and working conditions of all workers. (Watts 2002, 2) If they are correct, then the rising tide of anti-immigrant sentiment in Europe, fueled by fears of “creeping Islamification” in a continent where many of the new immigrants are Muslim, is not good news for organized labor.

Rising anti-immigrant tide While labor unions have demonstrated a willingness to organize immigrant workers, antiimmigrant sentiment in Europe and the United States has been increasing. Anti-immigrant parties and movements in Europe have been growing in popularity, including Italy’s anti-immigrant Northern League, the Netherlands’ the anti-immigrant Freedom Party, Pegida in Germany, the National Front in France, and Golden Dawn in Greece (Reuters 2010; Newsome 2015). Brexit won in Britain, and there was little question that the issue of immigration played a substantial role in the vote. In the United States, Donald Trump’s plan to build a wall along its southern border with Mexico (and to have Mexico pay for it) clearly helped to propel him to the presidency. Particularly troubling for union leaders and labor activists was the substantial support Trump received from union members, including the endorsement of a couple of unions. While, as expected, Clinton won the union vote nationally, she won it by only eight points, the narrowest margin since 1984 for a Democrat. In Ohio, a key state in his victory, Trump garnered 54 percent of the union household vote (Meyerson 2016). One of the union endorsements he received was the endorsement of the National Border Patrol Council (NBPC), the organization that represents the nation’s Border Patrol agents. On its website, the NBPC accused the AFL-CIO of attempting to increase its membership ranks “through illegal aliens” and called on it to “oppose illegal immigration and instead support American workers.” Trump’s hard line on undocumented immigration and trade deals, his denigration of Mexican immigrants and a Mexican-descent federal judge, and a proposed ban on Muslims struck a xenophobic chord with millions of voters, including union members. In a January 29–30, 2013 Rasmussen poll, 90 percent of union members indicated that reducing undocumented immigration was important to them (Munro 2013). Meanwhile, the AFL-CIO leadership was expressing more interest in providing undocumented immigrants with a path to citizenship. Clearly, union leaders and many union members were not on the same page on the issue. Immigrants are, and historically have been, convenient scapegoats during economic downturns, but in Europe, especially, economic growth requires immigrant workers. As the head of the Parisian international migration unit of the Organization for Economic Cooperation said 148

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to Bloomberg News reporter Gregory Viscusi (2010), “If you look beyond the noise, you don’t hear anyone saying there shouldn’t be any immigration at all. They can’t. Parts of the economy would grind to a halt.” Europe’s low population growth rate, coupled with a rapidly aging citizenry, requires a substantial infusion of immigrants to satisfy labor needs. As Leiden University’s Costica Dumbrava (2008) aptly put it, “Rather than accepting immigration or rejecting it, the question is how to manage it, how to design proper policy frameworks to make full advantage of its benefits and to avoid its main risks.” Some of the measures being proposed to manage immigration are familiar to students of immigration in the United States and are likely to be equally successful, which is to say not very. Chancellor Merkel may have sensed at least this much when she said to young members of the Christian Democratic Party, “Now they live with us and we lied to ourselves for a while, saying that they won’t stay and that they will have disappeared again one day. That’s not the reality.” The dilemma is an old one. How do you exploit the labor of foreigners and at the same time withhold from them political and other rights and maintain cultural purity? Benjamin Franklin said of the Germans, or “Palantine Boors”: “Why should Pennsylvania, founded by the English, become a Colony of Aliens, who will shortly be so numerous as to Germanize us instead of our Anglifying them, and will never adopt our Language or Customs.” In the more recent past, white South Africans created homelands, or bantustans, where blacks could enjoy rights denied to them by the apartheid regime in white areas where their labor was essential. And it was the hope of some, if not many employers and politicians in the United States that Mexico would serve as a kind of bantustan to which Mexican workers would eventually return after laboring north of the Rio Grande (Burawoy 1976). But they did not always return to their homeland and with time fewer and fewer did – and even fewer when the border became more dangerous and difficult to cross. They are in the United States to stay, as are immigrants (and their children) in Europe; and as long as they are here, organized labor has opted more often than not, and with little choice, to try to organize them.

Conclusion On May Day in 2006, millions of immigrants, many of them undocumented, marched in numerous cities across the United States to protest a bill making its way through Congress criminalizing them and anyone helping them. Many of these immigrants worked in lowwage industries and jobs, where unionization rates, even during good times for organized labor were low. In unions’ stead a growing number of worker centers have been formed in the United States to address the needs of these workers and their families. In 1992 there were only five centers in the country, but by 2006 there were 137 worker centers in 80 different cities, towns, and rural areas in 31 states (Fine 2006). These centers reached out to unions, but unions’ response was tepid at first. In fact, at the AFL-CIO’s 1999 national convention in Los Angeles, the National Day Labor Organizing Network (NDLON) marched on the convention floor with banners and signs supporting the federation, only to be “escorted” out of the hall by a group of delegates chanting “scab, scab, scab.” In 2013, however, the federation gave a human rights award to the International Domestic Workers Alliance worker center and Bhaivavi Desai became the first representative of a worker center to be elected to the AFLCIO’s Executive Council (Wong 2015). Consequently a partnership between the AFL-CIO and NDLON was forged. NDLON’s executive director observed, “‘I don’t think it’s possible to do it without labor’s participation. Community organizations had been pushing hard before the AFL-CIO decided to join, but I felt it was an impossible task; when the AFL-CIO got in it became real’” (Gallagher 2010, 4). In the final analysis, however, workers’ centers cannot get for immigrant workers what labor unions have gotten for workers for generations. It is but one 149

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strand of the immigrant labor movement. The other two are traditional trade unionism and a “vibrant” immigrant-rights movement (Milkman 2011). Workers’ fortunes are much more likely to improve with a revived labor movement. And short of unlikely immigration reform that seals the border and repatriates immigrants, a revival depends substantially on organized labor’s ability to organize immigrant workers. Unions in most of Europe and the United States recognize that there is little they can do to regulate immigration, but they can organize immigrants. As long as a demand exists for the labor of immigrants, and the demand especially in Europe is undisputably substantial, they will come; and the more difficult it becomes to cross a border, the more likely it is that they will settle. The rising anti-immigrant tide and increase in racial fears and hatred in the United States and Europe, and a temporary decrease in the demand for immigrant labor, may result in a reduction in international migration. Another consequence, and one especially detrimental to unions, is that undocumented workers will be driven further underground and become much more difficult to organize. In this scenario, the principal losers will be workers, both immigrant and native.

References AFL-CIO and Change to Win. (2009). The Labor Movement’s Framework for Comprehensive Immigration Reform. Washington, DC: Author. Available at: https://digitalcommons.ilr.cornell.edu/cgi/view content.cgi?article=1147&context=laborunions. Barrett, J. R. (1992). Americanization from the Bottom Up: Immigration and the Remaking of the Working Class in the United States, 1880–1930. The Journal of American History 79(3) (December), pp. 996–1020. Batalova, J. (2011). Foreign-Born Wage and Salary Workers in the U.S. Labor Force and Unions. Migration Information Source, Migration Policy Institute (MPI) (September 29). Available at: www. migrationpolicy.org/print/4297. BLS. (2011). Union Members-2010. Bureau of Labor Statistics, News Release (September 29). Available at: www.bls.gov/news.release/archives/union2_01212011.pdf. BLS. (2016). Union Members-2015. Bureau of Labor Statistics, News Release (January 28). Available at: www.bls.gov/news.release/pdf/union2.pdf. Bodnar, J. (1985). The Transplanted: A History of Immigrants in Urban America. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Bonacich, E. (1972). A Theory of Ethnic Antagonism: The Split Labor Market. American Sociological Review 37, pp. 547–559. Briggs Jr., V. M. (2001). Immigration and American Unionism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Burawoy, M. (1976). The Functions and Reproduction of Migrant Labor: Comparative Material from Southern Africa and the United States. The American Journal of Sociology 81(5) (March), pp. 1050–1087. Burgoon, B., Fine, J., Jacoby, W. and Tichenor, D. (2010). Immigration and the Transformation of American Unionism. International Migration Review 44(4) (Winter), pp. 933–973. Delgado, H. L. (1993). New Immigrants, Old Unions: Organizing Undocumented Workers in Los Angeles. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Dumbrava, C. (2008). Labour Immigration Policy in Europe? What Kind? Network Migration in Europe. Available at: www.researchgate.net/publication/268405328_Labour_Immigration_policy_in_Europe_ What_kind. Fine, J. (2006). Worker Centers: Organizing Communities at the edge of the Dream. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Gallagher, T. (2010). A More Perfect Union: Organized Labor’s Critical Role in Comprehensive Immigration Reform. Sebastopol, CA: Grantmakers Concerned with Immigrants and Refugees. Available at: www.gcir.org/publications/gcirpubs/union. Haus, L. (2002). Unions, Immigration, and Internationalization: New Challenges and Changing Coalitions in the United States and France. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hinojosa-Ojeda, R. 2010. Raising the Floor for American Workers: The Economic Benefits of Comprehensive Immigration Reform. Center for American Progress, American Immigration Council (January). 150

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Tapia, M., Turner, L. and Roca-Servat, D. (2014). Union Campaigns as Countermovements: ‘Best Practice’ Cases from the United Kingdom, France, and the United States. In: L. Adler, M. Tapia and L. Turner, Mobilizing Against Inequality: Unions, Immigrant Workers, and the Crisis of Capitalism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 14–31. The Public Purpose, Labor Market Reporter. (2003). U.S. Private Sector Trade Union Membership. Available at: www.publicpurpose.com/lm-unn2003.htm. Tudor, O. (2010). Immigration: What Makes it Work. Touch Stone (January 12). Available at: www.touch stoneblog.org.uk/2010/01/immigration-what-makes-it-work/. Velma Fan, C. and Batalova, J. (2007). Foreign-born Wage and Salary Workers in the U.S. Labor Force and Unions. Migration Information Source, Migration Policy Institute (MPI) (August 28). Viscusi, G. (2010). Illegal Immigrant Inconvenient Truth Shows Few Dispensable. Bloomberg (October 13). Available at: www.bloomberg.com/news/2010-10-13/illegal-immigrants-inconvenient-truth-showsno-nation-can-do-without-them.html. Watts, J. R. (2002). Immigration Policy and the Challenge of Globalization: Unions and Employers in Unlikely Alliance. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Weber, D. A. (1972). The Organizing of Mexicano Agricultural Workers: Imperial Valley, and Los Angeles 1928–34, An Oral History Approach. Aztlan 3(2), pp. 307–347. Wells, M. J. (2000). Immigration and Unionization in the San Francisco Hotel Industry. In: R. Milkman, ed., Organizing Immigrants: The Challenge for Unions in Contemporary California. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 109–129. Wong, K. (2015). A New Labor Movement for a New Working Class: Unions, Worker Centers, and Immigrants. Berkeley Journal of Employment and Labor Law 36(1), pp. 205–213. Zabin, C. (2000). Organizing Latino Workers in the Los Angeles Manufacturing Sector: The Case of American Racing Equipment. In: R. Milkman, ed., Organizing Immigrants: The Challenge for Unions in Contemporary California. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 150–168.

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13 Immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship Ali R. Chaudhary

Introduction Research on immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship dates back to the early writings of pioneering sociologists. In his classic analyses of group divisions, sociologist George Simmel acknowledges that ‘strangers’ (i.e. immigrants) or subordinated ethnic minority groups, often occupy roles as merchants because they are excluded from mainstream society (cited in Light and Gold 2000). Similarly, in his highly influential writings on the Protestant ethic and the rise of modern capitalism, Max Weber remarks on the ways in which economic activities of immigrant and ethnic minorities diverge from the impersonality of modern capitalism inasmuch as they are organized along ethnic lines – resembling traditional pre-modern forms of exchange (Weber 1930). Even today, these ethnically organized pre-modern capitalist activities flourish in cities and towns across North America and Europe (Jones et  al. 2014; Kloosterman, Rusinovic, and Yeboah 2016; Light and Gold 2000). Hence, when excluded from participating in wage or salaried employment within the regular labor market, immigrant and ethnic minorities may turn to entrepreneurship. While entrepreneurship can be defined as innovation, efficiency or a set of business processes, most sociologists and economists define the concept as self-employment or business ownership (Chaudhary 2015; Fairlie and Robb 2008; Zhou 2004). Immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship, in turn, refers to the self-employment or business ownership of immigrants and ethnic minorities. Given that entrepreneurship is often associated with ideals of independence, perseverance, and self-reliance, popular narratives describe self-employment as a viable strategy for the socioeconomic mobility of immigrants and minority groups (Light and Gold 2000; Zhou 2004). However, not all entrepreneurship is the same and contexts, industries, and prestige associated with different forms of self-employment can vary by group and place (Chaudhary 2015; Kloosterman and Rath 2003; Zhou 2004). To account for variation in self-employment across groups and entrepreneurial activities, influential scholarship offers four conceptualizations of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship: middleman minorities, ethnic economies, ethnic entrepreneurial niches, and ethnic enclave economies. Each offers distinct insights into ways in which selfemployment shapes processes of socioeconomic mobility and economic incorporation among immigrants and their second-generation children. 153

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Conceptualizing immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship Middleman minorities The concept of the middleman minority offers the first coherent conceptualization of immigrant entrepreneurship. Middleman minorities are sojourning entrepreneurs who trade in between a society’s elite and the masses, by establishing business niches in poor minority neighborhoods or urban areas—deserted by mainstream retail or service industries (Bonacich 1973; Zhou 2004). By trading in a middle position between societal elites and the masses, the middleman minorities can avoid direct competition with the dominant native majority group. Indeed, historical trading minorities such as Jews in Medieval Europe or the Chinese in Southeast Asia, were often regarded as ‘alien’ groups brought in by the ruling class to distribute goods and services to the masses and larger subordinated groups (Light and Gold 2000; Zhou 2004). Theoretical refinements of the historical concept emerge in the work of sociologist Edna Bonacich (1973), who explains how the sojourning orientation of ethnic group members, coupled with their ethnic solidarity and hostile contexts of reception, contribute to the rise of middleman minority entrepreneurs. Pyong Gap Min’s (1996) research on Korean immigrant businesses within African-American communities across metropolitan New York and Los Angeles offers a contemporary application of the middleman minority perspective. He argues that middleman minority entrepreneurs are defined by their intermediary economic role in highly stratified societies. In addition, the hostility from both the dominant ruling class and the subordinate masses helps cultivate ethnic attachment and solidarity among middleman minority communities. A key tenet of Min’s (1996) conceptualization of middleman minority entrepreneurship is his focus on the status gap occupied by middleman minorities and how different immigrant groups occupy this position at different times. So, while Korean immigrants replaced Jewish immigrant business owners in African-American communities during the 1980s and 90s, Indians, Pakistanis, and other recent immigrant groups are now replacing many Korean-owned businesses. Hence, while the group occupying the middleman minority position may change, the status gap generating the intermediary position remains.

Ethnic economy The concept of the ethnic economy builds upon middleman minority theory by defining the boundaries encompassing economic activities in which an immigrant or ethnic community engages. An ethnic economy exists whenever an immigrant or ethnic group maintains a private economic sector in which it has a controlling ownership stake in ethnic businesses which, in turn, employ co-ethnic employees. In other words, an ethnic economy is comprised of an ethnic group’s self-employed business owners and their co-ethnic employees (Light and Gold 2000). The ethnic economy does not include co-ethnics who work for employers outside of the ethnic group, nor does it include the customers or clientele of the ethnic businesses (Light and Gold 2000). In his influential study of Chinese, Japanese, and African-American self-employment in the United States, sociologist Ivan Light (1972) reveals how social trust and co-ethnic resources such as rotating credit associations are essential for ethnic entrepreneurial success. Subsequently, Bonacich and Modell (1980) operationalize the ethnic economy concept as the sum of any immigrant or ethnic groups’ self-employed, their co-ethnic business owners, co-ethnic employees, and unpaid family workers. However, a key element of the concept is that an ethnic 154

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economy is not bound to a particular geographical location or a locational clustering of ethnic businesses. Thus, ethnic economies represent the total sum of ethnic entrepreneurship, comprised of the co-ethnic self-employed and their co-ethnic employees—regardless of location or types of enterprises. The ethnic economy offers a general conceptualization of ethnic entrepreneurship from which researchers have subsequently developed two additional concepts, namely the ethnic entrepreneurial niche and the ethnic enclave economy.

Ethnic entrepreneurial niches and the ethnic enclave economy Ethnic entrepreneurial niches and ethnic enclave economies are particular forms of ethnic entrepreneurship, which are embedded in a given group’s larger ethnic economy. In contrast to the allencompassing ethnic economy concept, which includes the sum of ethnic business owners and their co-ethnic employees, ethnic entrepreneurial niches and ethnic enclave economies connote narrower conceptualizations; they emphasize ethnic concentrations in particular occupations or industries and locational clustering of ethnic-owned businesses. Thus, while every immigrant or ethnic-owned business belongs to an ethnic economy, not all immigrant or ethnic-owned businesses can be classified as ethnic entrepreneurial niches nor are they always embedded in an ethnic enclave economy (Light and Gold 2000; Zhou 2004). Ethnic entrepreneurial niches reflect high concentrations of a particular immigrant or ethnic group in a given industry where opportunity structures, group characteristics, and ethnic strategies enable ethnic entrepreneurs to form a ‘niche’ in the overall economic environment (Aldrich and Waldinger 1990). The opportunity structures associated with a niche include the demand for products or services by either co-ethnics or the general population. That is, ethnic businesses are uniquely suited to providing culturally specific products to co-ethnics as well as products and services to communities that have been ignored by mainstream retailers (Zhou 1992). Min’s (2008) research on Korean greengrocers in New York City is illustrative of an ethnic entrepreneurial niche, which is monopolized by Korean-owned businesses. While much of the literature on ethnic niches focuses on the abilities of immigrant entrepreneurs to cater to co-ethnic communities, ethnic entrepreneurial niches may also expand beyond enclaves and cater to the general population. A number of industries and businesses are dominated by particular immigrant or ethnic groups, thereby reflecting several ethnic entrepreneurial niches in the general economy. For instance, many South Asian immigrants have high concentrations of motel/hotel ownership as well as franchise businesses such as Dunkin’ Donuts (Dhingra 2012; Rangaswamy 2007). Thus, an ethnic entrepreneurial niche is a concentration of ethnic-owned businesses in a particular industry or sector within a given group’s larger ethnic economy that might or might not be concentrated in a particular geographical space. In contrast, an ethnic enclave economy represents a geographically defined entrepreneurial space within a larger ethnic economy. An ethnic enclave economy refers to both the shared ethnicity between business owners and employees as well as a delineated geographic space associated with a locational clustering of ethnic businesses. A key point of divergence between an ethnic economy and an ethnic enclave economy is that the latter emphasizes the presence of coethnic employees and a co-ethnic clientele concentrated in a specific geographic space (Zhou 2004). Indeed, the early stages in the development of an ethnic enclave economy may depend on close proximity to a co-ethnic clientele, access to co-ethnic resources, and an availability of co-ethnic labor (Portes and Manning 1986). However, an ethnic enclave economy can also provide a diverse set of professional services and products geared for both a co-ethnic clientele and the general population (Zhou 2004). 155

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While the concepts of the ethnic economy and the ethnic enclave economy can overlap in some respects, they are reflective of two distinct theoretical approaches. Whereas ethnic economies are theoretically associated with middleman minority entrepreneurs, the initial development of the ethnic enclave concept emphasized workers and employees in the tradition of dual-labor market theory (Light and Gold 2000). As a result, the original conceptualization of the ethnic enclave economy focuses on the experiences of co-ethnic employees concentrated in an ethnic neighborhood (i.e. Cubans in Little Havana), rather than co-ethnic business owners. In later revisions to the concept, sociologist Alejandro Portes and his colleagues contend that an ethnic enclave economy consists of a locational cluster of business firms whose owners and employees are co-ethnic (Portes and Bach 1985). Examples of locational clusters comprised of co-ethnic business owners, co-ethnic employees, and co-ethnic clientele include Chinatown in New York City and Little Havana in Miami. However, Mexican-owned businesses in the Southwest or Iranian businesses in Los Angeles do not reflect an ethnic enclave economy because of their relative dispersion across large metropolitan areas. Thus, ethnic businesses dispersed across large geographic areas represent ethnic economies rather than geographically concentrated ethnic enclave economies (Light and Gold 2000). Despite their divergent conceptual lineages and definitions, all four conceptualizations of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship help explain some aspects of this social phenomenon. Empirical studies of contemporary immigrant entrepreneurs highlight fluidity and a degree of conceptual overlap between different types of entrepreneurs and entrepreneurial activities. For instance, a South Asian immigrant-owned convenience store in a multi-ethnic urban community with a high concentration of African-Americans could be interpreted as a middleman minority, an ethnic entrepreneurial niche, and as constituting a South Asian ethnic economy. Yet, given the preponderance of South Asian-owned convenience retail stores in multi-ethnic urban and suburban areas across the U.S., the business owner could also be interpreted as belonging to an entrepreneurial niche within the larger South Asian ethnic economy. The conceptual overlap is less apparent when examining the case of an ethnic enclave entrepreneur who must own a business within a locational cluster of co-ethnic businesses. Nevertheless, the possibility for immigrant entrepreneurs to occupy different dimensions of the aforementioned concepts demonstrates the collective analytic utility of past conceptualizations.

The benefits of entrepreneurship In addition to conceptualizing immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship, social scientists analyze the economic consequences of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship as well as the effects of entrepreneurship on intergenerational socioeconomic mobility. Researchers largely agree that self-employment is beneficial and preferable to unemployment or underemployment in the secondary labor market (Zhou 2004). Accordingly, ethnic entrepreneurship offers both economic advantages as well as a set of non-monetary benefits, which collectively foster socioeconomic mobility and immigrant incorporation. Among the benefits, researchers find that immigrant self-employment generates job opportunities for both self-employed and co-ethnic workers by shifting immigrants away from direct competition with native-born groups in the regular wage/ salary labor market (Light 1972; Zhou 1992). Ethnic entrepreneurship also results in higher earnings compared to wage/salaried employment in the secondary labor market. This is a point of contention in the literature, with some economists finding that self-employed immigrants and ethnic minorities on average earn less than their co-ethnics employed in the wage/salary labor market when high-earning entrepreneurs are removed from the analysis (Bates 1997; Borjas 1990). However, when high-earning, successful immigrant entrepreneurs are included, 156

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research suggests self-employment has a significant and positive effect on immigrant earnings (Portes and Zhou 1996). Despite the debate regarding the earnings advantage of self-employment, the non-monetary benefits of immigrant entrepreneurship are widely acknowledged. For instance, entrepreneurial activity fosters a community-level spirit for business ownership where ethnic firms operate as business incubators, giving new prospective ethnic entrepreneurs the opportunity to gain firsthand experience. Indeed, past research finds that ethnic solidarity in immigrant businesses and presence of co-ethnic business owners can promote informal training systems where would-be entrepreneurs can acquire information and social capital to eventually start their own businesses (Bailey and Waldinger 1991). In addition, ethnic entrepreneurship can also help build community-level solidarity, trust, and cohesion by creating an alternative labor market for coethnic workers that offers flexibility and a culturally understanding work environment. Zhou’s (1992) analysis of Chinatown reveals how immigrant business owners may be more tolerant and flexible vis-à-vis co-ethnic employees with respect to working hours and the presence of children at work. Ethnic businesses may also build relationships with outside groups by targeting non-ethnic clientele or hiring employees that are not of the same ethnicity. In his study of Vietnamese businesses in Little Saigon, Gold (1994) found that immigrant business owners often preferred local Mexican and Central American employees rather than co-ethnic workers.

Entrepreneurship and assimilation Immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship is also sometimes analyzed in relation to theories of assimilation and immigrant incorporation. The assimilationist perspective contends that firstgeneration immigrant groups will eventually achieve parity with the native-born dominant majority over time and in later generations, rendering the two groups indistinguishable in social, political, and economic activities (Gordon 1964). When applying an assimilationist logic to ethnic entrepreneurship, elevated rates of immigrant self-employment are interpreted to stem from ‘blocked mobility’—where immigrants confront barriers or disadvantages in the labor market such as unfamiliarity with the social, political, and legal structures of the host society, language barriers, non-recognition of credentials, and discrimination (Beaujot, Maxim, and Zhao 1994; Light and Gold 2000). These barriers may ultimately force immigrants into self-employment as an alternative to unemployment or underemployment. A key premise of the assimilationist logic is that self-employment is a temporary phenomenon that should decline over time, and certainly in subsequent generations, as immigrants and their children become integrated into the regular labor market after achieving educational and linguistic parity with the native-born majority (Chaudhary 2015). Indeed, past scholarship finds a general decline in self-employment between the first and second generations within the U.S. For instance, research on adult second-generation children of immigrants in New York City and Los Angeles finds a second-generation decline in selfemployment attributed to U.S.-born children’s acquisition of competitive human and social capital (Kim 2004; Valdez 2006). Concomitantly, Chaudhary (2015) found the likelihood of self-employment declines between first- and second-generation Non-Hispanic Whites, Non-Hispanic Blacks, and Hispanics in the United States during the first decade of the twenty-first century. However, past research also finds evidence of entrepreneurship extending into the second generation, suggesting that self-employment might remain a viable economic strategy for some U.S.-born children of immigrants. In his analysis of the intersection of race and immigrant-generational status in U.S. selfemployment, Chaudhary (2015) finds that second-generation Asian Americans are more likely 157

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than their immigrant parents to be self-employed in the United States. In addition, he finds that self-employment remains strong among non-Hispanic White second-generation children of contemporary White immigrants in the United States. Similarly, Dhingra (2012) finds evidence of intergenerational self-employment where some second-generation Indian-Americans choose to follow in the footsteps of their immigrant parents as business owners in the U.S. motel/hotel industry. Looking beyond the U.S. case, Andersson and Hammarstedt (2010) find that a family background associated with wealth and business-specific capital fosters selfemployment in the second generation within Sweden. In sum, while self-employment generally declines in the second generation, evidence suggests that some high-achieving and fully assimilated second-generation children of immigrants may continue to engage in ethnic entrepreneurship as a potentially profitable alternative to wage/salary employment.

Entrepreneurship and racialized incorporation Racialized incorporation presents an analog to assimilationist approaches for analyzing immigrant and second-generation entrepreneurship. A racialized incorporation framework draws on theories of assimilation, including variants such as segmented assimilation, to understand how immigrants and U.S.-born second-generation groups are incorporating into U.S. society. However, it differs from assimilationist perspectives by emphasizing the centrality of race as the principal dimension of social organization and immigrant incorporation (Chaudhary 2015). The racialized incorporation perspective does not assume a linear or non-linear trajectory determined by generational status alone. Rather, the racialized incorporation approach expects to find divergent patterns of incorporation across generations largely determined by the racial categories into which immigrants and their second-generation children are sorted (Chaudhary 2015). In addition to recognizing a self-employment decline in the second generation, the racialized incorporation perspective of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship emphasizes the unequal prestige hierarchies associated with race in contemporary U.S. self-employment. In other words, immigrant and ethnic minority entrepreneurs are embedded and affected by processes of racialization and other systems of inequality (Gold 2016; Ram, Jones, and Villares-Varela 2017). Indeed, several studies of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurs in the U.S. and Europe document discrimination and other obstacles confronting immigrant and ethnic minorities keen on starting or expanding their businesses (Ishaq, Hussain, and Whittam 2010; Jones et al. 2014; Valdez 2011). In the U.S. context, the racial categories that immigrants and their secondgeneration children are sorted into may shape both the likelihood of becoming self-employed and the prestige of the industries in which business ownership is pursued. For instance, Chaudhary (2015) finds contemporary non-Hispanic White immigrants and their second-generation children have the greatest likelihood of being self-employed and the greatest likelihood of owning businesses in high-prestige industry sectors such as finance, real estate, and professional services. Conversely, non-White racial groups such as non-Hispanic Blacks, Hispanics, and Asians are less likely than Whites to be self-employed. Among the non-White immigrant and second generations that are self-employed, they are less likely than Whites to own businesses in high- or medium-prestige industry sectors (Chaudhary 2015). This suggests that self-employment in the U.S. is not a homogeneous sector. Rather, self-employment reflects racial group hierarchies and uneven levels of prestige that are associated with the regular labor market as well as many other realms of socioeconomic life. Evidence of prestige disparities across race among the self-employed does not detract from the fact that self-employed immigrants and ethnic minorities tend to earn more on average than 158

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their co-ethnic counterparts employed in the secondary labor market. Rather, the racialized incorporation approach suggests that non-White immigrant and second-generation entrepreneurs are less likely than Whites to be self-employed in high-prestige industries such as finance or professional services (Chaudhary 2015). Case studies of Indian motel owners (Dhingra 2012), Latina restaurant owners in the U.S. Southwest (Valdez 2011), and ethnic minority entrepreneurs in the United Kingdom (Jones et al. 2014; Ram, Jones, and Villares-Varela 2017), document the myriad ways in which immigrants and ethnic minorities are constrained by processes of racialization. This racialization ultimately reproduces entrepreneurial concentrations in particular low-status, low-wage, and labor-intensive industries. In sum, by emphasizing the ways race and processes of racialization shape immigrant and second-generation entrepreneurship, the racialized incorporation approach offers a critical perspective on the unequal social organization of self-employment and business ownership across post-industrial capitalist societies.

New directions in immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship research Mixed embeddedness and migrant entrepreneurship in Europe The aforementioned classic U.S.-based conceptualizations of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship tend to underscore the positionality of immigrants in relation to the labor market and society as a whole. Accordingly, researchers emphasize the role of individual resources coupled with social and ethnic capital when explaining divergent levels of entrepreneurship across different groups. However, much of this literature under-theorizes the external contextual environments and market opportunity structures in which entrepreneurs are situated. In addition, the U.S.-centered focus within the classic studies of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship neglects to account for the effects of different institutional contexts on entrepreneurial activities. Fortunately, a growing literature on migrant and ethnic entrepreneurship within Europe offers theoretical and empirical insights into the ways in which different market opportunities and institutional environments shape immigrant and ethnic business ownership across divergent national contexts. Building upon Waldinger et  al.’s (1990) initial work on the interactions between ethnic resources and opportunity structures, Kloosterman and colleagues (Kloosterman 2010; Kloosterman and Rath 2003, 2001) challenge the centrality of ethnic solidarity and social capital in U.S.-based theories by emphasizing how ethnic entrepreneurship is embedded in external business contexts comprised of markets and institutional environments regulated by the State. In their framework of ‘mixed embeddedness’, Kloosterman and Rath (2003) explain that migrant entrepreneurship is embedded in opportunity structures, which are shaped by (1) external markets in which minority entrepreneurs must compete with indigenous and co-ethnic firms, and (2) the degree to which the State intervenes in the labor market. These external factors coupled with individual or group-level resources provide an explanatory framework for analyzing variation in rates and types of business ownership across groups and national contexts. Accordingly, the mixed embeddedness perspective enables researchers to measure and conceptualize the size and shape of the ethnic entrepreneurial opportunity structure by comparing the relative threshold of accessibility and growth potential for any given entrepreneurial venture (Kloosterman 2010). Hence, the opportunity structure in which immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurial businesses are embedded can require a high or low threshold of human capital. Concomitantly, these businesses can be located in industries with stagnant or expansive growth potential. Together, spectrums of accessibility and growth determine the number of immigrant entrepreneurs in a given industry as well as potential for entrepreneurial success. 159

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In addition to the external market dimension, the mixed embeddedness approach also accounts for the effect of State intervention in the labor market by analyzing the interaction between individual/group resources, market opportunities, and macro-level institutional environments. In brief, the degree to which a society has undergone post-industrialization, coupled with the level of government intervention in the labor market, are thought to influence the number and types of self-employment opportunities available to immigrants and ethnic minorities (Kloosterman 2010). Indeed, comparative analyses of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship in less-regulated labor markets such as the U.S. and U.K. find higher rates of minority self-employment compared to Scandinavian countries with higher levels of government regulation within the labor market (Ram et al. 2017). By accounting for the embeddedness of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship in opportunity structures shaped by business markets and institutional arrangements, the mixed embeddedness approach enables researchers to investigate why rates and types of business ownership vary across groups and national contexts. Accordingly, a number of studies employ this perspective to analyze immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship, including research on ethnic minority business ownership in the U.K. (Jones et al. 2014), Ghanaian entrepreneurs in the Netherlands (Kloosterman et  al. 2016), Turkish entrepreneurs in Finland (Wahlbeck 2013), African entrepreneurs in China (Bork-Hüffer et al. 2016), and Lebanese entrepreneurs around the world (Ahmed et  al. 2012). In sum, the analytic focus in the mixed embeddedness perspective on external markets and institutional environments advances classic resource-based theories of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship. By doing so, this perspective, coupled with critical approaches emphasizing processes of racialization and other forms of inequality, enable future scholars to conduct much needed comparative cross-national analyses of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship.

Transnational entrepreneurs In conjunction with the ‘transnational turn’ in migration studies, researchers investigating migration-related processes increasingly recognize the need to expand their analytical gaze beyond the territorial boundaries of host societies. The vast literature on immigrant transnationalism investigates ways in which immigrants maintain social, political, and economic linkages between their places of settlement and origin (Portes, Guarnizo, and Landolt 1999; Vertovec 2004). Transnational entrepreneurship includes an assortment of financial services associated with migrant remittances, import/export businesses, cultural enterprises, manufacturing firms, and micro-enterprises started by return migrants (Zhou 2004). Accordingly, several case studies describe how transnational linkages between immigrants’ sending and receiving societies help foster entrepreneurial activities (Gold 2001; Guarnizo 1997; Portes, Guarnizo, and Haller 2002). In contrast to the assertion that transnationalism among immigrants entails ‘divided loyalties’ or aspirations to return to origin countries, contemporary transnational entrepreneurs in the U.S. seek to build social capital abroad by buying real estate and establishing business networks that enable them to organize their lives in both sending and receiving countries (Zhou 2004). Despite the wide variety of transnational businesses created by different immigrant groups, existing literature reveals two key types of transnational entrepreneurs, namely highly educated middle-class immigrants, and low-skilled labor migrants. For instance, transnational entrepreneurial opportunities appear to attract highly educated immigrants as in the case of Israelis, Chinese, and Colombians who maximize their human capital and profits by generating transnational businesses based in receiving societies such as the United States (Gold 2001; Light, Zhou,

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and Kim 2002). These transnational entrepreneurial ventures help high-skilled groups expand their middle-class status in both sending and receiving societies (Zhou 2004). Conversely, the transnational entrepreneurial activities of low-skilled immigrants from Mexico, El Salvador, Guatemala, and the Dominican Republic tend to focus more on their places of origin where transnational entrepreneurship is limited to establishing small-scale businesses that can effectively convert meager U.S. wages into material gains and social status within origin societies (Zhou 2004). In other instances, immigrants in low-status industries may benefit from capital assets accumulated from businesses in their homeland, enabling them to expand successful enterprises in their new places of settlement as described in Edwards et al.’s (2016) study of Afghan, Iraqi, and Polish migrants in the U.K. Thus, differences across transnational entrepreneurs and divergent forms of transnational enterprises reflect a polarization and uneven distribution of prestige akin to unequal immigrant and ethnic enterprise based exclusively within the receiving society. Nonetheless, the phenomenon of transnational entrepreneurship is an understudied topic that requires additional empirical evidence and new ways to theorize how different socioeconomic and political contexts in places of origin and settlement shape the experiences and strategies of transnational entrepreneurs.

Franchise entrepreneurs A relatively new and understudied topic within the ethnic entrepreneurship literature is the steady rise in immigrant ownership of corporate franchises in the United States. Franchising entails a contractual relationship between a large parent corporate firm (the franchisor) and a small business owner (i.e. the franchisee) who agrees to deliver a prescribed set of services and products according to the franchisor’s standardized guidelines and prices in exchange for operating under the parent firm’s trademark (Birkeland 2004). While corporate franchising dates back to the early twentieth century when it was developed through automobile dealerships and a new fast food industry (McDonald’s), several companies employ a corporate franchise model to expand their operations into new markets (Birkeland 2004). South Asian immigrants have been particularly concentrated in franchised business ownership within the food and convenience retail industries (Dhingra and Parker 2015; Rangaswamy 2007). Among the handful of studies looking at franchising in ethnic entrepreneurship, researchers find that the corporatization involved in owning a franchise creates a set of advantages and constraints with respect to processes of assimilation. Dhingra and Parker (2015) find that while some dimensions of assimilation for immigrant franchise owners diverge from middleman minority theory, many immigrant franchise owners encounter similar challenges and rely on the same ethnic resources and a co-ethnic labor force often associated with traditional ethnic businesses. As a result of the relative dearth of research on immigrant franchising, there is ample room for theoretical and empirical research on the topic. Future research may seek to compare how different franchise models or industries create distinct interactions and processes between corporate parent firms and immigrant franchisees. Other inquiries could compare the differences between a franchise and traditional immigrant business within the same industry to analyze how the corporate dimension of franchising shapes ethnic entrepreneurial activities and processes. Given the sustained levels of international migration to North America and Europe and the constant development of new industries, products, and services, immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurs will continue to engage in different forms of ethnic enterprise that will require additional revisions and refinements to existing conceptualizations of immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship in the twenty-first century.

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14 High-skilled migration Metka Hercog

Introduction Much has been written about migration of highly skilled people, both in the academic and the policy domain (Boeri, Brücker, Docquier & Rapoport, 2012; Favell, Feldblum & Smith, 2006; Triadafilopoulos, 2013). One reason for this is that researchers and policy-makers increasingly see migrants from the perspective of their potential benefits for the host societies as well as for their home countries. Various government agencies, economic policy institutes and organizations speak of labor markets of diversity and of the need to take advantage of migrant skills. As a response to higher demand for technical skills and to globalization of production and trade, many countries openly encourage skilled immigration while at the same time trying to curtail immigration of low-skilled labor force (Cerna, 2009; Tannock, 2011). Such reasoning leads to exclusionary treatment of people on the basis of their skills. Likewise, migrants are increasingly seen as significant players in redistributive activities globally and are counted on for the long-term development benefits through the flow of ideas and business networks (Kapur & McHale, 2005; Meyer, 2001). Most salience within the development prospect has been given to financial remittances, but skilled migrants are also counted on for circulation of knowledge, for linking home countries to international social networks, and to act as transnational entrepreneurs. This chapter draws upon evidence from three research projects on skilled migration1 and sets it in the context of contemporary literature on high-skilled migration. It provides insights on some of the most commonly discussed topics: first, we look at government approaches toward skilled migration; second, we address the link between migration and development; and third, we deal with integration and the role skills play in shaping the incorporation of immigrants. In conclusion, we touch upon the issue which is not commonly discussed, even though it should be the starting point for any research within this field: what is high-skilled migration after all? Questions of who and what constitute skilled migration are only starting to emerge in the scientific literature (Boucher & Cerna, 2014; Favell et  al., 2006; Parsons, Rojon, Samanani & Wettach, 2014). We present alternative stances to conceptualize high-skilled migration.

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Government approaches to high-skilled migration Skilled migration is nowadays considered an entangling part of globalization process and different interest groups try to benefit from it. Countries with knowledge-based economies design their migration policies in a way to send positive signals to the global market of mobile talent (European Commission, 2007; Tani, 2014). At the same time, countries of origin also try to benefit from their skilled abroad and see them as a resource of knowledge, skills and financial capital to boost national development. Even before nation states entered the so-called “war for talent” (Michaels, Handfield-Jones & Axelrod, 2001) or “global battle for brains” (Shachar, 2006), cities, companies, research and educational institutions were trying to create attractive conditions and promote themselves to the targeted group. Governments mainly got involved at the insistence of companies with a high stake in this issue. Increasing complaints of companies, especially in high technology sectors, about the shortage of adequately skilled workers led many developed countries to take new initiatives to admit more skilled labor migrants (Rothgang & Schmidt, 2003). For example, in the Netherlands, pressure from Dutch companies resulted in the accelerated entrance procedure for highly skilled foreign workers, entering in force in 2004. The specialized “knowledge migrant scheme” in the Netherlands with its minimum income requirement clearly expresses a commonly accepted point of view, where the role of the receiving country is in defining and facilitating the entry of highly skilled immigrants whose skills are considered to be attractive on national economic grounds. Liberalized labor migration policies are politically strongly framed around the goal of economic interests and competitiveness (Menz, 2016). Policies are influenced and at the same time legitimized by the benefits to the labor market and public finance conditions in a given country. Skilled migrants are viewed to be better suited to the labor market’s needs and also less welfare dependent than low-skilled migrants (Boucher & Cerna, 2014). Besides addressing immediate shortages in the labor market, immigration policies may also pursue longer-term economic objectives, such as balancing demographic development or stimulating innovation. Germany is a clear example of invoking demographic changes in immigration discussions (Ette, Hess & Sauer, 2016). Keeping the working-age population at a constant size is also pursued by point-based systems that favor younger immigrants. By establishing lists of occupations with a shortage of highly skilled workers, and by giving people within these occupations favorable treatment, immigration policies also go beyond filling current labor gaps and aim to expand the talent pool for long-term economic growth (Freeman, 2005). For instance, in the United States there are favorable conditions for graduates in the fields of science, technology, engineering and mathematics (STEM) to stay in the country after completing their degrees. Similarly, Germany assigns foreigners with STEM degrees their own residence category. Legitimizing immigration policies by using economic interests of the state is especially reasonable in the face of generally unsupportive public opinion of immigration and in the face of political restrictiveness (Menz, 2016). Even immigration restrictionists are usually in favor of giving preference to admitting highly skilled migrants. This has also been the case with the current proposal for immigration reform in the United States, the so-called RAISE Act. It proposed to use a “merit-based” points system, with only “the most highly educated, most English fluent, highest-paid STEM workers making the cut” (Gelatt, 2017). The growing emphasis on qualifications when selecting who can immigrate has to be seen in the context of state authorities asserting their sovereign right to control their borders. Regional agreements that expand areas of free movement (such as the Schengen agreement) and international obligations that protect

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migrants’ rights limit the leeway for labor migration policies (OECD, 2014). The discourse of bringing in migrants who are “economically useful and easily integrated into the labour market” (Menz, 2016) reinforces the impression that the states take care of their people’s economic interests (Lavenex, 2007). Oftentimes this form of admission is given important attention despite its contested effectiveness (Czaika & Parsons, 2015) and the fact that it encompasses a small minority of the total immigrants (Hercog & Sandoz, 2018), showing how immigration is a highly politicized policy domain with symbolic objectives far beyond only satisfying economic requirements (Triadafilopoulos, 2013). In parallel, a growing number of studies have stressed the role of skilled migration in generating benefits for countries of origin (De Haas, 2005; Nyberg Sørensen, Van Hear & EngbergPedersen, 2002). Circular migration became a buzzword (GCIM, 2005; GFMD, 2007) and policies are now directed at facilitation of brain circulation by encouraging mobility of professionals as well as supporting different kinds of transnational networks for making use of the knowledge, skills and capital that diasporas have acquired abroad (Hercog & Siegel, 2015). Turning away from policies intended to restrict international mobility and avert brain drain (such as quotas on the admission of skilled workers or return-migration obligations on visas) (Clemens, 2015), the focus is currently on policies that try to maximize the benefits to all sides. This perspective has led to a changed approach from immigration officials in receiving countries and mainly to a reconsideration of policy options on the side of migrant-sending countries.

Skills within the migration and development debate The current positive outlook on the benefits of high-skilled migration was not always the norm. Much has been discussed in academic and non-academic circles about the effects on countries of origin and on those left behind, swinging back and forth from positive assessments in the post World War II period to pessimism starting with the Oil Crisis and again to current optimistic approach, which sees migrants’ knowledge and skills placed partially at the service of their home countries (Castles, De Haas & Miller, 2014; Levitt & Lamba-Nieves, 2011). Skilled emigration is commonly referred to as “brain drain”, the term first used to denounce emigration of British scientists to North America in 1960s (Winters, 2009). The early literature on brain drain (Grubel & Scott, 1966; Johnson, 1967) concluded that the welfare levels of those left behind would decrease if the migrants’ contribution to the economy was greater than their marginal product. Since this seems to be the case when the social return to education exceeds its private return, and given that education is often at least partly publicly financed, it was widely recognized that the brain drain was detrimental to the migrants’ source countries (Beine, Docquier & Rapoport, 2003). This view, developed notably by Jagdish Bhagwati and his coauthors in the early 1970s (Bhagwati, 1976; Bhagwati & Wilson, 1989) submits that: (1) the brain drain is basically a negative externality imposed on those left behind; (2) it amounts to a zero-sum game, with the rich countries getting richer and the poor countries getting poorer; and, (3) at a policy level, the international community should implement a mechanism whereby international transfers could compensate the sending countries for the losses incurred as a result of the brain drain; for example, through an income “tax on brains” (also coined the “Bhagwati tax”) to be redistributed internationally. Not only is migration argued to have negative effects, but migration pessimists saw it as one of the detrimental causes of underdevelopment of sending countries (Castles et al., 2014). With the emergence of new growth theories and the strong emphasis on human capital as a source of growth (Lucas, 1988), there has been a renewed interest in the study of the growth effects of the brain drain. The general view of the problem is that it would imply a significant economic and social loss if the best educated people 166

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made their contributions in a country other than their own. Building on this idea, the first models to address the issue of the brain drain in an endogenous growth framework all emphasized its negative effects (Haque & Kim, 1995; Kanbur & Rapoport, 2005). The effects do not remain only at the economic level, but international skilled migration affects sending countries also in terms of their capacities to build domestic institutions. Kapur and McHale (2005) write about the impacts emigration might have on a country’s institutional development through the decreased supply of possible institution builders as well as on the demand for better institutions. By contrast to the migration pessimists, the new brain-drain literature suggests that allowing migration of the highly skilled from a developing country might actually increase the incentive to acquire education. Since not all people who have been encouraged to take up education due to the possibility of emigration actually leave the country, the stock of skilled workers will increase (Stark, Helmenstein & Prskawetz, 1998). This incentive effect (or brain gain) together with the positive feedback effects such as knowledge transfer and return migration after additional skills have been acquired abroad, have been put forward in the new body of literature on international skilled migration. In addition, emigration could also affect institutional development in positive ways through diaspora resources to help with building modern institutions or through returnees’ valuable skills and social connections (Li, McHale & Zhou, 2016). Macro studies on the link between emigration and governance quality of institutions generally find positive effects if migrants’ destination countries are democratic (Spilimbergo, 2009), with the positive effect being especially pronounced for skilled migration (Beine & Sekkat, 2013). For example, African leaders with foreign education were shown to govern more democratically (Mercier, 2013). Quite on the contrary to discussions on brain drain, restricting skilled migration could directly harm sending countries and especially migrants (Clemens, 2016). In terms of policy options, promoting connections with the diaspora has become the preferred tool and an alternative to seeing people who are physically elsewhere as lost and that only their return would benefit the country of origin. International fora, such as the Global Commission on International Migration (GCIM), Global Forum on Migration and Development (GFMD) and the International Organization for Migration (IOM), and countries of origin encourage interconnections with host countries, through which migrants could transfer knowledge, social and financial capital (Meyer, 2001; Tejada & Bhattacharya, 2014). Some host countries enable favorable possibilities for permanent stay to the highly skilled, not only in the name of attractiveness but also in the name of offering best capacities for migrants to contribute to development in their countries. The assumption here is that migrants are more likely to visit their countries of origin to set up businesses, monitor their subsidiaries, or engage in any other way when they have a secure residency status in destination countries (Hercog & Siegel, 2015). Offering dual citizenships is a further, though more controversial, policy option of empowering migrants (Spiro, 1997; Waldrauch, 2006). Bilateral agreements on the recognition of foreign qualifications and transferability of social security rights are also meant to remove the disincentives for return (Agunias & Newland, 2007). In general, it is claimed that instead of imposing obligations and directing flows, removing the obstacles has a better effect on promoting circularity (Newland, Agunias & Terrazas, 2008). However, worries about depleting developing countries of the scarce human capital are remaining. There are winners as well as losers among the sending countries (Beine et al., 2003). Small developing countries lack the mass for agglomeration and other scale effects to exploit talented labor efficiently, which makes them particularly prone to high rates of skilled emigration (Commander, Kangasniemi & Winters, 2004). Developing countries’ circumstances clearly determine whether brain drain turns out to be a curse or a boon. The country’s size, quality of education, rate of skilled emigration, success of development policies, possibilities 167

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for agglomerations and other factors matter for the link between migration and development of a country. We should therefore refrain from overly optimistic views on what individual migrants can do for their origin countries, especially when faced with structural constraints (De Haas, 2010). The development potential is associated with the possibilities offered by the host-country environment and with the structural settings of migrants’ home countries. It is important to see the political, economic, social and cultural contexts in which the movement occurs. For that reason, we must also observe the impacts of skilled migration within the wider migration and development debate, which is determined by uneven developments of current social transformation.

The example of India India is a case in point for showing how the academic research and policy discussions regarding emigration of skilled professionals have evolved over time. With 16 million people from India living outside their country in 2015, India has the largest diaspora in the world (UNDESA, 2016). Considering such historically high numbers, it would be expected that India has a welldeveloped diaspora policy. However, for a long time the Indian government paid little attention to its nationals abroad. During a prolonged period of “conscious de-linking” (Sinha-Kerkhoff & Bal, 2003), which prevailed from independence until the 1990s, the official position was that emigrants were harmful to the country’s interests (Castles, 2008). Also with respect to skilled emigration, Kapur assesses that “there has rarely been a nation that has been as blasé about losing is best and brightest as has been India” (Kapur, 2003, p. 7). The main phases in diaspora policy were termed after the ideologies of different political periods: first, what may be termed the “Gandhian approach”; second, the “Nehruvian approach” and, last, the “Vajpayeean” approach (Sinha-Kerkhoff & Bal, 2003). With the rise of Indian nationalism in the 1920s, the Indian government started to see the well-being of Indians abroad as the government’s responsibility. During the struggle for independence, overseas Indians played an important role. Mohandas Gandhi, practicing as a lawyer in South Africa, was among those to frame the fight against the indentured system within the fight against British imperialism. Protection abroad was linked with calls for further integration into host societies and discouragement of return of former indentured workers (Raj, 2015). Officials thought it better for emigrants to stay abroad since those who returned were “unsettled by the easier life they lead in the colonies” and were “generally unable to settle down again to the harder conditions of life prevailing in their native villages and to use their capital economically” (Sinha-Kerkhoff & Bal, 2003). Referring to early remittances, they criticized the way money was spent quickly, after which people looked for opportunities to leave again. Nehru’s policy toward diaspora was that of disengagement. He believed that people should identify with the place in which they are residing and therefore encouraged emigrants to take up citizenship in places of settlement (Hercog & Siegel, 2014). Such disengagement from extraterritorial populations was in line with the historical context of non-alignment (van Dongen, 2017). Some changes toward re-engagement started in the late 70s with Atal Bihari Vajpayee as the Minister of External Affairs. He proclaimed the subject of overseas Indians as “one which is very dear to our hearts”, and that India would “never disown them or fail to appreciate and respect their essential loyalty to the culture and heritage of the mother country” (HLCID, 2001). When, with the victory of Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) in 1998, he became the prime minister, they quickly started with the institutionalization of diaspora policies. Introduction of the PIO card (Persons of Indian Origin) was one of the first steps. Indian economic liberalization and the growing economic and political importance of the diaspora also meant that ethnic networks 168

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were starting to be seen as a resource and some now even consider India as a leader in diaspora engagement policies (Vezzoli & Lacroix, 2010). The focus is on creating business and scientific networks, particularly with the diaspora in rich countries of North America and Europe. An example of such practice is the yearly Pravasi Bharatiya Divas convention, which honors high-profile diaspora representatives for their exceptional achievements. Further emphasis on networking is also seen through institutions like the virtual platform Global India Network of Knowledge (Global-INK) and Prime Minister’s Global Advisory Council which targets eminent Indians abroad to draw upon their experience and knowledge when they meet twice a year. With the award of prizes, conferences and conventions, India has invested significantly to create communal belonging among expatriate members. Politicians speak of immense pride for the achievements of Indian diaspora and for changing the image of India to the world at large (Singh, 2012). With the growing importance of skilled migration for receiving countries, India also received negotiating clout for improving positions of expatriate workers by signing social security and labor agreements with a number of receiving countries which are particularly attractive for skilled migrants. However, the focus on the skilled and affluent Indians abroad has come at the expense of descendants of indentured laborers outside developed countries and of the less privileged members of diaspora, overall. The state-led focus on the successful diaspora reflects inequalities that already exist domestically (van Dongen, 2017), which also calls for a warning that ultimately changes have to happen from within. Notwithstanding the benefits of the diaspora, India is still a country with huge inequalities and it would futile to expect people living abroad to bring such changes.

Skills within the integration debate There is a generally held view that high-skilled migration is both wanted and welcome (Triadafilopoulos, 2013). While low-skilled migrants are also needed to fill essential jobs, they are not necessarily welcome in terms of access to membership in the political community. On the contrary, highly skilled migrants are considered a “prototype of a socially mobile group” (Nowicka, 2014, p. 171). With their financial, social and cultural capital, they can successfully integrate into receiving communities (Föbker, Imani, Nipper, Otto & Pfaffenbach, 2016; Glebe, 1997; Weiss, 2005). Conditions for their integration into receiving societies are favorable due to their privileged legal and socio-economic positions. They have access to social networks at the workplace as well as in society at large, which helps them settle in. Their well-paid, high-status jobs also enable them to live in attractive neighborhoods that meet their demands (Scott, 2006). They concentrate in upscale neighborhoods in the city or, when with families, in the suburbs (Föbker et al., 2016). In some places, foreigners form “expat enclaves” which are well equipped with international infrastructure, offering specialized kindergartens, schools and associations (Harvey & Beaverstock, 2016; Wang & Lau, 2008; White & Hurdley, 2003). Such infrastructure facilitates easy settling in, since it is designed for people who often move internationally and enables them to start working right away. In addition, relocation support offered by employers further drives expatriate employees to cluster in the same areas. Such depiction of highly skilled migrants as “accidental tourists” (Mahroum, 2000) and their social and cultural practices as aloof from local life, is mainly due to the research focus on transnational elites, such as executives and managers in multinational corporations (Beaverstock, 2005; Sklair, 2001). Following corporate decisions and led by the dynamics of global capitalism, highly skilled globetrotters are described as having a low level of local attachment to the host society. As a matter of fact, they are not identified by any particular country. As argued by Dahinden, mobility becomes an essential part of migrants’ life strategies and their impetus to stay 169

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mobile and move frequently can be viewed “as a professional asset” (Dahinden, 2010, p. 56). Their temporary stay and the ease of settling in do not yield themselves to questions concerning their integration as it is seen as unproblematic. Nevertheless, highly qualified people lead much more diverse lifestyles than portrayed in these accounts. In our research on skilled mobility toward Switzerland, we moved beyond the “image of free-moving elites” (Favell et al., 2006, p. 8) and in addition to people coming through a company channel include highly qualified people who moved to the country either as family members, students or asylum seekers. In another project focused on skilled Indians in Europe, we also included diverse profiles of PhD students, academic researchers and professionals in industry. Heterogeneity of studied populations allows us to see that conditions in which migration takes place to a large extent determine the opportunities and obstacles that highly educated migrants encounter in search of employment and incorporation into host society. The context of the host country clearly matters and it is not uniform for all skilled migrants. In our study among Indians in Switzerland, several elements such as the scientific and educational excellence of Swiss academic and research institutions, the high quality of life, as well as the favorable employment conditions of transnational companies, are shown as part of a framework of reception in the host country, which is seen as being favorable for skilled migrants who are part of the institutional international work environment (Hercog & Tejada, 2013). Those coming with the industry benefit from organizational channels, recruitment and relocation agencies, linked to employers. Such support plays a crucial role in matching them and their spouses with jobs and providing them with resources for organizing other aspects of their daily life (Groutsis, Van den Broek & Harvey, 2015). Services are extended to partners and other family members, which is legitimized by the fact that adequate support may reduce the risk of an unexpected departure of the employee due to his or her family’s difficulty in adjusting to the new environment (Ravasi, Salamin & Davoine, 2015). In contrast, for scientists in the academic sector and students, migration is driven by individual motivation and shaped by their personal contacts and networks. Students benefit from the affiliation with educational institutions, but are faced with the lack of institutional support and control associated with residence permits at the end of their studies. They have to rely on networks they made during their studies. In the Swiss case, non-EU nationals are to a large extent dependent on the willingness and negotiating power of their future employers. Overall, profession is an important part of identity for skilled migrants, and their working life serves as a way to situate themselves in a new setting. Most social contacts and support come from multinational work environments. Clearly, all others cannot rely on this kind of support. Those arriving as part of family reunion are first and foremost embedded into networks of relationships connected to their and their partner’s personal situation, with little involvement of the state. Finally, highly skilled asylum seekers and refugees live with most limitations and in a specific kind of dependency from policies and government agencies (Sandoz, 2016). Administrative barriers, limited local skills and experiences, unwillingness of employers to support them, difficulties with having their qualifications recognized as well as trauma associated with the flight are some of the most evident obstacles for this group. The support structures offered to asylum seekers and recognized refugees are rarely adapted to highly educated people. The UNHCR study (2014), for instance, shows how their interviewees in Switzerland have systematically been oriented into low-paid professional sectors. Political discourse on the subject of immigration noticeably sets the structures of inclusion and exclusion and influences incorporation of migrants into the social space of host country. Those coming under the protection channel are seen with suspicion and are faced with numerous obligations and constraints in order to discourage abusive behaviors. As in 170

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many countries with preferences for skilled workers, Swiss political discourse portrays skilled migrants as “those required by the economy and by science” and the “most capable of being integrated” into the host society (Riaño & Wastl-Walter, 2006). Our observations of the Swiss setting confirm the argument of Iredale (2001) that policies and cultures of inclusion are arising as demand drives the need for professional workers but the image of skilled migrants as needed and easily integrable is defined by migrants’ jobs and their origin. As opposed to other South Asians, Indians obtained an image of highly educated immigrant group which is necessary for the Swiss economy. They notice a different, more positive, approach toward them once it is clear they are Indian and work in a highly skilled job. Being sensitive to how they are perceived by mainstream society, they appreciate their positive evaluation which directs the general positive experiences Indians have in Switzerland (Hercog & Tejada, 2013). Still, they mentioned several difficulties for incorporation into the new local setting. They mention language barriers, local people who are reserved and conservative and what they perceive to be a limited cultural offer. By including a more diverse group in the study on highly skilled migrants, we put to the test the assumption of highly skilled migrants as economically wanted and socially and politically welcome. Not all highly skilled people enjoy the frictionless mobility supported by the state, cities, employers and other service providers. Privileged situations of smooth integration in terms of job success and integration into social networks exist predominantly for people working in multinational corporations. Most other migrants belong to the mobile middle class (Favell et al., 2006) and face quite ordinary integration problems of insecurities with immigration authorities, finding jobs matching their skills or finding local networks.

Conclusion, or what is high-skilled migration after all? The purpose of this chapter has been to examine the position of high-skilled migration within the contemporary migration debate. The desirability of highly skilled workers and proliferation of policies aiming to attract them has been extensively documented elsewhere (Cerna, 2009; Chaloff & Lemaitre, 2009; Kapur & McHale, 2005; OECD, 2002; Triadafilopoulos, 2013). This essay presents the commonly accepted standpoints and then places them in the historical and political context. In the conclusion, we show how current narratives surrounding skilled migration have an effect on our understanding of who and what constitutes this category of migrants. The first part on government approaches shows how nation states proactively engage in competitive immigration regimes to lure the highly skilled. By way of defining the selection criteria for admission, policies of receiving countries contribute to alternative meanings of who the highly skilled are (Parsons et  al., 2014). The second part places skills within the migration and development debate and shows how sending and receiving countries, as well as international organizations, are embracing the possible benefits from skilled migration. Migrants and migrant networks are counted on for their contributions to invest and work as a bridge to transfer knowledge and skills to their countries of origin. The third part points out the assumed privileged legal and socio-economic position of highly skilled migrants. In this sense, highly skilled migrants are portrayed as those who: (a) are economically useful and contribute to economic competitiveness; (b) benefit development outcomes in their countries of origin; and (c) are easily integrated in labor markets and societies at large. Because migrants are selected by policy-defined criteria, their value or “immigrant quality” is defined in a particular time and place. In this regard, someone may be considered a highly skilled migrant with preferential access to residence and work permits only when their characteristics fall within the eligibility requirements. Countries respond to economic situations and continuously 171

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re-design qualifying criteria for selective admission and through that categorize migrants according to their economic desirability (Findlay & Cranston, 2015). Even though such approaches are described as “selecting by merit” (Shachar, 2016) or “non-discriminatory” (Joppke, 2005), they still produce inequalities in terms of gender, nationality and age (Boucher, 2016; Kofman, 2014; Tannock, 2011). A great majority of migrants coming through such schemes are young males (77 percent in the case of the Dutch knowledge migrants scheme (OECD, 2016)). While such imbalance in admissions is in part determined by global gender inequalities, policy designs further reinforce them. Salary thresholds, as used by the EU Blue Card and national immigration schemes in several European countries, have clear gendered repercussions since women still on average tend to earn less than men. Skills shortage lists, used among others in the UK, Australia and New Zealand, also tend to include male-dominated professions, meaning that “the kind of work women do more often are defined prima facie as less skilled” (Kofman & Raghuram, 2005, p. 150). As such, skills are not valued in and of themselves. Despite emphasizing economic rationality of government approaches to select migrants, criteria are also value-laden and can indirectly still exclude women, older individuals and certain nationalities. The debate on effects of migration on development places a well-established, high-earning migrant at the center of attention. Governments, academics, practitioners and civil society call upon transnationally active migrants to interact with each other in diaspora networks and with their counterparts in the countries of origin (Clemens, 2015). This has the potential to increase investments, knowledge transfer, innovation, capacity building and even more democratic governance (Perez-Armendariz & Crow, 2010). Clearly, normative perspectives influence when migrants’ activities become marked as developmental or conducive to development (Raghuram, 2009). The focus on labor migration within this debate also leaves out the contributions made by people who came as family migrants or due to forced migration (Koppenberg, 2012). Countries of origin target mainly the affluent sections of their diasporas and praise them for their achievements (Kuschminder & Hercog, 2016). The example of India (in Box 14.1) shows us how the emphasis on the success of Indian diaspora in rich countries comes with neglect for those who migrated as indentured workers and in general for all less privileged members of diaspora. In a similar fashion, destination countries justify their preferential treatment of selected migrants by enabling them to act transnationally, as if other migrants could not benefit from better opportunities and exploit their potential to become agents of development (Koppenberg, 2012). Policy and scholarly discourses in this area further promote the bias toward transnationally active people, who live in rich countries and are equipped with the right skills to engage in activities such as entrepreneurship or innovation (Agunias & Newland, 2007; De Haas, 2010). The third part of the chapter demonstrates how public discourses show highly skilled migrants as unproblematic and perhaps even wanted members of society. In addition to routine dichotomizing between high-skilled and low-skilled migration in public discourses, research designs also reinforce the perception of the elite status of the former (Favell et al., 2006). We show how by extending the definition of skilled migrants beyond those coming through the company channel, we find that integration paths are far from uniform. Individual characteristics, such as proficiency in the majority language, form important elements of socialcultural integration as they can form the basis for social contacts. However, structural conditions of the country context, work environment and other support structures matter for the kinds of opportunities migrants can access, as well as for the choices they can make (Groutsis et al., 2015). Also, questions of underemployment and unemployment are equally pertinent to include in any kind of representation of the highly skilled migrants (Fossland, 2013; McHugh, Batalova & Morawski, 2014).

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Drawing on the three parts of this chapter, we present high-skilled migration as a necessary part of economic competitiveness (Menz, 2016), as celebrated self-help development “from below” (De Haas, 2010) and as a prototype of social mobility (Nowicka, 2014). As autonomous and economically independent, skilled migrants have privileged treatment and are counted on to boost the economies of not only host societies but also those of their countries of origin, without posing any issues with their presence. This chapter shows how policy and scholarly approaches toward highly skilled migrants determine who will be included in this privileged position. With this discussion, we aim to expose the not-so-clear-cut distinction between lowand high-skilled migration and to further our understanding of the extent to which changing government priorities and ideologies impact international mobility by providing opportunities to move and stay for some, while erecting barriers for others.

Note 1 The author of the chapter worked as a principal researcher in the following research projects: 1

Highly-skilled Migration and New Destination Countries: How Government Policies Shape Destination Choices, PhD project at Maastricht University. 2 Migration, Scientific Diasporas and Development: Impact of Skilled Return Migration on Development in India, funded by the Swiss Network For International Studies (SNIS). 3 The Mobility of the Highly Skilled Towards Switzerland, as part of the National Center of Competence in Research (NCCR) project “On the Move”, funded by the Swiss National Science Foundation.

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Clemens, M. (2015). Smart policy toward high-skill emigrants. IZA World of Labor (November 2015). Clemens, M. (2016). Losing our minds? New research directions on skilled migration and development. International Journal of Manpower, 37(7), 1227–1248. Commander, S., Kangasniemi, M., & Winters, L. A. (2004). The Brain Drain: Curse or Boon? IZA Discussion Paper, 809. Czaika, M., & Parsons, C. (2015). The Gravity of High Skilled Migration Policies. IMI Working Paper Series, 110, 1–31. Dahinden, J. (2010). The Dynamics of Migrants’ Transnational Formations: Between Mobility and Locality. In R. Bauböck & T. Faist (Eds.), Diaspora and Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods (pp. 51–71). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. De Haas, H. (2005). International migration, remittances and development: myths and facts. Third Worlds Quarterly, 26(8), 1259–1274. De Haas, H. (2010). Migration and development: a theoretical perspective. International Migration Review, 44(1), 227–264. Ette, A., Hess, B., & Sauer, L. (2016). Tackling Germany’s demographic skills shortage: permanent settle­ ment intentions of the recent wave of labour migrants from non-European countries. Journal of International Migration and Integration, 17(2), 429–448. doi: http://dx.doi.org/10.1007/s12134-015-0424-2 European Commission. (2007). Attractive Conditions for the Admission and Residence of Highly Qualified Immigrants. EU Memo/07/423, Brussels, 23 October. Available at: europa.er/rapid/ press-release_MEMO-07-423_en.pdf. Favell, A., Feldblum, M., & Smith, M. P. (2006). The Human Face of Global Mobility: A Research Agenda. In M. P. Smith & A. Favell (Eds.), The Human Face of Global Mobility: International Highly Skilled Migration in Europe, North America and the Asia-Pacific (pp. 1–25). New Brunswick, NJ [u.a.]: Transaction Publishers. Findlay, A. M., & Cranston, S. (2015). What’s in a research agenda? An evaluation of research developments in the area of skilled international migration. International Development Planning Review, 37(1), 17–31. doi: 10.3828/idpr.2015.3 Föbker, S., Imani, D., Nipper, J., Otto, M., & Pfaffenbach, C. (2016). Translocal life and integration of highly-skilled migrants in Germany. Erdkunde, 70(2), 109–124. Fossland, T. (2013). Crossing borders – getting work: skilled migrants’ gendered labour market participation in Norway. Norwegian Journal of Geography, 67(5), 276–283. Freeman, R. (2005). Does Globalization of Scientific/Engineering Workforce Threaten US Economic Leadership? NBER Working Paper no. 11457. Cambridge, MA. GCIM. (2005). Migration in an Interconnected World: New Directions for Action. Global Commission on International Migration. Retrieved from www.refworld.org/docid/435f81814.html [accessed 15 September 2017]. Gelatt, J. (2017). The RAISE Act: Dramatic Change to Family Immigration, Less So for the Employment-Based System (Commentary). Migration Policy Institute. Retrieved from www.migrationpolicy.org/news/ raise-act-dramatic-change-family-immigration-less-so-employment-based-system GFMD. (2007). Human Capital Development and Labor Mobility: Maximizing Opportunities and Minimizing Risks (background paper for Roundtable 1, GFMD). Global Forum on Migration and Development. Retrieved from www.gfmd.org/roundtable-1-background-papers-2 [accessed 10 January 2019]. Glebe, G. (1997). Statushohe ausländische Migranten in Deutschland. Geographische Rundschau, 49(7–8), 406–412. Groutsis, D., Van den Broek, D., & Harvey, W. (2015). Transformations in network governance: the case of migration intermediaries. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 41(10), 1558–1576. Grubel, H. B., & Scott, A. D. (1966). The International Flow of Human Capital. The American Economic Review, 56(1/2), 268–274. Haque, N. U., & Kim, S. (1995). Human capital flight: impact of migration on income and growth. IMF Staff Papers, 42(2), 577–607. Harvey, W., & Beaverstock, J. V. (2016). Diverging Experiences of Work and Social Networks Abroad: Highly-skilled British migrants in Singapore, Vancouver and Boston. In M. Riemsdijk & Q. Wang (Eds.), Rethinking International Skilled Migration: A Place-Based and Spatial Perspective (pp. 265–292). London and New York: Routledge. Hercog, M., & Sandoz, L. (2018). Selecting the highly skilled: norms and practices of the Swiss admission system for non-EU immigrants. Migration Letters, 15(4), 503–515. https://doi.org/10.33182/ml.v15i4.2

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Hercog, M., & Siegel, M. (2014). Diaspora Engagement in India: From Non-Required Indians to Angels of Development. In M. Collyer (Ed.), Emigrating Nations: The Ideologies and Policies of Emigrant Engagement (pp. 75–99). Houndmills, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Hercog, M., & Siegel, M. (2015). Promoting Return and Circular Migration of the Highly Skilled. In A. Wiesbrock & D. Acosta (Eds.), Global Migration Issues: Myths and Realities (Vol. 3). Santa Barbara, CA: ABC Clio. Hercog, M., & Tejada, G. (2013). Incorporation of Skilled Migrants in a Host Country: IMDS Working Paper, 58–60 (June). HLCID. (2001). Report of the High Level Committee on Indian Diaspora. New Delhi, India: Government of India, Ministry of External Affairs, Non-Resident Indian and Persons of Indian Origin Division. www. mea.gov.in/images/pdf/1-executive-summary.pdf [accessed 18 February 2019]. Iredale, R. (2001). The migration of professionals: theories and typologies. International Migration, 39(5), 7–26. Johnson, H. G. (1967). Some economic aspects of brain drain. The Pakistan Development Review, 7(3), 379–411. Joppke, C. (2005). Are “nondiscriminatory” immigration policies reversible? Comparative Political Studies, 38(1), 3–25. Kanbur, R., & Rapoport, H. (2005). Migration selectivity and the evolution of spatial inequality. Journal of Economic Geography, 5(1), 43–57. Kapur, D. (2003). Indian diaspora as a strategic asset. Economic and Political Weekly, 38(5), 445–448. Kapur, D., & McHale, J. (2005). The Global Migration of Talent: What Does it Mean for Developing Countries? (CGD Brief). Washington: Center for Global Development. Retrieved from www.cgdev.org/sites/ default/files/4473_file_Global_Hunt_for_Talent_Brief.pdf [accessed 16 May 2017]. Kofman, E. (2014). Towards a gendered evaluation of (highly) skilled immigration policies in Europe. International Migration, 52, 116–128. Kofman, E., & Raghuram, P. (2005). Gender and skilled migrants. Geoforum, 36, 149–154. Koppenberg, S. (2012). Where Do Forced Migrants Stand in the Migration and Development Debate? Oxford Monitor of Forced Migration, 2(1), 77–90. Kuschminder, K., & Hercog, M. (2016). Diaspora Engagement Policies and the Power of the Strong State: India and Ethiopia. In D. Besharov & M. Lopez (Eds.), Adjusting to a World in Motion: Trends in Global Migration and Migration Policy (pp. 353–372). New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Lavenex, S. (2007). The competition state and highly skilled migration. Society, 44(2), 32–41. Levitt, P., & Lamba-Nieves, D. (2011). Social remittances revisited. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 31(1), 1–22. Li, X., McHale, J., & Zhou, X. (2016). Does Brain Drain Lead to Institutional Gain? The World Economy. https://doi.org/10.1111/twec.12407 Lucas, R. E. (1988). On the mechanics of economic development. Journal of Monetary Economics, 22, 3–42. Mahroum, S. (2000). Highly skilled globetrotters: mapping the international migration of human capital. R&D Management, 30(1), 23–32. McHugh, M., Batalova, J., & Morawski, M. (2014). Brain Waste in the Workforce: Select U.S. and State Characteristics of College-educated Native-born and Immigrant Adults (No. May 2014). Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Menz, G. (2016). Framing competitiveness: the advocacy of migration as an essential human resources strategy in Europe. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 42(4), 625–642. Mercier, M. (2013). The Return of the Prodigy Son: Do Return Migrants Make Better Leaders? IZA Discussion Paper, 7780. Meyer, J. B. (2001). Network approach versus brain drain: lessons from the diaspora. International Migration, 10(18), 59–92. Michaels, E., Handfield-Jones, H., & Axelrod, B. (2001). The War for Talent. Boston, MA: Harvard Business School Press. Newland, K., Agunias, D. R., & Terrazas, A. (2008). Learning by Doing: Experiences of Circular Migration (MPI-Insight). Washington DC: Migration Policy Institute. Nowicka, M. (2014). Migrating skills, skilled migrants and migration skills: the influence of contexts on the validation of migrants’ skills. Migration Letters, 11(2), 171–186. Nyberg Sørensen, N., Van Hear, N., & Engberg-Pedersen, P. (2002). The migration development nexus: evidence and policy options. State-of-the-art overview. International Migration, 40(5), 3–47.

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OECD. (2002). International Mobility of the Highly Skilled (OECD observer). Paris: OECD. OECD. (2014). International Migration Outlook 2014. Paris: OECD Publishing. http://dx.doi.org/10.1787/ migr_outlook-2014-en OECD. (2016). Recruiting Immigrant Workers: The Netherlands 2016. Paris: OECD. Retrieved from http:// dx.doi.org/10.1787/9789264259249-en Parsons, C., Rojon, S., Samanani, F., & Wettach, L. (2014). Conceptualising International High-Skilled Migration. The IMI Working Paper Series, (104, November 2014). Retrieved from https://pdfs.semantic scholar.org/89ee/f20c6a283ffd0c6882e0b99d90f6cff41385.pdf [accessed 25 January 2019]. Perez-Armendariz, C., & Crow, D. (2010). Do migrants remit democracy? International migration, political beliefs, and behavior in Mexico. Comparative Political Studies, 43(1), 119–148. Raghuram, P. (2009). Which migration, what development? Unsettling the edifice of migration and development. Population, Space and Place, 15, 103–117. https://doi.org/doi:10.1002/psp.536 Ravasi, C., Salamin, X., & Davoine, E. (2015). Cross-cultural adjustment of skilled migrants in a multicultural and multilingual environment: an explorative study on foreign employees and their spouses in the Swiss context. The International Journal of Human Resource Management, 26(10), 1335–1359. Riaño, Y., & Wastl-Walter, D. (2006). Immigration policies, state discourse on foreigners and the politics of identity in Switzerland. Environment and Planning, 38, 1693–1713. Rothgang, M., & Schmidt, C. M. (2003). The New Economy, the Impact of Immigration, and the Brain Drain. In D. C. Jones (Ed.), New Economy Handbook (pp. 583–625). Amsterdam, New York and Tokyo: Elsevier Science. Sandoz, L. (2016). Understanding Migration Policies from Migrants’ Perspective. Presented at the 24th World Congress of Political Science, Poznan, Poland. Retrieved from http://paperroom.ipsa.org/ papers/paper_50601.pdf Scott, S. (2006). The social morphology of skilled migration: the case of the British middle class in Paris. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 32(7), 1105–1129. Shachar, A. (2006). The race for talent: highly skilled migrants and competitive immigration regimes. New York Law Review, 81(1), 148–206. Shachar, A. (2016). Selecting By Merit: The Brave New World of Stratified Mobility. In S. Fine & L. Ypi (Eds.), Migration in Political Theory: The Ethics of Movement and Membership (pp. 175–203). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Singh, M. (2012, 8 January) PM’s address at the tenth Pravasi Bharatiya Divas 2012. Jaipur, India. Retrieved from https://mea.gov.in/Speeches-Statements.htm?dtl/17108/PMs_address_at_the_tenth_ Pravasi_Bharatiya_Divas Sinha-Kerkhoff, K., & Bal, E. (2003) “Eternal call of the Ganga”: reconnecting with people of Indian origin in Surinam. Economic and Political Weekly, XXXVIII(38), 4008–4021. Sklair, L. (2001). The Transnational Capitalist Class. Oxford, UK; Malden, MA: Blackwell. Spilimbergo, A. (2009). Democracy and foreign education. American Economic Review, 99(1), 528–543. doi: 10.1257/aer.99.1.528 Spiro, P. (1997). Dual nationality and the meaning of citizenship. Emory Law Journal, 46, 1411–1485. Stark, O., Helmenstein, C., & Prskawetz, A. (1998). Human capital depletion, human capital formation and migration: a blessing in a “curse”? Economic Letters, 60(3), 363–367. Tani, M. (2014). Using a point system for selecting immigrants. IZA World of Labor, 24. Tannock, S. (2011). Points of prejudice: education-based discrimination in Canada’s immigration system. Antipode, 43(4), 1330–1356. Tejada, G., & Bhattacharya, U. (2014). Indian Skilled Migration and Development: An Introduction. In G. Tejada, U. Bhattacharya, B. Khadria, & C. Kuptsch (Eds.), Indian Skilled Migration and Development: To Europe and Back (pp. 3–27). New Delhi, India: Springer. Triadafilopoulos, T. (Ed.). (2013). Wanted and Welcome? Policies for Highly Skilled Immigrants in Comparative Perspective. New York: Springer. UNDESA. (2016). International Migration Report 2015: Highlights. New York: United Nations, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division. UNHCR. (2014). Arbeitsmarktintegration. Die Sicht der Flüchtlinge und vorläufig Aufgenommenen in der Schweiz. Geneva, Switzerland. van Dongen, E. (2017). Behind the ties that bind: diaspora-making and nation-building in China and India in historical perspective, 1850s–2010s. Asian Studies Review, 41, 117–135.

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Vezzoli, S., & Lacroix, T. (2010). Building Bond for Migration and Development: Diaspora Engagement Policies of Ghana, India and Serbia. GTZ Migration and Development and International Migration Institute. www.imi.ox.ac.uk/publications/building-bonds Waldrauch, H. (2006). Rights of Expatriates, Multiple Citizens and Restricted Citizenship for Certain Nationals. In R. Bauböck (Ed.), Acquisition and Loss of Nationality: Policies and Trends in 15 European Countries (Comparative Analysis, Vol. 1, pp. 359–379). Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Wang, J., & Lau, S. S. Y. (2008). Forming foreign enclaves in Shanghai: state action in globalization. Journal of Housing and the Built Environment, 23(2), 103–118. Weiss, A. (2005). The transnationalization of social inequality: conceptualizing social positions on a world scale. Current Sociology, 53(4), 707–728. White, P., & Hurdley, L. (2003). International migration and the housing market: Japanese corporate movers in London. Urban Studies, 40(4), 687–706. Winters, L. A. (2009). Skilled-labor mobility in postwar Europe. In J. Bhagwati & G. Hanson (Eds.), Skilled Immigration Today: Prospects, Problems, and Policies (pp. 52–80). Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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15 Immigration and the informal economy Rebeca Raijman

Introduction The informal economy, also labeled irregular, underground, black, hidden or shadow economy, has been the focus of extensive scholarship in the social sciences. It is now considered an integral part of developing and developed countries alike, as it comprises non-trivial shares of their economies (Frey and Schneider, 2000; Portes and Haller, 2010).1 The informal economy is intrinsically connected to globalization processes and to economic restructuring in global cities (Sassen, 2000), but not only these (Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). Restructuring urban economies are characterized by the growing demand for workers at the upper echelons of the occupation scale, fueled by the expansion and intensified concentration of advanced producer services, information, and financial sectors in global cities. The expansion of high-skilled jobs leads to a corresponding enlargement of low-paying jobs stemming in part from the consumption patterns of the multiplying strata of highly skilled workers in urban economies. These restructuring processes have resulted in increased demand for flexible, contingent and low-skilled work in both the formal and informal sectors of advanced economies in Europe and the US (Baldwin-Edwards, 1998; Leonard, 1998). The flexible and cheap labor demanded by post-industrial societies is provided mainly by immigrants, the undocumented in particular. This chapter reviews the linkage between informality and immigration by focusing on the low-skilled segment of the labor market.2 The development of informal strategies in the labor market affects all immigrants, but unskilled workers more (Malheiros, 1998). Unlike middle/ upper-income groups, low-income people participate in the informal economy to meet different needs: “stretching a dollar” for the former group, surviving for the latter (Gaughan and Ferman, 1987). In this chapter I first discuss the concept of informal economy and present a brief overview of the conditions under which informal activities are most likely to occur. Next I focus on three main sectors where informal economic activities are likely to flourish—agriculture, construction, and domestic and care services, and I highlight the role of informality as a steppingstone to self-employment and business ownership. Finally I discuss measurement

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issues and underscore the need for adequate data collection to capture the prevalence of economic activities and income generation in the informal sector.

Defining the informal economy Informal labor market activity has been defined as a process of income generation that is unregulated by the institutions of society, “in a legal and social environment in which similar activities are regulated” (Castells and Portes, 1989, p. 12). By this definition the basic distinction between formal and informal activities does not depend on the character of the final product but on the manner in which it is produced and exchanged. For example, food, clothing and childcare services are licit commodities but may originate in legally regulated or unregulated production arrangements (Portes and Sassen-Koob, 1987; Castells and Portes, 1989; Stepick, 1989).3 Informality may refer to (1) the status of labor (labor that is undeclared in formal reporting schemes; labor that lacks access to social benefits to which it is entitled, including payment equivalent to or in excess of the minimum wage); (2) the conditions of work under which labor is employed (health, safety, location of activities that disregard zoning laws); and/or (3) the form of management of firms (including the adoption of fraudulent practices, such as not recording cash transactions) (Castells and Portes, 1989, p. 13). As the informal economic activity is seen as a direct outgrowth of the global restructuring occurring in the post-industrial economy, it is no surprise that the interdependence of the formal and informal sectors is high as both consumers and firms drive a rising demand for informally produced goods and services (Losby et al., 2002, p. 13). Stepick (1989) differentiates the integrated and isolated sectors within the informal economy, capturing the degree of integration of economic activities into the formal sector. The integrated sector refers to activities in which workers are indirectly connected to a large firm through a chain of intermediaries. Portes and Sassen-Koob (1987) summarize four of the more common forms of such linkages between the formal and informal economy. The first is the informal marketing chain, used by industries to eliminate the cost of maintaining a permanent sales staff. As many studies have shown, what appears to be a disorganized mass of street vendors and merchants are actually being well coordinated by a group of middlemen dependent on formal firms (Reyneri, 2004; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). For example, a study conducted in Little Village, a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood in Chicago, revealed that one-third of immigrant male respondents who reported being self-employed in their main activity were subcontractors or worked in franchise-like activities such as selling food and soft drinks at different factories on a defined route set by the firm, which also provided the products (see Raijman, 2001). Likewise, in southern Europe street vendors function as one of the most typical strategies of informal activities in which the presence of immigrants, especially the undocumented, is highly visible. These self-employment survival activities are part of an organizational structure in which formal and informal economies coexist. Product suppliers are wholesalers—often immigrants themselves who exploit co-ethnic networks selling artisan products imported from their countries of origin (Reyneri, 2004; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). A second type of linkage is the input supply chain, as in the case of collectors of trash/junk, which serves as raw materials for industries. The recycling industry has developed to assume the form of a multi-tiered system wherein large firms rely on small firms and informal workers for collection and sorting. These marginal workers are, in fact, informal suppliers of inputs at lower

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costs to local buyers, who in turn sell the trash/junk to the central wholesaler, the eventual link to the formal industry (Fortuna and Prates, 1989; Gowan, 1997). As the recycling industry flourishes, collecting and selling trash is a survival strategy for poor people, especially immigrants, who are excluded from the shrinking formal labor market (see Gowan, 1997). A third type is informal subcontracting in construction or repair services. Construction companies cope with demand fluctuations by reducing their permanent workforce and adopting subcontracting strategies aimed at reducing their costs and social responsibilities. Work is allocated to principal contractors, who in turn mobilize informal networks (subcontractors and laborers) to supply the specific service (Stepick, 1989; Malheiros, 1998; Martínez Veiga, 1998). This complex subcontracting network encompasses several layers before reaching the prospective workers, many of whom are unskilled immigrants. Many of them often accept the rules of the informal labor market because they are undocumented, but also because they can accumulate capital faster and more easily if they follow the informal path (Malheiros, 1998, p. 173).4 A fourth type is subcontracting in the manufacture, which raised the number of small-scale firms and home-based producers. Industrial outsourcing is an option for large firms intent on minimizing risks in uncertain and competitive markets and reducing the costs of seasonal adjustments (Benton, 1990). This widespread process of subcontracting has brought about the proliferation of industrial outworkers who are under the illusion of being self-employed (nominally selfemployed), but actually they work for large firms—disguised wage labor (Fortuna and Prates, 1989; Portes, 1994; Sassen-Koob, 1989)—“stripped of the legal benefits of employment while maintained in ‘de facto’ conditions of dependence” (Cross, 1997, p. 38). The isolated informal sector remains marginal to the formal economy and includes activities typically confined to the ethnic economy such as child care, home and auto repairs, mobile food stands and more. Immigrant communities are a fertile arena for the pursuit of informal activities, which result from the survival strategies of people forging a livelihood in unfriendly contexts of reception (Stepick, 1989; Raijman, 2001). Given the precarious situation of immigrants in the host labor market, many engage in informal employment or self-employment when they lose their jobs or need to increase their incomes. The informal economy thereby provides income for people whose social circumstances (undocumented status or low education) bar them from paid jobs, but also improves incomes of low-wage salaried workers (Tienda and Raijman, 2000).

Why do people engage in informal activities? A number of factors explain the expansion of informal work and participation of minorities and immigrants in this economic arena. Here it is useful to distinguish demand-side from supplyside factors to explain why people engage in such economic activities. As outlined above, by a demand-side approach, informal production is the strategy imposed by the process of economic restructuration of big firms, which to minimize costs and maximize flexibility shift their production to subcontractors. In so doing, they expel workers from the formal economy, thus stimulating the rise of the informal sector. By a supply-side approach, participation in the informal economy stems from a variety of factors. First, individuals respond to the lack of economic opportunities in the formal economy by generating new activities in the informal economy or by joining existing informal enterprises. That is, informal economic activities are a way of surviving in hostile economic environments. They serve as an economic cushion during periods of unemployment or they supplement income in a low-wage labor market (Morales, 1997; Stepick, 1989; Tienda and Raijman, 2000; Raijman, 2001). Furthermore, informal employment or self-employment might be the only

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options available to people whose main income is provided by the government through participation in welfare programs that prohibit recipients from working (Aponte, 1997; Gowan, 1997). Second, immigrants are hypothesized as reproducing in the host society forms of economic activity that were common in their countries of origin. These include informal activities, which account for a high proportion of the economies in Third World countries (Castells and Portes, 1989; Aponte, 1997). Furthermore, people can be “recruited” into informal economic activities through providing products and services to family, friends and neighbors in ethnic residential communities in host societies (Ferman and Berndt, 1981). Third, the increasing informality of the low-wage sector has been associated with a concomitant rise in undocumented migration. Irregular status converts undocumented migrants into informal workers de facto: “even if their incomes are reported their labor is unauthorized” (Flippen, 2012, p. 23). For these, informal employment is the only way to earn money in the receiving society (Aponte, 1997). Valenzuela (2003) has shown the linkage between informality, irregular status, and day labor work5 among immigrants in the US. Most day laborers are undocumented low-skilled immigrant (Hispanic) men, working mainly in home refurbishment, landscaping, roofing and painting. They are one of the most precarious groups in the low-wage segment of the labor market. Finally, informal employment is also associated with patterns of circular migration. Immigrants in the less-developed countries respond to labor shortages in developed countries and readily accept temporary jobs, unstable conditions and low wages. They come alone and remit money to their families back home. As temporary immigrants they are income-targeted, and they lack the incentive to regulate their legal status, perhaps preferring to accumulate as much capital as possible without paying taxes and social insurance (Malheiros, 1998; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). Whatever the reasons and motivations to join the informal economy, many studies show that informal economic activities have significant implications for immigrants’ socio-economic integration in host societies (Kloosterman, Van der Leun and Rath, 1998, 1999; Tienda and Raijman, 2000; Raijman and Tienda, 2000; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011).

Sectors and occupational niches of informal activities Sectors in which informal activities are likely to flourish and create a strong demand for flexible and cheap migrant labor are construction, agriculture, and domestic and care services (Solé et  al., 1998; Malheiros, 1999; Losby et  al., 2002; Martínez Veiga, 1998; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011).6 Agriculture is one of the main economic sectors based on unskilled migrant labor both in North America and in Europe. It is also one of the sectors with the most exploitative and precarious labor conditions for immigrants, especially the undocumented (for the US, see e.g. Krissman, 2005; Martin, 1994; Izcara Palacios, 2010; Verité, 2010; for southern Europe, see e.g. Martínez Veiga, 1998; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). Precarious employment in this sector is manifested in the seasonal nature of agricultural work, with periods of intensive labor (harvest time) interspersed with idle periods devoid of demand for work; then workers must look for other jobs to earn money.7 In that sense, “undocumented migrants make up an ‘army of reserve manual labor’ that is always available and can be employed or left alone, as convenient” (Martínez Veiga, 1998, p. 121). In addition, unlike employment in the urban labor market, agricultural labor markets offer relatively high security for undocumented workers, given that this activity takes place in remote areas, which are harder for local authorities to inspect.

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This circumstance is one of the attractions of agricultural employment for undocumented migrants (Martínez Veiga, 1998). In many countries in southern Europe the agriculture sector is characterized by a large proportion of seasonal and irregular jobs overseen by farmers who hire migrant workers on a temporary basis—even daily. To remain highly competitive, farmers lower their production costs by hiring mainly undocumented migrant workers who are employed without any system of protection and who experience higher levels of exploitation (e.g. lower wages, heavier jobs, longer working hours, hazardous work conditions) (see Repič, 2010; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). Likewise, US farmers are “addicted” to undocumented (Mexican) labor (Izcara Palacios, 2010). It is estimated that over the past 15 years about half of the hired workers employed in US crop agriculture were unauthorized, the overwhelming majority coming from Mexico (Carroll, Georges and Saltz, 2011).8 Recruitment and employment practices based on subcontracting insulate employers from the risk of sanctions when hiring undocumented labor.9 Immigrant farm workers in the US, especially those undocumented, suffer from exploitative work conditions as they often are paid less than minimum wages and lack benefit coverage; but they do not protest about their work conditions because they fear deportation (Verité, 2010). Beside agriculture, the construction industry is generally deemed one of the most important sectors, evincing flexible and irregular working relations such as formal and informal subcontracting, temporary leasing of workers, daily work and a high share of illegal migrant workers (Wilpert, 1998).10 Many jobs in this sector are seasonal (declining demand or climatic conditions) or shorttime (often on a weekly and sometimes a daily basis)—conditions that explain the presence of migrant workers in this activity. Growth in this sector has been a consequence of increasing externalization of work by “management firms” and the subcontracting of activities to ever smaller firms, giving rise to the phenomenon of “subcontracting subcontracts” (Martínez Veiga, 1998). The linkage between informality and immigration is clearly illustrated in Malheiros’s (1998) study on Portugal’s construction sector, where clandestine and temporary work—mainly provided by male African immigrants—supports the recent expansion of the sector. Construction companies have developed a system of contracts with subcontractors, who are in charge of both recruiting and employing the workers. Subcontractors, who also tend to be of African origin, develop recruitment networks—engajadores, contacting immigrants in their residential areas or at meeting points in central Lisbon areas where African immigrants looking for job opportunities concentrate. This complex and multi-tiered recruitment system (construction companies– subcontractors–engajadores–workers) contributes to worsening the migrant workers’ vulnerability. This is because the multiplicity of actors involved blurs the responsibilities of each agent for the workers; furthermore, the economic incentive to make a profit generates illegal practices such as non-payment of social assistance, flouting fiscal obligations, inventing forms of work without contract, and paying salaries that ignore minimum-wage rules) (see Malheiros, 1998, p. 180). Informalization processes in the construction industry also prevail even when migrant workers are recruited through bilateral agreements, as in the case of Germany (Wilpert, 1998). Since the reunification of that country bilateral agreements have been concluded with many countries on the provision of workers for the construction sector. Nevertheless, in Berlin undocumented migrant workers are there for all to see, employed through firms that lease or contract them to other firms for a limited time and a specific project (Wilpert, 1998). Domestic and care work services are the prototypical case of informalization, as many migrant workers are also undocumented (Quassoli, 1999). Demand for domestic and care workers has expanded in recent decades, especially in developed countries, due to the increasing numbers of women entering the workforce and the decline of the welfare state.11 These factors have caused an escalation in women’s burdens, often leading to the reallocation of these responsibilities to 182

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hired labor. Within this configuration, migrant women—as reproductive workers—constitute the new flow of migration recruited to meet the demands of child care and domestic work, as well as care for the elderly and the handicapped in post-industrial nations (Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2001; Raijman, Schammah-Gesser and Kemp, 2003). Because of this sector’s high potential to be informal, it is also among the easiest types of work for immigrant women without legal status to get in host societies. Their status as undocumented migrants makes female workers particularly vulnerable to discrimination, exploitation and abuse. These are especially acute in the sphere of domestic and care work, wherein duties are performed in isolated households closed to public scrutiny (Salazar Parreñas, 2001).12 Informalization does not always create a mobility trap: sometimes it is a steppingstone to self-employment (Raijman and Tienda, 2000) or to better job opportunities in the formal labor market (Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011).

Informality as a steppingstone to entrepreneurship The role of informal self-employment in fostering business formation has been highlighted in many studies (Kloosterman, Van der Leun and Rath, 1999; Raijman and Tienda, 2000). Informal self-employment can be a steppingstone to formal business ownership (Castells and Portes, 1989), particularly among immigrants whose skills preclude economic mobility in lowwage employment (Stepick, 1989). In their study with ethnic entrepreneurs in the south side of Chicago (Little Village), Raijman and Tienda (2000) provide empirical evidence on the share of immigrant businesses that began informally. Informality as the primary mode of entry into self-employment was salient for Hispanic immigrants, as over one-quarter of their businesses operating in the neighborhood began informally. Of the total such foreign-born Hispanic businesses, almost 60 percent were home-based in the first stage, and the rest were located in open flea-markets (“garra”) like the former Maxwell St., or on the open streets. Most of the informal businesses moved into their formal stage when their owners had gained confidence, experience, capital, and “visualized” a market (Raijman and Tienda, 1999). The relatively high percentage of Hispanic businesses that began informally indicates the prominence of the informal sector as a steppingstone to entrepreneurship among Hispanic merchants in Little Village. Indeed, informal economic activities allow an enterprising immigrant to experiment and explore the viability of a particular type of business. By testing the market, possibly accumulating capital or learning about its availability, and acquiring rudimentary skills in a particular line of work, informal would-be entrepreneurs can advance to successful business formation. The informal sector, by acting as a training ground, creates a critical mass of such beginners, and bonds of solidarity that could further encourage formal business ownership (Raijman and Tienda, 2000; Stepick, 1989).13

Measurement of informal activities: paucity of data Although the informal economy plays an important role in employment creation and income generation in many countries, especially for immigrants, the paucity of data is evident. Informal activities of employed or self-employed individuals are difficult to capture with traditional censuses or surveys because conventional labor-force status items are inadequate to measure nonstandard and precarious work arrangements, such as subcontracting and informal employment. This lack of traditional data files implies that immigrant economic activities (labor-force participation, status of employment—salaried or self-employed—and incomes) are under-reported in most national surveys (Tienda and Raijman, 2000; Flippen, 2012). 183

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Conventional measures of labor-force participation and income sources need to be revised so as to cover unconventional forms of work and income-generating activities (see Tienda and Raijman, 2000; Flippen, 2012; Gunter, 2017). To measure informal employment, survey/ census instruments must capture dual job-holding (moonlighting) and the informal activities of the unemployed and of those defined as out of the labor force (quasi-employed)14 (Leonard, 1998). Several studies have shown that for individuals and families involved in informal activities, non-trivial quantities of their income are produced outside the formal labor market. Income derived from informal economic activities is usually supplemental to income from regular sources: wage or salary employment, transfer payments, or private investments and savings (Ferman and Berndt, 1981; Hoyman, 1987; Morales, 1997; Gunter, 2017). Income from informal sources can make the difference between poverty and economic self-sufficiency (Tienda and Raijman, 2000). Measurement of the magnitude and nature of the informal economy is important for a number of reasons. First there is the need to estimate national employment trends that do not underestimate labor-force participation of specific groups (immigrants, women). When informal activities are included in data collection, rates of labor participation increase, especially for women (Tienda and Raijman, 2000). Second, underestimation of labor-force participation leads to underestimation of income levels and national wealth, yielding a massive underestimation of gross domestic products if informal activities are not taken into account (ILO, 2013). Third, national policies are better formed when the magnitude of informal work as well as employment conditions in this sector are evaluated, for macro-structural needs but also in light of growing concern for migrants’ rights abuse.

Concluding remarks Post-industrial societies in North America and Europe need flexible and cheap labor for the secondary and informal sectors of the economy. While rich countries have outsourced to developing economies part of their industrial production and many of their services (e.g. call centers), sectors in the economy of receiving societies still cannot be outsourced abroad but require import of a low-cost and flexible labor force to work in what is known as the 3D (dirty, dangerous and demeaning) jobs in the secondary and informal sectors of the economy. This demand is met by immigrants, especially the undocumented, who work in sectors where productivity is low (services, construction, agriculture) and the cost of labor has made profitability marginal (Reyneri, 2004). The availability of low-skilled and unskilled migrants constitutes an incentive for employers to cut labor costs. To do so, immigrants, especially illegal, are preferred workers because they satisfy two main requisites: (1) they are cheaper because they are willing to accept low wages which local workers would not accept; (2) they are more vulnerable and docile because undocumented migrants are afraid to complain to local authorities about exploitative working conditions (Solé et  al., 1998).15 Indeed, labor markets in advanced societies are increasingly stratified on the basis of citizenship and documentation status (Flippen, 2012). The nexus of informality and migration notwithstanding, we should not overlook the fact that the informal economy preceded the migrants, and that it feeds on any available socially vulnerable groups (e.g. women, young people) (Solé et al., 1998; Maroukis, Iglicka and Gmaj, 2011). Although it is difficult to ascertain immigration’s causal effect on informality, it can be said that immigrants’ supply of cheap labor promotes the perpetuation or even expansion of informal activities (Reyneri, 2004). 184

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Notes 1 The highest percentages pertain to many developing countries in Africa (e.g. Nigeria and Egypt: 68–76%), Asia (e.g. Thailand: 70%), Central and South America (Mexico, Guatemala, Peru, and Panama: 40–60%). The lowest percentages pertain to developed countries in Europe (e.g. Austria: 7%, Scandinavian countries: 18%) and the US (9.5%). See Frey and Schneider (2000, Tables 2 and 3, pp. 15–16) for estimates of the size of the informal economy in several countries. 2 Although the informal economy is prevalent in many countries worldwide, in this chapter I focus only on studies conducted in the US and Europe. 3 In this chapter the term informal economy does not include overtly criminal activities such as drugs, prostitution and the like. 4 I further develop this type of subcontracting in the following sections. 5 Day labor is characterized by the daily search for work opportunities in open-air markets such as street corners, parking lots or other designated public spaces, especially in urban settings. 6 Tourism and trade are also sectors in which informality is prevalent. However, for space considerations I decided to concentrate on the three sectors in which most immigrants concentrate. 7 Farm-worker profiles in the US reveal that a typical seasonal worker is available for farm work about 40 weeks per year but finds work for 20–25 weeks (Martin, 1994). 8 They based their estimate on the US Department of Labor’s National Agricultural Workers Survey. 9 For a thorough analysis of the exploitative practices of subcontracting in the agricultural industry in the US see Verité (2010). 10 Although construction is identified as a high-wage industry, the key to the good jobs and higher wages is through registered apprenticeship and ongoing skill development. These training opportunities are less available to those working with small contractors and as day laborers, as in the case of immigrants, therefore they remain segregated in less-skilled jobs within the industry (Losby et al., 2002). 11 Immigrant women in care work are highly visible in developed countries in North America and Europe, but also in migration systems in East Asia, Australia, the Middle East and many countries in South America (Pyle and Ward, 2003). 12 Even in countries where existing regulations protect immigrants’ rights, immigrant women still endure disadvantages because many employers in the domestic sector are unwilling to make contributions to the social insurance program (Quassoli, 1999). 13 Even in established businesses informality plays a part in enhancing the likelihood that immigrant businesses will succeed by permitting income smoothing in slow periods and lowering transaction costs. 14 Many individuals consider themselves out of the labor market (housewives, students, retired and unemployed people) but have informal ways of making money that are not reported as a main activity. In fact, these individuals are only nominally out of the labor force (quasi-employed) because they generate income through informal activities but are invisible in current statistics (Tienda and Raijman, 2000). 15 Undocumented status undermines wages, but also social benefits provision and employment stability. Drawing on original data collected in Durham, North Carolina, Flippen (2012) shows the relative disadvantage of undocumented workers in the local labor market.There were sizeable differences in wages and benefit coverage according to legal status. Over half of the undocumented migrants reported having no benefits (e.g. paid sick leave, paid vacation and health insurance) compared with only a quarter of documented migrants. Under the assumption of full employment, the wage gap was estimated at 18 percent.

References Aponte, R. (1997). Informal Work in the US: Case Studies and a Working Typology. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 17(3/4), pp. 18–36. Baldwin-Edwards, M. (1998). Where Free Markets Reign: Aliens in the Twilight Zone. South European Society and Politics, 3(3), pp. 1–15. Benton, L. A. (1990). Invisible Factories: The Informal Economy and Industrial Development in Spain. Albany, NY: SUNY Press. Carroll, D., Georges, A., and Saltz, R. (2011). Changing characteristics of US farm workers: 21 years of findings from the National Agricultural Workers Survey. In Immigration reform and agriculture conference: Implications for farmers, farm workers, and communities. DC Campus: University of California. Available at: https://migrationfiles.ucdavis.edu/uploads/cf/files/2011-may/carroll-changing-characteristics.pdf [Accessed 17 Jan. 2017]. 185

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Castells, M. and Portes, A. (1989). World underneath: The origins, dynamics, and effects of the informal economy. In: A. Portes, M. Castells, and L. A. Benton, eds., The Informal Economy: Studies in Advanced and Less Developed Countries, 1st ed. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 11–37. Cross, J. C. (1997). Entrepreneurship and Exploitation: Measuring Independence and Dependence in the Informal Economy. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 17(3/4), pp. 37–62. Ferman, L. A. and Berndt, L. E. (1981). The irregular economy. In: S. Henry, ed., Informal Institutions. Alternative Networks in the Corporate State, 1st ed. New York: St. Martin’s Press, pp. 26–42. Flippen, C. A. (2012). Laboring Underground: The Employment Patterns of Hispanic Immigrant Men in Durham, NC. Social Problems, 59(1), pp. 21–42. Fortuna, J. C. and Prates, S. (1989). The articulation of formal and informal sectors in the economy of Bogota, Colombia. In: A. Portes, M. Castells, and L.A. Benton, eds., The Informal Economy: Studies in Advanced and Less Developed Countries, 1st ed. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 78–94. Frey, B. S. and Schneider, F. (2000). Informal and underground economy. Working Paper, No. 0004. Department of Economics, Johannes Kepler University of Linz. Available at: www.econstor.eu/ bitstream/10419/73197/1/wp0004.pdf [Accessed 3 Jan. 2017]. Gaughan, J. and Ferman, L. (1987). Toward an Understanding of the Informal Economy. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 493(1), pp. 15–25. Gowan, T. (1997). American Untouchables: Homeless Scavengers in San Francisco’s Underground Economy. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 17(3/4), pp. 159–190. Gunter, S. R. (2017). Dynamics of Urban Informal Labor Supply in the United States. Social Science Quarterly, 98(1), pp. 16–36. Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. (2001). Domestica. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hoyman, M. (1987). Female Participation in the Informal Economy: A Neglected Issue. Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Sciences, 493(1), pp. 64–82. ILO (International Labour Office) (2013). Measurement of the Informal Economy. Available at: www.ilo. org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---ed_emp/---emp_policy/documents/publication/wcms_210443.pdf [Accessed 14 Dec. 2016]. Izcara Palacios, S. P. (2010). La Adicción a la Mano de Obra Ilegal: Jornaleros Tamaulipecos en Estados Unidos. Latin American Research Review, 45(1), pp. 55–75. Kloosterman, R., Van der Leun, J., and Rath, J. (1998). Across the Border: Immigrants’ Economic Opportunities, Social Capital and Informal Business Activities. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 24(2), pp. 249–268. Kloosterman, R., Van der Leun, J., and Rath, J. (1999). Mixed Embeddedness: (In) Formal Economic Activities and Immigrant Businesses in the Netherlands. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 23(2), pp. 252–266. Krissman, F. (2005). Sin Coyote ni Patron: Why the “Migrant Network” Fails to Explain International Migration. International Migration Review, 39(1), pp. 4–44. Leonard, M. (1998). Invisible Work, Invisible Workers: The Informal Economy in Europe and the US. London: Macmillan. Losby, J. L., Else, J. F., Kingslow, M. E., Edgcomb, E. L., Malm, E. T., and Kao, V. (2002). Informal economy literature review. ISED Consulting and Research. Available at: www.kingslow-assoc.com/images/ Informal_Economy_Lit_Review.pdf [Accessed 20 Dec. 2016]. Malheiros, J. M. (1998). Immigration, Clandestine Work and Labour Market Strategies: the Construction Sector in the Metropolitan Region of Lisbon. South European Society and Politics, 3(3), pp. 169–185. Maroukis, T., Iglicka, K., and Gmaj, K. (2011). Irregular Migration and Informal Economy in Southern and Central-Eastern Europe: Breaking the Vicious Cycle? International Migration, 49(5), pp. 129–156. Martin, P. L. (1994). Good Intentions Gone Awry: IRCA and US Agriculture. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 534(1), 44–57. Martínez Veiga, U. (1998). Immigrants in the Spanish Labour Market. South European Society and Politics, 3(3), pp. 105–128. Morales, A. (1997). Uncertainty and the Organization of Street Vending Business. International Journal of Sociology and Social Policy, 17(3/4), pp. 191–212. Portes, A. (1994). The informal economy and its paradoxes. In: N. Smelser and R. Swedberg, eds., Handbook of Economic Sociology. New York: Russell Sage Foundation, pp. 426–449. Portes, A. and Haller, W. (2010). The informal economy. In: N. Smelser and R. Swedberg, eds., The Handbook of Economic Sociology. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, pp. 403–428.

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Portes, A. and Sassen-Koob, S. (1987). Making it Underground: Comparative Material on the Informal Sector in Western Market Economies. American Journal of Sociology, 93(1), pp. 30–61. Pyle, J. L. and Ward, K. B. (2003). Recasting Our Understanding of Gender and Work during Global Restructuring. International Sociology, 18(3), pp. 461–489. Quassoli, F. (1999). Migrants in the Italian Underground Economy. International Journal of Urban and Regional Research, 23(2), pp. 212–231. Raijman, R. (2001). Mexican Immigrants and Informal Self-employment: A Case Study in the City of Chicago. Human Organization, 60(1), pp. 47–55. Raijman, R. and Tienda, M. (1999). Immigrants’ socioeconomic progress post-1965: Forging mobility or survival? In: J. Dewind, Ch. Hirschman, and S. Castles, eds., The Handbook of International Migration: The American Experience. New York: Russell Sage, pp. 239–256. Raijman, R. and Tienda, M. (2000). Pathways to Business Ownership among Immigrants to Chicago: A Comparative Ethnic Perspective. International Migration Review, 34(3), pp. 681–705. Raijman, R., Schammah-Gesser, S., and Kemp, A. (2003). International Migration, Domestic Work, and Care Work: Undocumented Latina Migrants in Israel. Gender & Society, 17(5), pp. 727–749. Repič, J. (2010). Migration, Informal Economy and Social Exclusion in Spain. Studia Ethnologica Croatica, 22(1), pp. 165–186. Reyneri, E. (2004). Immigrants in a Segmented and often Undeclared Labour Market. Journal of Modern Italian Studies, 9(1), pp. 71–93. Salazar Parreñas, R. (2001). Servants of Globalization: Women, Migration and Domestic Work. California, CA: Stanford University Press. Sassen, S. (2000). Cities in a World Economy. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, CA: Pine Forge Press. Sassen-Koob, S. (1989). New York City’s informal economy. In: A. Portes, M. Castells and L. A. Benton, eds., The Informal Economy: Studies in Advanced and Less Developed Countries. Baltimore, MD: The Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 60–77. Solé, C., Ribas, N., Bergalli, V., and Parella, S. (1998). Irregular Employment amongst Migrants in Spanish Cities. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 24(2), pp. 333–346. Stepick, A. (1989). Miami’s two informal sectors. In: A. Portes, M. Castells, and L. A. Benton, eds., The Informal Economy: Studies in Advanced and Less Developed Countries, 1st ed. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, pp. 111–131. Tienda, M. and Raijman, R. (2000). Immigrants’ Income Packaging and Invisible Labor Force Activity. Social Science Quarterly, 81(1), pp. 291–310. Valenzuela Jr, A. (2003). Day Labor Work. Annual Review of Sociology, 29(1), pp. 307–333. Verité (2010). Immigrant Workers in the US Agriculture: the Role of Labor Brokers in Vulnerability to Forced Labor. Research Report. Verité. Fair Labor Worldwide. Available at: http://digitalcommons. ilr.cornell.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2174&context=globaldocs [Accessed 8 Jan. 2017]. Wilpert, C. (1998). Migration and Informal Work in the New Berlin: New Forms of Work or New Sources of Labour? Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 24(2), pp. 269–294.

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16 Vulnerability to exploitation and human trafficking A multi-scale review of risk Amanda Flaim and Celine Villongco

Introduction In recent decades, efforts to understand, prevent, and prosecute human trafficking have multiplied. Despite the demonstrable increase in attention to the issue, however, policymakers lament a lack of reliable research on the subject, and researchers themselves regularly assert that what is known about trafficking is that very little is known. In an attempt to overcome this data-vacuum, researchers often cite outlandish and unfounded estimates and misleadingly treat sensationalized stories as typical cases of trafficking (Zhang, 2009; Feingold, 2010, 2017; Gallagher, 2012, 2016). These “cases” and “statistics” then serve as the foundations upon which many influential counter-trafficking programs and policies are based. Making problems significantly more difficult for those seeking conceptual clarity on trafficking in order to address it, “objectively false [narratives and statistics] enable a dangerous flight from complexity in counter-trafficking policy and programming” (Feingold, 2014). The challenges of studying human trafficking are well documented (Tyldum, 2010; Nawyn et al., 2013; Weitzer, 2014); yet the body of reliable research on trafficking and exploitation is growing. In this chapter, we therefore embark on a cross-thematic and multi-scale review of evidence-based theories as to why, how, and to whom trafficking occurs. This review is a departure from those that are organized around only theme (e.g., sex trafficking only) or region (e.g., trafficking in West Africa). Intentionally or not, frameworks that center place, industry, or group alone can reinforce biases that certain places and local populations are intrinsically more dangerous, while others are inherently more vulnerable to exploitation and thus more deserving of “rescue” (Doezema, 2010). Yet, not all irregular migrants and sex workers are trafficked; not all brokers and smugglers are traffickers; and not every factory or fishing boat relies on trafficked labor. By conducting a cross-thematic and multi-scale analysis of risk of trafficking and exploitation, we seek to reveal how particular socio-demographic, political, industry-specific, and individual-level factors coalesce in particular moments and places to render migrants and others particularly vulnerable to trafficking and exploitation. Given the focus of this volume, it is important to note that migration does not comprise a requisite aspect of human trafficking. Indeed, analyses of news reports indicate that in some industries, a significant proportion, if not the majority, of trafficking victims are recruited or 188

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abducted from the same city, district, or country in which exploitation occurs (for example, see Kelly, 2017). This fact runs contrary to popular media-portrayals of trafficking victims as individuals who are transported across international borders. Nevertheless, those who are “out-of-place”—whether international or internal migrants, refugees and displaced peoples, runaways or homeless—are disproportionately vulnerable to trafficking and exploitation for reasons examined below.

Definitions and terms The 2000 United Nations Trafficking Protocol, or the Palermo Protocol as it is popularly known, defines human trafficking as the use of force, coercion, or deceit to transfer, harbor or receive an individual for the purpose of exploitation, regardless of whether the individual consents to the form of exploitation or not (U.N. General Assembly, 2000: 42). With regard to children (below age 18), the Protocol defines as trafficking the recruitment, transfer, harboring, or receipt of a child for the purpose of exploitation, regardless of whether the child was coerced, abused, or deceived (ibid.). It further defines exploitation as “the prostitution of others or other forms of sexual exploitation, forced labor or services, slavery or practices similar to slavery, servitude or the removal of organs” (43). While slavery is considered a form of exploitation, the term slavery, or “modern slavery” is often used interchangeably with trafficking in both policy and research (Chuang, 2014). For the purposes of this review, we use the term trafficking to describe practices that constitute the means, act, and purpose thereof. Slavery, by contrast, refers to specific, totalizing institutional practices of controlling, selling or buying, abusing, and exploiting individuals or targeted groups of people. Current examples of slavery include the case of displaced Yazidi people in ISIS-controlled Iraq and the slave markets in Libya that target, deceive, and sell West African migrants—many of them refugees—for the purposes of exploitation and forced labor (GrahamHarrison, 2017a, 2017b). Just as conflating slavery with the wider concept of trafficking obscures analytical clarity, Chuang (2014) also notes a problematic conflation of smuggling with trafficking. Smuggling can be one means by which people are trafficked, but smuggling does not constitute trafficking without evidence of coercion or deceit and exploitation as well. The conflation of smuggling with trafficking by governments in particular, Chuang argues, often attends governments’ agendas to enhance surveillance and prosecution of irregular migration under the guise of trafficking prevention.

Risk of human trafficking and exploitation In examining what is theorized and known about how, why, and which particular groups of people become particularly vulnerable to human trafficking, we consider here below the various individual-level, industry-specific, political, socio-demographic, and cultural factors that are known to be associated with trafficking incidence as indicated through reliable inquiry.

Individual risk factors Cross-thematic and cross-regional analyses reveal several individual-level factors that are associated with heightened risk to trafficking as people move through the life course, and as their circumstances change due to migration and/or broader socio-political change. The most 189

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prominent factor associated with heightened risk to trafficking across region and industry is that of being away from, or being without, a home—whether as a migrant or homeless. Indeed, Denise Brennan (2014: 6) describes trafficking as “migration gone awry.” Whether for reasons of economic insecurity or due to war and subsequent displacement, individuals who lack the security and supports of local social networks are at heightened risk of being deceived and later abused and exploited by brokers, smugglers, and would-be employers. Similarly, teenagers found to have been trafficked in many contexts are often runaways or lack a support circle when they are either abducted, coerced, or deceived into exploitative situations (Reid, 2011).1

Age, gender, and family structure Although being “out-of-place” is associated with elevated trafficking risk, migrants, refugees, homeless people, and runaways are not equally vulnerable to all forms of exploitation at all times. In many ways, age and gender can play a role. With respect to trafficking for the specific purposes of marriage or sex work, girls and younger women are targeted in particular, whereas forced military and paramilitary groups disproportionately target boys and younger adult men (Maclure and Denov, 2006). In one of the first systematic analyses of the political ecology of risk to trafficking, Rende-Taylor’s (2005) mixed-methods research revealed a crucial interaction between gender, age, and birth order with respect to trafficking risk among migrants from rural Northern Thai communities. Against the backdrop of shifting economic opportunities and demographic change in Thailand in the late 20th century, Rende-Taylor found that middlechild females were more likely to seek jobs farther away from home, and to participate in sex work in order to remit significant sums of money to their families. In an era that predated robust rural-to-urban migration streams, these older teenagers and young women were at increased risk of trafficking and exploitation.

Educational attainment Low educational attainment is often associated with trafficking risk, particularly among migrants. The general hypothesis regarding education and trafficking risk is that individuals who have low levels of education are easy targets for exploitation because they must accept low-paying, riskier jobs, and/or because they ostensibly lack the capacity to advocate for fair labor contracts or to navigate borders without fear or barriers (Kramer and Berg, 2003; Kumar, 2013; Reid and Piquero, 2014). At the same time, however, Rende-Taylor’s (2005) study in Thailand indicates that attaining moderate levels of education in poorer communities may encourage individuals to take risks finding work, or to forgo traditional farm labor for riskier jobs, including sex work. In another example of the complicated relationship between education and trafficking, foreign college students who acquired summer work-study visas in the US were trafficked into a factory in Pennsylvania (Preston, 2011). Combined, these cases trouble assumptions about the link between education and trafficking by indicating that individuals who attain relatively higher educational levels but who lack access to an inclusive labor market or to a robust, secure migration stream may be at heightened risk of exploitation by brokers and employers in their destinations.

Legal and documentation statuses Legal status and attendant documentation status comprise another set of interrelated, individual-level factors associated with vulnerability to trafficking (Feingold and Flaim, 2017). 190

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While local and national contexts vary, irregular migrants, refugees, stateless people, indigenous people and formerly incarcerated people are at elevated risk of not possessing sufficient “proof” of identity to live and/or work without the threat of harassment, arrest, extortion, and even deportation (Goffman, 2009; Holmes, 2013). And, as either a consequence or co-symptom of the use of documents to confer rights and benefits by states, these groups are often unable to work or travel legally either within or beyond international borders, and they are also at heightened risk of arbitrary arrest and extortion by police (ibid.; Flaim, 2015). These dynamics in turn put them at heightened risk of exploitation by smugglers, brokers, and employers (Morlaeku, 2010), who can take advantage of undocumented people’s fears of police. Indeed, a lack of documentation or legal status may increase the likelihood of police to process trafficking victims as illegal immigrants and/or criminals rather than as victims with rights (Brennan, 2014; Holmes, 2013). While the relationship between documentation and trafficking is understudied due to widespread data insufficiencies, its significance is rendered clear by the numerous cases of trafficking in various contexts whereby traffickers seize migrants’ documents as a means of coercion. Recognizing the disproportionate risk of trafficking that unregistered and undocumented people face, US law counts as trafficking the withholding of documents—whether legitimate or forged—as a means of coercion and force (TVPA, 2000).

Race, caste, and ethnicity All of the issues noted above intersect with race, caste, and ethnicity to render minorities significantly more likely to be exploited than their national majority counterparts. In some cases, the effect of race, caste, or ethnicity is not erased when controlling for documentation status or educational attainment level. With respect to the US context, Kramer and Berg (2003) found that minority women were at consistently higher risk of entering exploitative sex work, regardless of educational background, than white women. And, Reid and Piquero (2014) found that while girls of all races were equally vulnerable to commercial sexual exploitation in their sample, African American boys were at significantly higher risk of sexual exploitation than boys of other races even when controlling for other risk factors. In India, members of lower castes are found to be at heightened risk of labor and sex trafficking relative to people of higher castes (Kumar, 2013); and in Thailand, Myanmar, and China, highland minorities have been found to be disproportionately represented among victims of sex trafficking and marriage trafficking as compared to their ethnic majority counterparts (Feingold, 2002; Shih, 2013; Feingold and Flaim, 2017). Due to data insufficiencies on ethnicity or language in many censuses and surveys, however, the extent to which minorities—and those who are migrants in particular—are made particularly vulnerable to trafficking and exploitation remains largely unknown in most contexts.

Industry-level risk factors As is clear from the cases highlighted above, no single individual-level risk factor is a determinant of human trafficking. Rather, risk can be elevated or reduced for individuals of particular migration and other profiles against the backdrop of socio-political, economic, and industryspecific dynamics as well. Rich ethnographic accounts provide critical insight into how certain industries—whether sex work, factory work, farming and fishing, and/or domestic service— have become associated with higher risk of labor exploitation, coercion, abuse, and human trafficking. Thematic analysis across these ostensibly distinct industries reveals notable links between 191

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forms of work like domestic service and commercial fishing and across highly different cultural and political contexts. Of note, nearly all sectors associated with widespread exploitation and elevated trafficking risk are also associated with disproportionate reliance on migrant labor.

Complex supply chain While exploitative labor practices such as sweat shops and bonded labor have been utilized for centuries to decrease production costs,2 the accelerated expansion of corporate globalization in the 1990s greatly increased the ability of transnational corporations to rely on these practices with impunity (Ruggie, 2013). With the globalization of supply chains in the transnational textile, agriculture, and fishing industries, the concomitant lack of commitment and capacity to enforce rigorous international oversight ensured that labor standards could not and would not be enforced, particularly at the bottom of supply chains, which rely heavily on poor, migrant workers. Indeed, the use of subcontractors at lower scales of global supply chains creates institutional and legal insulation from culpability for umbrella and parent corporations, particularly when sovereign states are limited in their ability to regulate multi-national corporations (Efrat, 2012). Within the broader structure of expanded transnational production and low international oversight, workers at the bottom of global supply chains have little to no bargaining power to use as leverage against their employers, much less against large corporations and conglomerates. This leaves them powerless to protest coercive labor practices and exploitation by employers. Workers may be forced to sustain egregiously long work days, meet high quotas, work for little compensation, endure squalid living arrangements, and work in hazardous conditions. Should they speak to authorities about substandard work conditions and/or living arrangements, workers often fear retaliation from their employers. When workers lack sufficient documentation of migration, work, and/or citizenship status, they are significantly less likely to report workplace abuse to appropriate regulators, much less to police. And thus, substandard, and sometimes lethal, work conditions are simply endured (Stauffer, 2017). Subsequent to tragedies in which degraded working conditions proved fatal, corporate commitments to transparency of global supply chains have increased, yet a general lack of transparency at the bottom of supply chains and large inequalities in power persist.

Worker isolation and reliance on employers Across all industries and labor sectors, studies indicate that risks of exploitation and trafficking increase with increased degrees of isolation of workers, and of migrant workers in particular. Specifically, when individuals and groups of workers are nearly or completely reliant on brokers, transporters, and/or employers for food, shelter, and other necessities, the risks of abuse, exploitation, and trafficking increase. When employers, brokers, or smugglers comprise the main source of food, shelter, money, health care, or communication, they can arbitrarily withhold payment or subsistence, or impose extortionate and/or non-negotiated “debts” for housing, food, and transportation that effectively place workers in crippling conditions of debtbondage. And, indeed, isolation alone can constitute a form of coercion and abuse. Practices of isolating and restricting the mobility of workers are widely evident in farm and factory labor, where workers are often quartered together in dormitories (Holmes, 2013; Owens, 2014). And in instances wherein those workers are insufficiently documented, their precarious status can be used against them to reinforce both their relative isolation and their reliance on their traffickers (see above). With regard to certain forms of sex work, forced isolation 192

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and forced reliance on pimps to meet basic needs—either in brothels or in less formalized conditions are characteristic of cases of extreme exploitation and trafficking (Roe-Sepowitz, 2013). Perhaps no other industries are more exemplary of the ways that worker isolation and dependency increase risks of trafficking and exploitation than fishing and domestic work. Domestic labor is increasingly characterized by international and intra-national migration of women from low-income, rural regions of the world to middle-to-high-income countries and regions. While contexts vary with respect to labor practices and government oversight, a substantial proportion of domestic workers are linguistically isolated and entirely dependent on their employers. Dynamics of gender, class, and race/ethnicity intersect in dangerous ways, leaving domestic workers particularly vulnerable to physical, verbal, and sexual abuse by employers (Jureidini and Moukarbel, 2004; Moya, 2007; Kontos, 2013; Suleman, 2015; Palumbo, 2017). With respect to the commercial fishing industry, which is also heavily reliant on migrant labor, the combination of depleted global fish stocks and soaring global demand may be driving vessels out to sea into unregulated waters for longer periods of time. While fishermen do work in groups, their physical isolation at sea renders them entirely dependent on captains for basic needs. A recent study by Rende-Taylor et al. (2017) indicates that rates of wage-theft and other forms of exploitation are so high among migrant fish-boat workers in Thailand that even legal documentation status does not serve as a protective mechanism against the risk of exploitation and trafficking.

Political risk factors As is clear from the cases highlighted above, individual-level and industry-specific risk factors for trafficking can intensify within particular political contexts, which are reflected through policies and on-the-ground oversight and regulation of industry, labor conditions, and migration. As nation-states seek to regulate borders and commercial industries within their borders, the policies and practices of regulating migration and labor standards have direct implications for trafficking risk and the effectiveness of anti-trafficking initiatives. The extent to which policy prescriptions and enforcement are informed by confirmed realities of trafficking dynamics, or whether they themselves reinforce, perpetuate, and perhaps exacerbate trafficking risk and incidence, is a topic of considerable interest and debate within anti-trafficking research.

State regulatory environment With respect to industry oversight, research indicates that labor standards and protections can exacerbate or reduce risks of exploitation and trafficking. Moreover, for industries that rely heavily on immigrant labor, effective worker protection—and, by extension, trafficking prevention— are also dependent on the state’s regulation of migration at and within borders. Research indicates that as states increase costs and barriers of legal migration via stricter visa processes and higher legal bars for inadmissibility, they simultaneously increase the market for traffickers looking to exploit hopeful migrants (Naim, 2005; Advan, 2012). While some argue this risk could be mitigated by expanding the number of worker or temporary visas available to potential migrants, several studies serve as caveats to this hypothesis. Research exists, for example, indicating that when work visa legitimacy is tied solely to a sponsoring employer it restricts a migrant worker’s ability to leave exploitative employers, and that traffickers may use the tenuous nature of temporary work status against victims as a form of coercion (Owens, 2014; Rende-Taylor et al., 2017). The extent to which state regulatory and enforcement environments increase or reduce the risk of sex trafficking is a specific point of extensive and heated debate and concern. 193

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While some evidence suggests that a higher prevalence of trafficking exists in countries where prostitution is legal, existing studies have been unable to confirm causal links as they are tenuously based on existing, and often deeply flawed, trafficking data (Cho et al., 2013; Jakobsson and Kotsadam, 2013). Other research suggests that legitimizing sex work through legalization would decrease exploitation risk by empowering sex workers to choose safe work environments and access healthcare services, while simultaneously increasing regulation of pimps and brothel owners (Levy and Jakobsson, 2014). Opponents of this theory argue that because the prevalence of violence against women appears to remain constant regardless of a state’s policy on sex work, legalizing sex work does not measurably increase safety for sex workers (Farley, 1998). Beyond the mixed evidence regarding the role of government regulation in reducing or increasing the risk of trafficking, evidence does indicate that enhanced regulation and surveillance of migrant workers and sex workers increases the likelihood that authorities will wrongly identify, prosecute, and deport trafficking victims as criminals (Nawyn et  al., 2016). Despite overwhelming evidence that trafficking is a complex crime in which victims may have willingly participated, prevailing views of “real” victims as “pure” and “innocent” continue to preclude accurate identification and processing of victims by law enforcement (Sadruddin et al., 2005; Haynes, 2007). Institutional exigencies in law enforcement to pursue prosecution as opposed to victim protection obscures the ways that economic constraint, lack of labor protections, and restrictive border control policies both increase trafficking risk and reinforce cycles of exploitation domestically and abroad (Thiemann, 2016).

State instability Questions of the association between trafficking risk and regulatory environments assume a context of regulatory capacity on behalf of the state. Yet, research also indicates that war and civil unrest produce conditions that are rife with opportunities for exploitation and trafficking. In addition to creating conditions of desperation, displacement, hunger, and homelessness, the outbreak of war can also create the conditions for forced conscription of males and boys into official and unofficial military units and for the abduction or coercion of women and girls into forced marriage (e.g., Boko Haram in Nigeria) and sex trafficking (e.g., ISIScontrolled areas of Iraq). It is important to note that state incapacity, in and of itself, is not a sufficient precondition for trafficking, however. The case of the 2004 tsunami in Southeast Asia provides a cautionary tale to this effect. Specifically, in the wake of the tsunami, development organizations propagated alarmist, inaccurate claims that traffickers were abducting orphans from affected areas of Indonesia (Flaim fieldnotes, 2005). However, there was no clear demand for child labor, nor a clear means by which traffickers could access and transport children for the purposes of exploitation given the destruction of local infrastructure by the tsunami.

Socio-demographic and ‘cultural’ risk factors Before delving into the various socio-political contexts that can increase the risk of trafficking for particular groups and individuals, we first attend to the pervasive use of “culture” to explain the prevalence of trafficking in the Middle East, Asia, and Africa. Various stories of Asians, Arabs, and Africans “selling their daughters” or “trafficking in other people’s daughters” have long been, and continue to be, powerful in compelling Western anti-trafficking action (Feingold, 2003; Peck, 2004; Augustin, 2007; Shih, 2013). However, sensationalist claims of supposed 194

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inherent proclivities to violence among non-Western “cultures” are rarely, if ever, supported by systematic or rigorous evidence. Moreover, these reductivist narratives often altogether dismiss the disproportionate degree to which people in the Global South are subjected to livelihood and political insecurities as a result of neoliberal development and agrarian change—themselves the legacies of centuries of colonial rule (Feingold, 1997; Kumar, 2013). While members of particular religious and ethnic groups invoke various interpretations of religion or ethnic identity to justify slavery, abuse, and exploitation of people (e.g., ISIS or the Antebellum South), it is nevertheless crucial to acknowledge that these interpretations are manifested within particular socio-political, economic, and demographic contexts, and are never complete representations of the groups they claim to represent. With these caveats in mind, it is therefore worthwhile to consider the intersection of various socio-economic, demographic and cultural factors that may render individuals or groups more or less vulnerable to exploitation and trafficking. Given the complexity in explaining the ways that broad contexts can shape trafficking risk, we rely on the case of marriage trafficking from Burma/Myanmar into southern China to illustrate the point. In China, prevailing cultural expectations for marriage and procreation, negative population growth, sex-selective abortion that favors males, and unprecedented rural-to-urban migration have coalesced to produce a large demand for wives among rural men. In neighboring Myanmar/Burma, decades of civil unrest and a concomitant lack of opportunity in ethnic minority regions have simultaneously set the stage for potential exploitation and trafficking of minority women and girls for forced marriage into rural China (Shih, 2013; Feingold and Flaim, 2017).

Conclusions and directions forward By comparing different studies of trafficking and exploitation at the level of analytical scale, this review reveals linkages across regions and industries with respect to the ways that a confluence of factors can structure trafficking risk for particular groups of people in particular places and moments. Although migration is not a requisite factor for a case of exploitation to constitute trafficking, findings in this analysis indicate that migrants experience heightened trafficking risk due to a generalized lack of secure social, political, legal, institutional, and/or economic support overall. Furthermore, although migrants of all kinds may be at elevated risk of exploitation, irregular migrants, refugees, stateless people, and others who suffer acute deprivations in socio-political, legal, and other forms of institutional support are subjected to particularly acute risks of exploitation without recourse to assistance from authorities, who are likely to “read” these groups as inherently criminal by virtue of their precarious status and typically non-majority identity. It is not groundbreaking to suggest that migrants suffer a disproportionate risk of exploitation and trafficking. However, much of the focus in trafficking research has centered on extremely biased samples of trafficking victims alone, rather than on the broader experiences of migrants or similarly vulnerable communities as they navigate labor contracts, brokers, borders, employers, traffickers, law enforcement, and the ever-enthusiastic (yet rarely well-informed) global antitrafficking rescue regime. Indeed, trafficking research is rarely considered valid unless it includes an empirical engagement with trafficked people. Yet, this framework reveals the critical ways in which trafficking risk intersects with, and results from, shifting political, economic, institutional, and socio-cultural factors more broadly. Through this framework, “vulnerability” is revealed, not as a condition intrinsic to migrants, but rather as a condition that is actively produced within and by a complex, shifting nexus between employment and recruitment practices by particular industries that operate within (or against) state regulatory frameworks and institutions both at 195

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and within borders. Decentering and de-fetishizing victims in the research enterprise on trafficking and exploitation can contribute more than a new analytical framework for scholars of trafficking: ideally, this move can enable migration scholars to identify key spaces for critical and effective intervention, prevention, and advocacy.

Notes 1 Reid (2011) also identified early substance use as a significant risk factor associated with sex trafficking of minors—a finding that is supported in part in research by Hargreaves-Cormany and Patterson (2016). Beyond these studies, the use of drugs to persuade, deceive, or coerce individuals into exploitative labor is a common theme in news, particularly in relation to sex trafficking. 2 OHCHR (1957: 1) describes bonded labor as the trading of loans or advances from employers or recruiters in exchange for an individual’s work or for the work of an individual’s family.

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Intersecting inequalities in the lives of migrants

As immigrants encounter host societies, they generally confront a new system of stratification. As newcomers, immigrants and minorities who lack citizenship, language skills and contacts in the new setting, they are often disadvantaged. However, due to social norms, resources, eligibility for benefits and other factors, some groups find themselves in a relatively privileged position in the new society. Regardless of the impact of the host society’s patterns of social inequalities, migrants must understand its meaning to function effectively. This section summarizes the impact of several forms of social inequality as they are encountered by international migrants in points of settlement. Miri Song provides an updated version of her chapter from the first edition on race and ethnic stratification and how it shapes the experiences of migrants in the receiving society. Song notes that post-WWII international migration commonly involves racial issues as immigrants from Asia, Latin America, Africa or the Middle East enter nations whose majority is of European origins. Asserting that globalization has transformed the meaning of race from a generally static and geographically fixed category to one that integrates groups, meaning systems and networks in multiple settings, the author identifies six central trends in the field of race and migration, offers case study material from the US and UK, and suggests ways of re-thinking race and migration to capture contemporary realities. In her chapter on nativism, Maritsa V. Poros uses case illustrations from around the world to explain how nativism, as well as similar phenomena such as racism, xenophobia, nationalism, populism and authoritarianism are mobilized in discourse and action to exclude migrants as well as others deemed outside the polity. Poros defines each of these modes of exclusion, explains how they intersect and interrelate, and points to the vulnerability of representative democracy to nativism in the way that it favors majority rule and the exclusion of those who do not fall within the category of belonging to the nation-state. Stephanie J. Nawyn reviews the literature on gender and migration, an area that has seen tremendous growth since one of the earliest review issues on gender in International Migration Review was published in 1986. However, Nawyn notes how that growth has not led to widespread integration of gender into what might be called the “mainstream” of migration theory. There are particular sub-areas in which feminist migration scholars have been more active and have had greater influence. In the gaps where gender has not been as well integrated,

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Nawyn argues, this can result in insufficient empirical evidence and improper interpretation of results that leads to incomplete theories. Eithne Luibhéid updates her first edition chapter on sexuality and marginalization. Rejecting status-quo assumptions that define sexuality as either a natural drive or a private matter, sexuality and migration scholars assert that sexuality is inevitably expressed and experienced through social, economic and cultural mediation and comprises a locus of power and struggle. Luibhéid describes how this area of migration scholarship examines the role of the state, employers, families, communities and individuals in strategically mobilizing sexualities to organize, govern and contest migration processes at multiple levels and in relation to changing social, political and economic agendas and hierarchies. Because the topic is often suppressed and treated distinctly from other migration-related concepts, it both challenges and connects to existing theory and research. As revealed by her summary of important scholarship on migration and sexuality, the examination of the topic demands innovative approaches and has the potential to provide a wealth of inventive insights. In her chapter on migrants and indigenous nationalism, Nandita Sharma updates her first edition chapter with new literature on racism and de-colonialism to reframe the role of nationalism in resolving conflicts between migrants and indigenous populations. Rejecting the nationalistic link between ownership of territory and political rights, she emphasizes the notion of shared access – the commons – as a means to end exploitation and expropriation. In so doing, she brings the experience of the migrant and the indigenous into a single analytic field that recognizes the spatial dimensions of power and the needs, vulnerability and humanity of both categories.

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17 The changing configuration of migration and race Miri Song

Introduction The terms migration and race are often mutually constitutive. The coupling of these two concepts is based upon historical events in which, especially post World War II, migration to Western societies has effectively meant the migration of mostly non-White people from post-colonial societies, such as former British ‘subjects’ in Pakistan, or Turkish ‘guest workers’ moving and settling in (then) West Germany, or Algerians moving to France. The term migration has also been used by many analysts as strongly linked with the dynamics of racisms, disadvantaged status, and the representation and positioning of the ‘other’. While I can only scratch the surface of the multifaceted and highly complex relationship between migration and race in this chapter (especially given all the different types of studies about migration – transnational processes, immigrant adaptation and ethnic businesses, the dynamics of sending and receiving societies, etc.), I will map out the changing relationship between migration and race, as evidenced by changing social and political developments and/or documented and theorized by various analysts. In doing so, I will broadly address the relationship between migration and race in Western, advanced capitalist societies, such as in North America and Western Europe. Since both these terms are extremely broad, and can refer to many different bodies of literature, this overview will be necessarily schematic. And while I do not distinguish between ethnic and racial groups in this short chapter, my discussion of ‘race’ will also tend to subsume references to ethnicity, as many groups comprise both ethnic and racial groups. Following the work of urban sociologist Robert Park and his race relations cycle, classical theories of assimilation were emblematic of a particular understanding of migration to Western societies, in that ‘classical’ theories (based upon the experiences of White European migrants, such as Italians or Germans, to the US) of assimilation posited a relatively straightforward trajectory for European migrants: that upon arrival, they would encounter some prejudice and various forms of social and economic barriers, but that with the rise of the second generation, who would have benefited from ‘native’ language and schooling, and acculturation more generally, a full-blooded ‘structural assimilation’ into a dominant culture would be virtually assured (though, of course, this is a highly simplified rendering of such an argument) – see Milton Gordon (1964). 201

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But with the large-scale immigration of people into the US from Latin America and Asia in the post-1965 period, a considerable body of literature has argued that race and the racialized experiences of certain non-White immigrant groups, could fundamentally shape their incorporation, opportunities, and experiences (albeit in various possible ways) in their ‘host’ society. Thus so-called ‘segmented assimilation’ theory, pioneered by Alejandro Portes and Min Zhou (1993), among others, located ‘race’ firmly in relation to migration. According to this way of thinking, Black Haitians who settled in Miami (or Chinese who settled in New York), encountered very different experiences (and treatment) as migrants to the US, in comparison with the German or Irish migrants who arrived earlier in the 20th century. The significance of race and racial barriers in shaping the experiences of new immigrants to the US, however, has been questioned by some analysts who argue that post 1965 immigrants’ experiences were not that different from White European immigrants in the early 20th century, who also suffered prejudice and a variety of social and economic barriers. Scholarship concerning the relationship between migration and race has witnessed debates, too, about whether structural or cultural variables were more significant in explaining the differential outcomes for disparate migrant groups (see Steinberg 1989). Scholars advocating intersectionality have, importantly, and over many decades, contested what they regarded as overly rigid and uni-dimensional understandings of racial and gender disadvantage and oppression, in which class dynamics were regarded as primary in explaining most forms of subordination and oppression, including racial oppression, as exemplified by certain orthodox Marxist approaches (like that of Oliver Cox). In the last several decades, vast bodies of literature on globalization, transnationalism and diasporas have fundamentally shaped contemporary debates which concern the relationship between migration and race (and/or ethnicity). As denizens of an increasingly global, interconnected world, competing arguments have been made about the effects of globalization in every sphere of life, including debates about dialectical tendencies toward cultural homogenization and cultural differentiation (Hall, Held, McGrew 1992). Some analysts have argued that national identities are declining, and new hybridized identities are emerging (e.g. see Appadurai 1990), while others (e.g. see Smith 1990) argue that globalization can engender emotionally laden forms of nationalisms and a return to mythic certainties. The dynamics associated with globalization, and modernity more generally, are said to destabilize established identities. Increasingly, people’s sense of their ethnic identities and affiliations are said to be relativized and shaped by our greater consciousness of the interconnections of people and societies around the world. Although there is much debate about the concept of diaspora, it can be defined as the imagined condition of a ‘people’ dispersed throughout the world, by force or by choice. Diasporas are transnational sociocultural formations of people who share real and/or symbolic ties to some distant ‘homeland’ (Ang 2001). Contemporary international migration is significantly different from that of previous periods, and this is most evident in studies of transnationalism, which emphasize the economic, cultural, political, and familial networks and links between two or more locations (Gold 2001). Thus people’s sense of belonging and identity are complicated by increasingly complex migratory trajectories and potentially multiple transnational and diasporic ties. And given the complicated trajectories of many ethnic minority groups and individuals, in terms of moving from one place to another, one’s ethnic and/or racial identity and affiliations need not be territorially bounded to one’s birthplace or any one place. However, it is not possible to generalize about the transnational ties and experiences of disparate migrant groups; nor can we assume a homogeneous experience within each group, without reference to individuals’ specific settlement histories, gender, and class locations. In fact, in some of the literature on globalization and diaspora, the 202

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postmodern emphasis on fluid identities and positionings is far too celebratory, emphasizing the freedom with which diasporic minorities are able to fashion desired and multiple positionings and identities (see Bhabha 1994). Why should we re-evaluate the relationship between migration and race, and ‘difference’ more generally? Given the major changes discussed above, especially in relation to what we call globalization, and all its attendant processes, we need to rethink both the structure and agency underlying migrants’ diverse and multiple experiences. While overly celebratory and sanguine discourses about movement and reinvention are problematic and simplistic, overly rigid, orthodox understandings of how contemporary migrants are constrained by overwhelming global and state structures are equally problematic. The study of migration and race, broadly conceptualized, is now carried out at a major historical conjuncture, where, according to theories of late modernity and individualization (Beck 1992; Giddens 1991), traditional, communal ties in countries such as Britain are weakened, and traditional class solidarities have allegedly eroded. At the same time, contemporary multiethnic Western societies such as the US and Britain (and Western European countries) are marked by entrenched forms of ‘identity politics’, in which racialized and visible migrant and minority groups mobilize around their ethnic and racial and religious identities as a means of making claims upon the state and upon the wider society. Many such Western societies, possibly with the exception of Canada, are in almost constant and controversial discussions about the pros and more typically, cons, of immigration. Thus the specter of difference, and the migrant as other, continue to dominate social and political debates. I now turn to six major currents and developments that are re-shaping the way we think about the historical (and often presumed) coupling of migration and race. This discussion is highly generalized, and while not specific to any one country, pertains primarily to multiethnic Western societies such as Britain and the United States. I will occasionally draw upon particular examples from Britain to illustrate my points.

1. Growing attention to second-generation inclusion and belonging Studies of the second generation (and even 1.5 generation!) are now myriad in multiethnic Western societies. Multiple studies on both sides of the Atlantic have investigated the variable educational and labor market outcomes of disparate minority groups, whether it be the differential educational attainments of Dominican or Indian second-generation individuals in the US or the attainments of Turkish versus Morrocan second-generation people in the Netherlands. Other studies have examined the linguistic retention (or not) of Mexican Americans versus Chinese Americans. Such studies have been complemented by perspectives which stress the importance of intersectionality in making sense of individuals’ gendered, classed, and regional selves (Anthias & Yuval-Davis 1992). Furthermore, there is growing attention to the fact that specific minority groups can be quite heterogeneous, prompting the need to consider intragroup diversity. For instance, the group ‘Asian’ in Britain now includes Indian origin Britons who significantly out-perform Pakistani or Bangladeshi Britons in education and income. As ‘super-diversity’ emerges in London, and other large, cosmopolitan metropolitan areas, more attention is being paid to specific sub-groups within groups (Vertovec 2007). But where some of the most interesting work is emerging is in studies that investigate qualitative measures of well-being and inclusion, which are more difficult to capture and measure for social scientists: e.g. do second-generation individuals feel that they belong (and in what ways) in society? Do they participate in mainstream politics or other forms of civic activity? So while questions of socioeconomic attainment are still tremendously important, more studies are addressing 203

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inclusion and belonging (Song 2003). For instance, while the British Chinese are regarded as a successful minority group, given their high educational attainment, there is also evidence that some British Chinese people do not feel ‘British’, or that they belong in Britain. Nevertheless, as will be discussed below, there can be mixed evidence, where different indicators of inclusion and participation can suggest rather different outcomes. Many more studies are needed about issues which go beyond education and labor market attainment, as important as they are. Older studies of migration and race relations, for example in the Chicago School, tended to be characterized by top-down studies of, and about, migrant groups (however sympathetically they may have been portrayed), but these more contemporary studies concerning migration and race, especially qualitative studies of particular groups, have tended to privilege the voices and experiences of individual migrants themselves. So in recent years, there is now a wealth of both quantitative and qualitative approaches to the study of migrant experiences. Furthermore, increased interest in various qualitative measures of well-being and inclusion can engender a critical rethinking of existing theoretical orthodoxies about racial disadvantage and racial hierarchy, especially in the US, where such an orthodoxy has explicitly distinguished between ‘voluntary’ and ‘involuntary’ migrants. While such a distinction is still important and tenable in certain respects, it is only one, and perhaps limited, way of understanding the complex manifestations of advantage and disadvantage, or the complex intertwining of specific disadvantages with specific privileges.

2. Questioning the presumed salience of ‘race’ and ethnicity While older studies of ‘the second generation’ tended to focus upon their structural disadvantage, as discussed above, others also tended to articulate the now rather unfashionable view that this generation was effectively ‘between two cultures’, so that second-generation individuals could face difficulties in navigating different languages, cultural practices, and norms in the socalled public and private spheres. Also, as noted in studies of ‘ethnic options’ (Waters 1990), non-White minority individuals’ identity options can be highly constrained by rigid, racialized notions about whether someone looks ‘American’ or ‘British’ (among other variables), according to prevailing social norms. These approaches, to name only a few, point to the continuing salience of ethnic and racial difference in the lives of many visibly different individuals. Nevertheless, more recent studies in both North America and Europe have mapped out the assertive ways in which second-generation individuals and groups are asserting their public presence, including their insistence upon complex meanings and modes of belonging. Many studies show that, in the context of globalization and the transnational and diasporic communities associated with it, second-generation men and women can assert affiliations in relation to multiple societies and groups – all of this aided not only by travel, but also the ubiquitous Internet. Increasingly, the presumed salience of and meanings associated with ‘race’ or ethnic identity for second-generation individuals must be questioned and investigated. Many studies now show complex, multiple, and layered forms of belonging, whether it is partial, ‘conditional subjectivities of belonging’ (Parker 1995), or skillful modes of code switching (Hall 1997). Also, in what ways might second-generation individuals attach meanings to, and mobilize around, their ethnic/racial/religious backgrounds? For instance, how do second-generation British Muslims mobilize around their Muslim identities and faith? In what ways do their religious beliefs and practice intertwine with their ethnicities? Many studies still demonstrate the ways in which second-generation status is racialized for particular groups, whether this is manifested through the social encounters across a Chinese take-out, between the customer and the Chinese server, or in terms of British-born Indian young people subject to forms of Islamophobia 204

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in their encounters with others in schools or public spaces. But growing numbers of studies reveal that, even among second-generation individuals, the centrality and importance of their ethnic ancestries can differ considerably, according to their locality, class background, and the specificity of their ethnic or racial background. For instance, many second-generation individuals engage in daily forms of code switching, drawing on different cultural repertoires, languages, and sensibilities, depending upon their specific social network and context. For many such individuals, multiple modes of belonging – at the local, national, and transnational levels – are navigated on a regular basis, and are not mutually exclusive of one another. In Europe in particular, the high profile attached to the rise of second-generation Muslim identification requires analysts to think about how race, ethnicity, and religion may combine. For instance, some studies in Britain now suggest that while the specific ethnic ancestry of second-generation Muslims (e.g. Bengali) is less important than it was to their parents, a panethnic sense of being Muslim is growing in importance and resonance for many young people – even if it may be only symbolic. So in addition to constant and gradual forms of ethnogenesis, we must also be mindful of the blurring of ethnic, racial, religious, and national identifications and affiliations, and their highly diverse manifestations in disparate localities throughout each country.

3. Whiteness, White migrants and the White working classes The changing relationship between migration and race also needs to be examined in the context of social and political changes concerning White migrants and the White working classes. Major political undercurrents which concern the status of the White working classes (and to a lesser extent, the White middle classes) in Western European countries, such as in Britain and France, are highly prominent on the national agendas of these countries – especially in terms of histrionic fears about both legal and illegal immigration. The rise of various right-wing parties, such as the British National Party, and more recently UKIP, in Britain, is symptomatic of the contemporary political climate. In comparison with the post-war period, the class diversification and socioeconomic success of certain migrant groups has not been lost upon politicians and representatives of White working-class people who attest to feeling ‘left behind’ – a claim that has resonated in both the Brexit referendum in June 2016 and the shock election of Donald Trump. And in the US, the growing numbers and influence of the Black middle class has not gone unnoticed in poorer, rural White communities. For instance, in Britain, recent studies show that White working-class boys’ educational attainment is worse than that of minority boys, and in certain sectors of the media and popular culture, caricatures of White working-class people appears to be largely socially acceptable. In any case, a simple equation in which ‘White’ status is said to signal privilege, socially and economically, is clearly untenable – though the privileges of Whiteness, in certain settings, can still be considerable (Lipsitz 2006). The automatic coupling of migrant = non-White ‘raced’ person requires rethinking, of course, not only for academics, but also in the popular imagination. New streams of ‘White’ migration from the enlargement of the European Union, for instance, has meant that Polish and Russian workers throughout the cities of London or Paris, are now commonplace. Former sending societies are now becoming receiving immigration destinations – e.g. Italy, Spain, Greece – and this results in new understandings and meanings of ‘difference’, migrant, and of racial hierarchies. The arrival (and in some cases, settlement) of White Eastern European migrants to Western European destinations thus raises interesting and important questions about their incorporation. Will their integration trajectories be similar to that of White European immigrants to the US in the early to mid-20th century? Does their visible Whiteness shield them from prejudice, and allow them, at least in the next generation, to integrate relatively unproblematically into the 205

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White mainstream of European nations? Or does their arrival signal a more complex (and as yet unknown) conjuncture of migrant status, ethnicity, nationality, and geopolitics which has not yet been sufficiently studied? Furthermore, the study of new White migrants is especially important in a context where blatant expressions of racist beliefs (e.g. in the alleged inferiority or superiority of some groups over others) is now socially unacceptable in most Western societies. The coupling of migration and race has also been complicated by the subtle refashionings and renaming of racial concerns into ‘ethnic’ and ‘cultural’ concerns. For instance, the discourse of national culture and belonging has gradually replaced the socially unacceptable articulations of the putatively ‘different’ migrant as an undesirable, raced person (Gilroy 1987) – what Michael Billig (1995) has called ‘banal nationalism’. Instead, seemingly innocuous articulations about preserving and honoring national culture has effectively enabled the continuation of exclusionary and essentializing discourses to circulate in relation to ‘others’, even if they may be ‘native’ speakers and raised in that society. In this respect, White migrants who speak different languages, have identifiably different names, and ‘foreign’ cultural repertoires, can be targeted as not only foreign and undesirable, but also, to some, undeniably ‘different’. Their arrival and gradual settlement, over time, engenders new thinking about the constantly changing and redrawing of ethnic and racial boundaries, with some bright boundaries turning into blurred boundaries, or new boundaries forming along the way (Alba 2005).

4. Islamophobia as the bright line of discrimination/disadvantage In comparison with the USA, where ‘race’ is still paramount as the key ‘bright’ boundary of difference, especially with Black people, Muslims (whether they be Pakistanis in Britain, Moroccans in France or the Netherlands, or Turks in Germany) constitute a key racial/ethnic/religious target in Western Europe (Foner 2015). Governments in France, the Netherlands, and states in Germany have or are contemplating the banning of the veil from public institutions and settings. In Britain, Tariq Modood (2007) in particular has stirred up controversial debate by suggesting that working-class Muslims are the most racially oppressed group in Europe. Not only did this foment passionate debate about whether one can posit a ‘hierarchy of oppression’ (a term used by one of his critics), but it engendered debate about the differential nature and experience of what we understand to be racisms and racial disadvantage. According to Modood, Muslims tend to be reviled for their putative cultural and religious foreignness, and their visibility (e.g. via the veil) makes them easy targets, especially in our post-9/11 world. This huge focus on ‘problematic’ Muslims has reshaped societal understandings of the ‘migrant’ – not only is this migrant typically raced as either South Asian (e.g. Pakistani) or Middle Eastern, but this migrant is deemed a religious zealot, and possible suicide bomber as well. This obsession with Muslims in our midst has recast wider understandings of who belongs and who does not – so that, as Modood has pointed, Black Britons, most of whose ancestors arrived in the post-war period from former British colonies such as Nigeria or Jamaica, are now seen as not quite so ‘different’ as Muslims, especially given the valorization of certain Black cultural forms in wider mainstream popular cultures. In the aftermath of 9/11 and the July 7, 2005 bombings in London, there was particular horror and incredulity expressed about the fact that many of the bombers had been born and raised in Britain. Rather than bearded men burning the Satanic Verses, as happened in 1989, widespread concern was expressed about the fact that these men were British, and in higher education. So the entire political context in which discussions about migration and racial and ethnic and religious 206

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difference occur is one in which the perceived excesses of an overly liberal multiculturalism are seen, by many, to be a terrible mistake. As discussed earlier, the disaffection of British-born Muslims has illustrated the need to study not only economic disadvantage and blocked opportunities, but also the need to investigate the lack of ‘social cohesion’ or ‘community cohesion’ in many urban centers, where White and South Asian communities are said to live parallel lives. The widespread concern about disaffected ‘homegrown’ Muslims in European societies also signals the need to rethink the assumed and straightforward weakening of ethnic and racial ties and affiliations in the second generation; in fact, there is considerable evidence that politicized assertions of public ethnicity and public assertions of Muslim identity are growing, at least among some sectors of second-generation Muslims. Needless to say, there are many second-generation Muslims who neither practice nor feel particularly strongly about Islam or their religious identities. But the overriding concern about ‘foreign’ and alienated Muslims, coupled with evidence of economic deprivation, has fundamentally shaped thinking about not only which types of migrants are deemed racial targets, but also the nature of the discrimination and prejudice they encounter. This dominant social and political focus upon minority Muslims has thus led to growing debate about the need to identify disparate and specific forms of racialization and racism(s). Attention to the experiences of Muslim groups in Western multiethnic societies has revealed the increasingly blurred boundaries between racial/ethnic/religious/national affiliations, meanings, and markers.

5. Rethinking of multiculturalism and citizenship The reconfiguration of migration and race is also being shaped, as discussed above, by not only the now-omnipresent preoccupation with Muslims and Islam in many Western societies, but also the many criticisms of multiculturalism, which is increasingly regarded as misguided and problematic by politicians, policy analysts, and the wider population, especially post-Brexit. Although there is no singular definition of multiculturalism, it refers, broadly speaking, to a set of ideas, policies, and practices that espouse ethnic and cultural diversity and distinctiveness. In recent years, critics of multiculturalism have argued that it has both hindered social cohesion, and encouraged the formation of separate, parallel minority communities who do not share the core values of mainstream society. In his preface to the 2002 White Paper called ‘Secure Borders, Safe Haven: Integration and Diversity in Modern Britain’, the then Home Secretary David Blunkett wrote: ‘To enable integration to take place and to value the diversity it brings, we need to be secure within our sense of belonging and identity and therefore to be able to reach out and to embrace those who come to the UK’ (p. 1). The title of this White Paper reflects not only the intense security concerns in the aftermath of 9/11, but also the ongoing controversies about the viability and desirability of ethnic diversity and multicultural policies in Britain and other Western European societies. For the past two decades, the British state (and various other Western European countries) has had to address both the recognition of growing ethnic diversity, and the need to foster social cohesion (and combat forms of radical extremism, whether actual or imagined). Thus a number of European states have emphasized the civic and cultural integration of immigrants and their second-generation offspring (Joppke 2004), and this has been evident in the reformulation of both policies concerning multiculturalism and citizenship policies (Modood 2007). Cultural assimilation into the nation has been deemed desirable to ward off racialized segregation and disaffection, whether in reference to preventing urban disturbances in the north of England, between Asian and White Britons, or in the Paris suburbs. Too much ‘difference’ is said to be alarmingly manifest in a number of ways, particularly in relation to Muslim groups, whether it is the language spoken, beliefs about a secular society, or gender practices. Perceived 207

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failures of some groups to advance or integrate are then taken to be a function not of a dominant boundary, restriction, and exclusion, but of the absence of certain kinds of values on the part of the group itself (Steinberg 1989). In the context of criticisms against multiculturalism, conceptualizations of citizenship have become increasingly central to government’s policies surrounding integration and social cohesion. Under New Labour, more demanding citizenship tests were aimed at not just the formal acquisition of citizenship, but also a fostering of a cultural and national sense of belonging within the nation. Citizenship education was also introduced in Britain in 2002, so that schools’ roles in ‘civil enculturation’ became more explicit (Schiffauer et al. 2004). Thus, a nation is not only a political entity but a symbolic and cultural community shaped by the ways in which people think about and enact ideas about the nation and its national culture (Anderson 1983). Yet modern nations are not only culturally hybrid, but comprised of different genders, classes, ethnicities, and religions. Contemporary attempts to refashion citizenship in Britain acknowledges the culturally hybrid nature of post-colonial Britain, but in pointing to areas of ‘core culture’ and values, a dominant (and in practice, often a racially exclusionary) discourse of the nation unfolds. Increasingly, public policy and academic scholarship reflects this preoccupation with citizenship, and how minority individuals are expected to be ‘active citizens’ who work at their inclusion. As a result, the discourses of race and racial difference are side-lined, or obscured, by an emphasis upon a seemingly race-neutral and concerned citizen who is, and wants to be, a part of the mainstream. Thus the ongoing furore about immigration is ultimately about the type of society we want to live in, as well as the extent to which immigrants can and should participate in the wider society (Kymlicka 1995).

6. Growth in intermarriage and ‘mixed race’ people Another key development which is re-shaping how we conceive of migration and race is the growth in interethnic relationships and mixed race people. What do interethnic relationships, and the growth of second- and third-generation ‘mixed race’ people suggest for our understandings of migration, race, and ‘integration’? In the US rates of intermarriage for groups such as Asian Americans and Latino Americans are significant, where the percentages of Asian or Latino husbands or wives with spouses of another race or ethnicity surpassed 30% by the late 1990s, with most of these married to a White partner. Current demographic projections in Britain and even the US suggest that while ethnic boundaries will not disappear overnight, they will grow ever-more complex and blurred (Song 2010). To provide some sense of the burgeoning unions between White and non-White Britons, there are more ‘mixed’ Black Carribean/White Britons under the age of five than children of this age with two Black Caribbean parents. Seen in the broader context of group relations, intermarriage is considered, by many analysts, to be the litmus test of integration. It is said to signal a significant lessening of ‘social distance’ between a minority group and the White majority (since most interethnic unions involve White partners). Why should we be interested in rates of interethnic unions? First, it is noteworthy if some groups intermarry with Whites, while others do not – this would suggest that some groups are more socially acceptable in the White mainstream than are others. For instance, some American analysts have suggested that the growing numbers of Asian/White unions, and their Eurasian offspring, suggests the emergence of a kind of honorary White group, with the boundaries between Asian (and light-skinned Latino) Americans and White Americans increasingly softening. Also, because marriage is regarded as a mechanism for the transmission of ethnically specific cultural values and practices to the next generation, intermarriage may fundamentally affect the boundaries and distinctiveness of ethnic minority groups. 208

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Studies of multiracial people note a recurrent societal preoccupation – an expectation that they choose one race as their primary basis of identification. Historically, one race has typically been seen as the primary, dominant race of a multiracial person (Spickard 1989). For instance, in the US, many African Americans have traditionally enforced the ‘one drop rule’, so that part-Black people are expected to see themselves as Black. While the very existence of multiracial people might seem to herald a profound rethinking of existing racial categories and their legitimacy, as well as the everyday belief that there are such things as ‘pure’ and distinct races, multiracial people themselves are subject to racial discourses (both in the wider society and in their family lives) which constrain and shape the ways in which they are able to assert their desired ethnic and racial identifications (Song 2003). Nevertheless, more recent studies have demonstrated that mixed people can and do make choices about their ethnic and racial identities. Studies have shown that mixed people do assert preferred identity options, so that while some individuals might adopt a singular racial identification (e.g. as Black), others might opt for a blended, mixed identification, in which they refuse to choose one category over another; yet others might claim an identification that transcends racial categorization and thinking altogether (Rockquemore & Brunsma 2002). So while some individuals might seek inclusion in an existing racial category, others might try to contest, refute or shift racial boundaries or classifications. In fact, the emergence of a multiracial movement in the US (DaCosta 2007) has shown the ways in which minority groups and individuals, from the ground up, are challenging existing classifications and policies. If the numbers of interethnic relationships continue to grow, as they almost certainly will, it may be that our awareness of, and the meanings we attach to, notions of ethnic and racial difference may be blunted. There is now a question mark about the automatic salience of one’s mixedness and/or racial/ethnic ancestry, especially for mixed people in large, cosmopolitan settings, where being mixed is increasingly ordinary. But we must avoid an overly sanguine view that mixing and the existence of mixed people somehow signals an unproblematic integration and social acceptance.

Conclusion Given all the major developments discussed above – (1) the diverse experiences and identification of the second generation, (2) the questioning of the presumed salience of ethnicity and race, (3) the attention to White ethnicity and experiences, especially those of the White working classes, (4) growing forms of Islamophobia and its implications for our understandings of racialized experiences, (5) the ongoing criticisms of multiculturalism and the emphasis upon active citizenship, and finally, (6) the growing numbers of mixed relationships and individuals – we need to rethink the configuration of migration and race. In a context in which so many social dynamics are simultaneously in play, and in which analysts can marshal multiple and sometimes conflicting forms of ‘evidence’, it is less and less likely that social scientists can proclaim neat and definitive trends and outcomes. It is imperative that scholars consider both the structure and agency underlying migrants’ diverse and multiple experiences. All this complexity and multiplicity of forces and variables suggests that much scholarship concerning migration and race could become ever-more specialized, as scholars investigate particular aspects of social experience, in relation, perhaps, to ever-more specific groups and sub-groups! Generational status is still key in understanding the relationship between migration and race, but it is a less predictable relationship than in the past – being second or third generation might or might not mean being ‘raced’ depending upon regional location, one’s parentage (mixed or not), one’s appearance, one’s class background, etc. When does the marker of generational 209

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status – the key marker of migrant status – become less salient? Up to now, the most significant divide has been that between first and second generation, both in terms of structural incorporation and broader investments in belonging in the ‘host’ society. What is a fascinating question for the future is the status of the third generation and beyond, especially for migrant groups which are traditionally seen as visible, ‘raced’ minorities. For example, is a third-generation Briton of Indian descent, who is married to a White English person, a ‘migrant’ still? And to what extent, and in what ways, will one’s non-White status matter? Will a ‘multi-generation’ Briton of Chinese or Pakistani origin, as in the case of multi-generation Asian Americans in the US (Tuan 1998), still be seen as ‘foreign’, and thus a perennial ‘migrant’ of sorts? As discussed above, the issue of intermarriage and growing numbers of mixed people is also important for the configuration of migration and race because both of these concepts have relied centrally upon the identification and delineation of clear boundaries between distinct named groups of people. Since the state has historically employed classifications and terms to distinguish between various minority and majority groups, it will have to think critically and carefully about the legitimacy of existing ethnic and racial classification schemes to denote ethnic and racial difference, and mixedness, in the population. Various methodological and theoretical concerns, which will inform policy decisions, are increasingly pressing. For instance, how should states classify the marriages of mixed people? Is it an intermarriage if, for instance, a mixed Chinese/English person marries a White person, or would this count as a marriage between two members of the majority society? If this same mixed person married someone who was ‘purely’ of Chinese heritage, would this, then, count as intermarriage? These are not merely technical questions, for, on the ground, lay people (and analysts) will be asking themselves the same questions. It is doubtful that one’s migrant status (however distant this might be in actual generational removes) will simply erode in a linear fashion, at least in terms of how that ‘migrant’ may be seen in the wider society. But the meanings associated with such migrant status will be mediated by many different factors which will or will not render one’s migrant (i.e. not fully belonging) status meaningful or noticed in a given situation. Visibility, as a marker of raced difference, will still continue to matter in a variety of contexts, but its effects may be less predictable or less consistently salient than in the past. It is now commonplace for analysts to note the socially constructed and contingent nature of both race and ethnicity. Despite numerous scholarly pronouncements about the multiplicity and fluidity of racial identifications, on the ground, ‘ordinary’ people inhabit worlds where essentialist racial attributions are rife. In this sense, understandings of race, migration, and migrant, have remained all too real.

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Gold, S. (2001). Gender, Class and Network: Social Structure and Migration Patterns among Transnational Israelis. Global Networks, 1(1), pp. 57–78. Gordon, M. (1964). Assimilation in American Life. New York: Oxford University Press. Hall, S. (1997). Representation. Milton Keynes, UK: Open University Press. Hall, S., Held, D. and McGrew, A. (1992). Modernity and Its Futures. Milton Keynes, UK: Open University Press. Joppke, C. (2004). The Retreat of Multiculturalism in the Liberal State. British Journal of Sociology, 55(2), pp. 237–257. Kymlicka, W. (1995). Multicultural Citizenship. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Lipsitz, G. (2006). The Possessive Investment in Whiteness. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Modood, T. (2007). Multiculturalism. Cambridge: Polity Press. Parker, D. (1995). Through Different Eyes. Basingstoke, UK: Avebury Press. Portes, A. and Zhou, M. (1993). The New Second Generation: Segmented Assimilation and its Variants. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 530(1), pp. 74–96. Rockquemore, K. and Brunsma, D. (2002). Beyond Black. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Schiffauer, W., Baumann, G., Kastoryano, R., and Vertovec, S. (2004). Civil Enculturation. New York: Berghahn Books. Smith, A. (1990). Towards a Global Culture? Theory, Culture and Society, 7(2–3), pp. 171–191. Song, M. (2003). Choosing Ethnic Identity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Song, M. (2010). Is There “a” Mixed Race Group in Britain? Critical Social Policy, 30(3), pp. 337–358. Spickard, P. (1989). Mixed Blood. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Steinberg, S. (1989). The Ethnic Myth. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Tuan, M. (1998). Forever Foreigners or Honorary Whites? New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Vertovec, S. (2007). Super-diversity and Its Implications. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 30(6), pp. 1024–1054. Waters, M. (1990). Ethnic Options. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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18 Nativism A global-historical perspective Maritsa V. Poros

What is nativism? John Higham, in his seminal work on nativism, Strangers in the Land, opens by stating that “Nativism has been hard for historians to define” (2002 [1955], p. 3). This seems as true today as it was when he was writing in 1955. Although historians have contributed to our understanding of nativism to a greater degree than any other discipline, the concept still carries some ambiguity for them and for social scientists who have long engaged with it. Higham (2002 [1955], p. 4) defined nativism as “intense opposition to an internal minority on the ground of its foreign (i.e. un-American) connections.” This definition suggests that nativism is a worldview and ideology with explicit anti-immigration policy goals. However, the concept of nativism also fundamentally suggests an emphasis on who natives are and how they are defined vis-à-vis the nation. Thus, nativism is a tool or mechanism within nationalism for defining who is us and who is them (Guia, 2016). It allows for a dual focus, which distinguishes it from related concepts such as xenophobia, Islamophobia, racism and other forms of prejudice and discrimination that focus solely or mostly on the “Other.” Nativism’s duality focuses emphatically on the “Us” in the Us–Them dichotomy. It also provides its own ideological justifications for how the “native” person should be defined and protected. In this sense, it is closer to nationalism and provides a mechanism within nationalism for defining “natives” against “foreigners” and the “Other.” The “Unite the Right” rally, which took place on August 11 and 12, 2017 in the small American city of Charlottesville, VA, chillingly demonstrated many of these aspects of nativism. A large group of people who the media referred to as white nationalists, white supremacists, neo-Confederates, neo-Nazis, alt-right and right-wing extremists, had gathered to “Unite the Right,” resulting in a shocking day of violence (Heim, 2017). The protesters were motivated by government officials’ plans to remove a statue of the American Civil War Confederate leader, Robert E. Lee, from Emancipation Park (formerly Lee Park) in the downtown area. Counter protesters also showed up to oppose the rallyists. Television, print and digital social media around the world reported these events – often referencing grim reminders of the history of racist, mass violence in the US and Europe. The violence began on the evening before the planned rally of August 12, when Unite the Right protesters marched through the campus of the University of Virginia holding lit torches 212

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reminiscent of the thousands of lynchings that took place in the Jim Crow South. They chanted slogans such as “You will not replace us,” “Jews will not replace us,” “White lives matter,” “One people, one nation, end immigration,” and held signs that read “‘Diversity’ = White Genocide” and “Blood and Soil.” Anyone who could be imagined as belonging outside the nation – primarily Jews, blacks and immigrants in these slogans – was a target. The “Us and Them” duality of nativism was palpable among the Charlottesville protesters. Furthermore, the protesters’ focus on their own whiteness and on who “us” is in their nativist rhetoric distinguished their motivations and their social movement from other forms of exclusion. This focus sought to narrowly construct who can be defined as a native and, at the same time, to universalize exclusion of the Other as anyone who is deemed non-native. The protestors’ view embraced all sorts of contradictions. African-American descendants of forced slavery and displacement, Native Americans, in the Americas long before white settlers, Mexicans, subsumed into the nation through war and conquest, Jews, Muslims and other immigrants are all possible targets within this ideology of exclusion. Notwithstanding this broad sweep of exclusion, it is not clear exactly what was on display in Charlottesville that day. Was it nationalism, white nationalism, ethnic nationalism, white supremacism, racism, neo-Nazism, fascism, nativism, populism, right-wing extremism, some combination of these, or something else? Do we see similar motivations for events happening around the world? What role does nativism play in these kinds of events and how can we distinguish it from other forms of exclusion? Lately, it seems that powerful, nativist rhetoric and accompanying violence is increasing everywhere. Some instructive examples follow: In Europe, two politicians, Marine Le Pen of the far-right National Front Party in France and Geert Wilders of the Party for Freedom in the Netherlands, have gained extraordinary support for their nativist ideas. They and their politics have been labeled populist, nativist, white nationalist, racist, anti-immigrant, anti-Muslim and radical right. Both have run campaigns against immigration, often accompanied by racist rhetoric, and have been indicted for inciting hatred and violence. Wilders infamously called Moroccan immigrants “scum” and pledged to “make the Netherlands ours again” (Goldman, 2017). Marine Le Pen told her supporters “It’s a choice of civilization” and vowed to make “France more French” (Nossiter, 2017). These politicians aim to narrowly define who is French and who is Dutch in order to preserve France for the French and the Netherlands for the Dutch. In short, their motivations stem from nativist concerns (Duyvendak, 2012). Ultimately, both lost national elections on the heels of Donald Trump’s successful election in the United States. However, their rise in politics and their supporters have left a lasting impression on those countries and what the future might hold for them. Brexit, the UK movement to leave the European Union, is a more politically successful example. It appeals largely to nativist ideas and is strongly supported by conservative and right-wing political parties which have sought to curtail or halt immigration and asylum. Many Brexiteers perceive immigrants and asylum seekers as a threat to British values and security and as people who do not embody their image of the nation. Myanmar demonstrates a very tragic example, where anti-Muslim violence has escalated dramatically. Approximately 128,420 Rohingya Muslims have been internally displaced in Rakhine State (ReliefWeb, 2018) and 1.2 million people are displaced or in need in Bangladesh because of the Rohingya influx (UNICEF, 2018). Of those, a full 656,000 arrived in Bangladesh since August 25, 2017. In what might be viewed as a culminating event after decades of oppression, the Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA), a Muslim Rohingya insurgent group, had attacked police and military posts, killing 12 security force personnel. The military response led to a mass exodus of people from the region (Calamur, 2017; Ramzy, 2017). Over half of the new arrivals in Bangladesh (380,480) are children. Thousands of people have died. 213

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The Rohingya are seen as Muslim outsiders. The Myanmar government does not recognize their identity as “Rohingya” and refers to them as “Bengalis,” indicating that they have come from elsewhere and are not indigenous to Burma. Since the establishment of Myanmar nationality law in 1982, which essentially re-wrote the history of ethnic groups in Myanmar, the government has denied them recognition and citizenship on the basis of taingyitha, the term for a national indigenous race (Cheesman, 2017). Nativist sentiment about who comes from the soil of the nation and who does not is, therefore, at the very core of the contest for citizenship and rights in Myanmar. The powerful military and its alliance with Burmese Buddhists and the Myanmar government fear that if they recognize the claims of the Muslim Rohingya then they will renew their separatist movement, which includes territorial claims in the Rakhine region of Myanmar (Calamur, 2017). For those Burmese Buddhists who are closely aligned with the military, the Rohingya, as Muslims, are foreigners or outsiders who do not have legitimate claims to the nation. However the Rohingya belong to a region that has had multiple, contested identities and histories over hundreds of years, emphasizing the social construction of its native and non-native identities (Ludden, 2018). Thus, “Rohingya” can be read as a political identity understood within the context of Myanmar’s history of British colonialism, military-led authoritarian rule, and a fragile, transitional democracy. Tragically, over 1 million people are caught in the cross-fire of this political conflict. At the other far end of the pendulum, U.S. President Donald J. Trump’s nativist campaign put him at the center of the so-called “birther movement” or birtherism in the United States. Trump and other “birthers” maintained that the former U.S. President, Barack Obama, was not born in the United States and therefore not eligible to be president. Casting his presidency as illegitimate, the birther movement emphasized Obama’s foreign and black ancestry through his Kenyan father. Obama was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, which he verified when he released his birth certificate to the public in 2011 during his presidency. Subsequently, the share of people who believed that he was born in the U.S. rose, though doubters remain part of the birther movement, which is still active (Klinkner, 2014). Even Hawaii’s place on the geographic edge of American colonialism might not have been legitimate enough to be the American birthplace of a black president. These examples demonstrate the broad range and ambiguity around the concept of nativism, as well as its relation to similar phenomena, including racism, xenophobia, nationalism, populism and authoritarianism (see also Sharma, this volume). This chapter seeks to explore these concepts, understand how they intersect, and broadly consider some of their consequences in societies around the world across different historical eras.

Historical nativism: defining “us” and targeting the “Other” Nativists target those who they perceive as threats to the nation. These are most often internal minorities such as racial, ethnic and immigrant Others who are perceived and defined as existing outside the nation. Their existence can have racial, ethnic and civic dimensions. As Mudde (2012, p. 2) puts it, nativism is “a combination of nationalism and xenophobia. It is an ideology which holds that states should be inhabited exclusively by members of the native group (the nation) and that non-native elements (persons and ideas) are fundamentally threatening to the homogeneous nation-state.” The idea that a segment of the population living in a country might “replace” another segment of the population strongly invokes this fear. In the United States, racism and nativism are intertwined with the birth of the nation. The first U.S. Naturalization Act in 1790 deemed those eligible for citizenship as “free white persons” having lived in the United States for one year or more. The Act provided the basis 214

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for a debate that lasted well over a century about who would be worthy of this definition and therefore eligible to become a citizen of a self-governing new nation. Racial ideas were fundamentally part of this debate about who was fit for self-government and who was not (Jacobson, 1999; Ngai, 2004; Takaki, 2000). The founders of the new nation readily distinguished their relationship to enslaved blacks and Native Americans. As the property of white landowners, black slaves were inherently part of the nation, “the black race within our bosom,” though clearly subordinate to free whites. Native Americans, “the red race at our borders,” needed to be colonized and expelled through removal from their lands and by massacre (Takaki, 2000). The influence of eugenics also played an important role in how the political elite viewed Native Americans, Blacks, Mexicans, Chinese and Others who were in different ways made part of the nation throughout the 1800s. Eugenics, also known as scientific racism, was a late 19th- to early 20th-century movement that began in the United States and Europe with the aim of improving the human species (Tucker, 1994; Kevles, 1998). It viewed all manner of mental, physical and moral characteristics of humans as hereditary, resulting in a detailed worldwide classification of “races” that placed upper-class Protestant whites of Anglo-Saxon descent in the most superior category of genetic “stock.” Eugenics has inspired no less than war, genocide, colonial rule, slavery, racism, imprisonment, involuntary commitment to mental institutions, and forced sterilization. Although it is no longer viewed as a legitimate way of understanding human biology and evolution, its legacy is visible around the world. Eugenics thinking was very evident in the debates about republicanism and who was fit for self-government. Notwithstanding the outright exclusion of blacks and Native Americans from citizenship, the 1790 Act questioned the definition of whiteness through the lens of eugenics racial hierarchies that doubted the intelligence, moral character and natural capacity of many white immigrants to govern themselves in this new republic. While conceptions of race and practices of racism were fundamental to the founding of the nation, a nativist movement took more time to form as the mass recruitment and entry of poor, white European immigrants to the United States created competition for labor and challenged the prevailing social order (Roediger, 1991). Although whiteness had been inscribed in the 1790 law, its definition became more and more ambiguous as millions of poor, Irish Catholic workers and Catholic Germans began immigrating to the U.S. in the mid-1800s, testing their eligibility for citizenship and the socio-political boundaries of the new nation (Jacobson, 1999). Thus, the nativist movement emerged with the anti-Catholic, anti-immigrant Know Nothing or American Party in the mid-1800s. It targeted Irish Catholic immigrants as an alien group who were unassimilable in their view because Catholicism was considered to be incompatible with the values of the new republic (Casanova, 2012). Moreover, owing to their lower class origins, those Irish Catholics were seen as primitive, barbaric, and therefore not quite white. Although the Know Nothing movement was short lived as its supporters turned their attention to the American Civil War, Catholics, again, and Jews, who arrived mostly after the 1880s, became the targets of anti-foreign sentiment in the early 20th century. Immigrants from Eastern and Southern Europe were not the only ones to be considered a threat to the idea of the nation. Chinese, Japanese and other Asian immigrants were heavily recruited for labor in the western United States and experienced massive hostility, discrimination and anti-foreign sentiment. Anti-Asian activism led to a number of nativist immigration laws beginning with the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which barred Chinese laborers (but not merchants) and installed America’s first border enforcement regime (Lee, 2003). The 1907–08 Gentlemen’s Agreement with imperial Japan prohibited further emigration from Japan. The Immigration Act of 1917, also known as the Asiatic Barred Zone Act, barred people from a huge swath of countries, extending across most of Asia and the Middle East, from immigration 215

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and naturalization among other categories of persons. Not until the Walter McCarren Act of 1954 did Asians eventually gain the right to citizenship. Women’s citizenship had always been dependent on the nationality of their fathers and husbands. Starting in the 1920s, women gained partial rights to naturalize independently of marriage. Nativist fears continued in the 1920s, leading to the near cessation of immigration with the 1924 Immigration Act. The 1924 Act, was a final manifestation of nativist ideology and activism that sought to close the doors to immigrants and foreigners for the next 40 years. It drastically reduced the number of Eastern and Southern European immigrants and completely eliminated the eligibility of Asians to immigrate or reunite their families. Many supporters of the Act justified its racist premises by asserting that the millions of white immigrants who were already in the country would need a generation or two to finally assimilate into the American polity and society. They made no such claims for those who were deemed not white. In the early 1960s, on the heels of the Civil Rights Movement, John F. Kennedy, the United States’ only Catholic president (he was also Irish), declared the United States a “nation of immigrants” and campaigned for a new, non-discriminatory immigration law. After President Kennedy was assassinated, President Lyndon Johnson signed into law the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 or the Hart-Cellar Act. Although the framers of the Act never intended to invite large numbers of people from Asia, Africa, the Caribbean and Latin America, by lifting national-origins quotas, the 1924 nativist law effectively ended and allowed new waves of immigrants from around the world to enter the U.S. Nativism would wax and wane, however. Today, nativists target Muslims, the undocumented, refugees and asylum seekers. The U.S. Supreme Court recently upheld the basis for Donald Trump’s Executive Order 13780, Protecting the Nation from Foreign Terrorist Entry into the United States, which has succeeded in temporarily banning immigrants from eight countries (six of them Muslim majority) and drastically reducing the number of refugees (Pierce and Selee, 2017). Trump has also revoked Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for nearly 200,000 immigrants from El Salvador, 60,000 Haitians and 2,500 Nicaraguans (not to mention the disregard of their U.S.-born children), effectively bringing back a nativist immigration policy. According to Higham (2002 [1955]), nativism originated in the United States with the American Party. However, there has not been a nativist party in American political life since. The U.S. has many nativist organizations that try to influence mainstream political parties but the American political system is essentially a two-party system in which third parties rarely exert political power. In contrast, in Europe, there are many nativist political parties that have become part of the multi-party system of most European countries, resulting in coalition-led governments. Some examples are the National Front (France), United Kingdom Independence Party (United Kingdom), People’s Freedom Front (Netherlands), Alternative for Germany (Germany), Freedom Party of Austria (Austria), Golden Dawn (Greece), Action of Dissatisfied Citizens – ANO and Freedom and Direct Democracy (Czech Republic), Law and Justice (Poland) and Fidesz (Hungary). Right-wing political parties and organizations in Europe and the U.S. have something in common. They use populist ideas and rhetoric to pursue their nativist aims. This suggests support for Jan-Werner Mueller’s (2016, p. 56) argument that “populism is the permanent shadow of representative politics.” In other words, the nativist aims of populist ideology demonstrate the illiberal aspects of democracy, which are marked by racism and exclusion.

Racism and xenophobia The racism underpinning anti-immigrant sentiment in the early history of the United States is clearly related to nativism. Racial meanings form from fluid social constructions shaped by social 216

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and economic forces at particular times and places in history (Omi and Winant, 1994). The changing meaning of whiteness over time demonstrates this, as does the eventual acceptance of Asian immigrants into the polity. Nativism divides “insiders,” people who are considered to be a part of the nation and to belong to the nation from “outsiders,” people who are present in the nation but not considered to be a part of the nation. Thus, immigrants are considered civic outsiders in the nativist view, while at the same time they may be considered racial insiders or outsiders. Anti-foreign sentiment often deems immigrants both civic outsiders and racial outsiders. It would be too simplistic to suggest that nativism only refers to anti-immigrant or anti-foreign sentiment, however. It also intersects with anti-black racism as in the United States, where African Americans are, today, civic insiders – “blacks within our bosom” – but contained as racial outsiders via mass incarceration, segregation and discrimination in American institutional life. Blacks have also been the target of nativist sentiment and ideology from Charlottesville to Trump rallies to backlash against Black Lives Matter demonstrators. Although nativism often employs racial meanings, the reverse is not always the case. Thus, racism is a broader concept than nativism and can exist without it (Guia, 2016). Racism does not require nativist justifications as demonstrated by much anti-black racism in the United States. Its justifications are often meant to stand on their own. The concepts of racism and nativism work in concert and can be seen in countries around the world. For example, anti-immigrant, anti-black sentiment against Haitians in the Dominican Republic paints Haitians as immigrant outsiders who cannot belong to the nation. They are also perceived as racially inferior, providing further justification for their out-group status. The early history of Hispaniola (which would become the Dominican Republic and Haiti) as plantationbased slave colonies set the stage for the ways in which different racial meanings would be inscribed in the future nations (Candelario, 2007). Owing partly to different trade restrictions imposed by the French and Spanish colonial powers, French San Domingüe became a successful sugar cane plantation economy whereas Spanish Santo Domingo became a cattle-based slave economy. The uniqueness of the cattle ranch economy enabled a larger number of slaves in Santo Domingo to be more autonomous and become free. This population was more economically independent and integrated in the colonial administration, thus allowing them to differentiate themselves from black slave labor, prevalent especially in neighboring San Domingüe. Blackness thus became associated primarily with Haitian slavery while Dominicans have sought to emphasize indigenous and Spanish origins. Today, we can see the origins of these racial meanings in the anti-blackness, anti-immigration rhetoric and policies against Haitians around the border areas where Haitians have lived and worked in the Dominican Republic for decades. Notably, this conflict came to the fore in 2013 when Dominican authorities sought to strip 200,000 Haitian immigrants and their descendants of Dominican citizenship and commenced mass deportations (Hindin and Ariza, 2016; Amnesty International, 2016). In India, Hindu nationalists have employed nativist ideas to espouse a Hindu-only nation, as in the Hindutva movement. Their core ideas have racist overtones that denigrate non-Hindu Others as racially inferior (Baber, 2004; Jaffrelot, 1998). Hindu nationalists have mainly targeted Muslims and Christians, describing them as racial outsiders, foreigners, or invaders who do not belong to the soil. Hindutva, which is the expression of Hindu nationalist ideology institutionalized in the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP), the Rashtriya Samsewak, Sangh (RSS), the militant arm of the BJP, and Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP), the BJP’s socio-cultural arm, and their mobilizations, have been the main socio-political force behind these ideas (Basu, 2017; Prashad, 2000; Jaffrelot, 1998). The movement has manifested itself in decades of inter-communal violence, hostility and exclusion between Hindus and Others, who, in the view of their supporters, do not have a legitimate claim to national belonging. 217

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These politics are also transnational. The Indian diaspora has played an important role in promoting a syndicated or unitary form of Hinduism that would necessarily exclude Muslims, Christians and Others in India and in their countries of immigration (Prashad, 2000; Kurien, 2007). Many Hindu immigrants in North America, the UK, Australia and other parts of the “Hindu diaspora” have made claims to be recognized within an ideology of multiculturalism in their countries of immigration. However, in India, they ironically espouse the opposite through support for Hindu-right or Hindu nationalist organizations such as the VHP and its diasporic affiliated organizations, VHP-America and VHP-UK. Indeed, diasporic Indians, many of whom are highly educated, high-income professionals in North America, the UK, Australia, and the large, English-speaking, technologically savvy, middle class in India, assert their common motivations in extraordinarily powerful ways. Manisha Basu (2017) has called this new form of Hindu nationalism, “metropolitan Hindutva.” While the old Hindutva was embedded in regional and vernacular understandings of Hindu identities, metropolitan Hindutva expresses itself within elite, Anglophone, technocratic and free market ideologies that connect with the lives of middle-class and elite diaspora Hindus. Together they espouse a version of Hinduism and Hindu identities, which is homogenous, unitary and exclusionary and which serves the nativist aims of the Hindu-right political elite. Post-colonial Africa provides other notable examples of nativism, such as in Rwanda and South Africa. In Rwanda, the settler–native distinction heeded very closely to the eugenicsinspired racialization of Tutsi and Hutu by the Belgian colonial administration. As Mamdani (2012, p. 4) puts it, “there can be no settler without a native and vice versa.” These categories were socially constructed by the Belgian colonial state as part of their strategy of indirect rule. The Belgians viewed Tutsi as outsiders, foreigners of “Caucasian” lineage, who had migrated to and settled in East Africa from further north where their presumed race could be found in Africa (Mamdani, 2001). The Belgians elevated Tutsi as administrative middlemen in their rule over Hutu “natives,” citing what they perceived as superior Tutsi racial characteristics. As with many of the tragic contradictions of colonial liberation, this logic was maintained after Rwanda gained independence from Belgium and installed its first, independent, Hutu-led government. Despite generations of intermarriage and mixing between Hutu and Tutsi, extreme, nationalist Hutu led a campaign of Tutsi oppression and fear. Mamdani’s (2001) analysis of Rwandan history shows that the categories Hutu and Tutsi represented not ethnic but political identities in the subsequent civil war and genocide, which took place in the mid-1990s. Those political identities were infused with racial ideas that defined who was a native (Hutu) and who was a settler (Tutsi) and were enacted in new laws about land ownership rights, assigning special rights and privileges to the “natives” of the land. Thus, defining the “native” in this essentialized, naturalized way as someone who is part of the nation by virtue of their autochthonous, primordial belonging played a fundamental role in dividing Hutu and Tutsi. Today, Rwanda’s new constitution seeks to guarantee equality under the law for all its residents – a civic form of citizenship that aims to end the racialized political identities of the past. Post-apartheid South Africa has produced its own struggle with nativism and xenophobia. As in Rwanda, the native–settler relation was also the focus of British indirect rule in South Africa since it had annexed the Boer republics and formed the Union of South Africa in 1910. Its system of segregation was a precursor to the formalized, institutional segregation of apartheid installed by the Afrikaner National Party when it won control from the British in 1948. One of the National Party’s first acts was to create immobile population categories that legally privileged and segregated whites from natives and others. This would become the basis for an “orderly” society in which each person would know their place. The Population Registration Act of 1950 delineated race categories that were based on a mix of biological notions of white superiority 218

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and purity and cultural notions of social status, habits and demeanor (Posel, 2001). The “white” category was described with the most detail consigning those who could not be categorized as white to the “native,” “Coloured,” and, later, “Indian” race categories. In the long struggle for liberation, South African nationalism aimed to dismantle the apartheid government. It sought to reconfigure the polity to expand democracy and citizenship to oppressed natives, Coloureds and Indians under competing ideologies of anti-racialism and multi-racialism. Although both of these ideologies were consistent with African liberation, they were also influenced by nativism (Ndlovu-Gatsheni, 2009) and contributed to the way in which the post-apartheid state would define citizenship and belonging for the people of South Africa. Ironically, during the apartheid era, the native black Africans were referred to as “foreign natives” as they had been stripped of citizenship and violently relocated to reserved lands, the Bantustans or homelands, by the racist administration (Neocosmos, 2006). Today, xenophobic discourse depicts black African immigrants (largely wage laborers from Lesotho, Zimbabwe and weaker economies across Africa) as foreign intruders causing crime and disease, and stealing jobs in a highly unequal and insecure economy and society. Xenophobia directed at African migrants has become a regular feature of South African society enabled by the post-apartheid South African state which has embraced neoliberalism and multi-racial politics. These politics have strayed far away from the founding ideals of the post-apartheid state led by the African National Congress, which was founded on non-racialism and equality for all (ibid., 2006). The new state incorporates nativist rhetoric and ideas, limiting belonging to those who can claim indigeneity within South Africa’s post-colonial borders. Xenophobia and nativism work together to form a new basis for exclusion.

Islamophobia The term, Islamophobia, which is derived from the term xenophobia, has gained currency in recent years, particularly in the US and Europe, because of the growing Muslim immigrant populations there and the backlash against them. Islamophobia specifically targets Islam and/or Muslims and, as with xenophobia, reflects a broad set of negative beliefs, attitudes and emotions toward Muslims or Islam as a religion and cultural tradition (Bleich, 2011). Indeed, Halliday (1999) insists that the term is a misnomer because when we refer to it, we are really referring to a hatred, fear, or other negative beliefs, attitudes or emotions directed against Muslims as a people, particularly Muslims living as immigrants in Western societies. Islamophobia, therefore, also carries racial connotations that rely on the recognition of others as Muslim based on some set of perceived physical and cultural characteristics (Meer and Noorani, 2008). Women are a specific target in this view. Muslim women who are veiled or wear the hijab become racialized, as the cultural symbol of the hijab intersects with the idea of Muslims as a racial group subject to differential treatment and discrimination. In some countries, Islamophobia as well as a broader xenophobia have become the basis for nativist ideas that target Muslims as the Other along with foreigners. Particularly after the terrorist attacks of 9/11 in the United States and a number of similar attacks in Europe, including the 2004 and 2005 train bombings in Madrid and London, respectively, scholars began documenting the “backlash” against Muslim cultural groups and theorizing its origins and response (Bakalian and Bozorgmehr, 2009; Peek, 2010). Backlash against Muslims and other perceived associates of terrorism has consisted of individual hate crimes, harassment, abuse, assault, physical violence, as well as excessive government-level responses, such as racial, religious or cultural profiling, threats of, and actual, internment, deportation, surveillance and so on (Bakalian and Bozorgmehr, 2009). Especially in the case of individual-level backlash, Islamophobia may be motivating such a response as well as providing a basis for defining who the “natives” are 219

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inside the U.S. Nativism necessarily emphasizes the in-group and its “natural” belonging to the nation to the exclusion of others, who are defined as not belonging. Thus, the intersection of Islamophobia and nativism is important. It begs the question of whether Islamophobia and other forms of xenophobia can lead to nativism or if nativism can exist without them. Nativism allows for a dual focus that is centered on belonging according to race, ethnicity and other perceived physical distinctions and on civic notions of who can espouse the values and ideals of the nation. Thus, the worldview of nativists is one that can exclude on the basis of racism and xenophobia as well as nationalist and populist ideas about belonging. The presence of immigrant Others inside the nation is often the catalyst for nativism. Under what conditions? When does racism, xenophobia, nationalism or populism become nativism? Can there be prejudice, racism, xenophobia or Islamophobia without nativism?

The politics of nativism: nationalism, populism, authoritarianism Racism, xenophobia, Islamophobia and nationalism have existed without nativism in different places and times. We have only to think of nationalist independence movements based on civic notions of belonging rather than ethnic ones. Or we might consider acts of racism and xenophobia that nevertheless accept that their targets are part of a plural society as they bemoan minorities and immigrants who have not assimilated. Therefore, nativism does not inevitably follow from any of these forms of exclusion but it can work together with them in important ways. It can become a mechanism for justifying social, economic, political and, even, physical exclusion from the nation. In the realm of formal politics, nativism is often associated with right-wing politics and political parties. However, according to some scholars, it can also be a strong feature of left-wing political parties (Mudde and Kaltwasser, 2017). Right-wing populist parties, in particular, often espouse nativist ideas and rhetoric to appeal to “the people” and their common interests, which they claim to represent. Populism divides society into two main groups, the people and the elite. It further suggests that the people are pure while the elite are corrupt. Its aim is to respect the will of the people in governance. On the left, the “pure” people are the working-class masses. On the right, the “pure” people are those who belong to the nation by virtue of birth and/or racial and ethnic background. For Mueller (2016), populism is incompatible with democracy and democratic values. Populism requires criticism of elites as well as criticism of pluralism. Populist leaders express their anti-elite, anti-plural position in rhetoric like “we are the people” and invoke their leadership as offering exclusive representation of “the people.” However the populist notion of “the people” is clearly not pluralist and does not accept difference. For instance, Donald Trump, at a campaign rally for the 2017 U.S. Presidential election, reportedly said, “the only important thing is unification of the people – because the other people don’t mean anything” (as reported in Mueller, 2016, p. 17). Trump, however, is not authoritarian. Populism is different from authoritarianism because populists try to justify their actions as representing “all the people.” Authoritarians make no justifications at all as they repress civil society, for instance. Authoritarian leaders rely on state control and repression to enact their views. Populist appropriation of “the people” resonates deeply with many citizens who feel that they have been overlooked by their governments. These native-born individuals, including some naturalized citizens, feel that they are “the people” as opposed to others, principally immigrants and other minorities, who they perceive as benefitting from special protections or siphoning benefits from the government and economy. In a creative twist on Higham’s book title, Strangers in the Land, Arlie Hochschild (2016) explores this paradox in her book, Strangers in Their Own Land. She provides an illuminating explanation of how working-class white Americans have 220

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become angry at their exclusion from the fruits of the American economy and polity and how they have directed their anger at immigrants and others who they perceive as belonging outside the nation. Thus, we can understand how populists succeed in gaining political support when they use issues like (anti-)immigration to appeal to voters. Left-wing populism also makes the moral distinction between the corrupt elite and the pure people. Syriza and Podemos, left-wing coalition governments in Greece and Spain, respectively, are two examples today. Left-wing populist parties and organizations may also espouse antiplural ideas and rely on the feeling of many natives that they have lost their economic position in society and that they are experiencing material and social deprivation relative to some time in the (imagined) past when there were fewer immigrants or other minorities. Ironically, part of the success of right-wing politicians such as Donald Trump, Marine Le Pen, or Geert Wilders has been that they have been able to appropriate traditional concerns of the left, such as unemployment, the decline of the economy and social and economic protections as a foundation for nativist ideas and policy proposals. Although left-wing populism may be less exclusionary than its right-wing counterpart, it also demonstrates the illiberal elements of liberal democracy because it inevitably must exclude some parts of the population. One of the most prominent examples today of how the politics of nativism (and immigration) intersects with nationalism, populism and authoritarianism is the European refugee crisis. Since 2015, over 1.5 million migrants and refugees have crossed the Mediterranean and Aegean seas into Europe (Crawley, Düvell, Jones, McMahon and Sigona, 2016). In 2015 alone, over 1 million people arrived in southern Europe and nearly 4,000 died trying to make the crossing. Most of these people were asylum seekers fleeing war, violence and persecution in Syria, Iraq and Afghanistan. In the same year, Greece, which had already been subjected to European austerity policies for five years, saw 800,000 migrants and refugees cross its borders, mostly over the Aegean Sea from Turkey. Even more dramatically, that year, over 500,000 refugees and migrants transited through the island of Lesvos hoping to reach parts of northern Europe. Many of these hundreds of thousands of migrants were able to transit from the islands to the Greek mainland, making their way to Greece’s northern border and then on a series of trips leading to Germany and Sweden, the two countries that have received the largest number of Syrian refugees since that year. These movements were dubbed a “crisis” for European countries that wished to stem the flow of refugees and migrants despite their international commitments to international protections and humanitarian law. In March 2016, the EU-Turkey Agreement, which closed the northern border with FYROM, the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia, accomplished that to a great degree. Along with the newly closed border, military and police forces in countries further north in Bulgaria, Serbia, Hungary and Croatia, often violently pushed back transiting refugees and asylum seekers. Today, Greece is a holding pen for the approximately 62,000 migrants and refugees who are stranded there as the Agreement has sent very few migrants back to Turkey. Policies that focus primarily on border control and eliminating smugglers manufacture the migrant and refugee crisis by preventing opportunities for safe, authorized passage. The “crisis” of refugees (and migrants) prospectively making a new home in Europe has resulted in significant backlash by the “native” populations living there. It has fueled the rise of right-wing, populist politicians all around Europe, who have made extraordinary gains in government representation. Migrants and refugees have become convenient scapegoats for the ills of economic austerity and other social problems. This anti-immigrant sentiment fits well with nativist rhetoric and aims, which now define all sorts of immigrants as outsiders who cannot claim belonging to the nation. Although Muslim immigrants, refugees and asylum seekers may now be the quintessential threat in countries such as Sweden, Denmark, France, the 221

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Netherlands and Germany, they are not alone. For instance, Poles and other Eastern Europeans have become the targets of nativism in the UK almost as easily as Muslims who are perceived as terrorist threats. In wealthy Switzerland, which is not in the European Union but is a member of the European Free Trade Association (EFTA), all immigrants – even wealthier “natives” of other European countries – have become targets of legislation to curtail or stop immigration (Abu-Hayyeh, Murray and Fekete, 2014).

Conclusions Nativism is a mechanism within nationalism. Hindu nationalism and African nationalisms, for example, have incorporated nativist rhetoric and aims within their movements. Nativism does not, however, manifest from nationalism in every instance. Similarly, racism, xenophobia, Islamophobia, nationalism and populism can exist without nativism, though nativism provides a ready-made tool for justifying those positions and mobilizations within them. Nativism is not always an outcome of economic decline either. Although some countries that have experienced declining economic sectors, high unemployment and austerity resort to nativist sentiment and actions, this is not deterministic of nativism. The election of Donald Trump in the U.S and the rise of right-wing populist parties in many European countries that are experiencing economic decline might be related. However, counterexamples, such as Switzerland, show that nativism can be just as strong in countries where economic austerity is not an issue. Nativism is also not uniquely American. Its historical connection to race, racism and the eugenicist projects of colonialism demonstrate its scope and spread around the world. Nativism may, however, have had a long history in the U.S. because it is one of the oldest, continuous democracies in the world. As in other democracies, nativism illustrates the illiberal aspects of democracy and representative politics. It highlights democracy’s contradictions and the fact that democracy inevitably excludes parts of the population in favor of representing the majority and those who have been defined as belonging to the nation-state. Although nativism may be ascendant at the moment, it certainly has its detractors. Pro-immigrant, anti-racism, anti-xenophobia movements have forcefully appeared everywhere we have seen nativist movements.

References Abu-Hayyeh, R., Murray, G., and Fekete, L. (2014). Swiss referendum: Flying the flag for nativism, March 6, London, UK: Institute of Race Relations. Amnesty International. (2016). “Haiti/Dominican Republic: Reckless deportations leaving thousands in limbo”, 15 June. Available at: www.amnesty.org/en/latest/news/2016/06/haiti-dominican-republicreckless-deportations-leaving-thousands-in-limbo/ [Accessed 10 Feb. 2018]. Baber, Z. (2004). “‘Race’, religion and riots: The ‘racialization’ of communal identity and conflict in India,” Sociology, 38(4), pp. 701–718. Bakalian, A. and Bozorgmehr, M. (2009). Backlash 9/11: Middle Eastern immigrants and Muslim Americans respond. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Basu, M. (2017). The rhetoric of Hindu India: Language and urban nationalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bleich, E. (2011). “What is Islamophobia and how much is there? Theorizing and measuring an emerging comparative concept,” American Behavioral Scientist, 55(12), pp. 1581–1600. Calamur, K. (2017). “The misunderstood roots of Burma’s Rohingya Crisis,” The Atlantic, September 25. Candelario, G. (2007). Black behind the ears: Dominican racial identity from museums to beauty shops. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Casanova, J. (2012). “The politics of nativism: Islam in Europe, Catholicism in the United States,” Philosophy and Social Criticism, 38(4–5), 485–495. 222

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Cheesman, N. (2017). “How in Myanmar ‘National Races’ came to surpass citizenship and exclude Rohingya,” Journal of Contemporary Asia, 47(3), pp. 461–483. Crawley, H., Düvell, F., Jones, K., McMahon, S. and Sigona, N. (2016). “Destination Europe? Understanding the dynamics and drivers of Mediterranean migration in 2015,” MEDMIG Final Report. Available at: www.medmig.info/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/research-brief-destinationeurope.pdf [Accessed 13 Feb. 2019]. Duyvendak, J.W. (2012). “Holland as a home: Racism and/or nativism?” Krisis: Journal of Contemporary Philosophy, 2, pp. 75–77. Goldman, R. (2017). “Geert Wilders, a Dutch nationalist politician calls Moroccan immigrants ‘scum’,” The New York Times, February 18. Available at: www.nytimes.com/2017/02/18/world/europe/geertwilders-netherlands-freedom-party-moroccan-immigrants.html [Accessed 9 Feb. 2018]. Guia, A. (2016). The concept of nativism and anti-immigrant sentiments in Europe. EUI Working Papers, Florence: European University Institute. Halliday, F. (1999). “Islamophobia reconsidered,” Ethnic and Racial Studies, 22, pp. 892–902. Heim, J. (2017). “Recounting a day of rage, hate, violence, and death,” The Washington Post, August 14. Available at: www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2017/local/charlottesville-timeline/?utm_ term=.04c990438edd [Accessed 9 Feb. 2018]. Higham, J. (2002 [1955]). Strangers in the land: Patterns of American nativism 1860–1925. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Hindin, Z. and Ariza, M. (2016). “When nativism becomes normal,” The Atlantic, May 23. Hochschild, A. (2016). Strangers in their own land: Anger and mourning on the American right. New York, NY: The New Press. Jacobson, M.F. (1999). Whiteness of a different color: European immigrants and the alchemy of race. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Jaffrelot, C. (1998). The Hindu nationalist movement in India. New York, NY: Columbia University Press. Kevles, D. (1998). In the name of eugenics: Genetics and the uses of human heredity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Klinkner, P. (2014). The causes and consequences of birtherism. Unpublished paper. Presented at the 2014 Annual Meeting of the Western Political Science Association. Kurien, P. (2007). A place at the multicultural table: The development of an American Hinduism. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Lee, E. (2003). At America’s gates: Chinese immigration during the exclusion era, 1882–1943. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Ludden, D. (2018). “Global Asia and postcolonial predicaments: How to historicize the Rohingya crisis,” Carol Breckenridge Memorial Lecture, New York University, April 9. Mamdani, M. (2001). When victims become killers: Colonialism, nativism, and the genocide in Rwanda. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Mamdani, M. (2012). Define and rule: Native as political identity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Meer, N. and Noorani, T. (2008). “A sociological comparison of anti-Semitism and anti-Muslim sentiment,” The Sociological Review, 56(2), pp. 195–219. Mudde, C. (2012). The relationship between immigration and nativism in Europe and North America. Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Mudde, C. and Kaltwasser, C.R. (2017). Populism: A very short introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mueller, J.W. (2016). What is populism? Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Ndlovu-Gatsheni, S.J. (2009). “Africa for Africans or Africa for ‘natives’ only: ‘New nationalism’ and nativism in Zimbabwe and South Africa,” Africa Spectrum, 44(1), pp. 61–78. Neocosmos, M. (2006). From “foreign natives” to “native foreigners”: Explaining xenophobia in post-Apartheid South Africa. Dakar, Senegal: Council for the Development of Social Science Research in Africa (CODESRIA). Ngai, M. (2004). Impossible subjects: Illegal aliens and the making of modern America. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Nossiter, A. (2017). “Marine Le Pen leads far-right fight to make France ‘more French’,” The New York Times, April 20. Available at: www.nytimes.com/2017/04/20/world/europe/france-election-marinele-pen.html [Accessed 9 Feb. 2018]. Omi, M. and Winant, H. (1994). Racial Formation in the United States: From the 1960s to 1990s. Second edition. New York: Routledge. 223

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19 Gender and migration Uneven integration Stephanie J. Nawyn

Introduction It has been a common refrain that there was inadequate integration of gender analysis in the field of migration. But now a GoogleScholar search on just the phrase “gender and migration” produces over 2,000 citations since 2016 (while “migration and gender” add over 1,000 more). It is undoubtedly a large literature, but the question remains as to how well gender analysis and theory is shaping the theories of migration studies. Since at least 2006 when the International Migration Review special issue on gender was published, there have been numerous explanations offered for why gender remains balkanized in migration scholarship, frequently present in certain subfields of migration studies yet nearly absent in others. In my 2010 Sociology Compass article (Nawyn 2010b), I described those subfields and posited my own explanations as to why gender and migration scholarship continued to be segregated. In this chapter I revisit my assessment of those subfields and explore the more recent explanations of how gender has and has not been integrated into migration studies. Nearly ten years after I wrote about this topic in Sociology Compass, I argue that there is better but still incomplete integration of gender analyses in the study of migration, and that while the amount of research has increased it has not shaped migration theory in proportion to its volume. Among all the explanations offered as to why, the most likely is that this work is performed overwhelmingly by women scholars.

The evolution of gender analysis in migration studies The beginnings of gender analysis in migration research emerged in the late 1970s, concurrent with other feminist scholarship. It started with a conception of gender as an individual-level, static category, which scholars referred to as the “add women and stir” approach (HondagneuSotelo 2000; Indra 1999; Kofman et al. 2000). While limited analytically and theoretically it was an improvement over studies that paid no attention to gender differences or studied only men and generalized those findings to all migrants. As the field evolved into the mid- and late-1980s, scholars shifted their analysis from studying women to studying gender as a system of relations which was influenced by migration. This shift is illustrated in the 1984 special issue of International Migration Review (IMR), particularly 225

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Morokvaśic’s (1984) theoretical frame that integrates gender inequality, particularly within households, to pre- and post-migration experiences. In the early 2000s Hondagneu-Sotelo (2003: 9) posited a new stage of “gender as a constitutive element of immigration” which examines how “gender permeates a variety of practices, identities, and institutions implicated in immigration.” The focus in this stage is explicitly on gender, not just women, making room for the exploration of masculinities and men’s gendered experiences. This stage also marks a greater engagement with gender as a practice and ideological structure that shapes power relations in families and communities. The 2006 IMR special issue “Gender and Migration Revisited” is a concise exemplar of that, in which Donato et al. (2006) provide a framework for the field up to that point. As scholars have paid more attention to emigrants and transnational movements of migrants, and not just to immigrants (see Mahler 1999; Mahler and Pessar 2001; Pessar and Mahler 2003), we might say that we have entered the stage of gender and migration. But the areas in which gender and migration research have been most impactful in the field have not changed much since the 2006 IMR special issue. These main areas are in studies of labor migration and economic integration, in families and migration, in migrant social networks, in borderlands and increasingly in citizenship and rights. I describe these four areas in turn.

Studies of gender and labor migration Early in its development, the literature on gender and migration focused on labor migration. Gender and migration scholars found that the theories explaining men’s economic migration did not apply to women’s migration (Gabaccia 1994; Harzig 2001; Kana’iaupuni 2000). Feminist scholars critiqued Neo-classical economic and Marxist political economic theories of migration for ignoring the gendered power relations in which migrants are embedded. Even the theory of the new economics of migration, which puts an analytic focus on households rather than individuals as economic units, treats households as homogeneous groups with a shared moral economy, ignoring conflict and power struggles within households about migration choices and how family resources are allocated to take part in and benefit from migration. Research that attends to how gender relations within families and households shape migration experiences (Anthias 2000; Fapohunda 1988; Folbre 1988; Grasmuck and Pessar 1991; Hondagneu-Sotelo 1992, 1994; Kofman et al. 2000; Truong 1996) uses what I and my colleagues (Nawyn et al. 2009) refer to as a critical household lens. This lens treats migrant households not as homogeneous units but as heterogeneous and sometimes strife-ridden collections of relations in which members hold different levels of decision-making power. Gender and migration scholarship has uncovered a variety of gendered patterns of economic push and pull dynamics that lead to different migration experiences for women migrants compared to men. A number of industries have shifted to hiring large proportions of immigrant women (Safa 1981; Tienda et al. 1984), yet those women still face many disadvantages in their access to social networks (Livingston 2006; Menjivar 1999, 2000) that shape their costs and benefits of migrating. And employment opportunities in both the receiving and sending countries affect immigrant women’s employment patterns (Donato 1992; Heering et al. 2004; Read 2004). Some of these dynamics are captured through examining historical and demographic trends, as Donato and Gabaccia (2015) have done. Two main threads that I identified in my earlier work (Nawyn 2010b) are the findings on employer preferences for immigrant women workers and the effects of increased labor market participation on women’s power within their families. Employers have demonstrated preferences for immigrant women in domestic carework (Hondagneu-Sotelo 2001; Lan 2003; Rodriguez 226

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1999, 2005), light manufacturing (Espiritu 1997), and service industries (Tyner 2003), as immigrant women workers are a more exploitable source of labor compared to immigrant men or native-born women. Conversely, the preferences for single immigrant men (either unmarried or without their spouses or children present) in agricultural jobs led to specific state policies designed to recruit migrant men from the Philippines (Teodoro 1981) and Mexico (Galarza 1964). Hussein and Christensen (2017) examined the experiences of migrant men performing carework, showing how men negotiate others’ perceptions of their engagement in feminized occupations. Hussein and Christensen position these negotiations within an historical context of migrant men losing social status while gaining economic power as a result of migration. Gendered labor market patterns produce different earnings outcomes and modes of economic integration of immigrants. In our work, my colleagues and I have found that earnings not only differ by gender but by the intersections of gender, race, and nativity. These intersections produce some advantages for certain immigrant women (Nawyn and Gjokaj 2014; Nawyn and Park 2019) but overall immigrant women continue to earn less than men within their same racial/ethnic group, despite having higher levels of education (Park, Nawyn, and Benetsky 2015).

Gender relations in migrant families and social networks Among the most significant contributions (in terms of impact and volume) made by gender and migration scholars has been in the study of migrant households, family relations, and social networks. The decision to migrate and the opportunities that facilitate migration are often nested in household gender relations. Increasing economic opportunities for women migrants has contributed to a feminization of migration (Castles and Miller 1993), with women seeking employment opportunities in domestic work (Hondagneu-Sotelo 2001; Mattingly 1999; Parreñas 2001; Romero 2002), healthcare (Donato and Tyree 1986; George 2005; Kingma 2007; Tyner 2003), and sex work (Kempadoo et  al. 2015; Lutz 1997; Morokvaśic 1993). Migrants also choose to move for non-economic reasons that are shaped by gender, such as fleeing violence from a partner (Adams 2002; Gamburd 2000; Hart 1997; Minter 2002; Phizacklea 2003) or from widespread systematic violence, such as that which creates major refugee flows (Boyd 1999; Hyndman 1998; Indra 1987, 1999; Mahmud 1996; Sackellares 2005). Once a particular migration flow is started, that flow is sustained through social networks. Social networks provide a structure through which potential migrants gain resources that lower the costs of migration, lower the risks associated with migrating, and make incorporation into the host society easier (Boyd 1989; Curran and Rivero-Fuentes 2003; Curran et al. 2005; Gold 2005; Kana’iaupuni et  al. 2005; Massey and Espana 1987; Massey et  al. 1993; Winters et  al. 2001). Normative gendered expectations shape the kinds of social networks to which men and women have access, such as the expectations that women maintain close family ties and avoid the perception of illicit sexual relationships, which limits their networks with non-kin men (Curran and Saguy 2001; Grasmuck and Pessar 1991; Menjivar 1995, 2000). Women are also more likely to be connected to mostly female networks, and men to mostly male networks; if these networks have different levels of resources to offer, the men and women connected to those networks will have more or less resources at their disposal (Curran and Rivero-Fuentes 2003; Curran et al. 2005). Recent work in this area incorporates complex analyses of how gendered social networks are shaped by transnationalism (Dobrowolsky and Tastsoglou 2015) and how networks in turn shape other gendered processes, such as reproductive labor (Bojarczuk and Mühlau 2018). Because of gender-specific labor demands, what often occurs is one partner (often the husband) migrates without his or her spouse or children, what scholars refer to as family stage migration (Hondagneu-Sotelo 1992; Toro-Morn 1995). When families are separated through 227

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migration, women and men often adopt new cultural practices that upend their previous familial status and responsibilities. Husbands must learn how to cook and clean, and wives develop more autonomy during their husbands’ absence (George 2005; Hondagneu-Sotelo 1994). Cultural norms regarding gendered practices are challenged, although several scholars have found those norms to be surprisingly durable despite the structural difficulties families face in maintaining them (Dreby 2006; Kibria 1993, 1994). Some immigrant women might need to leave children behind in their home countries to seek employment opportunities in other countries. Practicing “transnational motherhood” (Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997) puts strains on mothers’ relationships with their children, as long distances challenge the expectations put upon mothers by themselves, their communities, and their own children (Dreby 2009; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila 1997; Menjivar and Abrego 2009; Parreñas 2000, 2005). This scholarship highlights the pains and conflict that come with cross-border kin relations (Dreby 2010; Boehm 2012), although its insights are not integrated well into transnational theory more broadly. Gender and migration research has also explored gender among immigrant children, both the first (foreign-born) and second (native-born with foreign-born parents) generations. Studies of second-generation Caribbean children indicate that girls experience more success in school than boys in part because they are motivated to succeed and avoid the hard life their mothers lead (Lopez 2003). American-born children of immigrant parents often bristle under the weight of their parents’ cultural expectations (which frequently run contrary to American cultural norms), and daughters bear a much greater responsibility than sons to uphold cultural norms (Espiritu 2001, 2009). However, migration presents a new set of cultural norms that can be used to negotiate with normative values of sexuality from the sending country, belying the idea that “traditional” culture is somehow stagnant and immutable (Gonzales-Lopez 2005). Examining the parent–child relations of children who have stayed in their home country while their parents migrated to find work, scholars revealed the conflicts and resentment toward their parents that the children left behind feel (Dreby 2006; Parreñas 2005), as well as the challenges that children face when parents are deported (Dreby 2015). Even this work intersects with labor migration research, as immigrant children also contribute to productive labor within the family (Estrada and Hondagneu-Sotelo 2011). Institutions in both sending and receiving countries also shape the gender relations of migrant families. Policies and laws regarding immigration define what constitutes a family, systematically excluding kin ties outside of heterosexual, nuclear families from reunification opportunities (Luibhéid 2005; Manalansan 2006). Government or other entities may persecute women because of their affiliation with male family members, or as a way to indirectly punish male family members who are the primary targets of persecution (Crawley 2001).

Citizenship, transnationalism and borders The gender and transnational⁄globalization literature has also generated new ideas about migrants’ access to citizenship. I am not referring here to legal citizenship narrowly, but rather I am using the term broadly to encompass “rights (political, civil, social) or membership (affiliation, belonging, exclusion) . . . [or] relationships among citizens, between citizens and governments, and between levels of governments” (Jackson 2009: 439). Ong’s (1999) work in this area has shown how the state’s interest in a particular family configuration (i.e. whatever configuration is determined to be in the best interests of the nation-state) creates connections between what she calls “the moral economy of the family with the moral economy of the state” (p. 152). Therefore, women’s access to citizenship in the state is constrained by their rights within that family configuration. Benhabib’s and Resnik’s (2009) edited volume on gender and citizenship mobilizes 228

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the analytic lenses of human rights and feminism to interrogate new patterns of control in state sovereignty, transnational legal regimes, and global patriarchies. The gender and transnationalism literature places emphasis on women migrants’ autonomy from men and as autonomous actors who, while disadvantaged by oppressive social structures, can also resist against those structures. Tastsoglou’s and Dobrowolsky’s edited volume Women, Migration and Citizenship uses a feminist lens to examine a wide variety of migrant women’s experiences that touch upon familiar themes of women migrants as workers, in family relations, and as survivors of violence. Violence is a frequent theme in this literature, examining the experiences of women refugees and asylum seekers (Abdi 2016; Kelly 1993; Nolin 2017) and migrant exclusion itself as a form of gendered violence (Anitha et al. 2018). The work on gender and citizenship also tends to be highly intersectional, as Nira YuvalDavis’ (2011) work exemplifies. In this work Yuval-Davis uncovers how national belonging is defined through normative gender, race, and class structures, subsequently excluding women with less privilege (and affirming the belonging of women with more privilege). Yuval-Davis’ more recent work (Wemyss et al. 2017) focuses heavily on what she calls “bordering,” or the construction and maintenance of borders around belonging and exclusion, that is reminiscent of the gender and borderlands literature that Pierrette Hondagneu-Sotelo (2013) describes in the first edition of this handbook.

Gender and dynamism in migration scholarship It is a common complaint among gender scholars that gender continues to be ignored in migration research broadly, with some hypothesizing as to why. But I argue that the work of feminist migration scholars has, in fact, been embraced in particular areas of migration studies, most notably in studies on immigrant families, economic migration and labor markets, social networks, and increasingly in studies of citizenship. In my Sociology Compass article (Nawyn 2010b) I cited Cantú’s (2001) argument that non-feminist migration scholars have viewed economics as a macro-level structure that has greater explanatory power than individual-level characteristics, gender being one of those. Cantú asserted that gender has largely been understood as a categorical variable in migration research, and the complexity and dynamism of gender not fully understood in research that inserts a measure of sex category into models. Moch (2005) makes a related critique of migration research, arguing that it is the failure of migration scholars to think about gender as a dynamic and critical concept that prohibits the broader field of migration studies from incorporating feminist migration research. What feminist migration scholars have made clear is that gender is more than an individuallevel binary category ascribed at birth. Instead it is system of power relations that permeates every aspect of the migration experience. One cannot understand the opportunities or barriers to migration, nor the economic upward mobility of some and the downward mobility of others, nor the desire to settle or return, without understanding how migrants are embedded in a gendered system of relations, with one another and with macro-structures such as global labor markets or states. What would such an integration of feminist conceptions of gender in migration scholarship look like? Analytically, this would require migration research to focus on gender and not women, per Hondagneu-Sotelo’s and Cranford’s (2006) and Moch’s (2005) recommendations. Methodologically, it would necessitate greater integration of the survey data that is often used to produce androcentric explanations of migration with the feminist qualitative data that has uncovered the bias of such research. Ideally this work would be intersectional, integrating the diversity of gendered experiences across race, class, sexuality, or other 229

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important axes of power. Donato, Enriquez, and Llewellyn (2017) assert that this is challenging, but it is not impossible as I think my colleagues and I have shown (Nawyn and Gjokaj 2014; Park, Nawyn, and Benetsky 2015; Nawyn and Park 2019). And such work makes important contributions not just to the gender and migration literature but also to migration theory broadly. Theories that ignore gender end up being poor explanations for migration dynamics that involve gendered beings. Perhaps the most intractable pattern that Donato and colleagues note is that genderintegrated migration scholarship is performed almost entirely by women. This might be the primary barrier to better integration, as so much migration theory is produced by men and men are infrequently engaging with gender theoretically or analytically. It is unreasonable to expect every migration scholar to also be an expert in gender, but there needs to be some awareness of gender theories by all migration scholars in the same way that most migration scholars have some awareness of the basics of race theories. This work would not need to be at the forefront of feminist theorizing; rather, it could take the basic concepts of feminist theory and apply it to different migration fields, upending androcentric analyses and theories. Pushing the conception of gender as a structure and system of relations, rather than a binary category that serves as a control variable in models or a selection category in ethnographic research, would be a good start.

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20 Sexualities and international migration Eithne Luibhéid

Introduction The ways that sexuality shapes and is reshaped by international migration has long been implicitly acknowledged, including by scholarship on marriage migration and on the linkages among late nineteenth-century industrialization, immigration, and the sex industry. Nonetheless, the major social science disciplines have generally addressed sexuality and international migration as separate areas. In recent decades, however, scholars have increasingly situated sexuality and international migration in critical conversation. In the process, they have drawn on and transformed key theories, methodologies, and research practices within and across the disciplines. Historically, migration scholarship—including immigration, emigration, diaspora, and transnationalism research—has ignored, marginalized, or trivialized sexuality, or else subsumed it under rubrics like gender, deviance, or morality (Manalansan 2006). In recent decades, however, scholars have begun to insist that sexuality must be analyzed as a distinct axis that structures all migration processes (Luibhéid 2002). Although groundbreaking scholarship often focused on gay migrant experiences, scholars’ purpose was never to simply “add” lesbians, gay men, or other figures to existing migration histories, theories, and methods. Instead, they have shown that sexuality structures all migration experiences, and migration theories, methodologies and epistemologies must be reformulated accordingly.

Sexuality: neither “natural” nor private but an axis of power Such scholarship has been enabled by the recognition that sexuality is neither a “natural” drive nor a private matter; instead, sexuality is invariably expressed and experienced through social, economic, and cultural mediation, and comprises a locus of power that is continually struggled over. Thus, states, corporations, and powerful groups intervene in and deploy sexuality for varied aims, including through immigration policies, practices, and ideologies. Individuals also deploy sexuality to construct flexible migration, legalization, and citizenship opportunities. Sexuality and migration scholarship, therefore, centers the role of states, employers, families, communities, and individuals in strategically mobilizing sexualities to organize, govern, and contest migration processes at multiple levels and in relation to changing social, political, and economic agendas and hierarchies. 235

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Scholars caution that sexuality categories and concepts are burdened by histories and legacies “that must be interrogated, do not map neatly across time and space, and become transformed through circulation within unevenly situated local, regional, national, and transnational circuits” (Luibhéid 2008: 170). Thus, although this essay uses terms such as lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, heterosexual, and sex worker to discuss migration histories, experiences, and struggles, the categories should nonetheless be understood as contingent, provisional, incommensurate with categories in other locations and histories, and always requiring critical interrogation. Through exploring the interrelationship between sexuality and migration, scholars have expanded on and challenged the robust research on gender and migration, and insisted that sexuality must be analyzed as not equivalent to (though deeply intertwined with) gender. As Eve Sedgwick explains, it is important to distinguish sexuality from gender because gender concepts frequently uphold heteronormative models of sexuality (1990: 31). These models valorize sexuality that is channeled into childbearing within patriarchal marriage, especially among members of the dominant racial/ethnic and class group, while naturalizing stigma, discrimination, incarceration, and early death directed toward those who do not or cannot conform. Heteronormativity is evident in migration scholarship that conflates sexuality with gender, which in turn is often equated with women, which means that only women “have” sexuality/ gender and gender or sexuality are normed as heterosexual. Moreover, these logics are refracted through and reproduce racial, cultural, and class distinctions. Critical attention to heterosexism therefore shifts the analytic lens away from sexual identities conflated with gender categories that are raced, classed, and colonialist, and understood as essential, stable, and relatively unchanging. Instead, scholars theorize the production of sexual subjectivities and the creation of distinctions between normative and non-normative sexualities that are rooted in histories of colonialism, capitalism, racial slavery, patriarchy and the emergence of the modern nation-state system. Immigration processes and nation-state immigration control apparatuses are centrally implicated in these dynamics, especially since nation-states are often popularly imagined and materially governed through logics of “family” that are (hetero)sexist, racist, colonialist, and bourgeois.

Challenging models of sexual assimilation and acculturation Recent scholarship about sexuality and migration importantly builds from queer of color, feminist of color, ethnic studies, post- and decolonial, and public health scholarship, showing that sexuality upholds relations of power that are not only gendered and sexualized, but also materially constituted through racial, class, religious, and geopolitical hierarchies. This insight has enabled scholars to challenge Eurocentric paradigms of assimilation, acculturation, or normative development that have often guided research about migrant sexualities. For example, migration is frequently conceived within spatial and temporal binaries as a movement from “tradition” to “modernity.” Thus, gay men, lesbians, and heterosexual women who migrate from the global south to the global north or from poorer to wealthier nation-states are typically viewed as moving from “repression” to “liberation.” Sexuality in migrants’ countries of origin is conceived as “backward,” unidimensional, unchanging, and inherently different from sexuality in countries of destination. Migration is therefore expected to transform migrants into sexually “modern” or “liberated” people through exposure to destination nation-states’ cultural norms. Lionel Cantú describes that this framework “others” migrants; constructs them as backward; erases their internal difference; and ignores the ways that globalization has reconfigured 236

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sexualities within migrants’ own countries (2009: 76–80). Moreover, given the complex, historically long-standing, and frequently unequal ties between nation-states as a result of colonialism, capitalism, warfare, and asymmetrical cultural exchange, migrants often arrive not to begin a process of assimilation, but rather, to continue their engagement with economic, social, cultural, and political systems that have already profoundly affected their lives (Manalansan 2003). Some gay- or lesbian-identified migrants, rather than finding “liberation” in “destination” countries, instead enhance their status among family members and friends in their countries of origin as a result of migration; others, like the heterosexually identified men and women that Gloria González-Lopez (2005) studied, face new sexual constraints, limitations, and dangers such as lack of access to reproductive health care and sexual harassment or abuse including in workplaces. As they confront issues such as racism, (hetero)sexism, economic marginalization, language barriers, and undocumented status, migrants commonly experience restructured asymmetries rather than “liberation.” “Exposure to dominant cultural norms” is therefore deeply inadequate for understanding how and why migrants reconstruct their sexual understandings, practices, and ideologies. Instead, the negotiation of intersecting structural barriers and possibilities, combined with migrants’ own agency, offers a more useful conceptual framework. For instance, according to Manalansan, queer Filipino migrants in the United States, who remain caught between the racism of mainstream gay and lesbian communities and the homophobia of migrant communities, create “multiple hybrid cultures and . . . spaces for community activities and new cultural ‘traditions’ that depart from both their own migrant communities and from mainstream ‘straight’ and ‘gay and lesbian’ cultures” (2006: 236). Ongoing ties between migrants and family or community members who live scattered along transnational circuits that span international borders further ensure that sexuality transformations circulate multi-directionally (Decena 2011). Short-term travel and tourism also transforms sexualities in multi-directional ways (Frohlick, Dragojlovic and Piscitelli 2016). Overall, scholars have significantly challenged simplified notions of “migration as liberation,” and in the process, complicated and recast time/space binaries (e.g. Boehm 2012). Eurocentric and unidirectional models of how sexual cultures become transformed and diffused through transnationalizing and globalizing processes have been similarly rethought.

Discourses of migrant sexualities: subjective, ideological, and material effects Migrants may nonetheless narrate their own experiences in terms of sexual “liberation” or “modernity/modernization.” Such discourses perform important subjective, ideological, and material work. For example, Jennifer Hirsh (2003) discovered that heterosexual Mexican migrants in the United States may claim “modern bodies, modern loves, and modern sex” in order to challenge racist and colonialist stereotypes; reposition themselves spatially and temporally relative to family, friends, and co-workers left behind and those in the United States; and as a strategy of mobility, self-protection, and ongoing negotiation of (bi or trans)national identities (Hirsh 2003: 280, 255). Alternatively, Yen Espiritu showed that some migrants challenge racism and (neo)colonialism by constructing mainstream cultures and dominant racial/ ethnic/class groups as sexually immoral (2003). In these circumstances, migrant women (and daughters) are compelled to uphold strict sexual standards as a means to signal the worthiness of the entire migrant community and the retention of its (often invented or reconstructed) cultural heritage, in contrast to the “immorality” of the mainstream. Failure to uphold community sexual standards becomes viewed as cultural or racial betrayal, enacted in gendered terms. Yet, challenging racism and xenophobia through policing sexuality in these gendered ways reinforces 237

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patriarchy, heterosexism, and moral discourses that marginalize many within migrant communities. Overall, migrants’ varied approaches to understanding how migration alters sexuality are deeply intertwined with mainstream narratives that demonize migrants through claims about their supposedly aberrant sexualities, “excessive fertility,” potential threat to the nation’s cultural and biological heritage through sexuality, and transmission of sexual disease and disorder—and migrants’ hopes, dreams, and imaginaries. Discourses about migrants’ sexualities also allow states to (re)position themselves within the global order and in relation to national communities. This is particularly evident in cases involving migrants seeking asylum based either on persecution because of their sexualities, or based on persecution that took sexual form (which are different, though sometimes inter-related, issues). In theory, asylum is available to migrants who can prove persecution, or well-founded fear of persecution, on account of their race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a particular social group. Recognition that sexual identity may provide a basis for asylum was slow to arrive. Many nation-states insisted on treating lesbians and gay men (and transgender and HIV positive people) as “deviants” rather than as members of a “particular social group” who may be eligible for asylum if they have been persecuted on that basis. After laws changed, admission primarily occurred when migrants were able to present themselves as totally victimized; in conformity with dominant cultural stereotypes (including stereotypes of gay, lesbian, or trans identities, and of migrants’ countries of origin); and as unlikely to lead to a “flood” of other applicants should they succeed. Asylum seekers from “friendly” countries were unlikely to secure recognition, no matter how strong their claims were. Kristen Walker characterizes asylum as a “violent gift” (cited in Miller 2005: 144), since it requires applicants to paint their countries of origin in thoroughly negative terms, while ignoring the ways that geopolitically powerful nation-states are implicated in these conditions. Moreover, asylum seekers’ narratives are frequently recuperated to advance racist, colonialist claims about countries of origin, and to allow destination countries to assert their superiority, while ignoring that lesbians, gay men, women, people of color, poor people, transgender people, and sex workers, both migrant and citizen, frequently suffer violence and discrimination in destination countries, too. In these ways, asylum cases involving sexuality provide opportunities for nation-states to engage in what Miller describes as transnational looking and judging that has important ideological and material effects, and to (re)position themselves within the global order and in relation to national publics while usually doing little to address actual migrants’ needs (Miller 2005: 143). Despite global northern rhetoric about being “flooded,” the vast majority of the world’s displaced and asylum-seeking peoples remain located in the global south. Sima Shakhsari suggests that these asylum and refugee processes naturalize the redistribution of precarity and death on terms that reinscribe multiple inequalities (2014). Discourses and practices associated with HIV transmission have also provided grounds for “transnational looking and judging” that have significant ideological and material effects where migrants are concerned. As Meredith Raimundo (2003) describes, the production of knowledge about HIV/AIDS has frequently reinforced neocolonial geographies, relationships, and imaginaries; marked out certain migrants as legitimate targets for the discriminatory application of immigration rules and workplace practices, while at the same time failing to ensure conditions for health and care; and perpetuated normative images of “innocent” heterosexual victims (often white, middle class, and sometimes children) in opposition to those who “deserved” to become ill. At the same time, short- and long-term migration has become a strategy through which some HIV+ migrants access medications and treatment, and build communities. NGOs have become important actors in these dynamics, since asylum has become a primary mechanism through which discourses of sexuality circulate at different scales and remake complex hierarchies. These changing and contradictory discourses concern not just gay men, 238

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lesbians, and transgender people but also issues such as female genital cutting, forced abortion and sterilization, HIV, and rape, all matters in which NGOs play significant advocacy roles. Citizens also play important roles including by contributing to hegemonic discourses throughout the European Union suggesting that white gay men and lesbians and Muslim women are being victimized by migrant Muslim men and cultures. As Jennifer Petzen (2012) describes, these claims circulate racist and colonialist models of sexuality and gender that redraw the boundaries of Europeanness, construct Muslims as Others, erase feminist and LGBTQ Muslims, support exclusionary immigration laws, and extend white supremacy and neocolonialism in the name of “saving” (white) LGBT people and women. In sum, narratives about migrant sexualities, whether produced by migrants, mainstreams, nation-states, NGOs or anyone else, cannot be treated as transparent reflections of empirical “facts,” but instead, as conditioned by (and further conditioning) available ideological and material relations.

Why migration? Intertwining sexual and economic factors Another important area of scholarship concerns whether sexuality not only structures (and becomes restructured by), but also directly impels, migration. Manuel Guzmán (1997) coined the term “sexile” to describe those who feel forced to migrate because of sexual alterity. Scholarship often conceived sexile as being entirely separate from (and less important than) economic considerations. Thus, sexual “minorities” who felt forced to migrate were effectively inscribed as bourgeois subjects who were defined entirely by sexuality. However, recent scholarship challenges the separation of sexuality from political economy, and instead demonstrates that sexual and economic factors intertwine to impel and shape migration processes and experiences. For instance, Lionel Cantú interviewed Mexican migrant men who had sex with men (not all of whom identified as gay, bisexual, or a similar category). He found that economic considerations interconnected with sexuality in complex ways to shape informants’ desires, decisions, and actual possibilities for migrating. Scholarship on sex work, sex tourism, and marriage migration also reveals multiple and multi-directional interconnections among sexuality and political economy that shape migration experiences. This scholarship also shows the challenges of effectively analyzing these connections without one becoming subsumed to another.

Emerging areas of research Sexual norms, migrant legal statuses, children’s citizenship Unauthorized status is conventionally portrayed as reflecting migrants’ undesirable characters, yet scholars have shown that unauthorized status derives from and extends relations of power that are grounded in histories of colonialism, global capitalism, patriarchy, and racism. Today, as neoliberal economic globalization processes have mobilized growing numbers of migrants, nation-states are developing increasingly restrictive criteria for migrant admission, and expanding the grounds on which migrants become designated as unauthorized, and as criminalizable, detainable, and deportable even after legal admission. Some scholars have begun to explore how sexual norms fit into these dynamics. Research on marriage migration and migrant sex work has often been at the forefront of these discussions. Many nation-states admit migrants based on male-female marriages, while at the same time refusing to admit same-gender couples. This contrast illustrates how sexual norms may shape access (or not) to legal admission. However, historically, nation-states have 239

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recognized only certain male-female marriages as grounds for admission and, in recent years, have been expanding financial, cultural, and other requirements for even those migrants. These changes make clear that states reproduce gender, sexual, racial, economic, cultural, and (neo) colonial logics through managing marriage migration. Discourses about the importance of differentiating “genuine” from “sham” marriages have become an important framework for managing marriage migration. “Sham marriage,” which refers to a range of concerns, stems from a distinction between love and money that has been codified into immigration law including through separate tracks for family and labor migration (D’Aoust 2014). Although family and labor, love and money, and sex and money thoroughly overlap in real life, states’ insistence on maintaining such distinctions have fueled efforts to weed out “sham” migrant marriages that are seen as promoting crime, terrorism, and the exploitation of women. These efforts draw on and remake racial, gendered, and (neo) colonial scripts. Despite multiple barriers, some migrants do resort to marriage as the best available option for legally migrating, without that meaning they are criminals, terrorists, exploiters, or exploited. Rich scholarship explores marriage migration from the point of view of migrants’ own desires and plans, as these interact with the concerns and governance strategies of states and citizenries (e.g. Freeman 2011; Friedman 2015). Concern about the line between “genuine” and “sham” marriage intersects with anxieties about migrant sex work, which is widely criminalized. Anyone with a record of selling sex is likely to be denied legal admission, or deported after admission. Yet, scholars suggest that the designation of sex work as an activity that renders migrants inadmissible or deportable does little to address the conditions that brought them into the sex industry in the first place (on terms ranging from consent to coercion); and often fuels anti-trafficking campaigns and exclusionary legislation that primarily strengthen the hand of the state and serve the interests of capital (Kempadoo 2005). The multiple concerns about migrant sex work and migrant marriage intersect with major debates about the commodification of love, sexuality, and intimacy (Constable 2009). Given the ties between sexuality and legal status, scholars have explored how migrants, usually women, remain tied to spouses who are abusive, sexually and otherwise, in order to retain legal status. Others have shown that sexual violence is frequently perpetrated with impunity on undocumented people of every gender and age. This includes rape, sexual assault, sexual coercion, and forced prostitution while migrants are in transit, crossing borders, in workplaces, and in detention. Analysis of the connections among state sexual regimes, migrants’ sexed bodies, legal statuses, and violence extends to children born to migrant parents. In the Gulf States, migrant women workers who become pregnant—including when they have been raped by employers or in cases of romance—are liable to imprisonment and deportation. Many are forced to leave behind the children to whom they gave birth; those children often become stateless (Mahdavi 2014). Their situation reveals how patriarchal models of sexuality that underpin citizenship laws overlap with immigration laws to dispossess migrants and their children. Many other nation-states have repealed or restricted birthright citizenship laws in ways that target migrants and their children. The Dominican Republic has gone further, reclassifying undocumented migrants as “in transit,” even when they have lived there for a lifetime, and making their children unentitled to Dominican citizenship. The provision has been applied retroactively, stripping generations of Haitian-descended Dominicans of their citizenship status and the practical rights citizenship carries. In these ways, patriarchal sexual regimes that underwrite citizenship laws intersect with immigration laws to render migrants and their children exploitable and without rights for multiple generations. 240

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Incorporating migrants through norms of sexuality, intimacy, and affect Another important area of emerging scholarship explores how migrants are not just excluded but also differentially included and governed by states, employers, citizens, and others on the basis of sexuality. Differential incorporation and governance occurs along a spectrum. At one end are modes of incorporation that render migrants maximally vulnerable and exploitable, with minimal recourse to rights or protections, as occurs for many migrants engaged in sex work. At the other end of the spectrum are modes of incorporation that seek to ensure that migrants become good, entrepreneurial, responsible subjects of neoliberalism. The privileging of heterosexual marriage as a basis for admission among those who meet financial requirements—whereby migrants are not only admitted on the basis of marital heterosexual ties, but also contractually mandated to turn to these relationships rather than the state for material support, and to remain in the relationships for a duration sufficient to establish “genuine love” in the eyes of state officials—demonstrates how heteronormativity produces modes of incorporation that serve neoliberalism. The exploration of differential migrant incorporation through sexual regimes contributes to the “affective turn” in migration studies. For instance, the editors of Love and Globalization argue for a “political economy of love” framework that links “macro-level political-economic transformations” with subjective experiences of love, sexuality, and intimacy (Padilla et al. 2007: xii). Historically, norms of love, sexuality, and intimacy have been central to capitalist transformations, dynamics of individualization, and practices of consumption. They also remain “fundamentally linked to social and economic inequalities” at different scales (Padilla et al. 2007: xii). The differential incorporation of migrants certainly works through their affective, sexual and intimate ties (Mai and King 2009). States’ investment in promoting particular kinds of ties is shown not only by the privileging of heterosexual marriage as a basis for legal admission, but also by the fact that some nation-states now admit same-sex couples—yet usually on the condition that they demonstrate that their intimate and sexual bonds remain private (rather than political) and tied to domesticity and consumption in ways that mirror the heterosexual norm. Thus, alternative formations of affect, sexuality, intimacy, and obligation, which are evident in queer and non-dominant communities, remain ignored, invalidated, or actively disallowed under state regimes for migrant admission and continued residence. Moreover, the denial of legal admission to low-income heterosexual spouses, as well as to families that do not match dominant cultural norms/expectations, further shows how affect, intimacy, and sexuality are deployed to produce class-specific, racial, and patriarchal modes of migrant incorporation and subject formation. Recent changes in immigration law, which have significantly expanded the grounds on which migrants may be criminalized and deported after entry, while reducing migrants’ ability to present state-recognized family ties as mitigating factors, indicate the importance of the prison-industrial complex and the expanding carceral archipelago in mediating migrants’ incorporation and governance, too. Yet, migrants’ lives are never reducible to regimes or purviews of states, citizenries, or employers. Furthermore, migrants are aware of state regimes of desired affect, intimacy, and sexuality and strategize accordingly. For example, Denise Brennan (2004) has shown how some poor women from the Dominican Republic sell sex and romance to tourists, hoping that a tourist will sponsor their migration as a fiancée or wife. Marriage rather than sex work therefore emerges as the women’s “last ditch effort” at economic survival in a context where powerful nation-states grant legal admission to poor women for purposes of marriage, but not for seeking work (Brennan 2004: 213). At the other end of the economic spectrum, Aihwa Ong (1999) argues that well-to-do families strategically deploy familial regimes in ways that intersect with economic opportunities and nation-state migration regimes, in order to forge new possibilities for their members in a context of globalization. Under varied conditions, gay, transgender, and 241

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queer migrants also renegotiate affective ties and financial obligations toward families of birth across borders, while also forming “complex fictive family networks of friends and lovers” (Manalansan 2006: 236). Moreover, vigorous public opposition to “illegalization,” detention, and deportation—which in the United States is often spearheaded by undocumented youth who identify as queer and by children of demonized migrant mothers—has transformed the political subjectivities, organizing strategies, and affective and intimate ties of everyone involved (Chávez 2013). Research also explores how the internet and social media have become critical in shaping how migrants are viewed, governed, and incorporated or not—and how migrants, including women seeking asylum as lesbians, deploy social media to transform citizenries’ views and their prospects for legal status (Lewis 2013). Activisms and scholarship highlight that borders, immigration controls, and detention cages are not confined to territorial land borders but instead, are increasingly everywhere, linked at different scales, and tied to carceral and citizenship regimes that deeply affect everyone—including through affect, sexuality, and intimacy (Franz 2015; Loyd, Mitchelson and Burridge 2012).

Transgender migration Another important emerging area of scholarship concerns what we may describe as “transgender” migration. “Transgender” (or trans) has varied meanings and histories, but here I use it as a provisional umbrella term to designate people who, in various ways, do not conform to gender norms. Within migration scholarship, transgender migrants are often placed into one binary gender category or another, but these often arbitrary classifications overlook the theoretical and political benefits of remaining open to gender systems that are not binary or stable. Openness admittedly presents challenges. For example, contemporary European and North American models of “sexual object choice” (whereby the gender of one’s sexual partner supposedly defines one’s own gender and sexual identity) do not map neatly onto gender/sexual systems in other locations (e.g. many Latin American nations). Illustrating these complexities, Vogel (2009) describes that Venezuelan trans sex workers in Europe viewed themselves as having been born male homosexuals (maricos), and conceived homosexuality as the basis for their desire to accomplish a sexy, hyper-feminine appearance—including through breast augmentation but not surgical removal of their genitals. Yet, they did not want to be women, and “were not very much interested in how an average woman would be” (p. 373). Vogel expresses reservations about conceiving these migrants as transgender, instead preferring the term “transformista” or “travesti”. Her thoughtful explication of the histories, complexities, and limits of the terminologies through which these migrants’ lives may be apprehended illustrates why analysis of transgender migration promises to enrich scholarship on sexuality and migration—including by pushing us to better understand the intricate, varied ways that sexuality and gender co-construct one another. Emerging research suggests the importance of theorizing transgender migration across transnational fields, and in relation to multiple trajectories, imaginaries, hierarchies, and changing possibilities. Research also suggests the intertwining of economic, gender, and sexual factors in shaping transgender migration. For example, migration offers opportunities to both earn money and try out new gender practices; indeed, migrant earnings provide the means to purchase forms of sexualized gender enhancement such as breasts, and these enhancements in turn may improve migrants’ earning possibilities. Clare Sears (2008) concludes that transgendering practices and discourses shape, and become reshaped by, migration; have multiple genealogies; involve experiences of pleasure and dispossession; and have multiple, disparate, and contradictory effects that require careful specification (including reinforcing and undoing gender norms as they intersect with racial, class, and geopolitical hierarchies). Toby Beauchamp (2009) explores how the surveillance of 242

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gender at airports and borders not only impacts on self-identified transgender migrants, but also on many other groups who are deemed “gender inappropriate” based on race, class, and other factors. Thus, I began this review by describing the importance of separating sexuality from gender as a heteronormative category. However, the return of gender—by way of trans migrants whose lives and practices open up gender—allows us to ask new, nuanced questions about the ways gender and sexuality inscribe, articulate, co-produce, and transvalue one another. This sharpens sexuality and migration (and gender and migration) analyses, including by alerting us to questions of normalization and unequal power, and the interplay of race, class, culture, and geopolitics.

Juggling contradictory mandates The developing scholarship on sexuality and international migration reflects and further contributes to significant social and academic transformations. In the United States, social transformations include the expansion and diversification of global migration; restructured racial, ethnic, and religious landscapes; the impact of decolonial, civil rights, feminist, gay, and transgender rights movements; the AIDS pandemic; the emergence of sexuality as an arena of sharp contestation in political life; the so-called War on Terror that has significantly reshaped the policing of immigration; the globalization of sexual politics and institutions including those addressing human rights; and the restructured prison-industrial complex with its dense linkages to immigration control. Academically, sexuality research became institutionalized in universities in the late 1980s, initially under the rubric of Lesbian and Gay Studies, and subsequently as Queer Studies in some instances. Major social science disciplines continued to significantly contribute to sexuality research. Feminist and queer of color scholarship made clear how hierarchies of race, class, gender, and geopolitics are enforced through sexual regulation. In the 1990s, sexuality scholarship underwent “transgender” and “transnational” turns. The stunning expansion of migration scholarship, including under the rubrics of transnationalism, globalization, and diaspora studies; the institutionalization of Ethnic Studies programs; rich scholarship on postcolonialism, decolonialism, and settler colonialism; the “affective turn” in many disciplines; and the emergence of clinics and law programs that particularly address gender and sexuality, has also significantly enabled the research. The research on sexuality and migration continues to juggle complex and contradictory mandates (Luibhéid 2008). This includes recovering and honoring histories that have been rendered invisible and unintelligible within both sexuality and migration scholarship, in a manner that challenges dominant structures of power and knowledge that erased those histories in the first place yet without producing new erasures and closures. Many scholars have also paid close attention to the social categories through which systems and individuals understand and experience their lives, while refusing to reify the categories. Instead, they have analyzed how social categories circulate (or do not); who takes up the categories, in what ways, and for what kinds of work; and what histories get enabled or erased in the process. While remaining focused on grounded experiences, social struggles, and a vision of social transformation, scholars have also insisted that research on sexuality and migration involves questions that extend beyond identity-based politics, theories, and modes of representation. Some have explored queer migration and queer diaspora as methodologies and epistemologies rather than as subjects or objects of analysis (e.g. De Genova 2010). Scholars have also sought to juggle concerns about multiple, rather than singular, axes of power, directionality, scale, and inequality. Finally and perhaps most importantly, scholars have struggled to ensure that their research contributes to social change, rather than being recuperated to serve state and capital’s exclusionary agenda and legitimize their violence. These are significant challenges, yet research about the interconnections among sexuality and migration is flourishing within disciplines, across disciplines, and as a horizon of possibility for exciting new modes of intellectual and political engagement. 243

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References Beauchamp, Toby. 2009. “Artful Concealment and Strategic Visibility: Transgender Bodies and US State Surveillance After 9/11.” Surveillance and Society 6(4): 356–366. Boehm, Deborah. 2012. Intimate Migrations. Gender, Family and Illegality Among Transnational Mexicans. New York: New York University Press. Brennan, Denise. 2004. What’s Love Got to do With it? Transnational Desires and Sex Tourism in the Dominican Republic. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Cantú, Lionel. 2009. The Sexuality of Migration. Nancy Naples & Salvador Vidal-Ortiz, eds. New York: New York University Press. Chávez, Karma. 2013. Queer Migration Politics: Activist Rhetoric and Coalitional Possibilities. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Constable, Nicole. 2009. “The Commodification of Intimacy: Marriage, Sex, and Reproductive Labor.” Annual Review of Anthropology 38: 49–64. D’Aoust, Anne-Marie. 2014. “Love as a Project of (Im)Mobility.” Global Society: Journal of Interdisciplinary International Relations 28(3): 317–335. De Genova, Nicholas. 2010. “The Queer Politics of Migration. Reflections on ‘Illegality’ and Incorrigibility.” Studies in Social Justice 4(2): 101–126 Decena, Carlos. 2011. Tacit Subjects: Belonging and Same-Sex Desire among Dominican Immigrant Men. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Espiritu, Yen Le. 2003. Homebound: Filipino American Lives across Cultures, Communities, and Countries. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Franz, Margaret. 2015. “Will to Love, Will to Fear: The Emotional Politics of Illegality and Citizenship in the Campaign against Birthright Citizenship.” Social Identities 21(2): 184–198. Freeman, Caren. 2011. Making and Faking Kinship: Marriage and Labor Migration between China and South Korea. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Friedman, Sara. 2015. Exceptional States: Taiwanese Immigrants and Chinese Sovereignty. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Frohlick, Susan, Ana Dragojlovic, and Adriana Piscitelli. 2016. “Introduction: Foreign Travel, Transnational Sex, and Transformation of Heterosexualities.” Gender, Place, and Culture. A Journal of Feminist Geography 23: 235–242. González-Lopez, Gloria. 2005. Erotic Journeys: Mexican Immigrants and their Sex Lives. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Guzmán, Manuel. 1997. “‘Pa’ La Escuelita con Mucho Cuida’o y por la Orillita’: A Journey through the Contested Terrains of the Nation and Sexual Orientation.” In Frances Negrón-Muntaner and Ramón Grosfoguel eds., Puerto Rican Jam: Rethinking Colonialism and Nationalism. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, pp. 208–229. Hirsh, Jennifer. 2003. A Courtship after Marriage: Sexuality and Love in Mexican Transnational Families. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kempadoo, Kemala, ed. 2005. Trafficking and Prostitution Reconsidered: New Perspectives on Migration, Sex Work, and Human Rights. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Press. Lewis, Rachel. 2013. “Deportable Subjects: Lesbians and Political Asylum.” Feminist Formations 25(2): 174–194. Loyd, Jenna, Matt Mitchelson and Andrew Burridge, eds. 2012. Beyond Walls and Cages: Prisons, Borders and the Global Crisis. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Luibhéid, Eithne. 2002. Entry Denied: Controlling Sexuality at the Border. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. ——. 2008. “Queer/Migration: An Unruly Body of Scholarship.” GLQ special issue on “Queer/ Migration” 14(2–3): 169–190. Mahdavi, Pardis. 2014. “Love, Motherhood and Migration: Regulating Migrant Women’s Sexualities in the Persian Gulf.” Anthropology of the Middle East 9(2): 19–37. Mai, Nicola and Russell King. 2009. “Introduction. Love, Sexuality, and Migration: Mapping the Issues.” Mobilities 4(3): 295–307. Manalansan, Martin F. IV. 2003. Global Divas: Filipino Gay Men in the Diaspora. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. ——. 2006. “Queer Intersections: Sexuality and Gender in Migration Studies,” International Migration Review 40(1) (Spring): 224–249. 244

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Miller, Alice. 2005. “Gay Enough? Some Tensions in Seeking the Grant of Asylum and Protecting Global Sexual Diversity.” In Brad Epps, Keja Valens, and Bill Johnson González, eds., Passing Lines: Sexuality and Immigration. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, pp. 137–187. Ong, Aihwa. 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logic of Transnationality. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Padilla, Mark, Jennifer Hirsch, Miguel Muñoz-Laboy, Robert Sember, and Richard Parker, eds. 2007. Love and Globalization: Transformations of Intimacy in the Contemporary World. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Petzen, Jennifer. 2012. “Contesting Europe: A Call for Anti-Modern Sexual Politics.” European Journal of Women’s Studies 19(1): 97–114. Raimundo, Meredith. 2003. “‘Corralling the Virus’: Migratory Sexualities and the ‘Spread of AIDS’ in the US Media.” Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 21: 389–407. Sears, Clare. 2008. “All That Glitters: Trans-ing California’s Gold Rush Migrations.” GLQ 14(2–3): 383–402. Sedgwick, Eve. 1990. Epistemology of the Closet. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Shakhsari, Sima. 2014. “The Queer Time of Death: Temporality, Geopolitics, and Refugee Rights.” Sexualities 17(8): 998–1015. Vogel, Katrin. 2009. “The Mother, the Daughter, and the Cow: Venezuelan Transformistas’ Migration to Europe.” Mobilities 4(3): 367–387.

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21 Migrants and indigeneity Nationalism, nativism and the politics of place Nandita Sharma

Introduction Over the last decade, at least two discourses concerning the relationship between people variously constituted as either “migrants” or as “indigenous” have intensified (and in some places emerged anew).1 One presents this relationship as one of potential and fruitful solidarity. It is argued that many people constituted as either indigenous or as migrants have shared experience of practices of expropriation and exploitation under processes of colonial (and, now, postcolonial) rule. Moreover, in those nation-states where both are subordinated political categories, hostility toward migrants and the indigenous is understood as part of an interlocking set of ideological practices that maintain contemporary hierarchies. In this vein, solidarity between these two biopolitical groupings is not only desirable, it is necessary to end practices of domination. The other, increasingly dominant, discourse sees the relationship between migrants and the indigenous as one of colonialism. That is, migrants and their movements into places identified as indigenous are seen as a part of the process of colonialism. In this discourse migrants are colonizers. From this perspective, decolonization becomes the assertion of indigenous sovereignty over place and, importantly, over migrants. These amount to quite different understandings of both colonialism and of migration. Thus, they present starkly different strategies for achieving decolonization. The belief that migrants and the indigenous share experiences of colonialism is one that situates migration as one of the outcomes of people’s experience of colonization. Such a view also sees processes of colonialism as not fully contained within any particular place but as traversing and effecting a broad and deep network of connected sites. Colonialism is recognized as a process occurring across space and as drawing people into a shared field of power. The anti-colonial project, from this perspective, is a global one, one that focuses on ending the practices that lead to peoples’ dispossession, displacement and subsequent exploitation instead of locating decolonization within particular bodies or territories. Seeing migration as an act of colonialism, on the other hand, relies on the assumption of a strong, essential relationship between particular groups of people and particular lands. This is what I call a territorialized understanding of colonization and imperialism. Land, a key means of production and basis of life and therefore culture, becomes territorialized when a state claims sovereign control over it and when its sovereignty is seen as largely legitimate. Relatedly, 246

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a territory becomes nationalized when an idea of limited membership or “belonging” on it comes into dominance. Together, the processes of territorialization and nationalization racialize (or ethnicize) ideas of political membership so that some people are seen as a “people of a place” while others are portrayed as a “people out of place.” Within such a world view, colonialism comes to be seen as a set of isolated and unrelated events of separate and disconnected people. It further sees decolonization as bringing about the rule of the “natives.” This is the nationalist anti-colonial project. In this chapter, I argue that by bringing the experiences of those constituted as migrants and the indigenous together into one analytic field, we can better see that the problem of colonialism is not fundamentally the problem of the imposition of “foreign” rule over “natives.” Instead, if we understand colonialism as not inherently about “foreign” rule but, rather, as a process of expropriation and exploitation full stop, not only does our understanding of colonialism change, so too does our understanding of migration. Such a change requires an ontological shift regarding who we think we are and how we imagine our connections to one another. The theories developed under the rubric of postcolonialism, especially those incorporating the insights of the scholarship on transnationalism, are useful in this regard, for they allow us to see the historical as well as contemporary connectivity people have with each other. The connections that people have forged across the places claimed and remade by colonial empires have been done in a conscious effort to not be separated so as to avoid being ruled over. In making these connections, other crossings have had to be made: people have had to connect across and, even more importantly, against spatial imaginaries of “race” or “nation.” These connections have existed, and continue to exist, at economic, political and social levels as well as affective ones. Postcolonial theories are further useful in historicizing the territorialization and nationalization of the places in which both migrants and indigenous people live, indeed, in the very constitution of people into these supposedly separate, distinct and, for some, antagonistic, groups. I begin this chapter with a discussion of the arguments made by those advancing an autochthonous discourse wherein all places are presented as being “native” to certain identifiable people and where those constituted as the indigenous are said to have inherent rights of sovereignty over and against those imagined as “non-native.” It is through such autochthonous discourses that the argument that all migrants are colonizers is asserted. I maintain that these arguments can best be understood as part of the historical development of colonialism and, in our postcolonial present, represent an expansion of (neo)racist praxis. I conclude by offering an alternative to autochthonous discourses, one rooted in a deep opposition to nationalisms. Instead of having a territorialized understanding of colonialism – and decolonization – I argue for viewing the commons as the object of colonial possession and the commoners as the subjects of colonial rule and as the agents of decolonization. In this, the political and intellectual project for decolonization is the gaining of our commons and our effective assertion of common rights. A focus on the commons and commoners allows us to more fully address the contemporary relationships of capitalism as well as offering us a route away from the quagmire of territorial and imaginative states that constitute and separate people into two main biopolitical groups – natives and migrants – so as to reproduce class and state power.

Autochthony Since the late 1980s, representations of “belonging” have increasingly relied on autochthonous discourses and their negative counterpart, discourses of alien-ness or foreign-ness. As Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff (2001: 128) argue, by “elevating to a first-principle the ineffable 247

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interests and connections, at once material and moral, that flow from ‘native’ rootedness, and special rights, in a place of birth,” autochthonous discourses place those constituted as “natives” at the top of a hierarchy of the exploited, oppressed and colonized and insist on the centrality of the claims of natives. Within the negative duality of natives and non-natives that such discourses put into play, origins (and in some contexts, claims to original human settlement) become the key determinant of who belongs – and therefore has rights – within any given place today. The quintessential other within autochthonous discourses is the figure of the migrant and, indeed, within such discourses, migrants are simply figures. Since the hegemonic understanding of what it means to be a migrant in today’s postcolonial world assumes movement away from one’s native land, migrants come to stand as the ultimate non-native. Increasingly irrelevant within autochthonous discourses are the circumstances that lead to people’s migration so that all migrants can be represented as colonizers by virtue of their non-native presence on native land. Patrick Wolfe (2008) asserts this when he says: [T]he fundamental social divide is not the color line. It is not ethnicity, minority status, or even class. The primary line is the one distinguishing Natives from settlers—that is, from everyone else. Only the Native is not a settler. Only the Native is truly local. Only the Native will free the Native. One is either native or not. Such arguments obviously separate and create a hierarchy between those constituted as either native or migrants. In doing so, they ironically work to shift the focus away from colonialism, where the historical dynamic is one of expropriation and exploitation and the key relationship one between expropriators and the expropriated, to one where the dichotomy between native and non-native becomes central to both analysis and politics. This is a territorialized perspective of land and belonging in which being “native” is both spatially and temporally dependent. While migrants may also be identified as natives in some given place, once they have moved away from “their” place, they become not natives or migrants in the place(s) they move to. Thus, migrants may retain their claims to indigeneity but only to the places where they no longer live. Thus, some argue that migrants can continue to claim native rights to places they have moved from if they can claim to be descendant from those claiming indigenous status (see Kauanui, 2008: 637). Autochthonous claims, thus, require much more than birth in any given place. They require a lineage traceable to the claimed first inhabitants. Consequently, not only do dominant understandings of “real” belonging become racialized and ethnicized, so does the very territory itself. This process becomes even more important with the advent of nationalist ideologies with their pretense of “national homelands.” We can see this in Candace Fujikane’s (2005: 77) argument about the inherent “foreign-ness” of “Asians” in the United States. She asserts that: Indigenous people are differentiated from settlers by their genealogical, familial relationship with specific land bases that are ancestors to them. One is either indigenous to a particular land base or one is not. Asian Americans are undeniably settlers in the United States because we cannot claim any genealogy to the land we occupy, no matter how many lifetimes Asian settlers work on the land, or how many Asian immigrants have been killed through racist persecution and hate crimes, or how brutal the political or colonial regimes that occasioned Asians’ exodus from their homelands. Indeed, claims of autochthony should be seen as central to the making of nationalist arguments, rather than as claims referring to an ancient practice of belonging. It is within nationalist 248

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movements that indigeneity becomes a key claims-making device to be deployed by those who can say that they are the “race” that belongs to a place. In the mode of representation of indigeneity there exists an elision between native as a colonial state category of subjugation and indigenous as a subjectivity of resistance. This is because while the more contemporary subjectivity of indigeneity emerged in the post-WWII era, it first emerged out of the practices of imperial states when all colonized people were referred to as “the natives.” From the mid-nineteenth century on, imperial states began to make distinctions not only between colonials and natives but also between “natives” who were of the colony and “natives” who they said had migrated to these places. Today, indigeneity brings together very diverse people across the world, under a single, shared subjective understanding of being indigenous (Niezen, 2003). Thus, while indigeneity is certainly a form of subjectivity that has come into being in the devastating aftermath of 1492, it is, however, also a form of subjectivity that interpellates people into ruling relations by casting them as the true holders of state “sovereignty” over territory. Indeed, autochthonous modes of belonging are particularly salient in national forms of state rule, for they reshape the racialized/ethnicized basis upon which political rights and rights to property, especially property in land and natural resources, are to be apportioned within any claimed national territory. In this, they fundamentally shape how we come to view the practice of human migration and those who are cast as migrants. Today, a rhetoric of autochthony is evident throughout the world and across the Left-Right political spectrum, including in diverse sites in Europe, Southern Africa, Central Africa, Asia, Latin America, North America and in the Pacific. It is expressed and experienced more or less intensely in these various places but in all of its manifestations, the conflict is one between native and migrant. Indeed, although ostensibly about stasis, autochthonous discourses are mobilized through constant reference to migration. As such it is crucial for migration scholars to understand it especially since autochthonous discourses have come to inform, among other things: violent anti-immigrant politics throughout Europe; the expulsion of “Asian migrants” from East Africa (e.g. in Kenya in the 1960s and Uganda in the 1970s); military coups d’etat in Fiji from the 1980s, genocidal practices by indigenous Hutus against migrant Tutsis in Rwanda; xenophobic attacks on migrants in South Africa; and in an increasingly popular rhetoric that asserts that there is no distinction between processes of migration and processes of colonization in the US, New Zealand, Australia and Canada so that the descendants of African slaves or Asian “coolie” labor, as well as today’s migrants, are all cast as “colonizers” (and which is the focus of this chapter). The position that all migrants are “settler colonists” has been advanced in a number of recent scholarly works in Canada and the U.S. In a special issue of the journal Amerasia entitled, “Whose Vision? Asian Settler Colonialism in Hawaii” edited by Candace Fujikane and Jon Okamura (2000; also see Fujikane and Okamura, 2008), the essayists claim that “Asians” in Hawai‘i (by which they primarily mean the descendants of indentured plantation workers who began arriving from Asia in the mid-1800s) are “settler colonists.” As such, it is argued, they are active participants in the colonization of “native Hawaiians.” In particular, the contributors focus on the anti-racism politics of “Asians” in Hawai‘i in which demands for an end to White, American hegemony are articulated. Such demands, they assert, serve to “mask Native struggles against Asian settler colonialism” and further the process by which indigenous Hawaiians remain colonized. Anti-racist demands, they argue, invariably fall within “civil rights” which serves to legitimize the power of the U.S. (Fujikane, 2000: xvii). In such an argument, any engagement with the U.S. by “Asians” (and presumably others who are not indigenous) is seen as support for colonization. However, engagement with the state does not carry the same connotations of collaboration with the enemy when done by indigenous people. This is because their engagements, Fujikane and Okamura contend, are just an essential part of “nation-to-nation” negotiation. 249

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In a 2005 journal article in Social Justice, Bonita Lawrence and Enakshi Dua make a similar set of arguments in regards to Canada. They contend that: People of color are settlers. Broad differences exist between those brought as slaves, currently working as migrant laborers, are refugees without legal documentation, or émigrés who have obtained citizenship. Yet people of color live on land that is appropriated and contested, where Aboriginal peoples are denied nationhood and access to their own lands. (2005: 134) They analyze the politics of anti-racism to make a clear distinction between natives and people of color. They claim that anti-racist praxis has historically excluded aboriginal (or indigenous) peoples’ perspectives. The result, they claim, is twofold: aboriginal people “cannot see themselves in antiracism contexts and Aboriginal activism against settler domination takes place without people of color as allies.” For this reason, they assert anti-racist praxis has actually “contribute[d] to the active colonization of Aboriginal peoples” (2005: 122–23, emphasis added). Indeed, they contend that “antiracism is premised on an ongoing colonial project” (2005: 123, emphasis added). Their examples of the ways in which anti-racist praxis is a colonial practice include postcolonial critiques of national liberation and social constructivist critiques troubling the “naturalness” of “communities” and “nations” (such as Stuart Hall’s (1993) critique of “ethnic absolutism.” But, see Valaskakis (2005) for an aboriginal scholar using Hall to theorize indigenous identities). Lawrence and Dua maintain that such analyses colonize indigenous people by “contribut[ing] to the ongoing delegitimization of Indigenous nationhood” (2005: 128). Critiques of nationalisms, thus, are portrayed as attacks against indigenous people and their contemporary efforts for sovereignty. Thus, they argue, “people of color” should refrain from offering such critiques and recognize instead that they are “settlers” and, as such, “part of the ongoing project of colonization” (Lawrence and Dua, 2005: 122, emphasis added). Similarly, Cynthia Franklin and Laura Lyons (2004: 17) argue that social historical accounts of the connections forged by people across the lines of “race” or “nation” within the space of the “Revolutionary Atlantic” are also part of a broad, anti-indigenous stance (see Peter Linebaugh and Marcus Rediker, 2000). They further contend that arguments employing theories of diaspora and hybridity which work to minimize the significance of national identity, are, in and of themselves, colonizing gestures (Franklin and Lyons, 2004: 51). It is important to note that autochthonous discourses, such as those found in these three texts, argue for the theoretical centrality of “nativeness” as part of the political discourse and practice of native nationalisms. Such a view is also evident in a special issue of Amerasia, in which native Hawaiian struggles against colonialism are exclusively framed as a nationalist struggle in the tradition of Third World national liberation movements. Haunani Kay Trask conceives them to be “but the latest stage in the revolutionary era that advanced the freedom of African, Latin American, and Asian peoples” (Trask as quoted by Leong, 2000: vi). Likewise, Lawrence and Dua state that indigenous people in Canada must “regenerate nationhood” to realize decolonization for “[a]t the heart of Indigenous peoples’ realities . . . is nationhood” (2005: 124). Such a strong focus on nationalism helps to explain not only why all migrants are conceptualized as colonizers, but also why the critics of nationalisms, those who reject ideas of “race” or “ethnic” purity or those who uncover acts of solidarity across or even against such lines are conceptualized as colonizers as well. It also helps to explain the hostility against those constituted as migrants. Migrants, after all, are the antithesis of the national subject. As in other nationalist movements with their always-limited sense of belonging to the “nation,” autochthonous arguments for indigenous nationalisms require a unified, homogeneous 250

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nation set against its Others. In the Amerasia issue, as well as in Franklin and Lyon’s essay, the nation’s Others are constituted primarily as “Asian settler colonists,” including non-Hawaiian Pacific Islanders (see Kosasa, cited in Fujikane, 2000: xvi–xvii). In Lawrence and Dua’s essay, they consist primarily of all migrants but especially “people of color” fighting racism. However, along with promoting a nationalist agenda, such arguments also advance a statist one. Both Trask (2000: 13–14) and Lawrence and Dua (2005: 124) cite Article 1 of the United Nations Charter as a central basis for the difference between indigenous and anti-racist struggles and hence between natives and migrants. By conferring legitimacy to the UN Charter and its recognition of the right of self-determination for “peoples” alone, those classified as migrants are made secondary to native-nationals. Racialized minorities, in the nationalist logics of the UN model of “self-determinacy” are relegated to being “mere” minorities of various “nations” and their existing (or hoped-for) national sovereign states. Those people who are not seen as A People are cast as not-colonized and, therefore, as incapable of acting as agents of anti-colonial (or other libratory) projects. As a result, not only are bodies and lands racialized, but the nationalization and racialization/ethnicization of the politics of decolonization are secured as well. Only natives are the subjects of the “nation” and, as such, they are the only legitimate agents enacting its self-determination. All those constituted as migrants are framed as colonizers or, once the “sovereignty” of any “native nation” is granted, as its racial/ethnic minorities. Not only is their racialization left unquestioned, so is the broader field of racism that both natives and migrants (be they Whites or people of color) operate in. All this proffers great legitimacy to the national state project. Such a project, of course, is founded on the “right” of “nations” to exclusively determine their membership, a right granted to national state officials through the same United Nations Charter cited as a basis of legitimacy for native nationalisms. This right of national sovereignty allows for both the state’s regulation and restriction of people’s movement in and across nationally defined territories as well as the differential allocation of hierarchically organized statuses within the nationalized polity. Such a nationalist and statist logics is celebrated. Trask (2000: 13), in her Amerasia article, “Settlers of Color and ‘Immigrant’ Hegemony: ‘Locals’ in Hawai‘i,” advances an explicitly statist, even neo-liberal, vision of a decolonized Hawaiian “nation.” She states: Once Hawaiians reclaim these lands, public and private relationships between Natives and non-Natives will be altered. For example, settlers will have to pay taxes or user fees to swim at Native-owned beaches, enjoy recreation at Native-owned parks, drive on Nativeowned roads, fly out of Native-owned airports, educate their children at public schools on Native-owned lands, and on, and on. Above all, non-Natives will have to live alongside a Native political system that has statutory authority to exclude, tax, or otherwise regulate the presence of non-Natives on Native lands. The potential shift here frightens non-Natives because it signals the political and economic ascendance of Natives. At the least, Native power means no more free access by non-Natives to Native resources. Such statements do a kind of political work. By accepting the logics of the national state system and its powers to exclude (or “differently include”) people – this time based on the hard distinction between native and non-native – migrants are politically silenced by being labeled colonizers. In a postcolonial world in which imperial states have been thoroughly delegitimized and national self-determination is celebrated, being a colonizer is a special kind of epithet meant to discredit those said to be “foreign” to the “nation.” Within autochthonous discourses, those constituted as migrant “minorities” in their “nations” are condemned in order to depoliticize or naturalize a nationalist response. In this sense, indigenous nationalisms 251

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and the autochthonous discourses they advance can be seen as a form of border politics. As with all border politics, the intent is to construct a negative duality between national subjects and foreign objects. Such border politics rely on the denunciation of migrants portrayed as transgressors of “national” space as well as theoretical developments in historical and cultural studies that critically deconstruct the supposed natural-ness of “nations.”

Neo-racism and the conflation between migration and colonialism Autochthonous discourses positioning migrants as colonizers of indigenous “nations” renders the entire process of human migration as a serious problem. At the same time, it positions natives as spatially static, as not having moved away from “their” lands (or at least not since they arrived in the distant past) (see Hansen and Stepputat, 2005). Within such a perspective, the only way to not be a “colonizer” is to not move, something that many people have been unable or unwilling to do in the past and something that a growing number of people find impossible or undesirable to do today. The failure to recognize that migration was an oft-used strategy to escape the effects of colonization – subjugation, destitution, and death – and continues to be a major strategy to gain new lives and livelihoods by people across the identifications of native and non-native – is also a failure to recognize the significance of territorializing one’s access to the stuff of life. In this regard, it is worthwhile noting the historical relationship between border controls regulating people’s mobility and the early period of expropriation in Europe. The original Poor Laws in England were designed to both control the mobility of peasants fleeing their now-expropriated commons as well as to use the power of the sovereign/state to coerce those criminalized as “vagabonds” into working (Papadopoulos et al., 2008). Indeed, capturing and containing a potential workforce by compelling them to not move, was a key element in making nascent capitalist ventures within England possible. Criminalizing people’s mobility and denying needed resources/services to those deemed to be “illegally” residing in a place, was an important part of how the modern proletariat was formed. In the early period of capitalist social relations, people’s free mobility was defined as a major problem by and for those who needed a sedentary workforce. Thus, as Papadopoulos et al. (2008: 55) note, “It is no coincidence that the word mobility refers not only to movement but also to the common people, the working classes, the mob.” It was these mob(ile) people and their attempts to flee expropriation and exploitation that posed one of the greatest threats to the success of capitalism. Restrictions on mobility also worked to territorialize people’s relationship to place. One’s wage rates, access to employment, to rights, etc. were all bound to one’s recognized legal residence in particular spaces. Thus, through attempts at rendering people immobile, “[b]odies become territorialized; people become subjects of a specific territory, of a sovereign power” (Papadopoulos et  al., 2008: 48). Coerced immobility acted to discipline the unruliness of the expropriated in order to make them productive workers whose labor power could be exploited. It is in part for this reason that early passports were designed to control people’s exits from, not their entrance into, the territories controlled by various states and the ruling groups they represented (Torpey, 2002). As capitalism expanded in Europe and in the European trade networks that were increasingly becoming capitalized, securing a needed workforce came to increasingly depend upon moving people to potential sites of production within (and, less often, across) imperial territories. Such movements came to be seen as a means by which the state could dispel the rebelling mob while also ensuring the possibility of successful capitalist ventures abroad. The processes 252

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of containment, immobilization and territorialization on the one hand, and displacement and dispersal on the other, came to be inextricably bound to one another through the territorialization of rights and belonging. The denial of both rights and life’s resources for those constituted as migrants is intensifying today. There has been a growing securitization of states’ policies on cross-border movement. Indeed, it seems that as capitalist social relations have expanded, the demonization of mobile people has taken on even greater urgency and generated increasingly heated controversies. However, now it is not only those promoting capitalist social relations but those who say they are resisting them who demonize migration. As with all nationalist strategies, indigenous nationalisms depend on the existence of a “foreign” Other in the “nation” to give meaning to the limited character of its membership. The obvious “foreigner” in the historic “White settler colonies” is that group identified as “European” or “White” and, indeed, they were the primary focus of earlier periods of indigenous nationalisms. However, today, indigenous nationalisms have seen it necessary to problematize the co-existence of non-White migrants in these societies as well. The definition of “colonizer” has been greatly expanded to include these people. Such a re-presentation, in part, is what continues to breathe life into the native nation. Far from being a contradiction or a mere reaction, such moves toward autochthony are deeply embedded within the processes of both capitalist globalization, particularly in its current neo-liberal phase, and of ongoing nation-state building projects. Problematizing the presence of those who do not “belong,” along with calls for people to stay fixed in “their” space, have gained legitimacy precisely as capital, commodities, ideas and people have become increasingly mobile and as there have been reductions in the material benefits of national citizenship resulting from neo-liberal policies of liberalization, privatization and de-regulation (see Balibar, 1991b; Mamdani, 1998; Mallon 2005: 285). The ideological terrain of neo-liberalism is very much racialized. It is a racism that can best be characterized as one where “differences” between cultures and traditions are seen as insurmountable. This differs from previous hegemonies of racist ideologies for it does not rely on a biological concept of “race” or even a racialized vertical hierarchy per se. Instead, this form of racism mobilizes a horizontal difference that contends that “different” people should be in “their own” places (which, not coincidentally, often coincide with the boundaries of the existing or aspired-for nation-states). This form of racism has been called a “differentialist racism” (Taguieff, 1990) or, simply, “neo-racism” (Balibar, 1991a). While Robert Miles (1993) points out that these racisms might not be so new, it is certainly true that today’s racist practices are “largely based on the argument that it is futile, even dangerous, to allow cultures to mix or insist that they do so” (Hardt and Negri, 2001: 192). This stems from its basic assumption that racialized (or ethnicized) boundaries are “natural borders” (see Mamdani, 1998). The centering of “culture” or “ethnicity” within neo-racist discourses ensures the continuation of the devotion to genealogy (and, therefore, to anti-miscegenation) held by the “old” racisms. Such a devotion has its material moorings: origin stories within the neo-racist imagination lay the basis for making historical claims to contested lands by ethnicizing group rights which are said to be held solely by those native to a place (Mamdani, 1998). Such notions work to make native identity a “possessive identity,” since it is this identity that is often the only avenue within the existing nation-state system to make group claims to resources (Lipsitz, 1995). In this regard, it is often seen as an important strategy for the poor and dispossessed who do not have access to other, more market-based means by which to gain land. Processes of neo-liberalism have exacerbated this process as access to needed resources has become even more diminished by the further entrenchment of market relations. 253

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The ideology of neo-liberalism directs antagonism away from one in which the poor are against the rich and, in its stead, divides the poor (and sometimes the rich) into antagonistic groups of natives and migrants (Mamdani, 2001: 202). With such a “naturalization of xenophobia,” as Comaroff and Comaroff put it (2001: 140), it is, therefore, entirely unsurprising that the demonization of contemporary as well as past migrations constitutes a central characteristic of the autochthonous character of neo-racist thought. As Étienne Balibar (1991b: 52) points out, within this neo-racist sensibility, migrants come to stand in for the subordinated “race.” That such a flexible Othering is related to the neo-liberalization of state practices is evident in the ideological character of the criteria of belonging – and not-belonging. That is, the neo-racist fetishization of autochthony should by no means be confused with an actual spatial separation of “different people.” Border-talk, and the state policies and ideas of “community” mobilized through it, while responsible for the increased precariousness of many people’s global migrations, is largely aimed at creating categorical juridical distinctions between “different” people who live and work within the same nation-state (Sharma, 2006). Thus, while the distinction between native and non-native appears to be spatially organized (i.e. as in demands for fixed and impermeable territorial borders that coincide with racialized boundaries), autochthonous discourses are primarily concerned with making distinctions between people within shared spaces. In an act of high irony, such neo-racializations are often formulated as a kind of anti-racist response that “centralizes indigeneity” (as Lawrence and Dua (2005) call for) by demanding “a place” for “each people.” It is in this way that the historical articulation of racism and nationalism is mobilized through autochthonous discourses (Balibar, 1991b: 50). Neo-racist arguments of this kind, therefore, ought to be seen as linked to both new or old nation-building projects as well as to neo-liberal practices, since both are reliant on forms of “differential inclusion” (Deleuze and Guattari, 1987). It is for this reason that, within discourses of autochthony, it is paramount for the concerns of natives and migrants not be seen as commensurate. For instance, Franklin and Lyons (2004: 10) argue that attempts to recognize the correspondence between people’s dispossession across the world works to threaten the claims of a specifically native dispossession. In a sense, this is true, for recognizing the deep connections between various experiences of colonization does indeed challenge any nationalist narrative of singularity.

Against nationalism While those constituted as migrants or “foreigners” provide nationalists with an Other whose presence can be used as a spur for nationalist activity, their presence has also posed the greatest challenge to nationalist narratives. Nora Rathzel (1994: 91) notes that migrants are threatening precisely because they: “make our taken-for-granted identities visible as specific identities and deprive them of their assumed naturalness.” In this, the mobility of those racialized/ethnicized as being “different” from the native-national subject “becomes a basic form of disorder and chaos – constantly defined as transgression and trespass” (Cresswell, 1996: 87). A comment by a Cambodian woman refugee in Paris captures this well: “we are a disturbance . . . Because we show you in a terrible way how fragile the world we live in is” (in Morley, 2000: 152). People who cross national borders thus reveal the global character of ruling social relations – and the systems of governance and identification that sustain it. Modern migrations and the displacements wrought by the relations organized through global capitalism and the equally globalized system of nation-states are integrally related experiences. Just as people’s migrations from one space to another have been part of their experience of colonialism (think of the forced movement of enslaved people from Africa or the Trail of Tears in the US), people’s migrations 254

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also arise from their attempts to escape from colonialism. Migration is an oft-used survival strategy utilized by people across all divides of “race,” “ethnicity,” and “nation.” Over the last several hundred years, it is a strategy that both those constituted today as natives and as non-natives have, and continue to, engage in. Refusing to recognize this and to incorporate those constituted as migrants into movements for decolonization is therefore an historical failure. It is a failure to understand how the growing number of expropriated and exploited people across the globe were brought together within, through and, sometimes against, capitalist colonizing projects (see Wynter, 1995). Refusing to acknowledge how migrations and migrants are often born of colonial experiences is to replace their lived realities with an ideological narrative and consciousness of nationalism that privileges disconnections, both of the past and today. Conversely, recognizing our interconnections could help us develop a politics capable of realizing a project of decolonization worthy of its name. Projects of decolonization, therefore, need, I think, to challenge capitalist social relations as well as those organized through the national state, such as sovereignty, and, crucially, have as their goal the gaining of a global commons. The commons is an organization of human activity that “vests all property in the community and organizes labor for the common benefit of all” (Linebaugh, 2007: 6). As Peter Linebaugh (2007: 45) puts it, “Commoners think first not of title deeds, but of human deeds.” The commons, moreover, is much more than a resource: it is a practice, a practice of commoning (ibid.). Key to the realization of a commons is the nurturing of relationships of mutuality with fellow commoners. Linebaugh further notes four key principles historically evident in the practice of commoning and in the rights held by commoners, rights that differ substantially from the modern, territorialized nation-state regime of land rights and “human rights.” First, common rights are “embedded in a particular ecology” reliant on local knowledge. In this sense common rights are neither abstract nor essentialist but based in practice. Second, “commoning is embedded in a labor process” and is “entered into by labor.” Third, “commoning is collective.” Fourth, commoning is “independent of the state” and the law. Within common rights there are no sovereigns. In sum, commoning is the realization of not only political rights but also social and economic rights of the commoners, a practice that resolves the capitalist separation of falsely divided spheres. Common rights have historically included the principles of: neighborhood; subsistence; travel; anti-enclosure; and reparations (Linebaugh, 2007: 45). These remain not only valuable principles for which to struggle today but viable, everyday practices engaged in by people escaping ruling relations. Contrary to a nationalist common-sense, ending the ongoing, global practice of expropriation is not possible when we deny or even try to sever our links with one another through a neo-racist politics of autochthony with its notion of “historical continuity of title.” Indeed, if we understand colonialism to be the theft of the commons, the agents of decolonization to be the commoners and decolonization as the gaining of a global commons, we are likely to have a much clearer sense of when we were colonized, who colonized us and and how to decolonize ourselves and our relationships. Understanding colonialism as taking place each time the commons is expropriated and the commoners turned into an exploitable labor force would expand our understanding of colonialism and who has been colonized. However, instead of pitting one racialized, ethnicized and nationalized group of expropriated commoners against another in the struggle for decolonization, it would re-invigorate the contemporary struggle against all “possessioners” (some of whom are part of the group defined as native) the world over. The implications for migration scholars of such a reconceptualization of colonialism and the associated reconceptualization of space, belonging and forms of national governance are significant. First, by bringing the indigenous and migrants into the same analytical field of study, 255

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we can see the work done by colonial categorical divides in the legitimization of globalizing capitalist social relations and the related territorialization of social imaginaries. Such a reconceptualization also expands the conceptual tools to understand many existing social divides and the kinds of social claims that people make to place, belonging, rights, and to the means of production (land, control over labor, etc.). By insisting on the importance of studying nationalist discourses and practices, the insights wrought by the excellent work done on racism can be extended to include the spatial dimensions of power. In particular, since nationalist practices are concerned both with issues of the “right” spatial allocation of people and with the social space accorded to various differentiated people within national states, analyzing nationalist practices allows us to deconstruct the false divide between the nationalisms of the powerful and those of the oppressed. Instead, we can see that both rely upon neo-racist practices of spatial management. Such forms of management are central to the practice of border controls today and always to the detriment of those who can be constituted as migrants.

Note 1 I place the terms indigenous and migrant in quotations marks to signal that they are social and legal constructs, first shaped by imperial- and, later, nation-state categories. As such, they should not be treated as essential characteristics of people, but, instead, be seen as socially organizing their position within a global set of ruling relations. To ease the reading process, from here on I do not continue to place them within quotes. However, the reader should understand that I am not employing them as natural categories.

References Balibar, Étienne, 1991a. “Is There a Neo-Racism?” In Race, Nation, Class: Ambiguous Identities. Étienne Balibar and Immanuel Wallerstein (eds). London: Verso, 17–28. Balibar, Étienne, 1991b. “Racism and Nationalism.” In Race, Nation, Class: Ambiguous Identities. Étienne Balibar and Immanuel Wallerstein (eds). London: Verso, 37–68. Comaroff, Jean and Comaroff, John L., 2001. “Naturing the Nation: Aliens, Apocalypse, and the Postcolonial State.” Social Identities 7(2): 233–265. Cresswell, Tim, 1996. In Place/Out of Place. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Deleuze, Gilles and Guattari, Félix, 1987. A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. B. Massumi (translation), Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Franklin, Cynthia and Lyons, Laura, 2004. “Remixing Hybridity: Globalization, Native Resistance, and Cultural Production in Hawai’i.” American Studies 45(3) (Fall): 49–80. Fujikane, Candace, 2000. “Introduction: Asian Settler Colonialism in Hawai’i.” In Whose Vision? Asian Settler Colonialism in Hawai’i. Candace Fujikane and Jonathan Y. Okamura, eds. Special Issue of Amerasia 26(2): xv–xxii. Fujikane, Candace, 2005. “Foregrounding Native Nationalisms: A Critique of Antinationalist Sentiment in Asian American Studies.” In Asian American Studies After Critical Mass. Kent A. Ona (ed.). Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, 73–97. Fujikane, Candace and Okamura, Jonathan Y. (eds.), 2000. Whose Vision? Asian Settler Colonialism in Hawai’i. Special Issue of Amerasia 26(2). Fujikane, Candace and Okamura, Jonathan Y. (eds.), 2008. Asian Settler Colonialism: From Local Governance to the Habits of Everyday Life in Hawaii. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Hall, Stuart, 1993. “What Is This ‘Black’ in Black Popular Culture?” Social Justice 20(1/2): 104–114. Hansen, Thomas Blom and Stepputat, Finn, 2005. “Introduction.” In Sovereign Bodies: Citizens, Migrants, and States in the Postcolonial World. Thomas Blom Hansen and Finn Stepputat (eds). Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1–36. Hardt, Michael and Negri, Antonio, 2001. Empire. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kauanui, Kehaulani J., 2008. “Colonial in Equality: Hawaiian Sovereignty and the Question of U.S. Civil Rights,” The South Atlantic Quarterly 107(4): 635–650. Lawrence, Bonita and Dua, Enakshi, 2005. “Decolonizing Antiracism.” Social Justice 32(4): 120–143.

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Leong, Russell, 2000. “Whose Vision? Asian Settler Colonialism in Hawai’i.” Amerasia Journal 26(2): xii–xiv. Linebaugh, Peter, 2007. The Magna Carta Manifesto: Liberties and Commons For All. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Linebaugh, Peter and Rediker, Marcus, 2000. The Many-Headed Hydra: Sailors, Slaves, Commoners, and the Hidden History of the Revolutionary Atlantic. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Lipsitz, George, 1995. “The Possessive Investment in Whiteness: Racialized Social Democracy and the ‘White’ Problem in American Studies.” American Quarterly 47(3): 369–387. Mallon, Florencia E., 2005. “Pathways to Postcolonial Nationhood: The Democratization of Difference in Contemporary Latin America.” In Postcolonial Studies and Beyond. Ania Loomba, Suvir Kaul, Matti Bunzl, Antoinette Burton, and Jed Esty (eds). Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 272–292. Mamdani, Mahmood, 1998. “Understanding the Crisis in Kivu,” Report of the Council for the Development of Social Research in Africa (CODESRIA) Mission to the Democratic Republic of Congo, September. Website: Accessed May 1, 2007. Mamdani, Mahmood, 2001. When Victims Become Killers: Colonialism, Nativism, and the Genocide in Rwanda. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Miles, Robert, 1993. Racism after “Race Relations.” London and New York: Routledge. Morley, David, 2000. Home Territories: Media, Mobility and Identity. London and New York: Routledge. Niezen, Ronald, 2003. The Origins of Indigenism: Human Rights and the Politics of Identity. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Papadopoulos, Dimitris, Stephenson, Niamh and Tsianos, Vassilis, 2008. Escape Routes: Control and Subversion in the 21st Century. London; Ann Arbor, MI: Pluto Press. Rathzel, Nora, 1994. “Harmonious Heimat and Disturbing Auslander.” In Shifting Identities and Shifting Racisms, K.K. Bhavani and A. Phoenix (eds). London: Sage, 81–98. Sharma, Nandita, 2006. Home Economics: Nationalism and the Making of “Migrant Workers” in Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Taguieff, Pierre-André, 1990. “The New Cultural Racism in France.” Telos 83: 109–122. Torpey, John, 2002. The Invention of the Passport: Surveillance, Citizenship, and the State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Trask, Haunani Kay, 2000. “Settlers of Color and ‘Immigrant’ Hegemony: ‘Locals’ in Hawai’i.” In Whose Vision? Asian Settler Colonialism in Hawai’i. Special issue of Amerasia Journal 26(2): 1–26. Valaskakis, Gail Guthrie, 2005. Indian Country: Essays on Contemporary Native Culture. Waterloo, ON: Wilfred Laurier Press. Wolfe, Patrick, 2008. Back Cover Comment. In Asian Settler Colonialism: From Local Governance to the Habits of Everyday Life in Hawai’i. Candace Fujikane and Jon Y. Okamura (eds). Honolulu: University of Hawaii’ Press. Wynter, Sylvia, 1995. “1492: A New World View.” In Race, Discourse and the Origin of the Americas: A New World View. Vera Lawrence Hyatt and Rex Nettleford (eds). Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 5–57.

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Part V

Creating and recreating community and group identity

This part addresses migrants’ creation and recreation of community and group identity. A combination of culture, host environment and communal factors leads to the transformation of group identity among immigrant populations. Immigrants create lives, communities and identities in the host society, often in a context of disadvantage and unfamiliarity with the local environment. Migrants seek to build supportive social environments and provide members with resources that they require for adapting to and functioning – politically, economically, and culturally – within the host society. Such activities are often oriented toward managing and transmitting knowledge about the group to its own members (especially youth), to the host society, and to the country of origin. Yến Lê Espiritu’s chapter “Panethnicity” describes instances where multiple migrant nationalities consciously create shared identities that facilitate the achievement of political and other goals in the host society. Such panethnic movements and organizations bring groups with seemingly distinct histories and separate identities together in cooperation around shared political and economic agendas, including protecting and advancing their collective interests. Drawing on evidence from the US and other countries, this chapter examines the ways by which individuals experience, understand, and respond to the panethnic label. Min Zhou’s chapter argues that ethnicity should not be viewed as either a structural or a cultural construct. Rather, she contends that it encompasses specific cultural values and behavioral patterns that are constantly interacting with both internal and external structural exigencies. Informed by the abundance of multidisciplinary research on international migration and ethnic communities, she aims to develop a community perspective that takes into account the interaction of individual characteristics, group-level cultural values and practices, and broader structural factors in explaining inter-group variations in immigrant mobility outcomes. The chapter sketches an analytical framework based on the conception of “ethnic capital” and illustrates it with a case study based upon analysis of research conducted on Chinese immigrant communities in New York and Los Angeles. The chapter shows how social developments at the local level, whether in Chinatowns or Chinese ethnoburbs, produce unique local social environments, in which the availability of, and access to, neighborhood-based resources are constrained by ethnicity (i.e., benefiting Chinese immigrants to the exclusion of non-Chinese residents living in the same neighborhood). This perspective offers a nuanced and precise explanation of how

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social resources are produced and reproduced in the ethnic community and why ethnicity may positively affect outcomes for some groups but have negative impacts on others. In their chapter on immigrant religion, Jacqueline Maria Hagan and Holly Straut-Eppsteiner emphasize how scholarship has discarded an earlier concern with religious adaptation to the host society, replacing it with a more holistic focus on the study of religion throughout the migration experience. This involves a concern with decision-making through the journey and settlement, as well as a consideration of the development of transnational ties. Within this chapter, Hagan and Straut-Eppsteiner attend to the place of migrants’ religious beliefs, activities and institutions in different stages of the migratory circuit. They also examine the ways in which migrant religion is transformed by migratory behavior and practices. In so doing, Hagan and StrautEppsteiner consider how migrants and refugees of various faiths from Latin America, Asia, and North and West Africa rely on their respective faiths and religious institutions and movements for spiritual companionship and support during the migration process. In their chapter on stateless community, Cawo M. Abdi and Erika Busse draw on the literature on statelessness and refugees to reconceptualize our understanding of displaced peoples. In so doing, they seek to transform our treatment of those whose relationship to the nation-state model is represented by exclusion, persecution and precarity. The authors argue that immigration policies and humanitarian interventions from more prosperous regions of the globe should reflect the new landscape of the stateless, which includes both those who have no nation to call their own, as well as those whose nation-states of birth are in protracted disarray. They seek to expand the dialogue concerning the legal barriers refugees and the stateless confront in their search for asylum to access civil, social and political rights and the basic dignity denied them in their places of birth. Finally, in her chapter “Reclaiming the black and Asian journeys: a comparative perspective on culture, class, and immigration,” Patricia Fernández-Kelly reviews critical concepts in immigration to demonstrate that the mode of incorporation and social class offer a more solid explanation for the outcomes of migration than culture or individual choice. She further maintains that a proper understanding of immigration must include a reassessment of the African American and Asian American experiences. Research on African Americans and studies of Asian immigrants have bifurcated over time with the former focusing on poverty and social dysfunction and the latter emphasizing assimilation and upward mobility. That schism makes it appear as if there were no connections between the two fields of inquiry. The opposite is true. Reclaiming the black experience is essential to understand immigration, race and ethnicity. Equally urgent is developing a fresh look at the Asian journey. Interpretations focusing on cultural superiority and “model minorities” widen unfavorable comparisons with African Americans. Nevertheless, as shown in this chapter, a review of historical facts reveals that causes other than culture bear greater explanatory power in attempts to explain immigrant efficacy. Among them is a shared class position in countries of origin that makes it more likely for immigrants, including those from Asia, to attain high levels of social and economic mobility in adopted countries.

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22 Panethnicity Yê´n Lê Espiritu

Panethnicity refers to the development of bridging organizations and the generalization of solidarity among ethnic subgroups that are perceived to be homogeneous by outsiders (Lopez and Espiritu 1990, p. 198). Contemporary research on panethnicity indicates that panethnic identities are self-conscious products of political choice and actions, not of inherited phenotypes, bloodlines, or cultural traditions. Panethnic movements and organizations bring groups with seemingly distinct histories and separate identities together in cooperation around shared political and economic goals—to protect and advance their collective interests. While institutional panethnicity has been extensively studied, far less attention has been paid to the ways in which individuals experience, understand, and respond to the panethnic label. The available evidence indicates that panethnic identity is generally a secondary identity that coexists, at times uncomfortably, with ethnonational identities. The chapter focuses primarily on panethnic groups in the United States, but ends with comparative examples of how panethnicity operates in other countries and globally.

Panethnic organizing and racialization Panethnic organizing in the United States was prompted by the social struggles that swept across the country in the 1960s. In particular, civil rights and the subsequent minority movements had a profound impact on the racial ideology of minority groups, sensitizing them to racial issues. Moreover, as a result of the 1960s’ movements, antidiscrimination legislation moved away from emphasizing the equality of individual opportunities to focusing on the equitable distribution of group rights. This move led to the implementation of government-mandated affirmative action programs designed to ensure minority representation in employment, in public programs, and in education. Since numbers count in the American political structure, many racialized groups have determined that their efforts to promote social change are more effective when they organize panethnically (Cornell 1988; Espiritu 1992; Saito 1998). Racial lumping drives the formation of panethnic organizations and social practices. Unwilling or unable to listen to myriad voices representing particular subethnic groups, government bureaucracies (and the larger society) often lump diverse racial and ethnic minority groups into the four umbrella categories—blacks, Asian Americans, Hispanics/Latinos, and Native Americans—and 261

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treat them as single units in the allocation of economic and political resources (Lowry 1982, pp. 42–43). In response to these state-offered incentives, members of the subgroups within each category begin to act collectively as panethnic groups to protect and to advance their interests. In other words, panethnic mobilization is “partly a construction of the state” (Jones-Correa 1998, p. 111). The pervasive system of racial and ethnic classification in the United States creates incentives for ethnic groups to develop panethnic political and cultural projects: The data-gathering methods of the census and its use by government agencies in allocating resources, the mobilization techniques of political parties and lobbies, the organization of charities and nonprofit groups, the marketing techniques of the media—all these categorize and appeal to people as members of large ethno-racial groups, thereby fostering a sense of panethnic identity. (Itzigsohn 2004, p. 197) Since the 1970s, panethnic organizations such as the National Council of La Raza, Asian Pacific American Labor Alliance, and the National Urban Indian Development Corporation have played an important role in securing rights and services for their respective communities, such as fair wages, safe working conditions, affordable housing, and economic opportunities (Okamoto 2006, p. 1). The case of Native Americans is unique because federal Indian policies pursue a two-pronged strategy. On the one hand, they recognize tribes as geopolitical units and the foci of various government programs and legislation, thus making tribal affiliation essential. On the other, the government insists that Indian-ness is the relevant ethnic distinction for political policy purposes, thus making pan-Indian organization necessary (Nagel 1982). In other words, the various levels of American Indian mobilization “are responses to a particular incentive structure largely determined by US Indian policies” (Nagel 1982, p. 39). When manifested in racial discrimination and violence, racial lumping necessarily leads to cross-group solidarity (Espiritu 1992). In the case of black Americans, the “one-drop rule,” which was developed and violently enforced to protect slavery and to bolster Jim Crow segregation, allocates any person with any known African black ancestry to the stigmatized “black” category. By 1925, the one-drop rule was firmly established, adopted and affirmed by not only white but also black America. The black pride movement of the 1960s and the harsh and uncompromising black–white model in American society greatly strengthened black unity, rousing black Americans to downplay color and class differences and to affirm blackness (Davis 1989). As Dawson (1994) reports, a linked fate—a shared race and a shared history of racial discrimination—explains why African Americans, regardless of class divisions, have remained largely a politically cohesive group. Like African Americans, many Native Americans are racially mixed. The degree of racial mixture figures in government definitions of who is Native American and is certainly a recognized dimension of individual variation within Indian nations. But whites rarely make distinctions between different Indian groups, especially in urban areas, and when distinctions are made, they are on the basis of tribe, not race (Cornell 1988, pp. 132–138). For Asian Americans, anti-Asian violence often takes the form of “mistaken identity” hate crimes. The most notorious case of mistaken identity was the 1982 killing of Vincent Chin, a Chinese American who was beaten to death by two white men who allegedly mistakenly thought he was Japanese. Because the public seldom distinguishes among Asian American subgroups, anti-Asian violence concerns the entire group, crosscutting class, cultural, and generational divisions. Therefore, regardless of one’s ethnic affiliation, anti-Asian violence requires counter-organization at the pan-Asian level (Espiritu 1992, ch. 6). The belief that all Asian Americans are potential victims propels Asian Americans to join together in self-defense to 262

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monitor, report, and protest anti-Asian violence. As an example, in the 1990s, when large numbers of Southeast Asian immigrants in Detroit began experiencing problems with racist violence, educational inequality, and poor housing, a small group of East and South Asian American activists created a successful youth leadership-training program organized around a pan-Asian identity and radical critiques of institutionalized racism. The group’s success enabled it to move from panethnic to interethnic affiliation through an alliance with a Puerto Rican youth group also plagued by hate crimes, police brutality, and prosecutorial racism (Espiritu et al. 2000, p. 132). Racial violence has also forged theretofore-unlikely alliances. Since September 11, 2001, in response to the conflation of Middle Eastern and South Asian-descended peoples, these two groups have begun to form political coalitions to combat hate crimes against their communities. Spickard (2007, pp. 602–603) describes the racial lumping that provided the impetus for the coalition: “It is tragic, but not accidental, that several of the people murdered or attacked in hate crimes just after September 11 were not Muslims, nor Arabs, nor Middle Eastern Americans at all, but rather Sikhs.” Racial variation is greatest among and across Latino subgroups in the United States. As a result, Latinos “face the challenge of imagining themselves as a composite race that encompasses an assortment of diverse national origins, various cultural heritages, and disparate phenotypes” (Torres-Saillant 2003). Many Puerto Rican migrants are “black” by mainland definition and have experienced direct racism approaching that suffered by non-Latino black Americans (Rodriguez 1980). In contrast, most Cubans and South Americans, reflecting their middleclass backgrounds, look European, and can blend into white America. Although Mexican Americans are racially diverse, most Americans consider them “brown” or “mestizo” (Lopez and Espiritu 1990, p. 204). The class-color link tends to divide Latino subgroups, breeding intra-Latino racism and inequalities. Mexican American activists have advocated a version of Latino panethnicity that valorizes “brownness;” for “phenotypically distinctive Latinos,” affirmation of brownness has become a way to assert an antiracist racial solidarity while at the same time maintaining distance from blacks (Foner and Fredrickson 2004, p. 7). Some scholars have linked Latino reluctance to embrace a distinct panethnic identity with the insufficient strides for full citizenship that Latinos have made in American society (Torres-Saillant 2003). Panethnicity is thus largely a product of racial categorization, a process that is intimately bound up with power relations. The American racial classification system ignores subgroup boundaries, lumping together diverse peoples in a single, expanded panethnic framework. Excessive categorization is fundamental to racism because it permits “whites to order a universe of unfamiliar peoples without confronting their diversity and individuality” (Blauner 1972, p. 113). In other words, racialization is the driving force leading national origin groups to collectively organize as panethnic groups. Even when those in subordinate positions do not initially regard themselves as being alike, “a sense of identity gradually emerges from a recognition of their common fate” (Shibutani and Kwan 1965, p. 208). This is not to say that panethnicity is solely an imposed identity. Although it is originated largely in the minds of outsiders, the panethnic concept has become a political resource for insiders, a basis on which to mobilize diverse peoples and to force others to be more responsive to their grievances and agendas.

Panethnicity and internal diversities Although racialization fuels panethnic mobilization, it does not automatically produce panethnic outcomes. That is, “even if the state imposes a racial structure on groups or if ethnic groups experience discrimination and racism, panethnicity does not always occur” (Okamoto 2006, p. 2). Asian Americans and Latinos, two groups that continue to be transformed by new 263

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immigration, face a special challenge: how to bridge the class, ethnic, and generational chasms dividing the immigrants and the U.S.-born? Such internal diversities, and a lack of shared histories in the United States, weaken the groups’ abilities to speak with a unified political voice. A key obstacle to panethnic formation is internal class differentiation. Reflecting their diverse origins and experiences of incorporation into the U.S. class structure, Latino subgroups have the most diverse average class positions, which have limited their potential for panethnic organization, especially between the largely white and middle-class Cubans and poor people of black, Indian, or mixed race from parts of Central America and the Caribbean (Lopez and Espiritu 1990). In the same way, contemporary Asian immigration to the United States is bifurcated along class lines: many recent Asian immigrants are uneducated, unskilled, and poor, while others are highly educated, skilled, and affluent. In 2000, Japanese, Chinese, and Asian Indians consistently held more wealth at the top end while non-Vietnamese Southeast Asians settled at the bottom end (Ong and Patraporn 2006). However, Asian Americans, due to occupational segregation and spatial concentration, have been more successful relative to Latinos at forging panethnic alliances (Lopez and Espiritu 1990). Although great disparities exist within the Asian American grouping, overall, the major Asian American groups face relatively similar economic challenges. An analysis of 55 national Asian American organizations that were formed from 1970 to 1998 indicates that the occupational segregation of Asian Americans heightens panethnic consciousness, leading to the formation of pan-Asian institutions (Okamoto 2006). More than one-quarter of these panAsian organizations shared the common goals of promoting civil, economic and political rights for Asians in the United States as well as in their countries of origin (Okamoto 2006, p. 20). Linda Vo’s (2004) study of the Asian Business Association in San Diego provides an example: the city’s Asian Americans joined the association because of shared professional interests and shared experiences of economic exclusion and employment discrimination. In another example, Leland Saito (1998) reports that Japanese and Chinese Americans in Monterey Park, California, united to protest xenophobic attempts to remove Asian-language business signs. Overall, these studies suggest that as Asian Americans find themselves without economic opportunities and fair treatment, they establish supportive pan-Asian alliances from which to strategize about their collective class interest (Okamoto 2006). Spatial concentration also facilitates the establishment of panethnic institutions (Okamoto 2006). Since interests, competition, and conflict in the United States tend to be strongly regionalized, it follows that cooperation is more likely when subethnic groups are concentrated in the same area. Asian Americans are far more concentrated geographically than the general U.S. population. Data from the 1997–1998 State and Metropolitan Area Data Book, published by the Census Bureau, show that almost 66% of all Asian Americans live in just five states: California, New York, Hawai‘i, Texas, and Illinois. Remarkably, close to 55% of all Asian Americans live in just six metropolitan areas: Los Angeles, New York, San Francisco, Honolulu, Washington DC, and Chicago. These data indicate that although the Asian American population as a whole might seem relatively small on a national level, in many of the most dynamic states and metropolitan areas, Asian American numbers show that they constitute a vital part of that population (Le 2010). Their spatial concentration, rough numerical equity and relatively small numbers in these spaces have made it both possible and necessary for them to establish panethnic organizations to combat economic exclusion and discrimination. There is also suggestive evidence of pan-Asian bloc voting in Asian-dense districts. For example, Vietnamese Americans in Orange County, California, consistently voted for Japanese American and Korean American candidates who ran against white candidates at a level comparable to that which they gave to Vietnamese American candidates (Collet 2005). 264

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In contrast, the regional separation among the three major Latino groups—Mexican Americans in California and the southwest, Puerto Ricans in New York and New Jersey, and Cubans in south Florida—has made it more difficult for them to organize panethnically. However, evidence from one major point of overlap, Chicago, suggests that Mexican and Puerto Rican residents were able to “transcend the boundaries of their individual ethnic groups and assert demands as a Latino population or group” in efforts to improve schools and job opportunities for their respective communities (Padilla 1985, p. 163). Padilla (1985) concluded that a common sense of economic deprivation and political exclusion and an objectively similar class position were the essential factors for this panethnic cooperation. The possibility of a common identity depends on local contexts. Panethnic mobilization appears to work best when there is no majority group dominating the coalition. As an example, in a working-class neighborhood in Queens, New York City, where the different Latino groups were roughly equal in size, research indicates that repeated interactions between residents fostered a new overarching identity that enabled the establishment of institutional panethnicity. Living in small, often overcrowded spaces, these Spanish-speaking residents developed an “experiential panethnicity” (Ricourt and Danta 2003) as they interacted with each other in the daily-life settings of residence, neighborhood, and workplace. These day-to-day interactions eventually led to the institutionalization of panethnicity, in which community leaders created religious congregations, senior citizen centers, social service programs, cultural organizations, and political groups that served all Latinos in Queens (Ricourt and Danta, 2003, p. 10). In contrast, in San Francisco, the dominance of Mexicans—and Mexican culture—undermined the fragile Latino coalition and marred efforts by community leaders to promote cross-group cultural events. Given the growing diversification of the city’s Latino population, the dominance of Mexican salsa as a public symbol of Latinismo at Latino cultural festivals has led to “accusations of cultural cooptation on the part of some Mexicans and of cultural exclusion and domination on the part of some Central Americans” (Sommers 1991, p. 42). The media constitute one of the most important institutional sites for the forging of panethnic identities. Mainstream media outlets have a powerful interest in creating panethnic market segments to which they appeal and sell (Rodriguez 1999). At the same time, ethnic media— radio stations, TV programs, and newspapers and magazines—provide a vehicle for the expression of a shared cultural identity and the construction of panethnic projects and solidarity. As Itzigsohn (2004, p. 210) reports, the Latino and Latina media “go way beyond simply creating a market segment and play an important role in promoting community institution building.” As an example, since its inception, Latina magazine, a bilingual women’s magazine that was launched in 1996 for college-educated Latinas, has served as a site through which Latinidad has been constructed and reconfigured. Promoting an imagined panethnic Latino community, the magazine approaches standard topics such as celebrity portraits, love and romance, and entertainment-oriented stories with a strong investment in validating the Latinidad of both the celebrities and magazine readers, celebrating the inclusion of Latin@s in the U.S. entertainment industry and challenging the stereotypes of Latino men and women (Martínez 2004).

Individual panethnicity As with institutional panethnicity, individual panethnicity emerges as a reaction to the forces of racial labeling and exclusion in American society. Upon entering the United States, immigrants discover that they are expected to be part of a broader panethnic group whose existence many did not know prior to arrival. As part of a larger process of incorporation into American society, many immigrants and their children gradually adopt the more inclusive panethnic identities. 265

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As an example, Itzigsohn and Dore-Cabral (2000) report that as Dominican immigrants integrate themselves into American life, they react to being labeled Hispanic or Latino by adopting this panethnic identity and constructing social, cultural, and political projects based on it. However, since Latinos are a multiracial group, individual experiences with racism diverge according to how each person looks in relation to the norms of whiteness (Itzigsohn 2004, p. 203). Similarly, in a study on “pan-Asian ethnogenesis,” Nazli Kibria (2002) finds that for second-generation Chinese and Korean Americans, the shared experience of being labeled Asian by others has driven them to adopt Asian American as a basis of affiliation and identity (Kibria 2002). For immigrants from the Caribbean and Africa who find themselves labeled black, this process of racial ethnogenesis may be most complete given the rigid black–white distinction in the United States—a distinction that renders specific ethnonational affiliations invisible (Waters 1999). As expected, U.S.-born, American-educated individuals appear to be much more receptive to panethnicity than their immigrant parents and foreign-born counterparts. This receptivity stems from their perceived common ground of culture and race and shared experiences of growing up in the United States as a racial other (Oboler 1992; Moore 1990; Kibria 2002; Flores-Gonzalez 1999). It was often in college that panethnicity became more than a label imposed from the outside but an identity to be actively embraced. The presence of panethnic student associations and ethnic studies programs and centers on college campuses is critical to the development of panethnic identity. According to Kibria (2002), the Chinese and Japanese American college students whom she interviewed identified their joining of pan-Asian student organizations and enrolling in Asian American studies courses as watershed events in the development of their Asian American identity. Involvement in pan-Asian activities provided “an umbrella for socializing, self-exploration, and political activity” and “brought with it participation in pan-Asian friendship and social circles” (Kibria 2002, p. 113). The development of panAsian friendships and incorporation into pan-Asian social networks provided the basis for Asian American college students to understand Asian America not only as a political but also a social and cultural community (Kibria 2002, p. 115). Intermarriage between ethnic subgroups is a good measure of panethnicity on the level of individuals. Just as intermarriage between major ethnic categories suggests the breaking down of social boundaries, so intermarriage within these categories can consolidate subgroups into one panethnic identity. There is evidence that intermarriage is occurring at substantial levels among Asian American subgroups and among Latino subgroups. Analyses of 1980 and 1990 census data on marriage patterns in major metropolitan areas confirm that Asian American and Hispanic identities are “truly significant in the socially important process of mate selection” (Rosenfeld 2001, p. 172). Importantly, in most cases, the tendency to marry panethnically is just as strong for the college-educated as for the non-college-educated, suggesting that panethnicity has “far-reaching consequences for personal preferences and identities” (Rosenfeld 2001, p. 173). The enduring strength of panethnic marital associations among U.S.-born Asian and Latino couples suggests that panethnicity should remain strong and viable into the next generation, regardless of changes in immigration levels and patterns (Rosenfeld 2001, p. 173). Cuban Americans seem to deviate from this pattern. A large survey of high school children of Cuban immigrants in the Miami/Ft. Lauderdale area found that the less acculturated students were more likely to adopt the Hispanic label while the more acculturated ones preferred hyphenated American identities (Portes and Macleod 1996). This finding bespeaks the specificities of Miami’s Cuban case: the concentrated political and economic power of the city’s acculturated Cubans enable them to disassociate from less privileged Latino groups and to focus instead on their national identity (Cortina 1990). 266

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Panethnicity in transnational context The scholarship on U.S.-based panethnicity suggests that panethnic identity is associated with immigrants and their children, the product of migration to a new society. However, once formed in the diaspora, panethnic identities may be extended transnationally to migrantsending societies. Bridging studies of panethnicity and the literature on transnationalism, Roth (2009) shows that many non-migrants in San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Santo Domingo, the Dominican Republic, have adopted the Latino panethnicity first established by their compatriots in the United States. Through multi-sited ethnography and qualitative interviews with Puerto Ricans and Dominicans who have never lived abroad, Roth (2009) reports that the extension of panethnicity to migrant-sending societies is facilitated by transnational linkages: through recurring individual contact with migrants and via the deliberate efforts of transnational media to foster panethnic identification in order to expand the appeal and consumption of their cultural products. To sum up Roth’s findings: non-migrants who have the most frequent face-to-face contact with migrants from the United States typically express the strongest panethnic identification. But the history of political relations between the migrant-sending and -receiving societies matters: it provides the infrastructure and shapes the mechanisms for the transmission of panethnicity from one context to another. According to Roth (2009), Puerto Rico’s formal affiliation with the United States produces transnational connections that are supported by political and institutional infrastructure, enabling the transmission of panethnicity. This affiliation facilitates personal and business visits between the two sites, supports the movement of transnational Spanish networks into Puerto Rican markets, and subjects non-migrants to the American racial classification system that categorizes people as members of panethnic groups on census forms, federal college loan applications, and other government documentation. As a result of the century-old relationship between Puerto Rico and the United States, awareness of American society and Latino panethnicity is an everyday reality for Puerto Ricans on the island. On the other hand, because the Dominican Republic does not have formal affiliation with the United States, Dominican non-migrants are unlikely to reach the same level of panethnic identification found in Puerto Rico. However, as Dominican migration to the United States continues, and as the likelihood of face-to-face interaction between Dominican non-migrants and migrants rises, American society will become an increasingly important point of reference for the production of new panethnic identities at home. Diaspora Africans have also created broader pan-African kinship alliances. Lake (1995) reports that while most diaspora repatriates identified with their specific African nationalities, they also adopted pan-African identities in order to more effectively struggle against European and European American colonialism and racism. Indeed, invented by black diasporan intellectuals, pan-Africanism, which advocated the liberation of Africa, was the fundamental political philosophy of black modernity in the twentieth century. Paul Gilroy’s influential book The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness insists upon a notion of blackness that is “explicitly transnational and intercultural,” and that travels through and alongside Africa, Britain, and the United States (p. 15). Focusing on a group of black intellectuals that traversed national boundaries both in their lives and in their writing, Gilroy traces how this network for oppositional exchanges from one oppressed black group to another was held together by a politics of racism that helped to establish specific notions of blackness linked to but also outside of “Africa.” Similar to diaspora Africans, First Nation people have crafted panethnic solutions to their shared history of exploitation, broken treaties, and decimation (Trottier 1981). Established in 1982, the United Nations Working Group on Indigenous Populations (WGIP) brings together indigenous 267

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delegates from the Americas, and from Europe, Australia, New Zealand, Africa, and Asia to demand and develop international legal standards for the protection of the rights of indigenous peoples (Muehlebach 2001). This “global indigenous caucus” has been remarkably consistent in crafting a discourse that emphasizes their shared “histories of economic, political, ecological and cultural oppression,” that insists on their specific meaningful relationships to the environment and nature, and that demands their fundamental right to self-determination (Muehlebach 2001, p. 423). Even as scholars document the presence of transnational panethnic groupings, they simultaneously stress the import of the national context for the development of panethnicity. As an example, while Eleanor Rose Ty and Donald Goellnicht (2004) propose the umbrella term Asian North American to bring together Asians residing in the United States and Canada, they also note that the Asian Canadian panethnic coalition has received less institutional support and thus has been slower to expand than their counterpart in the United States. In the early 1970s, like Asians in the United States, Chinese and Japanese Canadians developed an Asian Canadian consciousness as they became politically aware that they shared a common psychological and historical experience. However, some two decades later, Canadian universities still offer no equivalent of Asian American studies, a key institution in the development of Asian American panethnic identities in the United States. Moreover, since Canada is a British Commonwealth country, Canadian scholars tend to classify Asian Canadian literary texts, especially writing by Canadians of South Asian origin, as Commonwealth or postcolonial literature, rather than Asian Canadian literature (Ty and Geollnicht 2004, p. 6). The underdevelopment of Asian Canadian studies and Asian Canadian literature—two key institutions in the formation of panethnic identities—has thus slowed the expansion of pan-Asian consciousness and organizing in Canada. Finally, given the internationalization and feminization of the labor force in recent decades, some Asian women in the United States and in Asia have begun to conceive of themselves as similarly situated racial, gendered, and classed subjects. For many Asian immigrant women, instead of gaining access to a better, more modern, and more liberated life in the United States, they have been confined to low-paying service jobs and factory assembly-line work, especially in the garment and microelectronics industries. The similarities in the labor conditions for Asian women here and in Asia, brought about by global capitalism, constitute the “shifting groups for a strategic transnational affiliation” (Kang 1997, p. 415).

Challenges and possibilities In the United States, panethnicity is both a political response to the American racial stratification and classification system and a form of assertive panethnic identity. In all, researchers report the emergence of a dual identification pattern, in which both panethnic and ethnic identities and affiliations coexist. Although panethnicity is likely to grow in size and significance, it is not expected to supersede the specific ethnicities, but to become part of a range of available ethnic options—an identity that can be invoked or set aside in different situations for different cultural and political projects (Kibria 2002; Itzigsohn and Dore-Cabral 2000). The boundaries between panethnicity and ethnicity are thus porous rather than rigidly separate. This finding corroborates the current scholarship on ethnic identity, which emphasizes “its multiple, fluctuating, and situational character” (Kibria 2002, p. 102). This multitiered and seemingly flexible pattern poses this challenge: how to affirm and define the broader panethnic boundary that acknowledges a racialized similarity in the interests of shared goals, while at the same time maintaining and asserting the individuality of specific ethnic identities? The existing evidence suggests that panethnicity has been an efficacious but contested category, encompassing not only cultural differences but also social, political, and economic 268

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inequalities. Although outsiders may have drawn the panethnic boundary, the task of “bridging” belongs to the ethnonational groups. The panethnic group can be exclusive, ignoring diverse viewpoints and subsuming nondominant groups, or it can be inclusive, incorporating conflicting perspectives and empowering less established communities. Class, ethnic, and generational divisions can be obscured and perpetuated or they can be recognized and addressed. A study of second-generation Asian American leaders at four public universities suggests that as the Asian population in the United States has grown and diversified, the term “Asian American” itself has transformed and pluralized. The pluralization of the term’s definition enables Asian Americans of diverse backgrounds to identify with the racial label by appropriating a variety of meanings to it. While the availability of these alternative meanings encourages some individuals to identify with “Asian American,” it can also disengage others precisely because it can refer to any number of meanings (Park 2008, p. 557). One issue that appears to tie seemingly diverse groups together, not only in the United States but also internationally, is U.S. (and also European) colonialism and imperialism around the world, and the resultant racial hierarchies both abroad and at home. Although different Latino groups have vastly different immigration histories, socioeconomic profiles, and cultural traditions, their lives have all been greatly impacted by U.S. foreign policy—an impetus for Latino migrants and non-migrants uniting around the Latino concept (Calderon 1992, p. 39). In the same way, the disruptive and often-violent effects of American expansionism and militarism in the Asia Pacific region created a historical basis for solidarity among seemingly diverse groups such as Japanese, Filipinos, Southeast Asians, Koreans, Pacific Islanders, multiracial Asians and Asian adoptees (Spickard 2007). U.S. colonialism, Orientalism, and racism may also form the basis of larger and shifting coalitions. Today working-class immigrants of diverse backgrounds coexist with African American and U.S.-born Latinos in urban communities across the country. This “social geography of race” has produced new social subjects and new coalitions. For example, young Laotian women in northern California joined Chinese and Japanese Americans in panethnic struggles against anti-Asian racism and also against the “neighborhood race effects” of underfunded schools, polluted air and water, and low-wage jobs that they and their families share with their African American, Latino, Arab American, and poor white neighbors (Espiritu et al. 2000; Shah 2002). In the same way, recognizing their common histories of political fragmentation and disfranchisement, Japanese, Chinese, and Mexicans in the San Gabriel Valley of Los Angeles County formed political alliances to work together on the redistricting and reapportionment process in the Valley (Saito 1998, p. 10). The recognition of shared histories of oppression has also led to the formation of panethnic groupings across national borders. In all, the examples cited in this chapter call attention to the plural and ambivalent nature of panethnicity: it is a highly contested terrain on which ethnonational groups merge and clash over terms of inclusion, but also an effective site from which to forge crucial alliances with other groups both within and across the borders of the United States in their ongoing efforts to effect larger social transformation.

References Blauner, Robert. 1972. Racial Oppression in America. New York: HarperCollins College Division. Calderon, Jose. 1992. “‘Hispanic’ and ‘Latino’: The Viability of Categories for Panethnic Unity.” Latin American Perspectives 19(4) (Autumn, 1992): 37–44. Collet, Christian. 2005. “Bloc Voting, Polarization, and the Panethnic Hypothesis: The Case of Little Saigon.” Journal of Politics 67(3): 907–933. Cornell, Stephen. 1988. “The Transformations of Tribe: Organization and Self-concept in Native American Ethnicities.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 11(1): 27–47. 269

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Cortina, Rodolfo. 1990. “Cubans in Miami: Ethnic Identification and Behavior.” Latino Studies Journal 1: 60–73. Davis, F. J. 1989. Who Is Black? One Nation’s Definition. College Park, PA: Penn State University Press Dawson, M.C. 1994. Behind the Mule: Race and Class in African American Politics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Espiritu, Y. L. 1992. Asian American Panethnicity: Bridging Institutions and Identities. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Espiritu, Y. L., Fujita Rony, D., Kibria, N., and Lipsitz, G. 2000. “The Role of Race and its Articulations for Asian Pacific Americans.” Journal of Asian American Studies 3(2): 127–137. Flores-Gonzalez, N. 1999. “The Racialization of Latinos: The Meaning of Latino Identity for the Second Generation.” Latino Studies Journal 10(3): 3–31. Foner, N. and Fredrickson, G. M. 2004. “Introduction: Immigration, race, and ethnicity in the United States: Social constructions and social relations in historical and contemporary perspective.” In N. Foner and G. M. Fredrickson (eds.), Not Just Black and White: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives on Immigration, Race, and Ethnicity in the United States. New York: Russell Sage, pp. 1–19. Gilroy, Paul. 1993. The Black Atlantic: Modernity and Double Consciousness. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Itzigsohn, José. 2004. “The Formation of Latino and Latina Panethnic Identities.” In N. Foner and G. M. Fredrickson (eds), Not Just Black and White: Historical and Contemporary Perspectives on Immigration, Race, and Ethnicity in the United States. New York: Russell Sage, pp. 197–216. Itzigsohn, José and Dore-Cabral, Carlos. 2000. “Competing Identities? Race, Ethnicity and Panethnicity among Dominicans in the United States.” Sociological Forum 15(2): 225–247. Jones-Correa, M. 1998. Between Two Nations: The Political Predicament of Latinos in New York City. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Kang, L. 1997. “Si(gh)ing: Asian/American Women as Transnational Labor.” Positions 5(2): 403–437. Kibria, N. 2002. Becoming Asian American: Second-Generation Chinese and Korean American Identities. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Lake, Obiagele. 1995. “Toward a Pan-African Identity: Diaspora African Repatriates in Ghana.” Anthropological Quarterly 68(1): 21–36. Le, C.N. 2010. “Population Statistics & Demographics.” Asian-Nation: The Landscape of Asian America. (July 28, 2010). Lopez, David and Espiritu, Yen. 1990. “Panethnicity in the United States: A Theoretical Framework.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 13(2): 198–224. Lowry, I. S. 1982. “The Science and Politics of Ethnic Enumeration.” In W. A. Van Horne (ed.), Ethnicity and Public Policy, vol. 1. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press, pp. 42–61. Martínez, Katynka Zazueta. 2004. “Latina Magazine and the Invocation of a Panethnic Family: Latino Identity as it Is Informed by Celebrities and Papis Chulos.” The Communication Review 7(2): 155–174. Moore, J. 1990. “Hispanic/Latino: Imposed label or real identity?” Latino Studies Journal 1: 33–47. Muehlebach, Andrea. 2001. “‘Making Place’ at the United Nations: Indigenous Cultural Politics at the U. N. Working Group on Indigenous Populations.” Cultural Anthropology 16(3): 415–448. Nagel, J. 1982. “The Political Mobilization of Native Americans.” Social Science Journal 19(3): 37–46. Oboler, Suzanne. 1992. “The Politics of Labeling: Latino/a Cultural Identities of Self and Other.” Latin American Perspectives 19(4): 18–36. Okamoto, D. 2006. “Institutional Panethnicity: Boundary Formation in Asian-American Organizing.” Social Forces 85(1): 1–25. Ong, Paul and Patraporn, R. Varisa. 2006. “Asian Americans and Wealth.” Wealth Accumulation and Communities of Color in the United States: Current Issues, 173–90. Padilla, F. 1985. Latino Ethnic Consciousness. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Park, J. Z. 2008. “Second-generation Asian American Pan-ethnic Identity: Pluralized Meanings of a Racial Label.” Sociological Perspectives 51(3): 541–561. Portes, Alejandro and MacLeod, Dag. 1996. “What Shall I Call Myself? Hispanic Identity Formation in the Second Generation.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 19(3): 523–547. Ricourt, Milagros and Danta, Ruby. 2003. Hispanas de Queens: Latino Panethnicity in a New York City Neighborhood. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Rodriguez, A. 1999. Making Latino News: Race, Language, Class. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage.

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Rodriguez, C. E. 1980. “Economic Survival in New York City.” In C. E. Rodriguez, V. Sanchez Korroll, and J. O. Alers (eds), The Puerto Rican Struggle. New York: Puerto Rican Migration Research Consortium, pp. 31–46. Rosenfeld, Michael J. 2001. “The Salience of Pan-National Hispanic and Asian Identities in U.S. Marriage Markets.” Demography 38(2): 161–175. Roth, Wendy. 2009. “‘Latino before the World’: The Transnational Extension of Panethnicity.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 32(6): 927–947. Saito, L. 1998. Race and Politics: Asian Americans, Latinos, and Whites in a Los Angeles Suburb. Urbana and Chicago, IL: University of Illinois Press. Shah, B. 2002. “Making the ‘American’ subject: Culture, gender, ethnicity, and the politics of citizenship in the lives of second-generation Laotian girls.” Ph.D. dissertation, University of California at Davis. Shibutani, Tamotsu and Kwan, Kian M. 1965. Ethnic Stratification: A Comparative Approach. New York: The Macmillan Company. Sommers, Laurie Kay. 1991. “Inventing Latinismo: The Creation of ‘Hispanic’ Panethnicity in the United States.” The Journal of American Folklore 104(411): 32–53. Spickard, Paul. 2007. “Whither the Asian American Coalition?” Pacific Historical Review 76(4): 585–604. Torres-Saillant, Silvio. 2003. “Inventing the Race: Latinos and the Ethnoracial Pentagon.” Latino Studies 1(1): 123–151. Trottier, R. 1981. “Charters of Panethnic Identity: Indigenous American Indians and Immigrant Asian Americans.” In C. F. Keyes (ed.), Ethnic Change. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press, pp. 271–305. Ty, Eleanor and Goellnicht, Donald. 2004. “Introduction.” In Asian North American Identities: Beyond the Hyphen. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 1–14. Vo, L. Trinh. 2004. Mobilizing an Asian American Community. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Waters, M. 1999. Black Identities: West Indian Immigrant Dreams and American Realities. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

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23 Understanding ethnicity from a community perspective Min Zhou

Past and recent research finds that ethnicity results in varied outcomes of social mobility among different immigrant groups. Such divergent outcomes, in turn, lead to further changes in the character and salience of ethnicity. Much of the intellectual debate on ethnic differences takes place along the following lines: the cultural perspective, which emphasizes the role of internal agency and the extent to which ethnic cultures fit the requirements of the mainstream society; and the structural perspective, which emphasizes the role of social structure and the extent to which ethnic groups are constrained by the broader stratification system and networks of social relations within it. Social scientists from both perspectives have attempted to develop statistical models to quantitatively measure the effects of “culture” and “structure” on outcomes of immigrant social mobility. Under ideal circumstances, these models would include indicators illuminating pre-migration circumstances, such as home-country values and norms and pre-migration socioeconomic characteristics. But because of data limitations, researchers typically control for “structure” by documenting specific contexts of exit, identifying aspects of post-migration social structures, and operationalizing those components for which they have data. This is not only a conventional practice but also a reasonable approach, since many post-migration socioeconomic differences of adult immigrants are likely either to reflect or be carryovers from, pre-migration differences. However, even the most sophisticated statistical model accounts for only a fraction of the variance, leaving a large residual unexplained. More intractable are questions of how to conceptualize and measure ethnicity. Given data limitations, researchers often try valiantly to create measures that are ingenious, though not fully convincing, and have to place much weight on the effect of a dummy variable for ethnicity. However, the exact meaning or contents of this dummy variable remains ambiguous. I argue that ethnicity cannot be simply viewed as either a structural or a cultural construct; rather, it encompasses specific cultural values and behavioral patterns that are constantly interacting with both internal and external structural exigencies. Unpacking the ethnicity black box, therefore, necessitates a new analytical framework from a community, rather than an individualist, perspective. Informed by the abundance of multidisciplinary research on international migration and ethnic communities, I aim to develop a community perspective that takes into account the interaction of individual characteristics, group-level cultural values 272

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and practices, and broader structural factors in explaining inter-group variations in immigrant mobility outcomes. In this chapter, I draw on existing research to sketch an analytical framework from this community perspective and illustrate it with a case study of the dynamic Chinese immigrant community in the United States.1

The ethnic community revisited Ethnicity is not lodged in the individual but in a socially identifiable group, and more generally, in a community. What then is a community? In the broadest sense, a community is defined by a group of interacting people sharing a common physical or social space, similar beliefs, values, norms, and meanings, and a considerable degree of social cohesion. As a sociological construct, a community entails meaning making, interaction, and action among members of a group with shared identity, goals, expectations, and behavioral patterns. An ethnic community, by the same token, is a group of people identified with one another by a common heritage that is real or imagined. To understand ethnicity in a community context, the concepts of ethnic enclaves, institutional completeness, and social capital are most helpful.

Ethnic enclaves as communities The idea that ethnic enclaves are significant contexts for immigrant adaptation stems from classical assimilation theories. The classical assimilation perspective suggests that ethnic enclaves are not permanent settling grounds and that they are beneficial only to the extent that they meet immigrants’ survival needs, reorganize their economic and social lives, and ease resettlement problems in the new land. Such classical assimilation theories predict that ethnic enclaves will eventually decline and even disappear as coethnic members become socioeconomically and residentially assimilated, or as fewer coethnic members arrive to replenish and support ethnic institutions (Alba and Nee, 2003). Indeed, old Jewish, Polish, Italian, and Irish enclaves in America’s major gateway cities have gradually been succeeded by native or immigrant minorities. Here, ethnic enclaves in this sense overlap with communities defined by common heritages or national origins. However, the term “ethnic enclave” is often loosely defined and used interchangeably with the term “immigrant neighborhood” to refer to a place where foreign-born and native-born racial/ethnic minorities predominate. Urban America has witnessed rapid neighborhood transition: some old immigrant neighborhoods are declining into ghettos or “super-ghettos” where poverty trumps ethnicity to become a defining characteristic, while others have remained vibrant and resilient enclaves where certain ethnicity dominates despite increasing ethnic diversity. Classical assimilation theories fail to explain why such ethnic succession transpires, much less why patterns of neighborhood change differ by race/ethnicity or national origin. Past research generally cites economic restructuring and white flight as principal causes of innercity ghettoization (Massey and Denton, 1995; Wilson, 1978). However, today’s immigrant neighborhoods in urban America differ from past and present native-minority neighborhoods. Among the distinctive characteristics are: a large share of noncitizen immigrants, both legal and undocumented; the diverse national origins and social class backgrounds; and the significance of immigrant entrepreneurship, which transcends ethnic and national boundaries. Today’s immigrant neighborhoods encompass multiple ethnic communities and thus may not be easily dichotomized as either a springboard or a trap for upward social mobility. Rather, they may contain a wider spectrum of both resources and constraints which vary by ethnicity. 273

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Institutional completeness To distinguish between an immigrant neighborhood and an ethnic enclave analytically, it is important to study local social structures, namely all observable establishments that are located in a spatially bounded neighborhood. The local social structures may range from social service and human service organizations, civic organizations, and religious organizations, to various ethnic organizations (e.g., family, kin, clan, or hometown associations, mutual aid societies, professional associations, homeland high school or college alumni associations). The concept of “institutional completeness” is thus particularly relevant for examining the interaction between local institutions and ethnicity in immigrant neighborhoods. Breton examined the conditions under which immigrants became interpersonally integrated into the host society (Breton, 1964). Defining “institutional completeness” in terms of complex neighborhood-based formal institutions that sufficiently satisfied members’ needs, Breton measured the degree of social organization in an ethnic community on a continuum. By focusing on the organizational structure and the interaction between individuals interacting in this structure, two concepts—that of the ethnic enclave and that of the ethnic community—become overlapped. At one extreme, the ethnic community consisted of an informal network of interpersonal relations, such as kinship, friendship, or companionship groups and cliques, without formal organization. Toward the other extreme, the community consisted of both informal and formal organizations ranging from welfare and mutual aid societies to commercial, religious, educational, political, professional, and recreational organizations and ethnic media (radio or television stations and newspapers). The higher the organizational density within a given ethnic community, the more likely was the formation of ethnic social networks, and the higher the level of institutional completeness. Breton found that the presence of a wide range of formal institutions in an ethnic community (i.e., a high degree of institutional completeness) had a powerful effect on keeping group members’ social relations within ethnic boundaries and minimizing out-group contacts. However, ethnic institutions affected social relations not only for those who participated in them but also for those who did not, and the ethnic community did not prevent its members from establishing out-group contacts. Like classical assimilation theorists, Breton concluded that the ethnic community would fade progressively given low levels of international migration because even a high degree of institutional completeness would not block members’ eventual integration into the host society. In the U.S. context, ethnic communities vary in the density and complexity of organizational structures but few show full institutional completeness. In my approach to the ethnic community, I borrow Breton’s concept of “institutional completeness” and measure it in terms of density and diversity of local institutions.2 I add two additional dimensions: coethnicity and mixed-class status (Zhou, 2009a). The coethnic dominance of an institution’s ownership, leadership, and membership strengthens within-group interpersonal interaction. Diverse class statuses of participants in local institutions alleviate the negative effects of social isolation. In an ethnic community in which there is a high degree of institutional completeness, those who have residentially out-migrated are likely to maintain communal ties through routine participation in its institutions and thus promote interpersonal relationships across class lines. In my view, an ethnic community’s institutional completeness, along with a significant presence of the coethnic middle class, positively influences immigrant adaptation through tangible resources provided by ethnic institutions and intangible resources, such as social capital, formed by institutional involvement.3

Social capital Although the concept of “social capital” has come into wide use in recent years, scholars have debated over how to define and measure it and at what level of analysis to locate it. Coleman 274

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defines social capital as consisting of closed systems of social networks inherent in the structure of relations between persons and among persons within a group—a “dense set of associations” within a social group promoting cooperative behavior that is advantageous to group members (Coleman, 1988). Portes and Julia Sensenbrenner define it as “expectations for action within a collectivity that affect the economic goals and goal-seeking behavior of its members,” even if these expectations are not oriented toward the economic sphere (Portes and Sensenbrenner, 1993). Sampson describes it as having variable utility values, arguing that not all social networks are created equal and that many lay dormant, contributing little to effective social action, social support, or social control (Sampson, 2004). Putnam treats civic organizations as the main source of social capital because these organizations provide a dense network of secondary associations, trust, and norms, thereby creating and sustaining “civicness,” or a sense of civic community that facilitates the workings of the society as a whole (Putnam, 1993). Demographic characteristics, such as socioeconomic status (SES) or race and ethnicity, can also be part of the social capital process. For example, family educational background, occupational status, and income are usually considered forms of human or financial capital. However, family SES can also connect individuals to advantageous networks and is thus related to social capital (Bourdieu 1985). As Loury (1977) suggests, social connections associated with different class status and different levels of human capital give rise to differential access to opportunities. Despite the lack of a uniform definition, scholars seem to agree that social capital is embedded not in the individual but in the structure of social organizations, patterns of social relations, or processes of interaction between individuals and organizations. That is, social capital does not consist of resources that are held by individuals or groups but of processes of goal-directed social relations embedded in particular social structures. In the case of immigrants, social capital often inheres in the social relations among coethnic members; it is also embedded in the formal organizations and institutions within a definable ethnic community that structure and guide these social relations. Because of the variability, contextuality, and conditionality of the process, social relations that produce desirable outcomes for one ethnic group or in one situation might not translate to another ethnic group or situation. Thus, social capital is embedded in and arises from institutions in a particular community, one in which the organizational structure and member identification are based on a shared ancestry and cultural heritage: the ethnic community. Analyzing the formation of social capital in institutional and ethnic contexts is important in two respects. First, former social relations in families, friendship or kinship groups, and other social networks are often disrupted through the migration process. Many newcomers today experience difficulty in connecting to the larger host society and institutions because of their lack of English-language proficiency and cultural familiarity. Among coethnics in their own ethnic community, however, even as total strangers, they can reconnect and rebuild networks through involvement in ethnic institutions because of their shared cultural and language skills. Second, ethnic institutions differ from pan-ethnic, multi-ethnic, and mainstream institutions at the local level in that they operate under similar cultural parameters, such as values and norms, codes of conduct, and, mostly importantly, language. In theory, immigrants can participate in and benefit from any local institutions in their new homeland. But many are excluded from participation in mainstream institutions, such as local government and “old boy” networks or schools and parent–teacher associations, because of language and cultural barriers. Ethnic institutions, in contrast, not only are more accessible but also more sensitive than other local institutions to group-specific needs and particular ways of coping. Further, they are more effective in resolving cultural problems. Thus ethnicity interacts with local institutions to affect the formation of social capital and other forms of resources. 275

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As the existing research suggests, immigrant neighborhoods are constantly changing. Outmigration of upwardly mobile residents negatively affects social organization, social networking, and social life at the local level. However, contemporary immigration and immigrant selectivity have shaped immigrant neighborhoods in diverse ways that both reinforce old constraints and create new opportunities. To explain inter-group differences in community development, we need to consider a dual-level analytical framework. One is at the level of institutions—how neighborhood-based institutions generate resources—and the other at the level of ethnicity— how patterns of interpersonal relationships are structured by ethnicity to create community resources and access to these resources in a given neighborhood. From this community perspective, we can begin to see the complexity of group processes and the interplay between cultural and structural factors that determine adaptation by ethnic groups sharing the same physical space. I elaborate on this perspective by a case study—a comparative analysis of the creation of ethnic resources in old Chinatown and new Chinese ethnoburbs.

The dynamics of ethnic capital for community building: old Chinatowns v. new Chinese ethnoburbs4 In 21st-century, urban America, many immigrant neighborhoods encompass multiple ethnic communities, and some are more resourceful than others. To explain the inter-ethnic variations in community development at the local level, I develop an analytical framework based on a conception of “ethnic capital” (Zhou and Lin, 2005). Ethnic capital involves the interplay of financial capital, human capital, and social capital within an identifiable ethnic group. Financial capital simply refers to tangible economic resources, such as money and liquidable assets. Human capital is generally measured by education, English proficiency, and job skills. While financial and human capital may be held by individual group members, social capital is more complex, entailing social relations, processes, and access to resources and opportunities. Old Chinatowns and new Chinese ethnoburbs are two ideal types that can illustrate the ethnic capital dynamics.

Ethnic capital in old Chinatowns The Chinese are the oldest and largest ethnic group of Asian ancestry in the United States. These earlier immigrants were uneducated peasants and came almost entirely from the Pearl River Delta region in South China as contract labor, working at first in the plantation economy in Hawaii and in the mining industry on the West Coast and later on for the transcontinental railroads west of the Rocky Mountains. Most intended to stay for only a short time to “dig” gold to take home, but few realized their golden dreams. Instead, many found themselves easy targets of discrimination and exclusion. In the 1870s, white workers’ frustration with economic distress, labor market uncertainty, and capitalist exploitation turned into anti-Chinese sentiment and racist attacks against the Chinese. In 1882, the U.S. Congress passed the Chinese Exclusion Act, which was renewed in 1892 and later extended to exclude all Asian immigrants until World War II. Legal exclusion, augmented by extralegal persecution and anti-Chinese violence drove the Chinese out of the mines, farms, woolen mills, and factories on the West Coast. As a result, Chinese laborers already in the United States lost hope of ever fulfilling their dreams and returned permanently to China. Many gravitated toward San Francisco’s Chinatown for selfprotection. Others traveled eastward to look for alternative means of livelihood. Chinatowns in the mid-West and on the East Coast grew to absorb those fleeing the extreme persecution in California. From the passage of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882 to its repeal in 1943, Chinese 276

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immigrants in the United States were largely segregated in Chinatowns in major urban centers, such as San Francisco, Los Angeles, New York, and Chicago. In this sense, Chinatown is an American creation, a direct outcome of racial exclusion. When an ethnic group is legally excluded from participating in a mainstream host society, effective community organizing can mobilize ethnic resources to counter the negative effects of adversarial conditions. Old Chinatowns displayed several distinctive features: (1) a small merchant class established a firm foothold at the outset of the enclave’s formation; (2) interpersonal relations were based primarily on blood, kin, and place of origin; (3) economic organizations were interconnected to a range of interlocking ethnic institutions that guided and controlled interpersonal and inter-organizational relations; and (4) the ethnic enclave as a whole operated on the basis of ethnic solidarity internally and inter-ethnic exclusivity externally. In old Chinatown, despite a severe lack of financial and human capital, social capital was relatively abundant. Social capital, formed through having the same origin, a common language, and a shared fate, along with intimate face-to-face interaction and reciprocity within the enclave, provided uniformed support for economic and social organization, which in turn facilitated the accumulation of human capital in job training (and also, to a lesser extent, children’s education) on the one hand, and the accumulation of financial capital through ethnic entrepreneurship and family savings on the other hand. Table 23.1 reveals the interactive processes of ethnic capital in old Chinatowns. The process of financial and human capital accumulation based on strong social capital in old Chinatowns heightens the significance of ethnic businesses and institutions. During the exclusion era, old Chinatowns experienced parallel developments in the ethnic enclave economy and social structures. Facing external hostility, the lack of financial and human capital combined with a sojourning orientation would constrain community development. But ethnic businesses in the enclave grew under certain conditions. First, an ethnic merchant class was formed prior to Chinese exclusion. Second, legal exclusion prohibited the Chinese from being hired in the mainstream economy and thus pushed them into pursuing small businesses in their own enclave and seeking occupational niches unwanted by natives, such as the laundry business in the preWorld War II era. Third, ethnic segregation created a tremendous demand for ethnic-specific goods and services on the one hand, and the availability of low-wage labor to supply to the enclave economy on the other. Chinese entrepreneurs were able to raise financial capital and mobilize other economic resources to establish businesses not simply through family savings or overseas investment, but also through coethnic members’ sentimental and instrumental ties to the social structures of Chinatown. The access to low-cost coethnic labor gave ethnic entrepreneurs a competitive edge. Although ethnic businesses within the enclave were often short-lived and lasted only one generation, they nonetheless opened up a unique structure of opportunities that corresponded to the sojourning goals of early Chinese immigrants (Zhou 1992, 2009b). Regarding institutional building, ethnic concentration led to the consolidation of Chinatown’s social structures. Various neighborhood-based organizations emerged to organize economic activities, meet the basic needs of sojourners, such as helping them obtain housing and employment, Table 23.1  Interactive processes of ethnic capital in old Chinatowns Components

Strength

Relations

Social capital Human capital Financial capital

Strong Weak Weak

Basis Outcome Outcome

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and mediate social relations at the individual and organizational levels. The most visible and influential of these organizations included family, clan or kinship associations, district associations, and merchants’ associations, also called “tongs” (Zhou and Kim, 2001). The Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association (CCBA) was an apex organization, also referred to as Chinatown’s unofficial government. The relationships between the elite and masses, between individuals and associations, and between associations and the CCBA in old Chinatowns were interdependent. The power structure was vertical and relatively unified for several reasons. First, the early Chinese immigrants came from a few tightly knit rural communities in South China. Although there were variations in dialects and bases of networks, most of them were Cantonese, came from similar socioeconomic backgrounds, arrived in America in groups as contract laborers, and had similar jobs. They lacked human capital, English-language proficiency and information on employment, and thus were dependent on a small group of coethnic labor brokers or merchants, and later on coethnic organizations. Second, most of them were sojourners who did not intend to settle in the United States. Without their families, they were highly dependent on one another for social support and companionship. Third, the hostility of the host society and legal exclusion from the larger society meant that only a few were able to venture beyond their own ethnic enclaves. Developments of the enclave economy and ethnic social structures resulted in a high level of institutional completeness in old Chinatown. Such structural constraints strengthened immigrant networks, created opportunities for community organization, and gave rise to an interdependent organizational structure. Personal and organizational interdependence, in turn, allowed social capital to emerge by virtue of the immigrants’ shared cultural bonds and shared experiences of exclusion—bounded solidarity—and their heightened awareness of common values, norms, and obligations—enforceable trust. Bounded solidarity and enforceable trust, however, did not inhere in the moral conviction of the individual or the culture of origin; rather, they were interacted with structural factors in the host society in order to help immigrants organize their social and economic lives in disadvantaged or adverse situations (Portes and Zhou, 1992).

Ethnic capital in new Chinese ethnoburbs Contemporary Chinese immigration drives much of ethnic population growth and reshapes patterns of community development. Between 1960 and 2010, the number of Chinese Americans grew more than ten-fold—from 237,292 in 1960 to 2,879,636 in 2000, and to nearly four million in 2010. Unlike their earlier counterparts, contemporary Chinese immigrants come from diverse origins. The three main sources of Chinese immigration are mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong, as well as the greater Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia and the Americas. Chinese immigrants from different origins or different regions of the same origin do not necessarily share the same culture or lived experiences. Contemporary Chinese immigrants also come from diverse socioeconomic backgrounds. They now constitute not only “the tired, the poor, and the huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” as is inscribed in the Statue of Liberty, but also the affluent, the highly skilled, and the entrepreneurial. The 2010 Census data showed that the fraction of foreign-born Chinese with four or more years of college education was far greater than the fraction of U.S.-born nonHispanic whites with the same educational level (49% vs. 31%). The influx of large numbers of resource-rich immigrants creates new modes of settlement, the most remarkable of which being the detour from inner-city ethnic enclaves to white middle-class suburbia as well as the newly emerged ethnoburbs (Li, 1997).5 Residential patterns of the Chinese are now characterized by concentration as well as dispersion. Geographical concentration, to some extent, follows a historical pattern: Chinese Americans continue to concentrate in the West and in urban areas. 278

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One state, California, by itself, accounts for 37% of all Chinese Americans. New York accounts for 17%, second only to California, and Texas accounts for 5% in 2010. However, other states that historically received fewer Chinese immigrants have also witnessed phenomenal growth. At the local level, traditional Chinatowns continue to exist to receive newcomers and attract economic investments from coethnics, but they no longer serve as primary centers of initial settlement as the majority of new immigrants, especially the affluent and highly skilled, are bypassing inner cities to settle into suburbs immediately after arrival. As of 2010, less than 10% of Chinese in Los Angeles and New York lived in old Chinatowns. However, demographic changes impacted by international migration do not appear to be associated with the disappearance or significant decline of old Chinatowns, which have actually grown and expanded. In New York City’s old Chinatown, for example, seven out of 14 census tracts had a Chinese majority as of 2010. Likewise, four out of seven census tracts in L.A.’s Chinatown had a Chinese majority. The majority of the Chinese American population is spreading out into the suburbs outside of traditional immigrant gateway cities as well as in new urban centers of Asian settlement across the country. As of 2010, more than half of all Chinese Americans live in suburbs. There are few new urban Chinatowns in the country where more than half of the residents are coethnics. For example, in New York City’s Flushing, known as the “second [urban] Chinatown,” 10 of the 11 census tracts had a Chinese majority in 2010 (compared to 0 in 2000). In Los Angeles’ Monterey Park, known as “the first suburban Chinatown,” 10 of the 13 tracts contained 25% or more Chinese but only one tract had a Chinese majority. Suburbs in Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Jose, Chicago, Houston, and Washington DC have witnessed extraordinarily high proportions of Chinese Americans in the general population and the emergence of a new and distinct phenomenon—“ethnoburbs” (Li, 1997; Zhou, Tseng, and Kim, 2008). The pattern of ethnoburb development is distinct from that of old Chinatown. Rather than an ethnic minority being pushed into an urban area for mere self-protection and survival, it involves an incoming ethnic minority that arrives with higher than average education and economic resources and with the capability of creating its own economy. The new Chinese ethnoburbs share certain common characteristics with old Chinatowns, but are distinct from Chinatowns in many ways (and they also differ from one another). Like old Chinatowns, new middle-class immigrant communities serve the needs of new arrivals unmet in the mainstream society and provide opportunities for self-employment and employment. But unlike Chinatowns, they are better connected to the host society, the homeland, and the global on economic, social, and political terms. Moreover, they can no longer be narrowly defined as the “ethnic enclave” or “staging places” just for the poor and the unacculturated. While they are established by affluent and educated immigrants, investors, and professionals, however, ethnoburbs gradually become magnets for coethnic members from lower socioeconomic background who arrive either to reunite with families or to feed the labor demand of the growing enclave economy. The processes of ethnic capital formation in new Chinese ethnoburbs differ. Compared with old Chinatowns, contemporary Chinese ethnoburbs have distinct features: (1) they are populated by a significant entrepreneurial class equipped with foreign capital; (2) interpersonal relations within the community are less likely to be based on strong ties defined by blood, kin, and place of origin, and more likely to be based on secondary, weak ties defined by common SES or other economic and professional characteristics; (3) economic organizations are less interconnected to local ethnic social structure and more diversified in type and more connected to the mainstream and global economies; and (4) even though the enclave as a whole continues to operate on the basis of bounded solidarity and enforceable trust defined by a common ethnicity, it does not necessarily preclude inter-ethnic cooperation and social integration. Table 23.2 reveals the interactive processes of ethnic capital in new Chinese ethnoburbs. 279

Min Zhou Table 23.2  Interactive processes of ethnic capital in new Chinese ethnoburbs Components

Strength

Relations

Financial capital Human capital Social capital

Strong Strong Weak

Basis Basis Outcome

As shown, the interactive processes of ethnic capital in new Chinese ethnoburbs are initially not based on social capital because localized ethnic organization is relatively weak. Instead, the enclave is built on strong financial and human capital. Social capital formation through ethnic interaction and organization comes after the formation of ethnoburbs. The comparative analysis of the dynamics of ethnic capital in old Chinatowns and new Chinese ethnoburbs suggests an alternative way to unpack ethnicity from a community perspective. Although all ethnic groups are capable of developing their own communities, development outcomes vary depending largely on the interaction between individual- and group-level socioeconomic characteristics and larger structure forces pertaining to globalization, immigration selectivity, culture, and host society reception.

Conclusion As I have shown in the above comparative analysis, old Chinatowns have been, and will continue to be, instrumental in facilitating immigrant adaptation, as their strong social capital repertoire supports the formation and accumulation of human capital and financial capital. New Chinese ethnoburbs also function to facilitate immigrant adaptation as they provide newer sites and opportunities for coethnic members to reconnect and rebuild social networks conducive to upward social mobility. Thus, the concept of ethnic capital opens up an alternative way of approaching and studying contemporary immigrant enclaves. The above case study also suggests that social organization in immigrant neighborhoods varies by ethnicity and that the vitality of an ethnic community and its ability to generate resources conducive to social mobility depend largely on the development of the enclave economy and local social structures. In the case of the Chinese immigrant communities in New York and Los Angeles, social developments at the local level, whether in Chinatowns or Chinese ethnoburbs, produce unique local social environments, in which the availability of, and access to, neighborhood-based resources are constrained by ethnicity (i.e., benefiting Chinese immigrants to the exclusion of non-Chinese residents living in the same neighborhood). I believe that this community perspective offers a more nuanced and precise explanation of how social resources are produced and reproduced in the ethnic community and why ethnicity may affect outcome positively for some groups but negatively for others.

Notes 1 The chapter draws on my published work from the introductory chapter of Contemporary Chinese America (Zhou, 2009b) and Chapter 2 of The Accidental Sociologist in Asian American Studies (Zhou, 2011). 2 I use “institution” and “organization” interchangeably to refer to registered (formal) and non-registered (informal) establishments that exist in a given neighborhood. 3 This is the basic argument I developed in The Accidental Sociologist in Asian American Studies (Zhou, 2011). 4 This section draws on material present in Zhou and Lin (2005). 5 “Ethnoburbs” are a relatively recent vantage, referring to multiethnic middle-class suburbs. 280

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References Alba, R. W. and Nee, V. (2003). Remaking the American Mainstream: Assimilation and Contemporary Immigration. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bourdieu, P. (1985). The Forms of Capital. In Richardson, J. G., ed., Handbook of Theory and Research for the Sociology of Education. New York: Greenwood, pp. 241–58. Breton, R. (1964). Institutional Completeness of Ethnic Communities and the Personal Relations of Immigrants. American Journal of Sociology 70, pp. 193–205. Coleman, J. S. (1988). Social Capital in the Creation of Human Capital. American Journal of Sociology 94, pp. 95–120. Li, W. (1997). Spatial Transformation of an Urban Ethnic Community from Chinatown to Chinese Ethnoburb in Los Angeles. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Southern California. Loury, G. (1977). A Dynamic Theory of Racial Income Differences. In Wallace, P. A., and Le Mund, A., eds., Women, Minorities, and Employment Discrimination. Lexington, MA: Lexington Books, pp. 153–86. Massey, D. S. and Denton, N. A. (1995). American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Portes, A. and Sensenbrenner, J. (1993). Embeddedness and Immigration: Notes on the Social Determinants of Economic Action. American Journal of Sociology 98, pp. 1320–50. Portes, A. and Zhou, M. (1992). Gaining the Upper Hand: Economic Mobility among Immigrant and Domestic Minorities. Ethnic and Racial Studies 15, pp. 491–522. Putnam, R. D. (1993). Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sampson, R. J. (2004). Neighborhood and Community: Collective Efficacy and Community Safety. New Economy 11, pp. 106–113. Wilson, W. J. (1978). The Truly Disadvantaged: The Inner City, the Underclass, and Public Policy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Zhou, M. (1992). Chinatown: The Socioeconomic Potential of an Urban Enclave. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. ——. (2009a). How Neighborhoods Matter for Immigrant Children: The Formation of Educational Resources in Chinatown, Koreatown, and Pico Union, Los Angeles. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 35(7), pp. 1153–79. ——. (2009b). Contemporary Chinese America: Immigration, Ethnicity, and Community Transformation. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. ——. (2011). The Accidental Sociologist in Asian American Studies. Los Angeles: UCLA Asian American Studies Center Press. Zhou, M. and Kim, R. (2001). Formation, Consolidation, and Diversification of the Ethnic Elite: The Case of the Chinese Immigrant Community in the United States. Journal of International Migration and Integration 2(2), pp. 227–47. Zhou, M. and Lin, M. (2005). Community Transformation and the Formation of Ethnic Capital: The Case of Immigrant Chinese Communities in the United States. Journal of Chinese Overseas 1, pp. 260–84. Zhou, M., Tseng, Y., and Kim, R. (2008). Rethinking Residential Assimilation through the Case of Chinese Ethnoburbs in the San Gabriel Valley, California. Amerasia Journal 34(3), pp. 55–83.

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24 Religion on the move The place of religion in different stages of the migration experience Jacqueline Maria Hagan and Holly Straut-Eppsteiner

Religion and the migration undertaking Decision-making and departure The migration undertaking is usually examined as a secular process. Theories explaining why people leave and where people go tend to be based on economic and social models. According to these accounts, individuals alone or together with family make a cost-benefit analysis between the places of origin and potential destinations and they migrate if the net benefit anticipated—usually higher wages—is greater at the destination. According to network theory, when migrants are all set to move, they will, if they can, activate their personal networks at areas of destination. Yet the decision to migrate in the contemporary world is even more complex than presented in economic or social network models of decision-making. For many migrants, especially the growing number of irregular migrants and refugees, who face enormous danger in their journeys and uncertainty in their futures in new lands, their religion guides the decision-making process. A growing number of studies have demonstrated the central role of religion in the decisionmaking and journey stages of the migration undertaking. Religion in communities of origin provides resources for spiritual support and guidance in the decision-making process. In many sending communities, clergy and places of worship have adapted their practices to meet the needs of prospective migrants. Through preparatory religious practices prior to departure, individuals believe they create good fortune and put themselves in favor with gods to ensure a safe journey. The personal and institutional religious practices that bear on the migration undertaking are strongly shaped by place and culture and are present among diverse religions and regions. In the West African–European migratory circuit, studies have demonstrated how Pentecostal and Muslim migrants turn to their respective faiths to prepare for the journey. In his study of Ghanaian Pentecostalism, Rijk Van Dijk (1997) found that prospective migrants in Ghana and Nigeria turn to healing and deliverance rituals held for them at prayer camps for spiritual counsel and protection during their travel to the Netherlands. In Senegal, Muslim fishermen have a tradition of consulting marabouts, spiritual leaders believed to have mystical powers, before 282

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the fishing seasons. They continue this tradition when they become boat migrants, asking the marabouts’ assistance for safe passage to Spain prior to departure. In some cases, predictions of danger on the journey led the marabout to discourage individuals from migrating. For others, marabouts instruct migrants on the proper offerings to ensure gods cooperate in their safe passage. Through these practices, migrants believe they will able to mitigate the risks associated with their migration (Hernández-Carretero and Carling 2012; Nyamnjoh 2014). Scholars find similar practices among Pentecostals and Catholics preparing to migrate from Latin America to the United States. In their study of Guatemalan Pentecostalism, Jacqueline Hagan and Helen Rose Ebaugh (2003) found that prospective migrants turn to ayunos (fasts), retreats, and prayer camps to prepare for the hardships of the journey to the United States. In Mexico, Leah Sarat (2013) demonstrates the preparatory role of religion in coping with restrictive migration policies. She found that Pentecostal migrants’ reliance on religion to prepare for the dangerous journey was a response to increased U.S. border enforcement through the Prevention through Deterrence campaign. Catholic communities also practice departing rituals. In communities throughout Central America and Mexico, departing migrants make pilgrimages to familiar shrines where they deposit petitions requesting safety during their trip and well-being for their families, and make promises to saints and leave ex-votos in exchange for safe travel and return (Hagan 2008; Wilson 2010; Durand and Massey 1995). Prospective migrants in Fuzhou, China, seeking passage to the United States face, as migration options, being smuggled on container ships or airplane passage in which they must navigate legal bureaucracy. They pray at home altars, visit Buddhist temples, make offerings, and engage in rituals to bring good karma or luck for these dangerous and uncertain trips. According to Julie Chu (2010, 135), through these practices, migrants and their families “mobilized gods to intervene proactively in their cases, from ensuring safety at sea to arranging favorable state encounters with more lenient and sympathetic officials.” Migrants whose initial journeys failed engaged in these practices even more intently in order to overcome past failures (Chu 2010). Migration also transforms institutional religious practices in communities of origin. Church clergy and caretakers of shrines in the Americas have created rituals and transformed sacred images to mark the departures of their flock and to encourage them to remain close to their faith and home. Recognizing a tradition of migration in their communities and motivated to keep communities of migrants linked to home, local dioceses, parishes, and priests accommodate emigration. In this way, religious institutions in communities of origin sustain international migration (Fitzgerald 2008; Hagan 2008; Kane 2011; Sarat 2013). In many migrant sending communities, including those in West Africa, Mexico, and Central America, trusted clergy provide counsel for departing migrants without papers. Approval from local clergy, often in the form of final blessings, sanctions migration and offers psychological empowerment to prospective migrants. These blessings constitute a spiritual travel permit that, in the mind of the receiver, may come close to, if not exceed, the value of an official visa. In this sense, migration counseling sanctions what is otherwise an unauthorized act. In parishes throughout Mexico and in some sending communities in El Salvador and Honduras, clergy celebrate the Day of the Migrant to commemorate in part the hardships that migrants endure and the Day of the Absent Sons to provide solace to family and to encourage a homecoming. Some churches in Mexico promote migration devotion by framing successful migrations as miracles, and profit from its material dimensions by selling to departing migrants physical mementos—medals, devotionals— to comfort them on their journey north. Local religious leaders in communities of origin also promote migration by incorporating the plight of migrants into their weekly services and transforming and then framing local saints as protectors and companions of migrants. For example, in 283

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Santa Ana Guadalupe, the local diocese transformed St. Toribio, a martyr of the Cristero Wars, into a coyote saint, thus providing a powerful spiritual and moral narrative for undocumented migrants (Fitzgerald 2008; Hagan 2008).

The journey Worldwide, the international migrant population has reached 244 million people, a growing number of whom are impoverished and have no choice but to cross borders to find work to feed their families. There is heightened concern among academics and policymakers for the global refugee population, which has reached its highest level since World War II (United Nations 2016). In 2015, there were 19.5 million refugees, forced out of their nations to seek asylum abroad because of political strife, civil war, or persecution in their homelands. In an era of accelerated globalization, militarized borders, and involuntary migration, employers, smugglers, and private detention facilities profit from the vulnerability of migrants. Lacking resources, many of today’s migrants must trek over thousands of miles of desert and mountain ranges, and traverse treacherous waterways to reach their destinations. Many risk and, increasingly, lose their lives. According to the International Organization for Migration (IOM), migrant deaths increased 52 percent between 2014 and 2016. Since 2000, an estimated 46,000 migrants and refugees have died attempting to reach destinations in Europe, North America, Australia, Southeast Asia, North Africa, and Gulf states—most of whom have drowned at sea or perished in deserts.1 Journeying migrants face not only physical hardships of starvation, thirst, exposure to extreme temperatures, injury, and drowning but also the susceptibility of being victims of violent crime (Donnelly and Hagan 2014). Concerns over migrant vulnerability also center on the growing number of displaced children. In 2015, children under 18 accounted for more than half of the global refugee population and unaccompanied or separated children filed the largest number of asylum applications on record since 2006.2 In the United States, unaccompanied minor arrivals from Central America increased from 4,059 in 2011 to 21,537 in 2013.3 The presence of children among Syrian refugees was seared into public consciousness in 2015 when the image of the body of Aylan Kurdi, a three-year-old Syrian boy who drowned en route to Turkey, circulated widely on social media. As of 2016, children represented 36 percent of migrants crossing between Greece and Turkey.4 The changing conditions and dangers of contemporary migration journeys have resulted in the phenomenal growth of civil society organizations that deal with transit migration issues and, within civil society, the proliferation of faith-based organizations and churches along major crossing corridors in the Latin American, African, and Middle Eastern migratory systems. Journeying migrants and refugees, who lack the resources or personal networks to assist them in their travels, and who increasingly face hostility from state officials, turn to these churches, shelters, and religious workers for help. In the midst of a global migration crisis, some host country governments have shirked responsibility for the safety of transit migrants, such as the United Kingdom’s 2014 decision to halt rescue operations in the Mediterranean, or Australia’s policies blocking access to protection on the mainland (Wilson and Mavelli 2016). Civil society organizations’ role in facilitating migration and protecting migrants, meanwhile, is based on a tradition of protection for refugees, manifest in “flight narratives” and rituals in all major world religions. These narratives date back thousands of years—far longer than state policies (Hein and Niazi 2016). Many churches and faith-based shelters have migrant and refugee programs that are supported by transnational religious congregations and faith-based organizations (e.g., Jesuit Relief Services or Church World Service) and their secular civil society partners (UNHCR and IOM). As 284

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Alistair Ager and Joey Ager (2016) point out, faith-based organizations, and particularly Islamic organizations, have become increasingly involved in humanitarian aid for forced migrants. Faithbased organizations, both Muslim and Christian, have been a crucial part of the humanitarian response to the Syrian refugee crisis (El Nakib and Ager 2015). The involvement of local religious organizations and churches in providing for the humanitarian needs of journeying migrants and protecting their rights has become especially important in some transit countries in Africa, where government policies and actions increasingly restrict the political space for secular civil society organizations, such as UNHCR, to meet the needs of vulnerable populations. Because of their higher level of credibility with both the people and the government, faith-based organizations and local churches can engage more directly with political actors to resolve migration issues and respond to the needs of transit migrants. In the Americas, a hierarchy of religious organizations mediates the dangerous journey for those migrating from Latin America to the United States. Once limited to occasional churches offering migrants help, now multiple organizations, churches, and programs along the migratory route provide for the needs of journeying and deported migrants. They include the Scalabrini Missionaries, a transnational religious congregation devoted to protecting and serving journeying migrants, programs sponsored by the U.S. Catholic Bishops Conference, and multiple churches of various denominations that straddle both sides of the US–Mexico border (Hagan 2008; Hondagneu-Sotelo et al. 2004; Menjivar 2006). Faith-based shelters provide numerous services to migrants to facilitate their journeys from the global South. They provide direct material assistance in the way of food, shelter, clothing, and medical attention. They also provide migrants with the spiritual, psychological, and social capital to continue on their journey. The clergy who care for these shelters offer services, blessings, and counsel to migrants to sanction their migration, help them endure the separation from family and community, and fortify them for the hardships of the remaining journey. From trusted faith workers and lay staff who run the shelters, migrants learn about the dangers of crossing international borders and, in some cases, are directed to alternative and safer routes than they would otherwise use. Those who travel alone sometimes network with other migrants at these shelters. Such non-kin migrant networks, forged in the shelters, buffer against the disruption and isolation, and offer solidarity, social support, and protection on the road (Hagan 2008; Hoover 1998; Christensen 1996). In response to states’ criminalization of migration and movement toward incarceration, faith-based organizations provide support to immigrants being held in detention. For example, Susanna Snyder and colleagues’ study of U.S. detention centers found faith-based organization volunteers visit detainees to combat isolation and “affirmed the humanity of those being held” amid dehumanizing conditions (Snyder, Bell, and BuschArmendariz 2015, 168). Religious organizations have become more than providers. They are also advocates of the rights of migrants and watchdogs of state policies. In Australia, faith-based organizations work to change restrictive detention policies for asylum seekers, drawing on principles of “faithbased hospitality” (Wilson 2011). For example, the Love Makes A Way religious movement uses tactics of civil disobedience to protest the detention of refugee children, including holding “pray-ins” in parliament (Wilson and Mavelli 2016). In the United States, volunteers from faith-based organizations held vigils outside detention centers and participated in campaigns to protest restrictive immigration policies (Snyder, Bell, and Busch-Armendariz 2015). At multiple levels of church hierarchy, from the Bishops Conference to interfaith organizations to local churches and shelters in Central America, Mexico, and along the U.S.–Mexico border, faith workers are increasingly involved in issues of international transit migration that transcend national borders. Motivated by a theology of migration, and as advocates for the 285

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rights of migrants to cross borders to find work, these religious workers and the transnational organizations in which they operate, have emerged as important vehicles for contesting nationstate activities and monitoring the regulatory practices of state institutions and policies. They challenge the migration state by documenting human rights abuses and crossing risks associated with current border enforcement policies. Along the U.S–Mexico border, cross-border interfaith coalitions challenge U.S. immigration policy by providing humanitarian assistance to crossing migrants and encouraging social and political protest among followers (Groody 2002; Menjivar 2006; Hondagneu-Sotelo et al. 2004; Hagan 2008; Hoover 1998). In addition to petitioning states, religious actors attempt to bridge the divide between migrants or asylum seekers and the population in the host country to increase social acceptance of their presence (Wilson and Mavelli 2016). Collectively, the activities of these organizations suggest the emergence of a new sanctuary movement. Unlike the 1980s’ sanctuary movements in the southwest United States and southern Mexico whose primary goal was to provide refuge for Central Americans fleeing political strife, today’s sanctuary efforts transcend national borders. In the absence of a retreat in state enforcement policy, these sanctuary efforts are unlikely to recede as they constitute a countervailing refuge from the expansive smuggling industry and vast military operations with which they share the migratory route. These sanctuary initiatives attest not only to the particular salience of religion and the church in the lives of migrants from Latin America but also to the growing public role of religion in secular and political life in the United States today (Casanova 1994; Coutin 1993; Menjivar 2006; Hagan 2008). Even amid the absence of institutional support, individuals traversing dangerous journeys turn to religious practice for hope and comfort amid their travels. In a powerful example, Eritrean migrants held a final service in a makeshift Orthodox church in the Calais refugee camp in France in October 2016, prior to the camp being razed by the French authorities.5 In her study of the undocumented migration journey from Latin America to the United States, Hagan (2008) found that in the absence of places to worship along the migrant trail, some migrants improvised and spontaneously erected shrines from stones and materials found on the journey. In some cases, pivotal moments on the migration journey have long-lasting impacts. For migrants who might not have been especially religious prior to departure, the stark conditions of crossing through remote deserts during passage to the United States influenced migrants to seek God for protection (Sarat 2013). Louis Dorais (2007) shares similar findings in the case of water crossings: at sea, Vietnamese refugees believed Buddhist and Catholic prayers protected them during encounters with pirates. After arrival in Canada, refugees became more ardent practitioners of their religion or converted to the religion that inspired them on the journey.

Religion and the immigrant experience By far, most historical and contemporary scholarship on religion and migration focuses on the place of religion in immigrant incorporation, with an emphasis on explaining how religious institutions help immigrants face the challenges of adaptation to a new land. Both historical and contemporary accounts in the United States describe the ways religious institutions in receiving areas act as vehicles through which immigrants weather the hardships and traumas of migration and, at the same time, preserve their cultural heritage and reaffirm their ethnic identities. Indeed, it is precisely because of the psychological traumas and hardships of immigration that immigrants turn to religion—the familiar—for comfort. Religion is so central to the immigration experience that the historian Timothy Smith describes it as a “theologizing experience” (1978: 1175). In classic studies of European immigration to the United States, for example, Oscar Handlin 286

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(2002 [1951]) and William Herberg (1955) singled out the psychosocial benefits of religious affiliation and participation for newcomers. It is important to point out that religious contexts of reception vary by host country. Religion can simultaneously be a source of inclusion and exclusion for migrants, as Khatereh Eghdamian (2016) finds in her study of Syrian refugees in Jordan. Syrian Christian and Druze refugees felt isolated from, and marginalized by, Syrian and Jordanian Muslims, and turned to their respective faith communities for opportunities for socialization and solidarity. They also drew on religious teachings to cope with isolation and exclusion. In Europe, case studies emphasize the problems associated with the religious diversity of its newcomers and its implications for European society. This problematic account is explained by the largely Muslim composition of Europe’s immigrants and the secular stance of the native population (Foner and Alba 2008). However, faith-based organizations work to provide services and advocate on behalf of migrants, refugees, and asylum seekers in Europe, including those who represent minority religions (Snyder 2011). Even in hostile contexts, religious institutions can be resilient, serving supportive roles for immigrants when they are officially excluded from state approval. In China, where religion is regulated by the state, African migrants rely on social support and resources from illegal “underground”6 African Pentecostal churches. Heidi Østbø Haugen (2016) documents how church social networks assist undocumented migrants caught by police by negotiating release or helping them navigate the process of deportation, including financial support for fines and return trips. Church members also form economic networks to avoid the vulnerability associated with weak legal protections in the broader market. Scholars studying the United States tend to find more supportive contexts of reception for religion. American scholars emphasize the positive and functional role of religion in immigrant incorporation, pointing to the centrality of religious organizations as sources of social and economic support in the settlement experience of a variety of newcomer immigrant groups. In the United States, faith-based organizations and communities are pivotal actors in refugee resettlement and integration (Eby et al. 2011), even amid state governments’ opposition to refugee admissions.7 Churches, synagogues, and temples provide a variety of resources to ease settlement for newcomer members and sponsor refugee resettlement. Virtually all studies of immigrant churches and faith-based organizations discuss the many services provided to newcomer immigrants and refugees, from food to housing, language training, and job referrals (Ebaugh and Chafetz 2000; Warner and Wittner 1998; Nawyn 2005; Hirschman 2004; Eby et al. 2011; López-Sanders 2012). In addition to direct material assistance, religious organizations also provide immigrants and their children with access to networks and information that facilitate social and economic adaptation and upward mobility (Bankston and Zhou 1996; Guest 2003; Lopez 2008). In fact, religious communities can provide key sources of social capital amid exploitation in the larger immigrant community (Guest 2003). Studies have also demonstrated that through participation in such activities as event planning, coalition building, and group religious rituals and commemorations, immigrant churches and congregations can inspire civic and political participation (Jones-Correa and Leal 2001; Ecklund 2005), and political mobilization (Hondagneu-Sotelo 2008). Faith-based organizations continue to provide refuge for migrants. The faith-based sanctuary movement in the United States that sought to protect Guatemalans and Salvadorans seeking asylum in the 1980s, which inspired the rise of “sanctuary cities,” reemerged in 2017 in response to restrictive executive actions enacted by the Trump administration. This resurgence was enabled by a 2011 memorandum issued by the Obama administration, which restricts ICE enforcement actions from occurring in “sensitive” locations including “churches, synagogues, mosques or other institutions of worship, such as buildings rented for the purpose of religious services.”8 287

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A network of churches across the country, representing diverse denominations, has begun providing shelter to undocumented migrants at risk of deportation both in church buildings and private homes deemed “safe houses.”9 In addition, interfaith organizations such as Sanctuary in the Streets in Austin, Texas, and the New Sanctuary Movement of Philadelphia are training thousands of volunteers to document and disrupt apprehensions.10 Religious centers, which are often erected or transformed by immigrants, also provide fellowship among co-nationals. In this way they reinforce ethnic identity, thereby creating more religious and cultural diversity across America’s religious geography. American pluralism has also encouraged immigrant communities to reproduce their icons from the homeland and erect their own places of worship, which further provides solace and refuge from the hardships of the migration experience (Tweed 1997; Orsi 2002). Within the walls of ethnic churches, in the comfortable company of family and friends, immigrants pray in their native languages and practice familiar cultural rituals, including the reproduction and transformation of revered icons. Another consistent finding in the literature is that religion helps immigrants become Americans and offers them a feeling of belonging in the United States. In the social settings of religious institutions, immigrants and their children can express and articulate claims for membership in American society (Portes and Rumbaut 2006; Alba, Roboteau and DeWind 2008; Kurien 1998; Chen 2008). Even amid restrictive U.S. citizenship policies, migrants can earn “spiritual citizenship” through religious participation and adherence to a code of good moral character (Guzman Garcia 2016). The central role of religion to the identity formation of newcomer immigrants led Oscar Handlin (2002 [1951]), over a half a century ago, to conclude that immigrants become Americans by first becoming ethnic Americans, a process nurtured through ethnic churches. A number of U.S. scholars have shifted their focus from the role of host religious institutions in adaptation to instead examine how immigrants themselves negotiate with religious institutions and continue to use their agency in the settlement stage of the migration process. One way that migrants negotiate the religious landscape of their new environment is by incorporating themselves into multiple religious traditions and organizations. Immigrants often mix and match religions to benefit themselves, taking advantage of geographical proximity and network ties. As Peggy Levitt (2007) reminds us, syncretism is often the norm among immigrants, not the exception. Nor are the religious practices of immigrants confined to specifically religious settings. They extend to other social spheres, such as workplaces, civic and political associations, neighborhoods, and households. Referred to as “everyday religion” or “lived religion,” this perspective places emphasis on religion as practice. Robert Orsi explains that this perspective constitutes a reorientation of religious scholarship away from static concepts of Catholicism and Protestantism, and from the academy’s long-standing fixation on denominations and congregation. It shifts the attention to “a study of how particular people, in particular places and times, live with, through, and against the religious idioms available to them in culture” (Orsi 1997, 7). Lived religious practices are evident in migrants’ strategies to cope with uncertainty. For example, Holly Straut-Eppsteiner (2017) found that practitioners of Soka Gakkai Buddhism use their practice to develop a sense of control amid vulnerable conditions during U.S. settlement. The migrants she interviewed, who represent a diversity of national origins, used their individual chanting practice to overcome obstacles related to English-language acquisition and precarious employment status and legal contexts. Melissa Guzman Garcia (2016) describes how undocumented, Pentecostal Mexican and Central American migrants in California rely on prayer to allay the fear of public places amid the criminalization of migration and threat of deportation, for example, while driving without a license and accessing social services. 288

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Religion and transnationalism There is a general consensus among American and European scholars that we need to move from the study of immigrants to one of migrants and from the issue of religious identity within migration to that of the movement of religions and hyphenated identities (Levitt 2003; Bava 2011; Assayag 2000; Cherry and Ebaugh 2014). This requires moving beyond the nation-state as a unit of analysis and studying persons in sending and receiving societies as participants in a single social arena (Vásquez and Williams 2005). The recognition that migrants are embedded in two nations through sustained and enduring relations across borders is what scholars term “transnational migration” (Basch, Glick Schiller and Szanton Blanc 1994). Scholars argue that religion is a key social field of transnational migration because it enables migrants to stay closely connected to homelands and to members of shared cultures, traditions, and faiths throughout the world (Levitt 2007). Studies that take a transnational approach to the place of religion in migration situate their work at different levels of analyses, from global institutions to organizations to communities to individual migrants. Numerous studies have shown how global transnational religious organizations foster migrant inclusion in both home and host countries (Casanova 1994; Levitt 2007; Fitzgerald 2008; D’Agostino 1997). For example, the Catholic Church has encouraged migrants to stay connected to nonmigrants in their homeland, sending clergy to immigrant communities abroad to meet with migrants from their home communities. The Catholic Church in home communities also encourages non-migrants to stay connected with migrants abroad by accommodating emigration through celebrations such as the Day of the Migrant to commemorate in part the hardships that migrants endure, and the Day of the Absent Sons to provide solace to family and to encourage a homecoming. Catholic transnational religious orders, such as the Scalabrini keep migrants close to their faith and homeland as they accompany them on the migrant trail. Similarly, Ousmane Kane (2011) demonstrates how transnational ties manifest among the Senegalese Sufi community. Sufi leaders maintain a “transnational spiritual economy” through regular visits to migrant communities in New York. Through visits with shayks, Sufi practices are institutionalized in migrant communities and migrants maintain a sense of identity and connectedness to Senegal and the Sufi Muslim faith (Kane 2011). Religious institutions in sending communities, in turn, benefit from these transnational connections. Several studies show how migrants reciprocate the institutional support they receive through remittances and investments which benefit religious organizations in their homelands (Guest 2003; Levitt 2007; Kane 2011). Global religious networks also unite religious followers around the world. Many migrants from Latin America participate in transnational rituals and form organizations and brotherhoods far from their homelands to bring their patron saints to them, to re-create the presence of their icons. In this way, followers in their new homes can honor their icons through customs such as annual processions and do not have to travel to the shrine to feel the presence of their icons and remain connected to their homeland. Second-generation Ticuanense in New York City commemorate their patron saint to identify with their home community in Mexico (Smith 2006). The Peruvian Brotherhood of the Lord of Miracles regularly performs the procession to their patron Christ to help Peruvian migrants maintain religious identity and create a public space for themselves (Paerregaard 2001). The global community of the Guatemalan-based Brotherhood of Hermano Pedro commemorates the plight of his undocumented followers as they pray over the migration petitions requesting assistance on their journeys (Hagan 2008). Transnational activities are also created from the ground up, from the everyday activities of the migrants themselves (Smith 2006; Levitt 2001). A number of case studies recognize the importance of religious practices in the creation of immigrant identity in the host country and for the 289

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maintenance and ongoing sense of belonging in the home community. For example, to make sense of their identity and confirm their membership in the home community, migrants have long transferred religious rituals and holy images from home to host country (Orsi 2002; Tweed 1997). In her transnational study of the undocumented journey from Latin America to the United States, Hagan (2008) discusses the transnational ritual of promesas—pledges made by the departing in exchange for a safe crossing. These rituals ease the departure, sustain and nurture hope on the journey, and assure the return of the migrant who must fulfill the pledge of returning to the shrine to give an offering to the saint or icon that made the migration possible. Religious practices are also extended from origin countries to aid migrants in their destinations. Chu (2010, 157) describes how in China, Fuzhounese families support migrants in the U.S. during their asylum hearings by visiting temples and making offerings to the gods. In El Alberto, a Mexican sending community, Sarat (2013) observed relatives participating in a special prayer for U.S. migrants in the local Pentecostal Church. In this ritual, left-behind relatives build solidarity with one another and seek employment, good health, and protection for their loved ones across borders.

Conclusion In the past two decades, scholars have learned a great deal about the relationships between migration and religion. One of the major advances in the field has been a shift from the study of the immigrant experience from the perspective of the host society to the study of religion throughout the migration experience, from a focus on decision-making through the journey and settlement to a focus on the development of transnational ties. Building upon this knowledge, there are several directions for future research. The field could be enriched by moving beyond case studies to more analytical comparisons to fully understand how migration shapes religious traditions (i.e., migrants and non-migrants, migrants of different faiths and cultures). Scholars also need to continue to move beyond studying religion in national context and in specific religious settings. Studying religion through a transnational lens and adopting a lived religion approach will provide insights into the different social fields in which migrants practice their religion, navigate religious and secular organizations in host countries, and remain connected to family, community and homeland. Continued research on religion’s role in the migration process will be particularly important during the ongoing global refugee crisis, amid states’ increased tendency to focus on national security and restrictive borders, in many cases, at the expense of humanitarian aid and the dignity of migrant populations.

Notes 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

https://missingmigrants.iom.int/latest-global-figures www.unhcr.org/576408cd7.pdf www.unhcr.org/56fc266f4.html www.unhcr.org/en-us/news/press/2016/2/56c6e7676/growing-numbers-child-deaths-sea-un-agenciescall-enhancing-safety-refugees www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/ct-calais-migrant-camp-church-20161030-story.html For example, the church where Haugen (2016, 114) conducted field work did not have government approval but operated “under unofficial agreements with representatives of the Public Safety Bureau.” www.npr.org/sections/parallels/2016/08/10/487753289/as-u-s-politicians-shun-syrian-refugeesreligious-groups-embrace-them www.ice.gov/doclib/ero-outreach/pdf/10029.2-policy.pdf www.cnn.com/2017/02/23/us/california-immigrant-safe-houses/ www.newsworks.org/index.php/local/politics/101622-philly-group-training-hundreds-to-blockimmigration-raids; www.theguardian.com/us-news/2017/feb/14/us-immigration-ice-deportation-raids

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25 Condemned to a protracted limbo? Refugees and statelessness in the age of terrorism Cawo M. Abdi and Erika Busse

Introduction World War II and its aftermath continue to be the yardstick for academic and policy debates on statelessness. The displacement of millions of people as a result of conflicts that ravaged Europe not only epitomizes the legal category of statelessness but also that of the refugee. According to the 1951 Refugee Convention: A refugee . . . is someone who is unable or unwilling to return to their country of origin owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion. (UNHCR 1951: 3) Closely related but distinct from this refugee category is that of the stateless. A stateless person is defined “as someone who is not recognized as a national by any state under the operation of its law” (UNHCR 2017). The refugee currently occupies a prominent position in our consciousness, in light of the ongoing crisis in Syria and the massive displacement of millions of people in the Middle East and in Western Europe. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), in a widely circulated press release in 2016, reported that the number of people displaced globally exceeded for the first time the numbers from World War II; over 60 million people either displaced within their home countries, crossing international borders or lacking nationality in their places of birth and/or residence (UNHCR 2016a). Though this human displacement is global in nature, three notable prolonged political crises in Syria, Afghanistan and Somalia account for the bulk of this unenviable milestone as millions attempt dangerous border crossings around the globe. Such movement is also producing fierce and urgent debates in the immigration policies around the world, as these millions in search of safe haven continue to be perceived as major burdens by neighboring refugee-hosting countries such as Lebanon, Turkey, Iran, Pakistan or Kenya as well as by traditionally asylum-granting Western nations such as Germany, the UK, Canada and the United States. 294

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In addition to refugees, this chapter also examines the plight of the stateless millions at the beginning of the 21st century. We posit that to look at statelessness as merely a reflection of those lacking citizenship or nationality in a particular nation-state abides by a very narrow definition of what a nation-state is and what nationality or citizenship entails. Looking at the literature on statelessness and also on refugees and other displaced peoples, we aim to complicate these two categories and even blur their distinctions. Ultimately our goal is to bring to the fore discussions anchored around conventions drafted at the end of World War II into contemporary reality of global protracted conflicts: millions of people we legally recognize as refugees are also de facto stateless, and their plight is for all purposes identical to those who we categorize as de jure stateless. As such, we hope to lay out theoretical arguments and policy proposals that reflect the urgent humanitarian imperative to reconceptualize our understanding of displaced peoples, as well as of the treatment of these two categories of peoples whose relationship to the nationstate model is represented by exclusion, persecution and precarity. We suggest that immigration policies and humanitarian interventions from more prosperous regions of the globe should reflect the new landscape of the stateless, which includes both those who have no nation to call their own, but also those whose nation-state of birth is in protracted disarray, with the nationstate merely existing in name. The latter, we argue, hold a nationality that is at best nominal, as these war-torn countries guarantee none of the rights that we associate with nationality or citizenship as such. Ultimately we hope this chapter opens up more dialogue in the highly bureaucratic and stringent legal barriers refugees and the stateless confront in their search for asylum and recognition to access civil, social and political rights, the basic dignity denied them in their places of birth.

Essentializing and essentialized categories The following discussion provides the historical underpinning of the international covenants that protect displaced peoples to further illustrate the necessity to rethink the categories dominant in our thinking of statelessness in the early 21st century. We live in a world divided into nation-states, neatly drawn and neatly encompassing within them nations (peoples). This norm of all peoples having a nation-state that within it contains its “people” is what Malkki (1992) called the “national order of things” in the contemporary era. The normative “nationstate,”, a European construct that spread to all parts of the world by the mid-20th century, was further consolidated with the independence of most parts of the globe from European rule. Consequently, the now familiar neat divisions and borders drawn by imperial powers with permanent lines dividing regions, peoples and places have become the model, even if a few of these “imagined communities” continue to be contested (Anderson 1983; Gellner 1983; Hobsbawm 1990). This chapter does not address the origins of the “nation-state” as such, but the reference to this literature is to acknowledge the central role the nation-state plays in all discussions on displacement starting with World War II and continuing to the current crises in various parts of the world.1 An often-cited Hannah Arendt quote below captures this reified role of the nation-state: Nobody had been aware that mankind, for so long a time considered under the image of a family of nations, had reached the stage where whoever was thrown out of one of these tightly organized closed communities found himself thrown out of the family of nations altogether. (1973: 294) 295

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This “for so long a time” references the European context, where the nation-state system has become the norm over the last few centuries, though shifts in borders and the creation of new nation-states continued into much of the 20th century even in Europe. But being exiled or pushed out of this “tightly organized closed communities,” which in fact never fully embraced certain peoples within them (in Arendt’s writings, the Jews being the prime example), represents the denial of not only nationality to certain individuals or groups, but also their sense of expulsion from humanity itself (ibid.). Reflecting on this taken-for-granted location of all peoples within the contours of the nation-state, Article 15 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights states that: “Everyone has the right to a nationality” (Article 15). The first international attempt to pursue this ideal is traced to the 1930 Hague Convention, which took place under the auspices of the Assembly of the League of Nations. Article 1 of this Convention states: It is for each State to determine under its own law who are its nationals. This law shall be recognized by other States in so far as it is consistent with international conventions, international custom, and the principles of law generally recognized with regard to nationality. The above article highlights that a given state has the right to govern and decide who its citizens are and that the state’s right to do this should be consistent with international law (UNHCR 2014: 8). These articles, therefore, set a norm of a world divided into “ideal type” nation-states (Weber 1949). The ideal nation-state is merely a model that particular cases can be studied or measured against, and “its value persists in terms of its relevance for understanding empirical reality” (Psathas 2005: 153). Unlike the model however, nation-states might or might not abide by international conventions. In other words, nation-states in principle ratify internationally stipulated conventions, and they ideally are able and willing to abide by these voluntary articles that outline humane treatment of citizens as well as those denied citizenship in their original places of birth (Conklin 2014). The logic in the ideal type citizenship, with its Euro-centric underpinnings, and the nationstate system as a normative desirable system of governance, were further solidified with various human rights conventions. We will cite in length the opening of a UNHCR handbook for parliamentarians entitled “Nationality and Statelessness” to further illustrate this point (UNHCR 2014: 5). The document starts with a lofty comparison of the reality of millions of people around the world to that of the Western citizen: Those of us who are citizens of a country usually take for granted the rights and obligations that citizenship confers on us. Most of us can enroll our children in schools, seek medical attention when we are sick, apply for employment when we need to, and vote to elect our representatives in government. We feel we have a stake in the country in which we live; we feel a profound sense of belonging to something greater than our individual selves. But what is life like for persons who have no nationality, who are stateless? Without citizenship, a person cannot register to vote in the country in which they are living, cannot apply for a travel document, cannot register to marry. In some instances, individuals who are stateless and are outside their country of origin or country of former residence can be detained for long periods if those countries refuse to grant them reentry to their territories. Often, even the most basic of rights – the rights to education, medical care, and employment – are denied to individuals who cannot prove the link of nationality with a country. We can tease out many strands worthy of analysis from the comments above. Most clear is the “ideal” privileges that citizenship entails – civil, political and social rights as enshrined, or at 296

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least proposed as ideals, in Western democratic nation-states in Europe, North America and beyond (Marshall 1950; Shafir 1998). It is critical to highlight that even the most stable democracies can fall short in granting these rights, and multiple axes of divisions (racial, gender, class, sexuality, etc.) can produce inequities in how citizenship operates (Román 2010; Fraser and Gordon 1992; Young 1989). But the assumption is that even when not perfect, many of these basic rights are accessed by the majority of citizens who also enjoy protection from abuse from state power. But for millions around the globe, these privileges are non-existent, either because individuals or groups are denied nationality within their country of birth, categorized as de jure “stateless,” or they have been pushed out of their country of birth where they held citizenship to become “refugees.” In comparison to the type of citizenship captured in the above quote, the stateless represent the empirical reality of the failures the “nation-state” ideal. Here we enter the realm of international conventions and a search for protections for individuals and groups whose “basic” rights have become alienable. The above quote ultimately also brings to the fore questions of the varying nature of “nationality” or citizenship: functioning citizenship versus nominal citizenship versus non-citizenship. One dominant definition of nationality is: “[t]he political and legal bond that links a person to a given State and binds him to it with ties of loyalty and fidelity, entitling him to diplomatic protection from that State” (Inter-American Court of Human Rights 1999, cited in UNHCR 2005: 9). Those lacking such political and legal bonds, “a person who is not considered as a national by any State under the operation of its law,” legally fall into the stateless category (UNHCR 2014: 10). Those fitting into Article 1(1) of the 1954 Convention are also sometimes referred to as de jure stateless persons, making it salient that this group’s exclusion is mandated in law. Article 1(1) of the 1954 Convention defines de jure stateless as: “a person who is not considered as a national by any State under the operation of its law” (UNHCR 2014: 10). In the definitions of both the refugee and the stateless, lack of protection by the state is central, while the distinction underscores how the stateless person has no recourse to state protection as he/she is denied nationality in the first place, while the refugee is temporary outside of his/her home state but still belongs to a nation-state with the potential to recoup his rights as a national of a country. The latter implies that the persecution that pushed refugees out from their countries of birth is a temporary disruption of unalienable rights, a temporary suspension of “legal bonds” that tie most global people to a particular territory, nation, soil (Malkki 1992). Moreover, while persecution, or fear of persecution, defines an individual or a group as refugees, a definition central for asylum proceedings, there is no comparable measurement that allows other nation-states to identify those who are stateless. But, as UNHCR puts it, “it is implicit in the 1954 Convention that States must identify stateless persons within their jurisdictions in order to provide them appropriate treatment to comply with their Convention” (2014: 11). Why does this distinction matter? It is true that these categories are politically complex and contested (Lynch 2005; UNHCR 2014; Batchelor 1995). It is also true that both the stateless and refugees confront major humanitarian challenges, as detailed in the next few pages. Both groups lack basic rights, protections and the privileges that we associate with a functioning nationality. Both legal categories represent the reality of the aftermath of World War II. The treaties trying to address the massive displacement triggered by this war ended up being addressed in two related but distinct treaties - the 1951 Refugee Convention and the 1954 Convention of the Status of Stateless Persons. The urgency of dealing with the refugee crises of World War II was given primacy, with statelessness taking a backseat. The statelessness treaty therefore involved an initial status as a Protocol and then as an addendum to the 1951 Refugee Convention rather than a convention on its own. These categories therefore shape our immigration policies and international humanitarian strategies and reception or rejection of refugees and the stateless. 297

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As much as we might continue to keep these two categories distinct, with the stateless associated with the absence of nationality while refugees are assumed to embody their nationality, the current global state of affairs challenges these distinctions. The fact we confront is that millions of contemporary refugees are now fleeing from (and sometimes being granted citizenship in) nation-states where being a “national,” a “citizen” is at most nominal in that it does not entail any tangible rights and privileges. The opposite is, in fact, true in that being a citizen often involves abuse of state power (or pseudo state power in the case of paramilitary non-state actors that rule supreme) that forces us to confront the legalistic classifications for the displaced. The following sections further bring to the fore the plight of the stateless and refugees and their common experiences in light of contradictory forces of globalization, fortified borders, terrorism, xenophobia and protracted political turmoil in many parts of the globe. We highlight the porousness of these legal categories, in light of both the reality of the de jure statelessness and the more common reality of de facto statelessness.

Massive displacement: global humanitarian crisis The world is currently experiencing the highest number of forcefully displaced peoples ever recorded, with over 65.3 million people either pushed out of the borders of their home countries or remaining displaced within their countries of birth (UNHCR 2016a). Of these, 21.3 million are categorized as refugees and this includes the 16.1 million under the protection of UNHCR as well as another 5.2 million Palestinian refugees under UNHCR’s sister organization UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency). Moreover, 10 million of this 65.3 million are recognized to be stateless people (ibid.). The bulk of this population of refugees and internally displaced persons (IDPs) is produced by three war-torn Muslim nations – Afghanistan, Somalia and Syria – with the first two now in their fourth and third decades of protracted conflicts. The economic and political burden of hosting refugees and the stateless is mostly carried by neighboring countries, with over 90% of all the displaced hosted by low- and middle-income countries (UNHCR 2016a: 2). Having over 20 million people in the refugee category shows the seriousness of the crisis. But the numbers can never convey the challenges confronted by individuals and families escaping from conflict zones, often contained for decades in precarious refugee camps. Such displacement pushes millions into limbo, uncertainty, insecurity and protracted camp life (Human Rights Watch 2017; Abdi 2005; Hynes and Cardozo 2000; Verdirame 1999).

Stateless: de jure statelessness As mentioned earlier, the de jure stateless are “those who are not considered as nationals by any state under its laws” (Goris, Harrington and Köhn 2009: 4). The 1954 Convention Relating to the Status of Stateless Persons recognizes the stateless as a legal category, though the Convention is not widely acted upon (Goris et al. 2009). To unpack the experiences of de jure stateless people, we identify four emblematic cases of statelessness. The first case involves the plight of those rendered stateless due to citizenship laws in a given country. Some citizenship laws, for example, do not allow women citizens to pass on their nationality to their children. Such laws have even more drastic impact on migrant women residing in countries that do not extend jus soli, or birthright, as a ground for citizenship. For example, women in Myanmar are not entitled to bestow citizenship to their children, as citizenship is only passed on through the father. This impacts children of undocumented Myanmar women working in Thailand and elsewhere, making these children a population with no legal rights on 298

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either side of these state borders (Milbrandt 2012). This legal limbo means that children cannot access education or health services provided by the state in either country. Another example involving women relates to laws that render women stateless when they marry foreign nationals. Such women can lose their citizenship from their place of birth, but can also lose the protection in the countries of their former husbands if divorced. This vulnerability to statelessness illustrates the gendered aspect to laws that impacts families in many parts of the Middle East and Asia. Another type of de jure statelessness is the result of changes in immigration laws that strip individuals from a path to citizenship. A case in point is Myanmar’s 1982 Immigration Act. This Act denied children of Rohingya people, a Muslim minority, the right to be citizens of Myanmar. This change, according to Milbrandt (2012) created 250,000 de jure stateless Rohingya (The Equal Rights Trust 2014). Many of them fled and are fleeing to Bangladesh following this Act as they continue to confront violence, marginalization and legal limbo on either side of these borders. Similar cases arise in decades-long cross-border migrations between neighboring countries. The case of Haitians in the Dominican Republic represents this form of statelessness.2 The Dominican Republic’s Constitutional Court ruled that children of undocumented immigrant parents will not be granted citizenship from 2013 onwards. In this case, those mostly affected are children of Haitian descent who, prior to 2013, were recognized as Dominican nationals. Changes in immigration laws can also affect specific groups in a given country. Such examples include the Bidum in Kuwait and the Banyamulenge in the Democratic Republic of Congo who lost citizenship rights due to changes in the national laws in these two countries (see Blitz 2009). Changes in laws of a given nation-state can leave a large number of people with no citizenship in the place in which they were born as well as their parents’ countries of origin if and when that is different from their birthplace. A third type of statelessness is produced when borders change due to civil wars. The Balkans conflicts and the emergence of new states in Europe is an example of how this produces de jure stateless individuals. After the fall of the Berlin Wall, and the subsequent disintegration of communism, ethnic groups who were part of the multi-ethnic countries ended up “on the wrong side of a new border” and these “commonly encountered difficulties in effectively acquiring or establishing citizenship in the newly emergent states” (Goldston 2006: 13). Statelessness can thus affect people who for decades viewed themselves to have “nationality,” but who, because of historical and contemporary ethnic and geopolitical developments, are pushed out of their imagined community. The last type of statelessness that we identify emerges from the creation of a state through international interventions such as that epitomized by the creation of the state of Israel. Though rare, this is historically one of the most significant international interventions pursued to resolve a major humanitarian crisis; the horrors of the Holocaust and the centuries-old persecution of Jews in Europe and elsewhere. The Partition Plan set out in UN Resolution 181 in 1947 recommended the creation of independent Arab and Jewish states. The Partition Plan devised, however, was not fully followed. When the British Mandate (1919–1948) ended, the United Kingdom left the new state of Israel to determine nationality to its inhabitants (Shiblak 2006). As a result, the creation of the state of Israel on May 14, 1948, resulted in more than 700,000 Palestinians fleeing or being expelled by the new state. Those who fled to neighboring Arab countries continue to face various citizenship legislations, which mostly prevent Palestinians from obtaining naturalization (i.e. Lebanon, Egypt and Saudi Arabia) (Shiblak 2006). While many Palestinians and their descendants living abroad enjoy citizenship rights, millions still in the Middle East and elsewhere continue to be stateless and are caught in protracted limbo (Knudsen 2009). The above cases all represent people caught in contemporary geopolitics, territorial contestations and border politics. These cases further illustrate the tensions between the nation-state 299

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as one centered on a “nation” or one that is pluralistic and inclusive of multiple groups who still recognize each other within their “imagined” communities. The contemporary dilemma confronting us with regard to the stateless, however, is deep, as terrorism emerges as a global challenge and as host countries justify their treatment of those denied inclusion with anti-terror rhetoric.

Refugees: de facto statelessness, international obligations, failures and policy proposals We argue that refugees as a de facto stateless humanitarian crisis is part and parcel of the global landscape at the beginning of the 21st century. Multiple ongoing conflicts illustrate how political turmoil triggers havoc in the lives of millions around the world. Somalia, Afghanistan and Southern Sudan represent examples of protracted conflicts that have now lasted three decades or more and that have displaced millions from their homes. But these countries continue to produce millions more as decades-old conflicts remain unresolved. Furthermore, the complete absence of law and order, the presence of abusive military and paramilitary agents, and the lack of access to healthcare, education and basic services continue to either push people out of their homes into neighboring regions, or push them to seek refuge in regions within the borders of their birth place. In either case, we have lives in limbo, with basic rights and privileges associated with “nationality” absent or at most minimal. These three cases are prime examples of the refugee as de facto stateless, and in extreme cases the IDP also as the de facto stateless. For many caught in this limbo, subsequent border crossings become imperative as a way to escape from uncertainty as well as enhance future well-being. Over the last decade social media has familiarized a wider global audience with the deadly journeys that such displaced populations take to seek safe haven around the world (Holmes and Castaneda 2016; IOM 2017). Through media outlets, we have become more familiar with the reality of death in the Mediterranean, with refugees and stateless individuals attempting to get to Italy, Malta or Greece, and the pictures of children’s corpses on beaches that we normally associate with Western tourists. The million-plus asylum seekers that Germany received over the last couple of years, which included a large number of Syrian refugees, epitomizes the geographical reach of the humanitarian crises in the Middle East, Africa and Asia. Thousands of refugees and stateless persons perish every year in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea while those still internally displaced within their countries of birth continue to remain outside of our purview. The sufferings of the stateless, refugees and IDPs are direct consequences of the loss of protection ideally intrinsic in citizenship discussed earlier. Such protection remains elusive for these mobile millions. At a time when we celebrate our globalized world, where many imagine borders to be porous or even obsolete, and communication and transportation technologies connect us in nanoseconds, we confront the concurrent discord of the globalized village where a small number of people have untethered mobility across borders and mobile displaced millions confront everyday abuses and exploitation – from their own nation-states, from host nations and from smugglers and criminals ready to exploit even the direst humanitarian situations. We can look at the Somali crisis as illustrative of the elusive ideal of the nation-state system and of the blurring of de jure stateless and de facto stateless. Somalia represents a case in which the nation-state exists only on paper. The collapse of the Somali nation-state can be traced to 1988 when the last Somali dictator, Mohamed Siad Barre, bombarded his own citizens in the northern regions of the country. While the country exists in the list of global nation-states system, in theory Somalia has not had a fully functioning government since 1991. The “state” has, in reality, lost all ability to provide its purported citizens rights and protection despite dozens of 300

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peace-building initiatives and internationally supported attempts to create stable governments, with the last Somali presidential selection (not election) occurring in February 2017. Similar to those that preceded it, this new government, its ministers and its parliamentarians are, in essence, not in control of any part of Somalia, with regional fiefdoms each claiming its own president and parliament, dividing the country into loose regional entities. The “government” is, in fact, contained within the confines of a few acres of the capital Mogadishu, their security guaranteed with international donor funds paying African Union soldiers to guard the little fortress housing the Somali government (International Crisis Group 2008, 2017). There is no functioning national military and no functioning governmental institutions to speak of. Political insecurity and turmoil have thus become the norm for Somalis, with millions continuing to cross international borders (to Kenya, Ethiopia and Djibouti), crossing oceans to get to the Arabian Peninsula and Europe (The Red Sea and the Mediterranean) or remaining internally displaced peoples in their own country of birth. While citizens of Somalia on paper, Somalis in and out of Somalia have stopped taking “for granted the rights and obligations that citizenship confers” as understood by those located in more stable regions of the world (UNHCR 2014: 4). For about three decades now, they can no longer “enroll [their] children in schools, seek medical attention when [they] are sick, apply for employment when [they] need to, and vote to elect [their] representatives in government,” as imagined by UNHCR’s “Nationality and Statelessness” (UNHCR 2014).3 With the majority of Somalis previously either nomadic or rural populations, their relationship and contact with bureaucratic institutions issuing birth certificates, passports, IDs and other documentations that we associate with the nation-state were minimal, and this further eroded with the complete collapse of governmental institutions since January 1991. The Somali case is, however, not unique. Other conflict zones such as Southern Sudan and Afghanistan’s forty plus years of conflict have created similar de facto statelessness. The millions displaced in these conflicts and their relationship to their “home” or nation-states of birth illustrate the blurring of what it means to be refugees, internally displaced and stateless. These and others’ experiences bear little or no semblance to what we associate with ideal citizenship or nationality. Clearly then, the experience of the stateless as highlighted earlier in the UNHCR handbook for parliamentarians (lack of access to protection under the law, access to education, healthcare, identity documents, etc.) can equally be applied to refugees and IDPs in the context of weak and/or failed nation-states (Slaughter and Crisp 2009). These legal categories, however, remain powerful determinants for asylum and migration proceedings. The majority of these displaced millions confront difficulties in fulfilling the requirements for asylum status determination processes around the world – whether through asylum or stateless recognition applications. While first asylum countries – often the neighboring countries of the conflict zones: Pakistan and Iran in the case of Afghanistan; Kenya, Ethiopia or Djibouti in the case of Somalia; Ethiopia, Kenya or Uganda in the case of Sudan, for example – might accept refugees and the stateless on a prima facia status, with no stringent requirements for official documentation, this is never the case for those seeking asylum in more established bureaucratic Western nation-states where government-issued forms of ID are required for asylum proceedings, which might be fulfilled with further stringent requirements to prove identity for those unable to provide such documentation. Providing authentic birth certificates, drivers’ licenses, or other IDs issued by the “home country” is impossible for millions around the globe, either because no functioning state exists in the place of birth (Somalia or South Sudan, for example), or the bureaucracy that might exist in some places (Afghanistan, for instance) is geographically remote and procuring documents is financially taxing due to pervasive corruption. Consequently, millions end up having to resort 301

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to forgery to acquire IDs. With this, we witness the blurring of the de facto stateless and the de jure stateless in their access to documentation, including passports and birth certificates, that make these mobile millions’ lives more constrained than imagined within the ideal nation-state systems. UNHCR states that: Statelessness determination procedures must therefore take into consideration the difficulties inherent in proving statelessness. Statelessness determination procedures require both the applicant and the examiner to cooperate to obtain evidence and establish the facts – this is referred to as a shared burden of proof. Because of the difficulties inherent in proving statelessness, the threshold of evidence required before statelessness is determined should not be too high. States are therefore advised to adopt the same standard of proof as that required in refugee status determination, namely, that a finding of statelessness is warranted where it is established to “a reasonable degree” that an individual is not considered as a national by any State under the operation of its law. (UNHCR 2014: 22) But for refugees, the bar remains high to prove persecution and to provide government-issued IDs from country of birth. Cawo M. Abdi, one of the authors of this chapter, receives numerous requests every year to provide expert witness for Somali asylum seekers, and one of the biggest quandaries she confronts relates to ascertaining that the individual seeking asylum is who he/she claims to be. Thousands of Somalis do not have any documentation from Somalia. Many were born after the collapse of the last functioning government and thus have never been “citizens” of a functioning nation-state, have never received documentation from a government institution and have never held an ID that was not bought in the streets of Mogadishu, Nairobi or Dubai, where Somali government-stamped documents can be procured for a price by non-state agents forging non-functioning state bureaucratic agencies. This Somali example, again, is not unique and the plight of Somali refugees and Somalia’s displaced is one shared with millions in other parts of the world. It is one representing the dilemma confronted by asylum receiving countries, which at this age of terrorism, have every right to demand identifying documents, but who with this demand further exclude those already pushed out of their countries of birth. This quandary then raises the urgency and the need for us to reconceptualize what it means to be a refugee or stateless. We need to rethink and confront the discrepancy between the ideal type nation-state system and the reality of weak or even collapsed nation-states incapable of fulfilling rights enshrined in global covenants.

Intertwined fates: the globally stateless and the search for humane immigration policies at a global scale Why does the shared experience of de facto and de jure statelessness matter? The plight of the 60+ million refugees, IDPs and the stateless goes beyond bureaucratic categories. As much as we want to bestow certain powers to the nation-state, we equally need to come to terms with the empirical discrepancy of a nation-state’s ability to meet its obligations toward its citizens and to those whom it denies nationality, and the expectations of the global community in terms of rights and obligations to which citizens and non-citizens are entitled. As such, immigration policies of functioning states might need to be more generous to those failed by their nation-state (de facto stateless) and those excluded by their nation-state (the de jure stateless). The desperation and the plight of these two groups is represented by millions trekking thousands of miles, in

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deserts, on seas and oceans, across borders, with full understanding of the risks of exploitation, abuse and even death. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) reported that a total 363,348 migrants arrived in Italy and Greece in 2016, with 5,000 fatalities and missing persons reported over that duration (IOM 2017), representing the desperation driving these people to deadly voyages. These thousands of deaths are the known ones, while thousands of others are unaccounted for, with their bodies never to be buried by their families. The burden of the stateless continues to be carried by countries that are fragile and that could potentially themselves become refugee-producing nation-states. More prosperous regions have an obligation to share some of this burden, to not only increase the number of asylees they welcome into their countries, but also to relax some of the stringent “burden and standard” of proof required of these two groups of people, whose ability to provide “documentation” is extremely hampered by the failures of some nation-states to fulfill their obligations toward those within their borders. Global humanitarian crises represent a window into our globally stratified nation-state system. Clearly, not all nations and nationalities are created equal, as was showcased in the first few months of Trump’s presidency in 2017, with a scandal involving the US President’s son-in-law and his family baiting Chinese investors for their real estate businesses with American Green Cards (Rauhala and Wan 2017). But visas for sale to the highest bidders is something that the United States and Canada, as well as many countries in Europe, the Caribbean and Asia, offer to maximize “desirable” immigration that boosts investment and economic growth. The 60+ million refugees, IDPs and stateless individuals circulating in the mostly underdeveloped regions of the world are shut out from this type of potential migration route. Instead, their only option to obtain a functioning nationality is to trust their lives to ruthless smugglers whose ultimate goal is also represented by the dollar sign, and who do not hesitate to dump their human cargo into the high seas. A UN report published on August 10, 2017 asserted that a “total of 280 migrants have reportedly been forced from boats over the past two days by smugglers off the coast of Yemen – up to 70 feared dead.” This event reveals the continuing deadly plight of refugees, in this case Ethiopians and Somalis (UN 2017). For those lucky enough to survive the sea crossings, acquiring citizenship of a stable “nation” is not guaranteed. While the difficulties of hosting large refugee and stateless populations are many, the current international crises of displacement calls for novel forms of interventions and even possible revisions of the categories and the burden of proof that are now so cemented in the asylum process. This chapter makes the case for rethinking the categories of refugee and the stateless as well as the extremely high bar set for asylum. We call for urgent attention to the unequal sharing of the burden of attending to refugees and the stateless by the international community in this era where an unprecedented 60 plus million people are on the move. How we think of these “stateless” matters. Thinking of refugees as de facto stateless and reimagining of immigration policies for all stateless peoples around the globe is a worthy pursuit in our policies and practices.

Notes 1 See Anderson (1983), Gellner (1983) and Hobsbawm (1990) for more in-depth discussion of the origins of nations and nationalism. Also see Wimmer and Glick Schiller (2002) for a critique of social science research and “methodological nationalism.” 2 See: www.unhcr.org/en-us/news/latest/2015/6/5584221a6/dominican-republic-urged-deport-state less-dominicans.html?query=Dominican%20Republic 3 Words in brackets are our additions.

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References Abdi, C. (2005). In Limbo: Dependency, Insecurity, and Identity amongst Somali Refugees in Dadaab Camps. Refuge: Canada’s Journal on Refugees, 22(2), pp. 6–14. Anderson, B. (1983). Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Growth and Spread of Nationalism. New York and London: Verso. Arendt, H. (1973). The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. Batchelor, C. (1995). Stateless Persons: Some Gaps in International Protection. International Journal of Refugee Law, 7(2), pp. 232–259. Blitz, B. (2009). Statelessness, Protections and Equality. [online] Oxford: Refugee Studies Centre at the University of Oxford, pp. 1–57. Available at: www.rsc.ox.ac.uk/files/files-1/pb3-statelessness-protectionequality-2009.pdf [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. Conklin, W. (2014). Statelessness: The Enigma of the International Community. London: Bloomsbury. Fraser, N., and Gordon, L. (1992). Contract versus Charity: Why Is There No Social Citizenship in the United States? Socialist Review, 22, pp. 45–68. Gellner, E. (1983). Nations and Nationalism. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Goldston, J. (2006). Holes in the Rights Framework: Racial Discrimination, Citizenship, and the Rights of Noncitizens. Ethics and International Affairs, 20(3), pp. 321–347. Goris, I., Harrington, J., and Köhn, S. (2009). Statelessness: What It Is and Why It Matters. Forced Migration Review, 32(6), pp. 4–6. Hobsbawm, E. (1990). Nations and Nationalism since 1780: Programme, Myth, Reality. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holmes, S., and Castaneda, H. (2016). Representing the “European Refugee Crisis” in Germany and Beyond: Deservingness and Difference, Life and Death. American Ethnologist, 43(1), pp. 12–24. Human Rights Watch (2017). Greece: a year of suffering for asylum seekers: EU-Turkey deal traps people in abuse and denies them refuge. [online]. Athens: Human Rights Watch. Available at: www.hrw.org/ news/2017/03/15/greece-year-suffering-asylum-seekers [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. Hynes, M., and Cardozo, B. (2000). Observations from the CDC: Sexual Violence Against Refugee Women. Journal of Women’s Health & Gender-Based Medicine, 9(8), pp. 819–823. International Crisis Group (2008). Somalia: to move beyond the failed state: Africa Report N 147. [online]. International Crisis Group.Available at: www.crisisgroup.org/africa/horn-africa/somalia/somaliamove-beyond-failed-state [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. International Crisis Group (2017). Somalia: new leadership, persistent problems. [online]. International Crisis Group. Available at: www.crisisgroup.org/africa/horn-africa/somalia/somalia-new-leadership-persistentproblems [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. International Organization for Migration (2017). Mediterranean migrant arrivals top 363,348 in 2016; deaths at sea: 5,079. [online]. Switzerland: International Organization for Migration. Available at: www.iom. int/news/mediterranean-migrant-arrivals-top-363348-2016-deaths-sea-5079 [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. Knudsen, A. (2009). Widening the Protection Gap: The “Politics of Citizenship” for Palestinian Refugees in Lebanon, 1948–2008. Journal of Refugee Studies, 22(1), pp. 51–73. Lynch, M. (2005). Lives on hold: the human cost of statelessness. [online]. Washington, DC: Refugees International. Available at: www.refworld.org/docid/47a6eba00.html [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. Malkki, L. (1992). National Geographic: The Rooting of Peoples and the Territorialization of National Identity among Scholars and Refugees. Cultural Anthropology, 7(1), pp. 24–44. Marshall, T. (1950). Citizenship and Social Class. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Milbrandt, J. (2012). Stateless. Cardozo Journal of International and Comparative Law, 20(1), pp. 76–103. Psathas, G. (2005). The Ideal Type in Weber and Schutz. In: Explorations of the Life-World. Netherlands: Springer, pp. 143–169. Rauhala, E., and Wan, W. (2017). In a Beijing ballroom, Kushner family pushes $500,000 “investor visa” to wealthy Chinese. Washington Post [online]. Available at: www.washingtonpost.com/world/in-a-bei jing-ballroom-kushner-family-flogs-500000-investor-visa-to-wealthy-chinese/2017/05/06/cf711e53eb49-4f9a-8dea-3cd836fcf287_story.html?utm_term=.f20b4a8920b3 [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. Román, E. (2010). Citizenship and its Exclusions: A Classical, Constitutional, and Critical Race Critique. New York: New York University Press. Shafir, G. (1998). The Citizenship Debates: A Reader. Leinster: Choice Publishing Co., Ltd. Shiblak, A. (2006). Stateless Palestinians. Forced Migration Review, 26, pp. 8–9.

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Slaughter, A., and Crisp, J. (2009). A surrogate state? The role of UNHCR in protracted refugee situations. UNHCR, Policy Development and Evaluation Service. Available at: www.unhcr.org/research/ working/4981cb432/surrogate-state-role-unhcr-protracted-refugee-situations-amy-slaughter.html [Accessed 18 Dec. 2017]. The Equal Rights Trust and The Institute of Human Rights and Peace Studies, Mahidol University (2014). The human rights of stateless Rohingya in Thailand. [online]. London: The Equal Rights Trust, pp. 3–15. Available at: www.equalrightstrust.org/ertdocumentbank/The%20Human%20Rights%20of %20Stateless%20Rohingya%20in%20Thailand%28small%29.pdf [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. UNHCR (1951). Convention and Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees. United Nations General Assembly, pp. 1–52. UNHCR (2005). Nationality and Statelessness: Handbook for Parliamentarians No. 11. [online]. InterParliamentary Union: United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, pp. 3–67. Available at: www. un.org/ruleoflaw/files/Nationality%20and%20Statelessness.pdf [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. UNHCR (2014). Nationality and Statelessness: Handbook for Parliamentarians No. 22. [online]. InterParliamentary Union & United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, pp. 3–64. Available at: www.unhcr.org/en-us/protection/statelessness/53d8ddab6/nationality-statelessness-handbook-parlia mentarians-22.html [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. UNHCR (2016a). With 1 human in every 113 affected, forced displacement hits record high. [online]. Available at: www.unhcr.org/afr/news/press/2016/6/5763ace54/1-human-113-affected-forceddisplacement-hits-record-high.html [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. UNHCR (2016b). Mediterranean death toll soars, 2016 is deadliest year yet. [online]. Available at: www.unhcr. org/en-us/news/latest/2016/10/580f3e684/mediterranean-death-toll-soars-2016-deadliest-year.html [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. UNHCR (2017). UN Conventions on Statelessness. [online]. www.unhcr.org/en-us/un-conventions-onstatelessness.html [Accessed 27 Oct. 2017]. UN News Center (2017). Smugglers throw hundreds of African migrants off boats headed to Yemen. UN News Center. Available at: www.un.org/apps/news/story.asp?NewsID=57336#.WfKYp0yZPXk [Accessed 26 Oct. 2017]. Verdirame, G. (1999). Human Rights and Refugees: The Case of Kenya. Journal of Refugee Studies, 12(1), pp. 54–77. Weber, M. (1949). On the Methodology of the Social Sciences. New York: The Free Press. Wimmer, A., and Glick Schiller, N. (2002). Methodological Nationalism and Beyond: Nation-State Building, Migration and the Social Sciences. Global Networks, 2(4), pp. 301–334. Young, I. (1989). Polity and Group Difference: A Critique of the Ideal of Universal Citizenship. Ethics, 99(2), pp. 250–274.

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26 Reclaiming the black and Asian journeys A comparative perspective on culture, class, and immigration Patricia Fernández-Kelly

Introduction In 1981, Thomas Sowell—by then a well-known writer and polemicist—released Markets and Minorities, a book whose purported goal was to explain differential rates of success on the part of ethnic groups in the United States. Mainly, the author sought to discredit liberal interpretations focused on discrimination by invoking what he saw as scientific evidence, that is, facts connected to market function and individual decision-making. Racism, he concluded, cannot explain the lackluster economic performance of African Americans in light of the rapid ascent of Jews and Asians; populations that have also faced prejudice. What keeps blacks near the bottom of the social ladder, Sowell argued, are fatalistic attitudes, a lack of faith in the future, and misguided government incentives that foster dependence. Milton Friedman, the Nobel Prize laureate, described Markets and Minorities as a breath of fresh air. The book became an immediate success and remained in print for more than 30 years. To this day it aptly reflects ongoing debates about the interactions between culture, personal choice, and social structure, especially as they pertain to ethnic and racial groupings. In this chapter, I take Sowell’s argument as a point of reference to review critical concepts in immigration research. I contend that mode of incorporation, understood as an assemblage of favorable or marginalizing factors in areas of immigrant destination (Portes and Sensenbrenner 1993: Portes, Fernández-Kelly and Haller 2005); and social class, defined in terms of educational attainment and accumulated wealth (Giddens and Held 1982), offer a more solid explanation for the outcomes of migration than culture or individual choice. I further maintain that a proper understanding of immigration must include a reassessment of the African American experience. All too frequently, African American Studies and Immigration Studies have been separated by a vast gulf, with the former focusing on poverty and social dysfunction and the latter emphasizing assimilation and upward mobility—the first a contemplation of social problems; the second a celebration of the country’s ability to absorb people from many nations. That schism makes it appear as if there were no connections between the two fields of inquiry. The opposite is true. Vital insights about the factors that shape desirable and undesirable immigrant adaptations may be garnered from more than 200 years of slave traffic starting in 1620, and internal black 306

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migration throughout the first half of the 20th century. Reclaiming the black experience is, therefore, essential to understand immigration, race, and ethnicity. Equally relevant to a full grasp of immigration outcomes is a reevaluation of the Asian journey. Authors such as Malcolm Gladwell (2008) and Amy Chua (2011) attribute the attainments of model minorities to cultural traditions of diligence, endurance, and frugality, much as Thomas Sowell did in the 1980s. Their interpretations further notions of cultural superiority, as a prescription for immigrant success, that widen unfavorable comparisons with African Americans. Nevertheless, as shown in this chapter, even the most cursory review of historical facts reveals that causes other than culture bear greater explanatory power in attempts to explain immigrant efficacy. Among them is what Jennifer Lee and Min Zhou (2015) call hyperselectivity, that is, a shared class position in countries of origin that makes it more likely for immigrants, including those from Asia, to attain high levels of social and economic mobility in adopted countries. The same concept emerges as a potent explanation when applied to recent arrivals from Africa whose levels of achievement in the U.S. and Britain, on average, surpass those of native-born citizens (Imoagene 2017). I begin with a condensation of cultural interpretations regarding immigration outcomes and contrast them with explanations that rely on factors such as class and context of reception. Then, I provide a summary of immigration to the United States with special attention to the black experience. I follow with a discussion of recent immigration from Asia and Africa and conclude with a brief recapitulation of the argument.

Tackling the puzzle: culture, class, and mode of incorporation It is worth noting that Thomas Sowell and Milton Friedman were praising markets and discounting societal processes just as Ronald Reagan was beginning his first term in office as President of the United States. His administration ushered in a period marked by the extension of neo-liberal economic policies, both domestically and internationally. Conservative narratives exalting personal choice were used to dismantle domestic safety-net programs and justify aggressive deregulation through the implementation of international trade deals. As organic intellectuals of that era, Sowell and Friedman shared a boundless faith in personal decision-making and the unrestricted workings of supply and demand.1 Markets, they thought, are not solely engines for the accumulation of wealth but also vehicles for the equitable allocation of resources, and even the fulfillment of democratic ideals. Stemming from that outlook was a vision of culture as a bundle of values, norms, and calculations that propel individuals to overcome or be trounced by obstacles as they vie for valuable resources. Such was a concept of culture attuned to daily life and common sense which assumes that behavior is in a linear relation to beliefs and principles. Individuals who make the right choices flourish; those who do not drop to the bottom of the social heap. The neo-liberal economic perspective thus begets a notion of culture as an independent variable that explains personal conduct but also collective success or failure. Dysfunctions at the personal and group levels are said to be caused, not by problems inherent to markets, but by externalities—such as government intervention—that prevent markets from operating freely. The durability of that view represents a triumph of intuitive thinking over scientific effort. Yet, explanations based on utility maximization and culture fly in the face of facts. Works in economic sociology (Granovetter 1985; Zelizer 2010) show that for markets to operate properly—even for them to exist—they must be organized in accordance with social norms of mutuality and reciprocity that do not always conform to economic reasoning. Herbert Simon (2008), known for his work in artificial intelligence and cognitive psychology, was among the 307

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first to conceptualize bounded rationality as the propensity of most individuals to act irrationally when formulating and solving problems. That, he argued, limits utility functions and alters the costs of information gathering and processing in ways that conventional characterizations of markets cannot account for. Even more recently, Céline Bessière and Sibylle Gollac (2015), among others, have shown how formal economic transactions affecting the accumulation of wealth produce shadow economies that operate on the basis of social exchanges not dependent on supply and demand imperatives. When applied to differentials in the level of economic efficacy achieved by ethnic and racial minorities, explanations based on culture and market rationality present special limitations because they tend to operate on a post factum basis: once a group attains success, it is easy to impute its achievement to the values shared by the members of the group in question (Portes and Yiu 2013). Furthermore, ideas, convictions, and practices invoked as causes of economic attainment are also found in populations whose fortunes have stagnated or waned (Portes and Yiu 2013). African Americans, Caucasians, and Hispanics all endorse mainstream beliefs in hard work, discipline, educational progress, and upright living, as do most prisoners. In other words, whether considered as a matter of personal or collective relevance, culture is not a reliable predictor of behavioral outcomes; people who hold similar values can end up in very different places along the socio-economic spectrum. An alternative interpretation of ethnic and racial outcomes does not require that we turn a blind eye on personal decision-making or culture but it demands that we consider history and social context. Individuals make choices and they adhere to belief systems but decisions and values do not materialize in a vacuum—they are shaped by specific relationships and power differentials; by the physical spaces in which people live; and by the character and quantity of the information they receive. In other words, culture cannot be seen as an independent variable, as Sowell and other market advocates do. A better way to define that term is as an ideational repertory from which individuals and groups select symbols and narratives to make sense of their experience and of the environments that surround them. Culture matters and markets exist but not in the ways that neo-liberal thinkers adduce. If cultural explanations are not satisfactory, what then accounts for variations in the outcomes of migration and disparities in the rates of socio-economic success among ethnic and racial groups? The most persuasive accounts come from sociologists and anthropologists who have investigated the adaptation patterns of immigrants in areas of destination (Portes and Rumbaut 2006). Such works draw attention to the effects of mode of incorporation on the capacity of immigrants to command important resources. From that vantage point, two sets of factors matter most: those that pertain to immigrants themselves (including skills and levels of formal instruction) and those embedded in the places where they settle (incentives to education, employment opportunities, and a measure of tolerance). In that framework, it is not primarily culture but aspects related to social class in countries of origin and conditions in areas of destination that explain discrepancies in the aftermath of migration. To support their claims, such researchers rely on a growing body of data, including those pertaining to immigrant involvement in self-employment and business formation—also a matter of concern in Sowell’s Markets and Minorities. Both activities are associated with the capacity of groups to make progress. Yet the propensity of ethnic and racial groups to create and maintain businesses fluctuates dramatically. In 2015, the self-employment rate among white male workers, age 26 to 55, was 13.5 percent, more than double the figure for African Americans assessed at 6.2 percent. Equivalent rates among other immigrant populations ranged from 34 percent for Israelis, 29 percent for Iranians, and 27 percent for Koreans to just 10 percent for Mexicans and 9 percent for Dominicans (U.S. Bureau of the Census 2017). 308

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Norms, values, and convictions fail to explain those differences. Successful entrepreneurs bear multiple national and religious backgrounds; they include Jews and Arabs, southern and northern Europeans, Asians, Middle Easterners, and some Caribbean and Latin American peoples with diverse and sometimes opposed characteristics; they are Protestants, Catholics, Greek Orthodox, Buddhists, and Muslims. In addition, success and failure in business formation are also found among people with similar traditions—Chinese Buddhists, for example, are highly prone to entrepreneurship but Buddhist Cambodians are not. Cubans, a preponderantly Catholic population, have among the highest rates of successful entrepreneurship but Catholic Mexicans have one of the lowest (Portes and Yiu 2013). Again, culture fails to account for such details. A consideration of contextual factors leads to more credible accounts. Foreign-owned businesses proliferate when immigrants come from strata with entrepreneurial experience in their own countries and when they encounter favorable, or at least neutral, conditions in areas of destination. By contrast, when ethnic or racial groups encompass low-skilled workers, and when those workers face high levels of hostility in areas of settlement, only a small number of businesses catering mostly to co-ethnics come into being. That also clarifies why some immigrant minorities, including Cambodians, Laotians, Haitians, and Mexicans, have not shown a strong entrepreneurial affinity (Telles and Ortiz 2008)—without assets, human or financial, to constitute businesses, those populations become permanent providers of cheap labor. Their experience bears some resemblance to that of African Americans who have the lowest rates of participation in formal business, even below those of Mexicans.2 That Mexicans rank low as entrepreneurs is not difficult to understand. Although some are the descendants of populations that have lived in the American Southwest since the 16th century, the majority are more recent arrivals—people with low levels of formal education who entered the country as providers of unskilled labor. A large proportion of them lack legal status. Their vulnerability turns them into easy prey for abuse and exploitation. They remain a forbearing working class in labor-intensive sectors such as agriculture and services. African Americans, on the other hand, have lived in U.S. territory for longer than the country has existed. They have a more prolonged history of struggle for actual citizenship than Mexicans. In the aftermath of the Civil Rights Movement, expectations were high for their increased participation in self-employment and business formation. Those hopes were not fulfilled; rates of business ownership among blacks are low; firms have fewer sales and employees, smaller payrolls, inferior profits, and higher closure rates than businesses owned by other ethnic and racial groups. Asian American companies, for example, tend to be highly lucrative; they are larger in terms of employees, receipts, and profits than those owned by blacks. Although they represent 4.8 percent of the U.S. population Asian Americans own more than 1.5 million businesses while African Americans, who encompass nearly 13 percent of the country’s population, hold fewer than 2 million firms (U.S. Bureau of the Census 2017). Such disparities were what first led Thomas Sowell to argue that cultural anomalies might be at the heart of the African American experience3 but a different interpretation emerges when giving attention to historical trajectories, the amount and quality of resources available to specific groups, and the characteristics of the context in which various populations are able to operate (Fernández-Kelly 2015a; Portes and Yiu 2013). I develop those ideas in the next section by focusing on key aspects of immigration and internal migration in the United States.

Black counts: immigration and race reconsidered Immigration sagas anchor American identity. Conventional accounts begin as humble people leave dismal conditions in home countries, defy barriers in areas of destination, and emerge 309

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triumphant as citizens in the world’s greatest nation. Often lost in that version of the immigration story is the turmoil faced by European immigrants after their arrival in the United States. Throughout the second half of the 19th century, and well into the 1900s, foreign-born workers and their descendants aggressively resisted exploitative conditions in their adopted land; they mobilized in protest and engineered strikes that paralyzed production; they formed unions and ranted against captains of industry. Many died in factories or while building bridges, dams, and roads. They lived in vermin-infested districts and labored without respite in slums and tenements. They also endured violent repression and prejudice.4 Even before the United States emerged as an independent country, Benjamin Franklin had ranted against German immigrants whom he saw as threats to Anglo-Saxon purity. Racially tainted characterizations prevailed throughout the second half of the 19th century even as immigrants were being recruited to fill the ranks of an expanding industry. Bohemians, Italians, Poles, Eastern European Jews, Irish, and Scandinavians—none escaped vilification. A famous 1876 cartoon on the cover of Harper’s Weekly – A Journal of Civilization, portrayed poor white and black workers as equivalent entities: apish buffoons undeserving of the vote. In other words, racial animus has been a long-lasting feature of immigration to the United States even when it entailed peoples of a fair complexion. Nevertheless, it was also during the 19th century that the nascent American state implemented farsighted legislative initiatives to extend rights for ordinary people as part of an effort to quell social disorder, build national unity, and stabilize markets. That was the original purpose of laws that enabled humble people to take possession of lands as trustees, retain the fruits of their labor, and then pass those gains on to their children. The Homestead Act of 1862, for example, offered impecunious individuals, mostly men, access to up to 65 hectares of land for cultivation and the building of a home. Successful tenants received title to the property after a period of five years (Portfield 2005). Multitudes braved cruel winters in Midwestern, Northern, and Western states in search of such benefits. Titles to homes built through sacrifice and endurance were displayed on fireplace mantles by proud homesteaders. By the early 20th century, when homesteading became rare, more than one tenth of the American territory had been ceded to striving individuals and families.5 The 1862 Homestead Act was one of many similarly conceived pieces of legislation whose purpose was to stay political unrest while fueling social mobility for most Americans. By the early 1900s, a new compact had emerged by virtue of which capitalists ceded profits in the form of increased taxation, workers came into compliance with capitalist demands, and government acted as an arbiter, organizing markets for the realization of profits and extending rights for citizens. That virtuous trinity found its culmination in the first half of the 20th century with an ambitious project in public investment: the New Deal, which included the 1935 Social Security Act, a piece of enlightened legislation still yielding benefits in the 21st century.6 The 1944 Veterans’ Readjustment Act further facilitated access to education, employment, and the acquisition of property for Americans who had served in World War II. Suburbs, new residential districts, and highways flourished under the G.I. Bill which created favorable conditions not solely for wealthy investors but also for individuals and families of limited means. In short, the much vaunted American Dream was largely engineered by the American state. Through proactive legislation, government—not untrammeled markets—sculpted a context of reception that transformed exploited and often disaffected immigrants and their children into citizens. Excluded for the most part from that lofty experiment in nation-building were African Americans whose ancestors arrived in Colonial America as indentured servants and soon after became slaves bereft of rights or legal standing as full persons. Their involuntary migration ushered in 245 years of life in bondage—a longer period than the one elapsed since the War of

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Independence—followed by Reconstruction, Jim Crow laws, and eventual displacement from the rural South caused by decreasing economic opportunities and, in many cases, fear of lynching. That unhappy sequel culminated with the arrival of six million African Americans in cities as part of what came to be known as The Great Black Migration—a massive population transfer from the rural South to the urban Northeast and Midwest. In the aftermath of the Civil War, America faced two distinct opportunities to bestow true citizenship upon African Americans. One materialized as General William Sherman tried to implement Forty Acres and a Mule, a plan consistent with earlier policies enacted by the federal government on behalf of common people—pieces of legislation like the 1862 Homestead Act, which went down in history as engines of progress. By contrast, Forty Acres and a Mule was never fulfilled; it became a symbol of the extent to which African Americans were excluded from the national project. While Euro-Americans built wealth through diligence but also through government intervention in the economic realm, African Americans accumulated debt across generations of neglect and dispossession (Oliver and Shapiro 1995/2006). A second opportunity for the full inclusion of African Americans arose in the 20th century when agricultural production in the South was revolutionized by mechanization. African American sharecroppers began leaving their home states, attracted by opportunities in northern cities (Wilkerson 2011). Their movement accelerated between 1950 and 1970. In 1905, twothirds of American blacks were concentrated in southern states; by 1972, nearly 80 percent had moved to cities, propelled by aspirations akin to those that had mobilized international migrants. In The Promised Land: The Great Black Migration and How it Changed America (1992), Nicholas Lemann movingly describes impoverished people from the Mississippi Delta falling on their knees after arriving in Chicago train stations. Such evocative images echo the gestures of immigrants from Europe after reaching Ellis Island.7 Hopes for progress, however, did not come to fruition for many African American migrants, largely because of the exceptional levels of hostility they faced in areas of destination. In American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass (1993), Douglas Massey and Nancy Denton condense a large body of research showing that the arrival of African Americans in cities was met with unprecedented bile that included phenomena such as blockbusting and red-lining. The arrival of impoverished newcomers was rapidly followed by the departure of earlier residents. White flight provoked rapid demographic change. Covenants and Gentlemen’s agreements, formal as well as informal, prevented blacks—even those with financial wherewithal—from gaining access to housing beyond the confines of newly emerging urban ghettos. Numerous are the accounts of black families settling in white districts only to see their new homes defaced or made uninhabitable. On the basis of sophisticated quantitative methodologies, Massey and Denton conclude that the single most significant factor accounting for residential segregation and the confinement of blacks to impoverished neighborhoods was the refusal of whites to share urban space with them.8 It is true that all immigrants have faced a good measure of antagonism upon their arrival in American locations but nothing can compare to the level of aggression demonstrated against African Americans. Authors such as Thomas Sowell ruefully recognize that discrimination is a factor shaping the fates of ethnic and racial groups but they fail to account for the magnitude of discrimination that leads to outcome variations. Those who claim that the immigrant and black experiences are equivalent phenomena fail to notice (a) the timing and mode of economic insertion of black migrants in areas of settlement; (b) the scale of racial antagonism that greeted their influx in cities; and (c) the deleterious effect of underfunded and punitive government policies that compounded their strife (Fernández-Kelly 2015a). The sons and daughters of European

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immigrants got the Homestead Act and the G.I. Bill; the descendants of African slaves got the forfeiting of Forty Acres and a Mule and, eventually, stigmatizing forms of public assistance and mass incarceration. What is notable is not that a disproportionate number of blacks have fallen prey to poverty and its disorders, but that so many of them have made advances despite monumental obstacles not faced by any other group. It is not cultural malaise but a specific mode of migrant incorporation that best explains the African American profile. In the next two sections I turn my attention to the experience of Asian Americans and to recent waves of migration from Africa. Both subjects offer additional lessons about factors that foster ethnic success in the United States.

The Asian miracle reconsidered Asian Americans represent the fastest growing minority in the United States. In 1970, less than 2 percent of Americans claimed an Asian identity and those were mostly the descendants of Japanese who had entered the country at the turn of the 20th century. By 2015 more than 6 percent of the U.S. population traced its origins to Asia, with Chinese being the largest national group and its expansion dating back to 1965, when the transformative Immigration and Nationality Act was passed by the U.S. Congress. In tandem with Latinos, who constitute 17 percent of U.S. residents, and African Americans, who encompass nearly 13 percent, Asian Americans are now part of a potent political force whose strategic significance was demonstrated for the first time during the 2012 presidential election. Asians who arrived in the U.S. after 1965, have been rapidly incorporated into American society, displaying high rates of business involvement, achievements in education, and rapid socioeconomic mobility. They and their children typically make up about one-fifth of the entering classes at Ivy League universities, including Harvard, Yale, and Princeton. In prestigious public institutions, such as the University of California, Berkeley, they make up more than 40 percent of the undergraduate student body. In addition, Asian Americans display among the highest rates of business formation and cross continents with ease as they pursue entrepreneurial goals. Yet, the story of Asian American success is a recent phenomenon anteceded by a more somber tale unfolding nearly a century earlier. Immigrants from Asia who arrived in the U.S. in the late 1800s—mostly Chinese—showed a different profile marked by acute marginalization, economic stagnation, and cruel attributions of inferior intelligence. The British physician, John Langdon Down interpreted the condition now known as Down’s Syndrome as mongolism, a genetic disability associated to the presumed intellectual and physical inferiority of Asians. In “Observations on an Ethnic Classification of Idiots” (1866), Down speculated that different medical conditions could be classified in terms of race and ethnicity; he concluded that if a disease can blur racial barriers to the point of reshaping the facial features of white offspring, then racial differences must be the result of variation. Such ideas have long been discredited but they underscore the effect of prejudice on the fate of Chinese immigrants at the end of the 19th century. The U.S. Congress passed the first Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882 to provide a ten-year moratorium on labor migration from China. That law was later renewed in 1892 by the Geary Act which made the ban permanent in 1902. The years that followed were characterized by continued denigration of Chinese immigrants who settled in the Southwest and were confined to the lowest forms of labor, including the laundering of clothes.9 During that period, Chinese immigrants conformed to a well-known profile—that of unskilled workers enduring both exploitation and racial discrimination, holding poorly paying jobs, and fighting to obtain vindication. With limited avenues for social mobility, they never became model minorities. It would have been impossible to imagine, in those 312

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difficult times, that six decades later, immigrants from China and other Asian nations would be celebrated for their creative mien and economic savvy. A major difference between early Chinese immigrants and their more recent counterparts was their class provenance. Those who arrived in the early 20th century were escaping famine and political persecution—they were providers of unskilled labor with almost no formal instruction. By contrast, those who migrated to the United States since the 1970s tended to hail from middling sectors; many had backgrounds in the entrepreneurial worlds of Taiwan and Shanghai and rapidly embraced self-employment in their adopted country. They were joined in their economic ascent by Koreans and Southeast Asians, mostly from India, whose backgrounds in terms of business experience and formal education were comparable to those of Chinese. The paramount significance of class in country of origin has not prevented authors from celebrating the traditions and habits that, arguably, account for the Asian American miracle. In Outliers: The History of Success (2008), Malcolm Gladwell offers an interpretation based on the idea that rice cultures rooted in the ancestral past endow individuals with habits of patience, memorization, repetition, and incremental advance that, across generations, converge with the requirements of modern technologies. More recently, in Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother (2011), Amy Chua attributes Chinese success in America to maternal practices of deep involvement in children’s wellbeing. Her book became a sensation because it validates the popular penchant for cultural explanations but also because it resonates with widespread anxieties about the presumed failures of education and parenting in the United States. Gladwell and Chua give testimony to the enduring power of cultural rationalizations in the popular imagination. The latest and most successful refutation of such explanations is The Asian American Achievement Paradox by Jennifer Lee and Min Zhou (2015). There, the authors describe the revealing experience of a Chinese boy brought into the United States at the age of six, whose parents divorced a year later compounding spatial dislocation with personal trauma. The boy’s academic performance went from bad to worse, and declined even further in middle-school where he confronted harsh racial prejudice. His parents addressed the problem by enrolling him in a military academy but the boy soon became part of a gang selling guns, and ended up in court. His anger and frustration had led to outcomes familiar among downwardly mobile youths of every kind. Yet the Chinese youngster had a powerful if invisible asset: the stereotype attached to his ethnicity. A family judge, probably thinking that Asian kids are smarter and more hard-working than those in other groups, dropped the charges. Sobered by the experience, the boy stayed out of trouble, completed college, and later founded a small business. Lee and Zhou’s vignette aptly summarizes the trajectory of Asian American youngsters who do not fit into the model minority profile but who, nonetheless, benefit from what Lee and Zhou (2015) call stereotype promise.10 Seen as part of a population whose members are expected to succeed, children like the one described above avoid problems that others in groups less favorably perceived, cannot escape. Lee and Zhou (2015) also draw attention to hyperselectivity, a term meant to designate qualities that enable immigrants from educated and comparatively affluent sectors in home countries to achieve equal or better standing in their adopted lands. Hyperselectivity, which is connected to class background in sending nations, affords tools that immigrants can deploy as they adjust to new and unfamiliar locations.11 Shifting attention from culture to class illuminates distinctions across and within groups. Class background, for instance, aptly explains why Cambodian and Laotian refugees, who originate from poorly educated and rural environments, have remained at the bottom of the socio-economic scale despite their Asian provenance, and by contrast to Chinese immigrants who come from educated sectors in their own country. Class measured by parental education and occupation, also accounts for the success of recent immigrants from 313

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Nigeria and Ghana, whose representation in Ivy League universities is comparable to that of Asian Americans. I give more attention to that subject in the next section. Social class entails differences in the collective capacity to command physical and symbolic resources. For that reason, it is a decisive force enabling immigrants to navigate the tempestuous waters of assimilation. A good education as a route to lucrative employment is a way to express social superiority. Formal instruction does not vary substantially across international borders; it captures conventions and beliefs transmitted across generations among individuals in dominant positions. In that sense, class breeds culture—ideational and performative repertories associated to class are then imprinted in the body, thus shaping what Pierre Bourdieu (1979/1984) called habitus; that is, a series of semi-automatic responses that can increase individual efficacy. Put differently, culture is not a fixed category appropriated by a particular group but a fluid process that iterates with social class as people seek to adapt to surrounding milieus. That approach also clarifies the educational mobility of some Asian immigrants from poorly educated strata who, nonetheless, display notable advancements. Vietnamese are a case in point. Many came from educated backgrounds but others were boat people—weakly educated refugees escaping chaos and political persecution. Despite their humble beginnings, they derived benefits from adjustment programs instituted by the U.S. government, and from positive public perceptions about Asian Americans. Starting in the late 1960s, immigrants mostly from China, Taiwan, and Vietnam used educational and material endowments obtained in their countries of origin to settle and prosper in America, giving rise to a new stereotype: the model minority. Narratives of success reinforced public perceptions and spilled over class boundaries, providing even those of lesser status with models to emulate. That process illustrates complex and ironic dimensions in cultural diffusion: having benefited from government incentives and abilities related to class background, immigrants and their observers can later invoke a putative Asian culture to explain success. Stereotype promise enables individuals to engage in what Robert K. Merton (1948: 195) called “self-fulfilling prophecy,” that is, “a false definition of the situation evoking a new behavior, which makes the originally false conception come true.” The story of the Chinese boy referenced earlier, illustrates that phenomenon and its entanglement with public expectations and self-definitions. Teachers and judges who assume that, by virtue of their Asian identity, students in their classrooms or defendants in their courtrooms have superior intelligence and character, will treat them more diligently or benignly, thus reinforcing in them rising aspirations. The opposite is true with respect to members of collectivities whose public image is tainted. Hochschild and Weaver (2007), for example, found that generalized perceptions of Latinos conflate them with undocumented aliens and, therefore, law-breakers. That, in turn, informs attitudes and actions even toward long-term and legal residents of Latin American provenance. Similarly, negative perceptions regarding people of African descent shape the way they are treated in schools and workplaces. Culture, therefore, is not only about what immigrants believe and how those beliefs buttress their actions, but also about how immigrants are perceived and treated in educational and employment terrains.12 In the next section, I investigate the effects of hyperselectivity on recent immigrants from Africa.

The black model minority As noted in the previous section, comparing Chinese immigrants in the U.S. at the turn of the 20th century to those that arrived after the passage of the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act shows how members of the same national or ethnic group can display markedly disparate 314

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levels of success in employment and education, resulting from the convergence between personal assets (formal education and skill levels acquired in countries of origin) and factors present in points of destination (a measure of tolerance and the presence or absence of incentives for advance). Further evidence about the relationship between class, culture, and patterns of adaptation in receiving countries may be culled from data pertaining to contemporary waves of black immigrants. Significant variations become apparent when contrasting native-born people of African descent—whose ancestors experienced systematic and brutal rejection—with more recent flows from Africa and the Caribbean—whose mode of incorporation has been relatively hospitable. While the former experienced modest rates of success across generations, the latter display levels of achievement comparable to those of Asian Americans. That remarkable development deserves attention because, as Hamilton (2014) has observed, between 1980 and 2005, the foreign-born black population in the United States more than doubled, increasing from 816,000 to more than 2.8 million. People from the Caribbean Basin represent the largest proportion but the number of Africans has also increased over the last three decades. They accounted for 20 percent of blacks entering the United States during the 1980s, 36 percent during the 1990s, and 53 percent between 2000 and 2005. Immigration from Africa and the Caribbean has also enlarged the country’s overall black population, accounting for more than 17 percent of its expansion in the 1990s and more than 20 percent in the 2000s. Even more impressive is the extent to which such immigrants are rapidly moving up the social and economic ladder. People from countries like Jamaica and Trinidad and Tobago consistently earn more than U.S.-born blacks (Hamilton 2014) as do newcomers from places such as Nigeria and Ghana. As in the case of Asians, the increase of black immigrants in the U.S. is partly the result of incentives created by the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act which made it possible for educated professionals from both Africa and the Caribbean, some with multiple degrees, to seek new opportunities in America. In addition, the Refugee Act of 1980 made it easier for those fleeing conflict-ridden places, such as Somalia and Ethiopia, to escape dire conditions (Pew Research Center 2017). Finally, comparatively cheap and rapid air transportation, as well as the extension of American ways of life, spurred the ambitions of people experiencing accelerated rates of modernization but stagnant employment prospects in Africa. That was the case of Nigeria, Ethiopia, Egypt, Ghana, and Kenya—the five countries which accounted for half of the foreign-born African population in the U.S. in 2015. Of special interest is the case of Nigerian Americans, who, according to 2012 census figures, encompass approximately 266,000 residents and, therefore, a significant proportion of African immigration to the United States. Nigerian Americans are, in fact, the single largest contemporary African immigrant group in the nation. Since Nigeria gained independence in 1960, and as a result of political instability in subsequent years, increasing numbers of people from that country have entered the U.S. to pursue undergraduate and post-graduate degrees. Others were professionals—doctors, lawyers, diplomats, and academics whose departure can be properly characterized as a brain-drain. According to the same U.S. census data, almost half of Nigerian Americans hold Bachelor’s degrees; 17 percent hold Master’s degrees; and 4 percent hold Doctorates—more than any other ethnic group in the nation. By comparison, among whites 25 years or older only 18.5 percent hold Bachelor’s degrees and 10.8 have graduate or professional degrees (U.S. Bureau of the Census 2012). Not surprisingly, a disproportionate percentage of black students at elite universities are immigrants or children of immigrants. Nigerians in the U.S. have the highest education attainment level, surpassing every other ethnic group in the nation. 315

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The Nigerian diaspora is also notable because it fuels one of the world’s largest flows of remittances and, for that reason, their ancestral country is the largest recipient of financial transfers in sub-Saharan Africa, receiving nearly 65 percent of formal disbursements to the region and 2 percent of global allocations (Hernandez-Coss and Bun, 2007). In that case, remittances tend to be related to altruistic objectives like the demonstration of success in locations such as United States and Britain, and a desire to give back to the community of origin. Nigerians thus represent a growing phenomenon of interest to studies of immigration—that of transnational immigrants bent on retaining a presence both in their adopted and birth countries. An important factor leading educated immigrants from Africa to become involved in remittance behavior is self-differentiation—an attempt to escape the stigmatizing effects of racial demarcations in the United States by emphasizing place of provenance as a marker of identity (Fernández-Kelly 2015b). Nigerians in the United States are more likely than other groups to retain connections to their country of origin through regular visits but also through the transfer of resources. In this case, a superior class status, in terms of education and affluence, converges with fears of racial stigmatization and a desire to retain an unpolluted self through the preservation of autochthonous traditions and connections to the Nigeria left behind. Such behaviors shed new light on the mechanisms that connect class position and the crafting of culture. In response to the unitary conception of race in the U.S., Nigerians and other black immigrants deliberately seek situational definitions that provide them with flexibility in their adopted countries (Humphries 2009). In some cases, joining an African American majority might advance their political and economic objectives. In others, self-definitions based on national origin or immigrant status enable the same groups to dodge negative perceptions. By emphasizing and selectively implementing traditions from the country of origin, recent black immigrants re-craft culture in ways flexible and advantageous (Imoagene 2017). In that case, class differentiation has consequences other than those related to employment or education—it also colors the extent to which immigrants and their children define themselves as African Americans or retain a nation-based identity. By contrast, less educated immigrants find it difficult to stave off stereotypes or differentiate from prejudices associated with native-born blacks. The effects of social structure in sending countries are far reaching. In The Making of African America (2010), the historian Ira Berlin notes that the adaptation patterns of recent black immigrants in the United States vary significantly along social class lines but also in terms of racial composition in birth nations. Immigrants who come from societies with black majorities and who therefore dealt with race from a position of numerical and often political superiority experience discrimination differently from those who hail from locations with white majorities and/or political conditions where whites held power over a majority of black people. Those in the first grouping were also more likely to have higher levels of education than those in the second category. In other words, class superiority as related to educational and professional achievement protects many black immigrants from the Caribbean and Africa. The same is not true for those who, like Haitians, tend to come from vulnerable strata in their own societies and are met with hostility in points of destination. Echoing Berlin (2010), Hamilton (2019) gives attention to the effects of disparate social and economic conditions in sending nations on the health of black immigrants in the U.S. He finds that the degree of pre-migration exposure to racism and discrimination, estimated by the relative size of the white population in immigrants’ home countries, has a negative effect on the wellbeing of black immigrants in America. Those who migrate from regions with white minorities in Africa and South America report the best health, followed by those from regions classified

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as racially mixed, such as the West Indies; immigrants from majority white regions—mainly in Europe—report the worst health.13 Such studies leave little doubt about the extent to which class and race in points of origin decisively shape the adaptation patterns of immigrants in areas of destination. As in the case of Asians, recent flows from Africa illustrate the degree to which higher levels of education and affluence in sending countries can determine immigration outcomes. Recent arrivals from Nigeria and Ghana have more in common with the experience of those departing from China, Taiwan, and India than with the fate that marked Africans brought to the United States in bondage generations ago.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have argued that cultural explanations accounting for the outcomes of immigration are not satisfactory. However it is defined, culture is an elusive concept whose manifold definitions create confusion and often fuel invidious comparisons when assessing immigrants’ varying degrees of socio-economic success. Cultural explanations are popular partly because they enable those who have attained socio-economic mobility to self-differentiate from those who remain stagnant or face declining fortunes. By invoking values and righteous behaviors as independent variables, authors such as Thomas Sowell offer explanations that satisfy common sense at the expense of empirical evidence. Culture matters, but not in the way that market-oriented analysts have maintained. Sociological studies point to the significance of social class in countries of origin and factors associated to mode of incorporation as the most powerful predictors of type of adaptation in areas of immigrant destination. That concept draws attention to structural factors that are measurable and susceptible to observation, in contrast to cultural accounts which often tend to be tautological and ex post facto. To support my claims, I drew extensively from the immigration literature and sketched comparisons between older African American and Asian experiences and more recent waves of immigration from both Asia and Africa. Older Chinese immigrants in the United States originated in vulnerable sectors in their own societies, confronted high levels of racial discrimination in America and thus underwent low levels of economic and social mobility. This was in contrast with more recent arrivals from Asia with higher levels of education and familiarity with professional life. While Chinese immigrants at the beginning of the 20th century were represented as mentally damaged contaminants to American society, contemporary immigrants from Asia have been cast as a model minority. Immigrant hyperselectivity and positive stereotypes largely explain that differentiation. Even more revelatory is the experience of Africans in the U.S. Originally brought in bondage and deemed to be infrahuman for more than two centuries, the descendants of African slaves confronted exceptional levels of discrimination and, to this day, are overrepresented among the poor, the marginalized, and the incarcerated. By contrast, current black immigrants from the Caribbean and Africa display, on average, impressive levels of education and professional achievement. Like contemporary Asian immigrants, they are protected in the process of adaptation by their strong class provenance in country of origin and by comparatively hospitable conditions in areas of destination. The final test of class as a determinant of immigrant adaptation is found within groups—vulnerable immigrants, whether Asians from Cambodia and Laos or blacks from Haiti and Jamaica, display profiles that have little to do with those of their educated and affluent counterparts.

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Notes 1 Sowell and Friedman were not alone when extolling the virtues of free markets. One of the most influential figures of the period was Charles Murray, a political scientist and libertarian whose 1984 book, Losing Ground: American Social Policy 1950–1980, provided validation for the elimination of “Welfare as we know it” under the Clinton administration. 2 According to the 2015 American Community Survey—which provides the latest available data—there are more than four million black and Hispanic-owned firms in the U.S. but, as a proportion of their respective ethno-racial groups, blacks and Mexicans rank at the bottom of the entrepreneurial scale (Portes and Yiu 2013). One in ten white Americans, but only one in 18 Mexicans and one in 20 African Americans, own businesses (U.S. Census Bureau 2012). 3 Like Oscar Lewis and Daniel Patrick Moynihan, he concluded that mores and habits learned in slavery—passivity, resignation, and lack of confidence—were later reinforced by misguided welfare programs that impaired the capacity of blacks to flourish. In that view, Asians and Jews who had also faced bigotry and discrimination but not, for the most part, dependence on government programs, were able to build more efficient cultural systems that protected them from failure and made their advance possible. 4 That was the backdrop against which the Haymarket Affair—a crucial event in American labor history— was planned and implemented by German American workers in Chicago, as they fought for improved working conditions and an eight-hour workday, benefits now taken for granted or rendered obsolete by technological advances. The bloody outcome of that mass demonstration gave testimony to the tumultuous outcomes of immigration in America’s past. 5 The Homestead Act had devastating effects on indigenous populations and it was also abused by powerful speculators who usurped lands meant to be owned by small proprietors and, yet, that piece of legislation stands as a clear illustration of a successful developmental effort—evidence of what the sociologist Peter Evans calls embedded autonomy—the capacity of the national state to implement measures benefiting the society at large even when some groups within it bear the brunt of developmental costs. In tandem with industrial expansion and individual diligence, government incentives such as those provided by the Homestead Act fueled the growth of a thriving working class. 6 That piece of legislation—still yielding benefits in the 21st century—offered grants to states for old-age assistance, unemployment compensation, and maternal and child well-being. It became a major force in the near eradication of poverty among older Americans. 7 So great were the similarities between the two groups that, in the 1930s, members of the Chicago School of Sociology, including one of its founders, Robert Park, predicted that blacks would rapidly assimilate. Park, in particular, thought that they would undergo rapid social integration because they held an advantage over foreign-born immigrants: English was their first language (Park 1928). 8 The aftershocks of historical neglect and dispossession across generations are still being felt.There is, for example, a vast gulf between the rates of accumulated wealth among whites and blacks in the United States. In the 1990s the wealth ratio between African Americans and the descendants of European immigrants in the United States was one dollar to 12—a worrisome differential to start with. By 2011, as a result of the severe economic downturn that began three years earlier—the Great Recession of 2008—blacks had further lost 53 percent of their reserves. The gap between white and black wealth holdings is now 20 to one. Although African Americans have made sensible gains in the political terrain, a large proportion of them continue to endure economic marginalization. 9 In Laws Harsh as Tigers: Chinese Immigrants and the Shaping of Modern Immigration Law (1995), the historian Lucy Salyer assembles a compelling account of the struggles endured by Chinese workers who, despite their abject condition, fought legal exclusion.Their activism contributed to the development of legal principles that continue to dominate immigration law at present. 10 Jennifer Lee coined the concept of stereotype promise in 2013 to designate public and simplified perceptions that convey distinct benefits to members of specific ethno-racial groups. She developed that idea inspired by Claude Steele and Joshua Aronson (1995) who, after a series of experiments, convincingly showed how internalized notions about one’s group influence social performance. Individuals made aware of their group’s negative portrayal in the public domain tend to do poorly in standardized tests of all kinds, thus realizing what Steele labeled “stereotype threat.” Stereotype threat may diminish the self-concept of students and job applicants but positive perceptions, Lee shows, can push them in the opposite direction, enhancing their performance.

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11 As Lee and Zhou (2015) note, if raw achievement is measured only by intergenerational advancement, then Mexicans are conclusively the most successful immigrant group in the United States. Although they have the lowest educational achievement rates in their adopted country, most of those in the U.S. graduate from high-school—a paramount leap forward by comparison to their parents. 12 As Michèle Lamont and Marcel Fournier (1993) have shown, culture has subtly become an instrument to distinguish insiders from outsiders; deserving from undeserving; superior from inferior—a function originally ascribed to race. Cultural explanations of difference are thus fraught with dangers, intellectual as well as political. The word culture has a long history; its meanings have multiplied across time—the anthropological literature alone features scores of different ways in which the word may be used. For that reason, it is good to employ the term cautiously, if only to avoid confusion. But there is more to that story than meets the eye. In the early 20th century, culture was proposed by notable authors such as Franz Boas (1940/1995) and Ashley Montagu (1942/1997) as a corrective to the egregious equivocations associated with a different word: race. Several generations of speculative theorists since the 17th century had depended on race to support the imperial agendas of Western nations. It was in the name of racial superiority that colonial domination was perpetuated in Asia, Africa, and Latin America. Thinkers like Boas and Montagu thought that by purging from language one of its most nefarious words and replacing it with culture—a benevolent term that drew attention to shared ways of life, not biological difference—the world would be on its way to a more precise and ethically informed future. 13 Similarly, the degree of income inequality and the level of development in immigrants’ birth countries have a powerful effect on the degree of skills selectivity among immigrants (Borjas 1985, 1987; Jasso et al 2004; Feliciano 2005). Hamilton’s study (2012) shows that, net of individual-level characteristics, black immigrants from countries with higher proportions ofschool-age children enroled in school, lower levels of income inequality, and higher life expectancies at birth report more favorable health in the United States.

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Hamilton, Tod G. (2014). “Selection, Language Heritage, and the Earnings Trajectories of Black Immigrants in the United States.” Demography Vol. 51: 975–1002. Hamilton, Tod (2019). Immigration and the Remaking of Black America. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Hamilton, Tod G. and Tiffany L. Green (2017). “Intergenerational Differences in Smoking among West Indian, Haitian, Latin American, and African Blacks in the United States.” Population Health Vol. 3: 305–317. Hernandez-Coss, R. and C. E. Bun (2007) “The UK-Nigeria Remittance Corridor: Challenges of Embracing Formal Transfer Systems in a Dual Financial Environment,” World Bank Working Paper 92. Washington, DC: World Bank. Hochschild, Jennifer L. and Vesla Weaver (2007). “The Skin Color Paradox and the American Racial Order.” Social Forces Vol. 86, No. 2: 643–670. Humphries, Jill M. (2009). “Resisting ‘Race’; Organizing African Transnational Identities in the United States.” In The New African Diaspora (Isidore Okpewho and Nkiru Nzegwu, editors). Bloomington and Indianapolis, IN: Indiana University Press, pp. 271–302. Imoagene, Onoso (2017). Beyond Expectations: Second-Generation Nigerians in the United States and Britain. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Jasso, Guillermina, Douglas S. Massey, Mark R. Rosenzweig, and James P. Smith (2004). “Immigrant Health – Selectivity and Acculturation.” In Critical Perspectives on Racial and Ethnic Differences in Health in Late Life (N. Anderson, R. Bulatao, and B. Cohen, editors). Washington, DC: National Academy Press, pp. 227–266. Lamont, Michèle and Marcel Fournier (Editors) (1993). Cultivating Differences: Symbolic Boundaries and the Making of Inequality. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Lee, Jennifer and Min Zhou (2015). The Asian American Achievement Paradox. New York: Russell Sage Foundation Press. Lemann, Nicholas (1992). The Promised Land: The Great Black Migration and how it Changed America. New York: Vintage. Massey, Douglas S. and Nancy Denton (1993). American Apartheid: Segregation and the Making of the Underclass. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Merton, Robert K. (1948). “The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy.” Antioch Review Vol. 8, No. 2 (Summer): 193–210. Montagu, Ashley (1942/1997). Man’s Most Dangerous Myth: The Fallacy of Race. New York: Harper. Murray, Charles (1984). Losing Ground. American Social Policy 1950–1980. New York: Basic Books. Oliver, Melvin and Thomas Shapiro (1995/2006). Black Wealth/White Wealth: A New Perspective on Racial Inequality. New York: Routledge. Park, Robert (1928). “Human Migration and the Marginal Man.” American Journal of Sociology Vol. 33: 881–893. Pew Research Center (2017). “African Immigrant Population in U.S. Steadily Climbs.” Available at: www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2017/02/14/african-immigrant-population-in-u-s-steadily-climbs/ (accessed August 16, 2018). Portes, Alejandro and Julia Sensenbrenner (1993). “Embeddedness and Immigration: Notes on the Social Determinants of Economic Action.” American Journal of Sociology Vol. 98, No. 6: 1320–1350. Portes, Alejandro, Patricia Fernández-Kelly and William Haller (2005). “Segmented Assimilation on the Ground: The New Second Generation in Early Adulthood.” Ethnic and Racial Studies Vol. 28, No. 6: 1000–1040. Portes Alejandro and Rubén Rumbaut (2006). Immigrant America: A Portrait, 3rd edition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Portes, Alejandro and Jessica Yiu (2013). “Entrepreneurship, Transnationalism, and Development.” Migration Studies Vol. 1, No. 1: 75–95. Portfield, Jason (2005). Homestead Act of 1862: A Primary Source History of the Settlement of the American Heartland in the Late 19th Century. New York: Rosen Publishing Group. Salyer, Lucy E. (1995). Laws Harsh As Tigers: Chinese Immigrants and the Shaping of Modern Immigration Law. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press. Simon, Herbert A. (2008). Economics, Bounded Rationality and the Cognitive Revolution. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar Publishing. Sowell, Thomas (1981). Markets and Minorities. New York: Basic Books. Steele, Claude M. and Joshua J. Aronson (1995). “Stereotype Threat and the Intellectual Test Performance of African Americans.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology Vol. 69: 797–811. 320

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Telles, Edward and Vilma Ortiz (2008). Generations of Exclusion: Mexican Americans, Assimilation, and Race. New York: Russell Sage Foundation Publications. U.S. Bureau of the Census (2012). “The Population with a Bachelor’s Degree or Higher by Race and Hispanic Origin: 2006–2010.” American Community Survey Brief by Stella U. Ogunwole, Malcolm P. Drewery, Jr., and Merarys Rios Vargas. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Commerce, Economics and Statistics Administration. U.S. Bureau of the Census (2017). “Survey of Business Owners and Self-Employed Persons – Survey Results: 2012.” Available at: www.census.gov/library/publications/2012/econ/2012-sbo.html Wilkerson, Isabel (2011). The Warmth of Other Suns: The Epic Story of America’s Great Migration. New York: Vintage. Zelizer, Viviana (2010). Economic Lives: How Culture Shapes the Economy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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Part VI

Migrants and social reproduction

Migration transforms the processes by which social groups reproduce themselves. The greatest changes are encountered by those who go abroad, but those remaining in the country of origin and residents of the host society also experience altered circumstances. Through this process, established relationships and social patterns are often challenged and strained, but in many cases, ties endure. Social reproduction does not occur simply because of individual choices that people make; it is shaped by laws, policies and programs that shape individual decision-making processes. Therefore, migrant social reproduction needs to be examined in the context of states and the structures and institutions that provide legal frameworks for family relations and the cultural integration of migrants. The forms of social reproduction transformed through migration that we explore here include language learning and use, intermarriage across immigrant and racial/ethnic groups, and international adoption. These are not fully inclusive of all forms of social reproduction, but they do highlight several key areas in which group identity is transformed through the mixing of cultures and within immigrant families and across immigrant generations. Because migrants transform patterns of social reproduction as they adapt to the new setting, the issue of assimilation is inextricably associated with migrants’ social reproduction. The first chapter, by Guofang Li and Pramod Kumar Sah, is on immigrant language acquisition. They review the individual, collective and contextual factors that both facilitate and limit immigrants’ ability to acquire fluency in the host society’s language. Li and Sah focus especially on language policies and resources for learning the receiving societies’ dominant language. Given the increase in the number of refugees worldwide, the authors attend to the particular challenges of refugees who might not have well-planned migrations and thus cannot prepare for the challenges of language learning prior to departure. Li and Sah astutely connect language policies and programs globally, demonstrating a pattern of language instruction that does more to fit the needs of the state and economic elites than those of migrants. Focusing on immigrant intermarriage in the United States, Charlie V. Morgan explains how greater diversity of the countries of origin of immigrants has led to more complexity in racial/ ethnic relations in the US, in part resulting from intermarriage. Marriages across racial/ethnic groups have increased over the past 30+ years, making intermarriage a more important topic for understanding race relations. Morgan identifies theoretical and methodological contributions

Part VI

and limitations in this area, and describes how intermarriage has changed patterns of ethnic and racial identification among both migrant populations and host societies. In an updated chapter on international adoption, Andrea Louie summarizes the history of this growing form of international migration – which is generally not regarded as such – and summarizes the outlooks of both its proponents and critics, noting that it is important to specifically examine how adoptees are positioned both legally and socially in relation to other types of migrants. Observing that the countries receiving the highest number of international adoptees in 2004 were affluent nations in North America and Europe, and that the top sending countries to the US are generally located in Asia, Latin America and Eastern Europe but are not characterized by extreme poverty or the greatest birth rates, she shows that international adoption is mediated by governmental policies and reflects social, cultural and historical factors, including gender, race and nationality. Drawing upon her own research on how white and Asian American parents who adopted Chinese children conceive of Chineseness as a racial and cultural form as they help their adopted children craft identities in the US, she gleans a wealth of knowledge regarding popular understandings of belonging, authenticity and kinship that are relevant to the broader study of international migration. Finally, the chapter concludes with accounts of social activism mounted by international adoptees themselves.

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27 Immigrant and refugee language policies, programs, and practices in an era of change Promises, contradictions, and possibilities Guofang Li and Pramod Kumar Sah

Introduction The international movement of people seeking a better life is not a new trend but there has been a dire upturn lately in migration flows globally, especially in Europe. Following the 2014 database of the International Organization for Migration (IOM), the world has already hosted 232 million international migrants including legal immigrants, refugees, and asylum seekers. Of these, 16.1 million are forced migrants (refugees and asylum seekers) who are being displaced due to continued regional conflicts in the Middle East and other parts of the world. The number of this one-way traffic is still projected to increase by 5 million in the U.S., 1.17 million in Canada, 1.02 million in Australia, and 0.9 million in the U.K. in the next five years (UN Department of Economics and Social Affairs, 2015). With the rapid increase in the number of economic immigrants and displaced people, the industrialized countries are struggling in their efforts to help migrants settle economically, socio-culturally, and civically. One of the major challenges for those receiving countries is to design and deliver effective immigrant language policies and programs, which can support the successful integration of immigrants and refugees into host societies. The development of host language skills is “a universal, rudimentary approach to the questions of settlement services promoting integration” (Lanphier & Lukomskyj, 1994, p. 369). Research shows that immigrants’ proficiency in the host language is critical to both economic and social integration (Boyd & Cao, 2009). Failure in the acquisition of the host language often complicates immigrants’ entire settlement process, which sometimes leads to stress, frustration, and mental problems (Beiser & Hou, 2001). The chapter on immigrants’ language acquisition in the first edition of this handbook described a range of factors influencing immigrants’ language acquisition, including learner factors (e.g., age, time of arrival, educational level, and gender) and contextual factors (such as the family context and countries of origin; Li 2013). Immigrant language acquisition is a complex task that requires effective pedagogies, programs, and policy support. According to IOM (2014), although 90% of host countries have developed settlement policies that include the essential element of language education to support new immigrants, only 62% of them have implemented

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the policies. Among the countries that have enacted different language skills-oriented programs, it is found that most of the programs have failed to address immigrants’ needs to learn the target language; and therefore, they did not improve immigrants’ language proficiency to successfully transition them into the labor force (Boyd & Cao, 2009). While much research has focused on immigrant and refugee language policies and programs in a particular country, few researchers have identified emerging trends and patterns across language policies that are in place in different host countries. Given the rapid increase in global migration flow, there is a pressing need to identify these gaps between policies and practices across different countries. Knowing these missing links helps seek new ways to support immigrants’ target language learning and help integrate these new members into the host society economically, socio-culturally, and civically. It is to this end this chapter delves into a critical understanding of the layered relationships between immigrant language policies and programs and their on-the-ground realities across major receiving countries in the world.

Immigrants’ and refugees’ integration: a status report Two critical aims of immigrant language policies and programs are economic and sociocultural integration. Economic integration is acquired through a successful admission in the labor market and is considered the most crucial to newcomers. In fact, integration often begins “at the economic level, with access to employment, and continues with the learning of norms that govern the society” (Richard, Maurel, & Berthomiere, 2016, p. 116). Along with economic integration, almost all settlement policies and language training programs aim at facilitating interleaving underrepresented minority newcomer groups into the mainstream of society. Socially, migrants are required to gain proficiency both in the target language and the civics. Immigrants’ and refugees’ level of proficiency in the target language is significant to their success in the job market and hence earnings. Reports from several different countries reveal that newcomers often suffer from a persistent “native-immigrant wage gap” as they usually earn less than their non-immigrant peers (Boyd & Cao, 2009; Clark & Lindley, 2009). Although better-educated immigrants are faring better than their less educated immigrant peers, most immigrants’ pre-migration labor market experience or educational background is often not “portable” to their post-entry labor market after immigration (Warman, Sweetman, & Goldmann, 2015). Based on an analysis of immigrants’ earnings in the U.K., Clark & Lindley (2009) found that typical non-white immigrants who complete their education prior to immigration receive substantially lower earnings and employment than their native peers and the white immigrants; only immigrants (especially white immigrants) who enter the U.K. for education (with high English proficiency) receive comparable income with their native counterparts. Another study in Canada (Warman, Sweetman, & Goldmann, 2015) found that new immigrants on average obtain no return to their pre-migration labor experience; and only male immigrants with substantial English proficiency who also match occupations receive any return to such experience. Similarly, in the U.S., immigrants are found to work more, earn less, and are more likely to be in poverty than their native-born peers (Hwang, Xi, & Cao, 2010). The labor market situation is substantially worse for the refugee populations. In an earlier report on well-educated refugees in Canada, Krahn et al. (2000) found that despite their high educational attainment, the refugees under study experience much higher rates of unemployment, part-time employment, and temporary employment than do Canadian-born individuals. The dire employment situation has not improved in recent years. In the most recent report released in Canada, among 1,950 government-assisted Syrian refugees who arrived in Metro Vancouver between 2015 and 2016, only 17% of them had found work by 2017 (Immigrant 326

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Services Society of B.C., 2017). Similar findings of newcomers’ economic integration are also reported in the U.S. (Capps & Newland, 2015), Australia (Taylor, 2004), and many European countries (see Seukwa, 2013). In Australia, for example, in their 1999–2000 cohort, unemployment rates six months after arrival were 8% of the Business Skills migrants, 22% of the Skilled Australia Sponsored, and 71% of the Humanitarian refugee entrants (Taylor, 2004). In addition to systematic exclusion and discrimination in the labor market, the majority of the newcomers also found themselves excluded physically, suffering from racial prejudice and other social exclusion in policies and practices, and hence their host governments’ promises of integration are often “unfulfilled” (Brown & Scribner, 2014). In a study of newcomers in Canada, Wayland (2006) found that legal and policy barriers to settlement interconnect and produce systemic discrimination against immigrants, refugees, refugee claimants, and others. As a result, the settlement experiences of many newcomers are characterized by isolation, vulnerability, and a lack of civic engagement; and many, due to a lack of proficiency in Canada’s official languages, suffer serious communication barriers that impede access to services, which further perpetuates social exclusion. Similarly, in other receiving countries such as Australia (Taylor, 2004), the United States (Brown & Scribner, 2014), and many European countries (Seukwa, 2013), newcomers are systematically excluded socially. As a result, many refugees described their experiences in the host societies as “living in an open prison” (Seukwa, 2013, p. 12). The status of newcomers’ social and economic integration suggests that proficiency in the target language is of critical significance to their settlement in the host society. However, as their experience indicates, successful integration is not merely a matter of language proficiency; other factors such as education, race, and gender, and immigration policies also interact with the issue of language proficiency to influence newcomers’ settlement experiences. Immigrant language policies and programs, therefore, cannot focus on language training alone but need to take into consideration these other interrelated factors that influence language acquisition and settlement.

Language policies and programs for immigrants and refugees: promises, contradictions, and constraints A survey of current language policies and programs in major receiving countries (such as the U.S., Canada, Australia, the U.K., Norway, Sweden, Spain, Greece, and Portugal) reveals that despite the increasing heterogeneity in newcomers’ linguistic, socioeconomic, and educational backgrounds, the policies and programs in all these countries still practice “cosmopolitan monolingualism” (Gramling, 2009). This “cosmopolitan monolingualism” is an assimilation approach characterized by an exclusive focus on learning destination language and culture while neglecting the language resources that newcomers bring from home countries. The policies and programs also aim for basic skills training for rapid employment and fail to cater to the newcomers’ population, which is heterogeneous in educational levels, employment experiences, host language proficiency, and personal needs.

Monolingual linguistic citizenship for multilingual newcomers Immigrant integration is a two-way process that involves immigrants accepting the laws and basic values of the host societies, and host societies respecting immigrants’ identities and dignity (Niessen & Schibel, 2007). Few countries, however, have treated integration as a two-way process. Rather, the majority of the countries have interpreted integration as assimilating immigrants into their mainstream society. This assimilation approach sees newcomers’ admissions as cultural threats, and therefore integration as the process in which newcomers (are obliged 327

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to) adopt the culture and language of the host society and merge into it at the expense of their own (Schmidt, 2007). This orthodox model of integration is often conveyed by the pipeline of immigrant language education and, sometimes, citizenship legislation, i.e., to learn normative social values to receive the citizenship of the host country. In Canada, for example, Citizenship and Immigration Canada (CIC) has had several settlement policies, such as Multiculturalism Policy of Canada, the Employment Equity Act, and the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act. Under these policies, CIC established several English/ French language training programs, such as Language Instruction for Newcomers to Canada (LINC) (which was first introduced in 1992) to facilitate general basic language skills training in English and French to immigrants in the first few years after entry, and Enhanced Language Training (ELT) programs, launched by the federal government in 2003 to provide a higher level of language training for better integration at the workplace. Both programs aim to promote assimilation to the mainstream Canadian values through its English- and French-only ideology to achieve a homogeneous linguistic and cultural nationalism (Guo, 2015; Haque & Patrick, 2015; Waterhouse, 2011). The LINC program’s objective is “to provide basic language instruction to adult newcomers in one of Canada’s official languages . . . [and help] orient newcomers to the Canadian way of life” (CIC, 2006, item 6, no page). Subsequently, both teachers and textbooks in the LINC programs work to help newcomers become Canadian in a multicultural context by excluding their heritage languages and cultures, seeing them as problematic for integration (Haque & Patrick, 2015; Waterhouse, 2011). The ELT programs are also found to engage in such production for the Canadian labor market by focusing on reducing immigrants’ accents, anglicizing their names and conforming to the image of the ideal Canadian employee in order to increase their employability without questioning employment discrimination and gender inequality that these immigrants might face (Guo, 2015). Therefore, LINC, ELT, and other similar immigrant language policies serve to reinforce the marginalization of linguistic and cultural status of newcomers, as they oblige newcomers to learn the official languages at the expense of their first languages in order to receive citizenship (Haque & Patrick, 2015). This monolingual linguistic citizenship is reflected in many immigrant language policies around the world. Germany, a country that has received large numbers of refugees in recent years, has been found to practice German monolingualism in its immigration policies, school language policies, and language policies for adult newcomers (Gramling, 2009). As Gramling (2009, p. 130) noted, the threshold of belonging – indeed of a civic presence or “being here” in Germany – had implicitly shifted from ethnic heritage to linguist practice . . . By speaking German exclusively in the public sphere, multilingual speakers of migration backgrounds comply de facto with a set of civic ideals that have become codified in German law and statutory discourse since the late 1990s. Similar policies of monolingual linguistic citizenship are also found in other countries such as Norway (Elstad, Christophersen, & Turmo, 2011), the U.K. (Monaghan, 2015) and the Netherlands (Vedder & Virta, 2005). For example, the UK Border Agency requires meeting both “the knowledge of English” and “life in the UK” to become a British citizen (Roberts et al., 2007). Moreover, in order to reduce immigration, UK Visas and Immigration (2016) has implemented an A2 English language requirement for the immigrants seeking entry through the family route. This means one cannot bring their spouse or parents to the U.K. unless they can speak English. In its recent anti-extremism strategy entitled A Stronger Britain, Built on Our Values, it is expressed that “to be British is to speak English” (Monaghan, 2015, 328

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p. 1). Similarly, in the Netherlands, it is found that maintaining and developing one’s ethnic language proficiency, even if this is combined with excellent Dutch language skills, is not widely accepted. As Vedder & Virta (2005, p. 333) reveal: [I]t seems likely that indications that immigrants want to maintain their links with their culture and language are interpreted as a deviation from the desired situation, which leads those who signal or assume this deviation to push with increasing vigor towards assimilation. It is evident that while the receiving countries are portraying themselves as pluralistic societies, they are also skeptical about the newcomers’ languages and cultures and their threat to national security and unity, resulting in homogeneous linguistic and cultural nationalism that fosters monolingual “becoming” (Waterhouse, 2011, p. 505). Gramling (2009) calls such monolingualism ideology and policy against the backdrop of multilingual practices in the societies, the new “cosmopolitan monolingualism.” It imposes newcomers’ demonstrated proficiency in the destination language as “the primary bellwether” of their own will to integrate, thus placing the responsibility and blame on the immigrants themselves (Gramling, 2009, p. 135). However, the success of integration is dependent not only on receptivity in the local and regional labor market but also social reception. Such disrespect to newcomers’ languages and identities may “create an atmosphere of fear, hostility, and racism” in both the labor market and social contexts which may, in turn, result in further economic and social exclusion (Prins & Toso, 2012, p. 447).

Market-oriented immigration policy and basic language skills training Economic and social integration barriers to immigrants and refugees, coupled with global economic competition, have motivated many receiving countries to revisit their immigration policies. Globally, many countries such as Canada, the U.S., Australia, and the U.K. are transformed by a market-driven approach that is increasingly based on short-term labor needs (Alboim & Cohl, 2012). Several countries such as Canada and Germany made significant changes to their immigration policies to address their short-term labor market needs and shortages. Canada, for example, has made drastic changes to its immigration policies in recent years. These changes are characterized by (1) increasing the economic class of immigrants (highly educated professionals, skilled trade workers, international students, and investors and entrepreneurs) by increasing the language requirement and point allocation and by requiring mandatory educational credential assessment; (2) favoring younger immigrants who are more adaptable to Canadian society and the labor market; and (3) adding stricter conditions for spousal sponsorship in the family class and the refugee streams (see Alboim & Cohl, 2012). Similarly, Germany has made major changes to its immigration policies since 2001, such as simplifying the visa system and allowing highly skilled third-country nationals to work in Germany, and creating immigrant integration courses to address its labor market needs due to its rapidly shrinking population (see Süssmuth, 2009). This policy of attracting highly skilled EU professionals is different from its traditional dependence on large-scale low-skilled laborers from Turkey. In 2016, due to high intake of asylum seekers, Germany passed its first ever integration law that allows asylum seekers to gain access to the German labor market, with the government promising 100,000 new working opportunities which are mostly low-paid workfare jobs (Oltermann, 2016). Driven by these short-term labor market needs and immigrant policies, language policies and programs in many host societies are structured under the assumption that successful integration 329

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is equivalent to rapid employment (Lindberg & Sandwall, 2007). Since low-paid jobs require less language proficiency, many providers, therefore, offer language programs and courses in low-level functional literacy for fast employment in low-paid positions, typically within six months after entry (Haque & Patrick, 2015; Lindberg & Sandwall, 2007; Matias, Oliveira, & Ortiz, 2016). For example, most immigrants in Norway are expected to reach a somewhat functional level after about 250 hours of instruction. Similar foci on rudimentary skills for lowpaying jobs are found in the Elementary Swedish Language Program for Adult Immigrants in Sweden, the PanHellenic Project on Greek in Greece, and Portuguese programs in Portugal that aim to foster basic literacy skills typically after 200 to 300 hours of instruction that enable them to find employment in low-skill sectors. Others such as Canada, Australia, and Sweden provide about 500 instructional hours. For example, the Australian government launched the Adult Migrant English Program (AMEP) in 1991 for non-English-speaking immigrants. AMEP provides 510 hours of foundational English language and settlement skills instruction for newcomers. (The Australian government aims to launch “Revised Business Models for AMEP” in July 2017, which will provide 440 hours of additional instruction for immigrants who have not achieved functional English after completing 510 hours of the AMEP program.) While the focus on basic language skills for short-term market needs is helpful to some participants, it has not benefited most newcomers. Surveys of the programs in different countries reveal persistent low enrolment and participation rate in many of the programs. A survey of AMEP in Australia, for instance, shows that only 30% of the total clients completed the 510 hours required training; 7% of them achieved the required level; and 34% of them had zero English language skills training (Department of Education and Training Australia, 2015). In Canada’s LINC program, for example, it was found that out of 55,286 participants in 2009, only 19,162 completed the required 500 hours of training (CIC, 2009).

Table 27.1  Examples of employment before and after immigration Employment in homeland

Employment in Greece

Teacher Teacher Pharmacist Economist Civil servant Nurse Tailor Veterinarian Team coach School principal Physics teacher School principal University professor/dean Pediatrician Civil engineer Mechanical engineer Choreographer Musician Sculptor

Worker Cleaner Cleaner Factory worker Saleswoman Maid Construction worker Driver Construction worker Cleaner Private employee Schoolteacher University associate professor Pediatrician Worker Maid Worker Musician Construction worker

Source: Mattheoudakis, 2005, p. 326.

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Further studies exposed several key issues that might contribute to the low participation and low success rate of these programs. The programs are often based on three assumptions: (1) the participants are to enter lower end jobs, (2) they are literate in their home languages, and (3) they can succeed in learning the language in a short period. None of these assumptions match the current economic-driven immigration policies and mass humanitarian efforts many countries are undertaking. The first assumption, for example, does not address the recent trends of attracting economic class immigrants for highly skilled jobs in the local labor market. These immigrants are usually university graduates with pre-entry employment experiences in their countries of origin. They need higher level, job-specific host language skills that match their pre-entry training to enter matching post-entry employment (Warman, Sweetman, & Goldman, 2015). However, these levels of host language skills that educated immigrants require in order to function in their specific disciplines are not included in most language programs that focus on general language learning. Lack of appropriate language skills that facilitate pre- and post-immigration occupational match has led to significant status drop or downward mobility among well-educated immigrants and refugees (see Table 27.1). Lower proficiency in the host language, compounded by racial discrimination, further pose problems for university graduate immigrants who are often underemployed (Krahn et al., 2000; Mattheoudakis, 2005). The second assumption neglects the group of immigrants with no or little prior schooling who have different language needs from those pre-literate immigrants. Many of the countries with systematic language policies expect participants to pass language proficiency evaluations within a very short period of time, generally six months (Matias, Oliveira, & Ortiz, 2016). This expectation is often unattainable for immigrants with no or little prior schooling, who form a significantly large group (i.e., in Portugal, 24.8% of adult foreigners have had little or no educational experiences). Consequently, as Matias, Oliveira, & Ortiz (2016) argue, these programs have not been efficient in enabling the poorest and most marginalized adult immigrants to meet the requirements, which further limits their access to better-paying jobs or working situations. With these assumptions, it is therefore not unusual “to find people who have received a university education in the same class with people who have received little schooling, therefore, have basic literacy needs” (Roberts et al., 2007, pp. 21–22). The challenge, however, is that most teachers in these poorly resourced programs are often unprepared to teach students with such diversity. For example, in the Elementary Swedish Program, it was reported in a 2005 survey that no more than 11% of the approximate 1,600 Swedish teachers for the program could be considered qualified, which means that they had some teacher training or a university degree (Lindberg & Sandwall, 2007). In Greece, the teachers in the Greek program for adult immigrants are primarily elementary or secondary school teachers. Roberts et al. (2007) further point out that these programs are often offered by a variety of agencies ranging from education colleges, government-funded programs, voluntary charity organizations, private schools, to churches and mosques, which have access to different teacher resources. While many of the teachers may know how to teach basic literacy, many have not received training to teach targeted work-related literacy in a particular sector such as health and social care. The third assumption is that immigrants can succeed in learning a new language in under six months. Well-established studies on children’s language acquisition by several leading scholars such as Cummins (1991) and Hakuta, Butler, and Witt (2000), conclude that for children, it usually takes 3–5 years to gain oral proficiency and 4–7 years to develop academic proficiency in a second language. Many programs, however, are focused on the newcomers and are restricted to the first few years. Such restrictions can be problematic for some older immigrants, who are fulfilling family or other obligations during the beginning of their sojourn, and therefore are deprived of having opportunities to learn the host language (McDonald et al., 2008). In a study 331

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of timing of language courses for immigrants in six countries (Sweden, France, Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, and Austria), Hoehne & Michalowski (2015) reveal that out of their entire sample collected in 2008 (1,434 respondents of Moroccan and Turkish backgrounds who immigrated before 1975), only 36% of them ever took a language course. Among those who took a language course, only 50% of them took a language course within the first six years after immigration. The finding is not surprising as newcomers, especially low-income, less educated immigrants, are often oriented to settling their life in the first few years and are often not in a position to join the language program at the expense of their employment hours. In the case of the U.K., for example, to encourage immigrants to learn English to boost their employment opportunities, they started charging (more than £1,000 for an intensive one-year course of 15 hours a week) anyone who was not on Employment and Support Allowance or Jobseeker’s Allowance benefits. Due to the high cost, there was a 42% drop in the number of migrants able to access an English language course in the U.K. from 2013–2015 (Monaghan, 2015). Finally, another complicating factor is the long waiting time for many newcomers to receive language instruction due to funding cuts, shortage of teachers, and other resources. In Canada, for example, the waiting time for newcomers to get into LINC and other language programs ranges from 4 months to 2 years. In the U.K., some providers had waiting lists of up to 1,000 potential students and had to turn away many newcomers desperate to learn English (Monaghan, 2015). Since early language instruction can lead to long-term positive economic return (Hoehne & Michalowski, 2015), this time gap for newcomers’ access to language support in the early years of their immigration will not only have long-term negative effects on their economic and social integration, but also contradicts the policy intention for fast success in English for fast employment. In sum, there are serious contradictions between current market-driven policies and mass humanitarian efforts and the normative language provision in immigrant and refugee language programs. The current practices on the ground do not address the diverse needs of the newly expanded immigrant groups such as the well-educated skilled workers and those with little or no prior schooling. The language programs intended for literate, low-paid workforce would not help the host societies achieve their emerging economic, social, or political objectives in the current global contexts.

Normalized language teaching and structural barriers Current immigrant language programs’ focus on basic literacy skills not only raises questions about whom the programs are serving or not serving, but also important ideological questions about whose interests they serve. As discussed earlier, immigrant language policies and political discourses in the host societies under review are often governed by a “monoglossic ideology” that values monolingualism and monocentric society while ignoring the linguistic and cultural properties of newcomers. Immigrants’ lack of English language is often seen as a deficiency and a breakdown to social cohesion and even national unity (Roberts et al., 2007). Literacy in the host language, therefore, is framed as “a set of neutral, apolitical skills and knowledge to be acquired” by immigrants to overcome the deficiencies and fix the breakdown for integration and success in the knowledge economy (Waterhouse, 2011, p. 508). Driven by the “fast language learning for rapid employment” ethos, many programs and courses focus on discrete elements that are teachable and testable in a short period of time (Gibb, 2008; Lindberg & Sandwall, 2007). Such a restricted view of language learning limits immigrants’ opportunities for advanced, meaningful language learning and enables them to acquire only low levels of literacy, thus perpetuating a system that positions them at the political, social, 332

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and economic margins (Gibb, 2008). A survey on Norwegian language teaching for new immigrants, reports that people are most likely to pass the standardized test with as little training as possible, and language proficiency is not increasing with more hours of teaching (even after 850 hours of training) (Ludvigsen & Ludvigsen, 2012). Moreover, many programs and courses focus on accent reduction to improve immigrants’ presentability and employability (Guo, 2015). Language learning, however, is a social process that cannot be separated from the social, political, and economic culture outside the classroom. In their analysis of two surveys in the U.K., Dustmann & Fabbri (2003) revealed that English proficiency had a positive impact on job possibilities and earnings. However, such possibilities—despite the English proficiency—widely diverge between male and female, and white and non-white immigrants based on their ethnic origins. Also, the normative model of host language initiates “linguicism.” As Eskay et al. (2012) demonstrate in their study, the immigrants who came to the U.S. in search of better lives felt unwanted because of their accents and the color of their skin. Similarly, Latina women immigrants in the U.S. had faced negative experience regarding both professional opportunities and discrimination at workplaces due to their accents (Davila, 2008). In addition to racism, gendered structures have significantly marginalized immigrant women in terms of opportunities for learning the host language, which eventually leads them to lower socioeconomic situations. For example, according to Boyd & Cao (2009), immigrant women in Canada are half as likely to know English as immigrant men. This finding aligns with Lindsay & Almey’s (2006) statistical evaluation of immigrant women’s linguistic capital that 70% of the immigrant female population were unable to speak English even five years after their arrival in Canada. Similarly, Boyd & Cao (2009) found the gap of $257 per month in the average wages of immigrant women and men in Canada. Further, for immigrant women with foreign credentials, even if they have high language proficiency and matching occupations, they do not receive any return to their pre-immigration labor market experience, whereas their male counterparts do (Warman, Sweetman, & Goldman, 2015). Further, there is also evidence of religious imperialism in the name of language programs. In a three-year ethnographic study, Chao and Kuntz (2013) delved into church-based ESL programs for U.S. immigrants. They found that while the programs respect and accept immigrants’ native languages, they recast and reproduce Christian principles, values, and norms in the program. Such imposition often requires constant identity negotiation and results in resistance or nonparticipation. For example, one of the immigrants decided to “choose” Christianity over her Buddhist faith in order to maintain a harmonious relationship with English-speaking Christian instructors and gain access to power and privilege of being a Christian (Chao & Kuntz, 2013, p. 47). In contrast, some immigrants withdrew from the programs when they realized that they could not accept the imposed Christian values in the ESL lessons. Therefore, while the programs may serve as a welcoming comfort zone for newcomers, they engage in conscious assimilation into Christian identity. Recent research on adult immigrant second-language learning has emphasized the importance of addressing these issues of power and inequality in language teaching and learning (Gibb, 2008; Guo, 2015; Lindberg & Sandwall, 2007). However, by focusing on basic communication skills and treating them as a set of apolitical skills, current language programs for immigrants often do not address these inequalities associated with language outside the classroom. Because the instruction is often detached from the sociocultural contexts of use, immigrants often find they are not useful in meeting their needs. Some, as in Derwing and Waugh (2012), reported that the language taught in the LINC program was “different” from that used in the workplace and was “not meeting” their needs (p. 9). Others, such as Guo (2015), have found that instead of helping immigrants gain critical competence to confront 333

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linguistic and racial discrimination, the programs reinforce these dominant, normative ideologies through their monoglossic and monocentric practices. For example, in an ESL program for employment preparation in a western Canadian, immigrant-serving organization, the program instructors and administrators saw immigrants’ accents as a communication problem to be rectified and their native language and culture (i.e., their non-European sounding names) as interference to their English learning. Therefore the instructors enforced an “English only” policy to eliminate the use of the immigrant’s native language component in their program (Guo, 2015). Hence, through these racialized, hegemonic practices, the language policies and programs serve to reinforce their marginalized status in the hostile labor market environment. In sum, despite increasing multilingualism and multiculturalism in the host societies, immigrants’ ethnic and linguistic pluralism is still not seen as a resource for language learning or for nation-building as Hornberger (2002) predicted more than a decade ago. Instead, as the evidence shows, it is increasingly seen as a hindrance to fast language acquisition and social integration.

Conclusions and implications More than a decade ago, Hornberger (2002) noted that one language–one nation ideology of language policy and national identity was still holding tremendous sway despite the increase of multilingualism. Fifteen years later, it is evident that the status quo has not changed and many countries still adopt homogeneous language policies. Several countries instrumentally use immigration and language policies to practice power in their political discourse that reaffirms the dominance of local citizens and the supremacy of the national language and culture. The suspension of the U.S. refugee programs and banning entry of individuals from seven Muslimmajority countries ordered by the U.S. President Donald Trump in January 2017 will no doubt continue to fuel the normative language policies and ideologies. The analysis of immigrant language policies and programs in North America, Australia, and Europe reveals a timely recognition of immigrants’ linguistic and socio-political needs for economic and social cohesion as the results are not yet satisfactory. One of the reasons for this failure is derived from a contradiction between policy and political discourses and on-the-ground practices. While most host countries admit being multilingual and multicultural in writing, the language policies and practices are “assimilatory” as the dominant communities—guided by monoglossic ideologies—still want newcomers to conform to the dominant language and culture. The invisible policy—often in the name of nationalism—not only demotivates the language learning process but also “Others” immigrants’ identities. In addition to the contradiction between prevalent nationalism and pluralism, this review also revealed contradictions between current immigration policies and the goals and functions of existing language programs and courses. The labor market-driven economy and the refugee crises necessitate migration of both highly skilled professionals and refugees and asylum seekers of diverse backgrounds (i.e., those with little or no schooling experiences). However, the current programs and courses are striving to serve up literate immigrants for the low-paid job market, and therefore offer quick preparation for essential literacies. These programs do not meet the needs of either highly educated newcomer professionals or those pre-literate individuals. Finally, the standard language ideology and the fast preparation for the low-paid labor market ethos results in a limited view of language as a set of rudimentary skills and an apolitical stance toward language teaching. As discussed in the previous section, this normative model of a host language is a prominent barrier, rather than a solution, to labor market integration and social cohesion as immigrants’ identities are often “marginalized in the name of the substandard 334

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language and cultural traits” (Tomic, 2013, p. 18). The neutralized view of language and language teaching treats immigrants’ home language and culture as deficiencies and problems to be eliminated, rather than resources, and such a hegemonic view further perpetuates the unequal power relationships that newcomers experience in the workplace and the society, and therefore further marginalizes and racializes the new arrivals. Ibrahim (2006) posits that taking up the “New” linguistic and cultural practices should not be in opposition to the “Old” culture and language; instead, it must be seen as an additive process that builds on the “Old.” It is, therefore, important to transform deeply rooted homogeneous and assimilatory policy discourses into pluralistic discussions, which will not only stimulate immigrants’ host language learning but also develop their feeling of ownership or partnership in the target community. In contrast to assimilatory integration, contemporary literature is advocating bi(multi)lingual and multicultural integration that is a dual-directional process characterized by a connection between the economic and sociocultural factors of both sending and receiving countries. Regarding economic integration—that is, to help newcomers enter the job market—immigrant language policies and programs should provide specific linguistic skills to enable them to join premigration occupations. Similarly, such policies and programs should recognize native language and values as resources for sociocultural integration rather than threats. This pluralistic integration allows immigrants to practice their native language(s) and cultural values, while also learning the host language and culture. Doing so can be helpful for immigrants to learn the target language while also keeping their identity alive. Language teaching professionals also need to see their jobs not merely as language skills instructors but as providers of agency through which newcomers can learn to work against integration barriers such as racism, gender bias, and linguicism. Part of transforming language policies and programs is providing sufficient funding. Historically insufficient levels of financing have caused a backlog for new arrivals to access language courses and hence the mainstream economy. There are urgent needs for advanced level courses specific to different educational levels of immigrants including less-literates that facilitate practical work-focused language skills for both existing immigrants to get into jobs matching to their qualification and newcomers to re-enter their pre-migration occupations. Similar attention must also attend to timing and access to these courses, especially for vulnerable populations. As discussed earlier, due to limited course availability many newcomers are unable to participate in language learning shortly after arrival and sometimes have to self-fund their language courses or risk missing employment hours. There is a need to allocate enough funding not only for enough training centers but also to financially support newcomers in need so they can attend the training without losing income. Among this group, immigrant women with low economic capital or education are most likely to be deprived of opportunities to learn the host language (Kilbride & Ali, 2010). Funding policies need to address these women’s access to language. For example, instead of restricting language programs to family bread earners (who are often men), specific funding should be allocated for women’s language learning. As well, instead of restricting it to a short time frame, a long-term plan for women who might not be able to take language courses right away would extend their access to language support (Elstad, Christophersen, & Turmo, 2011). To ensure the programs are accessible to all in need, programs can provide alternative channels for training (e.g., through distance learning, home tutoring, community-based programs, and even at the workplace). There is a need for policy that guarantees rights of learning a host language for immigrants of all socioeconomic status, but also provides different levels of language programs for more advanced learners. In addition to these elements, the host government should ensure that there are qualified, well-trained teachers for immigrant language learners. Teachers for this critical role must be 335

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trained not only in language teaching but also in critical pedagogy so they can equip the students to read not only “the word” but also “the world” in the new land. Our analysis indicates that teacher education (as well as their working conditions) for this group remains an under-addressed and under-researched area. Future work must be devoted to this important area of investigation. The contradictory discourses in action identified in the language policies and practices around the world suggest an urgency to “work hard alongside language planners and language users to fill the ideological and implementational spaces opened up by multilingual language policies” (Hornberger, 2002, p. 45). Despite the current awakening of nationalism and anti-immigration sentiment around the world, we share Hornberger’s (2002) and others’ optimism that, as we continue to deconstruct such discourses and explore possibilities in these spaces, we will shift the ideologies and transform the power structure within these spaces.

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Gramling, D., 2009. The new cosmopolitan monolingualism: on linguistic citizenship in twenty-first century Germany. Teaching German, 42(2), pp. 130–140. Guo, Y., 2015. Language policies and programs for adult immigrants in Canada: deconstructing discourses in integration. New Directions for Adult and Continuing Education, 146, pp. 41–51. Hakuta, K., Butler, G., and Witt, D., 2000. How long does it take English learners to attain proficiency? Policy Report 2000–1. The University of California Linguistic Minority Research Institute. Available at: [Accessed 12 December 2016] Haque, E., and Patrick, D., 2015. Indigenous languages and the racial hierarchisation of language policy in Canada. Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development, 31(1), pp. 27–41. Hoehne, J., and Michalowski, I., 2015. Long-term effects of language course timing on language acquisition and social contacts: Turkish and Moroccan immigrants in western Europe. International Migration Review, 50(1), pp. 133–162. Hornberger, N. H., 2002. Multilingual language policies and the continua of biliteracy: an ecological approach. Language Policy, 1, pp. 27–51. Hwang, S., Xi, J., and Cao, Y., 2010. The conditional relationship between English language proficiency and earnings among US immigrants. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 33(9), pp. 1620–1647. Ibrahim, A., 2006. Rethinking displacement, language and culture shock: towards a pedagogy of cultural translation and negotiation. In: N. Amin and G. J. S. Dei, eds. The poetics of anti-racism. Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada: Fernwood, pp. 43–58. Immigrant Services Society of B.C., 2017. Syrian refugees youth consultation: summary report. Available at: [accessed 12 December 2016] International Organization for Migration, 2014. Global migration trends: an overview [pdf]. Geneva: International Organization for Migration. Available at: [Accessed 12 November 2016] Kilbride, K. M., and Ali, M. A., 2010. Striving for voice: language acquisition and Canadian immigrant women. Current Issues in Language Planning, 11(2), pp. 173–189. Krahn, K., Derwing, T., Mulder, M., and Wilkinson, L., 2000. Education and underemployed: refugee integration into the Canadian labour market. Journal of International Migration and Integration, 1(1), pp. 59–84. Lanphier, M., and Lukomskyj, O., 1994. Settlement policy in Australia and Canada. In: H. Adelman, A. Borowski, M. Burstein and L. Foster, eds. Immigration and refugee policy. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, pp. 337–371. Li, G., 2013. Immigrant language acquisition: an international review. In: S. J. Gold and S. J. Nawyn, eds. The Routledge international handbook of migration studies. New York: Routledge, pp. 271–282. Lindberg, I., and Sandwall, K., 2007. Nobody’s darling? Swedish for adult immigrants: a critical perspective. Prospect, 22(3), pp. 79–95. Lindsay, C., and Almey, M., 2006. Immigrant women. In: Statistics Canada, eds. Women in Canada: a gender-based statistical report (5th ed.). Ottawa: Statistics Canada, pp. 211–228. Ludvigsen, A., and Ludvigsen, D. S., 2012. State organized language learning for immigrants in Norway: a case study of selected local courses. Studies About Languages, 21, pp. 130–140. Matias, A. R., Oliveira, N., and Ortiz, A., 2016. Implementing training in Portuguese for speakers of other languages in Portugal: the case of adult immigrants with little or no schooling. Language and Intercultural Communication, 16(1), pp. 99–116. Mattheoudakis, M., 2005. Language education of adult immigrants in Greece: current trends and future developments. International Journal of Lifelong Education, 24(4), pp. 319–336. McDonald, L., George, U., Cleghorn, L., and Karenova, K., 2008. An analysis of second language training programs for older adults across Canada. Toronto: University of Toronto. Monaghan, F., 2015. Theresa May’s hidden British value-monolingualism. The Conversation [online] 25 March. Available at: [Accessed 17 December 2016] Niessen, L., and Schibel, Y., 2007. Handbook on integration for policy-makers and practitioners (2nd ed.). European Commission. Available at: [Accessed 17 December 2016] Oltermann, P., 2016. Germany unveils integration law for refugees. The Guardian [online] 14 April. Available at:

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Prins, E., and Toso, B. W., 2012. Receptivity towards immigrants in rural Pennsylvania: perceptions of adult English as second language providers. Rural Sociology, 77(3), pp. 435–461. Richard, Y., Maurel, M., and Berthomiere, W., 2016. The integration of immigrants in France: economic and geographical approach. In: J. Dominguez-Mujica, ed. Global change and human mobility. New York: Springer, pp. 115–140. Roberts, C., Cooke, M., Baynham, M., and Simpson, J., 2007. Adult ESOL in the United Kingdom. Policy and Research. Prospect, 22(3), pp. 18–31. Schmidt Sr. R., 2007. Comparing federal government immigrant settlement policies in Canada and the United States. American Review of Canadian Studies, 37(1), pp. 103–122. Seukwa, L. H., 2013. Integration of refugees into the European education and labour market. Bern: Peter Lang Publishing. Süssmuth, R., 2009. The future of migration and integration policy in Germany. Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Taylor, J., 2004. Refugees and social exclusion: what the literature says. Migration Action, XXVI, pp. 16–31. Tomic, P., 2013. The colour of language: accent, devaluation and resistance in Latin American immigrant lives in Canada. Canadian Ethnic Studies, 45(1–2), pp. 1–21. UK Visa and Immigration, 2016. A2 English language requirement for the family route. Home Office, United Kingdom. UN Department of Economic and Social Affairs, 2015. Trends in international migrant stock: the 2015 revision. Available at: [Accessed 23 November 2016] Vedder, P., and Virta, E., 2005. Language, ethnic identity, and the adaptation of Turkish immigrant youth in the Netherlands and Sweden. International Journal of Intercultural Relations, 29, pp. 317–337. Warman, C., Sweetman, A., and Goldmann, G., 2015. The portability of new immigrants’ human capital: language, education, and occupational skills. Canadian Public Policy, 41, pp. 64–79. Waterhouse, M., 2011. Deleuzian experimentations in Canadian immigrant language education: research, practice, and policy. Policy Futures in Education, 9(4), pp. 505–517. Wayland, S. V., 2006. Unsettled: legal and policy barriers for newcomers to Canada [pdf]. Ottawa: Community Foundations of Canada and the Law Commission of Canada. Available at: [Accessed 12 December 2016]

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Theoretical notes on immigrant intermarriage Assimilation In 1964, Milton Gordon wrote Assimilation in American Life, his seminal book on the various types of assimilation. Despite its publication over five decades ago, it remains the standard reference on intermarriage and its role in assimilation. Gordon divided the assimilation process into seven types: cultural, structural, marital, identificational, attitude receptional, behavior receptional, and civic assimilation. This chapter focuses particularly on his third step, marital assimilation. Gordon’s assimilation model has often been referred to as a straight-line model, even though he never used this terminology nor stated it as such. He conceptualized the assimilation process as an ideal type, which is made clear by the fact that he continually emphasizes that for immigrants, structural assimilation has typically not fully taken place. Regardless of our interpretation, many scholars view Gordon’s ideal type as a straight-line assimilation model. Indeed, it appears that immigrants and their children are assimilating into a white mainstream (Qian and Lichter 2007; Fu and Hatfield 2008; Gonsoulin and Fu 2010). For example, a recent study focusing on native-born Asian Americans and their marital patterns found that Asian Americans (for the most part) are highly acculturated and structurally assimilated (Min and Kim 2009). There are many scholars, however, who are critical of the straight-line approach to assimilation. Among immigration scholars, a segmented approach to assimilation has gained traction in the literature. The segmented approach claims that there are three paths to assimilation: one into a white mainstream (measured by how many immigrants and their children intermarry with white people), another into the ethnic community (also seen as an upwardly mobile path achieved through marrying co-ethnics within the ethnic enclave), and finally a downward path measured by outmarriage to non-white minority groups (Yancey 2003; Fu and Hatfield 2008; Song 2009; Gonsoulin and Fu 2010). A number of intermarriage researchers have therefore used marital assimilation of immigrants as a test of segmented assimilation. The first hint of segmented marital assimilation was seen in the form of “a retreat from intermarriage.” As a result of changes in racial classification (2000 Census), the continued influx of immigration, a rise in cohabitation rates, and the effect of education composition on 339

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intermarriage, the last decade of the twentieth century (1990 to 2000) displayed decreases in immigrant intermarriage with white people and increases in marriage between native-born and foreign-born co-ethnics (Qian and Lichter 2007). A follow-up study found that intermarriage among Latinos and white people declined for the first time in the 1990s. Second-generation Latinos are more likely to marry first-generation Latinos than to marry third-generation Latinos or white people, whereas the third generation is more likely to marry other third-generation Latinos or white people. This could indicate a retreat from intermarriage among the secondgeneration Latinos, or at least a slowing of the pace of assimilation (Lichter et al. 2011). Several studies directly test straight-line marital assimilation against segmented marital assimilation. Fu and Hatfield (2008) found evidence to support at least three different paths of assimilation: (1) into a white mainstream, (2) into panethnic groups by marrying other Asian ethnics, and (3) into an ethnic enclave through marrying co-ethnics. They did not find evidence to support downward assimilation into an underclass. Gonsoulin and Fu (2010: 274) found more evidence to support a segmented assimilation model than a straight-line assimilation model. Another groundbreaking study on Asians calls for a racialized assimilation framework where racialization and assimilation can occur simultaneously (Lee and Kyle 2016). They argue that Asian Americans are not assimilating like past generations of European immigrants, and that “racial/ethnic boundaries between Asians and whites may be solidified rather than dissolved, thus maintaining the significance of race for Asian Americans” (p. 253). Recent research on Latinos further supports a segmented approach to assimilation. Shin (2011) found that marital assimilation processes vary not only across and within ethnic groups, but also according to individual characteristics and their residential context. Others call for intermarriage as the starting point of inter-group interactions, with the possibility that assimilation is bidirectional: “intermarried Latinos prompted the race cognizance of their partners, further undermining assimilation theory’s presumption that attention to race/ethnicity is diminished in intermarriage” (Vasquez 2014: 288). Overall, research suggests that there are multiple paths of marital assimilation. Researchers call for group-specific analyses (Shin 2011; Gambol 2016) and more nuanced theories of assimilation (Schwartz 2013). What these segmented marital assimilation paths are, and to what degree they are segmented, are empirical questions that are unsettled and also vary depending upon the dataset and analytical techniques used (a topic discussed below). There are even those who call into question the assumed link between intermarriage and assimilation, claiming that this assumed connection is much more tenuous and complex than is currently recognized by scholars, and that it needs to be critically reassessed (Song 2009).

Social distance Building on Weber’s concept of status group closure, intermarriage offers an important look at how open or closed groups are, based on how willing they are to form intimate and long-term relationships with people from outside their group (Kalmijn 1998): “Increasingly permeable and blurred social boundaries—and intermarriage with whites—is clearly a key dimension of the contemporary assimilation process in America” (Qian and Lichter 2007: 89). For example, 55 percent of native-born Asian Americans are outmarrying with non-ethnic partners, which points to a high level of acculturation and a weakening of the boundary and social distance between Asian Americans and white people (Min and Kim 2009). Social distances between racial groups in the United States might be shrinking, but still persist, indicating that a racial hierarchy remains in our society (Yancey 2003; Qian and Lichter 2007; Min and Kim 2009; Lichter et al. 2011). There is also a need to distinguish social distances 340

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between races, between ethnic groups within the same racial category, and within generations from the same ethnic group. Marital patterns speak to the social distances between not only white people, but between the various Asian and Latino ethnic groups. Furthermore, social distances indicate the degree to which panethnic formation is happening among Asian American groups (Min and Kim 2009). Even when we do see declines in intermarriage between second-generation Latinos and third-plus generation Latinos, there is little evidence to suggest that cultural preferences (in the form of social distances) are driving these marital patterns; rather, it appears that changing marriage markets and other such structural factors explain these gaps (Lichter et al. 2011). In addition, intermarriage can change racial consciousness and thus affect the social distance in both partners of an interracial marriage. Vasquez (2014) found that white partners often gain a better understanding of race and racism (racial cognizance), whereas their Latino partners often espouse a colorblind discourse that focuses on similarities (racial colorblindness). She concludes that “intermarriage conditions the recognition of difference as opposed to the elimination of difference . . . Whites experienced social Browning in terms of their understanding about race” (p. 287). Most of the studies indirectly address social distance vis-à-vis intermarriage patterns. Yancey (2003) is one of the few scholars that directly links social distance and intermarriage. He uses attitudinal data from a variety of racial groups (European Americans, African Americans, Latino Americans, and Asian Americans) to measure social distances. This data is then extrapolated to argue that we are moving from a black–white color line to a black/non-black color line.

Color line America has a long history of representing a black–white color line in a number of social, economic, and political arenas. Given that race is socially constructed, scholars are interested in how this color line will shift, especially given the high numbers of immigrants and the high rates of intermarriage among immigrants and their children. Various scholars have suggested that we are moving toward a black/non-black color line, while others suggest that we are headed toward a more complex color line, such as a tri-racial divide with white people, honorary white people (i.e., Latinos and Asians), and black people. However, most of these arguments, especially when it comes to intermarriage, still need to be tested empirically. Yancey (2003) argues that Latinos and Asians (i.e., non-black minorities) are experiencing structural, marital, and identificational assimilation to the extent that they are accepting majority group status (at the very least, their racial and ethnic identities are thinning to the extent that they can identify with the majority group). On the opposite end of the spectrum, black people have not been able to assimilate, experience a high degree of alienation, and are likely to remain at the bottom of the social hierarchy. One of the key assumptions of the black/non-black divide is that Latinos and Asians will continue to intermarry at increasing rates, or at least at the same pace. This relates to Gordon’s proposed definition of marital assimilation as occurring on a “large-scale” (1964: 125). It is therefore hard to argue if the intermarriage glass is half-full or half-empty. The recent finding that we are experiencing a “retreat from intermarriage” certainly calls this assumption into question (Qian and Lichter 2007). On the other hand, attitudinal-based data suggest that the “experience and social status of Asians and Latinos are closer to those of whites than to those of blacks at this point in time” (Lee and Bean 2010: 99). On the other side of this debate is Bonilla-Silva (2004) who argues for a tri-racial system of stratification similar to Latin American countries, consisting of “whites,” “honorary whites,” and “collective black.” The white category includes white people, new white immigrants, assimilated 341

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white Latinos, some multiracials, assimilated Native Americans, and “a few Asian-origin people.” Honorary whites include light-skinned Latinos, Asian American groups, Middle Eastern Americans, and most multiracials. The collective black includes Vietnamese, Hmong, and Laotian Americans, dark-skinned Latinos, black people, new West Indian and African immigrants, and “reservationbound Native Americans.” The critical aspect of this approach is the honorary white category: “Honorary” means they will remain secondary, will still face discrimination, and will not receive equal treatment in society. For example . . . albeit substantial segments of the Asian American community may become “honorary white”, they will also continue to suffer from discrimination and be regarded in many quarters as “perpetual foreigners.” (Bonilla-Silva 2004: 944) Bonilla-Silva states that the category of honorary whites “is the product of the socio-political needs of whites to maintain white supremacy” (2004: 942). A comparison of intermarriage in Britain and Europe is instructive in that the critical divide appears to be between Muslims and non-Muslims (Song 2009). Song states that “scholars may put too much store by what interracial relationships (with whites) afford in terms of privilege and social acceptance into the (still predominantly) white mainstream—especially in relationships with working-class white people” (2009: 343). Either way, Latino and Asian immigrants and their children will be the key to solving this theoretical puzzle. Miyawaki (2015) found that the majority of multiracial individuals are marrying whites, “suggesting that most members in these groups are on the path to whiteness” (p. 995). Gambol (2016) examined Filipino intermarriage and found that their racial incorporation occurred along a spectrum, where an Asian partner drew them closer to the Asian side, whereas a non-white, non-Asian partner drew them closer to Latinos and blacks. She postulates that “Perhaps nonwhite intermarriage brightens ethnic distinctions while white-Asian intermarriage blurs them” (p. 2636). Another scholar also confirms that “interethnic relationships can blur cognitive color lines. Living, loving, and learning across racial/ethnic lines opens up the possibility for reordered race relations” (Vasquez 2014: 289).

Panethnicity Panethnicity examines the degree to which ethnic groups within a certain racial category associate with each other, or identify with each other. Intermarriage, especially interethnic marriage (e.g., Japanese-Filipino or Cuban-Mexican couples) is a good indicator of whether ethnic groups are forming panethnic groups in our society. Shinagawa and Pang (1996) were among the first to claim that the rise in interethnic marriages among Asians in the United States is a sign of an Asian panethnicity, where a racial consciousness is more important than an ethnic consciousness. More recently, Fu and Hatfield (2008) found evidence to support a path of assimilation into panethnic groups through intermarriage with other Asian ethnics, especially in the case of the Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans. In addition, Shin (2011) found some support for Latino panethnicity among Mexicans, Cubans, and Dominicans, although there was much variation across and within the groups based on individual characteristics and where they live. If pan-Hispanic intermarriage is our measure of Latino panethnicity, then I suggest that Latinismo is a “situational type of group identity” (Padilla 1984) loosely based on the shared primordial qualities (i.e. Spanish language and Latin culture), which can be facilitated where there are few co-ethnic members around. (Shin 2011: 1399) 342

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The formation of panethnic relations through intermarriage, at least as a monolithic group of Asian ethnics, is not without its critics. Min and Kim (2009) found little evidence for panethnic relations, especially in the form of ethnic solidarity. What they do find, however, is that according to interethnic marriage trends, there are likely three panethnic groups: East (Chinese, Korean, and Japanese), South (Asian Indian, Pakistani, and Bangladeshi), and Southeast (Vietnamese, Cambodian, Lao, and Hmong). Filipino Americans, due to their history, language, and religion, have links to all three of these pan-Asian formations. Whether or not the rising rate of interethnic marriages is a sign of panethnicity is still an empirical question. Asian ethnics might be less likely to cross a racial boundary as opposed to an ethnic boundary, which could signal the importance of race and a shared racial consciousness. On the other hand, this could merely be an indication of the importance of preferences for similar cultures, in which case Asian ethnics view other Asian ethnics as closer in cultural traits than other races, and thus ethnicity could be more salient than race for some groups (Morgan 2012).

Methodological innovations and limitations Most of the work on intermarriage has been descriptive rather than theoretical. Social scientists use a variety of datasets to examine intermarriage patterns and trends, although the decennial census is the most widely used. Since 2000, the U.S. Census Bureau has administered the American Community Survey (ACS) every year to three million people. This allows for a more timely national survey. The Current Population Survey (CPS) is another national dataset that is becoming more heavily utilized in studying immigrant intermarriage. This is the only major national survey that asks the parental nativity of the respondents since the Census Bureau removed this question in the 1980 decennial census. The parental nativity question is critical to isolating the second generation as opposed to distinguishing only between foreign-born and US-born respondents. There are also regional surveys, such as the Children of Immigrants Longitudinal Study (CILS), Immigrant Second Generation in Metropolitan New York (ISGMNY), and the Immigration and Intergenerational Mobility in Metropolitan Los Angeles (IIMMLA) survey, that include information about spouses and partners, allowing for analyses of intermarried couples. A major weakness of the above-mentioned datasets is that they rely on prevalence measures (surveying all of the intermarried couples at a given time) as opposed to incidence measures (surveying all of the intermarried couples who married in a given time). Qualitative datasets are helpful, but it is difficult to find and interview interracial couples, and we cannot generalize the findings to the larger population. Another complication is the issue of how we count intermarriages. Do we include “interethnic” couples? And what about cohabiting couples? Given the above-mentioned difficulties, the largest hurdle to understanding immigrant intermarriage lies in our datasets. Given the types of datasets used, combined with the difficulty of finding and interviewing intermarried couples, most of the intermarriage studies employ quantitative analyses. These analyses vary from simple percentages and cross-tabulations to the more complex odds ratios and log-linear modeling. Percentages and cross-tabulations have the advantage of easy interpretation, but have no reference points and do not control for the size of the group. Presenting odds ratios from logistic regression models is preferred because they provide a reference point and are independent of group size. Recently, however, log-linear models have become the “statistical method of choice” and the “gold standard” (Batson et al. 2006; Qian and Lichter 2007). One problem with log-linear models is that they are difficult to interpret (Rosenfeld 2008). One way to ease the interpretation is to transform the log-linear estimates 343

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into odds ratios. Another problem with log-linear models is that they cannot be used to “estimate people’s preferences for mates controlling for the availability of partners . . . often precisely what scholars are most interested in doing. . . . Future research should test the merits of new models for answering pressing questions in the field” (Schwartz 2013: 465).

Empirical claims about immigrant intermarriage Aside from major theoretical debates, there are mid-range theoretical frameworks that help researchers examine data and test some of the larger questions raised above. One of the greatest contributions in this area is the theoretical framework laid out by Kalmijn (1998). He identified three causes of endogamy: preferences, third parties, and marriage markets. These three causes can be further contrasted through their links to either cultural or structural factors (Kalmijn and Van Tubergen 2010; Lee and Bean 2010; Lichter et al. 2011). Cultural factors are often associated with individual preferences and third-party influences, whereas structural factors are often associated with marriage markets. There are, however, multiple ways to interpret and operationalize the three factors that Kalmijn outlined. For example, some scholars separate individual and contextual factors, further breaking down contextual factors into cultural and structural determinants (Kalmijn and Van Tubergen 2010). I use these frameworks to highlight the empirical findings on immigrant intermarriage.

Race and ethnicity Race is common in the literature, while ethnicity (or national origin as a proxy for ethnicity) has gained some attention as of late. Race appears, however, to be the greatest barrier to intermarriage (Shinagawa and Pang 1996; Rosenfeld 2008). Racial endogamy has declined significantly during the twentieth century, but still remains stronger than any of the other types of endogamy (such as ethnic, socioeconomic, and religion): “The relatively high power of racial endogamy, even at the end of the 20th century, means that well more than 90 percent of all marriages in the United States continue to be racially endogamous” (Rosenfeld 2008: 15). Virtually all of the racial groups marry within their own group at a higher rate than we would expect: black people (95 percent), Asians (75 percent), Latinos (65 percent), American Indians (45 percent), and Europeans of the same nationality (25 percent) (Kalmijn 1998). The percentage who marry within their own group differs if we only consider new marriages. In this scenario, 91 percent of whites, 83 percent of blacks, 74 percent of Hispanics, and 82 percent of Asians are racially endogamous (Wang 2012). There are even signs that racial endogamy is growing stronger. Intermarriage among Latinos and white people declined for the first time in the 1990s (Lichter et al. 2011). Moreover, the last decade of the twentieth century (1990 to 2000) ushered in decreases in intermarriage with white people and increases in marriage between native-born and foreign-born co-ethnics (Qian and Lichter 2007). These changes are attributed to racial classification in the census, an influx of immigrants, increases in cohabitation, advances in educational attainment, and possibly the recent rise in anti-immigrant sentiment. Structural factors lead people from various racial and ethnic groups to come into contact, whereas cultural factors affect how they will react to and get along with people from different racial and ethnic groups. In combination, these factors ultimately influence people to cross racial and ethnic lines to form intimate relationships. Intermarriage among immigrants only becomes important if ethnic differences (i.e., race, religion, and national origin) have meaning to the

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people who cross these boundaries (Gordon 1964). From a qualitative analysis of interracial couples, Lee and Bean (2010) found that Asians and Latinos do not perceive many differences between themselves and white people, thus indicating that the boundaries between whites and Asians and Latinos may be fading. Aside from racial differences, however, Morgan (2012) found important ethnic differences among interracial and interethnic couples. A couple of examples should suffice to highlight important ethnic differences within racial groups. While Asian Indians tend to marry other Asian Indians, and Filipinos to marry other races, Chinese, Japanese, and Koreans have a strong tendency to intermarry with each other (Fu and Hatfield 2008). Among black immigrants, Puerto Ricans are the most likely to intermarry with white people, followed by African Americans. West Indians are the least likely to intermarry with white people, but are much more likely to marry African Americans (Batson et al. 2006). Even more recently, Shin (2011) found that approximately 33 percent of Mexicans, 55–60 percent of Cubans, and 50 percent of Dominicans outmarry, with even more variation based on gender, generational composition, language skills, and educational attainment, not even to mention who they were outmarrying with. This question of who these various ethnic groups marry with is qualitatively a different experience, as highlighted in the following finding: “Filipinos in Asian interethnic unions conceived a bright Asian/Latino and black racial boundary, while Filipinos in nonwhite interracial relationships perceived a divide between East Asians and Filipinos, Latinos and blacks” (Gambol 2016: 2636). Findings from an analysis of 94 nationalorigin groups in the United States show a lot of variation in intermarriages from around the world, highlighting the importance of looking at individual national-origin groups (Kalmijn and Van Tubergen 2010). One final complication to studies on ethnic intermarriage is the study of multiracial individuals. In a study of Asian/white individuals, 69 percent married white people, 12 percent married Asians, 10 percent married Latinos, 6 percent married multiracial people, and 2 percent married blacks (Miyawaki 2015).

Generation Increased intermarriage across generations is one of the key assumptions made by proponents of a straight-line assimilation model (Lee and Bean 2010). Countless studies have found that intermarriage increases with each subsequent generation (Shinagawa and Pang 1996; Song 2009; Gonsoulin and Fu 2010). Generational gaps can be structural (i.e., relating to population composition) and/or cultural (i.e., relating to social distance) in nature: “Almost two-thirds of the group-level variance in the choice between endogamous and native-stock partners can be attributed to the cultural and structural factors that were incorporated” (Kalmijn and Van Tubergen 2010: 475). Lichter et al.’s (2011) evidence favors structural explanations; however, even generational gaps due to structural factors can turn into cultural factors over time. Generation is perhaps one of the least studied and most difficult factors to understand. Few datasets have the proper variables to compute meaningful generational distinctions, and even when we do have the correct variables (such as parental nativity), how do we measure generational differences? There is a key distinction between the 1.5 generation (migrated to the U.S. as a child) and the second-generation (U.S.-born). For example, Gonsoulin and Fu (2010) found that second-generation Latinos displayed very similar marriage patterns to 1.5-generation Latinos, whereas second-generation Asians were almost three times more likely to outmarry than 1.5-generation Asians. The “new second-generation” (1.5 and second generations) are likely the key to understanding issues of assimilation, social distance, the color line, and panethnicity.

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We are particularly interested in understanding how many native-borns are intermarrying with first-generation immigrants, especially compared to native-borns intermarrying with white people. The last decade of the twentieth century (1990–2000) ushered in decreases in intermarriage with white people and increases in marriages between native-born and foreignborn co-ethnics (Qian and Lichter 2007). A groundbreaking study by Lichter et al. (2011) further clarifies the above finding, showing that intermarriage among Latinos and white people declined for the first time in the 1990s. Second-generation Latinos were more likely to marry first-generation Latinos than third-generation Latinos or white people, whereas the third generation are more likely to marry other third-generation Latinos or white people. This could indicate a “retreat from intermarriage” among the second-generation Latinos. This can also be attributed to growing numbers of Latino immigrants. Min and Kim (2009) confirm this finding, showing that native-born Asian Americans are outmarrying with immigrant coethnics at high rates. They attribute this to three factors: increasing immigration flows that have encouraged social interactions, increasing transnational ties, and reduced cultural barriers via globalization.

Gender differences We see vast gender differences when it comes to immigrants and their children intermarrying. A key division is between the immigrant first generation and the second generation. For example, Latino and Asian women are more likely to outmarry with white people than are Latino and Asian men (Jacobs and Labov 2002; Lichter et al. 2011). Once we exclude the first-generation immigrants, however, native-born Latino men are more likely to outmarry with white people than are Latino women, but Asian women are still more likely to outmarry with white people compared to Asian men. Among black immigrants, black men are more likely to outmarry with white people than are black women (Batson et al. 2006). Accounting for war brides is crucial in understanding gender differentials in intermarriage (Jacobs and Labov 2002). This partially explains why the first and second generations look so different. Jacobs and Labov state, “Excluding marriages involving those with US military experience and foreign spouses substantially reduces the female share of intermarriages previously observed among nearly all groups of Asian women” (p. 632). Of more importance are the possible reasons why we see these gender differences, especially among Asian women (even when we account for war brides). Kalmijn states: A speculative interpretation of this exception is that Asian-American women are attractive marriage candidates for white men because of their physical appearance and presumed acceptance of more traditional power relationships in marriage. A more plausible interpretation lies in the role of opportunity: the presence of American soldiers in Japan and Korea. (1998: 412–13) Min and Kim (2009) found that the remaining gap can be explained according to three factors: (1) “native-born Asian women are more likely than their male counterparts to consider the benefit of egalitarian gender relations in selecting non-ethnic partners” (2009: 457), (2) white men seek Asian wives due to stereotypes of their submissiveness, and (3) Asian men have a hard time marrying white people due to negative stereotypes of Asian men regarding gender issues. Morgan (2015), relying upon in-depth interviews, also found that some Asian American

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women are more likely to marry white people and less likely to marry other Asians because of perceptions of patriarchy among co-ethnics resulting from their Asian parents and previous dating experiences with Asian men.

Religion Religion once played a large role in the intermarriage of immigrants. More recently, Kalmijn (1998) found that religious groups tend to have higher rates of endogamy, mainly as a result of third-party control: “That the boundaries between religious groups in Europe and the United States have weakened during the twentieth century is consistent with the notion of declining third-party control and matches long-term processes such as secularization and depillarization” (p. 411). Part of this third-party influence comes from the desire of parents to transmit their religion to their descendants. And although this influence may be weakening, it has not completely diminished, especially for white people. Perry (2014) found that the more white people wanted to transmit their religion to their children, the more uncomfortable they were with their children marrying blacks, Latinos, or Asians. This suggests that “for many white Americans, religious heritage is equated with Whiteness” (p. 202). Religious divisions between Catholics and Protestants have been relatively weak since the early 1900s (Rosenfeld 2008). Divisions between Jews and Christians, however, are still high when it comes to religious endogamy, suggesting that social barriers remain strong despite their decline over the years. More strikingly, there is a critical divide in Europe between Muslims and non-Muslims (Song 2009). For example, Carol (2016) looked at intermarriage between Muslim migrants and natives from European countries and found that institutional- and proximitybased factors on the national level could not explain the lower intermarriage rates between Muslim migrants and natives from four countries in Europe (Belgium, Britain, Germany, and Switzerland). These low rates of intermarriage continued into the second generation for the Muslim migrants, going against assimilation theory. Religious identification and practices partially explain low intermarriage rates, but the biggest factor results from the “parental interference and possibly the importance of value transmission through marriage reduce the likelihood to intermarry” (p. 261).

International focus A number of countries (especially Asian countries such as Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan) have started bringing in a large number of women from other countries as a way to meet the demand for brides. This is a relatively recent phenomenon (it started in Japan in the late 1980s) and is historically understudied. These international intermarriages involve many of the factors mentioned above, but in different structural and cultural contexts. For example, Jones (2012) provides a summary of a special issue of Asian and Pacific Migration Journal that covers four studies on marriage migration in Asia: “In these four papers, we see a complex web of motivations that are not readily characterized, but reflect the messiness of real life” (p. 289). This phenomenon is not confined to Asian countries, but is also becoming more prevalent in the United States (especially in the form of brides from Russia, the Philippines, and a number of Asian countries found through various Internet sites). Related to this topic are intermarriage studies in other countries. Lucassen and Laarman (2009) summarized a wide range of intermarriage studies among immigrants in five European countries (the Netherlands, Germany, France, Belgium, and England). This study offers

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important comparisons within European nations, but also with immigrant intermarriage in the United States. For example, the authors found that religion was more important than race or color in Europe, compared to the United States. Part of this can be explained by the tradition of slavery in U.S. history, but part can also be explained by the immigrants’ experience as guest workers, the distinctness of Islam, and whether or not they were once a colonial subject of the European country to which they migrated. Other studies have come up with typologies of international marriages within Europe, especially given the access that migrants have to other countries within the European Union. For example, Gaspar (2012) created a threefold typology of work-based international couples, love-based international couples, and retired international couples based on a study of international couples in Germany, Britain, France, Italy, and Spain. She found that work-based unions, those who migrate for work opportunities, typically settled in Britain and France; love-based unions, those who migrate for love or affective reasons, were attracted mainly to Germany and Italy; and finally, retired unions, those who migrate for a better quality of life after retirement, generally retired in Spain. Another unique international study was conducted by Jacobson and Heaton (2008), who examined census data and compared intermarriage rates across six different locations with different histories of immigration, racial composition, and racial subjugation: the United States, Hawaii as a special case within the United States, Canada, New Zealand, South Africa, and Xinjiang Province in China. They found varying degrees of intermarriage both across the six contexts, as well as within the different groups in these contexts. They explain these differences using structural opportunities (in the form of segregation, geographical isolation, and local marriage markets), which lead to more intermarriage, and juxtapose those opportunities with thirdparty influences (in the form of group identification, group sanctions, and religion), which lead to less intermarriage. They also examine age as a key factor, showing that in all of the societies they studied, younger people tend to outmarry at higher rates than do older people. Despite obvious limitations with data in comparative studies of immigrant intermarriage, much is to be gained through these international studies.

The future of immigrant intermarriage In summary, there are a number of important theoretical areas in immigrant intermarriage that need to be explored. Do intermarriage trends among immigrants and their children point to a straight-line assimilation pattern (similar to European immigrants in the early 1900s) or a segmented assimilation pattern? What do we know about the social distance between groups based on their intermarriage? Do intermarriage patterns point to a tri-racial color line, or are we moving toward a black/non-black divide? Finally, are these immigrant groups and their offspring forming panethnic entities through intermarriage? When it comes to empirical studies on immigrant intermarriage, current studies point to important areas of further exploration. How does the meaning of intermarriage change depending on whether or not we examine those who identify with racial categories, ethnic categories, or even multiple ethnic and racial categories? What role does religion play in how immigrants and their children decide to intermarry? What about gender? Generation is also a critical factor to understanding intermarriage. Since most of the immigrants who arrived after 1960 have children who are still in their teenage years, the emerging third generation will become one of the most revealing topics in intermarriage studies in the next couple of decades. Despite the fact that most of this chapter has focused on immigrant intermarriage in the United States, we have a lot to learn from cross-national, comparative studies from around 348

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the world. The United States receives the highest number of immigrants from around the world and thus has an abundance of intermarried couples, but there are a number of other countries that also have increasingly higher proportions of immigrants. Moreover, given the ease of travel, communication, and business in the form of globalization, there are few countries that do not have immigrants, and where there are immigrants, there are intermarriages.

References Batson, C. D., Qian, Z. and Lichter, D. T. (2006) “Interracial and intraracial patterns of mate selection among America’s diverse black population.” Journal of Marriage and Family 68(3): 658–72. Bonilla-Silva, E. (2004) “From bi-racial to tri-racial: Towards a new system of racial stratification in the USA.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 27(6): 931–50. Carol, S. (2016) “Like will to like? Partner choice among Muslim migrants and natives in western Europe.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 42(2): 261–76. Fu, X. and Hatfield, M. (2008) “Intermarriage and segmented assimilation: US-born Asians in 2000.” Journal of Asian American Studies 11(3): 249–77. Gambol, B. (2016) “Changing racial boundaries and mixed unions: The case of second-generation Filipino Americans.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 39(14): 2621–40. Gaspar, S. (2012) “Patterns of bi-national couples across five EU countries.” Sociologia, Problemas E Praticas 70: 71–89. Gonsoulin, M. and Fu, X. (2010) “Intergenerational assimilation by intermarriage: Hispanic and Asian immigrants.” Marriage and Family Review 46(4): 257–77. Gordon, M. M. (1964) Assimilation in American Life: The Role of Race, Religion and National Origins. New York: Oxford University Press. Jacobs, J. A. and Labov, T. G. (2002) “Gender differentials in intermarriage among sixteen race and ethnic groups.” Sociological Forum 17(4): 621–46. Jacobson, C. K. and Heaton, T. B. (2008) “Comparative patterns of interracial marriage: Structural opportunities, third-party factors, and temporal change in immigrant societies.” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 39(2): 129–49. Jones, G. W. (2012) “Marriage migration in Asia: An introduction.” Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 21(3): 287–90. Kalmijn, M. (1998) “Intermarriage and homogamy: Causes, patterns, trends.” Annual Review of Sociology 24: 395–421. Kalmijn, M. and Van Tubergen, F. (2010) “A comparative perspective on intermarriage: Explaining differences among national-origin groups in the United States.” Demography 47(2): 459–79. Lee, J. and Bean, F. D. (2010) The Diversity Paradox: Immigration and the Color Line in Twenty-first Century America. New York: Russell Sage Foundation Publications. Lee, J. C. and Kyle, S. (2016) “Racialized assimilation of Asian Americans.” Annual Review of Sociology 42: 253–73. Lichter, D. T., Carmalt, J. H. and Qian, Z. (2011) “Immigration and intermarriage among Hispanics: Crossing racial and generational boundaries.” Sociological Forum 26(2): 241–64. Lucassen, L. and Laarman, C. (2009) “Immigration, intermarriage and the changing face of Europe in the post war period.” The History of the Family 14(1): 52–68. Min, P. G. and Kim, C. (2009) “Patterns of intermarriages and cross-generational in-marriages among native-born Asian Americans.” International Migration Review 43(3): 447–70. Miyawaki, M. M. (2015) “Expanding boundaries of whiteness? A look at the marital patterns of part-white multiracial groups.” Sociological Forum 30(4): 995–1016. Morgan, C. V. (2012) “Toward a more nuanced understanding of intercoupling: Second generation mixed couples in southern California.” Journal of Family Issues 33(11): 1423–49. Morgan, C. V. (2015) “Crossing borders, crossing boundaries: How immigrant backgrounds shape genderrole attitudes and interethnic partnering.” Journal of Family Issues 36(10): 1324–50. Padilla, F. (1984) “On the nature of Latino ethnicity.” Social Science Quarterly 65(2): 651–64. Perry, S. M. (2014) “Hoping for a godly (white) family: How desire for religious heritage affects whites’ attitudes toward interracial marriage.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 53(1): 202–18. Qian, Z. and Lichter, D. T. (2007) “Social boundaries and marital assimilation: Interpreting trends in racial and ethnic intermarriage.” American Sociological Review 72(1): 68–94. 349

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Rosenfeld, M. J. (2008) “Racial, educational and religious endogamy in the United States: A comparative historical perspective.” Social Forces 87: 1–31. Shin, H. (2011) “Intermarriage patterns among the children of Hispanic immigrants.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 37(9): 1385–402. Shinagawa, L. H. and Pang, G. Y. (1996) “Asian American panethnicity and intermarriage.” Amerasia Journal 22(2): 127–52. Song, M. (2009) “Is intermarriage a good indicator of integration?” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 35(2): 331–48. Schwartz, C. R. (2013) “Trends and variation in assortative mating: Causes and consequences.” Annual Review of Sociology 39: 451–70. Vasquez, J. M. (2014) “Race cognizance and colorblindness: Effects of Latino/non-Hispanic white intermarriage.” Du Bois Review 11(2): 273–93. Wang, W. (2012) “The rise of intermarriage: Rates, characteristics vary by race and gender.” Social & Demographic Trends. Washington, DC: Pew Research Center. Yancey, G. (2003) “Who Is White? Latinos, Asians, and the New Black/Nonblack Divide. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Pub.

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29 International adoption Andrea Louie

Introduction Transnational adoption has been celebrated as a form of altruism through which children orphaned by war, natural disasters, or other circumstances are given new homes and the opportunity for better lives. However, it is important to remember that adoption also represents the movement of children, often too young to give consent, across national, and often racialized boundaries to become a permanent part of their new families. In this sense, transnational adoption has been critiqued by some, as much as it has been celebrated by others, both for the procedural irregularities that sometimes involve the trafficking of children or the adoption of children who are not true orphans, and for the broader inequalities that define the transfer of children from poorer to wealthier nations, and from the global South to the global North. These critiques do not intend to diminish the good intentions of those who wish to adopt, nor the potential positive aspects of adoption itself. Indeed, many proponents of adoption argue that the transnational adoption system works effectively, giving homes to children who need them. But it is also important to understand key issues associated with the politics of international adoption and the rights of children that frame international adoption as a very specific type of migration. This chapter places the movement of international adoptees within a broader context of shifting historical and geopolitical conditions, and unequal global flows. Drawing in part on my own research with U.S. families who have adopted from China (Louie, 2015), and more broadly on the growing transnational adoption literature, I provide an overview of the very specific type of migration that international adoption represents. This form of migration is shaped by the circumstances that orphan children or compel birth parents to relinquish their children for adoption, and the policies and politics within both sending and receiving countries that regulate adoption practices and shape the reception of adoptees into these countries. I discuss the cultural and political economy of transnational adoption, sketching out the shifting historical and geopolitical contexts that open up adoption flows. I also address more critical approaches toward adoption relating to the commodification and trafficking of children and discussions of adoption as the creation of a forced diaspora (Hubinette, 2007).

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A history of transnational adoption The circumstances under which international adoptions have occurred have varied throughout history, both in terms of the ways in which children became orphaned and the processes by which international adoptions were facilitated. Marre and Briggs (2009: 1) observe that though international adoption was initially a way to rescue children orphaned by war, it has more commonly become a means for infertile couples and others to create a family. They further observe that what began as an effort to provide temporary foster care to World War I orphans eventually transformed into the adoption of war orphans following World War II and subsequent wars in Asia and Latin America, and more recently into the adoption of “abandoned” Asian and Eastern European children (2009: 29). (See also Tobias Hubinette’s “Orphan Trains to Babylifts” for a comprehensive history of international adoption.) However, they emphasize that: Even this new form of transnational adoption has been marked by the geographies of unequal power, as children move from poorer countries to wealthier ones—and the forces that make a country rich and powerful are above all historical. In this sense, transnational adoption has been shaped by the forces of colonialism, the Cold War, and globalization. (2009: 1–2) Arissa Oh (2015) outlines the history of international adoption from Korea as it evolved as a practice following the Korean War, beginning with mixed-race babies of GIs and eventually becoming a way to “export its unwanted children.” She emphasizes that a confluence of processes that emerged from the U.S.–Korea relationship at the time set the stage for the large scale of Korean international adoption and Korean economic development. Marre and Briggs (2009) emphasize that our current understandings of international adoption as a permanent way to form a family through the adoption of children from another country have not always defined transnational adoption practices (see also Winslow, 2017; Seligmann, 2013). Noting that international adoption involves specific understandings of children’s rights, and of the relationship between the U.S. and other nations, they cite historian Christina Klein’s work that argues that the desire of U.S. families to adopt war orphans reflected a broader paternalistic attitude that the U.S. developed toward other countries after World War II (Marre and Briggs, 2009: 5). Combined with the efforts of evangelical Christians such as Harry and Bertha Holt to adopt Korean War orphans including Amerasian children, this also signaled a shift in how adoptees were viewed in relation to broader U.S. society. Following the Korean War in 1953, the Holts, farmers from the state of Oregon on the west coast of the United States, adopted eight Amerasian children, lobbying Congress to pass special legislation to allow them to do so. In 1956, they opened Holt International, an adoption agency with a Christian mission statement, and began bringing Korean War orphans to the United States and placing them with adoptive families (Oh, 2015; Park Nelson, 2016). They later expanded their services to include adoptions from fourteen countries in total, including Cambodia, China, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Haiti, India, and Uganda (Holt International Website). Marre and Briggs note that for the Holts and others, international adoption was initially seen as involving the saving of underprivileged children by wealthier nations. They observe that “the programs took for granted that children would be converted religiously, nationally, and socially: they would become little Americans, or Swedes, or Norwegians” (2009: 8). This assimilative approach framed how adoptee’s identities were shaped by their parents, and the degree to which issues of racism were addressed for these children, most of whom were children of color adopted by white families. 352

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Complex and varied socio-historical circumstances led to adoption flows from Latin America, former socialist nations in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union, and from Africa. In Latin America, the past neocolonial involvement of the U.S. has shaped adoption flows from countries such as Guatemala to the U.S. (Leinaweaver and Seligmann, 2009: 4). Leinaweaver and Seligmann note that “A review of available statistics demonstrates starkly the rise and fall of transnational adoption in tandem with the increase and decline of civil war and violence in distinct regions of Latin America” (Leinaweaver and Seligmann, 1990: 4). Adoption from the former Soviet Union and former Soviet Republics such as Kazakstan and the Ukraine, and post-Socialist Eastern European countries such as Romania, began following the dissolution of the Soviet Union in 1991. Adoptions from the former Soviet Union grew exponentially between 1992 and 2001, from 324 to 4,279 (Evan P. Donaldson Adoption Institute: International Adoption facts). Adoptions from Africa saw an increase in the 1990s, with children from Ethiopia and Madagascar being sent to France. After 2003, the numbers of children adopted from Ethiopia to France, Spain, and the United States continued to rise (Selman, 2009a: 587–588). According to Peter Selman, numbers of intercountry adoptions have increased steadily over the past fifty years, “to an estimated total worldwide of over 45,000 a year in 2004.” However, contrary to predictions for continued growth, numbers fell by 17% over the next few years (Selman, 2009a: 575). Selman notes that, “There are well over 100 countries involved in sending children for ICA [intercountry adoption] and it is impossible to review trends in all of these” (p. 581). However, he does observe some overall shifts in analyzing data since 1997. For example, while in 1997, 67% of children adopted internationally into Spain were from Latin America, by 2000, only 21% were from Latin America, and Eastern Europe now accounted for 47% of adoptions to Spain (p. 582). In addition, while adoption from Asia (primarily China) constituted 54% of intercountry adoptions in 2005, Africa was the only continent to show an overall growth in the number of adoptions in 2007, and will likely be the only one showing future growth (p. 583). The overall decline in international adoptions since 2004 can be explained by a decline in the availability of children for adoption from “key states of origin” (p. 589).

Adoptees versus other immigrants In recent years, transnational adoption has been a growing area of research, reflecting both the increasing number of internationally adopted children, and the coming of age of significant numbers of Korean and other transnational and transracial adoptees who are themselves engaging in scholarship, activism, and creative expression related to adoption. Transnational adoption can be explored from a number of perspectives, both academic and non-academic. However, within the context of this volume, it is important to specifically examine how adoptees are positioned both legally and socially in relation to other types of migrants. As noted above, like broader migration patterns, international adoption flows are the product of global inequities that result in movements occurring primarily in one direction—from poorer to richer nations, primarily in North America and Europe. These patterns are not new, nor are they coincidental. In general, the top sending and receiving countries have remained the same over the past few years. Peter Selman’s study, focusing on the top twenty receiving countries, finds that intercountry adoptions increased 42% between 1998 and 2004. His data show that the countries receiving the highest number of international adoptees in 2015 were the USA, Italy, Canada, France, and Spain, in that order (Selman, 2017). The top sending countries to the US are China, Russia, Ethiopia, Colombia, South Korea, and Vietnam (Selman, 2017). Selman notes, however, “the paradox that the countries sending 353

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the most children in recent years have not been the poorest or those with the highest birth rates” (2009b: 38). Thus, adoptions are not solely determined by these factors, but rather are mediated by governmental policies and other social, cultural, or historical factors. In addition, adoption flows, like other migration flows, are often gendered. However, these patterns too are complex. Selman notes that while the majority of children adopted from China, India, and Vietnam are girls, more boys were adopted from South Korea, due to the fact that girls were often adopted domestically. China is well known for, and has also been criticized by other nations, by anti-abortion advocates, and others for, its One Child Policy, which has indirectly resulted in high rates of infant abandonment of Chinese girls. At the same time, Kay Johnson (2004, 2016) has shown that there are a host of historical, cultural, political, and economic factors, many of which are coercive, that lead to female infant abandonment, including the lack of a social security policy in China, and the continued belief predominant in rural areas that girls become part of their husbands’ families and therefore will not be able to care for their aging parents. In the 21st century, children relinquished for adopted have become increasingly subject to child trafficking within China (Johnson, 2016). But while the Chinese government has been critiqued for what are viewed as its oppressive policies that regulate family size and a woman’s fertility, these same circumstances facilitate the availability of children for adoptive parents. Many of these girls have been adopted internationally, to the U.S., Canada, Spain, Great Britain, and other North American and European countries. Many parents desire Asian girls because they view them as model minorities who are docile and malleable (Dorow, 2005). In addition, as Kim Park Nelson (2016) asserts in her multisited study of adult Korean adoptees, Korean adoptees are also rendered invisible within the context of U.S. racial politics. Unlike other racial minorities, Asian Americans enjoy a racial status that is between black and white, though closer to white (Zhou, 2004). The history of the United States has produced a racial system that is framed within a black–white binary (Ancheta, 2010), into which other minorities are slotted as “constructive blacks” or “constructive whites.” As Robert Lee (2010) and Ellen Wu (2015) argue, the model minority myth, which portrayed Asian Americans as successful, trouble free immigrants, arose in the 1950s in the context of the Cold War efforts to spread the image of the U.S. as a liberal democracy that treats its minorities well. At the same time, these false conceptions were used against other underperforming U.S. minority groups, particularly blacks and Latinos who were characterized as lacking in cultural values, and therefore as undeserving of government aid in the form of welfare and other programs. For Chinese girls, the circumstances under which they became available for adoption—in the view of many adoptive parents, as healthy infants whose only crime was to have been born as girls—lessen prospective parents’ anxieties about their health and the circumstances of their relinquishment. Some narratives surrounding female Chinese adoptees frame their adoption from China as involving a degree of altruism in rescuing girls from these circumstances in which they are not wanted. However, Johnson’s research also shows that issues of infant abandonment are highly complex, indicating that many Chinese parents would not relinquish their infant girls if a sufficient social security network were available for rural families and if government policy allowed for the birth of more than one child without fines or other forms of punishment (Johnson, 2016). As Leslie Wang argues in her book Outsourced Children, Chinese international adoption is very much a Chinese state project in which marginalized children were used to create networks with wealthy Western nations through the establishment of transnational adoption networks that linked back to orphanage care in China (Wang, 2016). Another complex dimension of international adoption relates to the specific national and international policies that regulate the movement of adoptees. These often differ from those 354

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that both spur and govern other forms of migration. In some ways, adoptee migration flows parallel migration patterns more broadly in that they trace similar patterns from poorer to richer nations. However, there are also important distinctions between adoptees and other migrants, just as there exists great variation within migrant populations themselves. Voluntary migrants most often plan in advance for their emigration, which is usually a strategy to secure better employment, further one’s education, or reunite with family members. At the same time, they often face strict legal barriers from both their countries of origin and receiving countries that restrict and regulate their transnational movement. For example, U.S. immigration laws favor certain classes of immigrants, including those with specific professional skills or those with family already in the U.S. The 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, or the Hart-Celler Act, created special categories of immigration that gave preference to skilled, professional laborers and also included provisions for family reunification. The immigrant adjustment process also varies, depending on their level of presocialization to U.S. culture. Some immigrants come with English fluency and advanced degrees, and struggle little with finding employment and navigating everyday social life and bureaucracies. Others who lack literacy even in their native languages and who come with few economic or educational resources struggle more. Adoptees, on the other hand, are a very different kind of migrant. Once placed for adoption, adoptee paperwork travels through separate channels from that of other migrants. For example, though still governed by state regulations on both sending and receiving ends, U.S. citizens who adopt from abroad are allowed to file form I-600 to the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services office, titled “Petition to Classify Orphan as an Immediate Relative.” Depending on the child’s visa and whether or not the adoption has been finalized by both countries, the child may be granted citizenship immediately upon entering U.S. soil per the Child Citizenship Act of 2000. Adoptees also face major transitions as they become part of families who usually come from different cultural, religious, and often “racial” backgrounds than their caretakers in their countries of birth. Though young children are viewed as being malleable, and many appear to adjust very smoothly, the shift from orphanage or foster care to living with a new family can be overwhelming for some. Though most adoptees grow up in families that are middle to upper class in socioeconomic background and may therefore have access to resources which not all immigrants may initially have available to them, for many, adoption represents a significant loss, even trauma, from feeling abandoned by birth parents to having been removed from the familiar settings of their birth countries, usually without their consent. In this sense, then, adoptees are in some ways more similar to refugees than they are to voluntary migrants. Like refugees, few travel of their own free will, but rather are brought to other countries via circumstances beyond their control. As children made parentless due to war, environmental disaster, poverty, ethnic or racial conflict, or other complex social or cultural factors, they are, as Swedish scholar and international adoptee Tobias Hubinette asserts, a forced and marginalized diaspora (Hubinette, 2007: 177). Hubinette argues that under these circumstances, they are required to identify with and perform whiteness and that “this ethnic instability leads to severe psychic violence and physical alienation.” His argument serves as a critique of the celebration of hybrid, border-crossing identities that is common in portrayals of transnational migration and cosmopolitanism (2007: 178–179). Elsewhere, he compares international adoption, which he considers a form of “forced migration” that has resulted in the movement of “almost half a million children” to Western countries since 1950, to the Atlantic slave trade, the coolie trade, and the trafficking of women and children (Hubinette, 2006: 142–143). Though he acknowledges key differences between these practices, he remarks that “both practices are driven by insatiable consumer demand, private market interests, and cynical profit making, and both use a highly advanced system of pricing 355

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where the young, the healthy, and the light-skinned are most valued” (2006: 143). His perspective may be viewed as a somewhat extreme viewpoint on adoption as a form of migration. However, there have been numerous other critiques of adoption practices.

Critiques of adoption While international adoption has often been celebrated as a way to help children without permanent homes and to create new multicultural families, the overall system that drives adoption, which as Hubinette discusses above assigns unequal values to children of different backgrounds, has been critiqued on many levels. Though some might say they prefer international adoption for a variety of reasons that may include an interest in other countries and cultures, the high costs and other challenges associated with adopting a healthy white infant from the U.S. also factor into the decisions of many parents to turn to international adoption to form a family. My research, carried out between 2001 and 2009 in St. Louis, Missouri and the San Francisco Bay area of California focused primarily on how white and Asian American adoptive parents conceived of Chineseness as a racial and cultural form as they attempted to help their children craft identities (Louie, 2015). Most parents I interviewed for my own research on Chinese adoption also insisted that their primary motivation for adoption was their own desire to have a child, and not to engage in a form of altruism. However, it remains a point of contention among many adoption activists and scholars that international adoptees are often preferred over domestic adoptees of color (Ortiz and Briggs, 2003), and that the costs associated with adoption correlate with both race and national origins, causing some to speak of adoption in terms of “baby markets” (Goodwin, 2010). Another pressing critique surrounds the regulation of adoption. As a form of intercountry migration, adoption is regulated very differently from other forms of immigration, and thus raises different sets of issues. How can it be ensured that children’s rights are protected—that they are indeed orphans without family to care for them in their home countries? Do children need to be adopted abroad, away from their countries of birth, and to grow up with little knowledge of these origins, or can options be provided for adoption or fostering in their birth countries? The movement of children across national borders to become part of new families carries numerous other potential issues relating to who has the right to make decisions regarding which children are adopted, or whether international adoption should occur at all. Historically, even acts viewed as humanitarian efforts, such as the 1975 Operation Babylift from Vietnam have raised controversy for the removal of 2,000 children from their homeland, many of whom had not actually been orphaned. Following the fall of Vietnam to the Communists, the United States frantically scrambled to evacuate Vietnamese war orphans to safety, loading them onto cargo planes, in some cases placing infants in boxes. It was later discovered that many of these children still had living parents and relatives who wished to raise them, though in many cases they had already been placed with new U.S. families (Bergquist, 2009). Similar situations have occurred in 2007, when a French non-profit tried to airlift Sudanese children from Dafur, despite warnings from the French government that the children had not been verified as orphans and the fact that adoption is prohibited by Muslim law. It is unfortunate that in some cases adoption has been associated with child trafficking and other illegal means of coercing mothers to relinquish their children, who are then sold. Child trafficking schemes attached to adoption have been exposed in many countries, including Guatemala, Cambodia, and Vietnam (Schuster Institute for Investigative Journalism, 2012). In some of these cases, adoption programs have been closed down or temporarily halted when these schemes have been uncovered. 356

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In response to these and other concerns, sending and receiving countries have in some cases engaged in international efforts to regulate transnational adoption, based on the premise that these children’s futures should be determined by their own governments and fellow citizens, and not by foreigners, no matter how good their intentions might be. Indeed, the Hague Adoption Convention (1993) stipulates that orphaned children should ideally be placed with family members, or adopted domestically as a second choice. International adoption should only be seen as a last resort, and only done with the permission of the child’s birth country. Though not all nations have agreed to comply, the convention’s aim is to prevent child trafficking and ensure that children’s rights and interests are protected. The United Nations Convention on Rights of the Child of 1989 similarly establishes basic rights for children under 18, which include rights to be protected in the case of adoption. It states that “‘the child, for the full and harmonious development of his or her personality, should grow up in a family environment, in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding’ (1989: Preamble)” (as quoted in Seligmann, 2009). These regulations, which have not yet been accepted by all countries, aim to ensure that children who are adopted internationally have been orphaned or voluntarily relinquished by their parents, and that there are no intermediaries who are misleading birth families and/or profiting from the sale of their children for adoption. However, the question of adoption as a human rights issue can be complex. There may be conflicting perspectives on what actions best protect the rights of children. Research by Leinaweaver shows that Peruvian adoption workers view transnational adoption as a means to “promote” the rights of children, while work by Cardarello in Brazil indicates that adoption is sometimes viewed as a form of child trafficking that impinges on children’s rights (Leinaweaver and Seligmann, 2009: 3). What are a nation’s responsibilities to care for its own children, and at what point does international adoption become a form of commodifying children for sale abroad? The notion of adoptees as commodities has also been at the center of critiques leveled at South Korea, which has received accusations that it is exporting its own children and turning international adoption into a form of national income. These critiques came to a head during the 1988 Olympics, which were held in Seoul, South Korea during which the government was critiqued for using its children as an export commodity. South Korean children have been adopted to the United States, Sweden, France, and numerous other locations. Despite its rapid economic development and rising living standards, traditional ideas regarding births to unwed mothers and the adoption of children who were not of one’s bloodline have not changed significantly (Freundlich and Lieberthal, 2000). While international adoption had traditionally been seen as a last resort for underdeveloped, impoverished nations to find homes for children who did not have parents, or whose parents could not care for them, it is clear that there are ethical issues involved in a nation’s decision to make its children available for adoption in the first place. Kim Park Nelson writes that, “Transnational adoptions have become so common that they have resulted in measurable income streams to some birth countries, to the annual tune of $15–20 million in South Korea (estimated 2001 GDP of $865 billion), $5 million in Guatemala (estimated 2001 GDP of $48.3 billion) and $2 million in Honduras (estimated 2001 GDP of $17 billion)” (2006: 96). Another ethical issue stemming from the removal of children from their “birth countries” and cultures has shaped contemporary approaches toward raising adopted children. Largely in response to critiques from first and second wave Korean adoptees who had been raised in colorblind atmospheres without much acknowledgment of their Korean origins or their status as racial minorities, newer generations of adoptive parents have endeavored to expose their children to what they term their “birth cultures.” This issue is not a new one within the context 357

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of domestic U.S. adoption. While some scholars such as Rita Simon (Simon and Alstein, 1994) argued that transracial adoption did not lead to racial identity issues, in 1972, the National Association of Black Social Workers released an official statement in opposition to the adoption of black children by white families, asserting that white families would not be equipped to teach these children about African American culture or how to live as racial minorities in U.S. society. Contrary to the notion that “love is all you need” these social workers emphasized that children were not just part of families, but also communities, and that removing them from these communities was akin to “cultural genocide.”

Racial, cultural and national belonging The above sections illustrate that international adoption is undergirded by sets of complex motivations that shape the fates of adopted children. Children arrive not as blank slates who can be melded seamlessly into their adoptive families, but with specific histories that are sometimes embodied in the physical features that, in the case of transracial adoptees, mark their “difference.” As discussed in the previous section, contemporary adoption practices have evolved in response to previous concerns about establishing cultural identities for adoptees. The next section of this chapter will discuss transracial adoption to Europe and the U.S., the destination of the majority of international adoptees and the focus of most of the literature on the subject. While studies such as Heather Jacobson’s (2008) have shown that even in same-race adoptions, some parents take an interest in the “birth cultures” of their children, this chapter will focus primarily on transracial international adoption—the adoption of children of color by white families in the global North. According to the Evan P. Donaldson Adoption Institute, over one quarter of a million children have been transnationally adopted into the U.S. between 1971 and 2001. Between the years of 1991 and 2001, transnational adoptions to the U.S. more than doubled (Evan P. Donaldson Adoption Institute). Adoption numbers are similarly significant for Sweden. Tobias Hubinette notes that, Statistics Sweden (SCB) has identified 43,882 international adoptees in Sweden born between 1932–2001 and coming from more than 130 countries . . . The international adoptees represent 1–2 percent of all generations born from the beginning of the 1970s, and still around one thousand children arrive annually to Sweden. In total, the international adoptees constitute 15 percent of all non-white immigrants in the country. While Hubinette’s statistics indicate that, in the case of Sweden, international adoptees represent a significant portion of the non-white immigrant population of the country, other research has shown that adoptive parents often place immigrants and adoptees into different categories (Howell and Marre, 2006, cited in Howell, 2009). Adoptees are viewed as differing from immigrants in large part due to the socializing efforts of their parents. Howell (2003: 159) asserts that adoptive parents attempt to make their children essentially Norwegian by dressing them in Norwegian clothing, teaching them traditional folk tales, and fostering other aspects of Norwegian culture. Similarly, Yngvesson (2007: 566) observes that in the 1970s and 80s, adoptees were seen as externally distinct from other Swedes, but as “completely Swedish” on the inside. She notes that publications by Sweden’s Adoption Centre “contrasted” adopted and immigrant children, asserting that immigrants maintained their traditional ways upon moving to Sweden, while adoptees became Swedish because they were raised by Swedish parents. She also notes, however, that as adoptees grew to adulthood and realized that they were being racialized 358

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and discriminated against in ways similar to immigrants, these notions were soon debunked. In the case of Spain, Marre (Marre and Briggs, 2009: 228) notes that international adoptions are not viewed as a form of international migration, as immigrants are viewed as having “integration difficulties” in contrast to the smoother transitions adopted children were imagined to make. And ironically, while adoptive parents were interested in the cultures of their children’s birth countries, Marre also notes that parents downplayed the fact that there were “possible similarities” between the two groups (p. 228). Academics, adoption professionals, and adoptees themselves, point to the dangers in aestheticizing and celebrating children’s birth cultures at the expense of attention to issues of race (Anagnost, 2000). They argue that cultural practices and artifacts should not be taken out of context, and that local minority communities representing the child’s background should not be ignored at the expense of focusing on the country of birth. The issues surrounding the cultural and racial positioning of adoptees reflect broader issues regarding how adoptee experiences can be understood vis-à-vis other migrant groups, as they are, on the one hand, part of families to which their belongingness is emphasized, and on the other they remained linked to their countries of origin by their personal histories and often by their phenotypical features. Debates over what constitutes “birth cultures” and how they are imagined and implemented within the context of adoptive family lives are significant, in that they reflect tensions between an adoptee’s “racial” and cultural roots, and how these origins remain meaningful in the context of the racial and cultural politics of their country of residence. Discourses of colorblindness and assimilation that permeate U.S. multiculturalism may have the dual effect of reducing “difference” to a cultural realm to be celebrated in the context of diversity, and dismissing discussions of race to something that only existed in the past. Recent works in critical race theory and adoption in the context of both the U.S. and Europe have discussed the processes by which international transracial adoptees are racialized and exoticized in relation to both domestic black adoptees (Ortiz and Briggs, 2003) and other racial minority immigrants, thus shedding light on the racial politics surrounding perceptions of international adoptees. At the same time, in both North America and Europe, culture has become the focus of the adoptee’s difference, often as a way to diminish the focus on the adoptee’s racial differences, but also as part of broader racial and multicultural projects. There is some disagreement among adoption researchers as to the salience of racism in contemporary contexts, and of the relative power of culture to provide a basis for the flexible creation of new identities in what some consider to be a post-racial society. Norwegian anthropologist Signe Howell argues that researchers: have argued that race is not regarded as relevant in transnational adoption in Norway and Spain. Prospective adoptive parents in the Scandinavian countries may not specify racial preferences in their applications. Surveys show, however, that adoptive parents are anxious about racism as their children grow up and leave home. (2009: 160) However, for many, the concern is that given the celebratory focus on the cultural distinctiveness of adoptees rather than the potential implications of their minority status, adoptees might not be prepared to go out into the world from their sheltered family lives as people of color living in a majority white society. While anti-immigrant sentiments fueled by fears of labor competition and other forms of xenophobia may shape attitudes toward new immigrants to North America or Europe, particularly non-white ones, adopted children of similar racial backgrounds to those of immigrant populations might be welcomed into communities. However, 359

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it is important to consider the interplay between discourses of color blindness that imply that adoptee racial origins are irrelevant, and the broader politics of race that affect adoptees outside the home. Unlike immigrants who experience similar racial and ethnic environments both in and outside the home, transracial adoptees are often raised in predominantly white homes and environments, but might be lumped together with other people of color outside the safe haven of their families.

The language of kinship The study of adoptive families represents an opportunity to examine new forms of kinship and family forms that traverse national borders, whether in practice or in the imagination (Seligmann, 2013). Anthropologist Signe Howell (2007) refers to “kinning” processes that bring adopted children into Norwegian families. Other works discuss the ways that adoptees (and/or their parents) endeavor to create or uncover bonds of kinship, whether genetic or of commonality, with fellow adoptees. Toby Volkman (2009) writes of the sustained efforts on the part of adoptive parents to locate siblings for their children through the use of DNA technology. This trend points to the perceived power of having biological connections for adopted individuals who might not know anyone who is genetically related to them. Most adoptees, of course, do have genetic relatives, but their ties to them have often been severed. The discontinuity that marks the adoptee’s transition from their country of birth to their new countries of citizenship distinguishes theirs from the experiences of other migrants, particularly those who maintain strong transnational ties to friends and family in their home country. These ties are usually facilitated by personal connections, and other forms of social, cultural, and economic capital, that enable migrants to sustain these ties. However, for the majority of adoptees who lack kinship ties or access to other social networks, transnational ties may be difficult to build and sustain. Korean adoptees, many of whom from the first two waves are now adults, have criticized the Korean government for misinformation, inconsistencies in paperwork, and general lack of knowledge regarding their adoption histories (Trenka, 2009). While many Korean adoptees have successfully carried out searches for birth families, others have been stymied by a lack of transparency in their adoption records, or sometimes purposeful misinformation, as in the case of Deann Borshay Liem, who chronicled her search for her birth family in the film “First Person Plural.” The fact that many international adoptees do have birth families back in their countries of origin greatly complicates the notion of adoption as involving a clean break between a child’s country of origin and his or her new start as part of another family (Yngvesson, 2007). It is not uncommon for adoptees, either individually or with families and travel groups, to engage in roots-searching activities, birth family searches, or forms of activism, thereby forging new transnational relationships and networks (Kim, 2010; Yngvesson, 2003). Eleana Kim’s work documents this process for Korean adoptees who travel to Korea on homeland tours and are faced with messages from the Korean government that complicate their understandings of their Koreanness (Kim, 2010). Barbara Yngvesson discusses the experiences of Swedish adoptees “returning” to their roots in Chile. In some ways, their endeavors are not totally dissimilar from those of many second, third, and fourth generation descendants of migrants who no longer retain direct connections to the homeland and need to construct them anew. In both cases, roots-seekers must contend with governmental discourses of belonging and exclusion, which impose assumptions about their racial and cultural identities (Louie, 2004; Kim, 2007). These travels usually represent temporary transnational movements, and are therefore not strictly a 360

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form of migration. However, while non-adopted descendants of migrants may be able to access some genealogical and historical information about their families, this is often more difficult for adoptees. Instead, adoptees who are unable, or do not desire, to locate birth families can form other types of connections with fellow adoptees and others that might also be transnational in nature. International adoptees from Korea, for example, have formed a number of organizations, some in Korea itself, to advocate for adoptee issues, including ASK (Adoptee Solidarity Korea) which is trying to hold the Korean government to its promise to end Korean adoption within the next few years, and TRACK (Truth and Reconciliation for the Adoption Community of Korea) which aims to achieve “full knowledge of past and present Korean adoption practices to protect the human rights of adult adoptees, children, and families” (Jane Jeong Trenka blog: http://justicespeaking.wordpress.com/objective-목적/) Adoptees are also engaged in various forms of cultural production and expression, including filmmaking (Borshay Liem, 2000) and creative writing (Trenka, 2009; Kwon Dobbs, 2007), in which they give voice to their diverse experiences. Though they share many similarities with other migrants, including feelings of displacement, loss, and of being in-between cultures, it is also important to acknowledge the specificity of their journeys. Transnational adoption will likely continue in one form or another in the years to come. However, as advocates work to reform adoption practices so that they are in the best interest of the children, to increase opportunities for the domestic adoption of children within their countries of birth, or even to improve conditions for birth mothers so that they might not need to relinquish their children in the first place, one wonders what the future of transnational adoption will look like. Will it continue at its present numbers, or at some point, might transnational adoption slow or perhaps disappear altogether?

References Anagnost, Ann. (2000). Scenes of Misrecognition: Maternal Citizenship in the Age of Transnational Adoption. positions: east asia cultures critique, 8(2) (Fall), pp. 389–421. Ancheta, Angelo. (2010). Neither Black nor White. In: Jean Wu and Thomas Chen, eds. Asian American Studies Now: A Critical Reader, pp. 21–34. New Jersey, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Bergquist, Kathleen Ja Sook. (2009). Operation Babyift or Babyabduction? Implications of the Hague Convention on the Humanitarian Evacuation and “Rescue” of Children. International Social Work, 52(5), pp. 621–633. Borshay Liem, Deann. (2000). First Person Plural, [DVD] Mu Films, Berkeley, CA. Dorow, Sara K. (2005). Transnational Adoption: A Cultural Economy of Race, Gender and Kinship. New York: New York University Press. Evan P. Donaldson Adoption Institute. (ND). International Adoption Facts. Available at: www.adoption institute.org/old/research/adoptionfacts.php [Accessed 30 January 2019]. Freundlich Madelyn and Joy Kim Lieberthal. (2000). The Gathering of the First Generation of Adult Korean Adoptees: Adoptees’ Perceptions of International Adoption. New York: Evan B. Donaldson Adoption Institute. Goodwin, Michelle. (2010). Baby Markets: Money and the New Politics of Creating Families. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Holt International Website. (ND) www.holtinternational.org/historical.shtml [Accessed 7 July 2011]. Howell, Signe Lise. (2003). Kinning: The Creation of Life Trajectories in Transnational Adoptive Families. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 9(3), pp. 465–484. Howell, Signe. (2007). The Kinning of Foreigners: Transnational Adoption in a Global Perspective. New York and Oxford: Berghahn Books. Howell, Signe. (2009). Adoption of the Unrelated Child: Some Challenges to the Anthropological Study of Kinship. Annual Review of Anthropology, 38, pp. 149–166. Hubinette, Tobias. (2006). Orphan Trains to Babylifts: Colonial Trafficking, Empire Building, and Social Engineering. In: Jane Jeong Trenka, Julia Chinyere Oparah, and Sun Yung Shin, eds. Outsiders Within: Writing on Transracial Adoption, pp. 139–150. Cambridge, MA: South End Press. 361

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Hubinette, Tobias. (2007). Asian Bodies Out of Control: Examining the Adopted Korean Existence. In: Rhacel Parreñas and Lok Siu, eds. Asian Diasporas: New Formations, New Conceptions, pp. 177–200. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Hubinette, Tobias. (ND). The International Adoptees of Sweden and the Theory of Multiple Burdens. Available at: www.tobiashubinette.se/multiple_burdens.pdf [Accessed September 2017]. Jacobson, Heather. (2008). Culture Keeping: White Mothers, International Adoption, and the Negotiation of Family Difference. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Johnson, K. (2004). Wanting a Daughter, Needing a Son: Abandonment, Adoption, and Orphanage Care in China. St. Paul, MN: Yeong & Yeong Book Company. Johnson, K. (2016). China’s Hidden Children: Abandonment, Adoption, and the Human Costs of the One Child Policy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Kim, Eleana. (2007). Our Adoptee, Our Alien: Transnational Adoptees as Specters of Foreignness and Family in South Korea. Anthropological Quarterly, 80(2), pp. 497–531. Kim, Eleana. (2010). Adopted Territory: Transnational Korean Adoptees and the Politics of Belonging. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Kwon Dobbs, Jennifer. (2007). Paper Pavillion. Buffalo, NY: White Pine Press. Lee, Robert G. (2010). The Cold War Origins of the Model Minority Myth. In: Jean Yu-wen Shen Wu and Thomas C. Chen, eds. Asian American Studies Now: A Critical Reader, pp. 256–271. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Leinaweaver, Jessaca B. and Linda J. Seligmann. (2009). Introduction: Cultural and Political Economies of Adoption in Latin America. The Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology, 14(1), pp. 1–19. Louie, Andrea. (2004). Chineseness Across Borders: Renegotiating Chinese Identities in China and the United States. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Louie, Andrea. (2015). How Chinese Are You? Adopted Chinese Youth and their Families Negotiate Identity and Culture. New York: New York University Press. Marre, Diana and Laura Briggs. (2009). International Adoption: Global Inequalities and the Circulation of Children. New York: New York University Press. National Association of Black Social Workers. (1972). Position Statement on Trans-Racial Adoption. September. The Adoption History Project https://pages.uoregon.edu/adoption/archive/NabswTRA.htm Oh, Arissa. (2015). To Save the Children of Korea: The Cold War Origins of International Adoption. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Ortiz, Ana Teresa and Laura Briggs. (2003). The Culture of Poverty, Crack Babies, and Welfare Cheat: The Making of the “Healthy White Baby Crisis.” Social Text 76, 21(3), pp. 39–57. Park Nelson, Kim. (2006). Shopping for Children in the International Marketplace. In: Jane Jeong Trenka, Julia Chinyere Oparah, and Sun Yung Shin, eds. Outsiders Within: Writing on Transracial Adoption, pp. 139–150. Cambridge, MA: South End Press.. Park Nelson, Kim. (2016). Invisible Asians: Korean American Adoptees, Asian American Experiences, and Racial Exceptionalism. New Jersey, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Schuster Institute for Investigative Journalism. (2012, 3 May). Fraud and Corruption in International Adoptions. Available at: www.brandeis.edu/investigate/adoption/index.html Seligman, L. J. (2009). The Cultural and Political Economies of Adoption in Andean Peru and the United States. Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology, 14(1), pp. 115–139. Seligmann, L. J. (2013). Broken Links, Enduring Ties: American Adoption across Race, Class, and Nation. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Selman, P. (2009a). The Rise and Fall of Intercountry Adoption in the 21st Century. International Social Work, 52, pp. 575–594. Selman, P. (2009b). The Movement of Children for International Adoption: Developments and Trends in Receiving States and States of Origin, 1998–2004. In: Diana Marre and Laura Briggs, eds. International Adoption: Global Inequalities and the Circulation of Children, pp. 32–51. New York: New York University Press. Selman, P. (2017). Global Statistics for Intercountry Adoption: Receiving States and States of Origin 2004–2015. Available at: https://assets.hcch.net/docs/a8fe9f19-23e6-40c2-855e-388e112bf1f5.pdf Simon Rita, and Howard Alstein with Marygold S. Melli. (1994). The Case for Transracial Adoption. Washington, DC: American University Press. Trenka, Jane Jeong. (2009). Fugitive Visions: An Adoptee’s Return to Korea. St. Paul, MN: Graywolf Press.

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Trenka, Jane Jeong. (ND). TRACK (Truth and Reconciliation for the Adoption Community of Korea). Available at: http://justicespeaking.wordpress.com/objective. Volkman, T. A. (2009). Seeking Sisters: Twinship and Kinship in an Age of Internet Miracles and DNA Technologies. In: Laura Briggs and Diane Marre, eds. International Adoption: Global Inequalities and the Circulation of Children, pp. 283–302. New York: New York University Press. Wang, Leslie K. (2016). Outsourced Children: Orphanage Care and Adoption in Globalizing China. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Winslow, Rachel Rains. (2017). The Best Possible Immigrants: International Adoption and the American Family. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Wu, Ellen D. (2015). The Color of Success: Asian Americans and the Origins of the Model Minority Myth. New Jersey, NJ: Princeton University Press. Yngvesson, B. (2003). Going “Home”: Adoption, Loss of Bearings and the Mythology of Roots. Social Text 74, 21(1), pp. 7–27. Yngvesson, B. (2007). Refiguring Kinship in the Space of Adoption. Anthropological Quarterly, 80(2), pp. 561–579. Zhou, Min. (2004). “Are Asian Americans Becoming White?” Context, 3(1), pp. 29–37.

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Part VII

Migrants and the state

Popular and scholarly discourse about the experience of international migration commonly focuses on migrants’ cultural orientation and on the impact of social structure as the key factors in determining outcomes. However, a growing body of research refers to the influence of a third entity – the nation-state – as shaping migrants’ entry, adaptation, mobility and fate. In fact, the existence of states underlies the very category of “international migrant,” as there can be no person who crosses an international border without an international border to cross. In order for there to be international migrants, there needs to be state power bounded within a certain geography, and within that physical space a state apparatus that allocates or denies migrant rights. In the pre-state period there were no refugees or other immigrants as we think of them today; people moved across territories with much greater ease, and although movers experienced ingroup inclusion and out-group exclusion as a result of their mobility, there were not the same limitations to movement and denial of rights that we see among migrants today. Despite arguments that globalization is weakening the nation-state system, states remain the dominant arbiters of migrant rights, including their right to access resources within a state. Migrants’ opportunities are shaped by supra-governmental organizations like the United Nations or the International Organization for Migration that can advocate for migrant rights, as well as non-governmental organizations that provide assistance to, or advocate for, migrants. But they are only able to do so incompletely, and often only at the pleasure of the government of the state in which they operate. Human rights, while increasingly recognized as an important framework for justifying the protection of migrants, has no established authority to guarantee such rights. It is up to states whether or not they want to grant human rights, and how they want to honor (or not) existing human rights conventions and treaties. In this section on migrants and the state, a number of authors tackle how the state frames the opportunities and challenges for migrants, and how migrants enact agency to work within the state framework (and, in some cases, resist that framework). We start with Cecilia Menjívar writing about undocumented migrants. Within that term Menjívar includes not only those who have crossed a state border without inspection or who have fallen out of legal status, but also migrants with liminal or temporary (but still legal status), reflecting the increased vulnerability of migrants with more precarious documentation. She contends that we should view undocumented immigration in terms of its political and economic construction rather than from a

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legalistic perspective. She points out that undocumented workers respond to the same circumstances and cultures of migration as legally sanctioned migrants, and they decide to migrate in response to recruitment efforts originating in the host society. Accordingly, their being labeled as illegal often reflects an effort by the host society’s government to manage contradictory demands from anti-immigrant movements, on the one hand, and employers who continue to seek migrant labor, on the other. Given the rise in migrant exclusion globally, this volume would have been incomplete without a chapter on immigrant detention and deportation. Caitlin Patler, Kristina Shull and Katie Dingeman tackle this topic in the second chapter of this section. Chronicling the history and present-day increase of detention and deportation of non-citizens, Patler and colleagues demonstrate how this phenomenon is part of a larger project to exclude racialized others from the nation-state membership. While the state presents detention prior to deportation as a procedural practice, Patler and colleagues argue that it is actually punitive. They end with a description of the literature on the aftermath of deportation (a topic that Kelly Birch Maginot picks up on and fleshes out in Part VIII). In his chapter on naturalization, Thomas Janoski summarizes quantitative data and the historical record of naturalization policies from several countries to develop an empirically based understanding of various nations’ willingness to extend citizenship to migrants. This offers a more objective and systematic way of evaluating naturalization than is availed by repeating clichés about the extent to which a country is or is not open to migrants. Addressing methodological issues and the value of cross-national and macro-sociological studies, Janoski concludes that naturalization is not a simple result of immigration, but rather, a complex political process in itself. States play a central role in defining membership in the national community. In an examination of migration within and out of Asia, Yuk Wah Chan reviews the literature on Asian migration, demonstrating how countries on the continent have constructed boundaries around national membership in the context “supermobility,” and the “superdiversity” it has produced. Asian countries have enacted policies that both manage membership relative to migrants within the country as well as shaped membership across their diasporas. Chan argues that deterritorialization and reterritorialization of national membership can and do happen simultaneously, problematizing the conception of the state–migrant relationship as simplistic and unidirectional. In her chapter on education, Ramona Fruja Amthor focuses on the US experience to summarize current research and policy debates about immigrants and education by comparing two periods of migration; the early 20th century (when largely European-origin immigrants attended schools committed to fostering assimilation) and the mid-1960s to the present (when more diverse immigrants from Latin America, Asia and other non-European settings to the US entered schools that were more concerned with matters of diversity and cultural preservation). Amthor summarizes important findings about the experience of the sizeable and diverse population of contemporary immigrant students in the US and addresses current debates surrounding the implications of gender, mental health, discrimination, class differences, ethnic networks and permanence of settlement in determining achievement among contemporary immigrant students. Given the recent growth in both the numbers of migrants and the impacts of globalization that open a wide array of possibilities for them, nation-states increasingly seek to understand, control and direct the actions of their citizens abroad. Interrogating this phenomenon, Cristián Doña-Reveco and Brendan Mullan revise their first edition chapter on the historical overview of host societies’ relations with emigrants. In it, they discuss the relationship between migrant remittances, brain drain/circulation, and sending states’ economic development, as well as the 366

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reciprocal political relationship between emigrants and their state of origin and recent conceptualizations of extraterritorial citizenship. In his chapter on migrants and the welfare state, Aaron Ponce describes the intersection of social welfare and international migration literatures, noting how both have focused on increased globalization and economic and technological interconnectedness. He demonstrates how global capitalism connects migration scholarship to research on welfare provisions, and how economic interconnectedness is a driving force in migration. He challenges the assumption that generous welfare states act as “magnets,” attracting migrants to those countries, but argues that racialization within a nation-state, along with growing economic inequality, frame the “deservedness” of migrants to state resources. There is tremendous power in the discursive positioning of immigrants as carriers of social ills, including that they bring with them a greater frequency of crime. The fear of criminal immigrants has been deployed to argue for harsher immigration enforcement most recently in the United States and Europe, spurred on by the false claim that immigrants commit more crimes than native-born people. Rubén G. Rumbaut, Katie Dingeman and Anthony Robles address this fallacy in their chapter, noting that increased immigration is correlated with lower crime rates and that immigrants are less, not more, likely to commit crimes. On the contrary, it is the criminalization of immigrants that has increased, and the false assertion of the criminal immigrant being used to justify higher rates of deportation.

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30 Undocumented (or unauthorized) immigration Cecilia Menjívar

The Department of Homeland Security (DHS hereafter) defines unauthorized residents as, all foreign-born non-citizens who are not legal residents. Most unauthorized residents either entered the United States without inspection or were admitted temporarily and stayed past the date they were required to leave. Unauthorized immigrants applying for adjustment to lawful permanent resident status under the Immigration and Nationality Act (INA) are unauthorized until they have been granted lawful permanent residence, even though they may have been authorized to work. Persons who are beneficiaries of Temporary Protected Status (TPS)—an estimated several hundred thousand—are not technically authorized but were excluded from the legally resident immigrant population because data are unavailable in sufficient detail to estimate this population. (Baker and Rytina 2013: 1) Thus, the unauthorized (or “undocumented”) immigrant population is composed of individuals who arrive with temporary visas to the United States through a designated point of entry, such as an airport or a border checkpoint, and then stay in the country after their visas expire (“visa over-stayers”) and of individuals who enter the country without inspection (entry without inspection or EWIs). Until recent years, the undocumented population was roughly equally divided into visa over-stayers and those who cross the border. However, according to recent estimates in the past seven years the population of visa over-stayers has greatly exceeded the number of those who enter the country with no visa at all (Warren 2019). This difference in mode of entry between the two subgroups of the undocumented population has major consequences for undocumented immigrants who seek to regularize their status through family reunification. Whereas those who over-stay their visas can adjust to legal permanent residence without having to leave the country, those who enter without inspection must leave and are barred from re-entry for three years, but more commonly ten years (see Gomberg-Muñoz 2015). Significantly, the undocumented population does not only include individuals who are “out of status.” Today, it also includes an increasing number of individuals in uncertain statuses, such as Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) and Temporary Protected Status (TPS). 369

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Furthermore, as the DHS’s definition above indicates, the undocumented population is composed of individuals who are already in the country and are in the process of adjusting their status to legal permanent residence; they are counted under the category of undocumented because technically they do not yet hold a permanent visa (e.g., “green card”). It is useful, therefore, to keep in mind three points regarding the undocumented population in the United States. First, there are several ways for an individual to become undocumented; fewer than half of the undocumented in the country have crossed the Mexico–U.S. border. Second, not all individuals who move into permanent legal statuses come into the country with those statuses; many who have over-stayed their visas and are already in the country can adjust to lawful permanent residence through marriage or family reunification. And third, undocumented immigration is not unique to the United States, as other major immigrant-receiving countries around the world also face challenges around unauthorized migratory flows. Importantly for the receiving country, whatever the technical category of entry, a fundamental point to highlight is the active role of the receiving state in creating categories of admission (and inadmission) and then placing arriving immigrants into them. The U.S. case I discuss is part of a broader global trend. Through laws, states in major receiving countries today create different categories of admission (and exclusion), provide avenues for individuals to change from one category of admission to another, move individuals between categories, and in general, draw the contours of immigrants’ legality. Thus, categories of admission fluctuate according to the economic and political environment of the country at a particular historical junction so that often a group that was previously admitted legally can become unauthorized (and vice versa) with a swift stroke of the pen. For instance, the DACA program that gave temporary protection to about three-quarters of a million undocumented young individuals was created through an executive order at the discretion of the president of the United States, in response to political demands at that particular point in time. This program can be terminated at any time by a new administration, as efforts by the Trump administration to end this program show, and the people DACA protects can revert to undocumented status with a blithe stroke of a new president’s pen. It is this relationship between the state and undocumented (or unauthorized) immigration that I would like to underscore in this chapter. Highlighting the role of the state in the creation of legal categories, including the undocumented, necessitates a shift of focus from examining undocumented immigration as a group of individuals possessing this attribute (to examine, for instance, how legal status impacts their wages), to how the category into which immigrants are classified is created, recreated, and transformed. Examining undocumented immigration as simply a legal status can presuppose an individual characteristic independent of the milieu where it is created, perhaps even implying individual volition in the matter, and a status devoid of the political meaning that immigrant legality has. Switching to a focus on how the broader context produces categories of admission allows for conceptualizing immigrant legality as a sociopolitical condition (see De Genova 2002). This angle moves us away from “undocumented status” as a naturalized category that emphasizes the individual immigrant to one that highlights the central place of the receiving state in actively producing this category as well as other legal categories, including “in-between” statuses (Menjívar 2006). In doing so, I follow other scholars (Calavita 2005; De Genova 2002) to draw attention to the constructedness of immigrant legal categories (Menjívar and Kanstroom 2014), and the role of the state in making, unmaking, and reproducing these classifications. Thus, rather than starting out assuming categories of legality as a given, as definitional aspects of an immigrant’s identity, I would like to call attention to the “preeminently political identity” (see De Genova 2002) of immigrants’ legality to underscore the power of the state in reconstituting immigrants through the legal categories it creates. 370

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Shifting the focus to what the state does through its laws and to the political considerations in the creation of the undocumented category also allows us to give attention to how the undocumented category has shifted and continues to change over time. At certain points in history there have been economic and political demands that have required the creation of policies of admission for certain groups of immigrants, and when those demands no longer apply, categories of admission change. As Sassen (1998: 56) observes, migratory flows, “do not just happen; they are produced. And migrations do not involve just any possible combination of countries; they are patterned.” And whereas political expediency can dictate the creation of new categories of admission, the other side of the coin is the creation of categories of exclusion. Significantly, individuals who are admitted legally (whether they come into the country through a visa program or through a particular admission category, or once in the country are given the opportunity to regularize their status) often come from the same socioeconomic, political, and cultural contexts where the unauthorized also originate. People in those contexts are usually exposed to similar incentives for migration, to the same forces that shape their decision to migrate, and thus often will initiate their own migration, whether they have a visa or not. Thus, individual immigrants with and without visas often come from the same regions or a country, and in some cases even from the same families. Within the same overall context, some individuals will have the resources to secure a visa or a permit to migrate with documents while others will not. These observations should help to blur stark distinctions between the unauthorized (or undocumented) and the legal, documented population. In the pages that follow I will first situate my argument in historical context by examining how a legal program created to provide laborers in the context of a labor shortage gave rise to a flow of undocumented immigration from the same communities in Mexico where documented (legal) migration flows originated. I also focus on a case in which political demands and international relations shaped the admissions policy for the immigrants, a case of unrecognized refugee flows. This case also helps to de-link the common association between labor migration flows with undocumented immigration. These two cases help to illustrate the economic and political exigencies behind the creation of unauthorized migration flows to the United States. I then move to contemporary trends to provide a brief overview of the estimates of the undocumented population today, and in the last section I provide some examples, ranging from the immediate sphere of the family to contacts with other institutions in society, of experiences of immigrants who live undocumented in the United States.

Undocumented immigration in historical context The cyclical nature of the U.S. economy requires flexibility in the supply of laborers, often creating precarious labor conditions. This demand is difficult to meet and unmatched labor requirements are often fulfilled with immigrant labor. At different points in history various immigrant groups have filled this demand, with the U.S. government creating programs to bring in these laborers. For instance, the expansion of cattle ranches and agricultural production in the latter part of the 19th century was met through programs created to bring in Asian laborers— Chinese, Japanese, Filipinos—to work in these sectors. The Bracero Program, in place between 1942 and 1964, provided Mexican laborers to U.S. agriculture. When the demand for laborers declines or shifts, the visa program under which laborers migrated is terminated or folded into another program. When the Bracero Program ended, the H2 program was created, and it initially brought Caribbean workers (Schmalzbauer 2015). This program has continued to expand to fill the demand for temporary workers in a range of sectors and today it comprises H-2A visas, geared to fill labor demands in agricultural work, and H-2B, designed to bring in laborers 371

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to fill in non-agricultural jobs. But temporary worker programs, such as H-1B visas, also fill the demand for highly educated workers, mostly in the high tech sector. Importantly, whereas H-1B visas can lead to permanent residence, H-2 visas are strictly temporary (for a maximum of three years) and the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Service designates it for immigrants from particular countries. It is the H-2 programs that can devolve into undocumented flows when the agreements for temporary labor end. When temporary worker programs end, there are direct consequences for undocumented migration, especially when they have been in place for several years. When these programs last years, the migrants who have entered as part of these programs establish communities, cement roots, and sometimes even bring family members with them. Also, the programs themselves often fail to bring in enough authorized laborers to meet the labor demands; with more workers required at the receiving end and laborers available at the other end, a parallel migratory flow composed of unauthorized workers is created. Furthermore, sometimes these programs are large-scale and bring substantial numbers of workers from certain regions in sending countries. When these visa programs end, a “culture of migration” is created, social networks through which individuals migrate are established and, thus, the formal ending of these worker programs does not ensure that the actual migration will also be discontinued (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). The de jure termination of labor migration programs is seldom accompanied by a de facto ending of these flows because important social forces have already been set in motion for migration to continue. In these cases, the continuation of these flows takes the form of undocumented flows. This was the case of the Bracero Program, a program created under a binational agreement between the United States and Mexico to supply Mexican workers to the United States between 1941 and 1945 to alleviate the labor shortage in agriculture and to maintain food supply during war mobilization in the context of World War II. As Massey, Durand, and Malone (2002) explain, this program was conceived originally as a temporary measure to alleviate the labor shortage, but with the booming post-war economy, California and Texas growers asked Congress to extend this program. Although the program provided needed agricultural laborers, the demand was barely met with the number of visas that Congress allocated. Consequently, laborers without visas were attracted to work opportunities and joined those who came (with authorization) under the program to the fields of the U.S. southwest. With the recession following the Korean War, the public grew hostile at the laborers’ presence and demanded that the federal government do something about controlling this immigration, even as agricultural growers continued to press Congress for more workers (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). Thus, in 1954 the Immigration and Naturalization Service launched “Operation Wetback” to deport the laborers, but the program continued in place until Congress ended it in 1963 (in practice in 1964); approximately 5 million Mexicans migrated in the program’s 22-year history. Although conditions had been created at both ends for laborers to continue migrating for work, undocumented immigration from Mexico would not have grown had it not been for another change to U.S. immigration law. A new U.S. policy of imposing numerical limits on the number of visas allocated to Mexicans (and other Western Hemisphere countries), which had previously been exempted from these limits, contributed to this rise (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). Rising unemployment and high inflation in the early 1970s made Mexican migration a salient political topic once again. Congress responded with the 1976 Immigration and Nationality Act that imposed on Western Hemisphere countries, including Mexico, the 20,000-per-country visa limit that the United States had in place for other regions of the world. Thus, the number of visas that Mexicans could apply for was dramatically reduced overnight, from a theoretically unlimited supply down to 372

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20,000 per year (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). With well-established social networks between potential migrants in Mexico and Mexicans in the United States but without access to visas potential migrants had before the passing of the 1976 law, undocumented immigration from Mexico increased drastically from the late 1970s on. This new law closed a path for many Mexicans to migrate with visas (“legally”) to the United States, but the law could not cut off the social and economic forces in place and the ties that Mexican migrants had already created through decades of large-scale migration. Economic pressures for labor demands often play a central part in the creation of migration flows through laws originally created only for temporary periods. However, there are political factors that also shape the creation and dissolution of migratory flows from politically conflictive regions of the world. This practice has a long history but was more emphatically applied in the United States in the context of the Cold War. In this ideological battle, individuals exiting politically conflictive regions that were hostile to the United States were seen as voting with their feet and thus serving U.S. political objectives. As such, interstate relations between sending and receiving states become critical determinants of whether migrants originating in politically conflictive regions are admitted as refugees or fall outside legal parameters and join the ranks of the unauthorized population. Indeed, as Zolberg, Suhrke, and Aguayo (1989) observed, defining a particular group of immigrants as refugees is not a decision based solely on persecution or unsafe conditions in the country of origin but, even more importantly, on the fact that a receiving state recognizes them as deserving asylum and assistance. The classic example of the link between foreign policy and refugee admissions is the Cuban-Haitian case. Whereas thousands of Cubans have been welcomed through the Cuban Adjustment Act of 1966 without close inspection of their motives for departure (except for a claim to seek freedom), during the same years Haitians were systematically excluded, classified as undocumented, and deemed deportable, even though they were fleeing political persecution and a generalized context of state violence. A similar case is exemplified in the contrasting migrations in the mid-1970s of Chileans on the one hand, and Vietnamese, Laotian, and Cambodians on the other, where interstate relations between the United States and the sending countries dictated the reception that these émigrés received in the United States. In certain cases, particularly when migrants originate in conflictive regions that are in relatively close geographic proximity to the United States, a lack of government resettlement aid to these migrants creates a real potential for them to merge into unauthorized flows. This was the case of the Central Americans (mostly from Guatemala and El Salvador) who migrated to the United States during the political conflicts that raged in their countries in the 1980s. From the outset these conflicts were viewed as a Cold War situation, a possibility for Communism to expand in the Western Hemisphere, and thus needed to be contained. As a result, the United States became deeply involved mostly through military aid to the governments helping the United States fight Communism. Against this background, and with the history of the close links between refugee policy and foreign policy, it would have been politically antithetical for the U.S. government to receive (with a formal policy of resettlement as it had done with other refugee flows) the refugees that the Central American conflicts were generating. Thus, upon their arrival on U.S. shores, the Central Americans fleeing war were categorized as another undocumented migration flow. As most of them lacked a U.S. entry visa because they could not file for refugee protection in their war-torn countries, they had to cross Mexico on their way north, and in the eyes of the public (and policy makers) these individuals fleeing political violence were lumped together under the general “undocumented labor migration flow.” In the three decades since large-scale Central American migration has been under way, under pressure from human rights groups these immigrants have been extended limited opportunities 373

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to regularize their status or to apply for temporary protection at different points in time. But immigrants on temporary statuses are still part of the undocumented immigrant population. Indeed, together with Mexicans, Guatemalans, Hondurans, and Salvadorans lead the list of the most targeted undocumented immigrants in the United States today. Following my argument here, this is not a coincidence. Indeed, a close examination of the history of the legislation that has shaped these migratory flows reveals how the state, responding to economic and political pressures at particular historical junctions, has been pivotal in their creation and maintenance, as well as in recreating the different legal categories into which Mexican and Central American immigrants have been categorized.

Current trends and estimates The size of the unauthorized population has oscillated between 11.6 million in 2008, to 10.8 in 2009, to 11.1 million in 2014 (Baker and Rytina 2013; Hoefer, Rytina, and Baker 2010; Passel and Cohn 2016). However, overall, this population declined by about 1 million between 2010 and 2017, from 11.725 to 10.665 million (Warren 2019). This figure represents about one-fourth of the foreign-born population in the country (Waters and Gerstein Pineau 2015). Up until the 1990s the undocumented population was highly concentrated in a handful of states. However, from the 1990s on, it has increased rapidly and has become more geographically dispersed, mostly as a result of border policies that have redirected the flow and made crossing, particularly among previous seasonal migrant workers, far more difficult (see Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). Progressively harsher border policies have had the unintended consequence of increasing the number of undocumented in the country because, rather than engaging in a risky journey back and forth, these individuals have stayed put, or “caged” (Massey, Durand, and Malone 2002). And rather than concentrating in a handful of states where the labor markets may be saturated, this population has expanded to all states where employers in certain sectors, such as poultry and meat packing in the south and service jobs in various states, have attracted these workers. In contrast to news reports and policy debates, the growth of the unauthorized population has stabilized and even declined, particularly in states that previously had large concentrations, such as California. However, in recent years there has been a decline, particularly of the Mexican undocumented population, in all states where they reside (Warren 2019). For instance, whereas in 1990 California was home to 42 percent of the total undocumented population in the country, by 2008 this share had declined to 22 percent (Passel and Cohn 2009). In spite of the geographic expansion of the undocumented population, certain concentrations remain. According to the most recent estimates, in 2012 five states were home to close to 60 percent of this population: 2.8 million unauthorized immigrants lived in California, 1.8 million in Texas, 730,000 in Florida, 580,000 in New York, and 540,00 in Illinois (Baker and Rytina 2013). But if we look at undocumented immigrants in the labor force (not the total undocumented population), a different picture emerges: in 2008 the states with the highest percentages were Nevada, California, Arizona, New Jersey, and Florida (in that order) (Passel and Cohn 2009). Thus, although there are undocumented immigrants living in all states today, this geographical dispersion is highly uneven, as undocumented workers constitute approximately 10 percent of the workforce in California and Arizona, but only 2.5 percent in the Midwest and Plains states (Passel and Cohn 2009). In terms of their sociodemographic profile, as of 2017 about 49 percent of the total unauthorized population are from Mexico, with increasing numbers from Asia and Central America (approximately 15 percent come from Guatemala, El Salvador, and Honduras combined), 374

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and Asia (about 14 percent from India, China, Korea, and the Philippines) (Warren 2019). Passel and Cohn (2009) note that approximately half of undocumented immigrants live with immediate family members (47 percent, in contrast to 21 percent among U.S.-born), and that three-quarters of households headed by undocumented immigrants consist of married or cohabiting couples with children. Hoefer, Rytina, and Becker (2010) estimate that this population is primarily of working age: only 12 percent are under 18 and 4 percent over 55. As well, 73 percent of the children of unauthorized immigrants are U.S. citizens by birth (Passel and Cohn 2009). Thus, it is impossible to clearly separate the undocumented population. As such, the number of “mixed-status families” (families that contain a mix of citizens and non-citizen members) (see Fix and Zimmerman 2001) has increased rapidly, a situation that significantly blurs the distinction between the undocumented population and the U.S.born and/or the legal permanent resident populations. And as Fix and Zimmerman (2001) note, mixed-status families are themselves complex; they not only include individuals with various legal statuses, but these statuses change with time, as when a person legalizes their status or those in fragile legal statuses lose them. For instance, whereas there were about 2.7 million U.S.-born children living in mixed-status families in 2003, there were 4 million in 2008 (Passel and Cohn 2009).

Effects of undocumented status The state, through its laws, shapes migrants’ paths of incorporation and their futures in their adopted homeland. Immigrants’ legal status shapes who they are, how they relate to others, their participation in local communities, and their continued relationship with their homelands. While in theory a universal set of rights is available to everyone, regardless of status, Bloch (2010) notes that in practice, undocumented immigrants do not benefit from existing rights frameworks because of their legal status. Indeed, an immigrant’s legal status significantly impacts their access to social benefits and health care (Capps et al. 2007; Viladich 2012), vulnerability to domestic violence (Salcido and Adelman 2004; Freedman and Jamal 2008), housing conditions and crowding (Hall and Greenman 2013; McConnell 2015), job prospects and earnings (Flippen 2012; Massey and Gelatt 2010; Hall and Greenman 2015), religious involvement (Menjívar 2006), and even friendships (Bloch, Sigona, and Zetter 2014), family formation and marriage (Enriquez 2017; Gomberg-Munoz 2015). Indeed, given its long-term effects (Bean, Brown, and Bachmeier 2015), legal status today creates a class of immigrants with rights and privileges who stand in contrast with undocumented immigrants. I will use a series of examples to illustrate in more depth how legal status impacts the lives of immigrants. The cases will exemplify how an undocumented status can shape dynamics within the intimate space of the family, including its composition and separation, as well as how it affects relations between the family and other institutions in society. The undocumented status of family members, particularly of adult family members, can create a disconnect between families and institutions such as schools, health services, and law enforcement agencies, which happens even when there are U.S.-born children in the family.

Sphere of the family An immediate consequence of an unauthorized status is the possibility of imminent deportation. Parents and children can be torn apart and women and men in couples can be separated (Enriquez 2017; Gomberg-Munoz 2015; López 2015). Importantly, these separations can last indefinitely, as immigration law is structured in such a way that individuals wait for years if 375

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not decades for their cases to be processed or for an opportunity to enter (or re-enter) the country. The backlogs of visa applications are notoriously long (see Obinna 2014). In addition, the waiting time for regularization or admission through family reunification varies widely for each national group and therefore petitioning for a family member to immigrate legally does not mean that this person can obtain legal permanent residence immediately (Enchautegui and Menjívar 2015). For instance, a Mexican who is petitioned by a sibling must wait approximately 19 years to receive a visa, whereas potential immigrants from western European countries do not experience a wait. Thus, often individuals opt for migrating without a visa (or over-stay their temporary visas) if they want to be reunited with their loved ones. Once in the country, these immigrants enter the labor force, working jobs that pay little and without benefits. But to them, the advantage is that they live with their families while earning wages that are usually higher than those in the origin country. However, given contemporary enforcement levels, undocumented individuals are always at risk of deportation while they conduct their daily lives. But their lives go on and important decisions are made during these uncertain times. Given that there are approximately 4 million U.S.-born children who live in a household where at least one parent is undocumented, family separation resulting from deportation has spillover effects (Aranda, Menjívar, and Donato 2014), with profound effects on the non-undocumented population as well. In other cases, the parent or parents migrate without a visa, but given the dangers involved in this migration, they leave the children in the care of family members back in the home country Dreby (2010). These family separations are also uncertain, and close family members can spend years without seeing each other. During these separations the parents in the United States send remittances and gifts to the children left behind, but these gifts seldom make up for the emotional proximity that comes from living under the same roof (Abrego 2014). Sometimes the children reproach the parents for leaving them behind, but the parents see no other alternative for providing the best they can for their children (Menjívar and Abrego 2009). In some cases, the parents and children spend such a long time separated that they find little in each other to recognize as a family when they are reunited again. Such family separations are closely linked to the structure of immigration law and the categories of admission in place that create situations where family members must wait for years to reunite (Abrego 2014). Another area that is affected by an individual’s legal status is domestic violence. For women in such situations, legal status can make a difference between life and death. When the male partners are lawful permanent residents or U.S. citizens and the women are not, the “papers” that they lack can be used as a weapon for manipulation. According to Salcido and Adelman (2004), the partners often threaten the women with withdrawing their legal permanent resident application (a process that partners can initiate if they are citizens or permanent legal residents) if the women report the abuse to the authorities. And although immigrant women in situations of domestic violence can self-petition for permanent legal residence without a family member initiating the process, the requirements for the application include police reports and other documentation that the women lack due to the fear of reporting the abuse. Salcido and Adelman (2004) describe the case of Chave, a woman who had applied for her permanent legal residence through her husband. She fell in and out of legality and regularly risked losing the opportunity to regularize her status because her husband would hide the INS mail that came with paperwork for her. In addition to suffering physical violence from him, he would undermine her legalization process as a way to control her. In Chave’s words, “When he hears the mail coming he jumps to get it, and takes everything. That is how he hid that [INS] envelope [requiring a response within 90 days]” (Salcido and Adelman 2004: 166).

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Links to other institutions Legal status deeply influences the links that immigrants establish with different institutions in society. Often, individuals who are undocumented try to avoid contact with service providers and law enforcement agencies in order to avoid calling attention to themselves; thus, they risk re-victimization (Fussell 2011). This is particularly the case when laws denying social services to undocumented immigrants are enacted. For instance, Nora, a Guatemalan woman who lived in Phoenix, Arizona (Menjívar and Bejarano 2004), smiled when asked if she could count on the U.S. police for protection. She explained that she understood that the police are more helpful in the United States than in Guatemala, but would not call them in case of need because she was still undocumented and feared the authorities would detect her status. Her fear was so extreme that once she almost lost her life rather than calling the police. While she was working the night shift at a McDonald’s, three men robbed the establishment at gunpoint. The robbers shoved all the employees into a huge freezer, but did not lock it. Nora managed to get out, but instead of calling the police she grabbed a broomstick and hit one of the men and knocked him unconscious. She got his gun and threatened the other two men that she would kill their friend if they did not leave. While she was arguing with the men, a manager called the police and the situation was resolved. Only when the police arrived did Nora drop the gun. The managers and the police thanked her, but also asked her not to do this again. She added: “At that moment, while I was holding the men, I kept on thinking, what do I do? If I call the police, I’ll get deported. Yes, I was nervous [with the gun], but I was even more nervous to have to talk to the police.” As the case of Nora attests undocumented immigrants often go to great lengths in order to avoid detection, and thus end up not reporting crimes (Nguyen and Gill 2016). Immigrants also risk their own health so as to avoid contact with health care professionals to avoid detection. They often treat themselves at home when they are ill. For instance, Miguel, a Salvadoran immigrant in Phoenix explained that in the case of illness, he and his family first try to use some home remedies—like herbal teas, honey, cinnamon and clove for a cold. If the ailment does not go away, they use Tylenol, Advil or the like. If that does not work, they call on friends to see what they can recommend or to get their friends’ left over prescription medications that had proven effective (Menjívar 2002). He did not share medicine just because it is a cheaper option for those, like himself, who do not have health insurance, but because doing so is “safer” as they do not want to meet with any public health professionals (Kil and Menjívar 2006). Often undocumented individuals live in “mixed-status families” (Fix and Zimmerman 2001). Thus, in the same families there are children who have the privilege of citizenship—and thus access to goods and benefits in society—those in the process of regularizing their status, and undocumented ones who lack even the most basic rights, such as access to funding for higher education and to health care, and who can be deported at any moment. Membership in mixed-status families can have unforeseen consequences for the children, as within the same family legal status can channel siblings to different paths (Menjívar and Abrego 2009). The immigrants’ and the children’s relations with different institutions in society will be equally dissimilar. And in some cases the parents’ legal status keeps U.S.-born children from obtaining benefits to which they are entitled (Menjívar 2013). In fact, there are many eligible citizen children with non-citizen parents who do not participate in benefit programs because the parents are unaware that their children are eligible or are afraid of the consequences of benefit receipt for their legal status and eventual legal citizenship, with long-term consequences for the children’s development (Yoshikawa 2011). Thus, the legal instability of the adult immigrants also affects the children’s potential for success.

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Individuals’ legal status also shapes in fundamental ways perceptions of their educational aspirations (Menjívar 2008), and potential trajectories and achievements (Gonzalez 2016). Abrego (2008) examined these effects in Los Angeles. One of the students in her study described the stigmatizing experience of knowing that with her undocumented status she could not enter college (legally, she could attend but she would need to pay out-of-state tuition). This is how the student explained her thoughts to Abrego: I felt so bad! Because my friends knew my grades and they would ask me, “What school did you apply to?” And I was like, “No, I didn’t.” “How come you haven’t applied?!” . . . And one friend, she knew about my situation and she said, “You know what? I feel so bad because your grades are much better than mine and I’m able to go to a university and you’re not.” I felt like crying. . . . All they do senior year is talk about college. “I applied here and I applied there” and I didn’t even bother applying because I knew the answer—I couldn’t pay for it. (2008: 718) The case of the Umaña family in Phoenix, whom I interviewed for my research there, illustrates how an undocumented status shapes educational plans and fortunes, and how this is manifested across various legal statuses in the same family (Menjívar 2008). Carlos and Isabel Umaña have three children, all born in El Salvador and now in their 20s, Marisa, Israel, and Francisco. Theirs is a textbook case of a “mixed-status” family. Each of the five members has a different place vis-à-vis immigration law; only Carlos is “fully” documented, as Isabel emphasized. Carlos applied for legalization through NACARA, one of the relief programs available to Guatemalans and Salvadorans and is now a permanent legal resident, but the process took so long that the two boys turned 21 during the long wait for Carlos’ green card, which complicated the boys’ own applications. Isabel is “in the process” of regularizing her status; she has completed all the requirements and is waiting for her green card, which, for three years already, “is coming any moment.” Twenty-seven-year-old Marisa submitted a legalization application through the NACARA program, but was still waiting for the application to be adjudicated. Twenty-four-year-old Israel’s paperwork got lost twice in the immigration offices, which means that he has spent years without any documents. He finally received a social security card, but it does not allow him to work. And twenty-three-year-old Francisco, the youngest, married a young U.S.-citizen woman from Utah and received a social security card that has allowed him to enroll in a program that will train him in law enforcement. Given their uncertain legal statuses the Umaña family members have found it difficult to find better paying jobs. But what really frustrates Isabel, the mother, is that, except for Francisco, no one in the family has been able to continue their education. This was a dream the parents had when they brought the children to the United States; indeed, it was the reason why the parents brought them over instead of remitting monthly. Isabel worries that the dream may never materialize. In her words, Look, my husband and I went to the university in El Salvador; he has one year of electrical engineering and I have two years of law [school]. We know the value of an education. But look at our situation now. Marisa dropped out of community college because she can’t go on without financial aid . . . she is not eligible. Israel, he graduated from high school here, but because of the papers, he’s still cutting grass with his father. And they are all getting older and as you and I know, the longer they stay out of school

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the harder it will be for them to come back. I want to continue too; I’m not a dumb person. We can discuss philosophy and law, if you’d like. Modesty aside, I was a very good student. I have taken 38 credits at the community college, but when will I finish? When will I transfer and get my degree? We’re not even talking about law school anymore . . . that’s gone. But for now, only Francisco is lucky. God willing, he will take advantage and educate himself.

Discussion/conclusion The points I have outlined here highlight the enduring power of the state in producing and reproducing immigrant legality. I discussed how an immigrant’s legal status is not simply an individual characteristic affecting certain outcomes or even neatly separate from legal statuses in practice. This emphasis has brought to light the key links between immigrants’ legal statuses and the state as through laws legal statuses are constructed and produced, in response to economic and political exigencies at different historical junctions. Immigrants’ legal statuses, however, have real consequences and affect a whole range of activities, from the intimate sphere of family dynamics, including domestic violence, to links between individuals and families and various social institutions. My argument underscores the central place of the state in defining who belongs and who is excluded, both in the U.S. case and in others around the world. As De Genova (2002: 422) observes, “‘Illegality,’ then, both theoretically and practically, is a social relation that is fundamentally inseparable from citizenship.” My presentation also makes clear that the increase in the undocumented population in the 1990s and early 2000s, from 2–4 million in 1980 to 8.5 in 2000 to 11.1 in 2014 (Passel and Cohn 2016) is strongly determined by the policies of admission and enforcement that the U.S. government has implemented. The militarization of the southern U.S. border that kept thousands of immigrants, mostly Mexicans, from engaging in circular migration, contributed to the swelling of the undocumented population as undocumented immigrants risked not being able to return. Labor demands in economic sectors in various regions of the country have attracted many of these immigrants away from traditional points of destination, where labor markets may be saturated. Thus, in the past two decades the undocumented population increased and expanded geographically in ways that reflect policy decisions. This population has declined in recent years. Legal categories mark immigrants not only as non-nationals but also as deportable and thus become marks of exclusion. While avenues for lawful permanent residence become narrower through legislation that hinders family reunification (Enchautegui and Menjívar 2015), new temporary statuses are multiplying, making the central place of the state visible and immediate as immigrants in temporary statuses can revert back to being undocumented at any time. And not all groups have equal access to permanent statuses, an aspect of immigration law that undermines the assumption of equality before the law. How immigrants live their legal status (e.g., how undocumented immigrants navigate contacts with different social institutions and how their legal status affects their relations with their family members) has important repercussions for their incorporation in society and for citizenship (as belonging) in general. This observation allows us to see legal status as an important axis of stratification that shapes immigrants’ incorporation (Waters and Pineau 2015) in critical ways. Indeed, new forms of inequality stemming from the receiving state’s immigrant policies has prompted Douglas Massey (2007) to argue forcefully that legal status now joins race, class, and gender as a central axis of stratification in American society.

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Massey, D. S., Durand J. and Malone, N. J. 2002. Beyond Smoke and Mirrors: Mexican Immigration in an Era of Economic Integration. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Massey, D. S. and Gelatt. J. 2010. “What Happened to the Wages of Mexican Immigrants? Trends and Interpretations.” Latino Studies, 2(8), 328–354. McConnell, E. D. 2015. “Diverging Dividends, Diverging Futures: Nativity, Citizenship Status, Legal Status, and the Non-Housing Asset Accumulation of Latinos.” Ethnicities, 15(2), 255–281. Menjívar, C. 2002. “The Ties that Heal: Guatemalan Immigrant Women’s Networks and Medical Treatment.” International Migration Review, 36(2), 437–466. Menjívar, C. 2013. “Central American Immigrant Workers and Legal Violence in Phoenix, Arizona.” Latino Studies, 11(2), 228–252. Menjívar, C. 2008. “Educational Hopes, Documented Dreams: Guatemalan and Salvadoran Immigrants’ Legality and Educational Prospects.” The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 620(1), 177–193. Menjívar, C. 2006. “Liminal Legality: Salvadoran and Guatemalan Immigrants’ Lives in the United States.” American Journal of Sociology, 111(4), 999–1037. Menjívar, C. and Abrego, L. 2009. “Parents and Children across Borders: Legal Instability and Intergenerational Relations in Guatemalan and Salvadoran Families.” In N. Foner, ed. Across Generations: Immigrant Families in America. New York: New York University Press, 160–189. Menjívar, C. and Bejarano, C. 2004. “Latino Immigrants’ Perceptions of Crime and of Police Authorities: A Case Study from the Phoenix Metropolitan Area.” Ethnic and Racial Studies, 27(1), 120–148. Menjívar, C. and Kanstroom, D. (eds) 2014. Constructing Immigrant “Illegality”: Critiques, Experiences, and Responses. New York and London: Cambridge University Press. Nguyen, M. T. and Gill, H. 2016. “Interior Immigration Enforcement: The Impacts of Expanding Local Law Enforcement Authority.” Urban Studies, 53(2), 302–323. Obinna, D. 2014. “The Challenges of American Legal Permanent Residency for Family- and Employmentbased Petitioners.” Migration and Development, 3(2), 272–284. Passel, J. S. and Cohn, D. 2016. Unauthorized Immigrant Population—Stable for a Decade. Pew Research Center. Available at: www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/09/21/unauthorized-immigrant-populationstable-for-half-a-decade/ [Accessed November 30, 2016.] Passel, J. S. and Cohn, D. 2009. A Portrait of the Undocumented Immigrants in the United States. Pew Hispanic Center. http://pewhispanic.org/files/reports/107.pdf [Accessed November 30, 2016.] Salcido, O. and Adelman, A. 2004. “‘He Has Me Tied with the Blessed and Damned Papers’: Undocumented-Immigrant Battered Women in Phoenix, Arizona.” Human Organization, 63(2), 162–172. Sassen, S. 1998. Globalization and Its Discontents: Essays on the New Mobility of People and Money. New York: New Press. Schmalzbauer, L. A. 2015. “Temporary and Transnational: Gender and Emotion in the Lives of Mexican Guestworker Fathers.” Ethnic and Racial Studies, 38(2), 211–226. Viladich, A. 2012. “Beyond Welfare Reform: Reframing Undocumented Immigrants’ Entitlement to Health Care in the United States.” Social Science & Medicine, 74(6), 822–829. Warren, R. 2019. US Undocumented Population Continued to Fall from 2016 to 2017, and Visa Overstayers Exceeded Illegal Crossings for the Seventh Consecutive Year. New York: Center for Migration Studies. Available at: http://cmsny.org/publications/essay-2017-undocumented-and-over stays/ [Accessed February 5, 2019.] Waters, M. C. and Gernstein Pineau, M. (eds). 2015. The Integration of Immigrants into American Society. Washington, DC: National Academies of Science, Engineering and Medicine. Yoshikawa, H. 2011. Immigrants Raising Citizens: Undocumented Parents and their Young Children. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Zolberg, A., Suhrke, A. and Aguayo, S. 1989. Escape from Violence: Conflict and the Refugee Crisis in the Developing World. New York: Oxford University Press.

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31 Detention and deportation Caitlin Patler, Kristina Shull, and Katie Dingeman

Introduction The last thirty years witnessed a dramatic rise in the number of noncitizens who were detained and deported from the United States. However, largely due to issues of access, these systems— and in particular the people caught up in them—have received relatively little social scientific examination. This chapter aims to provide a background for understanding the growth and consequences of detention and deportation in the United States.1 We begin by presenting an explanation of the historical and political rise of detention and deportation programs in the United States. Following legal scholars and social scientists, we show that immigration enforcement policies emerged out of efforts to exclude racialized “others.” We then turn to a discussion of the rapid growth of mass detention and deportation in the late twentieth century, highlighting the links between immigration policies and other racialized criminal laws that developed concurrently during the War on Drugs in the 1980s and 1990s. Next, we present recent empirical and theoretical developments in the study of immigration detention that link the experiences of detained persons2 to those of imprisoned individuals more broadly. We argue that although detention is legally considered a non-punitive administrative program, it is functionally quite punitive: Individuals detained under U.S. immigration laws are held pending adjudication, often in jails and prisons and often mandatorily, and without many basic constitutional protections. In addition, detention has vast collateral consequences at the household and community levels, which impact both citizens and noncitizens. We show that this system imposes severe burdens on immigrants and their households and levies significant costs to society—financially, as well as in terms of social capital and community wellbeing. Finally, we turn to an emerging body of research on the aftermath of deportation that sets its sights beyond U.S. borders. While a broad and longstanding body of migration research has focused on the ways that migrants adjust to their new homes in traditional migrantreceiving countries, given the recent surge in detention and deportation over the last few decades, this research focuses on the divergent post-deportation reintegration experiences in countries of nativity. We conclude with an assessment of the state of existing theory on detention and deportation and suggest theoretical, topical, and methodological directions for future research. 382

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History of immigration detention and deportation The racialized origins of U.S. immigration law enforcement The United States developed the world’s most expansive deportation regime, with race a central factor in shaping policies of restriction (Fitzgerald & Cook-Martin, 2014). The Chinese were the first national origin group to be categorically restricted from immigrating to the United States. The Page Law of 1875 was one of the earliest to introduce national-origins-based restrictionist policies by banning the admission of most Chinese women to the United States. Just a few years later, prompted by widespread xenophobia and racial animosity, the Chinese Exclusion Act became law in 1882. Importantly, this Act laid the foundations for future exclusionary U.S. immigration laws by enacting a set of regulations that characterized a new era of enforcement: immigration inspection, surveillance, the criminalization of unauthorized migration, and long-term detention (Lee 2003). Another notable trend originating in the era of Chinese Exclusion was the expanding authority of the executive branch to restrict immigration in the name of national security and public interest (Kanstroom 2007). Immigration detention practices began in the late 1800s at Angel Island in San Francisco Bay, on Ellis Island in the New York Bay, and in parts of southern California and Texas. However, detentions of Chinese immigrants at Angel Island were lengthier and more punitive. Throughout the twentieth century, detention numbers remained relatively low, spiking slightly during episodes of targeted deportations: of Filipinos and Mexicans during the 1930s, of Mexicans in the 1950s under “Operation Wetback,” and of Haitians in the 1970s. Immigration restriction based on race was officially abandoned in 1965, when immigration laws were amended to replace national origin quotas with preference categories based on family ties and, to a more limited extent, employment. However, the 1965 reforms also placed a cap on immigration from Latin America for the first time, though demands for labor did not subside, thus paving the way for an expanding number of “undocumented” migrants. In the early 1980s, immigration detention under the Reagan administration took on a more punitive intent under the auspices of Cold War foreign policy and the War on Drugs. During this era, new enforcement programs emerged, characterized by policies of indefinite mandatory detention, border militarization, and prison privatization (Shull 2014; see also Zilberg 2011). Detention rates in the United States have surged ever since, increasing eight-fold between the mid-1980s and today. Elana Zilberg argues that the rise of global capitalism and the neoliberal turn of the Reagan era created what she labels “neoliberal securityscapes,” exemplified by the rapid expansion of for-profit immigration detention since the 1980s (Zilberg 2011). Deportation programs remain unevenly distributed in both implementation and consequences (Golash-Boza, 2015; Golash-Boza & Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2013). Although about half of all noncitizens are women and around 60% are from Latin America, 90% of deported persons are men and nearly all (98%) are from Latin America. Black immigrants are also disproportionately likely to experience enforcement measures. For instance, Jamaican and Dominican legal permanent residents are five times as likely to be deported as other legal permanent residents (Golash-Boza, 2015). Legal scholar Kevin Johnson (2004) argues that the historical and contemporary exclusion and deportation of noncitizens demonstrates the country’s hostility toward communities of color (and other marginalized groups) more broadly.

Detention across the globe Since the 1980s, a majority of Western nations have operated systems of immigration detention. In recent years, warfare, climate change, and the rise of global capitalism have spurred increasing 383

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migration and a current global refugee “crisis.” According to the UN High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), the number of refugees world-wide is now over 65 million, reaching the highest levels since the World War II era. Countries such as Mexico and Libya have increasingly become buffer zones in the border control efforts of more developed nations of Western Europe and the United States (Brambilla, 2014). Immigration control has been largely recast as a national security concern, accelerating under the War on Terror in the wake of the terrorist attacks in New York City on September 11, 2001. Asylum seekers have become entangled in this matrix and are subjected to policies of mandatory detention in the United States and Australia. Mandatory detention means that certain noncitizens can be detained, with no possibilities for release, throughout most or all of their case adjudication. In Europe, European Union regulations prohibit the mandatory detention of asylum seekers, but England routinely detains asylum seekers on a discretionary basis, while asylum seekers in Germany and Denmark are subjected to electronic monitoring and required to forfeit their assets, respectively. In the Spring of 2017, Hungary adopted a policy of mandatory detention that critics charge violates EU regulations and international law.3 The Global Detention Project based in Switzerland has mapped over 2,000 immigration detention facilities that currently operate in 103 countries. The United States stands out starkly in both the number and relative percentage of noncitizens it detains. After the United States, the countries with the highest number of facilities include Australia, the United Kingdom, Mexico, Libya, Italy, Turkey, Indonesia, Thailand, France, and Japan. In many of these countries, deportation regimes are buttressed by private prison industries, the largest being GEO Group, Inc., which operates 100,000 beds in 143 facilities across the globe. Prison privatization first arose in the early 1980s in the United States, then in Australia and the United Kingdom in the early 1990s. Israel and Canada adopted privatization schemes in the early 2000s; in France, immigration detention has become semi-privatized. As of 2015, nearly two-thirds (62%) of detention beds in the United States were operated by private corporations, up from 49% in 2009 (Carson & Diaz, 2015).

Research on immigration detention Detention as a punitive experience Because U.S. immigration policy is civil law—as opposed to criminal law—detention is legally considered administrative and non-punitive. Noncitizens are not serving a sentence, but being held administratively as they await a decision on their immigration court proceedings. However, there are few constitutional limits on the length of detention; thus, certain noncitizens can be held mandatorily for the duration of their removal proceedings, which can last months or even years. In 2013, Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) detained approximately 10,000 individuals for more than six months (Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse, 2013). A study conducted by the Mexican government found that over 15% of Mexicans deported from the interior of the United States were detained for more than one year prior to deportation, and half of these individuals were held for three years or more (Bermudez, n.d.). Detained immigrants also lack access to other constitutional protections afforded to individuals held under U.S. criminal laws, including the right to counsel (Kaufman, 2008). This means that many individuals must represent themselves in immigration proceedings, leading to vastly unequal outcomes. A recent analysis of more than 1.2 million deportation cases decided between 2007 and 2012 found that immigrants with attorneys “fared far better: among similarly situated removal respondents, the odds were fifteen times greater that immigrants with 384

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representation, as compared to those without, sought relief, and five-and-a-half times greater that they obtained relief from removal (Eagly & Shafer, 2015, p. 2).” However, the study found that only 14% of detained individuals and 37% of all individuals in immigration proceedings had an attorney (Eagly & Shafer, 2015). Scholars, journalists, and policymakers have also criticized the conditions of confinement within detention facilities. For instance, repeated reports have exposed the improper operation of detention facilities, particularly in providing preventative and emergency healthcare services and access to attorney visits (Brownstein, 2016; Longazel, Berman, & Fleury-Steiner, 2016; Wessler, 2016). Another study found that people who experienced detention reported concerns about lack of access to certain types of foods and vast uncertainty surrounding their release (or deportation) date (Golash-Boza, 2015). Mary Bosworth’s (2014) study of immigration detention in the United Kingdom found that the uncertainty regarding the length of detention generates extreme stress, especially for individuals detained for long periods of time. Other research has documented inequality in the treatment of detainees, in particular between privately and publicly operated facilities. A recent study of parents who had been detained for six months or longer found that individuals detained in private facilities were less likely to receive in-person visits from their children (Patler & Branic, 2017). Another study found a disproportionate use of solitary confinement practices in private facilities, compared to public facilities (Patler, Sacha, & Branic, n.d.). This same study documented that individuals with mental illness are vastly overrepresented among those in solitary confinement. Although detention is technically not a punishment, this research reveals that most detained persons experience it as punitive. In response, researchers have applied theories of the “pains of imprisonment” to the immigrant detention context (Longazel et al., 2016). This framework emphasizes the painful nature of life within detention facilities, contextualized in the racialized processes through which certain noncitizens are imprisoned in the first place. Longazel and coauthors emphasize the links between the experiences of mass incarceration and mass immigration detention, persuasively arguing that the pains of imprisonment are felt similarly across these two groups of imprisoned individuals. In summary, although immigration detention is legally non-punitive, a growing body of scholarship argues that it is functionally punitive. Legal scholar Cuauhtémoc García Hernández encapsulates detention’s punitive nature as follows: Individuals in immigration confinement are frequently perceived to be no different than individuals in penal confinement . . . They are represented as a threat to public safety, locked behind barbed wire, often in remote facilities, and subjected to the detailed control emblematic of all secure environments. Often they are held alongside their criminal counterparts . . . By so intertwining immigration detention and penal incarceration, Congress created an immigration detention legal architecture that, in contrast with the prevailing legal characterization, is formally punitive. (García Hernández, 2014, p. 1349; see also Golash-Boza, 2010; Longazel et al., 2016; Patler & Branic, 2017; Patler & Golash-Boza, 2017)

Collateral consequences: the economic and human costs of detention and deportation Mass detention and deportation produce numerous collateral consequences that impact both detained individuals and their families and may be contributing to poverty and inequality in 385

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mixed-immigration-status families in far deeper ways than previously understood (for a review, see Patler & Golash-Boza, 2017). A recent survey of 562 individuals who had been detained for six months or longer in California found that detention removed millions of dollars from local communities (Patler, 2015). For example, based on their pre-detention earnings and average detention length (nine months at the time of the survey), the estimated daily lost wages for the sample due to detention was $43,357 (Patler, 2015). Patler’s study also revealed that detention produced extreme financial hardship for detained persons’ family members. Respondents had lived in the United States for an average of twenty years and 69% have a U.S. Citizen or Lawful Permanent Resident spouse or child. Nearly all (94%) reported being a source of financial or emotional support for their families prior to detention. As a result, many households experienced extreme poverty due to detention: 63% of families reported difficulty paying mortgage, rent, or utilities while their loved one was detained, and approximately four in ten had trouble covering medical expenses (42%) and paying for food (37%) (Patler, 2015). Detained persons’ financial vulnerability is often compounded by expensive legal fees, lack of access to bond, or bond amounts that are beyond the scope of families’ financial means. Most individuals held mandatorily are ineligible for bond at all, except in jurisdictions where ongoing litigation such as Rodriguez v. Robbins (803 F.3d 502 [9th Cir. 2015]) mandates bond hearings after 180 days of detention. However, even for those detained persons who receive a bond, bond amounts are often prohibitively high: the average bond amount granted to Rodriguez v. Robbins class members was $20,372 (American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California, 2014), which is equivalent to about half the median yearly household income of mixed-immigrationstatus families in the United States (Warren & Kerwin, 2017). What is more, immigration judges almost never grant non-monetary alternatives to detention (such as electronic monitoring or regular reporting without cash bond) to persons detained mandatorily. Indeed, less than 1% of Rodriguez v. Robbins class members received non-monetary alternatives to detention such as electronic monitoring or regular reporting without cash bond (American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California, 2014; Figure 5).

The consequences of deportation Household effects of deportation in expelling countries Migration scholars increasingly examine the impact of deportation on individuals, families, and communities in both the deporting countries and those receiving deported persons. This literature argues that the primary function of deportation is the construction of deportability—or, the fear of expulsion—to maintain an exploitable and expendable surplus of low-wage migrant labor in the service of capitalism (De Genova, 2002; Golash-Boza, 2015). Deportable status is racialized and negatively associated with food security (Kalil and Chen, 2008), mental health (Arbona et  al., 2010), educational experiences (Terriquez, 2015), socioeconomic mobility (Bean, Brown, & Bachmeier, 2015), and the willingness to report crimes (Hacker et al., 2011). Fear of deportation typically leads to a reduction in driving, attendance at school meetings, use of medical, mental health, and welfare services, involvement in community events, and presence in public spaces (Menjívar, 2011). The detention and deportation apparatus is also immensely costly. Warren and Kerwin (2017) estimate that there were 3.3 million mixed-immigration-status households (in which at least one household member is undocumented and therefore at risk of deportation) in the United States in 2014. These households contain 6.6 million U.S.-born children, most of whom 386

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(5.7 million) are under 18 years old. Based on these figures, Warren and Kerwin estimate that a massive deportation program in which all undocumented immigrants in the United States were deported would cut the median household incomes in mixed-status families nearly in half, resulting in the impoverishment of millions of U.S. families. Because undocumented immigrants hold 2.4 million mortgages, mass deportation would also generate a significant blow to the housing market. Overall, a mass deportation program would reduce the U.S. Gross Domestic Product by $4.7 trillion over 10 years (Warren & Kerwin, 2017). In the U.S., deportation is a gendered program in which men are disproportionately targeted and women and children are more likely to bear the financial and emotional burden after the detainment and expulsion of a spouse, partner, or parent (Dreby 2015; Drotbohm 2014; Golash-Boza & Hondagneu-Sotelo 2013). Detention and deportation often prompt a reversal of traditional gender roles, such that male breadwinners are transformed into dependants after deportation and women left behind are forced into the labor market and onto welfare (Dreby, 2015; Drotbohm, 2014). Citizen and permanent resident children left behind regularly become wards of the state, and are channeled through the foster care system. Others migrate to reunite with deported family members, becoming de facto deported persons themselves (Zayas 2015).

Post-deportation reintegration in countries of nativity Most countries of deportation expel migrants without any of their possessions (Ewing & Cantor, 2016; Kleist, 2017) and often into dangerous zones in their countries of nativity (Slack et al., 2015). Immediately upon return they may face harassment, surveillance, and inhumane treatment by state and non-state actors, including criminal gangs and loan sharks (Apes & Sorensen, 2016). Deported persons and failed asylum seekers returning to countries as varied as Turkey, Serbia, Ukraine, Democratic Republic of the Congo, Sri Lanka, Eritrea, Sudan, Afghanistan, El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras risk detention, disappearance, torture, and death (Apes & Sorensen, 2016). The availability of reintegration services varies from state-to-state and depending on the characteristics of the returning population. For instance, the UK provides a range of services for people deported to Jamaica but the U.S. does not. The Salvadoran state provides reception services (food, phone calls, transportation assistance), educational and job placement services, and follow-up services for adults. Additional psychological, education, and reintegration services are available through civil society for children deported to El Salvador, yet qualitative research indicates that many deported persons are unaware or unable to access them (Rietig & Dominguez-Villegas, 2015). The onus for reintegration is most often left to deported persons and their families. Removal is often experienced as exile from the lives migrants constructed abroad (Boehm, 2016; Brotherton & Barrios, 2011; Coutin, 2016; Dingeman-Cerda, 2017; Golash-Boza, 2015). Depending on their age at initial migration, length of time abroad, experiences of acculturation abroad, and the strength of their local ties, individuals might not be physically or psychologically prepared to return (Brotherton & Barrios, 2011; David, 2015; Dingeman-Cerda, 2017), though such preparation is key to successful reintegration (Cassarino, 2004; Gmelch 1980). Deported persons may have few memories, weak ties, and little cultural or linguistic familiarity or affinity with their countries of nativity. While adult migrants also experience alienation, child migrants, like undocumented youth (sometimes called “DREAMers” (Nicholls, 2013)) of the U.S., are particularly estranged. Not only are they forced to navigate social worlds with which they have little familiarity, they are estranged from family and livelihoods remaining in the 387

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country from which they were deported. The mental health of these young deported persons can be significantly diminished, leading to depression, drug abuse, and suicidal ideations (Morris & Palazuelos, 2015). Post-deportation reintegration outcomes vary by country of nativity. Golash-Boza (2015) finds that deported persons in Brazil experience a neutral reception, while those returning to Guatemala, the Dominican Republic, and Jamaica are more likely to be stigmatized and criminalized. Research in the Northern Triangle and the Caribbean consistently finds that deported persons often become objects of state surveillance and police brutality (Brotherton & Barrios, 2011; Coutin, 2016; Headley & Milovanovic, 2016; Pereira, 2011; Zilberg, 2011) and those with presumed markers of criminality, typically tattoos, are likely to become the targets of local gangs and private security forces who confuse their identities with local gang members (Coutin, 2007; Zilberg, 2011). Criminalizing experiences of this sort are also reported in countries outside of Latin America, as Peutz (2006) reports in the case of Somaliland. Criminalizing experiences can sometimes lead deported persons into involvement with criminalized groups they otherwise wish to avoid (Coutin, 2016; Zilberg, 2011). Some scholars argue that in this way deportation facilitates the transnationalization of criminalized groups (Temple, 2011). Deported persons usually encounter hostile economic contexts of return after removal. Lowwage labor migrants and those without skills the local economy deems valuable return to similar conditions they once left. Economic reintegration is often worse if they owe debts to smugglers and others who assisted with their migration. Deported persons who grew up abroad often struggle to be accepted into the local labor market, due to stigma and a mismatch between skills and market demands. Many survive from remittances sent from family left behind in deporting countries. Others are able to capitalize on linguistic abilities and cultural capital acquired abroad in companies recruiting, reliant on, and arguably exploiting the labor of deported persons, especially in tourist and call center industries (Brown, 2013). Despite the barriers they encounter, deported persons are often highly resilient and enact coping strategies to adapt to their realities and invent future potentialities (Boehm, 2016). For example, members of the deported “new American diaspora” (Kanstroom, 2012) often maintain transnational ties with loved ones via phone calls, emails, and social networking for emotional support (Golash-Boza, 2014). Criminalized deported persons learn to change their attire, remove visible tattoos, and identify and avoid areas where their bodies might be at risk (DingemanCerda, 2017). Many deported persons feel perpetually stuck in their countries of nativity, constrained by cost, a dangerous journey, and the risks of clandestine re-entry, including possible apprehension, incarceration, and re-deportation. Others dream, plan, and attempt re-migration to escape alienation, economic hardship, and criminalization. This is especially the case if they have strong ties to family abroad (Hagan, Eschbach, & Rodriguez 2008; Cardoso et al., 2014; David 2015). Forced separation from children remaining abroad is a particularly powerful motivator for deported persons to risk their lives despite formal bans on re-entry. For further details on the reintegration of deported migrants, see Kelly Birch Maginot’s chapter in this volume.

Conclusion Summary This chapter sought to provide an overview of the history of detention and deportation (particularly in the United States), and then provide a summary of some of the emerging research on

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these immigration law enforcement programs. Joining an established group of legal scholars and social scientists, we argued that restrictionist removal policies historically emerged in response to racialized concerns about noncitizens racialized as “others.” The architecture for modern deportation began with Chinese Exclusion in the 1880s and expanded greatly a century later during the War on Drugs. We then presented recent empirical and theoretical developments in the study of immigration detention. Although detention is legally considered a non-punitive administrative program, we argued that it is functionally quite punitive. We also showed that the collateral costs of detention are both fiscal and social and that these costs stretch beyond the individual, into households and communities composed of both citizens and noncitizens. Finally, we took stock of a very recent body of literature that has looked across the boundaries of traditional immigrant-receiving countries to understand a new type of “reverse” migratory flow: the massive repatriation of individuals who have been removed from countries such as the United States.

What’s next in the study of detention and deportation: methodologies and research trajectories The shadowy nature of detention spaces and the vulnerable and dispersed location of deported persons themselves present a challenge for scholars seeking to uncover and track immigration detention and deportation regimes. A key feature of “neoliberal securityscapes,” as Zilberg (2011) argues, is that they are designed to remain hidden from public view. As a result, there are limited archival records of detention operations, and even more limited access to the experiences of those caught within these regimes of exclusion. Largely due to issues of access, studies of detention and deportation are still relatively rare. We end by suggesting directions for future research that would continue to illuminate the conditions of detention and deportation, as well as the experiences of the human beings caught up in these systems. The study of detention and deportation could still benefit from descriptive research, as most governments do not release data on detained or deported persons, or their families. Researchers should continue to press national governments to release demographic data on these populations. In addition, future research should strive to adopt longitudinal approaches to track the trajectories of illegalized, detained, and deported populations. Such research could also account for the role of transnational, state, and institutional contexts in structuring and mediating divergent outcomes. As most research concentrates on deportation from traditional migrant-receiving to migrant-sending countries, much is to be discovered about processes and experiences across the global South. Future research should also explore the variation, evolution, and disparate impacts of deportation laws and enforcement practices across national contexts. While qualitative approaches might not allow for the development of population estimates, such approaches allow for a deeper exploration of the realities of conditions in immigration detention and the way immigration enforcement is perceived by those subjected to it. Ethnographic methods are a particularly useful approach for analyzing conditions of immigration detention because of the very fractured and fracturing nature of detention and deportation regimes themselves. There is much work to be done to build theory on the complex ways immigration law enforcement leads to social stratification. For example, how useful or applicable are theories

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developed in the context of mass criminal incarceration to the detention and deportation context? What is similar and what is different? How might researchers build on what we know about incarceration under criminal law to extend theories to account for the experiences of noncitizens? These are just some of the questions that future research can address. Finally, researchers must aim to prioritize the voices of detained and deported persons and their families in ways that are careful not to reproduce existing inequalities. In their work on methodologies and the ethics of border research, O’Leary, Deeds, and Whiteford (2013) note that when working with migrant communities in marginalized or vulnerable positions, researchers must take the intersections of these factors into account, on both individual and structural levels, being mindful not to recreate patterns of knowledge production rooted in Euro-centrism and white supremacy (see also Bustamante, 2002). Researchers must also be aware of the ways that existing inequalities have informed the construction of archival and historical documents and narratives (Trouillot, 1995). Scholars must contend with how to address archival silences and account for missing voices in public discourse and in migration scholarship as a result of enduring forms of racial, class, and gender inequities. Qualitative approaches that incorporate humanistic storytelling and ethnography can work to empower migrants and remedy the persistent silencing of their voices.

Notes 1 The United States is, by far, the global leader in immigration enforcement efforts, both in sheer numbers and per capita. Given this unique global position, we focus on the United States, but from time to time include comparisons to other countries with expanding detention and deportation regimes. 2 Throughout this chapter, we refer to “detained persons” and “deported persons” instead of other commonly used terms (like “detainee” and “deportee”) to emphasize the imposition of these experiences and their disempowering and dehumanizing nature. 3 Dan Bilefsky, “Hungary Approves Detention of Asylum Seekers in Guarded Camps,” New York Times, March 7, 2017.

References and further reading American Civil Liberties Union of Southern California. (2014). “Restoring Due Process: How Bond Hearings Under Rodriguez v. Robbins Have Helped End Arbitrary Immigration Detention.” Retrieved from www.aclu.org/other/restoring-due-process-how-bond-hearings-under-rodriguez-v-robbins-havehelped-end-arbitrary Apes, M. J. & Nyberg Sorensen, N. (2016). “Post-Deportation Risks: People Face Insecurity and Risks after Forced Returns.” Policy Brief. Finland: The Danish Institute for International Studies. Arbona, C., Olvera, N., Rodriguez, N., Hagan, J., Linares, A. & Weisner, M. (2010). “Acculturative Stress among Documented and Undocumented Latino Immigrants in the United States.” Hispanic Journal of Behavioral Sciences 32(3): 362–384. Bean, F., Brown, S. & Bachmeier, J. D. (2015). Parents Without Papers: The Progress and Pitfalls of Mexican American Integration. New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Bermudez, J. (n.d.). The Impact of US Immigration Policy in Deported Mexicans Based on the Survey on Migration in the Northern Border of Mexico (EMIF NORTE) (pp. 1–25): Consejo Nacional de Población, México. Boehm, D. A. (2016). Returned: Going and Coming in an Age of Deportation. Oakland, CA: University of California Press. Bosworth, M. (2014). Inside Immigration Detention. New York: Oxford University Press. Brambilla, C. (2014). “Shifting Italy/Libya Borderscapes at the Interface of EU/Africa Borderland: A ‘Genealogical’ Outlook from the Colonial Era to Post-Colonial Scenarios.” ACME: An International E-Journal for Critical Geographies 13(2): 220–245.

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Brotherton, D. C. & Barrios, L. (2011). Banished to the Homeland: Dominican Deportees and their Stories of Exile. New York: Colombia University Press. Brown, E. M. L. (2013). “Outsourcing Criminal Deportees.” The University of Chicago Law Review 80(1): 59–85. Brownstein, R. (2016). “The Corrections Corporation of America is Blocking Immigrants from Seeing Their Lawyers at a Georgia Detention Center.” The Huffington Post. Retrieved from www.huffington post.com/rhonda-brownstein/the-corrections-corporati_b_10819892.html Bustamante, J. (2002). “Immigrants’ Vulnerability as Subjects of Human Rights.” International Migration Review 36: 333–354. Cardoso, J. B., Hamilton, E. R., Rodriguez, N., Eschbach, K. & Hagan, J. (2014). “Deporting Fathers: Transnational Family Structure and Intent to Re-migrate among Salvadoran Deportees.” International Migration Review 50(1): 197–230. Carson, B. & Diaz, E. (2015). “Payoff: How Congress Ensures Private Prison Profit with an Immigrant Detention Quota.” Retrieved from http://grassrootsleadership.org/sites/default/files/reports/quota_ report_final_digital.pdf Cassarino, J. (2004). “Theorising Return Migration: The Conceptual Approach to Return Migrants Revisited.” International Journal of Multicultural Studies 6(2): 253–279. Coutin, S. B. (2007). Nations of Emigrants: Shifting Boundaries of Citizenship in El Salvador and the United States. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Coutin, S. B. (2016). Exiled Home: Salvadoran Transnational Youth in the Aftermath of Violence. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. David, M. (2015). “Back to Square One: Socioeconomic Integration of Deported Migrants.” International Migration Review 51(1): 127–154. De Genova, N. P. (2002). “Migrant ‘Illegality’ and Deportability in Everyday Life.” Annual Review of Anthropology 31: 419–447. Dingeman-Cerda, K. (2017). “Segmented Re/integration: Divergent Post-Deportation Trajectories in El Salvador.” Social Problems doi: 10.1093/socpro/spw049 Dreby, J. (2015). Everyday Illegal: When Policies Undermine Immigrant Families. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Drotbohm, H. (2014). “The Reversal of Migratory Family Lives: A Cape Verdean Perspective on Gender and Sociality Prior and Post Deportation.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 41(4): 653–670. Eagly, I. V., & Shafer, S. (2015). “A National Study of Access to Counsel in Immigration Court.” University of Pennsylvania Law Review 164(1): 1–91. Ewing, W. & Cantor, G. (2016). “Deported with No Possessions: The Mishandling of Migrants’ Personal Belongings by CBP and ICE.” Washington, DC: American Immigration Council. Fitzgerald, D. S. & Cook-Martin, D. (2014). Culling the Masses: The Democratic Origins of Racist Immigration Policy in the Americas. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. García Hernández, C. C. (2014). “Immigration Detention as Punishment.” UCLA Law Review 61(5): 1346–1414. Global Detention Project. Geneva, Switzerland. www.globaldetentionproject.org. Gmelch, G. (1980). “Return Migration.” Annual Review of Anthropology 9: 135–159. Golash-Boza, T. (2010). “Notes from the Field: The Criminalization of Undocumented Migrants: Legalities and Realities.” Societies Without Borders 5(1): 81–90. Golash-Boza, T. M. (2014). “Forced Transnationalism: Transnational Coping Strategies and Gendered Stigma among Jamaican Deportees.” Global Networks 14(1): 63–79. Golash-Boza, T. (2015). Deported: Policing Immigrants, Disposable Labor, and Global Capitalism. New York: New York University Press. Golash-Boza, T., & Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. (2013). “Latino Immigrant Men and the Deportation Crisis: A Gendered Racial Removal Program.” Latino Studies 11(3): 271–292. Hacker, K., Chu, J., Leung, C., Marra, R., Pirie, A., Brahimi, M., et al. (2011). “The Impact of Immigration and Customs Enforcement on Immigrant Health: Perceptions of Immigrants in Everett, Massachusetts, USA.” Social Science & Medicine 73(4): 586–594. Hagan, J., Eschbach, K. & Rodriguez, N. (2008). “U.S. Deportation Policy, Family Separation, and Circular Migration.” International Migration Review 42(1): 64–88. Headley, B. & Milovanovic, D. (2016). “Rebuilding Self and Country: Deportee Reintegration in Jamaica.” Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute.

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Hernández, D. M. (2008). “Pursuant to Deportation: Latinos and Immigrant Detention.” Latino Studies 6(1–2): 35–63. Johnson, K. R. (2004). The “Huddled Masses” Myth: Immigration and Civil Rights. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Kalil, A. & Chen, J. (2008). “Mothers’ Citizenship Status and Household Food Insecurity among LowIncome Children of Immigrants.” New Directions in Child and Adolescent Research 121: 43–62. Kanstroom, D. (2007). Deportation Nation: Outsiders in American History. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Kanstroom, D. (2012). Aftermath: Deportation, Law, and the New American Diaspora. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Kaufman, M. (2008). “Detention, Due Process, and the Right to Counsel in Removal Proceedings.” Stanford Journal of Civil Rights & Civil Liberties 4: 113. Kleist, N. (2017). “Returning with Nothing but an Empty Bag: Topographies of Social Hope after Deportation to Ghana.” In: N. Kleist & D. Thorsen, eds. Hope and Uncertainty in Contemporary African Migration. New York and London: Routledge, 173–192. Lee, E. (2003). At America’s Gates: Chinese Immigration during the Exclusion Era, 1882–1943. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Longazel, J., Berman, J. & Fleury-Steiner, B. (2016). “The Pains of Immigrant Imprisonment.” Sociology Compass 10(11): 989–998. Loyd, J., Mitchelson, M. & Burridge, A., eds. (2012). Beyond Walls and Cages: Prisons, Borders, and Global Crisis. Athens: University of Georgia Press. Menjívar, C. (2011). “The Power of the Law: Central America’s Legality and Everyday Life in Phoenix, Arizona.” Latino Studies 9: 377–395. Morris, J. E. & Palazuelos, D. (2015). “The Health Implications of Deportation Policy.” Journal of Health Care for the Poor and Underserved 26(2): 406–409. Nicholls, W. J. (2013). The DREAMers: How the Undocumented Youth Movement Transformed the Immigrant Rights Debate. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. O’Leary, A., Deeds, C. & Whiteford, S. (2013). Uncharted Terrains: New Directions in Border Research Methodology, Ethics, and Practice. Tucson, AZ: University of Arizona Press. Patler, C. (2015). “The Economic Impacts of Long-Term Immigration Detention in Southern California.” Los Angeles, CA: UCLA Institute for Research on Labor and Employment. Patler, C. & Branic, N. (2017). “Patterns of Family Visitation during Immigration Detention.” RSF: The Russell Sage Foundation Journal of the Social Sciences 3(4): 18–36. Patler, C., & Golash-Boza, T. (2017). “The Fiscal and Human Costs of Immigrant Detention and Deportation in the United States”. Sociology Compass 11(11): 1–9. doi:10.1111/soc4.12536 Patler, C., Sacha, J. O. & Branic, N. (2019). “The Black Box within a Black Box: Solitary Confinement Practices in a Subset of U.S. Detention Facilities.” Journal of Population Research 35(4): 435–465. Pereira, N. (2011). “Return[ed] to Paradise: The Deportation Experience in Samoa & Tonga.” Paris, France: UNESCO. Peutz, N. (2006). “Embarking on an Anthropology of Removal.” Current Anthropology 47(2): 217–241. Rietig, V. & Dominguez-Villegas, R. (2015). “Stopping the Revolving Door: Reception and Reintegration Services for Central American Deportees.” Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Retrieved from: www.migrationpolicy.org/research/stopping-revolving-door-reception-and-reintegration-servicescentral-american-deportees Rodriguez v. Robbins, 803 F.3d 502 (9th Cir. 2015). Shull, K. (2014). “‘Nobody Wants These People’: Reagan’s Immigration Crisis and the Containment of Foreign Bodies.” In: Emily S. Rosenberg and Shanon Fitzpatrick, eds. Body and Nation: The Global Realms of U.S. Body Politics in the Twentieth Century. Chapel Hill, NC: Duke University Press, 241–263. Silverman, S. J. (2010). “Immigration Detention in America: A History of its Expansion and a Study of its Significance.” COMPAS Working Paper no. 80. Oxford: University of Oxford. Slack, J., Martinez, D., Whiteford, S. & Peiffer, E. (2015). “In Harm’s Way: Family Separation, Immigration Enforcement Programs and Security on the U.S.-Mexico Border.” Journal on Migration and Human Security 3(2): 109–128. Temple, J. M. (2011). “The Merry-Go-Round of Youth Gangs: The Failure of U.S. Immigration Removal Policy and the False Outsourcing of Crime.” Boston College Third World Law Review 31: 193–215.

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Terriquez, V. (2015). “Dreams Delayed: Barriers to Degree Completion among Undocumented Latino Community College Students.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 41(8): 1302–1323. Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse. (2013). “Legal Noncitizens Receive Longest ICE Detention.” Retrieved from http://trac.syr.edu/immigration/reports/321/ Trouillot, M. (1995). Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of History. Boston, MA: Beacon Press. Walia, H. (2013). Undoing Border Imperialism. Chico, CA: AK Press. Warren, R. & Kerwin, D. (2017). “Mass Deportations Would Impoverish US Families and Create Immense Social Costs.” Journal on Migration and Human Security 5(1): 1–8. Wessler, S. F. (2016). ‘This Man Will Almost Certainly Die.” The Nation. Retrieved from www.thenation. com/article/privatized-immigrant-prison-deaths/ Zayas, Luis H. (2015). Forgotten Citizens: Deportation, Children, and the Making of Exiles and Orphans. New York: Oxford University Press. Zilberg, E. (2011). Space of Detention: The Making of a Transnational Gang Crisis between Los Angeles and San Salvador. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

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32 Naturalization and nationality Community, nation-state and global explanations Thomas Janoski

Introduction How people become citizens of a new country involves two distinct processes. Immigrants can choose to be a citizen of their new country by going through a process of residence over five or so years and overcoming a number of hurdles including tests and fees. Or the sons and daughters of immigrants automatically become citizens in some countries by being born on native soil, which is called jus soli or the law of the soil. As the first process, naturalizations are divided by the foreign population to give “naturalization rates.” The second process combines naturalizations and jus soli births and divides them by the foreign population, producing “nationality rates.” Scholars examine these two processes from three different angles. The first involves individual, community and ethnographic studies of immigrants gaining naturalization and integration through their families and their neighbors. This approach has expanded from the US to much of Europe as immigration has increased, and it has even spread to South America and Asia. The second approach evaluates nation-states and the changes they make in immigration and naturalization laws. This includes looking at the national political and cultural facets of law in countries receiving immigrants and the various factors that explain naturalization and nationality rates. The third approach is global and analyzes a large number of countries to detect basic trends in global immigration and naturalization. Much of this approach involves “citizenship or naturalization regimes” in classifying countries into distinct groups. This area has recently experienced a change in emphasis from decades of liberalization to more recent restrictions on citizenship due to continued terrorist activities in the receiving countries since 2001. It has also led to more difficult entry for immigrants and even deportation for non-citizens. Finally, part of this third approach looks at the move toward grouping countries in citizenship regimes and new areas of transnational citizenship that involve multiple citizenships. The three approaches just mentioned have differing foci and significance. The more individual approach generally involves interviews with immigrants involved in communities about their willingness to become citizens, their experiences doing so, and their going through a citizenship ceremony, which is more common now throughout the world than ten years ago. The state’s intent is that this process will lead to immigrants’ eventual integration into society, and a productive and satisfying life in their new country. These features of citizenship have an 394

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important impact on citizen and, by implication, non-citizen social mobility, self-esteem, political rights and participation. The effects of citizenship have a strong effect on the first generation of immigrants, but in countries that have jus soli rules, the second- and third-generation children of immigrants generally integrate more easily and do better. The nation-state approach to explaining naturalization and nationality in receiving countries shows how states and societies accept or reject foreigners and long-term residents. Activist groups in countries with high naturalization rates react more strongly against anti-foreigner protests, demonstrations and murders. They are more powerful because naturalized immigrants can vote, organize and protest. The key difference is how the immigrant is treated. The countries with liberal nationality policies lay the basis for the political organization of immigrants, which allows them to protect themselves and pursue their own livelihood. The more closed countries make it difficult for immigrants to protect themselves in the political arena. Non-citizens more or less have to rely on the kindness of concerned strangers to protect their homes and families. As a result, access to citizenship can make a difference in everyday lives and can actually be a matter of life or death for those who are subject to deportation. Nonetheless, many nation-states have recently made citizenship more difficult to attain. Global and transnational approaches to naturalization and nationality fall into two categories. The first looks at large numbers of countries and classifies them into regime types in order to demonstrate how their global interactions in empires and settler colonies have eventually, and sometimes ironically, led to much higher naturalization and nationality rates. Other studies look at the changing nature of more open liberal or closed and restrictive regimes. The second aspect of global studies looks at the development of transnationalism, whereby complex attitudes of citizenship develop as people acquire multiple citizenships in order to facilitate a transnational lifestyle of wealth or cosmopolitanism (Ong 1999, 2006). This chapter will make three main points. First, the long tradition of individual and community studies of naturalization have sharpened and expanded their studies beyond the US. Second, nation-state studies include some comparisons of countries that have pointed to the long-term impacts made by culture and political economy on the laws of various countries, and the implications that this has for immigrants. Third, global studies is a relatively new area and highlights many countries in high and low levels of citizenship acquisition and diverse approaches to transnational identity. But before addressing these three points, the question of measurement needs to be addressed.

The extent and measurement of naturalization and nationality rates In the last four decades, the rates of citizenship acquisition in advanced industrialized countries have varied widely. From 1980 to 1984, naturalization rates (naturalized citizens divided by the foreign population) ran as high as nearly 8,000 per 100,000 foreigners in Canada to as few as 300 per 100,000 foreigners in Germany. Canada’s more open policies averaged a naturalization rate 27 times larger than Germany. From 2006 to 2012, the rates were nearly 10,000 and 2,000 for the same two countries. Still a large difference. The naturalization rates for other receiving countries can be seen in Table 32.1. If one includes jus soli births, which I will call a nationality rate, the comparison of these two countries is even larger from 1980 to 1984, but a bit smaller for 2006 to 2012 because Germany and Belgium introduced a somewhat more open approach to jus soli. In open countries (top of Table 32.1), immigrants can quickly become citizens, vote, and form interest groups; but in more closed countries (bottom of Table 32.1), immigrants rarely 395

Thomas Janoski Table 32.1  Wide and narrow naturalization rates per 100,000 aliens from 1980 to 2012 (countries ranked according to 1980–84 nationality rates) Country Canada

a

UKa Australiaa Finland NZa Sweden USa Denmark Austria Norway Switzerland Francea Netherlands Irelanda

1980–84

1985–89

1990–95

1995–99

2000–05

2006–2012

9,865 8,371 7,275 6,348 7,250 5,666 5,810 5,583 4,015 4,836

8,856 7,274 5,606 5,552 8,286 7,439 6,596 5,407 3,765 4,733

11,268 9,950 3,618 3,567 8,571 8,222 2,233 4,818 3,100 5,976

11,963 10,799 3,509 2,795 6,160 5,666 2,841 4,241 2,916 6,445

12,332 11,286 5,286 4,777 4,542 3,638 4,173 4,257 2,822 7,627

10,846 9,736 4,612 4,101 4,564 3,894 3,407 3,616 2,172 6,354

3,775 2,207 3,133 2,960 2,854 1,426 2,818 1,376 2,544 2,277 269

4,045 2,465 2,829 2,430 2,554 1,261 2,670 1,589 4,628 2,465 599

4,468 2,764 2,853 2,047 3,767 888 3,466 2,851 4,718 1,838 405

9,066 7,273 3,441 2,841 6,556 1,398 3,759 3,477 9,682 2,085 681

7,069 5,665 4,596 4,754 4,821 2,313 4,794 4,391 4,821 3,104 1,300

4,778 3,484 1,529 1,324 3,873 2,499 4,062 3,456 3,941 3,548 1,853

967

700 – 2,764 – 489 608

1,017

917 5,615b 5,253 2,642b 2,107 657

616 3,654b 3,260 2,029b 1,566 1,329

Japan Belgiumb

–

Germanyb

–

848

Italy

314 117

723 –

– 2,728

–

3,430 –

489 610

1,344 892

Notes: a Canada, the UK, Australia, Ireland, France, New Zealand and the US show both the raw and wide naturalization rates. b Germany and Belgium started jus soli adjustments in 2000. The previous “wide naturalization rates” did not exist so they are marked with a dash. Sources: For data see Janoski 2010; Janoski 2016 which updates France from 1990 to 2012; OECD 1976–2005, 2006–2016; US-INS 1972–2003; US-CIS 2004–2014.

vote and are often subject to deportation if they lose their jobs or get in trouble with the law. In most open countries, immigrant children born in the receiving country automatically obtain citizenship, while in closed countries such children have to wait to acquire nationality as an adult, which can be a long and difficult process. The largest issue drawn between open and closed countries concerns whether a country has jus soli – birth on home soil confers citizenship to the child of native or foreign parents – or jus sanguinis – the blood of the citizen parents provides citizenship (Liang 1994a). Jus soli creates a large number of new citizens by immigrant children being born on home soil from non-citizen parents. A narrow view of naturalization would only consider those persons who have officially 396

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gone through the naturalization process, which often includes a residency period, applications, various tests and often an oath. But countries that have jus soli laws have a view of citizenship that includes jus soli births for “citizenship acquisition” (the OECD term for naturalization). Table 32.1 includes both rates per 100,000 immigrants (nationality rate on top, naturalization rate on bottom, and only the naturalization rate for countries that do not have jus soli). The two rates only differ for the jus soli countries (Australia, Canada, France, Ireland, New Zealand, the UK and the US; and more recently for Germany and Belgium in a limited way).1 In most cases the estimates of jus soli births increase the figures by about a thousand citizens (roughly 10% to 20%), but in Ireland where there is little naturalization and jus soli births are numerous, the increase is quite large. Many ignore jus soli births and only analyze the “official” naturalization rate, but a full analysis of nationality rates would allow the full impact of newcomers who become citizens (Janoski 2010; Waldrauch 2006). Even micro-studies would need to consider this, since all of the third-generation and roughly half the second-generation immigrants are actually jus soli births in jus soli countries, but not in non-jus soli countries. This issue of jus soli reveals a major controversy in the social science literature. Most scholars only want to measure one way that people become citizens – mainly concerning the naturalization process – but not the just soli approach to acquiring citizenship. But these same scholars argue that jus soli increases applicants’ desire to go through the naturalization process. If jus soli causes naturalization rates to go up, then naturalization rates should include jus soli acquisitions of citizenship. However, there is great resistance to considering jus soli births as part of the naturalization rate. As a result, I propose that we use the term “nationality rate” to refer to naturalizations and jus soli births together. This would eliminate the controversy and allow scholars to get the full meaning and measure of each country’s “acquisition of citizenship” (the OECD term). It should be clear that the naturalization process is only one way that immigrants and their children acquire citizenship, and that the nationality process includes both ways. So in the end, we really should be concerned about the more inclusive nationality rate because this has the biggest impact on immigrant integration into a nation-state, and on how we compare countries’ willingness to give their immigrants citizenship. Given that one makes a methodological choice about using naturalization or nationality rates, the explanation of these still massive differences between open and closed countries can be approached from individual-community, nation-state and global-transnational perspectives.

Individual, community and ethnographic studies of naturalization Community and ethnographic studies explain individual decisions and characteristics that lead to naturalization. This section examines four areas of study within this area of research: (1) the general social psychological approaches to naturalization as it has trended from assimilation to segmented assimilation, (2) the positive or negative reception of various immigrants promoting or lessening naturalization, (3) the more explicit inquiries into how families make collective decisions about naturalization and often chain migration, and (4) the more critical or “disenchanted” views of naturalization processes. The first group of theories bases itself on the social psychology of naturalization. This began in the 1920s in the US with the assimilation approach, analyzing individuals and their social capital and contact with the new culture involving at least some re-socialization toward their new home. The more immigrants become like the receiving society, the more they would naturalize. This social psychological approach explains variations in naturalization rates based on education, occupation and family status (Bernard 1936; 397

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Gordon 1964; Evans 1988; Garcia 1981; Grebler 1966; Massey et al. 1998). Portes and Curtis (1987: 355–56) summarize these causes as: a

b

c

d

The arriving immigrant: Naturalization is more likely with younger applicants, being married, having children, arriving with higher education, having parents with high income, coming from an urban community, having more work experience, and previously living in the receiving country. Immigrant experiences in the receiving country: Naturalization occurs more with higher occupation status, more income, owning a home, obtaining more education since arrival, having good language skills, and having extensive knowledge of the receiving society. Social context in the receiving country: Naturalization happens more with those who live and work in cities and neighborhoods with an ethnic mix, and interact more with neighbors, friends and kin. Personal attitudes: Naturalization will take place more when immigrants feel satisfied with the receiver society and life, have a fading desire to return home, and have low perceptions of discrimination.

The closer immigrants get to being embedded in socio-economic, family and identity networks − work with natives, speak the language, marry a native, interact with natives and upwardly mobile immigrants, and internalize the native culture − the more likely they will naturalize (Portes and Curtis 1987; Liang 1994b; Gordon 1964). The social psychological theory became connected to social networks and chain migration processes with kin and friends. But the more immigrants stay immersed in an ethnic enclave speaking their original language, the less they will naturalize. The assimilationist approach has yielded an impressive body of research, especially about how individual ethnic groups may differ in their propensity to naturalize. The social psychological theory is based on assimilationist assumptions and has been criticized because of its ready assumption that immigrants will abandon their sending country culture for the receiver country culture. Further, assimilationist theory tried to force one model on a diverse array of immigrants. Coupled with multi-cultural perspectives (especially from Canadian scholars) and strong ethnic communities among Hispanics and Asians, new theories began to develop. In the early 1990s, segmented assimilation theories began to stress that immigrants do not easily give up their sending country culture. The special issue of International Migration Review published in 1997 provided numerous articles indicating that there is increasing evidence that immigrants who naturalize often maintain a complex identity composed of sending and receiving country cultures (Portes 1997; Zhou 1997). This meshed with movements in social psychology emphasizing multiple identities and an increasingly globalized and transnational world. Since then studies have shifted away from a universal micro-theory of naturalization to studies that emphasize how immigrants from different ethnic groups have different behaviors and values that explain high or low rates of naturalization (Zhou 1997; Zhou and Lee 2007; Bean et al. 2006; Bean et al. 2006; Yang 1994; Liang 1994b; Kasinitz et al. 2002). For instance, findings indicate that over 60% of Asian immigrants naturalize, while only about 30% of Mexican immigrants do so.2 These more specific studies of each immigrant group explain the diverse reasons why; but one fact stands out. Immigrants being close to the sending country with easy movement back and forth is one major reason Mexicans are so low and Asians are so high on naturalization rates. Further, being a refugee and not being able to go back to ones’ home country further intensifies ones’ willingness to naturalize. Terrorism has become a major concern in Western democracies after 2,996 people were killed on 9/11 in the US in 2001, 192 people were killed in Madrid in 2004, 52 people died 398

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in London in 2005, and 130 people perished in Paris in 2005. And in the one year of 2016, 84 people were killed in Nice, 50 people shot to death in Orlando, and 14 died in San Bernardino (Nussio and Howe 2016). As a consequence, many receiving countries have imposed more restrictive immigration and naturalization rules. They have been further backed up by increased deportations in the US under the Obama administration and in other countries (Ellermann 2009; Kanstroom 2014). Currently, the Trump administration is trying to ban immigrants from a set of Muslim countries (currently being delayed by the courts). Yet simultaneously, countries have invested much more in assimilation policies. Despite the negativity surrounding terrorism and immigration, assimilation is making somewhat of a comeback in naturalization studies with the implementation of new naturalization programs in many European countries seeking to intensify the immigrant socialization processes connected to citizenship (Brubaker 2001; Goodman 2014). This new conception of assimilation is not the naive theory of the 1960s, but rather a more nuanced approach centered on segmented assimilation of the receiving country’s culture and politics. The political campaigns reinforce the difficulty of the naturalization process, and reduce the talk of “citizenship lite” (i.e., citizenship does not matter). Many European states have created language and culture classes followed by difficult tests that even many natives cannot pass (e.g., “In what constellation did the 16th-century Danish astronomer Tycho Brahe discover a new star?” “What flower is traditionally worn by people on Remembrance Day [in the UK]: Poppy, Lily, Daffodil, Iris?” (Bilefsky 2016; Guardian 2013; Booth 2013; Oers et al. 2012; Mass 2010). Despite the criticisms, the combination of language and citizenship tests is aimed at both restrictions on entrance, and a new form of assimilation to the culture and politics of the receiving country. These changes stress the value of citizenship but, more ominously, they are also backed up by various aspects of a loss of benefits, reduced influence and even the threat of deportation. Another individual and community approach examines the variation coming out of the positive reception that receiving countries may provide to some but not other immigrants. Portes and Rumbaut describe the government’s favorable, neutral and hostile reception of immigrants, and each society’s neutral and prejudiced responses (2001: 49–51; Reitz 2003). Matching governmental and societal responses results in six combinations: (1) favorable government, neutral society; (2) favorable government, prejudiced society; (3) both neutral; (4) neutral government, prejudiced society; (5) hostile government, neutral society; and (6) hostile government, prejudiced society. In their study of 15 sending countries, government attitudes varied but society was prejudiced in most countries (2, 4 and 6 above). In the US, the most welcoming responses were to Cuban immigrants with positive state and neutral society (1), and to Filipino immigrants with both neutral (3). The variable context of each group’s reception has three clear implications for naturalization: (a) more positive responses result in assimilation with straightforward naturalization, (b) mixed responses result in segmented assimilation with a clear preference for dual nationality, and (c) hostile acculturation produces countercultural reactions where immigrants avoid naturalization. While positive receptions are preferable, the long-term effects of hostile acculturation can work in undesirable ways. On the one hand, they can create an underclass that develops a negative or countercultural identity. This appears to be a problem with some Mexican immigrants in large American cities where education and employment are sparse and gangs and violence may be prevalent (Portes and Rumbaut 2001; Balistreri and van Hook 2004). Also, the children of Afro-Caribbean (Jamaican, Dominican, Guyanese, etc.) immigrants with a distinct identity may be re-socialized into an African-American counterculture (Waters 1999; Grey and Janoski 2017). This may lead to lower levels of naturalization. On the other hand, the tightening of restrictions on immigrant rights (e.g., cutting government benefits in the US or making naturalization more difficult in Europe), can produce large but short-term 399

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increases in naturalization rates when immigrants seek citizenship as a way to avoid these disadvantages (i.e., defensive naturalization). In this case, restrictions may reduce immigration rates in the long term, they may also increase rates in the short term. A second major approach to community problem solving involves the family. Demographers have found that getting married, having a family and buying a house results in increased ties to the immigrants’ new country. With the exception of well-off migrants, most immigrants often find housing in lower income neighborhoods where housing prices are low. Purchasing a house rather than renting an apartment is a big decision. Further, immigrants eventually become very interested in the schools that their children go to and want to see them improve. Each of these decisions increases the probability that their stay in the receiver country is permanent and that naturalization is an important next step in this integration or assimilation process. Related to this is the development of a family approach to naturalization put forward by David Street in two articles. In the first one, Street (2013) finds that families participate together in the naturalization process and often make joint decisions about whether to naturalize and commit their futures to a new country. Often this involves becoming a citizen so that chain migration may be initiated to bring other members of the nuclear and then extended family to one’s new country. Of course, not all families are united in their intentions, but a significant number are oriented in this way as Street shows that parents often apply for citizenship with their children either in a simultaneous or sequential naturalization process. In a later article, Street (2014) contributes to solving the puzzle of declining German naturalizations after the new jus soli provisions of the 2000 German law. His explanation, backed by interviews and census data, shows that prior to jus soli, immigrant parents naturalized so that “my child will be a citizen.” This intergenerational motive for naturalization was removed in 2000. The immigrant children born in Germany could now claim citizenship if their parents were in the country legally for eight years before their birth. They do not need their parents to be citizens, so the parents have less incentive to naturalize. As a result, naturalization rates in Germany stagnated rather than climbed. Related to this are a number of mixed-motive decisions, with some members of the family maintaining their homeland citizenship and others obtaining citizenship. This allows the family flexibility in acquiring land abroad, inheritances, and ease of travel to the old country based on members who do not naturalize, while also allowing more upward mobility and perhaps political influence in the new country for those who take the oath. While such family-centered theories are part of the new economics of immigration theory, their application to understanding naturalization is new (Aptekar 2015: 63–66; Massey et al. 1998). Since Street brings up reasons to naturalize, we can discuss the many reasons most often given by the applicants themselves in the US: 86% want to vote, 83.9% plan to live in the US for the rest of their lives, 73.6% love the US, 72.9% want better opportunities for their children, 62.3% want a better job, 43.8% want to help relatives to come to the US, and 27.4% are worried about losing government services (Plascencia 2012: 173, based on 292 interviews). Aptekar’s findings, based on 72 applicants, were similar, but the percentage who “want to be an American,” which is close to “love the US,” was quite different at only 4% (2015: 74). While scholars may dismiss some of these reasons, the applicants themselves gave these responses when asked. In the opposite direction, Latino permanent residents gave a number of explanations why they did not apply for citizenship: 26% were dissuaded by language barriers, 26% had not tried or were not interested, 18% faced financial barriers, and 13% were not eligible or were waiting for a Green Card (Taylor et al. 2012).3 Segmented assimilation research was developed in the US; however, more recently, attention has increasingly examined naturalization and citizenship in Europe, especially concerning Muslim and Asian immigrants in some of the more restrictive countries. Studies have been 400

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done on Germany (Anil 2007; Constant et  al. 2007; Diehl and Blohm 2003; Becker 2009), France (Simon 2003), Canada (Tomata 1999), Australia (Zappalá and Castles 2000; Evans 1988), Belgium (Timmerman et al. 2003), Austria (Veiter 1990), Japan (Kashiwazaki 2000); and Europe more generally (Maxwell 2010; Crul and Heering 2008; Crul and Vermeulen 2003; Beuker 2005; Bauer et  al. 2000; Tübergen 2006). Many of these studies are of jus sanguinis countries so that the naturalization process extends further into the second and third generations of immigrants, which differs significantly from jus soli countries where these subsequent generations are automatically citizens. Future results with such a broad array of countries may end up producing new micro-theories in this area. These community studies have been effective in studying the processes and rituals of citizenship. Concerning naturalization rituals, Susan Coutin (2003) examined ten very large naturalization ceremonies in Los Angeles, focusing on identity and difference, blood and choice, and the sometimes mystical concept of a “nation of immigrants.” Often these issues were at odds; for instance, being lauded for making a choice when Salvadoran immigrants felt that their backs were to the wall and they were just trying to survive. The ceremonies themselves included 2,000 to 5,000 applicants, which made them somewhat impersonal. However, most participants seemed to enjoy the ceremony, reciting the oath, singing the national anthem, and reciting the pledge of allegiance. Sofya Aptekar (2015) looked at large ceremonies in San Jose, California, small ones in New Jersey, and a traditional courtroom ceremony in a federal court in Manhattan. She analyzed the content of the speeches, as did Coutin, finding some of them well-crafted and others perfunctory. She found that many felt that the ceremonies were deeply moving, but a few complained that they were already Americans and that the ceremony was gibberish (see also Plascencia 2012). Europe does not have a long history of citizenship ceremonies. Many countries ended the naturalization process with a “whimper rather than a bang” sending the final certificate in the mail. But this changed in the last 15 years as terrorism and large influxes of immigrants made citizenship a serious issue. Most new ceremonies and also citizenship tests started around 2002 with the British and Dutch versions of both being somewhat controversial because they added cultural issues to the basic political questions (Damsholt 2008; Goodman 2014). But citizenship ceremonies in many European countries are the responsibility of local officials rather than national bureaucracies. As a result, they can be flat bureaucratic ceremonies or elaborate rituals with movies and speeches (Eule 2014; Aptekar 2015; Verkaaik 2010), or even warm personal affairs (Fassin and Mazouz 2009: 44). Aptekar (2015) and Plascencia (2012) both mention some applicants being disenchanted with citizenship, usually after the ceremonies end. Both indicate that citizenship creates boundaries and even inequalities between immigrants and newly minted citizens, which is a point made by Brubaker (1992) using Max Weber’s concepts of open and closed relations. The authors also question whether citizenship erases inequalities, but this is the promise or opportunity of citizenship, certainly not a deliverable at the ceremony. At the same time, they report that most people who go through the ceremonies are happy that they have completed the process. It seems that those who are highly educated may have a more jaundiced view toward rituals, but many of those who achieve citizenship are glad to be able to vote or sponsor their relatives to come to the US.4 But Oskar Verkaaike (2010) reports some Dutch applicants in a system that has recently become more stringent were more oriented toward a “just give me the passport” approach (my paraphrase). In some cases, naturalizing to a small country with a language of limited geographical reach may be quite different from naturalizing to a large country whose language is spoken all over the world. For instance, how many Russians would be excited about learning the Estonian language from the very small Finno-Urgic language group in order to get Estonian citizenship? 401

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1a–Human capital: Education; Occupation & income; Age 1b–Social capital: Social networks; NGO & religion; Marriage & family ties; Home owner; Community encouragement to assimilate

2–Attitudes: Strong ties to US community; Life satisfaction; Time in receiving country; Language ability

3–Strong ties to sending country: Family left behind; Land & wealth at home; Religious ties; Sending country was oppressed by receiving country

4–Social mobility ambitions: Occupational or self-employed success; Political participation

5–Belief in receiving culture way of life: a–Acculturation to political, economic & religious norms; b–Belief in international position of country; c–Belief that society accepts oneself in the receiving country

+

–

7–Identity/selfesteem: a–Positive receiving country identity; b–Segmented identity in receiving/sending country; c–Negative receiving country identity; d–Countercultural identity

+

–

8–Probability of naturalization: a–High 1st generation 2nd generation 3rd generation or b–Low 1st generation 2nd generation 3rd generation

6–Maintenance of subculture : Strong subculture; Transnational culture; Counterculture; Sending nation involved in terrorism

Figure 32.1  Individual, family and community model explaining naturalization

These different factors can be modeled in Figure 32.1 with the various factors leading to higher naturalizations in items 1, 2, 4, 5 and 7ab leading to higher probabilities of naturalization (item 8), and various home country ties and subcultures leading to negative or countercultural identities (items 3, 6 and 7cd) and less naturalization. Community and ethnographic studies have their strong points with social psychology, but they rarely compare countries and states, which is the topic of the next section.

Nation-state explanations of naturalization Studies of the nation-state’s policies toward naturalization have increased in recent years. Some of these studies take a long-term view, but many are oriented toward the recent changes in naturalization law or other significant events such as elections and terrorist attacks. Sometimes these approaches are more attentive to legal changes and less focused on causal analysis. Much of 402

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the macro-social approach compares a few countries, but since this area is so new, many works have examined naturalization laws and policies in one particular country. For instance, Bauböck et al. (2006: vol. 2) and Aleinikoff and Klusmeyer (2000) have individual chapters for each of the 15 EU countries. Bauböck et al. (2010) addresses the 12 new accession states plus Croatia and Turkey, and Aleinikoff and Klusmeyer (2000) have individual chapters for Australia, Canada, the US, Russia, South Africa, the Baltics, Mexico, Israel and Japan. While these country studies of laws and implementation are useful, four other perspectives explicitly target long-term causal mechanisms that explain naturalization and nationality rates. These are as follows: (1) the cultural idiom and convergence approaches, (2) the political theories of clientelism (capture theory) and its opposite emphasizing left party power, (3) institutional theories looking at the welcome the receiving states provide or the influences of street-level bureaucrats, and (4) the new international refugee regime approach. First, the cultural view provides a direct approach to explaining why some countries are open to naturalizing strangers and their children, while other countries are extremely reluctant. W. Rogers Brubaker’s work (1989, 1992) on citizenship and nationhood uses “cultural idioms” – ways of thinking and talking about nationhood. He demonstrates that cultural idioms were either formed in the crucible of the French Revolution or developed indigenously over time in Germany. The French Revolution transformed “belonging” to French society into active participation based on rights and obligations, and fixed itself upon the French nation-state (Brubaker 1992: 35–49). Germany did not have a similar Revolution, and the development of citizenship was connected to the estate or Stand, which was a highly particularistic institution (Brubaker 1992: 50–72). The estate developed into multiple legal systems with communitybased notions of belonging in many different regions. Their attention looked inward with the most extreme example being the closed “home towns” where membership meant you could work and have a livelihood. Brubaker’s theory is well argued as a macro-social explanation of naturalization rates, but there are a few problems. First, his “cultural idioms” resemble genetic codes of citizenship, especially because they locate the unique events that have continuous effects over centuries. The mechanisms of development and the agents acting them out suggest that a constant factor dooms a country to be controlled by its cultural idiom. Second, a theory based on uniqueness provides little guidance in explaining other countries. However, from Brubaker’s comparison of France and Germany, some scholars have developed typologies based on cultural and structural characteristics of countries that emphasize open (republican) and closed (folk) access to citizenship. Another cultural approach concerns convergence theory. James Hollifield (2000) and Christian Joppke (2005) present a liberal state theory by emphasizing economic forces and chain migration networks that sustain culture through international migration. Political and legal factors are central to a theory that citizenship rights are increasingly enacted for citizens and proposed for immigrants and refugees. Joppke (2005) sees international institutions as pressuring the state to enact liberal rights. Thus, if economic cycles are controlled, one should see an increase in immigrant rights and open naturalization policies through international pressures. This process has a globalization component as transnational corporations further promote international movements and indirectly promote an international civil society. Similarly, Bauböck (1994) presents a convergence approach using political theory (see also Soysal 1994; Freeman 1995, 2006). Convergence has two difficulties. First, there is often considerable variation in state policy as some states ignore international civil society, or at least bend it to their will. And one must be careful in this area not to conflate a general convergence theory with EU integration, which the Brexit movement in the UK has recently countered to some degree. While there is a push 403

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to make policies consistent, the EU treads lightly in the area of naturalization. So in many ways, international civil society can be more of a resource for pro-immigration actors than a constraint on each country. Often these convergence theories do not identify the enactors of these policies within each state, not to mention the interest groups who request them. Second, the continued expansion of naturalization has been countered by the impact of terrorism and many countries making naturalization tougher. Anti-immigration parties want to go even further, and President Donald Trump in the US is trying to build a wall on the border of Mexico and has issued two executive orders to stop Muslim immigration from seven, later reduced to six, states. A second basic group of theories examines two versions of politics: Gary Freeman’s theory of clientele politics (2006), and power resources theory of status group and class conflict (Berg and Janoski 2005). Freeman’s (1995) clientele theory is based on a rational choice model that uses a two-by-two classification of concentrated or diffuse costs and benefits to emphasize one particular cell – clientelism. This combination of concentrated benefits for employers and immigrant interest groups, and diffuse costs that spread throughout society, operates under conditions of low salience with the public having little interest in immigration. Salience is low for the public because immigrants are either spread all over the country or concentrated in a few areas that can be overlooked. The employer and immigrant interest groups then capture the immigration issue and get their bills passed. Freeman (2006) and Money (1999) have developed this further in a comparative context, but in many ways it ignores changing party ideology (to be discussed below). Political parties are divided on the issue of immigration as there is a major division among the right between free market employers and traditional nationalists, and among the left between universalistic cosmopolitans and protectionist labor. However, the increasing protests about immigration policy from France to the US contradict the low salience aspect of this theory. Consequently, the emphasis has shifted away from clientelism toward party politics. The power resources theory occurs when the salience of immigration increases. Left parties and unions have come to support immigration and especially naturalization. Before World War II, left parties had a strong impulse to protect workers from immigration because the presence of job-seeking immigrants decreases the power of organized labor by increasing the labor supply (Briggs 2001; Borjas 1995, 2016). After World War II, this approach began to wither and a new approach assessed the protection and even organization of immigrants. While the behavior of some labor unions and parties might periodically contradict this statement, each of them increasingly began to change and lead efforts to increase naturalization. Thus, left and green parties have supported more open naturalization policies, liberal and center parties sometimes join in this coalition, and conservative and right-wing parties abhor open policies. While left party power has a weakened base in unions and manufacturing, it has picked up support from women’s increasing labor force participation and subsequent political power. While women’s voting initially showed little difference from men’s, an increasing gender gap in most countries has developed around a welfare state that reflects women’s and not just men’s vulnerabilities to the market, and women’s general concern toward “caring” for people in society (Janoski 2010). Caring values can also be manifested in greater female concern for asylees, who are often widows and children (Hobson 2005; Lister 2002). Meanwhile, with increased immigration and naturalization coupled with the financial crises of the new millennium and declining economic growth, right-wing anti-immigrant parties are picking up more support from men and blue-collar workers as left party power has declined. The result has been a backlash in this originally solid union-based constituency (Hochschild 2016). A third more institutional approach comes from Bloemraad’s work (2006) on Canadian and US naturalization processes. She largely avoids cultural idioms, naturalization law, and the 404

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characteristics of immigrants. Instead, she examines the reception that immigrants receive vis-àvis naturalization. Canada welcomes and encourages naturalization from the top with significant civil society participation, and the US offers a cooler welcome and relies on nonprofit and local governments operating from the bottom. This institutional approach with two settler countries is convincing, but how it would fare in diverse Europe is less clear. Related to institutions, bureaucracy and local politics have had an impact on naturalization. Eule (2014) shows how the more regional implementation of naturalization policy in Germany varies considerably because bureaucrats have discretion and regional preferences. Plascencia (2012) shows how twins applying for citizenship at slightly different times faced an acceptance and a rejection based on the evaluation of the exact same documents. Verkaaik (2010) shows how local officials in charge of citizenship evaluation and ceremonies were often embarrassed by the draconian changes demanded by their national ministries. Plascencia also illustrates how American naturalization process in the past or “golden-age” were often highly illegal as party machines manufactured thousands of citizens in short order to support the machine’s candidates for election. While total fraud is much less of an issue now, bureaucratic discretion is often a factor in whether applicants pass, fail or are dissuaded from the naturalization process. And fourth, a global political approach to explaining naturalization recognizes the overarching constraints of globalization with an independent and important political effect. With the rise of international civil society pressing for a liberal refugee regime, the costs of asylum policies and national security threats bring a restraining influence on immigration and naturalization. After World War II, international civil society gave rise to major institutional changes concerning refugees. Soysal’s international theory (1994) examines a larger human rights regime that gave strong legitimacy to protecting refugees and according rights to people within their own countries. The UN approach led to a number of human rights declarations and accords that were signed after the world recognized the horrors of war and the holocaust. Despite its strong isolationist tendencies, the US eventually recognized its role as a world leader and joined others in forming the UN. The UN created UNESCO to push for racial equality and equal treatment, and the UN High Commissioner on Refugees (UNHCR) to persuade states to accept more refugees (Mass 2001). And many states have done so and offered refugees easier naturalization processes and services to help integrate them. This human rights regime interacted with the past institutions and politics to seemingly produce convergence on asylum, but politics becomes more directly involved, in that refugees are costly and public opinion becomes negative. Before the new refugee regime connected to the UN, refugees were simply immigrants who had to make it on their own. With the international refugee regime, these immigrants get more positive attention from the government, but also negative scrutiny from political forces on the right. Anti-immigrant parties emerged from the far right, which the more moderate right needs to appease in order to protect their political base. The right’s antipathy for immigration and naturalization has increased due to the connection between rising welfare state costs and refugees entering the country (Gimpel and Edwards 1999). Left and green parties in red–green coalition governments led the charge for greater immigration and naturalization, while Christian democratic and conservative parties (i.e., blue–black conservative rather than red–green leftist) coalition governments opposed a more generous and multi-cultural approach. In the US, this led to the Republican revolt against immigration in the last 20 years, followed by restrictive federal legislation in 1996 (Gimpel and Edwards 1999). Similarly, major restrictions on asylum occurred in Germany in the early 1990s (Green 2004), but with the Syrian refugee crisis, centrist-conservative Prime Minister Angela Merkel has taken a courageous stand to admit large numbers of refugees. In 2014, the number of refugees admitted to Germany was nearly four times the US level (OECD 2006–2016). Nonetheless, the increasing flow of refugees causes 405

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1 Cultural variables: a World liberal ideology; b Loss of war & closure; c Ethnic & religious divisions

2 National political variables: a Low migration salience: political parties split & migrant interest groups capture process; b High salience: left & later green parties push for naturalization 4 International regime changes: a Naturalization is the expectation for members of refugee groups; b Refugee groups more inclined to naturalize due to not being able to return to sending country.

3 Bureaucratic implementation of laws & related institutions: a Variation in implementing formal laws; b Welcoming through informal NGOs

5 Nationality laws: a Jus sanguinis or jus soli; b Dual nationality & other criteria; c Language & good conduct; d Fees, residency, etc.; e Residency requirements for different types of immigrants

6 Naturalization rates: a Change over time within one country; b Change between countries; c Pooled crosssectional and time-series changes

Figure 32.2  Nation-state model predicting naturalization rates

right and anti-immigrant parties or factions to demand restrictions on immigration and naturalization, and left and green parties must now deal with the issue or lose support. These four quite diverse theories can be modeled in Figure 32.2. The four theories discussed (items 1 through 4) lead to nationality laws (5) that produce higher naturalization rates (item 6), but it is important to look at the actual mechanisms by which this occurs. The most obvious are the actual nationality laws (item 5) but it is important to note that there are informal ways that naturalization rates increase either by state discretion in implementation or through the efforts of NGOs and religious organizations (item 4).

Comparative and global approaches to naturalization There are two approaches to global effects: one macro-social and the other micro-interactionist. First, the regime approaches describe how countries shape their long-term legal and social 406

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approaches to naturalization (Freeman 1979; Janoski 2010). These studies may either be quantitative (pooled cross-sectional and time-series analysis), qualitative comparative analysis using Boolean methods (Vink and Bauböck 2013), or mixed comparative and qualitative approaches (Goodman 2014; Cook-Martin 2013). There are a number of typologies. Castles et al. (2013), Baldwin-Edwards (1991), Kostakopoulou (2003) and Joppke (2005) generally present four types of regimes: (1) colonizer (imperial or postcolonizers), (2) folk (communitarian or diasporic), (3) republican (civic registration or libertarian), and (4) settler regimes (multi-cultural or Anglo-Saxon). Some regimes are geographical: Scandinavian, Anglo-Saxon, Mediterranean and Schengen.5 One problem with some of these regime theories is that their classification schemes put countries into more than one category or have empty cells. The larger issue is that the theories are not empirically tested. But one regime theory tests four regime types against naturalization data with a causal approach: colonizer, non-colonizer/occupier, settler, and Nordic regime types (Janoski 2010). The colonizers with high colonization have naturalization rates four times as high as the noncolonizers, the settler countries with high rates of indigenous population decline have naturalization rates seven times the non-colonizer rates, and the Nordic countries are in between.6 The theory behind these colonizer regimes has four parts. First, states colonize and then the colonizer tries to control the colony by incorporating natives into the bureaucracy and military. But the longer the colonization effort lasts, the more the colonizer has problems with social control. The colonizer goes through four stages: repression, colonial control, military service, and subsequent immigration. In the repression stage, the military of the colonial power uses force to colonize the country, but this creates intolerance and closure toward natives. In the next stage, the colonizing country needs its troops elsewhere and/or gradually realizes that military occupation of the colonized country is very expensive. The colonizer must co-opt many natives into their way of thinking, and many talented and cooperative natives fill administrative, governmental and police posts. In the third stage, some cooperative natives are sent to the colonizer’s schools and universities to improve their work in the colonies. And fourth, colonial natives risk their lives in military service for the colonizer (mercenary units excepted) and create citizenship claims on the state. After these four stages, natives make claims for greater citizenship. Countries that only experience the first stage of colonization (e.g., Japan and Germany) maintain parochial and intolerant attitudes toward naturalization (Janoski 2010). Second, without colonization reaching the social control stage, the state has no incentive to offer naturalization. High emigration and at least some national identity processes create resistance to granting citizenship to foreign immigrants. Middle and lower classes are able to turn emigration into their own economic opportunities and this can also reduce the total demand for legal, political and social rights (Janoski 1990, 1998). Driven to its extreme in the fascist states of the 1930s and 1940s, the avoidance of immigration can even turn into the persecution and forced elimination of minority religious and ethnic groups. Third, settler countries develop an inclusive conception of citizenship rights from their interests in territorial expansion combined with a campaign against the rights of indigenous peoples, and in alleviating the subsequent labor shortage with extensive immigration. The settler colonies eradicate large segments of their indigenous populations, and in so doing, open up vast areas of land, which are then perceived as being uninhabited (terra nullis) and open to immigrants. Eventually, these countries become the most receptive states toward immigrants of diverse races and ethnic groups. The settler model fits Australia, Canada, New Zealand, the US, and a number of countries in South America. Fourth, the Nordic countries regime type concerns the Nordic countries who were noncolonizers in the last 200 years. They have liberalized their asylum, refugee and immigration 407

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policies toward non-EU countries to create naturalization rates that are higher than noncolonizers and nearly as high as most settler countries. Much of their development has come through cumulative social democratic party power. This is an important example of historical non-colonizer institutions not receiving reinforcement, which leads to the creation of a new regime type from what was formerly a group of non-colonizing countries. Left party power, sometimes in coalition with green parties, can be an effective explanation of how some countries create more liberal naturalization policies. However, left and green party power operate largely within the constraints of various national regime types. For example, the German Social Democrats and Green Party can only go so far in liberalizing naturalization policy within the constraints of Germany’s history of being a folk regime type (i.e., they could not pass unrestricted jus soli or dual nationality in 2000). 1 Centuries of transnational organization: Empires, colonies; neo-colonialism 7 Non-democratic states: Authoritarian, totalitarian, Sultanistic, democratizing states.

5 Democratic states & alliances: Liberal, social democratic & traditional parties/regimes 2 Receiver regimes: Former colonizers: (UK, France) Settler countries: (US, Australia, Argentina, Brazil) Non-colonizers: (Germany, Switzerland) Nordic countries: (Sweden, Norway)

9 Naturalization policies & rates: Receiver Sender policies policies : Immigration Emigration Naturalization Brain drain Integration Protection Dual Remittances citizenship Residual Illegal entry rights

6 Group interests: Ethnic/racial, business, labor, gender, foreign policy

3 Sender regimes: Former colony: (India, Algeria) Poor neighbor: (Mexico, Ireland, Finland) Neither colony nor empire: (Iran, Thailand), Former empire & not colony: (China, Russia)

8 Elite factional interests: Party, economic, military & religious factions 4 Decades of transnational organization: World & regional governments: (UN, EU, WTO); International civil society: (Red Cross A mnesty Intl).

Figure 32.3  A global view of receiving and sending country regimes and policies 408

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Janoski tests the impact of national laws with a barrier to naturalization index representing various regimes, and left party power combined with Green coalition influences. The results from 1980 to 2007 for 18 countries show that both institutionalized regimes and left political power have significant and independent effects on increasing both naturalization rates and a nationality rate that combines naturalizations and jus soli births. In other words, left party power has an effect in creating an inviting environment even when one takes into account the impact of their creation of new naturalization laws. Sara Goodman (2014) presents a similar argument based on a smaller number of European countries (sometimes 15, but mainly six). She is especially concerned with arguing against the convergence theory that says all countries seek a more liberal set of naturalization policies. Her explanatory factors are institutions (sometimes referred to as “regimes” but other times as “initial institutional contexts”) and political party power with attention given to coalitions and contingent factors. She presents only two regimes – liberal and restrictive regimes – and makes a static comparison between 1997 and 2013. Her main point is that regime structures and political party power combine to explain how European politics have produced restrictive naturalization laws (but she does not analyze naturalization rates). A major innovation is that she shows how left parties are either somewhat free or highly constrained in liberal or restrictive regimes, as are right parties facing similar but opposite constraints.7 Though focused on a more recent and in some ways divergent period, her causal forces are somewhat similar to those of Janoski (2010). Maarten Vink and Ranier Bauböck (2013) take a much larger sample of 28 countries in the EU. They use a rigorous clustering method on 12 variables to delineate a two-by-two table based on ethno-cultural and territorial inclusion. Their classification is: (a) territorially selective regimes (low ethno-cultural, high territorial score) with strong jus soli and dual nationality (e.g., UK, Netherlands, Sweden); (b) expansive regimes (high, high) with strong jus soli and dual nationality (e.g., Portugal, Greece and Romania); (c) ethno-culturally selective regimes (high, low) with strong jus sanguinis and selective dual nationality (e.g., Germany, Latvia, Slovakia); and (d) insular regimes (low, low) with weak jus soli, no dual nationality, and restrictive naturalization (e.g., Austria, Denmark and Switzerland). This typology is useful in differentiating Goodman’s approach of liberal and restrictive regimes; however, it is largely descriptive of the nationality laws themselves and supplies little in the way of causal mechanisms.8 The second area of global naturalization involves transnational identity or cosmopolitan naturalization, and it applies to international citizens, usually those with considerable property and wealth. Aihwa Ong (1999) studies the cultural logics of well-off Asians and their strategies vis-à-vis global economic and political processes, which have intensified with easier travel, near instant internet communication, and expanded mass media. These forces have created a transnational public among Asian investors who see themselves as part of many different nation-states, often hedging their bets about where instabilities might occur and where new opportunities could emerge. Ong (2006) then connects these “mutations of citizenship” with neoliberalism. Thus, new strategies of immigration and naturalization have blended together with capital accumulation to produce a transnational class of citizens. These strategies then expand over generations beyond dual or triple citizenship, with children and relatives becoming citizens of many countries so that if one country goes bad politically or economically, these investors can find a safe haven with their strategically placed children throughout the world. David Cook-Martin (2013) investigates naturalization in Argentina with a return orientation. While states often view dual citizenship with suspicion, in hard times, citizens of one state may search their roots to obtain citizenship in another state based on their parents’ or grandparents’ original citizenship in other countries. He analyzes immigration and nationality laws 409

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in Argentina, Italy and Spain since the mid-19th century to show that political and economic dynamics have shaped how people feel about their security. An erosion of rights and privileges in Argentina caused some people to also seek citizenship in Spain, Italy or Germany, even if they and their parents have never lived there. Obtaining a second citizenship gives them an escape hatch in case things go bad in Argentina, and allows them to hedge their bets about where they might live if things deteriorate. But from the state’s perspective, there have emerged some more blatant aspects of transnational citizenship. First, the US government has been offering legal or illegal immigrants who enter the military since 2002 an expedited citizenship process, which has led to citizenship ceremonies in war zones (Preston 2009; Amaya 2013; Plascencia 2009). If the non-citizen soldiers die on duty, or especially in combat, they are given retroactive citizenship, which may benefit their grieving families.9 Second, some countries will actually sell citizenship. Austria and Cyprus will offer citizenship for €10 million or €2.5 million, respectively. For $250,000, St. Kitts and Nevis, Antigua, Barbuda, and for $100,000, Dominica will offer citizenship for much less money (The Economist 2013; Sachar and Bauböck 2014). Portugal has a “Golden Residence Permit” that is not quite citizenship but is, nonetheless, highly attractive (Zantovsky 2014). Third, Canada and the US offer special naturalization programs to investors who invest a large amount of money into the country. The Canadian approach has been in effect the longest time since it responded to the turn-over of Hong Kong to the Chinese government in the 1990s. The US eventually followed suit with a smaller program. In both instances, the numbers of investors being naturalized or offered citizenship is quite small. Nonetheless, there are very serious ethical questions about these “state-self-interested” sales of citizenship and national identity (Sachar and Bauböck 2014).

Conclusion Nationality and naturalization are not a simple result of immigration but, rather, are complex political institutional processes in themselves. Naturalization rates can be viewed as a narrow measure of naturalization, or with a much broader concept of nationality rates by including jus soli births that give a fuller viewpoint on overall national integration. Given these two measures, the explanations of micro-interactionist and macro-processes have made much progress in the last ten years. Micro-studies have a long trail of evidence, but they are expanding to a broader array of receiver countries and may change substantively in the future. Macro-approaches have a shorter history, but with their recent success explaining naturalization they face the challenge of integrating individual-level analysis to back up their claims. Changes in naturalization requirements are quite political, religious and ethnic in their causes. The Cold War led to a 1963 treaty that restricted dual citizenship so that opposing countries would know exactly which people would fight as their soldiers. But in the new millennium, a major effort at dual (triple or even more) nationality began and pressures mounted for opening up nationality. Globalization produced some emphasis on transnational citizenship, and the study of transnational, post-national or cosmopolitan citizenship is booming (Bloemraad et al. 2008; Ong 1999, 2006; Bauböck 1994). World and global citizenship are seemingly possible. But since the recent spate of terrorist violence with 9/11 and subsequent wars, integration measures in many countries have produced a renewed tendency toward closure through language tests and proof of social integration (Goodman 2014; Hansen 2008). As the current British Prime Minister Theresa May has said: “If you believe that you are a citizen of the world, you’re a citizen of nowhere.” She went on to say, “You don’t understand what the very word ‘citizenship’ means” 410

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(The Economist 2016: 52; Wooldridge 2016). And there are plenty of cosmopolitans who believe exactly the opposite. It will be interesting to see where these trends will lead naturalization in the next few decades, as naturalization and nationality rates open, close and further evolve.

Notes 1 The UK, Australia and Ireland have restricted jus soli, but the numbers are still substantial. The first two countries restricted jus soli to settled immigrants, and Ireland required that the mother be in the country for a number of years for the child to be considered a citizen. 2 From 1978 to 1987, 41.8% of all the immigrants admitted from ten Hispanic and Asian countries naturalized. However, this figure conceals major differences. For example, while 61.7% of Filipino and 65.4% of Vietnamese immigrants naturalized, only 18.2% of Mexican immigrants did so (Woodrow-Lafield 2004). Further, in a PEW study, Gonzalez-Barrera et al. (2013) find that 69% to 61% of legal Mexican immigrants from 2000 to 2011 are not US citizens. 3 Reasons to naturalize differ according to whether the questions allow the respondent to say any reason to the question being restricted to a fixed number of reasons. Aptekar finds that open ended questions produced: 46% voting, 44% travel, 32% jobs, and only 6% “want to be an American.” Closed-ended questions were 86% voting, 72% travel, and 58% jobs, and 28% sponsoring family (2015: 74). 4 It may also be that new citizens from small immigrant groups (i.e., Finns or Russians) might not experience the feelings of solidarity with the US that large numbers of immigrants go through during the ceremonies (i.e., Mexicans or Chinese). 5 The Schengen area refers to the EU agreement of June 1985 to gradually abolish border checks within the EU member states. Only the UK and Ireland opted out, so the Schengen regime type refers to mostly the continental EU countries. Three non-EU countries joined: Norway in 1996, Iceland in 1996, and Switzerland in 2009. However, in 2016, border controls were temporarily introduced in seven Schengen countries. Three newly admitted states have yet to join in. 6 Indigenous decline is Janoski’s (2010) measure of settler countries based on the decline of indigenous population (e.g., US Indians and Inuit, Scandinavian Sami, Australian Aboriginals, New Zealand Maori, etc.), which then allows Europeans to immigrate to the settler countries. 7 Goodman (2014: Chapter 2) does an extensive comparison of indices of naturalization laws (Koopmans et al.’s ICRI index, the European Observatory MIPEX index, Janoski’s Barrier (BNI) index) before settling on her own CIVIX index for 15 countries. These issues are too complex to be considered in this chapter, but see Helbling (2016) for a detailed comparison. 8 Costica Dumbrava (2014: 159) also analyzes 36 countries but scrutinizes the more exceptional aspects of naturalization: unrestricted rules of jus sanguinis abroad, unequal jus soli, discretionary naturalization, asymmetric dual nationality, preferential naturalization for ethnic relatives, and discriminatory loss of citizenship. His focus is partly on the laws but mostly on a normative theory of citizenship. 9 This is not as new as one might think. After World War I, 128,335 military personnel were naturalized in 1919, and about the same number were naturalized during World War II. In 1996 after the Gulf, Somalian, and Bosnian wars, 115,409 military personnel were naturalized. Levels since 2010 have been about 8,000 per year (US-CIS 2015).

References Aleinikoff, T. A. and Klusmeyer, D. (eds.) (2000). From migrants to citizens: Membership in a changing world. Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for Peace. Amaya, H. (2013). Citizenship excess: Latino/as, media, and the nation. New York: New York University Press. Anil, M. (2007). Explaining the naturalization practices of Turks in Germany in the wake of the Citizenship Reform of 1999. Ethnic and Migration Studies 33: 1363–1376. Aptekar, S. (2015). The road to citizenship: What naturalization means for immigrants and the United States. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Baldwin-Edwards, M. (1991). Immigration after 1992. Policy and Politics 19(3): 199–211. Balistreri, K. and van Hook, J. (2004). The more things change the more they stay the same: Mexican naturalization before and after welfare reform. International Migration Review 38(1): 113–130. Bauböck, R. (1994). Transnational citizenship. Aldershot, UK: Edward Elgar. 411

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33 Asian migrations and the evolving notions of national community Yuk Wah Chan

Migration has become one of the most significant factors that bring about social transformation. On the one hand, migration has led to many of the changes in the constitution of the nation’s population, culture, ethnicity and social classes. On the other hand, it also creates new issues of governance that transgress national borders. For example, to what extent does the state have a right of control over national subjects dwelling abroad, and in what manner should the state connect to overseas national communities? In short, migrations across borders create two conditions: increasingly diverse populations within national boundaries and expanding emigrant communities beyond national borders. This chapter will examine various cases in Asia regarding the impacts of migration on population diversity and migrant–host relationships. It also will explore evolving state–diaspora relationships, and how these overall changes mark a new phase for our understanding of the nation, the state and national identity.

Asia on the move Asia is both an important sending and receiving region of international migration. It now produces the greatest number of international migrants among all regions in the world. Of the 244 million international migrants in 2015, 104 million were migrants from Asia, which make up around 43 percent of all international migrants. Europe produces 62 million migrants, the

Table 33.1  Number of international migrants by region of origin, 2000 and 2015 (by millions) Region

2000

2015

Asia Europe Latin America and the Caribbean Africa Northern America Oceania

68 52 26 23 3 1

104 62 37 34 4 2

Source: UN DESA 2016: 15.

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second largest number of migrants, which is 42 million less than that from Asia. While Europe is still the region hosting the most international migrants, Asia’s migrant stock was only 1 million less than that of Europe (76 million in Europe and 75 million in Asia). The growth rate of the number of international migrants from Asia is particularly high, an increase of 53 percent in 15 years (from 68 million in 2000 to 104 million in 2015) compared to 19 percent in Europe (52 million in 2000 to 62 million in 2015) and 33 percent in North America (3 million in 2000 to 4 million in 2015) (UN DESA, 2016).

Supermobility in Asia Observing the figures above, there seems no denying that we are witnessing an extremely mobile Asia. With the most migrants and the fastest average annual growth rate of migrant stock (at 2.8 percent per year) (UN DESA, 2016), we can say that Asia is now a region of supermobility. This is not only because of the enormous number of people crossing borders every year, but also because many migrants in this region move multiple times in their lifetime. With the acceleration of the feminization of migration, women constitute 48 percent of overall migrants to the Asia-Pacific region and 44 percent of emigrants from the region (UN DESA, 2013 cited in Sijapati, 2015). The majority of these migrants moved within the Asia-Pacific region (around 15.8 million out of the 31 million women migrants in the region) (Sijapati, 2015). Indeed, female labor migration has been a major component of the migration landscape in Asia. The majority of them are low- and semi-skilled workers, taking up jobs in the domestic, hospitality, health and care, garment and entertainment sectors (UN Women, 2013 cited in Sijapati, 2015). Many of them migrated multiple times to different countries on contract terms of fixed periods. It is common to see these women migrant workers take multiple migration paths. Return and circular migration (frequent flows between home and the same destination) is also a prominent form of migration in Asia. Many Asians migrated through study, professions and investment; yet, they return to home countries soon after they secure a citizenship abroad (Ho and Lin, 2014; Sussman, 2011; Ley and Kobayashi, 2005). The reason for return is often new and promising economic growth at home and better job or investment opportunities. After all, Asia is at present the growth engine of the world, with the strong economies of China, China-Hong Kong (HK) subregion, Vietnam, Thailand and India providing valuable investment markets. As I have remarked elsewhere, return migration is particularly salient in Asia (Chan et al., 2015). Many Asian emigrants are susceptible to political and economic conditions. While they might not be happy about the political situation at home, they are also “sensitive” to economic changes and opportunities. These factors motivate returning and leaving and are the leading causes for multiple homeward migrations. Many Asian countries, both developed and developing, have policies of recruiting overseas subjects back to their home of origin. These include China, HK, South Korea, Vietnam, the Philippines, Indonesia, India, Pakistan and Taiwan (Agunias and Newland, 2012; also see Gamlen, 2008).

Superdiversity within Asia? Despite the fact that a number of Asian nations entertain conceptions of monoculture and racial homogeneity and have been dominated by a majority ethnic group, migration has made it difficult for these nations to maintain such ideas, as populations within their national boundaries have become increasingly diverse. On the other hand, although some Asian countries or city-states are well-recognized migrant societies, with the ongoing phenomenon of incoming migrants, diversity of population has changed. 417

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Vertovec (2007) has coined the term “superdiversity” to examine the kind of diverse population compositions found in the UK. Almost all countries in the UK have a combination of immigrants from around the world, making them extremely rich in cultures, religions and peoples. Yet, overall, the migrant stock of the UK, according to World Bank data, was at 13.2 percent in 2015. In the world’s largest immigrant destination country, the US, 14.5 percent of its current population was born abroad. On the other hand, Australia and Canada have become two significant destination countries, with migrant stock having grown to 28.2 percent and 21.8 percent, respectively (World Bank, 2015). What about Asia? A number of Asian states and regions are well-recognized migrant societies. Singapore’s migrant stock stood at 45.4 percent, while that of HK was 38.9 percent (World Bank, 2015; also see Chan, 2014a). Many of their incoming migrants are co-ethnic migrants. The largest category of migrants in both HK and Singapore is Chinese from mainland China (Singapore Ministry of Manpower, 2016; also see Ho, 2014; Koh, 2014). Consider also Japan and South Korea, the two advanced Northeast Asian countries. Although their migrant percentages are still lower than many other places, their migrant population has significantly increased over the past two decades, mostly arriving from other parts of Asia, including co-ethnic migrants. However, inter-regional and co-ethnic migrations do not mean easier settlement and smoother incorporation for migrants. Various Asian states have been working on their idiosyncratic multicultural trajectories. The following section will provide discussions on different subregional cases.

Diversity and multiculturalism in Asia Ongoing and accelerating movements of Asians have inevitably increased cultural and ethnic diversity in many Asian countries. Despite the conception that many state authorities and the public in East Asian countries entertain the idea of ethnic homogeneity within their own boundaries, “foreign members” within a rapidly diversifying population have resulted in ongoing difficulties challenging the sustainability of such a model or ideal type of nation as a homogeneous community.

Japan and South Korea Japan and South Korea are advanced states in Northeast Asia that are each dominated by a majority ethnic group and entertain the idea of cultural homogeneity. Yet, these countries increasingly witness the impacts of migration on their population and face the challenges posed by immigrants. Since the late 1980s, and especially in the two decades following, Japan received a large number of foreign workers, cross-border wives and students through different schemes of migration. Japan experienced great growth in the number of immigrants due to an amendment to the “Immigration Control and Refugee Recognition Act” in 1989 (Mori, 1997; Komai, 1995). Although its aim was to recruit more highly skilled professionals to maintain Japan’s competitiveness in the global economy, many unskilled immigrants entered Japan during the same period (Korekawa, 2015). This made Japan turn from a country of emigration before the 1980s into a country of immigration. In addition, a particular policy recruiting foreigners of Japanese descent to work as low- or semi-skilled labor in Japanese factories was promulgated in the late 1980s. These migrants were mainly from the overseas Japanese communities in Brazil and Peru (Tsuda, 2003, 2007). Since the mid-1980s, Japan has also imported a large number of marriage migrants due to a shortage of local brides. A low fertility rate among the population was a 418

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grave concern, thus making Japan one of the major Asian destinations recruiting foreign female migrants of reproductive age. From 1984 to 2010, the number of women of reproductive age multiplied by 3.8 times (from 213,658 to 806,803), and the number of Japanese men married to a foreign wife increased by 3.3 times during that period (Yamauchi, 2015: 24–26). In 2015, the number of foreign residents totaled 2.23 million (Nippon.com, 2016). The three largest foreign groups are the Chinese, Koreans and Filipinos. All prefectures but one in Japan saw an increase in foreign residents, with most of them dwelling in Tokyo (Nippon.com, 2016). Similar to Japan, South Korea has also received a large number of low-skilled laborers, foreign students and spouses since the 1990s. Its foreign residents increased from around 135,551 in 1960 to approaching 400,000 in 1997 and to slightly over 1.9 million in 2016 (Korea Times, 2016). The largest group of migrants is from China (with a majority of them being Korean Chinese), followed by Americans and Vietnamese. Around 40 percent of the immigrants in South Korea are foreigners of Korean ethnicity (mainly from the northern part of China), 30 percent are labor migrants and 15 percent are marriage migrants (Lee, 2017; also see Lee and Kim, 2017; Lim, 2009). Both Japan and Korea have relied on a large number of low-skilled migrant workers for the sustainability of their economies. However, not unlike the immigration policies of a number of countries in the West, Japan and South Korea mainly discriminate against the inclusion of lowskilled migrant workers. Because these workers are subject to the conditions of period-specific contract terms, they would not be able to attain citizenship in either country. Policies over the past two decades have been improved, but there are deliberations to deny low-skilled migrant workers to settle (Haines and Lim, 2014: 35–36). On the other hand, unlike most Western countries, immigrant spouses of local people are still subject to discriminatory measures. In Japanese and Korean logic, marriage migrants are considered valuable because they are potential parents of future citizens. As Haines notes, marriage migrants’ attainment of full citizenship is “a refraction through parenthood” (Haines, 2014: 21; also see Kim, 2017; Kim et al., 2014). Due to immigration and the changing composition of populations, academic discussions about multiethnicity and cultural diversity in Japan and South Korea have been on the rise. The concept of multiculturalism is also increasingly popularized in public discourses and statesponsored activities, even though its meaning is subject to various interpretations. Haines (2014) has discussed the issue of cultural diversity in Japan and South Korea. One of their imminent concerns is how to tackle the increased cultural and social diversity that migration has brought. When considering immigrants coming from a broad range of countries, cultures and social backgrounds, the public and government authorities of both South Korea and Japan have found it harder to entertain the idea of a single ethno-nation. Haines and Lim (2014) have examined the rise of discursive support and policy change in South Korea with the enhanced commonality of the term Damunhwa—multiculturalism. The word, which literally means many cultures, has since the 1990s been used increasingly to stand for the coming together of people and cultures from different places. Through the popularization of such a concept and related discourses, as well as an award program launched by mainstream media and supported by the government to award talented schoolchildren from multiethnic backgrounds, South Korean society seems to have embraced a societal milieu of mixed cultures and ethnic diversity. No matter how superficial such a program and discourses might be, honoring talented interracial children as role models for young South Koreans in general and celebrating multiculturalism in social discourse have brought new awareness and social consensus in accepting a mixture of cultures. Efforts have also been made toward including the concept of multiculturalism in school teaching and revised textbooks. 419

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In Japan, there is no denial that obstacles still exist for foreigners or non-Japanese migrants to attain permanent citizenship. Nevertheless, increasingly more people are now getting longterm or permanent citizenship; it is especially so among marriage migrants and those born out of intercultural marriage. The number of Filipinos, for example, grew substantially during the 1990s and 2000s, from 12,261 in 1995 to 209,373 in 2011. Many (99,609) have already gained permanent resident status, or have long-term resident status (39,331) (Takahata, 2015: 100). Although migrants may be able to obtain permanent residence in Japan through different channels, much of the social atmosphere and culture does not readily provide easy pathways for immigrants to assimilate. Regardless of the ethnicity of the migrants (Japanese or non-Japanese), many have experienced discrimination and exclusion. Yamanaka and Akiba (2014) studied immigrant wives (mainly Filipinas) in Akita Prefecture in northeastern Japan where there is a concentration of foreign spouses from China, South Korea and the Philippines. Using the concept of “local citizenship,” Yamanaka and Akiba examine an alternative form of citizenship—“how local governments and organizations grant recognition and socio-political rights to immigrants and take them as legitimate members of local communities” (Tsuda, 2006, cited in Yamanaka and Akiba, 2014: 62). To many of these foreign wives, social incorporation is not merely a process for gaining formal status, but a long process of gaining an equal footing with the locals. To enhance the local community’s acceptance of their presence, many foreign spouses have become involved in political mobilization and organized activism through formal associations and informal networks. Indeed, social transformation brought by migration has made a different “national community” within these advanced Asian countries. Despite the serious manner with which they have been trying to tackle interracial relationships (The Diplomat, 2014), various policy changes and the discursive formation of multiculturalism have brought varied impacts, sometimes even leading to consequences that “run counter to the original intention” (Watson, 2012: 233) and sustain ethnic divisions. Others critique that an overload of such discussion has resulted in what some call “multicultural fatigue” in the society (Lee, 2017). Both Japan and South Korea are states with strong traditions of monoculture and a belief in pure race; the recognition of diversity in the country needs time to develop, and people need time to adjust (to diversity) (Kim, 2017; Kim, 2014). As stipulated by Haines and Lim (2014: 40): This Korean case has rather interesting implications both for comparative analysis within East Asia . . . and more broadly with North American and Europe . . . which may, at times, reflect the previous experience of more migration-based societies, but which may, at other times, reflect the different trajectories of how migration and diversity are rewoven into social values and policy responses. The Korean case furthermore suggests that multiculturalism—however defined and however translated—is reordering even countries that still have quite limited immigration. . . . The very flux in the use of the term multicultural, after all, shows fluidity and change, and thus potentially progress.

HK and Singapore Both HK and Singapore are well-recognized migrant cities with a large number of international and cross-border migrants. HK is “traditionally” a city formed by migrants from mainland China; its colonial history under the British regime has marked it as different from the rest of China. HK continued to take in mainland Chinese migrants after 1997 (the year when the sovereignty of HK was returned to China), with a mainland migration policy under which a

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daily quota of 150 immigrants is allowed. Since 1997, other mainlander in-taking programs have been launched by the HKSAR government in order to recruit elite and highly educated talent from China (Chan and Ko, 2014). In addition, HK has had around 400,000 migrants arriving from different parts of Asia, including over 300,000 temporary migrant workers from the Philippines and Indonesia, and around 63,000 South Asians (HKCSD, 2017). The HK government has upheld the policy of multiculturalism for some time and often claims the name “World City in Asia” to boost its image as an international city with mixed cultures. However, with the slogan (if not jargon) East meeting West, what is mostly stressed is Chinese culture (such as its food and festivities), and the definition of “East” is, almost by default, “the Chinese” (see, e.g., HKTB, 2017). Seldom are other Asian cultures represented in public discourses and promotions. Despite various efforts to make services available and friendly to minority groups, many ethnic minorities still experience discrimination. South and Southeast Asian minorities are often the most neglected as well as the most discriminated against group in many different ways (Ku et al., 2010). Thus, Erni and Leung (2014) have argued that one needs to read critically into the discourse of multiculturalism implemented and understood by the locals and the public sector to promote the meaningful integration of minority populations. Even more acute is the fact that it is not only people of different ethnicities and foreign cultures who have such experiences, but migrants of the same ethnicity as the majority of the host society have them as well. Despite HK’s identity as an immigrant city originally composed of early migrants from China, HK is also one of a number of notorious ports that long held discriminatory practices against ethnic Chinese from China (Ku, 2004; Law and Lee, 2006). The so-called new immigrants (mainly Chinese mainlanders who moved to HK after 1980) are largely seen as country bumpkins, poor and ignorant, by the self-proclaimed city sophisticates of HK. Chinese migrants are also regarded as having come to HK to exploit HK’s social welfare and other resources, such as its medical services and public housing. Even though the reality has changed since 2000, and many mainland migrants are now from the middle class and newly rich, the people of HK are still highly reluctant to embrace new immigrants from China. Part of the so-called HK–China tension encompasses disapproval of new Chinese immigrants by other HK residents (Chan, 2014b). In Southeast Asia, Singapore encountered a similar situation. Since the 1980s, Singapore has witnessed an increasing number of migrants from the PRC (People’s Republic of China) (Yeoh and Lin, 2012). Despite the fact that these migrants speak Mandarin and are of the same ethnic origin as the majority of the population in Singapore, open conflicts and public antagonism have erupted between ethnic Chinese from the PRC and the people of Singapore. With a majority population of ethnic Chinese and two important minority populations (Indians and Malays), Singapore has long held a national tradition of cultural diversity, tolerance and social harmony, and promotes itself as a multiracial country. A small country with a strong economy, Singapore relies heavily on foreign talents and the importation of low- and semi-skilled workers. In mid2017, Singapore had a total foreign workforce of 1,374,900 people, including 243,100 foreign domestic workers and 296,700 people holding work permits for construction (Singapore Ministry of Manpower, 2017). The inflow of migrants from the PRC since the 1980s has generated new social cleavages between local Chinese Singaporeans and the new Chinese immigrants. The Singapore government condemns the distancing of local Singaporean Chinese from mainland Chinese immigrants as xenophobic; yet, the attitude of local Singaporeans toward incoming Chinese seems to tell a more complex story of differentiation within the diaspora of the same ethnic group. As pointed out by Jason Lim (2014), this is a reaction of

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one Chinese community toward another such community . . . Chinese in Singapore have taken a divergent route from that of the Chinese in the PRC . . . [T]he Chinese in Singapore may be an imagined community marking itself out from the ethnic Chinese from the PRC, but the distinction was born out of nationalism, government policy and geo-politics during the Cold War. (Lim, 2014: 355) The above discussion of the HK and Singapore cases can be understood as a different path of management of Chineseness within diaspora communities, resulting in a distinctive segregation of the old and new Chinese migrant communities. Long-term residents regard new Chinese migrants from the PRC as a group of Chinese somehow behaving and thinking quite differently from other groups of Chinese in the greater Chinese diaspora. Another story of differentiation between co-ethnic groups will be discussed below.

Taiwan and China China and Taiwan appear in many political discussions and political studies. Yet, migration studies seldom consider them together (see Chan and Koh, 2018). While China has never recognized Taiwan as a separate state, in reality migrations between China and Taiwan have evidenced the “political” and territorial boundaries between the two. Chinese marriage migrants from the PRC to Taiwan have increased continuously since the 1990s, and these marriage migrants are considered “foreign” spouses of Taiwanese (National Immigration Agency of Taiwan, 2014). On the other hand, Taiwanese businesspeople and students are well aware of their own different identity and the “transnational” contexts of their living in China, which further shape their identity. The migration flows between China and Taiwan inform us about the disruption of state discourses influenced by ruling elites’ wishful political thinking for political continuity. Yet, real-life and migration processes provide testimony for many who believe that Taiwan has developed and taken a different path distinct from that of mainland China. The longer Taiwanese migrants (both investors and students) stay in China, the more they have felt such a difference (see Lan and Wu, 2016; Lan, 2018).

Summing up The above subregional cases aim to expand readers’ imagination about possible social transformation brought about by migration and the making and remaking of national communities through migration. The imagination of a national community as one race may no longer stand with the rapid advance of globalization and transnational migration. How one should understand the cultural/ethnic/national label of Chinese, Japanese, Hongkongers or Koreans may begin to take a different shape when a country starts to take in migrants from elsewhere. Static versus evolving images of a nation should be of imminent interest for researchers in migration as well as political studies. The above cases also provide testimony to the possible changing essence of one ethnicity. Different development paths have resulted in very different Chinese communities. Local Chinese in Singapore, HK or Taiwan might not readily accept Chinese migrants. This requires us to explore further the concept of superdiversity within Asia, which should encompass the question of how differentiation and diversity have become ways to understand interethnic relations through migration (Kweon, 2014; Koh, 2014; Chan, 2014b, 2007; Tsuda, 2003). 422

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Evolving state–diaspora relations Besides handling an increasingly diverse population within national boundaries, state authorities are now also tackling a large number of national “subjects” theoretically beyond its control since these people are “off-boundaries,” dwelling abroad. There has been an expanding literature on state–diaspora relations, contributing to the discussions and new perspectives on state power, governance and the new political landscape of the modern state apparatus in the age of migration. Indeed, many have shown how the sovereign state (especially among developing countries) tries to engage diaspora populations in national development trajectories. The material aspects of the diaspora, in view of the large sum of remittances and investment funds available from within overseas national communities, have often tempted nation-states to court the interests of overseas subjects. Diaspora policies and the rise of diaspora institutions and mechanisms are evidence of the eagerness of state authorities to facilitate the funneling of capital back to home countries from abroad as well as to draw the interests of overseas national talent to bring their knowledge and skills back home. Much has been discussed about governments’ pursuit of material interests, and this is particularly true for those in the developing South, which relies heavily on migrants’ remittances and return investments for development. Some have developed new theories of state–diaspora relations and noted how migrationdriven governance matters extend “domestic politics across international borders” and “transform and complicate conventional understandings of place, power and identity” (Délano and Gamlen, 2014: 47). Gamlen (2008) uses the concept of “the emigration state” to analyze how many states in the world have established systemic institutions and mechanisms and have formulated policies to reach out across borders to engage the diaspora and constitute “extra-territorial groups as members of a loyal diaspora” (2008: 840). Comparing over 60 states across the globe, Gamlen finds that the majority has, to different extents, some kind of bureaucratic structure administering expatriates, and many have extended extensive rights to such national communities beyond the state borders. To complicate the picture of changing state–diaspora relations, we must also take into consideration the perspectives from below—i.e., the perspectives of the migrants. We also need to be aware of the diversity among diaspora communities and their various attitudes toward the origin state. While, in general, inclusive policies are welcomed by overseas co-ethnics, not all would actively respond to the engaging policies of the state. Some may even show hostility toward such diaspora engagement schemes and criticize those who respond to such overtures by the home country. Valverde (2012) has examined the internal divisions within the Vietnamese diaspora in the US; some are ideologically hostile to one another. While the anti-communist extremists may oppose assisting the Vietnamese Communist Party in any manner, many overseas Vietnamese have returned to Vietnam and contributed to its economic development with their professional knowledge and money. Some have actually influenced state policies and local conditions (such as labor rights and social welfare) in Vietnam. Valverde has provided evidence to show that diaspora communities are not of one voice but use complex paths to connect to the origin country alongside the various politico-economic changes in Vietnam. In a nutshell, neither state nor diaspora are static entities. By looking into the dynamic relationships between overseas subjects and the state of origin, one can better understand how migration and cross-border mobility have continued to shape the development at home and how the origin country has been transnationalized due to the active involvement of overseas nationals. To provide a more focused discussion, I would like to use the case of China to illustrate some important issues concerning shifting state–diaspora relations. 423

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China in focus Differentiated Chinese diasporas Communist China once strictly controlled its people’s mobility. After the implementation of the opening-up and reform policy in 1978, it began to loosen such control. The amount of outflow migration has increased ever since the 1980s. As Xiang (2016) has noted, from a country restricting emigration, China has become one of the world’s leading source countries of migrants, producing 10 million in the last three decades, around 4 percent of the world’s migrants. Unlike the traditional Chinese diaspora, which is mainly comprised of migrants from the southern provinces (including Guangdong, Fujian and Hainan), contemporary migrants are of very diverse regional, class and social backgrounds. Yet, highly skilled and wealthy individuals are more likely to migrate than are average persons in China. One noticeable trend is the increase in investment emigration—wealthy individuals putting a sum of money elsewhere (up to the minimum requirement of the destination country) to obtain residency abroad. In 2014, among all investor immigrants in the US, 85 percent originated from China (Xiang, 2016). Regarding two generalized categories, an increasing number of Chinese international migrants are highly skilled and economically well-off (Guo and Iredale, 2015; Dai et al., 2011; Zhang, 2003). However, one must take into consideration the diversity within the Chinese diaspora. One mistaken view that is taken for granted in the study of overseas Chinese communities is that they are homogeneous (Wee and Chan, 2006). With the addition of the new Chinese migrants (composed of those who emigrated from China since the 1980s), the Chinese diasporas overall have become ever more diversified and variegated. As argued by Guo and Iredale (2015: 5), there are now many “diasporas.” Having the largest diaspora in the world, the Chinese co-ethnics are of very different social backgrounds and of varied migration histories. Their imagined “national community” can be very different too. Many who study the traditional Chinese diasporic communities have pointed out that, rather than imagining mainland China as their homeland, the Chinese diasporas in and beyond Asia nourish different senses of Chineseness. As stipulated by Kuehn, Louie and Pomfret (2013: 2), “diasporic Chinese have been making a special contribution within the realm of culture to a reimagining of the nation, national consciousness, and national identity in the last quarter of a century.” The “Chinese in diaspora” tend to identify with a “cultural China,” rather than a territory-based China (Tu, 1991).

China reaching out to overseas subjects The communist regime of China has a tradition of extending its influence over its overseas national communities. During the socialist transformation period, China called upon patriotic overseas Chinese to return to China to help in the construction of New China. Regretfully, however, many returnees found it hard to adapt to the harsh environment and were embittered by the surveillance and ideological marginalization they experienced during the Cultural Revolution. As a result, hundreds of thousands of them fled China when they got a chance in the 1970s (Peterson, 2012). Under the leadership of Deng Xiaoping and his opening-up and reform policy, the Chinese authority corrected the ideologically driven biases against overseas Chinese and began to welcome these people. Capital from overseas Chinese communities was the fastest channel to obtain the necessary funds to push forward Deng’s “reform and opening-up” trajectory. To draw the interest of the diaspora, China’s “overseas Chinese work” (qiaowu gongzuo) was said 424

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to enter a new phase. This period of “overseas Chinese” policies created a successful model for later diaspora engagement policies, since over 90 percent of the investment funds in the special economic zone in Shenzhen in the 1980s came from HK, the overseas diaspora city inhabited mostly by migrants from China and their descendants (Liu and van Dongen, 2016). What is important to note is that with the continuous out-migration of the talented and the rich since the 1980s, the PRC authorities have had to face the serious challenges of brain drain and capital outflow. Thus, since the late 1990s, the Chinese government has deployed new efforts for engaging overseas Chinese, especially targeting the new Chinese diaspora—i.e., those who migrated after China’s “opening-up and reform.” Its diaspora engagement policies have turned their focus on “recruiting global talents of Chinese ethnicity, especially those new migrants who were born and grew up in China, and who share cultural and (sometimes) political identities with compatriots in the mainland.” China’s “overseas Chinese work” has become an integral part of the national trajectory to realize the “Chinese Dream” of economic modernization, scientific and technological innovation, and cultural revival (Ding, 2015; Xiang, 2016). Illustrating the different levels of government and semi-governmental institutions responsible for overseas Chinese work, Liu and van Dongen (2016: 820) particularly stress that the co-optation of diaspora is a trajectory that “works closely in tandem with transnational social forces and ethnic networks, which in turn have an impact on the state’s policy preferences and implementation options.” While there is no doubt that migration has been a major force that brings social changes, it is also an important element that shapes governance. As many have already pointed out, contemporary statecraft involves policies and mechanisms that work beyond national borders. “Emigration state,” “transnational governance” and “popular sovereignty” are some of the conceptual terms that help frame such a new political order (Gamlen, 2008; Liu and van Dongen, 2016; Collyer, 2014). Clearly, China is one country that has most successfully employed diasporic resources for national development and for expanding its role in global politics and the economy. It is certainly a good case for exploring into the various effects and roles of the state in initiating diasporic policies and manipulating diasporic resources, and a base for comparative studies in and beyond Asia (Cheng, 2016; Ye, 2014; Délano, 2014; Délano and Gamlen, 2014; Ragazzi, 2014; Fitzgerald, 2006).

National identity, deterritorialization and transnationalism Supermobility has newly impacted the concept of national identity. Basch et al. (1994) provided an early discussion of how mobility and migration affected the notion of state. They stress that migrants do not settle in destinations once and for all, nor are they just transients staying temporarily; many of them instead develop networks, activities, patterns of living and ideologies that span their home and the host society (1994: 4). No longer would a static concept of a territorybounded nation be adequate for our understanding of contemporary life: the multi-level spatial and social fields where today’s mobile populations from different parts of the world dwell, and the flows and ebbs in identity formation. Many have provided evidence that migrants are continuously linking and referencing multiple homes—and their transnational life experiences. As Basch et al. (1994) have argued, bounded social science concepts such as ethnic group, race and nation would limit our ability to understand and analyze the phenomenon of transnationalism. This transnational process of experiencing everyday life is not merely common among migrated families, which connect with each other from two or more countries; it is also actually common among many of the potential migrants who try to identify new sites and destinations for their ongoing migration trajectories. 425

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In this age of migration, migrants may benefit from or find themselves bombarded by different national developmental trajectories and legal systems of different states that directly or indirectly affect their lives. By living their lives across borders, transmigrants find themselves confronted with and engaged in the national process of two or more nation-states . . . their identities and practices are configured by the hegemonic categories such as race and ethnicity that are deeply embedded in the nation-building processes of these nation-states. (Basch et al., 1994: 34) Migrants are often asked to contribute to both country of origin and destination. Such new experiences and transnationalized life experiences will have impacts on migrants’ identity rebuilding. There is nothing new about the claim to fluidity in identity formation. Migration and multiple migration experiences just add to such fluidity. People’s national identity and sense of belonging are subject to ongoing change intertwined with variegated living experiences in different territorial spaces. The relationship between the nation-state and people is thus much more open to this new realm of interrogation. A rigid and static framework of identity and state–subject relation is bound to be more open to critique (Kalir, 2013; Dzenovska, 2013; Chernilo, 2006; Wimmer and Glick-Schiller, 2002). In the context of supermobility, we are aware of how quickly migration has made changes to identity and shaped people’s sense of belonging. People’s route identity (one that is influenced by one’s migration experiences) can sometimes feed their root identity to formulate new views on their home countries. It is well recognized that migration represents “voting by feet,” implying migrants move because of dissatisfaction with the political social conditions at home. In fact, many more nourish such dissatisfaction after their migration due to new experiences and the comparisons they make between home and destination. For example, seeing freedom of speech in HK and liberal democracy in Australia, new migrants from China will begin to reflect on their upbringing in China and become critical of the brainwashing style of education in China and the risks presented by authoritarianism. On the other hand, new contexts can alter or nurture migrants’ sense of belonging when they decide to conduct multiple return trips for either economic engagement or cultural immersion. An increasing number of studies on the returning bands of new Chinese migrants have shown rising Chinese nationalism in different ways (Ding and Koslowski, 2017; Liu and van Dongen, 2106; Ding, 2015; Ho, 2015; Zhao, 2002; Thuno, 2001). Stressing the notion of flows and fluidity of identity construction and mobility, scholars now employ the conception of deterritorialization to describe the process of the separation of culture and identity from the territory-bounded state. Experiences of mobility often unpack classical nationalist discourses and the understanding of identity within a bounded territory. As Ang (2013: 287–8) notes: In other words, the rise to prominence of diasporic discourse is a sign of the decentralization and unsettling of nation-states in the contemporary globalized world. . . . [N]ationstates, as discrete territorial and governmental units within a much larger world of global flows and exchanges, are no longer in full control of the composition of their populations or capable of commanding people’s movements in and out of their territories. All nationstates now have to own up to their internal diversity, often referred to in terms of multiculturalism or pluralism. . . . Diasporas, then, are now an index of the profound unsettling of (national) identities rather than the antithetical pointers to their confirmation. 426

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Contrasting this, multiple migration experiences may also lead to the phenomenon of reterritorialization, especially because of the many return and circular migration pathways undertaken by migrants. As such, deterritorialization and reterritorialization are two co-existent processes resulting from increasingly complex migration patterns. Examples, again, can be cited from the return migrations to China in the context of “the rise of China,” which not only provide numerous economic opportunities of money-making and career development, but also spaces for a new imagination of China (Kuehn et al., 2013: 6–12).

Conclusion: national community—where is it? Rather than sum up various points elaborated above, this conclusion attempts to provide a few ideas for future research and food for reflective thought. Migration and cross-border mobility are certainly major forces that advance social transformation in this new age of migration. Asia, with the world’s largest population and greatest number of international migrants, is surely taking the lead in such a new mobile era. Following the logic of the above arguments, we may arrive at these thoughts: what and where is the national community and how should state and society perceive such a unit when one can no longer clearly define the territory base of this unit? If we are now seeing that the state does not limit its role of governance to national boundaries, but actively extends it beyond its political boundaries, then in what ways should we reconceptualize the nation-state? In the same vein, how should we understand the concept of national identity, which extends even farther as it is mainly a mental construct—especially when people, in theory, are free to disembark from the vehicle of the nation (within a certain boundary of territory) and get on board again at will while anchoring to the “nation” in diaspora? Dual citizenship, multiple homes, frequent trans-border journeys and circular migrations have all marked the age of migration and resulted in rapid crossover of one’s multiple identities and complex living experiences. Such social transformation brought by migration has thus provided myriad opportunities for scholars of migration and mobility as well as political studies to work together in collaborative research and to carry on the debates about the “political” challenges posed by migrants. This kind of research will interrogate the problematic division between the nation in situ and the nation in diaspora, the limits of state power and its governance, and various flows and ebbs affecting one’s identity.

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34 Immigration and education Ramona Fruja Amthor

Historical and intellectual development Education and progress, both personal and social, have been intricately linked in the human imagination and across historical contexts. The link became even more powerful with the introduction of free, open, and eventually compulsory education—for example, from the early days of the “common schools” in the mid-19th-century United States, education has carried tremendous symbolic weight in the national imagination. It connected the gains of an education to personal self-improvement, social mobility as well as the fulfillment and perpetuation of the new republic’s virtues. Such potential eventually engendered previously absent support for publically funded schools from multiple social strata, as each was able to find a relevant promise in this institution. Among these supportive groups were the newest members of society who, ironically, were among the very reasons native-born populations supported free schools that would aid with their integration. Drawing mainly on U.S.-based immigration, this chapter centers on the intersections between immigration and education conceptualized both as a social institution and as lived experience. I position the education of immigrants in historical context as well as in the context of assimilation and integration theories, emphasizing the relationship between education and aspects of inequality and social reproduction. After a brief overview of the historical development in this area of inquiry, I highlight major issues in the field—focusing on immigrant education along several relevant social locations—and subsequent critiques. I conclude with potential areas of future investigation. Newcomers’ history with formal educational institutions in the United States is complex and contested. Historical evidence shows the nuanced relationship immigrants had with schools, being both drawn to their promises of integration and success in the new land, while simultaneously resisting their impositions when these were antagonistic to immigrants’ own values and intentions. This historical relationship records a tension between “coercion and beneficence, between immigrant acquiescence and resistance” (Olneck, 2004, p. 383). Oversimplification of this history may lead to erroneous conclusions about the possibilities of immigrant incorporation through education, both historically and now. For example, despite some common social angst regarding immigrants’ desire to use schools for separatist intentions—and resist linguistic and cultural integration—historical research highlights immigrants’ desire for schools and education 431

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that has been, in fact, consistent. Their contemporary aims for education are not in contrast with a “golden age” of seamless integration that has allegedly ceased to exist in our contemporary fragmented society. On the contrary, immigrants seem to want from education today what they have historically wanted: integration and mobility in the new society along with a fair recognition of their identities (Olneck, 2009). Similarly, interpretations of this history range from the critiques of aggressive Americanization of immigrants through education—portrayed as a compelling force that stripped newcomers of their identities—to the subsequent critiques of thoroughly “bleak” views of American history that overlook education’s genuinely progressive facet that benefited immigrants in their transition and adaptation to the new country. Immigrants’ history with educational institutions, therefore, and their experiences in those contexts highlight essential ideological positions about social progress, national agendas and other issues with important legacy into the present. As immigration sociologist Michael Olneck (2004) has argued, “research on immigrants and education illuminates important societal beliefs and aspirations, responses to social change, prevailing educational policies and practices, and continuous debates about multiculturalism” (p. 381). It is thus an essential scholarly area that addresses perennial issues, albeit a newer one in the longer history of immigration studies. The population of first- and second-generation immigrant children in the United States grew by 51 percent between 1995 and 2014, to 18.7 million, or one-quarter of all U.S. children. The increase in the number of immigrants in educational institutions enriches these institutions and simultaneously poses important questions about how they are to respond. This, however, is far from being a new phenomenon. Indeed, questions about how to address immigrant integration and how schools should participate in the process—as major acculturating, if not assimilating institutions—are long-standing and have coincided with major immigration waves or turning points in the United States, its ideological orientations and economic situation. For example, the middle of the 19th century (with the spread of the “common schools”), the beginning of the 20th (known for its Americanization movement), as well as the “intercultural education” movement between the two world wars and the subsequent multicultural education approaches emerging out the 1960s Civil Rights Movement, all exemplify such recurrent attempts at addressing the education and integration of minorities and immigrants. With the post-1965 immigration and its exponential increase in immigrants of previously banned origins, integration in the social fabric continues to capture policy, public and scholarly debates. Current so-called “dilemmas” over immigrants’ integration simply continue a quintessential narrative in American history. The connection of this national narrative with education became clearer as social science research on immigration and education has emerged more visibly in the last four decades. This new interest was paralleled by the later increase in attention to children and youth in studies of immigration, an interest prompted by the post-1965 immigrants’ descendants (“the new second generation”) and their adaptation (e.g., Kao and Tienda, 1995; Portes and Rumbaut, 2001; Portes and Zhou, 1993; Suárez-Orozco and Suárez-Orozco, 2001). Historical research on immigrants and schools in the United States—although mostly originating in education research and not necessarily immigration research—has focused on the schools’ role in the integrative movements from the common school era of the mid-19th century and through the Americanization movement of early 20th century. Research on how educational institutions respond to immigrants has continued from the historical contexts to contemporary ones, along with interest in immigrant students’ patterns of educational achievement and the newer attention to their divergent experiences with schools. The ethos of the Civil Rights Movement, even if initially focused on native-born minorities, prompted a shift in the focus and tone of research with immigrants in general and with 432

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immigrant youth and students in particular. More research emerged, justified by a sense of concern and care for the needs of immigrants and their well-being in the new society. While initially the value of pre-migration social resources was ignored or denigrated, in the 1970s, scholars paid increased attention to the positive effects of migrants’ social and cultural practices which facilitated their survival and success post-arrival, including interest in education. A fascination with immigrant achievement also emerged in the 1970s, as research studies began to look at academic performance by group, beginning with some attention to cohorts in the early 1900s. Even if these historical studies are considered limited due to data access and variable operationalization—which made it difficult to separate the effects of ethnicity per se from other relevant factors (Olneck, 2004)—these studies found relatively consistent rank ordering in achievement. The children of Northern Europeans were doing as well as native-born white Americans, Eastern European Jews better or the same as native-born white Americans, while non-Jewish central and southern Europeans were at serious disadvantage. Later studies, as Michael Olneck (2004) explains in his historical overview, would account for both structural and cultural factors, because in considering the issues of achievement, “cultural factors do not operate in a vacuum; nor are they impervious to material and historical circumstances” (p. 394). The interest in immigrants’ educational attainment by group continues today, including attention to the intersection of cultural and structural factors, especially since certain groups remain in disadvantaged positions and their prospects at social mobility are thus limited in the newer knowledge-based economy. Studies are increasingly highlighting disconcerting trends, for example, for Latino youth whose dropout rates and lower educational attainment are disproportionally high compared to other groups. Alejandro Portes and Ruben Rumbaut’s ambitious Children of Immigrants Longitudinal Study (CILS) of over 5,000 immigrant youth of seventyseven nationalities in San Diego and Dade County, Florida and the Longitudinal Immigrant Student Adaptation Study (LISA) led by Carola and Marcelo Suárez-Orozco (1997–2002)—as well as other studies, both in the United States and Canada—confirm trends of disproportional achievement across groups. These findings drew attention to important variables for achievement and their uneven distribution across immigrant origins, placing some at higher likelihood of success just as in the historical context: [A]s in historical data, observed variations in school performance and attainment among contemporary immigrant groups to some extent reflect the consequences of differences among groups in socioeconomic status, parental education, parental literacy, parental proficiency in English, nativity and the like. In some cases, observed advantages can be attributed almost entirely to background factors correlated with ethnic group membership. (Olneck, 2004, p. 395) In addition to large-scale patterns of educational attainment as a variable in socio-economic opportunity, newer attention to the lived experiences of immigrant students prompted interest in smaller, focused studies that opened up their experienced worlds both in school and out. Through mixed methods and the possibilities that ethnographic research tools enable, these studies have emphasized the nuances of experience—both positive and challenging—that immigrant youth face (i.e., adaptation and acculturation, language acquisition with the resulting family dynamics; parent–child and peer relationships; school contexts, educational aspirations and achievement as understood by the youth themselves; the importance of gender in differentiated adaptation; the development of identity in light of age maturation coupled with transition to a new society; psychological adjustment and so on). Different patterns of educational adaptation became apparent and important and they were not defined only in terms of performance, but 433

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also in terms of school experiences, raising questions about what schools could do better to respond to immigrants’ evident and less visible educational needs. Many of these relatively recent accounts highlight the complexities of loss and gain involved in immigration. This juxtaposition is a more recent interest, given that less than five decades ago, maintaining and valuing a student’s ethnic heritage and the identities that were shaped by it were not generally a concern of educators. The rise of the Civil Rights Movement, however, along with the U.S. ethnic revival of the 1970s and the increasingly popular post-colonial narratives of resistance and ethnic heritage, have generated an interest in exploring the experience of immigration from more angles than one, including the losses in family relationships, language and identity. Paying special attention to the experiences of the young through extensive, crossdisciplinary research, immigration emerged even more clearly as one of the most stressful human experiences (e.g., Choi, Meininger and Roberts, 2006; Igoa, 1995; Aronowitz, 1984). For example, approximately eighty-five percent experience separation from their families and need to go through the process of reunification and its psychological ramifications. It became increasingly apparent that these complexities are not left outside the classroom door and that schools are often unequipped to address these issues. On the contrary, schools can become complicit in the difficulties experienced by youth in the new country, and the current accumulation of findings, both quantitative and qualitative, provide a clearer understanding of the issues affecting the education of immigrants and their experiences with this process in the United States.

Major claims and developments Education in the context of immigration has to be understood in conjunction with the evolution of sociological theory about immigrant assimilation and its variants. The early centrality of the assimilationist model (Gordon, 1964; Park, 1950) carried very important implications for the role of education, given that educational success was meant to offer, at least in part, the means for that upward assimilation and acculturation. Historical analyses of schools do point to ways in which they facilitated this process and were intentionally used to that end. From the basic elements of literacy and language acquisition, cultural elements and content knowledge necessary for new positions on the economic ladder, education had the potential to enhance each new generation’s socio-economic standing and, importantly, enhance the acculturation process. Once critiques of the assimilationist model emerged as requiring modification (Alba and Nee, 1997)—and pointing to substantial economic and residential mobility being directly proportional to the immigrants’ human capital—the clear differentiation in prospects raised important questions about the means by which some immigrants acquire more human capital and how schools might be complicit in that process. In addition, the very “progress assumption” was heavily scrutinized, given the inverse relationship between immigrant youth’s length of stay in the U.S. and their health and educational aspirations. Disadvantaged by skin color in the racialized social structure (Waters, 2009), as well as by residence in inner-cities with few mobility ladders, today’s less educated immigrants of color were shown as vulnerable to downward or segmented assimilation (Portes and Zhou, 1993; Portes and Rumbaut, 2001) or second-generation decline (Gans, 1992). While the highly educated immigrants seem to follow a “utopic” path toward success and fast mobility—some even bypassing the generational pattern of previous immigrant groups—the lower-skilled ones and their children experience the “dystopic” consequences of simply trying to survive (Suárez-Orozco, 2000). As the optimistic notion of straightline assimilation has been replaced by evidence of segmented assimilation, closer attention to the educational and in-school experiences of immigrants became essential. Such studies would be able to illuminate in what ways schools’ reception of immigrants and response to their needs 434

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structure their experiences and ultimately their opportunities in the new society. The assumption that education will evidently offer opportunities across the spectrum of immigrant groups was placed under scrutiny, especially since opportunities that initially appeared abundant, progressively diminished in light of forces rooted in the social context (Portes and Rumbaut, 2001). What became important, therefore, in the newer social analyses, were the ways various social locations and factors intersected with achievement and adaptation in schools, given that these outcomes could vary significantly. A number of studies do show that many immigrant youth fare academically as well as or better than their native peers, carrying positive attitudes toward school work, teachers and achievement. Others, however, highlight problems in educational adaptation and lack of appropriate preparation as an obstacle to social mobility across generations. Such factors include voluntary immigrant versus refugee status, reception encountered in schools, class and access to support systems, generational status, gender, as well as ethnicity, national origin, legal status along with shifts in the development of identity. In what follows, I offer a brief overview of these major factors associated with immigrants’ divergent educational experiences and attainment. While multiple social institutions impact the transition and experience of immigrants in their new society, for children and youth, the most sustained interaction outside of the family is with the school. The kinds of schools children enter have tremendous impact on their educational outcomes which, in turn, impact their future opportunities. Interaction between immigrants and schools depends not only on immigrant characteristics as it may usually be assumed (e.g., parental educational attainment, level of educational engagement, etc.) but also to a great extent on the ways schools are structured, financed and led. Local dynamics are important, since different schools vary in how they receive immigrants and how they structure their approaches to their demographic diversity (Hernandez, 2004; Ngo, 2010). Nevertheless, systematic studies have shown characteristics of schools that do well with immigrant youth reception and those that are more likely to be detrimental and become “fields of endangerment” (Suárez-Orozco, Suárez-Orozco and Todorova, 2008). Many of these schools have a high percentage of students who are poor; the racial and ethnic composition demonstrates segregation; many teachers are not certified to teach in the areas assigned to them; dropout rates and suspensions are comparatively higher, while daily attendance rate is lower; scores are low on state-administered proficiency tests; and an achievement gap by ethnic and racial group exists among those who attend the school. For many immigrant students, schools share a good number of these traits, and for the majority of the students studied, schools were highly racially and economically segregated and enrolling low-income students (Suárez-Orozco, Suárez-Orozco and Todorova, 2008). According to ethnographic observations, schools that responded well to immigrants displayed good leadership with involved principals who were present and visible in the school context, affirmed students’ cultures and languages through teachers’ positive attitudes and various programs, and resources were made available for academic tutoring and improvement. Schools located in areas with poorer funding and where violent outbursts were common, placed newcomers in precarious positions, leaving them in fear of violence and bullying. Inter-ethnic animosity often becomes tangible and intimidating (Centrie, 2004) and students experience a “triple segregation” (Suárez-Orozco, Suárez-Orozco and Todorova, 2008)—racial, economic and linguistic. When schools are not able to generate environments where students, teachers and staff engage with diversity and multiculturalism in a genuine sense (Ngo, 2010), members of different groups tend to misread each other and often operate based on stereotypes (Olneck, 2004). Teachers tend to respond to students depending on their level of conformity to popularized perceptions of specific immigrant groups (e.g., Asians as “model minorities”—see Centrie, 435

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2000; or Latinos as disengaged and unruly—see Trueba, 1988). They tend to express positive feelings toward certain immigrants better than others, as well as negative juxtapositions with native minorities who are positioned as lacking the positive values of some newcomers. These issues are especially salient for refugee students who, while facing similar struggles as immigrant children, have more difficult and often traumatic departure circumstances, having often had limited experiences in formal school settings which tend to perpetuate teachers’ deficit narratives about them (Roy and Roxas, 2011). Struggling schools often correlate with lower-income neighborhoods—given that in the United States most school funding comes from the state and relies heavily on property taxes— so social class also becomes a central variable in the educational experiences of immigrant children and youth. This is especially important since among current immigrants in the U.S., a fraction are more educated than the overall population, while another is significantly less educated (Bean and Stevens, 2003). As a result, the possibilities of immigrant success are much more contingent than expressed in the popular representations of immigrant success. The highly educated (or affluent) immigrants often possess the human and social capital, as well as the legal resources to join the native-born middle to upper classes with relative ease. They simultaneously maintain fruitful ethnic networks and affiliations with cultural and educational associations that ensure the transmission of cultural capital to their children. These children, in turn, make the most rapid strides among immigrant youth, entering the middle class themselves through access to better and even elite educational opportunities (Louie, 2004). Working-class and poor immigrants, on the other hand, tend to lack comparable financial and cultural resources, with a large fraction residing in segregated neighborhoods. The situation of undocumented students becomes even more precarious as they “learn to be illegal” (Gonzales, 2011)—the process of discovering the structural implications of being undocumented—and the anxiety of “growing up in the shadows” (Suárez-Orozco et al., 2011) often couples with being locked out of the educational opportunity structure once they graduate from high school (Seif, 2004). State financial aid policies for the approximately 65,000 undocumented students who graduate from high school each year vary, and these students are not eligible for any federal aid. The introduction of the 2012 Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program provided eligible undocumented youth and young adults some respite with halting the possibility of deportation and offering temporary work authorization. While federal aid for higher education is still out of reach, “DACAmented” youth could be eligible for institutional or state aid. An estimated 1.7 million young immigrants are eligible for this program which is not a path to citizenship and requires individuals to re-apply every two years, being revocable at any time. Initial findings about its impact (Gonzales, Terriquez and Ruszczyk, 2014) show that it has offered youth educational and economic gains, but it tends to favor those who already have higher levels of education and social capital, while many still report financial difficulty and precarious access to health insurance, and most report increased worry about the deportation of undocumented family members, now that their initial status as undocumented is on record with the U.S. Citizenship and Immigration Services. The initial point of settlement, correlated with resources at arrival, often sets poorer immigrant students on a more difficult trajectory for social mobility, beginning with the comparatively poor schools and social isolation from more successful groups (Zhou and Bankston, 1994). Moreover, the success of immigrant youth is no longer simply a matter of attaining higher levels of education—or better salaries—than the previous generation. Most of the immigrant youth can show success by those variables simply because their parents are struggling at the bottom (Zhou, 1997). For example, the children of Mexican immigrants (the current largest single immigrant nationality in the U.S.) show an improvement in educational 436

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attainment by three years compared to their parents. This improvement is important but it still leaves them with only approximately 12 years of schooling and thus no significant access to careers that would positively affect their standing. In addition, current demographics show that by the third generation this improvement achieved by the second generation does not continue (Trejo and Grogger, 2002). In the longitudinal studies conducted thus far, underfunded schools in low-income neighborhoods were most likely to produce profiles of immigrant students who were categorized as “low achievers” or “decliners,” while “high achievers” were least likely to attend the underfunded, segregated schools. Dominicans, Mexicans and Latin Americans were most likely to attend such schools, in comparison to the much lower likelihood among Chinese students; a comparison that clearly translates into the later patterns of academic achievement we see across these immigrant groups. It is also consistent with other findings which examine the overlap between race and class in the U.S. and how immigrants’ phenotype defines the type of neighborhood they settle in. Latino immigrants tend to live in impoverished neighborhoods with high Latino populations, as do black immigrants with native-born African-Americans. In contrast, Asian immigrants are relatively less constrained in the racialized structure and tend to encompass a larger proportion of middle-class newcomers—they thus tend to be less confined in residential settlement (Portes and Rumbaut, 2006; Louie, 2004) and this has tremendous implications for school choice as well. On the other hand, they are faced with the dilemma of being perceived as “perpetual foreigners” just as their comparatively high success rates subject them to the “model minority” myth (Ng, Lee and Pak, 2007) which are not only troubling due to their racialized and condescending tones toward minoritized populations, but also in how the latter belies the needs for educational support that do exist among Asian American youth. Generational status has also proven to be a very important variable, an interest prompted by the well-being and achievement of “the new second generation.” Once longitudinal comparisons were made across generations, competing trends emerged about the achievement of immigrant youth. Worrisome findings showed declining grade point averages among the second generation as well as low college graduation rates among such groups as Latinos (Fry, 2002; Portes and Rumbaut, 2001). Data from the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health were used to show that first-generation youth of Hispanic, Asian and African heritage do obtain more education than their parents, but the second generation and third or later generations generally lose ground (Perreira, Harris and Lee, 2006). These differences in dropout rates were connected to differences in human, cultural and social capital. In fact, almost half of the difference in the dropout probability between Hispanic and white students (out of a total difference of fourteen percent) was found to stem from the greater prevalence of poverty among Hispanic students. English proficiency was also a key factor in explaining the high Hispanic dropout rate (Lofstrom, 2007). Nevertheless, competing findings complicate the picture, as first-generation immigrant youth also tend to be academically outpaced by their native-born peers. Despite the “immigrant optimism” of the first generation (Kao and Tienda, 1995) and their “dual frame of reference,” (Ogbu, 1991) newcomers struggle more with language acquisition for academic contexts and may also struggle with problems related to legal status and low socio-economic status. Limited English-proficiency youth are less likely to enroll in and complete postsecondary degrees, more likely to be employed in low-earning jobs and end up being paid much less in adulthood (Bleakley and Chin, 2004). When it comes to academic English, the 1.5 generation (born elsewhere but immigrating before the age of 12) has an advantage, while the second generation and beyond benefit from initial immersion in the language and recognition through citizenship. By the third generation, however, factors such as racism, poverty and acculturation to 437

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anti-academic peer norms may play a role in diminishing the academic achievement and school engagement of youth of immigrant descent. The language advantage of the second generation is not simply a factor in facilitating understanding of academic content, but also in providing access to students’ social interactions in school and helping to overcome barriers reported by first-generation students in relationships with native-born peers and teachers. While family and community networks were found to be among the most important factors in immigrants’ adaptation and success (Portes and Rumbaut, 2001), school-based supportive relationships are also key to immigrant students’ academic engagement and subsequent success. Engagement is a crucial factor, measured in the extent to which students are connected to what, how and with whom they are learning (SuárezOrozco, Suárez-Orozco and Todorova, 2008). All students need this to succeed and all face challenges that might deteriorate academic engagement levels, but for immigrant students such challenges emerge in ways specific to the migration process. Academic engagement comprises cognitive, behavioral and relational aspects, with the last one proving critical in supporting academic outcomes in schools. Relational engagement enables access to details about curriculum and college admissions as well as bureaucratic processes, the labor market, advice and advocacy (Stanton-Salazar, 2004). For immigrant students, positive relationships with peers, teachers and other school staff provide protective frameworks such as role modeling and a sense of belonging which, in turn, translate into increased motivation and achievement. These types of findings have had an impact on educational research as well, with education scholars arguing for an enhanced use of these sociological findings into the reception of newcomer youth (Oikonomidoy, 2011) and for curricular and programmatic approaches that prioritize genuine relationship building (Garcia-Reid, Peterson and Reid, 2015) over simply encouraging crosscultural competence among teachers and peers (Fruja Amthor and Roxas, 2016). This kind of relational engagement in school-based relationships, however, is not uniformly achieved among immigrant students. One of the major variations emerged along gender differences. A number of studies consistently positioned immigrant girls as outperforming boys across ethnic groups (e.g., Portes and Rumbaut, 2001; Rong and Brown, 2001), as boys were found with significantly lower grades, lower levels of engagement with classes and homework, as well as lower career and educational goals. Several factors were connected to this gap, including parental support for girls’ education in the new country and much stricter social controls than for sons. Girls were also less likely than boys to develop oppositional relationships with schools as a result of perceived racism, hostility or lack of connection with teachers and school staff (Suárez-Orozco and Qin-Hilliard, 2004). This correlates with teachers’ own reports of having more negative expectations of boys than girls, raising questions again about the need to diversify the teaching force which continues to be mainly white, middle-class and female. As boys reported being more disengaged relationally in school than girls, they did not necessarily express specific disinterest in learning. As a result, boys’ lower academic performance might not be caused by lack of academic interest, but the interaction of low social support, hostile experiences in school, and negative teacher expectations (Suárez-Orozco and Qin-Hilliard, 2004). This finding was important in suggesting that negative social relations in school could be an important factor in explaining immigrant boys’ lower achievement compared to girls. Because schools are such an integral part of immigrant children and youth’s lives, they participate in more than just structuring the students’ academic attainment and career trajectories. Schools, in fact, become important sites for the construction of identity, especially as they interact with other social worlds students inhabit simultaneously, such as the family, peer groups and religious communities (Phelan, Davidson and Yu, 1993). As they negotiate these boundaries, immigrant youth often find that the transition from one context to another is not simple—in 438

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fact, one of the better-documented aspects of the immigration experience refers to the tensions that arise as children and youth try to fulfill multiple roles that would be acceptable to both families and peers (Garcia Coll and Magnuson, 1997). As they acquire and adapt to new cultural scripts—at a faster rate than their parents—children and youth acquire necessary language skills and opportunities (Qin, 2006; Wong Fillmore, 2005). At the same time, however, as they become interpreters and cultural guides for less acculturated family members (Faulstich Orellana, 2003), the newly gained cultural capital can still be at odds with familial norms. Youth thus become caught in the tensions between the two worlds and the subsequent possible alienation from families (Zhou, 1997; Qin, 2006; Kim et al., 2013). This is a process that schools need to recognize as they respond to students’ behaviors and engagement in schools, creating spaces for students to develop positive ethnic identities just as they also adapt to the new context. It is social competence in both cultures that has been found as the more advantageous alternative for these youth’s success, aiming to blend the positive elements of both realms, through such means as “accommodation without assimilation” (Gibson, 1988) or “selective acculturation” which appears to lead to better academic achievement (Portes, FernándezKelly and Haller, 2005). However, developing this healthy and productive sense of ethnic identity depends not only on individual inclination toward ethnic identification, but also on the possibilities of recognition found in the context of reception (Phinney et al., 2001). Schools, therefore, play an essential role in this process, where teachers are “agents of reception” (Dabach, 2011) needing to pay close attention to identity formation and processes of negative social mirroring (Suárez-Orozco, Suárez-Orozco and Todorova, 2008) which impact youth’s sense of self. If “street culture” and related activities often offer youth better spaces for self-expression and confidence-building than schools, the likelihood that youth who face multiple marginalities will turn to those alternative spaces is much higher (Conchas and Vigil, 2010). Especially in segregated and impoverished areas, some youth ultimately take counterproductive and possibly self-destructive trajectories, confirming fears in this regard repeatedly expressed by immigrant parents (Zhou, 2003)

Main critiques While major developments in understanding immigration and education were closely connected to the development of sociological theory on trajectories of immigrant incorporation, the accumulated research has also demonstrated some shortcomings in light of subsequent findings. The problem of “segmented assimilation” or “second-generation decline” which spurred much attention to the role of education turned out to be also a major source of critique—both because of how some of the mechanisms of decline were positioned in the literature and because that decline itself might not be as frequent or dramatic as initially shown. First, the problem with representing the mechanisms of decline eventually emerged from research conducted from the segmented assimilation perspective that has shown how immigrant youth often adopt the orientations of native-born, co-ethnic peers. In areas closed out of the opportunity structure and with substandard schools, such attitudes often referred to oppositional identities toward schooling (Ogbu, 1991), and even violent activity through gang association (Conchas and Vigil, 2010). These findings were initially used to highlight factors which may, along with other elements, contribute to immigrant achievement decline and how some immigrants maintained their particular national and linguistic markers to distinguish themselves from the native-born underclass and thus maintain a chance at upward mobility (Waters, 2009). While these arguments further demonstrated social inequalities along race and class in the receiving society, they were also later critiqued for blaming the decline of immigrants’ success on the already disadvantaged native minorities (Pierre, 2004). 439

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Second, the focus on generational “decline” itself has also come under scrutiny in the context of a general focus in the research literature on the challenges encountered by immigrants throughout their transition and, specifically, in the educational context as well. Newer studies generated what appeared to be counterintuitive findings regarding the declining adaptation and well-being of immigrants, suggesting more variation in immigrants’ prospects and even optimistic possibilities (Kasinitz et  al., 2008). The most recent large-scale study based on the coming of age of immigrant children in New York (Kasinitz et al., 2008) found that from educational and occupational achievement to earnings and labor force participation, each immigrant second-generation group studied was upwardly mobile both in comparison to its first-generation parents and to its native-born reference group. This also echoed some earlier studies which showed that, while children in immigrant families experience a greater risk of living in poverty than those in native-born families, this is mostly due to the poverty rates in the first generation— by the second generation there is only a slightly higher chance (i.e., by two percent; Hernandez, 2004). In contrast to a decline characteristic to the second generation, a “second-generation advantage” was posited as the ability to draw on positive elements of both cultures, English fluency and acquiring jobs comparable to those of native New Yorkers their age. While the means by which this is accomplished, through the savvy use of positive social capital and selective acculturation techniques is not a new concept (Portes and Rumbaut, 2001), when applied to the wider range of impact found on the children of immigrants in the study, these findings highlighted a more hopeful interpretation of immigrant integration. The findings can also be contextualized in international perspective through the International Comparative Study of Ethnocultural Youth (Berry et al., 2006) which also suggests a great deal of variation in acculturation strategies and adaptation. Psychological and sociocultural adaptation was measured for a sample of 5,000 adolescents in thirteen countries, suggesting that, when compared to national peers, immigrant youth showed slightly fewer psychological problems, behavior problems and better school adjustment, as well as expressing the same level of life satisfaction and self-esteem as native peers. A major thrust of the study was its emphasis on the fact that, even in the absence of big differences between the immigrants and the national samples, there were nevertheless large variations within the immigrant groups themselves. These differences were connected to how the acculturation processes took place for different groups and individuals, reminding of the importance of the context of reception which often welcomes immigrants in different ways. Schools, therefore, as part of this receiving context, could participate in attenuating the discrepancies in educational experiences. This issue of inter-group variation takes the argument back to the centrality of other kinds of inequality in social location and divisions along the lines of race, ethnicity and class. If some of the more recent findings cast a more optimistic light on the prospects of immigrant youth, there should remain, nevertheless, valid concern regarding the experiences of second-generation young adults who are coming of age in contexts quite different from a large metropolis with a dynamic economy and more openness to immigrants, such as New York City. At the same time, these studies help reiterate the sentiment that negative outcomes for immigrant youth are not, and should not be, unavoidable (Berry and Sam, 1997).

Continued relevance of the issue If, as suggested by the more recent critiques, optimistic prospects are to be increased and expanded across all immigrant origin groups, the role of education cannot be overstated. This is a multi-faceted issue, referring not only to the economic implications of educational attainment in the current economic conditions, but also to the dimensions of human dignity and quality of life that are either enabled or hindered by the kind of education immigrant children and youth 440

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have access to in the new society. In cases where schools are still underfunded and underprepared to engage fruitfully the diverse human experiences that migration has brought into their classrooms, attention to this issue is far from being resolved. Moreover, continued discrepancies in achievement and social mobility among groups, especially in light of the modern economy, remain central. Economically, successful transitions to adulthood depend on a combination of credentialing, educational achievement, the acquisition of marketable skills and abilities, as well as physical and mental health. The coupling of success with mental health is also important, since the educational attainment of certain groups, such as the Chinese, is not necessarily complemented by healthy psychological adaptation (Qin, 2008). Their academic attainment tends to belie struggles with intergenerational and intercultural tensions, as well as the pressures of doing well despite language barriers and bullying. Beyond the actual experiences in schools, immigrants’ transitions to higher education or the workforce are structured by interactions among ethnicity, gender, social class, policy implementation and the conditions of the labor market. For youth who are undocumented, the availability of free, public education until the age of eighteen ceases and major obstacles to obtaining further education and the necessary credentials intervene. Despite desires to earn higher education degrees, many youth in this situation have their life trajectories significantly altered by the lack of higher education funds for undocumented youth. This has long-term implications because their accumulation of human, cultural and social capital is likely to impact the well-being of their own children. In general, parental low educational attainment is likely to place children at a disadvantage both in immediate economic terms (access to certain resources while growing up, including quality health care; Duncan and Brooks-Gunn, 1997) and in the long run, given the children’s own educational attainment. This correlation appears repeatedly in the assessment of discrepancies in attainment among current immigrant youth (Perreira, Harris and Lee, 2006). Beyond the personal achievement and sense of possibility in the new society, the value of education for immigrants extends into wider-scale economic implications. Current population projections suggest that by 2030, approximately two-thirds of the elderly are estimated to be white (from the generation born between 1946 and 1964), compared to only fifty-nine percent of working-age adults and only fifty-two percent of children and youth (Hernandez, 2004). By 2040, due to immigration of mostly Hispanic and Asian background, the number of nonHispanic white youth is estimated to drop to less than fifty percent. The argument is thus made that the well-being, adjustment and productivity of immigrant and minority youth today is essential to the projected well-being of the country (Hernandez, 2004). Paying attention to the educational attainment of these children and youth and investing in it is, in fact, in the economic interest of the entire nation. Education thus remains an essential issue to consider, both for the sake of the immigrants themselves and the overall national well-being, as newcomers and native populations live in an intricate mutual dependence.

Future developments The relative novelty of attention to education in immigrants’ lives and the complexity of the issue warrant continued work in this area and multiple directions would prove fruitful, both at the institutional, structural levels and that of lived experience. The several larger-scale studies conducted so far provided invaluable data that has offered a tremendous beginning in our understanding of the factors that impact immigrant youth’s educational opportunities and experiences. Conducted in metropolitan areas and with specific groups of immigrants, these studies offered an initial direction for such research. Additional large-scale and longitudinal studies would be important, not only in similar locations but also expanding the types of contexts and 441

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populations considered. Areas that were more recently impacted by immigration and are continuing to adjust their institutions—including the schools—would provide great comparison points, as would inclusion of groups that are comparatively understudied (including those of African and European origin). Examining the experiences of undocumented youth who have been enrolled in such programs as DACA is a nascent area due to the recent nature of the policy, so equally important areas of investigation are the long-term trajectories of “DACAmented youth” and the possible shifts in these policies and their implications. These additional directions would further nuance our accounts of experience across groups, as would continuing to deepen the existing efforts for pan-ethnic groups and various refugee groups— both refugees who continue to arrive in the United States and those who have resettled for a longer time and continue to face socio-economic, psychological and adaptation challenges. The initial point of resettlement is only the beginning of an adaptation journey that has proven difficult for many refugee youth and further longitudinal examination of these patterns is warranted. Additionally, the dynamics of migration in globalization have prompted attention outside the initial destination country. This implies an increased need to examine the processes of return migration and how educational institutions respond to the complex situations of educating nationals who are, in fact, immigrants in their own countries and experience difficulties in transitioning to their “home” country. Existing research highlights negative characteristics of schools and surrounding areas which prove detrimental to immigrant youth’s life trajectories, as well as some that have proven positive. Further work in the latter domain would be illuminating, investigating in further depth the institutional dynamics which make success possible for immigrant youth—in other words, we need to understand further what successful schools do in serving immigrant youth justly and how such environments emerge and sustain themselves. This would be relevant both in terms of the student experience and regarding the external pressures schools face in producing certain results in standardized measurements, pressures that usually further hinder the academic wellbeing of newcomers (Linn, 2000; Knoester and Au, 2015). Also, in curricular terms, the potentials of multicultural education approaches for academic success have been examined to a greater extent for national minorities, but only more recently have these been expanded to include specific implications for current immigrant youth (Oikonomidoy, 2011; Sanchez and Kasun, 2012; Fruja Amthor and Roxas, 2016). Some findings suggest that even when implemented with good intentions, multicultural education principles for schools with many immigrant students fall short of their great potential (Ngo, 2010). How more schools use this resource to serve their immigrant students is an area that deserves further attention, as does inviting all involved parties in revealing and reflecting on their needs and aspirations for the educational process. We thus need further examination of overlaps and disconnects among the various positions of students, parents, teachers and community leaders, as well as positive options for the gaps that emerge among their various accounts. Overall, expanding on these areas of inquiry would enhance current understanding of positive responses and results in the education of immigrant youth. Offering more optimistic models is essential in an area that is often overshadowed by the justified difficulties prompted by pursuing an education in the migration process.

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Suárez-Orozco, C., and Suárez-Orozco, M. (2001). Children of immigration. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Suárez-Orozco, C., Suárez-Orozco, M., and Todorova, I. (2008). Learning a new land: Immigrant students in American society. Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Suárez-Orozco, C., Yoshikawa, H., Teranishi, R., and Suárez-Orozco, M. (2011). Growing up in the shadows: The developmental implications of unauthorized status. Harvard Educational Review, 81(3), pp. 438–473. Suárez-Orozco, M. (2000). Everything you ever wanted to know about assimilation but were afraid to ask. Daedalus Journal of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 129, pp. 1–30. Trejo, S., and Grogger, J. (2002). Falling behind or moving up? The intergenerational progress of Mexican Americans. San Francisco, CA: Public Policy Institute of California. Trueba, H. T. (1988). Culturally based explanations of minority students’ academic achievement. Anthropology and Education Quarterly, 1(9), pp. 270–287. Waters, M. C. (2009). Black identities. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Wong Fillmore, L. (2005). When learning a second language means losing the first. In: M. M. SuárezOrozco, C. Suárez-Orozco, and D. B. Qin, eds., The new immigration: An interdisciplinary reader. New York: Routledge, pp. 289–308. Zhou, M. (1997). Segmented assimilation: Issues, controversies, and recent research on the new second generation. International Migration Review, 31, pp. 825–858. Zhou, M. (2003). Making it in urban America: Challenges and prospects for the children of contemporary immigrants. In: L. Roulleau-Berger, ed., Youth and work in the post-industrial city of North America and Europe. Leiden, the Netherlands: Brill Academic Publishers, pp. 265–282. Zhou, M., and Bankston, C. L. III. (1994). Social capital and the adaptation of the second generation: The case of Vietnamese youth in New Orleans. International Migration Review, 28, pp. 821–845.

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35 Emigration and the sending state Cristián Doña-Reveco and Brendan Mullan

Emigrants are in another state’s grip, so governments of countries of emigration must develop creative ways to manage citizens abroad, preserve their national loyalty, and extract their resources. (FitzGerald 2009: 4) [S]ending countries around the world, from Turkey to Mexico, have recently shifted their view towards their emigrants, from “traitors” to “compatriots” abroad. (Joppke 2011: 1)

Introduction The cultural, demographic, economic, political, and social causes, content, and consequences of international migration for migrant-receiving states are well documented. We know much less about the international complexities of the reciprocal relationship between sending states and their emigrants (see Jopkke 2011; Délano 2011; 2010; Kapur 2010; FitzGerald 2009; Gamlen 2008). What was originally seen largely as a one-way relationship between states and their emigrants based solely on the financial remittances sent by emigrants has become more complex and now comprises multiple forms of citizenship (FitzGerald 2009), different ways of investing in the home country (Bauböck 2013), and a broad array of connections between the country of origin, the emigrant, and the country of reception (Waldinger 2015). New approaches to understanding the relationship between states and their emigrants and modifications to existing well-established themes have deepened and broadened our understanding of this ever more important sub-field within migration studies. Complementing and supplementing the traditional scholarly and policy focus on the impact of migrants and migration on receiving states (see Green 2005), there is now general recognition that simply dichotomizing the world into either sending or receiving countries ignores the fact that every country is, at the same time, a country of migrant origin, migrant reception, and migrant destination. Mexico, for example, is no longer solely a source country for migrants to the United States but has become more a country of transit and a country of destination (The Economist 2017). Following Green and focusing on the emigrant allows us to rethink the entire migration process. How does the context of sending influence assimilation and integration? Can we 446

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re-conceptualize the category of home as a place that lingers in the biographies of migrants and their families, to study the return home of second-generation migrants in what Baldassar (2001) and King and Christou (2011) call a “secular pilgrimage”? Emigration politics and politics themselves have changed from the old perspective of “shoveling out the paupers” (Zolberg 2007). Now, as the United Nations attests, the percentage of Governments that were satisfied with their level of emigration has declined steadily since the mid-1970s (from 83 per cent in 1976 to 59 per cent in 2011), while the percentage that viewed it as too high has increased (from 13 per cent in 1976 to 33 per cent in 2011). (United Nations 2013) For most of history, subjects of a polity could not leave their polity or could only do so with great logistical and legal difficulty. These barriers to exit were slowly eradicated with the agricultural, industrial, and urban revolutions and the emergence of states, nation-states, and concomitant new forms of social, political, and economic organization and institutions that gave rise to dramatically changed views on and patterns of international migration. International migrants have historically maintained socio-economic and emotional ties to their nations of origin (Shain 2005). The post-1945 era, however, has been one of increasing nation-states’ awareness of and concern for their citizens and communities abroad and the various political, economic, and socio-cultural roles and impact these communities may play and exert in their countries of origin (González Gutiérrez 2006; Agunias 2009). As Kapur succinctly summarizes: “[T]he effects [of emigration] on the sending country depend critically on the selection effects: who leaves, how many leave, why they leave, the legal basis on which they leave, where they go, how they fare, and how long have they been gone” (Kapur 2010: 7; italics in the original). Migration of highly skilled professionals from the “undeveloped south” to the “developed north,” massive outflows of undocumented migrants, the closed borders of Eastern Europe during the Cold War, the increasing importance of remittances to local economies, and the role of emigrant exiles and expatriates in the development of perceptions with regards to their country of destination have all served to focus the attention of the state on its emigrant population. Similarly, dramatically improved transportation and travel systems and infrastructures, along with radical advances in information technology and media enabled emigrants to communicate easily and affordably with their families, communities, and related constituencies in their countries of origin. Governments in sending countries have struggled to understand, control, and direct the impact of their diasporas on their political, social, and economic institutions and infrastructure. This struggle is deeply intertwined with the rapidly changing political, cultural, technological, and socio-economic practices and processes subsumed under the term “globalization.” Following an historical overview, we follow Bauböck’s three-pronged approach of disaggregating research on emigration and the sending state into: (a) migration and development; (b) extraterritorial citizenship; and (c) transnationalism and the state (Bauböck 2013). We conclude with some assessment of how states, emigration, and concepts of citizenship are interlinked, and we offer some suggestions for future research on the relationship between the state and its emigrants.

Historical overview June 15, 2015 marked the 800th anniversary of the signing of the Magna Carta of 1215, which guaranteed the rights of individuals, the right to justice, the right to a fair trial, as well as the right to free movement: 447

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It shall be lawful in the future for anyone to leave our kingdom, and to return, safely and securely, by land or by water, and without violating our trust, but not during war or for some other brief period, nor if the good of the kingdom will be affected. (Dale 1991: 360) This acknowledgment of the right of individuals to emigrate introduces the idea that sovereign allegiance is not territorially bound. The charter also asserts, however, that the greatest interest of the kingdom—the state—shall prevail over individual actions and desires. The complications of this principle have always been evident: on the one hand, the right to leave should be respected, but on the other hand this right must not supersede the wellbeing of the polity. The state has the role of creating and implementing solutions and regulations for human stateboundary crossing movement in the form of legislative migration policies and administrative implementation of those regulations. Because of the limited state involvement in emigration, the endurance of free travel as a liberal ideal until the first third of the 20th century, and the relative youthfulness of today’s nation-states, economic considerations have outweighed political considerations in explaining the dynamics of international migration. The independence of the Americas in the late 18th century and early 19th century, the Industrial Revolution, and the process of European colonization led to the age of mass migration since the first half of the 19th century—Polanyi’s Great Transformation. These three processes refocused the debate over the right to emigrate from a natural law-based justification to the rights of citizens in liberal democracies and liberal economic ideologies (Zolberg 2007). The policies of sending countries, particularly those with colonies, varied during the 18th and 19th centuries, as their laissez-faire economic and political doctrines shifted. For example, in Great Britain and France as the governing ideology moved from Mercantilism to Malthusianism, the debate over emigration moved as well. Conceptual interpretations of emigration, which had been deemed as treason to the Crown with artisans prohibited from migrating, shifted with rapid population growth to a more utilitarian perspective of “shoveling out paupers” (Green 2005: 273; Zolberg 2007), signaling a clear change to the encouragement of emigration for reasons of economic and domestic policy. However, even though states and empires saw emigration as positively enlarging empires, those emigrating without the intention to return automatically lost their original nationality. In Great Britain, for example, this only changed when the nationality law of 1889 included citizens abroad as members of the nation (Green 2005). Other European countries saw emigration as a process that weakened the state or as a process that promoted cultural imperialism (Gabaccia et al. 2007). The post World War I era, the interwar period and the post World War II era changed the landscape of migration movements. Decolonization generated extremely large numbers of refugees; making the plight of refugees and their relocation a key component of the international system in the last seventy years. The “right to leave” was established as a human right in the United Nations’ 1948 Universal Declaration of Human Rights,1 and has been in constant struggle with the nation-state interests since the 1950s. While free emigration is still limited in some countries, the Cold War era arguably marks the lowest point in the protection of this right. The Berlin Wall was the physical representation of the impossibility to leave, and exiles were only very rarely, if ever, allowed to return to their countries of origin. Democratic states have also attempted to control the exit of their citizens in the late 20th century and after. For example, Israel sought to attract and retain citizens for politically strategic nation-strengthening reasons, discouraging emigration for demographic conditions. More recently governmental policies sought to regain connections with Jewish communities abroad and make them part of the Jewish state and nation instead (Gold 2007). Sending states now 448

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realize that it is neither feasible nor desirable to stop emigration, but that maintaining or improving relationships with their diasporic communities abroad can be beneficial regardless of the reason for departure. According to the United Nations (2013), however, a larger proportion of developed states—73%—are satisfied with their level of emigration compared to less developed countries (55%). While some of these countries argue that their level of emigration is too low, all Latin American and Caribbean nations, for example, think that their level of emigration is too high. The connection between the state and its emigrants is increasingly complex and is influenced by countries’ needs for remittances and their demographic characteristics, particularly its age/sex structure, political conditions, and development perspectives.

Development and migration in sending countries The relationship between migration and development remains unsettled (Castles et  al. 2014; Hanson 2008; de Haas 2008; Portes 2007). In 2010 worldwide, inward remittance flows from the 251 million people who live outside their countries of origin exceeded US$601 billion in 2015 (World Bank 2016). Developing countries receive more than 65% of these remittances— $441 billion. As a traditional comparison, this is about three times the amount of official stateprovided development assistance. Because remittances are traditionally sent through formal and informal channels, the World Bank notes that actual remittance magnitudes are significantly greater than current estimates2 (World Bank 2016). Countries receive foreign direct investment,

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Figure 35.1  Outgoing resource flows to developing countries, 1990–2017 Source: World Development Indicators database, 2019. Data available as of January 2019.

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official development assistance, and private debt/portfolio equity in addition to remittance flows. Figure 35.1 shows foreign direct investment, official development assistance, and remittance flows into all developing countries over the period 1990 to 2016. Migration-related remittances have been historically resilient to economic crisis (World Bank 2017). In fact, during the 2007–2009 global economic crisis, remittances declined only slightly and rebounded within one year. This resiliency is attributed to three characteristics of remittances. In the first place, the accumulation of migrant remittances over years, which generates a sustainable remittance momentum. Second, the small marginal impact of remittance transmittance on migrants’ incomes, which allows migrants to continue sending these funds even if their incomes decrease. Finally, if an economic recession does force migrants to return, they will bring their accumulated savings with them, adding to the recorded flows of capital. Foreign direct investment and private debt and portfolio equity show no such resilience to economic crises. Current political and economic turmoil, however, have negatively impacted remittances. Economic downturns in large migrant-receiving areas in the Global North have reduced the availability of resources, and exchange and financial controls in Global South countries have led migrants to hide their remittances. For the first time in history, overall global remittances have fallen—albeit around 1% only—for two years in a row. The monetary magnitude of remittances is impressive: India and China lead, each with over $61 billion received in 2016, followed by Mexico and the Philippines with almost $30 billion each; Pakistan, Nigeria and Egypt received between $15 and $20 billion each, and Bangladesh, Vietnam, and Indonesia round out the top, each with between $90 billion and $14 billion remittances received. When remittances received are measured as a percentage of GDP, the top ten countries are almost all lesser developed countries. The Kyrgyz Republic, Nepal and Liberia receive nearly 30% or more of their 2016 GDP in remittances, and Haiti, Tonga, Tajikistan, The Gambia, Moldova, Comoros and Honduras all depend on remittances for nearly 20% or more of their GDP (World Bank 2017). Remittances are a direct result of migration being deployed by families in low-income countries as a household income supplementation strategy. Empirical evidence strongly suggests that these remittances have a direct, albeit not immediate, effect on the development of the areas of origins of migrants. In summarizing remittances’ positive and negative micro- and macro-impacts on sending countries, Goldin et al. (2011) usefully distinguish between remittances’ short-term household poverty reduction, medium-term macroeconomic boost, and long-term human capital base build-up effects. The impact of remittances is, however, mostly invisible to the nonmigrant population. At the micro level (household or farm level) remittances allow the purchase of consumer goods that otherwise would not have been available. It also can provide improved access for family members to education or health care. In a second, later, stage remittances might allow migrant-sending households or farms to increase their investment in local production, often encouraging subsequent state participation and sponsorship. The multiplier effect of remittances on the local economy is felt through taxes on the goods bought with remittances, and possible additional employment to meet the extra demand generated through remittance expenditures. Remittances can also have negative impacts on receiving economies. At the micro level remittances can produce marked inequalities between those households that receive them and those who do not. The resulting remittance-based relative poverty can increase migration propensities among non-remittance-receiving households, thus contributing to the cumulative causation of migration. At a more macro level, remittances do not replace government strategies to deal with lack of infrastructure, development and poverty on sending regions. While direct financial (cash) remittances are the usual mechanism through which emigrants create a micro-, and perhaps eventually, a macroeconomic stimulus to sending states, such 450

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mechanisms are now deemed to be not enough to access emigrants’ capital abroad. Remittances are drawn from emigrants’ current income flows and those flows are subject to the conventional vagaries of labor markets, especially given the current global economic crisis: unemployment, delayed payment of wages, wage reductions, currency exchange rate fluctuations, and excessive remittance transmission charges. Similarly, not all emigrants remit part of their income to their countries of origin, even if they are successful and established labor force participants abroad. Sending countries now seek to tap their emigrants’ accumulated savings through innovative financial instruments and approaches that may target previously untargeted sources of capital investment. Most prominent among these instruments are diaspora bonds, a potentially stable and inexpensive source of external finance for sending countries, which are issued by developing countries and marketed to emigrants in rich countries (Ketkar and Ratha 2011). India, Israel, and to a lesser extent Lebanon, have the most established and successful record of raising hard currency financing from their emigrants, with Israel having raised an estimated $25 billion since the 1950s and India $11 billion since the early 1990s (Ketkar and Ratha 2009). For Israel, diaspora bonds underpin its sovereign debt rating, while for India, struggling with the aftermath of geopolitical turbulence in the late 1990s, the diaspora bond funded India Millennium Deposits of 2000, emphasizing diaspora funding’s significance for the country’s overall creditworthiness ratings (Ketkar and Ratha 2011). The World Bank is reportedly advising several nations about diaspora bonds, with Kenya, Nigeria and the Philippines all expressing interest and an increasingly “desperate” Greece also pursuing the idea (The Economist 2011: 69). In June 2017, Nigeria successfully raised US$300 million in its first attempt at a diaspora bond, although it is uncertain how many of those who invested belong to the diaspora. While significant diaspora bond funding is in its infancy and can be problematic to underwrite physical and human capital infrastructure development in sending countries, as evidenced by a recent failure of an Ethiopian diaspora bond issue, the concept remains under consideration by both sending countries’ governments and, more recently, by private sector companies. Less tangible but no less important social, cultural and human capital migrant remittances also have beneficial and deleterious effects on sending communities. Levitt (1998: 927) examines how sending societies’ individuals, families and communities are affected by the flow of “ideas, behaviors, identities and social capital.” Kapur (2010), focusing on the impact of emigration on India, generalizes social remittances to incorporate “ideas transmission,” or the “flow of ideas embedded in human capital, both through returning migrants as well as from diaspora members living abroad” (Kapur 2010: 159). These flows are facilitated today not just through the physical return of migrants or the continued circular migration of individuals, but also through advances in and ease of use of modern communication media technologies which enable emigrants to communicate easily and affordably with their families, communities and related constituencies in their countries of origin. Such intellectual, social and human capital remittances can also exacerbate tensions among non-migrant households in the sending area through a heightened awareness of gender inequities, increased work and child care responsibilities, and extended family care and living responsibilities brought on by the absence of husbands and other family members. Remittances are not a replacement for national and local development policies. States should continue their engagement on infrastructure projects in the remittance-receiving areas and not simply relegate development to home town associations or to the migrants themselves. Connecting sending areas with other regions through improved roads and communications facilitates the extension of the impact of remittances and saving and increases the multiplier effects of remittances. For example, notwithstanding some criticism, the Mexican government’s Tres por Uno (three for one) program, where each dollar sent by a community is paired by the 451

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local, state and federal government expenditure, is one of many good examples of policies to increase the impact of remittances in the development of communities of origin (Goldin et al. 2011; González Gutiérrez 2006).

Human capital flight and circulation First highlighted in the analysis of Indian physicians and nurses in Britain in the 1960s, the notion of brain drain rapidly became an example of the perils that emigration brought to developing countries. This “specter” (Goldin et al. 2011: 179) lures highly educated human capital from low-income countries to richer countries. This process of skilled migration negatively impacts the development opportunities of the sending countries. Examples abound: the flight of doctors from India (Kapur 2010), Cuba (Pedraza 2007) and Africa (Goldin et al. 2011), and university graduates in general (Docquier and Marfouk 2006). The original argument was that this highly skilled human capital was educated in the countries of origin, often at the expense of the local governments that finance their educations in state-run public universities, only for them to leave for former imperial powers or core countries where these migrants would be offered better income, security and professional development. Although this is a real problem for some countries, it is important to also look at the characteristics of local labor markets to contextualize the process in terms of period and time of occurrence. It is not clear whether those highly skilled emigrants “would have been as productive at home” (Goldin et al. 2011: 181). These migrations occur in a context of low investment in the areas where these migrants are most productive and in countries with high unemployment. It is probable then, that without this migration the number of unemployed highly skilled would increase pressuring wages down and decreasing chances of development as well. The sending country, although it still produces a loss in a percentage of graduates, remains with a more manageable number of highly skilled professionals. Unlike the 1960s’ original brain drain flows and patterns, contemporary globalization patterns have increased interdependence, exchange and communications which in turn has led to new forms of highly skilled migration; those of brain gain, brain circulation and brain exchange. These new forms of highly skilled migration point to a more positive outlook where less developed economies can gain from the transference of knowledge that presupposes the migration of their own professionals to the developed countries, even if they stay in the country of migration. The return of highly skilled migrants, although limited in number, can have extraordinary impacts on the development opportunities of the country of origin. Through social remittances, these migrants bring social and cultural resources, intellectual capital, and ideas that have mostly positive effects in the areas of origin. Brain circulation, the continuous back and forth migration of highly skilled migrants, not only creates a diaspora network, but when well channeled can directly impact the areas of expertise of the migrant without mandating permanent return to the country of origin. With mixed results, United Nations Development Program and United Nations’ Volunteers have developed since 1976 the “Transference of Knowledge through Expatriate Nationals” (TOKTEN) program designed to increase the involvement of highly skilled emigrants on development projects. Although this program is currently under way in four sending countries, other nations have developed “diaspora engagement policies” or initiatives. The Philippines, Argentina and Colombia have created their own interesting policies to canalize projects of their own (Goldin et al. 2011; González Gutiérrez 2006). The impact of the migration of the highly skilled on the country of origin does not end with the transference of knowledge. These emigrants bridge sending and receiving countries and economies, providing networks, financial and cultural expertise that allows companies to reduce 452

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risk and costs in political negotiations in the receiving country. Although emigrant entrepreneurs tend not to aid the economy of the sending country in the short or medium term, if sending country conditions are attractive for investment, overseas business émigrés can be a resource to incite and connect investors from the receiving country with opportunities in the sending country. Even in certain political contexts that might otherwise prove politically endangering for the sending country, investments from expatriates have not stopped. In China, for example, about 70% of China’s total foreign direct investments between 1985 and 2000 came from overseas Chinese (Goldin et al. 2011). These investment flows were not affected by the Tiananmen Square protests or any other political crisis in the mainland.

Political opposition from abroad: the role of exiles Historically, governments exiled opponents to quiet political opposition; exiles define themselves in opposition to the current government of the sending nation, having left their country due to real or perceived threats to their personal security and their challenge to claims for political loyalty demanded by sending country regimes. Traditionally, exile was a component of elitist politics and not a mass movement. In the 20th century this process changed from a three-tier structure (expelling state, individual, receiving state) to a four-tier structure, with the inclusion of international public and civil society in the form of non-governmental or humanitarian organizations (Sznajder and Roniger 2009). Exile also became a more global movement following the German anschluss, exile from the Southern Cone of America between 1960 and 1990, exile from many newly independent post-colonial states, and exile from authoritarian regimes in the Middle East and from former soviet dependencies. The main difference between “conventional” emigrants and political exiles is that the latter not only live in a contiguous struggle against the government of the home country to create the political conditions to allow them to return, but they also refuse to seek or settle into any stable life or life-style pattern while abroad (Shain 2005). In fact, a common theme that appears in interviews and biographies of exiles is that many of them lived for years with their luggage ready to return at the first possibility (Sznajder and Roniger 2009). Moreover, political exiles not only serve as a lobby group in the receiving country to influence policies against the country of origin, they have also been used by the latter as instruments to engage and intervene in the political affairs of other countries. As the recent history of Iraq demonstrates, exiles are often severely conflicted as to their political loyalties. Attempts to depose their native government can be perceived as a patriotic mission or as treason, regardless of their final objective, imperiling the reconstruction of the polity if they succeed in replacing the government. In sum, as Shain summarizes, “political exiles tend to test the limits of and reshape concepts such as loyalty, obligation, and ‘the national interest’” (Shain 2005: xiv). Living in countries with different political systems can undoubtedly influence emigrants’ experiences of politics and activism. The re-emergence and resuscitation of the Latin American left in the 1970s and 1980 was influenced by exiles’ experiences, mostly in liberal democracies worldwide, but primarily in the social democratic regimes of northern Europe and in the countries of the Soviet Bloc (Sznajder and Roniger 2009; Goldin et al. 2011). The democratic statebuilding and business entrepreneurial expertise and networks developed by exiles while abroad have been of utmost relevance in the reconstruction of previously dictatorial and authoritarian states (Shain 2005; Goldin et al. 2011). The process of exiles’ return to the sending state is often fraught with difficulty, uncertainty and unease. Their return has a direct impact on families that have developed under very different circumstances and there are political and economic tensions surrounding the definitions and constructions of the future nation between those who stayed behind and those who left. 453

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Tensions between non-exiles who remained in the sending country, often feeling aggrieved that exiles lived in relative physical safety, accessed education abroad, or became economically secure while they suffered tyrannical government repression, can produce cleavages in definitions of collective national identity (Sznajder and Roniger 2009). As time passes and former exiles are no longer enemies of the state, and other emigrants continuously send remittances or engage with their countries of origin, sending nations have increasingly become interested in the role of emigrants in state construction from outside, implying an understanding by the state that nationality and belonging does not end at the political borders. States see nationals of shared heritage increasing and maintaining their loyalty to their state of origin through the celebration of national days, shared religious festivities, and other cultural activities. The objective of the state is not only to mobilize political support abroad, to secure income of remittances and to control political dissenters but also to extend participation in a highly interconnected world (Oestergaard-Nielsen 2003). In political terms, the extension of participation has been marked by incorporating emigrants in the foreign policy of the country of origin. Bilaterally, states use emigrants to lobby for improved commercial relations such as free trade agreements or better labor visa agreements. For example, one of the objectives of the creation of the Office of the President for Mexicans Abroad during the government of Vicente Fox in Mexico was to reconnect with Mexicans in the United States in order to utilize their capacities to lobby for better treatment of undocumented and irregular migrants in the United States, which could pave the road for a comprehensive migration agreement (Brand 2006; González Gutiérrez 2006). A second form of political engagement and participation promoted by sending countries is to give nationals abroad voting rights. Currently, while about 115 countries allow some form of overseas voting, there still exist some de facto barriers to political and electoral participation (Ellis and Wall 2007). Extending the franchise to emigrants remains a second stage in the involvement of emigrants with their country of origin. In fact, it is mostly only after emigrants have achieved sufficient economic power and influence—through remittances, for example—to lobby national policy makers that this right is granted. Moreover, when processes of political democratization in the home country reach a point where local political parties can evaluate the potential impact of overseas votes on their own constituencies, decisions are made to block or support legislations related with extending political rights to nationals abroad (Lafleur 2011). This is directly connected with the size of the diaspora and the reasons for which these emigrants left the country. Large populations abroad might be seen as “dangerous” in that their participation can put those that remain in the homeland at a disadvantage, particularly considering that most of the decisions will not directly affect those living elsewhere in the world. Political parties are less inclined to support this type of legislation because they fear that it could only help the current government and therefore produce an imbalance in the political system (Lafleur 2011; Oestergaard-Nielsen 2003).

Extraterritorial citizenship A key component of the relationships and interactions between a nation-state and its emigrants occur within the context of a socio-political agreement or contract between the state and its members. This contract can be understood in general terms as citizenship. Citizenship, however, has as a primary condition a territorial basis where the state claims a binding authority enforced through the legitimate use of physical force (Weber 1947). In the case of emigrants, states cannot enforce their authority since emigrants are not within the territory of the state. An alternative characterization of citizenship as a “status bestowed on those who are full members of a community” (Marshall 1964: 84) considers citizenship as comprised of three 454

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components: civil citizenship encompassing rights related with individual freedoms and associated with judiciary institutions; political citizenship involving the rights to participate in the political life of a nation; and social citizenship ranging from the right to basic economic security to the possibility to participate in the social heritage and life of the society. Today, the locus of citizenship and the ensuing different interpretations of citizenship is a central and critical debate in migration studies (Samers 2010). Reviewing the literature, Kivisto and Faist (2007) found no less than twenty characterizations of citizenship in the last twenty years. These definitions were framed from the perspective of belonging to a supranational state (world, global or universal citizenship), to belonging to no state or to more than one state simultaneously (post-national, transnational or multicultural citizenship), or to aspects of being a citizen (cyber, environmental or gendered citizenship), to name a few. Much less studied is the perspective of the sending state on citizenship. States have attempted to incorporate emigrants back to their community via the offering of the possibility of maintaining or recuperating their citizenship (and nationality) of origin, thus obtaining a dual or multiple citizenship. Emigrants have responded by using all or some aspects of the citizenship offered by their countries of origin (FitzGerald 2009), but these areas of research remain nascent. Although not new, dual citizenship has expanded greatly since the end of the Cold War and is defined by the acquisition by an emigrant of the nationality of the receiving country while maintaining their original national citizenship. Historically dual citizenship has been disapproved of by governments due to fear of divided loyalties and concomitant difficulties of state security (Kivisto and Faist 2007; Shain 2005; Samers 2010). The biggest concern was that the state could no longer “claim a monopoly on the membership of its citizenry” (Kivisto and Faist 2007: 103), thus impeding the state from using violent means to maintain its authority. The increased acceptance of dual citizenship is related to the increase in migration flows, the end of empires and the shifting interest in the countries of origin. Nation-states increasingly realize that the preservation of their emigrants’ citizenship is strongly related to their identification as member of a community of origin. This national identification with the imagined community (Anderson 1991), allows citizens to be more active in the defense of the homeland while abroad. Also, by maintaining their citizenships of origin, emigrants are more likely to travel back to the home country and send remittances not only to families but also to encourage larger scale development projects as described above (Kivisto and Faist 2007; FitzGerald 2009). Emigrants have responded to this changing conceptualization of citizenship by capitalizing on some or all of what dual citizenship entails, but we need to know much more about emigrants’ knowledge, attitude and practice of dual or multiple citizenships. FitzGerald (2009) notes that the impact of large emigration flows and the increase in velocity of international transfers have compelled the nation-state to establish a new social contract with its citizens abroad, citizenship à la carte. Originating in the need to maintain connection with emigrants it has also, at least indirectly, been seemingly enthusiastically adopted by the emigrants. The state will offer an association “based on voluntary membership, a choice of multiple political affiliation, and an emphasis in rights over obligations” (FitzGerald 2009: 35). This provides emigrants with a mechanism of decision over when and how to send remittances, participate in elections, serve military conscription, and to send their children to be educated in the homeland and so forth.

Conclusion Emigrants have been defined by their state of origin and sometimes even by their compatriots as either heroes or traitors. They are resented for their success and mocked for adapting to new cultures. They are looked upon suspiciously for bringing new ideas. However, it is also 455

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acknowledged that current technological, social and economic conditions allow migrants to maintain almost permanently “home connections” (Waldinger 2015). These connections operate at both a micro level and a macro level. At the micro level, migrants connect with their families and communities, maintaining ties, directing focalized remittances, engaging in a personal quest to recuperate what was left behind (Baldassar 2001). At the macro level, the connections are mediated by the nation-state and, as we described above, relate to practices of development, citizenship and belonging in a polity beyond the physical territory of such polity. Recent research (Collyer 2013; Waldinger 2015; Eckstein and Najam 2013) emphasizes that the relations between the state and its emigrants can be refracted through the theoretical lens of transnationalism. In general, this perspective focuses on exploring “how states’ responses to transnational activities of migrants contribute to the redefinition of the state” (Collyer 2013: 5). This redefinition includes changes in the construction of personal jurisdictions, access to rights— voting from abroad, for example—taxation, creating of administrative entities to engage these emigrants, among others. This use of transnationalism overlaps with the concepts of migration and development and citizenship presented above (Collyer 2013). A second theoretical perspective (see Green 2005; Green and Weil 2007), centers on completely reversing the immigration paradigm. This implies focusing on the state beyond the migrant, whether this migrant engages in transnational activities or not. Here the question that researchers must answer is how the state defines itself in the presence of a group of nationals who do not reside within its geographical boundaries; in particular, the notion of protecting its members in the place of destination and whether this protection ends with the death of the first generations of migrants or continues with their descendants. As Green has argued (2005; Green and Weil 2007), understanding the reverse of the immigration paradigm will allow researchers to understand how sending contexts influence types of emigration flows. Analyzing attitudes toward emigrants will allow us to comprehend more deeply the development of attitudes toward immigrants. Interrogating development and the role emigrants have on it will assist in promotion of policies to enhance the wellbeing of all the members of the nation. Finally, studying the relation between the emigrant and her state of origin will help us to understand how the state and the international system are constructed. Above all, expanding research on emigration and on the relationship between the emigrant and the state will permit researchers and policy makers to view the entirety of the migration process.

Notes 1 Article 13(2) of the Declaration states: “Everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country” (www.un.org/en/documents/udhr/). 2 The World Bank notes that some high-income countries do not report or provide data on remittances (Canada, Qatar, Singapore and the UAE) even though they are important migrant destination countries.

References Agunias, D. R. 2009. Closing the Distance: How Governments Strengthen Ties with their Diasporas. Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Anderson, B. 1991. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso. Baldassar, Loretta. 2001. Visits Home: Migration Experiences between Italy and Australia. Melbourne: University Press. Bauböck, R. 2013. Foreword. In M. Collyer, Emigration Nations: Policies and Ideologies of Emigrant Engagement. London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. xiii–xvi. Brand, L. A. 2006. Citizens Abroad: Emigration and the State in the Middle East and North Africa. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. 456

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Castles, S., de Haas, H., and Miller, M. 2014. The Age of Migration: International Population Movements in the Modern World. New York: Guilford Press. Collyer, M. 2013. Introduction: Locating and Narrating Emigrant Nations. In M. Collyer, Emigration Nations: Policies and Ideologies of Emigrant Engagement. London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 1–24. Dale, S., 1991. The Flying Dutchman Dichotomy: The International Right to Leave v. The Sovereign Right to Exclude. Dickenson Journal of International Law, 9, pp. 359–385. de Haas, H. 2008. Migration and Development: A Theoretical Perspective. Working Paper No. 9, International Migration Institute, University of Oxford. Délano, A. 2010. Immigrant Integration vs. Transnational Ties? The Role of the Sending State. Social Research, 77, pp. 237–268. Délano, A. 2011. Mexico and its Diaspora in the United States: Policies of Emigration since 1848. New York: Cambridge University Press. Docquier, F., and Marfouk, A. 2006. International Migration by Education Attainment in 1990–2000. In: C. Ozden and M. Schiff, eds., International Migration, Remittances, and the Brain Drain. Washington, DC: The World Bank, pp. 151–200. Eckstein, S., and Najam, A. 2013. How Immigrants Impact their Homelands. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Ellis, A., and Wall, A. 2007. Voting from Abroad: the International IDEA handbook. Stockholm, Sweden: International IDEA. FitzGerald, D. 2009. A Nation of Emigrants: How Mexico Manages its Migration. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Gabaccia, D. R., Hoerder, D., and Walaszek, A. 2007. Emigration and Nation Building during the Mass Migrations from Europe. In: N. L. Green and F. Weil, eds., Citizenship and Those Who Leave: The Politics of Emigration and Expatriation. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, pp. 63–90. Gamlen, A. 2008. Why Engage Diasporas? COMPAS working papers, no. 63. Oxford, Centre on Migration, Policy and Society. Gold, S. J. 2007. Israeli Emigration Policy. In: N. L. Green and F. Weil, eds., Citizenship and Those Who Leave: The Politics of Emigration and Expatriation. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, pp. 283–304. Goldin, I., Cameron, G., and Balarajan, M. 2011. Exceptional People: How Migration Shaped our World and will Define our Future. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. González Gutiérrez, C. ed., 2006. Relaciones Estado-Diáspora: Aproximaciones desde Cuatro Continentes. Two Volumes. México, D.F.: Secretaría de Relaciones Exteriores. Green, N. L. 2005. The Politics of Exit: Reversing the Immigration Paradigm. The Journal of Modern History, 77(2), pp. 263–289. Green, N. L., and Weil, F. 2007. Citizenship and Those Who Leave: The Politics of Emigration and Expatriation. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Hanson, G. 2008. International Migration and Development. Washington, DC: The International Bank for Reconstruction and Development. Jopkke, C. 2011. The Role of the Sending State and Society in Immigrant Integration. Analytic and Synthetic Notes CARIM-AS 2011/33, Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, European University Institute: Florence (Italy). Kapur, D. 2010. Diaspora, Development, and Democracy: The Domestic Impact of International Migration from India. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Ketkar, S. L., and Ratha, D. 2011. Diaspora Bonds: Tapping the Diaspora during Difficult Times. In: S. Plaza and D. Ratha, eds., Diaspora for Development in Africa. Washington, DC: World Bank, pp. 127–144. Ketkar, S. L., and Ratha, D. 2009. Innovative Financing for Development. Washington, DC: World Bank. King, R., and Christou, A. 2011. Of Counter-Diaspora and Reverse Transnationalism: Return Mobilities to and from the Ancestral Homeland. Mobilities, 6(4), pp. 451–466. doi: 10.1080/17450101.2011.603941 Kivisto, P., and Faist, T. 2007. Citizenship: Discourse, Theory, and Transnational Prospects. Malden, MA: Blackwell Pub. Lafleur, J. M. 2011. Why Do States Enfranchise Citizens Abroad? Comparative Insights from Mexico, Italy and Belgium. Global Networks, doi: 10.1111/j.1471-0374.2011.00332.x Levitt, P. 1998. Social Remittances: Migration Driven Local-level Forms of Cultural Diffusion. The International Migration Review, 32, pp. 926–948. Marshall, T. H. 1964. Class, Citizenship, and Social Development; Essays. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Oestergaard-Nielsen, E. ed., 2003. International Migration and Sending Countries: Perceptions, Policies, and Transnational Relations. Basingstoke, UK; New York: Palgrave Macmillan. 457

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Pedraza, S. 2007. Political Disaffection in Cuba’s Revolution and Exodus. New York: Cambridge University Press. Portes, A. 2007. Migration, Development, and Segmented Assimilation: A Conceptual Review of the Evidence. The Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 610, pp. 73–97. Samers, M. (2010). Migration. London: Routledge. Shain, Y. 2005. The Frontier of Loyalty. Ann Arbor, MI: The University of Michigan Press. Sznajder, M., and Roniger, L. 2009. The Politics of Exile in Latin America. New York: Cambridge University Press. The Economist. 2011. Milking Migrants. August 20, p. 69. The Economist. 2017. Fewer Rivers to Cross. July 27. United Nations. 2013. International Migration Policies: Government Views and Priorities. New York: United Nations. Waldinger, R. 2015. The Cross-Border Connection: Immigrants, Emigrants, and their Homelands. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Weber, M. 1947. Max Weber: The Theory of Social and Economic Organization. New York: Free Press. World Bank 2016. Migration and Remittances Factbook 2016, 3rd edition. Washington, DC: World Bank. doi:10.1596/978-1-4648-0319-2. World Bank 2017. Migration and Remittances: Recent Developments and Outlook. Special Topic: Global Compact on Migration. Migration and Development Brief No. 27. Washington, DC: World Bank. Zolberg, A. R. 2007. The Exit Revolution. In N. L. Green and F. Weil, eds., Citizenship and Those Who Leave: The Politics of Emigration and Expatriation. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, pp. 33–60.

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36 International migration and the welfare state Connections and extensions Aaron Ponce

Introduction Studies that combine a focus on immigration and the welfare state constitute a relatively new research area. For much of its development, literature on the welfare state paid little attention to immigration or ethnic and racial diversity. Concomitantly, the immigration literature tends to prioritize analyses of immigrants’ integration, identity, and unequal status; that is, it largely focuses on immigrant-related outcomes while policy-related and structural factors are independent. Yet, a number of potentially productive intersections exist where work could improve the breadth and depth of both research lines. At their foundation, the two literatures are concerned with social stratification. Historically, the welfare state was a political response to class inequality and has become an institutionalized mechanism to level social differences, to a greater or lesser degree depending on the welfare state in question. Similarly, immigration is a social process rooted in inequality, in this case on a global scale. Migration initially begins as a reaction to growing deprivation and shrinking economic opportunities linked to global capitalism in origin countries (Massey et al., 1998). Migration can thus be thought of as a traversal of unequal social spaces. Often in the process, destinations that promise great possibilities also expose migrants to new forms of discrimination and xenophobia. In virtually every instance, South–North migrants also find institutional forms of inequality in destinations that welfare policies are meant to alleviate. In an era where migration becomes more common, studying the delineation of social rights and privileges cannot fully be divorced from an analysis of native–immigrant boundaries. With this chapter, I trace some areas of overlap between the two literatures, outline central debates on diversity and social cohesion, and suggest new avenues to extend research on welfare and immigration. Extensions focused on globalizing forces and racial and ethnic boundaries could prove especially productive for future research.

Background Before the age of migration, social differentiation in many Western societies was often delineated along the lines of class position. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, the

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working class was exposed to a different set of risks vis-à-vis increasingly dominant market forces compared to their upper-class counterparts. Indeed, growing social disintegration and inequality from the spread of industrial capitalism was one of the main concerns of early sociologists (Durkheim, 1893 [1984]; Marx, 1867 [1906]; Weber, 1978). The breakdown of traditional forms of social cohesion and ways to address new forms of poverty motivated the emergence of welfare states (Marsh, 1980). Simultaneously, a revolutionary notion of individual rights that the state bestowed on citizens began to shape discourses surrounding people’s welfare. Poverty was no longer a particularized community issue, but rather an issue of concern for the state and its growing bureaucracy (Rimlinger, 1971). An individual’s right to a basic, respectable standard of living formed the ideological foundation for the creation and growth of welfare states. However, not all welfare states developed on the same path. Esping-Andersen’s (1990) now classic formulation of welfare state development outlines key trajectories, or ideal types. Focusing on the rich, industrialized countries of the world, Esping-Andersen identifies three different regime types, from most generous to least. These regime types are based on states’ long-term historical trajectories related to market functions and family relations, as well as more recent political developments. The most generous welfare states are the social democratic countries of Nordic Europe. These welfare states exhibit strong social democratic parties with robust union-government bargaining structures and a tendency for consensus-style democracy. They contrast with the corporatist-conservative welfare states of continental Europe, where strong statist legacies are combined with support for more traditional family structures. The least generous welfare states are the liberal welfare states of Anglo-Saxon heritage, where the state plays a residual role and modest social insurance plans dominate. The central concept used to operationalize welfare generosity is decommodification, defined by Esping-Andersen as the ability of welfare states to make employees’ living standards independent of market forces (1990: 3). Esping-Andersen’s work has been followed by later scholars, who argue that other regime types might exist; for example, a fourth Mediterranean welfare regime type can be identified (Arts and Gelissen, 2002). Similarly, important differences exist within welfare state types that often get lost when focusing on regimes (Kautto et al., 1999). Over time, the classed concerns that welfare state structures were created to address gave way to anxieties over new ethnic and racial divisions caused by immigration. Indeed, in much of the rich industrialized West, immigration has increased since the post-World War II era, and especially since the 1970s. While the so-called traditional immigration countries have experienced immigration throughout their relatively short histories (the U.S., Canada, Australia), large-scale immigration to most countries in Europe is a more recent phenomenon. This should not imply that immigration is less significant or that there are fewer immigrants in European countries. To the contrary, some European countries have an equivalent proportion of immigrants compared to traditional immigration countries. Figure 36.1 presents foreign-born populations as a proportion of total populations in the rich countries of the Advanced North. The two countries with the largest proportion of foreignborn are European: Luxembourg and Switzerland. While Luxembourg has a relatively small population (at the time of writing, just over half a million inhabitants), a full 43.9 percent of the population is foreign-born. This is due in large part to historic labor migration from southern European countries such as Portugal (Fetzer, 2011). Switzerland comes in second at 29.4 percent foreign-born, nearly a third of its population. Traditional immigrant-receiving countries such as Australia, Canada, and New Zealand clearly have high proportions of foreign-born residents, constituting between 22 and 28 percent of their populations. Yet, Sweden and Ireland, two countries on Europe’s periphery, directly follow these countries with 16 to 17 percent

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Figure 36.1  Advanced North countries and foreign-born populations Source: World Bank World Development Indicators 2015; includes E.U. and EFTA countries and other members of the OECD.

foreign-born, respectively. Japan and Poland are the most homogeneous populations in the Advanced North, with only 1.6 percent of their populations made up of foreign-born residents. Undoubtedly, there is marked variation regarding diversity in the Global North, including whether the foreign-born population is largely from the Global South. In over two-thirds of the countries presented, the foreign-born population is growing.

Does immigration inhibit social cohesion? A central debate that incorporates a dual focus on social welfare and immigration problematizes the relationship between the two. A growing concern among scholars, and reflected by the public, points to the potentially adverse effects of increasing diversity, particularly in contexts that were once relatively homogeneous. The argument maintains that the social requirements for key Western institutions, such as liberal democracy, the rule of law, and the welfare state, are founded in a sense of cohesion that diversity consistently thwarts. This argument may have its intellectual analog in development economists’ explanations for why diverse societies fail to develop. Focusing on countries in the Global South, such studies see diversity as an impediment to economic growth (Easterly and Levine, 1997). Translated to the Western context, diversity is thought to have the same negative association, and social scientists have taken up the idea that it is responsible for a breakdown in social cohesion. The welfare state is itself institutionalized social cohesion. This is particularly the case in the most developed welfare states, where an ideology of universalism undergirds basic living standard guarantees for all residents as a matter of course. This ideology helps cement a sense of community and cohesiveness, as residents in the universalist context all find themselves

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affected by the state’s mission to decrease social differences. In short, the welfare states that have the most generous and far-reaching coverage will enjoy the strongest public support (Papadakis and Bean, 1993). Yet, this fails to consider the impact that increased immigration may have on the public’s support for welfare. A number of social scientists note a marked trend toward welfare chauvinism (Mewes and Mau, 2012; Reeskens and van Oorschot, 2012). An implication of welfare chauvinism is that people are increasingly reluctant to contribute to a system of risk pooling when they think benefits will accrue to people unlike themselves. Kitschelt defines welfare chauvinism as the presentation of the welfare state as “a system of social protection for those who belong to the ethnically defined community and who have contributed to it. Immigrants are depicted as free-loaders who do not contribute to the system but claim its benefits” (Kitschelt, 1997: 22). Whether welfare chauvinism stems from a view that immigrants are an economic or cultural threat to natives, particularly to natives in lower socioeconomic positions, is debated, though some evidence shows that both types of threat matter (Mewes and Mau, 2012). Importantly, the level of inequality in a society also contributes to welfare chauvinism, where less equal societies are more likely to show higher levels of welfare chauvinist attitudes. The implication is that the heightening of social class differences corresponds with the intensification of native–immigrant differences. Does greater diversity in a country lead to diminished support for welfare? The ethnic heterogeneity hypothesis has been tested in a number of studies with contrasting results. Of note is the work of economists Alberto Alesina and Edward Glaeser, who formulate a theory of welfare state development and evolution. Comparing social policy development in the United States and Europe, the authors argue that ethnic diversity in the U.S. curtailed support for redistributive policies, thus impeding the historical development of a strong welfare state. They contrast this with the experience in Europe, where ethnic homogeneity and active labor movements promoted the development of robust welfare state institutions. Importantly, Alesina and Glaeser (2004) relate the historically anemic American welfare state to the potential for retrenchment in Europe. They argue that the recent increase of immigrant populations in Europe could undermine its welfare institutions as political entrepreneurs, particularly those of the extreme right, exploit growing ethnic heterogeneity. European welfare states have evolved in specific historical contexts. Their genesis is characterized by class struggle, the power of left parties, a resulting decommodification of labor, and the leveling of class differences (Esping-Andersen, 1990). Because of the emphasis on class, most research explaining welfare support focuses on individuals’ class positions. Individuals’ social locations create a specific set of risks relative to the labor market that shape their attitudes toward welfare, social assistance, and redistribution. Empirical studies confirm the importance of classbased factors and economic vulnerability on welfare support. More vulnerable populations generally show higher levels of support (Blekesaune and Quadagno, 2003; Linos and West, 2003; Svallfors, 1997). More recently, a line of research investigates the link between welfare regime type and individual welfare support. Drawing on insights from Esping-Andersen’s (1990) welfare state typologies, these studies examine whether living in different welfare state regimes shapes a distinct set of public attitudes toward different dimensions of welfare (Andreß and Heien, 2001; Jæger, 2009; Svallfors, 2006). Evidence suggests that support for state intervention and redistribution tends to be highest in the social democratic welfare states of Nordic Europe and lowest in the Anglo-Saxon liberal welfare states. Beyond these general patterns, research has failed to provide conclusive evidence for a distinct clustering of attitudes by regime type (see discussion in Svallfors 2012, pp. 8–10).

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A focus on macro-level influences on welfare support shows a growing interest in how support is patterned by national contexts. Research has begun to test the ethnic heterogeneity hypothesis directly by incorporating country-level diversity measures. Partial evidence suggests that more ethnically heterogeneous populations exert downward pressures on the public’s welfare support. Mau and Burkhardt (2009) find that the percentage of non-Western foreignborn in a country, and migration inflows, have a significant negative influence on welfare support, although this varies by other macro-level indicators such as GDP, welfare regime type, and unemployment levels. Considering Sweden over a series of years, Eger (2010) finds that recent immigration and the proportion foreign-born in sub-national län reduce support for the Swedish welfare state, one of the most robust welfare states in the world. Similarly, Burgoon (2014) provides evidence that across Europe a larger foreign-born population generally dampens public support for welfare, an effect that is exacerbated by migrants’ economic non-integration. Finally, Brady and Finnigan (2014) analyze a larger sample of rich countries and show meager evidence for a generic ethnic heterogeneity hypothesis. Instead, it appears that certain forms of population change, such as net migration and migration inflows, have a positive effect on public welfare support. The authors attribute this to a compensation dynamic, where more acutely visible immigration triggers a sense of insecurity and competition for jobs. If European welfare states symbolize institutionalized solidarity, cohesion can also be examined as a function of individualized social trust. Social trust is a crucial component of social capital (Putnam, 1993), and scholars have linked trust to democratic processes and institutions (Paxton, 2002) and low crime rates and individual well-being (Putnam, 2000), among other indicators. Trust is also associated with pro-social behavior such as volunteering, donating, participating in civic organizations, and giving to the needy (Uslaner, 2002). Further, the solidaristic foundations of important social and political institutions, such as the welfare state, are found to be dependent on relatively high levels of social trust (Crepaz, 2008). It comes as no surprise then that the most robust welfare states, the universalist Nordic countries, also exhibit the highest levels of trust (Delhey and Newton, 2005; Hooghe et al., 2009). A hypothesis similar to the ethnic heterogeneity hypothesis links increasing diversity with diminished social trust. Perhaps best known from Robert Putnam’s (2007) exposition on diversity and social cohesion in the U.S., the constrict hypothesis maintains that ethnically heterogeneous environments are detrimental to interpersonal trust and the formation and preservation of social connections. The constrict hypothesis predicts troubling social change for most advanced democracies whose populations are rapidly becoming more diverse. As diversity increases, anomie and social isolation also increase thus affecting both in-group and out-group relations (Putnam, 2007). In Putnam’s words, people “pull in like a turtle” in the face of diversity (Putnam, 2007: 149). A flurry of research has tested the constrict hypothesis but has produced a “cacophony of findings” (van der Meer and Tolsma, 2014: 460). Studies focusing largely on the U.S. provide some support that increased ethnic heterogeneity weakens generalized social trust (Alesina and La Ferrara, 2002; Costa and Kahn, 2003). Research that casts a comparative net produces evidence that diversity suppresses generalized social trust (Delhey and Newton, 2005; Paxton, 2007), other mixed evidence (Gesthuizen, van der Meer and Scheepers, 2009; Hooghe et al., 2009), and yet additional findings that no negative relationship exists (Kesler and Bloemraad, 2010; Savelkoul, Gesthuizen and Scheepers, 2011). The constrict hypothesis is supported by the most evidence in the American context. Increasingly, however, analysts of social trust have begun to look to lower-level contextual environments in Europe, like residential neighborhoods, uncovering additional support for the constrict hypothesis (Dinesen and Sønderskov, 2015).

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Despite its warnings, the literature on social cohesion is countered by studies that identify other mediating factors in the relationship between diversity and a potential decline in cohesion. Taylor-Gooby (2005) shows that the power of leftist parties in Europe will likely insulate the continent’s welfare state from the heterogeneity-disintegration scenario that besets the American case. He replicates Alesina and Glaeser’s (2004) well-known analysis while including variables that measure the dominance of left parties in legislatures and an index of pluralism, two commonly used measures. With the inclusion of these political variables, he finds that the significance of Alesina and Glaeser’s racial fractionalization measure disappears. Taylor-Gooby’s results show that quantitative analyses like the ones used by Alesina and Glaeser do not provide evidence for the inevitability of Europe becoming like the U.S. Instead, it is likely that diversity will fail to undermine an entrenched welfare statism that has developed across the continent. In another key work, Crepaz (2008) argues against extrapolating the American experience to Europe’s future. He shows that although many European welfare states developed under conditions of homogeneity, this development built up a foundation of social trust among members of society. This social trust then acts as a bulwark against the eroding effects of diversity. In other words, social trust is not fleeting and actually provides the foundation for strong welfare support.

How do welfare policies influence immigrants’ lives? While the question of how immigration impacts the welfare state has received increasing attention, far less research has focused on how welfare policies influence immigrants’ lives. Do certain welfare regimes give immigrants better opportunities for socioeconomic advancement, or merely maintenance? Is the quality of immigrant integration dependent on broader social policies? One notable exception is Diane Sainsbury’s (2012) valuable study on the incorporation of immigrants across welfare states. Sainsbury focuses on immigrants’ social rights to explore how welfare and incorporation regimes place immigrants in different social positions. Sainsbury uses the concept of decommodification to gauge how certain regimes allow for immigrants to attain an adequate standard of living without market participation. Overlaid on the three classic welfare regime types (liberal, conservative corporatist, and social democratic), Sainsbury identifies inclusive and restrictive immigrant incorporation regimes. This allows her to analyze one inclusive and restrictive country per welfare regime type. The study’s design and conceptual framework produce findings that underscore the unique and sometimes disjointed policy trajectories that even countries within the same welfare regime take. For instance, the countries with the most and least stringent family reunification policies are both social democratic welfare states: Denmark and Sweden, respectively (Sainsbury, 2012: 282). Both welfare and incorporation regimes significantly shape immigrants’ life chances. Sainsbury’s (2012) study is partially a response to scholarship that assumes social rights function similarly across country contexts. She shows, however, that incorporation policies related to citizenship acquisition, residency, family reunification, settlement programs, anti-discrimination, and non-citizenship participation are important sources of variation per se for immigrants. An additional source of policy variation originates in multiculturalist policies. Although definitions and their normative implications vary, multiculturalist policies encompass extensions to basic civil and political rights to include a level of public recognition and support for minority groups so that they are able to maintain and express their unique identities and practices (Banting and Kymlicka, 2006). Again, the assumed relationship between multiculturalist policies and the welfare state is a negative one: commentators fear that recognizing diversity within a multicultural society risks eroding the foundations of social welfare. This recognition-redistribution tradeoff potentially raises a significant challenge to the legitimacy of welfare state institutions 464

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(Banting and Kymlicka, 2006). Empirically, little evidence supports the contention that multiculturalism erodes the welfare state (Banting and Kymlicka, 2006). In terms of multiculturalism’s influence on specific immigrant outcomes, evidence is mixed. Some research finds limited evidence for a positive effect on immigrant inclusion and engagement and, notably, a clear absence of negative effects (Wright and Bloemraad, 2012). Other studies focusing on socioeconomic integration show that immigrants’ labor market participation is lower in multiculturalist countries than in countries without multiculturalist policies (Koopmans, 2010). Multiculturalist regimes likely have no direct bearing on welfare generosity, although specific integration outcomes may vary. Other recent scholarship extends Sainsbury’s (2012) focus on the interaction between welfare and immigration regimes. Corrigan (2014) explores the role of legal status in shaping migrants’ material deprivation. He focuses on the conditionality imposed on attaining legal status, which in turn affords social protection to certain immigrants. Findings show that making legal status more difficult to attain moderates the positive effect of welfare generosity on migrant poverty. Immigrant deprivation is greatest with high conditionality and low welfare generosity. Such research highlights the pitfalls of relying exclusively on widely accepted welfare regime types to guide expectations on the relationship between social protections and poverty. Despite novel findings, the literature on how social policy affects immigrants’ lives is sparse. Future research would do well to continue building on the strong foundation laid by Sainsbury and others.

Incorporating global change A key concern that both the welfare state and immigration literatures share is a focus on globalization and increased economic and technological interconnectedness. For welfare state scholars, an ongoing debate whose fervor has waned recently examines whether welfare state retrenchment is an inevitable result of globalization (Pierson, 1994). Popular neoliberal policies and a trend toward austerity in the mid-1990s set many welfare states on a path toward retrenchment with cuts in social spending and a tightening of benefit requirements, including for immigrants. In the United States, for example, the 1996 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA) introduced a citizenship requirement for most social benefits and longer waiting times for some qualified non-citizens (Sainsbury, 2012). PRWORA also gave states much greater discretion in setting the terms and delimiting the boundaries of immigrants’ social rights (Sainsbury and Morissens, 2012). Similar trends toward retrenchment were characteristic in Europe, as the continent experienced greater unemployment rates compared to the U.S. (Korpi, 2003). Spending eventually rebounded and even expanded in some domains. Despite the considerable budgetary cuts attributed to globalization, welfare states continue to diversify risk and promote certain forms of social inclusion across the rich countries of the North, and increasingly in the Global South (Gough and Wood, 2004; Noy and Voorend, 2016). Immigration of course happens, and indeed is defined, in global context. The literature on international migration shares a concern with globalization and asks how macro-structural economic forces drive the movement of people across national borders. Some of the global forces that motivate migration are the same ones that supply the heartbeat for a global capitalist system, namely the flow of trade and capital (Ponce, 2016). Yet a crucial distinction that requires additional acknowledgment and further analysis is the insight that while capital flows relatively unimpeded across national boundaries, the movement of labor is nearly always tightly regulated. The perception that globalized immigrant labor is a threat to the socioeconomic wellbeing of natives is widespread in the rich countries of the North. Indeed, social psychological 465

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theories maintain that anti-immigrant attitudes are rooted in a sense of realistic group conflict. Immigrants are often the target of group conflict because they are perceived as a strain on already limited resources and status positions in society. Empirical research provides some evidence that especially vulnerable populations, such as the unemployed and manual laborers, are more likely to exhibit negative attitudes toward immigrants than groups with a more secure socioeconomic status (Schlueter and Wagner, 2008; Schneider, 2008). At a higher level of social organization, a globalized neoliberal economics is often of secondary importance in anti-immigration movements that originate in nativist and xenophobic politics (Mudde, 2007: chapter 5). The dual roles of global economic pressures and increasing immigration are likely more connected than often theorized. Wolfe and Klausen (1997) make the argument that the welfare state is threatened both from above, by the forces of globalization, and from below, by increased immigration and a resulting identity politics. Yet, this argument fails to consider the connection between the two. As suggested above, the economic pressures from globalization both spur international migration and consistently threaten consolidated welfare states through incentives to marketize social protection. As such, analyses of welfare retrenchment should be mindful of the common thread, namely global neoliberal pressures. Thus far, little social policy research has incorporated a focus on global social and economic change to draw the connection between native populations’ growing precarity, the movement of people to richer economies, and the nativist movements that connect these dots for the public in exclusionist ways that ensure their political success. Incorporating global change in studies of welfare and immigration might also shed light on whether both the creation and development of welfare states and trends in global migration share common historical antecedents. Because much of the foundational welfare state research is concerned with national developments and sources of variation, global commonalities are rarely explored. Duane Swank’s (2002) work on globalization and the welfare state comes closest to formulating a global approach to welfare. However, its objective is necessarily limited to examining more recent globalization trends in finance and trade, and not to the welfare state’s historical ties to the global spread of capitalism. Swank (2002) also finds that national political institutions are clearly influential in circumscribing domestic reactions to globalization. Returning to Esping-Andersen’s central question on welfare development and reformulating it, it might be interesting to ask why the Global North developed comprehensive social protections and welfare institutions while the rest of the world did not. Surely, the answer partially lies in the role of European powers, and later the U.S., in building capital empires that would eventually provide the tax base and legal-rational, bureaucratic framework for what we now recognize as the modern welfare state. The same global processes can also be linked to the emergence of separate spheres of development, or bounded relations between core and periphery within the World-System (Wallerstein, 1974), that eventually led to vast global inequalities. For immigration scholars, the connection between global inequality and the motivations behind migratory movements is largely an accepted one. Connecting the emergence of migration systems to the evolution of national ideologies of welfare via a common global process of capitalist development could provide a compelling background to today’s perceived tension between welfare and immigration.

Turning the mirror: mainstream reactions and the role of race and ethnicity One way that both the welfare state and immigration literatures could distinctly improve analyses is by adopting an immigrant reception perspective. By an immigrant reception perspective, I 466

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refer to a focus on whether and how mainstream societies adjust to the presence of immigrant populations. Much of the scholarship described above problematizes diversity as a negative, disruptive social force though, as is clear, empirical evidence for this assertion varies. Assimilation processes are often considered a desirable solution to the socially corrosive effects of diversity. The social burden is placed on immigrant groups to establish their adequate assimilation. In many ways, mainstream immigration and welfare theories merely reflect the broader public’s assumptions about the harmful characteristics of diversity. An immigrant reception perspective asks: Do reciprocal expectations for adjustment apply to native populations in immigration societies and, if so, should they be reflected in how we think about immigration and welfare? Shifting frames, or turning the mirror, to analyze how native populations receive immigrants could provide opportunities to more thoroughly incorporate issues of race and ethnicity into the study of immigration and welfare. An extensive literature on race and ethnicity, largely originating in the United States, outlines the importance of racial formation as a specific sociohistorical process that creates and transforms racial identities and strongly impacts raced lives (Omi and Winant, 2015). Important in a race and ethnicity approach is acknowledging that the dominant frames facilitating racial oppression are historically constructed by majority populations; in the case of the United States by the white elite (Bonilla-Silva, 2007; Feagin, 2010). In studies of immigration, applying systemic racism theories (Feagin and Elias, 2013) could lead to a better understanding of how majority populations’ attitudes toward immigrants, nativist right-wing political movements, and national self-perceptions define the frames for ongoing debates about diversity and welfare. Further, a race and ethnicity perspective highlights how often taken-forgranted forms of citizenship have been historically defined along the lines of race (Glenn, 2002). Already, research on diversity and welfare suggests that race and ethnicity do matter. Comparing Germany and the U.S., Faist (1995) shows how both countries created a system of second-class citizenship based on racialized exclusion even while both have very different welfare systems. In Germany, more generous welfare did not make up for high labor market entry hurdles for Turkish immigrants, while in the U.S. market-driven forces positioned Mexican immigrants within a racialized working poor class. Also employing a trans-Atlantic comparison, Sainsbury and Morissens (2012) find that there are significant disparities between citizens and non-citizens in the rates of poverty and welfare effectiveness. These social inequalities are further exacerbated by race: social transfers are less effective in lifting visible minorities out of poverty compared to the white population. Concentrating on Europe, Schierup, Hansen and Castles (2006) present what they term the dilemma of the E.U., namely the tension between the continent’s commitment to equality and the principles of liberal democracy and its growing poverty and social inequality. They argue that this tension has become more marked in an era of neoliberal restructuring. Central to their argument is that practices of social exclusion are indisputably influenced by racialization and ethnification, which they define as “practices and forms of exclusion which affect migrants and new ethnic minorities with their background in non-OECD countries in particular and which tend to be publically rationalized and legitimized in ethnic, racial and cultural terms” (Schierup, Hansen and Castles, 2006: 2). They conclude that while the E.U. emphasizes its multicultural composition, Europeanness is often defined by connections to European cultural heritage, Christian religious traditions, and Europe’s ethnocultural distinctiveness from the rest of the world.

Concluding thoughts The literature that connects international migration and the welfare state addresses a number of areas that are important in both theoretical and practical terms. Immigration is increasing 467

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in nearly every advanced Northern country. How this growth in the immigrant population will affect established social institutions is of clear concern. One of the most significant debates is whether changes in advanced countries’ demographic profiles will lead to a breakdown in social cohesion. Several scholars and public commentators argue that immigrant-led diversity will erode the social foundations that hold Western societies together, including a by-now retrenched welfare state. Empirical evidence is mixed, however. Studies of welfare support and social trust show that immigration does not have a clear and consistent negative relationship with cohesion. Most scholarly work focuses on immigration’s influence on the welfare state. Yet, how do different social policies influence immigrants? This question has been the focus of more recent scholarship, exemplified by Diane Sainsbury’s work. Future research should continue a focus on the interaction between welfare and immigration policies and their influence on immigrants’ lives. An immigrant-centered line of research will do much to illuminate the role of policies and state practices in shaping commonly studied immigrant outcomes such as labor market integration, wage differentials, and rates of poverty. Despite the connections that the literature makes between international migration and the welfare state, I argue that the field is limited by a number of blind spots and few interdisciplinary extensions. The social cohesion debate, for example, is defined by its assumption that diversity has a mechanistic, negative effect on cohesion. Missing is a thoughtful and even more critical examination of other possible explanations for differences and changes in immigration and welfare configurations across contexts. Two areas that I identify as potentially illuminating involve the role of global forces and the importance of racial and ethnic boundaries in defining the mainstream’s reaction to diversity. Historical analyses have the potential to uncover overlapping global processes responsible for both the necessity and creation of the welfare state and later international migratory movements. Identifying the role of an emergent and then eventually widespread global capitalism and capitalist ties may provide the thread that unites the antecedents of welfare and immigration. It is also important to recognize the limitations of problematizing diversity without considering mainstream reactions to diversity. For this, turning the mirror to examine the role of racial and ethnic boundaries and systemic racism could prove particularly helpful in unpacking the way welfare discourses are framed and perpetuated to the exclusion of racialized others. Central to this approach is an acknowledgment that majorities set the master frames for the way minorities are depicted. Yet, as demographic shifts are projected to turn many advanced Northern societies into majority-minority countries in the not so distant future, we must ask ourselves: Whose welfare are we theorizing?

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37 Immigration and crime and the criminalization of immigration Rubén G. Rumbaut, Katie Dingeman, and Anthony Robles

In June 2015, Donald Trump launched his presidential candidacy with a speech asserting that [t]he United States has become a dumping ground for everybody else’s problems . . . When Mexico sends its people, they’re not sending their best. They’re sending people that have lots of problems. They’re bringing drugs. They’re bringing crime. They’re rapists. And some, I assume, are good people. He repeated similar warnings about immigrant and refugee hordes throughout the campaign. In September 2016 at a rally in North Carolina, he claimed that “Hillary Clinton’s plan would bring in 650,000 refugees in her first term alone with no effective way to screen or vet them.” By October, at multiple campaign stops in Colorado and New Mexico, he upped that claim a thousand-fold to say that if his opponent won the presidency, she could let in 650 million new immigrants in one week: “She wants open borders. She wants to let people just pour in. You could have 650 million people pour in and we do nothing about it. Think of it. You triple the size of our country in one week.” [The U.S. population is about 325 million.] At his inaugural in January 2017, he continued to decry “the crime, the gangs and the drugs . . . This American carnage stops right here and stops right now.” A month later, at a meeting with sheriffs in the White House, he stated that “The murder rate in our country is the highest it’s been in 47 years.” [In fact the U.S. homicide rate in 2014, at 4.5 per 100,000, was the lowest in 51 years— since 1963 when the rate was 4.6 per 100,000.] All of those assertions were demonstrably false— “zombie ideas”—but their constant drumbeat by a demagogue with populist appeal and a mass media that amplified those assertions, have reinforced public fears about immigration and shaped political outcomes and attendant policies to “police the crisis” (Rumbaut, 2016).

Immigration and crime: public perceptions and empirical realities Historically in the United States, periods of large-scale immigration have been accompanied by nativist alarms, perceptions of threat, and pervasive stereotypes of the newcomers, particularly during economic downturns or national crises and when immigrants have arrived and

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concentrated in large numbers and differed from the native-born in language, race, religion, and national origin (Dingeman and Rumbaut, 2010; Simes and Waters, 2014). This has been especially true with respect to the feared criminality of immigrants. Such concerns peaked during the era of mass migration from the late 19th to the early 20th centuries, when the bulk of immigrants came from Southern and Eastern Europe. To assess those concerns, three major commissions created by the U.S. Congress three decades apart—the Industrial Commission of 1901, the [Dillingham] Immigration Commission of 1911, and the [Wickersham] National Commission on Law Observance and Enforcement of 1931—each devoted a volume to investigate how immigration led to presumed increases in crime. However, each found lower levels of criminal involvement among the foreign-born and higher levels among their native-born counterparts. As the relevant report of the Dillingham Commission concluded in 1911: No satisfactory evidence has yet been produced to show that immigration has resulted in an increase in crime disproportionate to the increase in adult population. Such comparable statistics of crime and population as it has been possible to obtain indicate that immigrants are less prone to commit crime than are native Americans. Two decades later, the Wickersham Commission provided a historical review of public opinion about “the theory that immigration is responsible for crime,” from the colonial period to the Revolution to the Civil War to the “modern period of federal control.” It was struck by the enduring character of the stereotype, despite finding that all the available evidence pointed to a lesser criminality on the part of the immigrant group as a whole (Dingeman and Rumbaut, 2010). Remarkably, nearly a century later those stereotypes persist, despite an abundance of empirical evidence which has long proved them wrong. Consider the crime trends that have marked the most recent period of large-scale immigration to the United States. Between 1990 and 2015, the foreign-born population of the U.S. more than doubled from 19.8 million to 43.3 million immigrants (from 7.9 percent to 13.5 percent of the total population); the number of undocumented immigrants more than tripled from 3.5 million to 11.4 million (peaking in 2007 at 12.2 million, then dropping during the Great Recession) (Zong and Batalova, 2017). During the same period, FBI data indicate that the violent crime rate was cut in half to near historic lows—including falling rates of aggravated assault, robbery, rape, and murder—from 758 per 100,000 in 1991 to 373 per 100,000 in 2015. Likewise, the property crime rate fell nearly as sharply—including declining rates of motor vehicle theft, larceny/robbery, and burglary—from 5,140 per 100,000 in 1991 to 2,500 in 2015. This held true for unreported crimes as well. According to the National Crime Victimization Survey, since 1993 the violent crime rate has declined from 79.8 to 23.2 victimizations per 1,000 people (Rumbaut, 2009; Ewing, Martínez and Rumbaut, 2015). This decline in crime rates in the face of high levels of new immigration occurred in cities across the country, and especially in cities that have long been “gateways” for immigrants entering the United States, such as New York, Los Angeles, Miami, and Chicago, and those along the U.S.–Mexico border from El Paso to San Diego. Sampson (2008) has observed that “cities of concentrated immigration are some of the safest places around” (p. 30). The inverse relationship between immigration and crime is also apparent in “new” immigrant gateways, such as Austin, where rates of both violent crime and serious property crime have declined despite high levels of new immigration (Akins, Rumbaut and Stansfield, 2009; Stansfield et al., 2014). Some scholars suggest that new immigrants may revitalize dilapidated areas of cities, alleviating violent crime (Sampson, 2008).

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That immigrants are less likely than the native-born to be criminals is reflected in the fact that disproportionately fewer prisoners in the United States are immigrants. This disparity in incarceration rates has existed for decades, as evidenced by data from the 1980, 1990, and 2000 decennial censuses (Butcher and Piehl, 2007). In each of those years, the incarceration rates of the native-born were anywhere from two to five times higher than that of immigrants. Parallel data from the 2010 American Community Survey showed that about 1.6 percent of immigrant males aged 18–39 were incarcerated compared to 3.3 percent of their native-born peers (Ewing, Martínez and Rumbaut, 2015). The marked difference in incarceration rates between immigrants and natives also holds in the case of immigrants most likely to be undocumented. An analysis of 2000 census data found that for every ethnic group without exception, incarceration rates among young men aged 18–39 were lowest for immigrants, even the least educated. This held true especially for the less-educated Mexican, Salvadoran, and Guatemalan young men who make up the bulk of the unauthorized population (Rumbaut, 2009). The 3.5 percent incarceration rate for native-born men aged 18–39 was five times higher than the 0.7 percent rate for young immigrant men as a whole. In particular, only 0.7 percent of foreignborn Mexican men and 0.5 percent of foreign-born Salvadoran and Guatemalan men were in prison. The disparity between immigrants and the native-born was even greater among young male high-school dropouts: 9.8 percent of native-born high-school dropouts were behind bars, compared to only 1.3 percent of immigrants. Moreover, only 0.7 percent of foreign-born Mexican high-school dropouts and 0.6 percent of foreign-born Salvadoran and Guatemalan high-school dropouts were behind bars. The evidence demonstrating lower rates of criminal involvement among immigrants is strongly supported by a growing number of contemporary studies. Akin to the Commission reports of the early 20th century, an exhaustive review of the literature at the end of the century concluded that “The major finding of a century of research on immigration and crime is that . . . immigrants nearly always exhibit lower crime rates than native groups” (Martínez and Lee, 2000, p. 496). Of the studies examined was one of homicide rates among Cuban refugees who arrived with the Mariel Boatlift of 1980. Although these Marielitos were frequently depicted in the media as prolific criminal offenders, even murderers, they in fact were not overrepresented among either homicide victims or offenders. Moreover, after only a short time in the United States, they were much less likely to commit crimes than Cubans who arrived in Miami before the Mariel Boatlift. As with south Florida in general, Miami experienced a sharp spike in homicides before the Mariel Cubans arrived in the city. Homicide rates continued to decline throughout the 1980s despite a steady inflow of Latin American immigrants. Research on the immigration–crime nexus has grown rapidly over the past decade, with both macro-level and individual-level studies diversifying their methodological and analytical approaches, geographic areas, and data sources, yet yielding convergent confirmatory evidence, with some scholars concluding that increased immigration is in fact a major factor associated with lower crime rates (Sampson, 2008). For example, Ousey and Kubrin (2009) investigated the longitudinal (1980–2000) macro-level relationship between immigration and violent crime (measured by Uniform Crime Report annual data on homicides, robberies, aggravated assaults, and rapes) across 150 U.S. cities, and found not only that immigration lowers violent crime rates, but that it does so by bolstering two-parent family structures. Similarly, Stowell et  al. (2009) tested the hypothesis that increased immigration reduces crime, using time-series data for 103 metropolitan areas over the 1994–2004 period, and found that “the broad reductions in violent crime during recent years are partially attributable to increases in immigration.” At the local level, a major study of 180 Chicago neighborhoods from 1995 to 2002 found that Latin American immigrants were less likely than the U.S.-born to commit violent 474

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crimes even when they lived in dense communities with high rates of poverty (Sampson, Morenoff and Raudenbush, 2005). The immigrants (foreign-born) were 45 percent less likely to commit violent crimes than were third+-generation Americans (children of nativeborn parents), adjusting for family and neighborhood background. The second generation (born in the U.S. to immigrant parents) was 22 percent less likely to commit violence than the third or higher generations. Similarly, a study of two cohorts near Toronto examined delinquency and violent behavior among Canadian youth, using scores from a delinquency and drug use scale (Hagan, Levi and Dinovitzer, 2008). The investigators separated the first, 1.5, and second generations from third-generation Canadians. Controlling for gender, age, socioeconomic background, ethnic origin, and cohort, they found generational status to be the most significant predictor of youth delinquency. That is, the foreign-born (first and 1.5) generations were significantly less likely than the native-born to engage in high-risk activities. As generational status increased, the odds of engaging in delinquent behavior also increased. These results, in different cities (and countries) using different methods, echo the broader research literature. At the individual level, national evidence indicates that immigrants are less likely than the native-born to commit criminal acts. For instance, an analysis of data from the National Epidemiologic Survey on Alcohol and Related Conditions sought to determine how often natives and immigrants engage in a wide range of violent and nonviolent “antisocial behaviors,” from hurting another person on purpose and using a weapon during a fight to shoplifting and lying (Vaughn et al., 2014). The study found that immigrants to the U.S. are less likely to engage in violent or nonviolent antisocial behaviors than native-born Americans. Notably, native-born Americans were approximately four times more likely to report violent behavior than Asian and African immigrants and three times more likely than immigrants from Latin America. (p. 7) Similar findings come from the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health (Powell, Perreira and Harris, 2010). The study examined delinquency by gender among native and immigrant groups from the onset of adolescence (ages 11–12) to the transition to adulthood (ages 25–26). The authors found that “immigrant youth who enrolled in U.S. middle and high schools in the mid-1990s and who are young adults today had among the lowest delinquency rates of all youth,” concluding that “fears that immigration will lead to an escalation of crime and delinquency are unfounded” (p. 497). That might be the case, based on the record of more than a century of empirical evidence, but the criminalization of immigration, in public stereotype and popular myth as well as in political behavior and public policy, operates on a different logic—and is bred in conditions that precipitate moral panics (Goode and Ben-Yehuda, 1994), fueled by media coverage of singular events, and catalyzed by demagogues seeking political gain by scapegoating vulnerable foreign-born groups. Recent examples include the role of California governor Pete Wilson who won reelection in 1994 by riding the popularity of Proposition 187, Sheriff Joe Arpaio of Maricopa County in Arizona, and Republican presidential candidates from Pat Buchanan to Tom Tancredo to Rick Perry to Newt Gingrich and Fred Thompson, who in 2007—in the wake of a murder in New Jersey attributed to “illegal aliens” which generated national headlines—had this to say in a prominent speech: “Twelve million illegal immigrants later, we are now living in a nation that is beset by people who are suicidal maniacs and want to kill countless innocent men, women, and children around the world” (Sampson, 2008). 475

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Crimmigration and the immigration industrial complex The criminalization of contemporary immigration is rooted in a long history of racialized immigrant exclusion, containment, and disposal. It traces back to the colonial period but is most clearly manifested in the 1798 Alien & Sedition Acts, the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, the 1919–1920 Palmer Raids during the post-World War I Red Scare, the 1924 National Origins Quota Act, the Mexican Repatriation during the Great Depression, the Japanese Internment during World War II, and Operation Wetback in 1954 (Kanstroom, 2007). More recently it is associated with the development of new ideological/legal frameworks and material/institutional structures accelerating since the 1980s (García Hernández, 2015). A series of critical events succeeded by moral panics and a renewed “symbolic crusade” produced stigmatizing definitions of deportable non-citizens as “illegal,” “criminal,” and “national security threats” (Chávez, 2008; Hagan, Levi and Dinovitzer, 2008). Negative media portrayals and the political demagoguery of “agents of indignation” influenced the passage of hyper-restrictive laws which in turn inspired a massive injection of institutional resources that has built the “crimmigration” enforcement apparatus into a “formidable machinery” underpinning mass deportation today (Meissner et al., 2013; Ewing, Martínez and Rumbaut, 2015). Crimmigration—the confluence of immigration and criminal law and enforcement apparatuses—is tied to the punitive turn in crime control (García Hernández, 2015; Stumpf, 2008). The Reagan administration used free market logics to shrink the safety net for marginalized populations while leading a crusade against crime and drugs. Moral panics made possible the rapid growth of a booming prison industry in an era of mass imprisonment in which the U.S. incarceration rate became the highest of any country in the world. It also emerged during a period of colorblind racism in which the state employed discourses of criminality to legitimate the unequal targeting of Blacks and Latinos for incarceration (Alexander, 2010). The necessary ideological framework and infrastructure to support future moral panics around immigration was established. A series of laws set crimmigration into motion. In 1986, Congress passed the Immigration Reform & Control Act (IRCA). The bi-partisan compromise regularized the status of 2.7 million undocumented people. It mandated the Attorney General to deport “as expeditiously as possible” any non-citizen convicted of a removable offense. Millions of dollars were also appropriated to expand border enforcement and employers were mandated to verify the status of employees for the first time. Two years later, the Anti-Abuse Act of 1988 codified “aggravated felonies” into law. The category initially included only serious violent offenses, but it expanded several times over the next two decades. Presently any non-citizen convicted of a crime with a maximum sentence of a year or more may be classified as an aggravated felon and subject to removal and a ban on re-entry (Rosenblum and Kandel, 2011). Law and order advocates, the media, and the enforcement industry helped turned immigrants into a principal target for containment during an intense anti-immigrant backlash in the early 1990s. Latina/o migrants were cast as illegals and criminals who stole citizens’ jobs, drained state services, carried drugs and violence, and were orchestrating a re-conquest of the Southwest (Chávez, 2008). These discourses led to the militarization of territorial borders through initiatives like Operation Gatekeeper and Operation Hold the Line. Implemented alongside NAFTA in 1993, Gatekeeper doubled enforcement funding, border agents, and fencing (Nevins, 2010). Intended to secure portions of the southwestern border from unauthorized migration and especially trafficking in drugs, weapons, and persons, they actually made the journey more dangerous and contributed to increased border deaths (Nevins, 2010).

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Anti-immigrant hysteria directly led to California’s Proposition 187 in 1994, which declared undocumented immigrants living in the state ineligible for public services, and asserted in its opening lines that “the people of California have suffered and are suffering economic hardship [and] personal injury and damage caused by the criminal conduct of illegal aliens in this state.” Proposition 187 spawned multiple copycat laws and ordinances in other states and localities, and influenced two hyper-restrictive federal laws passed in 1996 that continue to undergird migrant criminalization. The Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA) and the Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act (AEDPA) established 287(g) agreements to fund the training and authorization of criminal law enforcement agencies and its officers to police immigration. Mandatory detention was instituted for “aggravated felons” and others deemed threats to national security. Judicial discretion and review were also limited such that migrants’ age at migration, family ties, and contributions were no longer considered in most removal decisions. It also became extraordinarily difficult to appeal cases from abroad, so once criminalized, most migrants effectively lost any remaining rights in the U.S. immigration system. The attacks of September 11, 2001, and the political and media reaction in the wake of a “war on terror,” prompted the next major moral panic; it exacerbated public fears of the foreign-born and conflated “illegal immigration” not only with crime but with potential terrorism, leading to surveillance, monitoring, and targeting of Arab and Muslim migrants. When the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) was formed in 2003, following the passage of the Homeland Security Act of 2002, immigration was considered a national security concern. The National Security Entry-Exit Registration (NSEERS) program, established in 2002 under the DOJ, was transferred to DHS, through which thousands of non-citizens of Arab and Muslim descent were required to register and regularly check in with immigration officials. DHS also rolled out Operation Endgame (2003–2012), a multi-year initiative to deport all removable immigrants and suspected terrorists living in the U.S. within ten years. The Secure Borders Initiative (SBI, 2006–2011) supported Endgame through the appropriation of billions of dollars to corporations like Boeing to construct a virtual fence and implement other advanced surveillance and enforcement technologies along the Southern border. In December 2005, the U.S. House of Representatives passed The Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act of 2005 (H.R. 4437), which would have criminalized all 12 million undocumented immigrants estimated to reside in the country as well as those who would assist them; the Senate did not act, so it never became law, but it showed how a population in the millions could so readily be made into felons. It represented the most draconian anti-illegal immigration bill in nearly a century, but also catalyzed mass protests by millions of people across all major cities in the U.S. in early 2006. During this period the state also de-formalized removal procedures to facilitate expedited criminalization and removal. Operation Streamline (2005–present) summarily prosecutes people in mass trials of up to 80 people, typically along the Southern border. Migrants processed through the initiative are routinely denied legal assistance, coerced to plead guilty to criminalized immigration offenses, and deported without a full understanding of their rights. In 2008, DHS covertly piloted Streamline as an interior enforcement tactic through a workplace raid at a meatpacking plant in Postville, Iowa. Three hundred and eighty-nine undocumented laborers were arrested, denied counsel, prosecuted, and deported. It took years for litigation to emerge against the company, but hundreds of migrants were criminalized and deported and many more were vicariously affected. The city “lost 40% of its pre-raid population, the economy was in shambles, [and] the city government teetered on the brink of financial collapse” (Camayd-Freixas, 2013).

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Costly initiatives such as Endgame and SBI failed to reduce the overall size of the undocumented population. To advance more cost-effective and efficient border enforcement, the state expanded risk-based, deterrent, and de-formalized strategies such as Operation Streamline. In 2011, the Consequence Delivery System (CDS) began “to uniquely evaluate each subject and identify the ideal consequences to deliver to impede and deter further illegal activity.” The Alien Transfer and Exit Program (ATEP) criminalizes migrants then “delivers” them to different regions from where they entered. Deportation typically occurs after separation from family. Migrants are also dropped into dangerous areas in the middle of the night alone, with little more than the clothes on their backs (Slack et al., 2015). The Postville model was eventually deemed a public relations nightmare and abandoned. Under the Obama administration, ICE came to rely on the criminal justice system to identify deportable migrants on the interior. The Secure Communities program (2009–present) uses biometric statistics to locate deportable immigrants in participating local and state jails. It also permits the issuance of immigration detainers, which authorize the transfer of deportable migrants into ICE custody. These programs are supplemented by operations such as Operation Community Shield and the Fugitive Alien Program which claim to target drug traffickers, gang members, and fugitives but routinely ensnare undocumented migrants without criminal histories and transform such persons into criminals through the application of immigration-related convictions. Failure to appear in court, for instance, is grounds to treat a migrant as fugitive. The Obama administration was lauded for its later attempts at immigration reform. In the absence of Congressional movement on the DREAM Act, Obama executed the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) program, which granted 800,000 undocumented child migrants social security numbers, work authorization, and temporary relief from removal. Obama also claimed to target “felons, not families” such that criminal aliens would be the primary target for removal, particularly from the interior. Obama nonetheless deported 3.1 million persons during his tenure, more than any other administration in U.S. history. Moreover, most persons deported under his administration were removed for immigration violations and minor nonviolent offenses (Thompson and Cohen, 2014). In FY 2014, 414,481 persons were removed; 60 percent of these people were deported without a criminal conviction. Only 7 percent of total removals were linked to serious crimes such as assault, burglary, sexual assault, and weapons offenses. Unlawful re-entry and traffic violations constituted the largest increases in criminal removals from the previous year. By 2016, 94 percent of all removals and returns could be classified within “priority one” categories established by the Morton memo in 2010, including a wide range of persons classified as “threats of national security or public safety, including most migrants with criminal convictions of any kind” (ICE, 2016). This hierarchy of priorities  .  .  .  lumped together offenses that are very different in nature  .  .  .  someone could be in Priority 1 for being a terrorist or for having committed an “aggravated felony” such as shoplifting, which is neither a felony nor aggravated under criminal law as it is applied to U.S. citizens. (American Immigration Council, 2018: 3) It is also telling that, of the 240,255 removals initiated by ICE in FY 2016, less than 1 percent of total removals were classified as suspected or confirmed gang members (ICE, 2016). During the same year, DHS had classified Central American women and children fleeing gendered violence and street crime in their countries of origin as “national security threats” who met “priority one” classifications. De facto refugees were mandatorily detained, denied attorneys and credible fear hearings, criminalized, and summarily deported to unknown conditions with formal bans on re-entry to the U.S. 478

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This campaign of mass criminalization, detention, and deportation is decisively bolstered by a massive industrial complex constituted by media, military, technology, surveillance, and prison industries. Since at least the 1990s, lobbyists representing corporate interests and “dark money” have invested billions of dollars annually to sustain and grow the immigration industrial complex (Douglas and Saenz, 2013). The budgets for ICE and CBP have continuously grown and are now larger than all other law enforcement agencies combined (Meissner et al., 2013). The private detention industry has been particularly influential. Rates of detention have grown exponentially in recent decades. Before the 1980s, around 30 people were held in immigration detention per day. By 1998, when crimmigration began to ramp up, this number reached 16,000. In 2014, 34,000 persons were congressionally mandated to be detained in immigration detention on any given day (Pringle, 2013). Marketed as a cost-cutting measure in the Reagan era, the government increasingly relied on private facilities to detain citizens and non-citizens alike. The two largest for-profit prison companies in the United States—GEO and Corrections Corporation of America—and their associates “have funneled more than $10 million to candidates since 1989 and have spent nearly $25 million in lobbying efforts. Meanwhile, these private companies have seen their revenue and market share soar. They now rake in a combined $3.3 billion in annual revenue” (Cohen, 2015). GEO Group and CCA own eight of the ten largest immigrant detention centers and manage 72 percent of privately held ICE detention center beds (Carson and Diaz, 2015). Insomuch as they consider migrants a “growth market,” their lobbying has informed the passage of numerous anti-immigrant Acts, including Arizona’s infamous Senate Bill 1070 and the DHS Appropriations Act of 2012, which established the bed quota (Greene and Patel, 2009; Hodai, 2010; Pringle, 2013). Indeed, on the day after Trump’s election in 2016, the biggest winner in the stock market was CCA, whose stock soared more than 49 percent by early afternoon, while GEO Group’s stock surged more than 21 percent. Together, those gains added more than $1 billion to the market values of the private prison companies. The immigration industrial complex is now firmly lodged in U.S. society. With the largest detention infrastructure in the world, the U.S. maintains a network of over 250 county jails and for-profit prisons. Whole communities heavily rely on detention for economic sustenance (Doty and Wheatley, 2013). The system, with its powerful interests, worldviews, material resources, and associated legal apparatus, thus discourages fundamental reform (Doty and Wheatley, 2013). The long-term trend is likely to be sustained, accompanied at least in the near term by heightened migrant criminalization, detention, and deportation (see also Sharpless, 2016).

Conclusion From the moment he launched his presidential campaign in 2015, Donald Trump tapped into an authoritarian populist appeal by propagating an intensified xenophobic moral panic with racist language and scapegoating of immigrants. He appealed particularly to a rising nationalist fervor among predominately white working-class Americans who believed they were on the wrong side of globalism. Latino and Muslim immigrants and asylum seekers were cast under Trump’s nationalist moral crusade as the ultimate threat to national sovereignty and security. Trump promised to institute a Muslim ban forbidding entry to veritable refugees, build a wall between the U.S. and Mexico, and create a “deportation force” that would remove all 11 million undocumented immigrants living in the country in ways reminiscent of the 1930s’ Mexican Repatriation and Operation Wetback in 1954. The Trump administration has yet to build the border wall but instituted a Muslim refugee ban and rescinded the DACA program. It expanded surveillance of migrants and instituted 479

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ideological screening at airports, ports, and during regularization and adjustment of status. Trump also increased border and interior enforcement, created a weekly list of violations committed by immigrants, and established a hotline intended for victims of immigrant crime. DHS has also expanded its use of raids, targeting of people in public spaces, shopping centers, outside schools and courthouses, and inside hospitals. In one such case, a 10-year-old girl who migrated from Mexico at three months old and suffered from cerebral palsy was stopped by a CBP checkpoint in Texas on her way to receive emergency surgery. Immediately after surgery, she was transferred to immigration custody to be processed for removal (Alden, 2017). In recent decades, political actors in the U.S. have capitalized on rhetoric conflating immigrants, particularly male undocumented laborers from Latin America and asylum seekers and refugees from Central America and the Middle East, with criminality. To be sure, “some immigrants do commit serious crimes. But that is because they are like all other human beings,” not due to any inherent proclivity for violence and lawlessness (Camacho, 2017). Regardless of these cases, there is no empirically strong positive relationship between immigration and crime rates in the U.S. As a whole, immigrants commit crime and are incarcerated at lower rates than non-immigrants. This pattern holds true across national origin groups, citizenship statuses, and types of criminal offenses. Immigrants, especially when their communities are supported, appear mostly to revitalize rather than threaten communities. Criminality may be less associated with coming to America than the process of becoming American. The immigrant crime paradox may be explained by several interlocking factors, including: positive immigrant selectivity, fear of detention and deportation might lead to lower rates of offenses and lower reporting of crimes in immigrant communities, and the disproportionate criminalization and policing of native-born minority populations. The proliferation of waves of moral panics around immigration has helped bolster the criminalization of immigrants, particularly of racialized poor men from Latin American and Caribbean countries. This artificial production of criminality is tied to the broader rise of the carceral state, a natural outgrowth of the Wars on Drugs and Crime (García Hernández, 2015). It is bolstered by massive and tremendously lucrative prison, surveillance/technology, and military industries. The lobbying power of these industries in turn maintains mass criminalization, detention, and deportation. Crimmigration is a relatively new phenomenon now rapidly expanding to migrant-receiving countries throughout the world (Guia, van de Woude and van der Leun, 2013). In some cases, such as in El Salvador, the U.S. government has actively exported policing practices abroad (Zilberg, 2011). The criminalization of migration has transnational blowback effects, including separation of families, diminished mental health, education, and economic outcomes among migrants and deportees, and the spread of crime across international borders. The ideological and material components of crimmigration thus contribute to the growth of the problems they were intended to reduce. The immigrant rights movement has stayed abreast of these consequences, pushing back at every turn. Faced with the forces of industry and the Trump administration, however, they are likely to face considerable headwinds into the future.

References Akins, S., Rumbaut, R. G. and Stansfield, R. (2009). Immigration, Economic Disadvantage and Homicide. Homicide Studies 13(3), pp. 307–14. Alden, E. (2017). The Big Lie: Does DHS Really Have to Deport a Ten-Year-Old with Cerebral Palsy? Council on Foreign Relations, [online]. Available at: www.cfr.org/blog/big-lie-does-dhs-really-havedeport-ten-year-old-cerebral-palsy [Accessed 30 Oct. 2017]. Alexander, M. (2010). The new Jim Crow: Mass incarceration in the era of colorblindness. New York: The New Press. 480

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American Immigration Council. (2018). The End of Immigration Enforcement Priorities under the Trump Administration. Washington, DC: American Immigration Council: Available at: www.american immigrationcouncil.org/research/immigration-enforcement-priorities-under-trump-administration [Accessed 4 March 2019]. Butcher, K. F. and Piehl, A. M. (2007). Why Are Immigrants’ Incarceration Rates So Low? Evidence on Selective Immigration, Deterrence, and Deportation. Working Paper 2005–19. Chicago, IL: Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago. Camacho, D. (2017). Trump’s Weekly List of Immigrant Crimes Is as Sinister as it Sounds. The Guardian, [online]. Available at: www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/mar/22/trumps-weekly-list-immigrantcrimes-sinister-deportation [Accessed 22 March 2017]. Camayd-Freixas, E. (2013). US immigration reform and its global impact: Lessons from the Postville raid. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Carson, B. and Diaz, B. (2015). Payoff: How Congress Ensures Private Prison Profit with an Immigrant Detention Quota. Grassroots Leadership (April), pp. 1–24. Chávez, L. (2008). The Latino threat: Constructing immigrants, citizens, and the nation. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Cohen, M. (2015). How For-Profit Prisons Have Become the Biggest Lobby No One is Talking About. The Washington Post, [online]. Available at: www.washingtonpost.com/posteverything/ wp/2015/04/28/how-for-profit-prisons-have-become-the-biggest-lobby-no-one-is-talking-about/. Dingeman, K. and Rumbaut, R. G. (2010). The Immigration-Crime Nexus and Post-Deportation Experiences. University of La Verne Law Review 31(2), pp. 363–402. Doty, R. and Wheatley, E. (2013). Private Detention and the Immigration Industrial Complex. International Political Sociology 7(4), pp. 426–443. Douglas, K. and Saenz, R. (2013). The Criminalization of Immigrants and the Immigration Industrial Complex. Daedalus 142, pp. 199–227. Ewing, W., Martínez, D. E. and Rumbaut, R. G. (2015). The criminalization of immigration in the United States. American Immigration Council, [online]. Available at: www.americanimmigrationcouncil.org/ sites/default/files/research/the_criminalization_of_immigration_in_the_united_states.pdf [Accessed 22 March 2017]. García Hernández, C. (2015). Crimmigration Law. Washington, DC: American Bar Association. Goode, E. and Ben-Yehuda, N. (1994). Moral panics: The social construction of deviance. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell Publishing. Greene, J. and Patel, S. (2009). The Immigrant Gold Rush: The Profit Motive behind Immigration Detention. Report to the U.N. Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Migrants. Available at: www. aclu.org/sites/default/files/pdfs/humanrights/detention_deportation_briefing.pdf [Accessed 15 August 2017]. Guia, J., van de Woude, M. and van der Leun, J. (2013). Social control and justice: Crimmigration in the age of fear. The Hague: Eleven International Publishing. Hagan, J., Levi, R. and Dinovitzer, R. (2008). The Symbolic Violence of the Crime-Immigration Nexus: Migrant Mythologies in the Americas. Criminology and Public Policy 7(1), pp. 95–112. Hodai, B. (2010). Ties that Bind: Arizona Politicians and the Private Prison Industry. In These Times, [online]. Available at: http://inthesetimes.com/article/6085/ties_that_bind_arizona_politicians_and_ the_private_prison_industry [Accessed 15 August 2017]. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. (2016). FY 2016 Immigration Removals. Department of Washington, DC: Homeland Security. Kanstroom, D. (2007). Deportation nation: Outsiders in American history. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Martínez, R. and Lee, M. (2000). On Immigration and Crime. In: G. LaFree et al., eds. Criminal justice 2000. Washington, DC: U.S. Department of Justice, pp. 485–524. Meissner, D., Kerwin, D., Chishti, M. and Bergeron, C. (2013). Immigration enforcement in the United States: The rise of a formidable machinery. Washington, DC: Migration Policy Institute. Nevins, J. (2010). Operation gatekeeper: The war on “illegals” and the remaking of the U.S.-Mexico boundary. 2nd edition. New York: Routledge. Ousey, G. C. and Kubrin, C. E. (2009). Exploring the Connections between Immigration and Violent Crime Rates in U.S. Cities, 1980–2000. Social Problems 56(3), pp. 447–473. Powell, D., Perreira, K. and Harris, K. M. (2010). Trajectories of Delinquency from Adolescence to Adulthood. Youth & Society 41(4), pp. 475–502. 481

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Pringle, A. (2013). The Winners in Immigration Control: Private Prisons. The Atlantic, [online]. Available at: www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2013/08/the-winners-in-immigration-control-privateprisons/279128/ [Accessed 8 January 2013]. Rosenblum, M. and Kandel, W. (2011). Interior immigration enforcement: Programs targeting immigration enforcement. Washington, DC: Congressional Research Service. Rumbaut, R. G. (2009). Undocumented Immigration and Rates of Crime and Imprisonment. In: A. Khashu, ed. The role of local police: Striking a balance between immigration enforcement and civil liberties. Washington, DC: Police Foundation, pp. 119–139. Rumbaut, R. G. (2016). Zombie Ideas and Moral Panics: Framing Immigrants as Criminal and Cultural Threats. Russell Sage Foundation Blog Series [online]. Available at: www.russellsage.org/zombie-ideasand-moral-panics-framing-immigrants-criminal-and-cultural-threats [Accessed 4 November 2016]. Sampson, R. (2008). Rethinking Crime and Immigration. Contexts 7(1), pp. 28–33. Sampson, R., Morenoff, J. and Raudenbush, S. (2005). Social Anatomy of Race and Ethnic Disparities in Violence. American Journal of Public Health 95(2), pp. 224–232. Sharpless, R. (2016). “Immigrants Are Not Criminals”: Respectability, Immigration Reform, and Hyperincarceration. Houston Law Review 53, pp. 691–765. Simes, J. T. and Waters, M. C. (2014). The Politics of Immigration and Crime. In: S. Bucerius and M. Tonry, eds. The Oxford handbook of ethnicity, crime, and immigration. New York: Oxford University Press, pp. 457–483. Slack, J., Martínez, D. E., Whiteford, S. and Peiffer, E. (2015). In Harm’s Way: Family Separation, Immigration Enforcement Programs, and Security on the US-Mexico Border. Journal on Migration and Human Security 3(2), pp. 109–128. Stansfield, R., Akins, S., Rumbaut, R. G. and Hammer, R. (2014). Assessing the Effects of Recent Immigration on Serious Property Crime in Austin, Texas. Sociological Perspectives 56(4), pp. 647–672. Stowell, J., Messner, S., Mcgeever, K. and Raffalovich, L. (2009). Immigration and the Recent Violent Crime Drop in the United States: A Pooled, Cross-Sectional Time-Series Analysis of Metropolitan Areas. Criminology 47(3), pp. 889–928. Stumpf, J. (2008). The Crimmigration Crisis: Immigrants, Crime, and Sovereign Power. American University Law Review 56(2), pp. 367–419. Thompson, G. and Cohen, S. (2014). More Deportations Follow Minor Crimes, Records Show. New York Times, [online]. Available at: www.nytimes.com/2014/04/07/us/more-deportations-followminor-crimes-data-shows.html [Accessed 15 August 2014]. Vaughn, M., Salas-Wright, C., DeLisi, M. and Maynard, B. (2014). The Immigrant Paradox: Immigrants Are Less Antisocial than Native-born Americans. Social Psychiatry and Psychiatric Epidemiology 49(7), pp. 1129–1137. Zilberg, E. (2011). Space of detention: The making of a transnational gang crisis between Los Angeles and San Salvador. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Zong, J. and Batalova, J. (2017). Frequently Requested Statistics on Immigrants and Immigration in the United States. Migration Information Source, [online]. Available at: www.migrationpolicy.org/article/ frequently-requested-statistics-immigrants-and-immigration-united-states [Accessed 18 January 2018].

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Maintaining links across borders

Until relatively recently, most scholars and policy makers assumed that migrants maintained extensive relations with only a single nation-state – that of their country of origin (for short-term sojourners) and the host society (for longer term settlers). In fact, the notions of permanent settlement and straight-line assimilation have been so mythologized in the classic countries of migration that there is a dearth of public awareness about the large fraction of migrants who returned to their countries of origin during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. However, research and theorizing reveal that relatively few of those crossing borders envision their exit to be lasting. Many plan to return and do so either permanently or prior to setting off on additional travel. Others extend their stays abroad or remigrate in response to events small and large, without consciously deciding to do so. Of course, even those whose migration is unreversed maintain deep feelings about the country of origin, which characterizes emigrants’ evaluation of their presence abroad. As a consequence, migration scholars have recognized that various communities maintain international ties and have sought to better understand their causes and implications. Research reveals that some individuals and groups are able to work legally and even maintain citizenship in several countries while others must do so without legal sanction. Nevertheless, the ubiquity of globe-spanning networks and accessible forms of communication means that persons and groups who do not regularly cross borders often exchange information and resources with those in disparate locations while also identifying with far away people and places that they might or might not have actually visited. To better understand such relationships, scholars have advanced an approach called “transnationalism.” Stressing the globalization of political, economic, social and cultural life, the speed and low cost of modern communication and transportation, the rights revolution that has opened opportunities for incorporation and self-determination among the women and men of formerly excluded ethnic and nationality groups, and the conscious inclusion of expatriates in the polity of many nations, the concept of transnationalism emphasizes the various networks and links (demographic, political, economic, cultural, familial) that exist between two or more locations. From this perspective, migration is not a single, discrete event involving movement from one geographically and socially bounded locality to another. Instead, transnational communities embody and exchange concerns, relationships, resources, needs and often people immersed in multiple settings.

Part VIII

An alternative model for understanding the interconnection of dispersed people is diaspora. Originally associated with groups encountering forced exile from their homeland – as in the case of Jews, Africans, Armenians, and Indians – in recent years, scholars have applied this concept in a broader if less specific manner to codify a range of interconnections between people, cultures and nations to represent feelings of longing and displacement but also the potential for reconnection, advancement and liberation common to migrants and exiles in many in settings. Diaspora and transnationalism are closely related and sometimes overlap – as is the case among Chinese who travel back and forth between Guangzhou and Toronto. However, studies concerning transnationalism often see migrants as pragmatic and emphasize their agency, while those focusing on diaspora describe feelings of loss and dislocation as ubiquitous. This section features four chapters that explore migrants’ maintenance of links across international borders. Gabriel (Gabi) Sheffer’s contribution concerns the historical development of diasporas. Drawing on numerous case studies, he explores their transformation as they interact with various communities and nation-states and maintain connections with both members and local environments. Thomas Faist and Başak Bilecen’s chapter contends that interest in transnationalism does not follow a consistent theoretical trajectory but, rather, involves an eclectic examination of various cross-border phenomena. They identify major debates associated with the concept, including transnationalism’s relationship to globalization, its implications for the viability of the nation-state, and the extent to which it is compatible with or likely to supersede identityrelated formulations including assimilation and multiculturalism. Noting the concept’s recent origins, and the interdisciplinary diversity of scholars working with the concept, the authors observe that the emergent study of transnationalism was plagued by disagreements among proponents and spirited debates with skeptics. By summarizing recent refinements and innovations in transnational research, the chapter offers a means of enhancing the endeavor’s creativity while tempering its definitional anarchy. In her chapter, Kelly Birch Maginot examines deportation, a highly coercive form of stateimposed return migration that has become a widely used and increasingly controversial means of migration control in recent years. Summarizing published accounts and drawing from her own intensive fieldwork with Salvadorans who have been forcibly repatriated from the US, Maginot notes that persons selected for deportation are marked by a series of common characteristics. They are nearly all young, male, black or Latino, poor and lacking legal migrant status. Accused of crime, gang membership, and marked by attire, mannerisms and tattoos associated with US gangs, unfamiliar with local culture and language and often unable to support themselves, deportees generally find themselves just as unwelcome in their country of birth as they were in the country that deported them. Despite encountering hostile treatment from US authorities, deportees discover that their adoption of American practices plays a significant role in organizing their lives upon their forceable return to their country of birth. Many find employment in call centers where their English language competence is of value for telemarketing businesses directed toward American customers. Meeting coworkers with backgrounds similar to their own, they become members of a “new American diaspora.” A considerable fraction of these involuntary exiles have children and other family members who bear US citizenship. While deportees understand and empathize with each other’s experience of family separation, migration laws and a shortage of money means that these deportees have few means to achieve family reunification.

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The Handbook’s chapters on transnationalism and diaspora address specific forms of crossnational connections. In contrast, Audrey Kobayashi’s chapter on return migration provides a broad and multidimensional review of processes that take place among a wide variety of migrating populations, locations, and historical periods. In addition, it summarizes many of the theoretical models that account for return. Gleaning insights from a number of case studies, the author makes useful generalization about return migration, while at the same time emphasizing the importance of contextual factors that distinguish particular events and processes. In so doing, she offers valuable insights that are relevant not only to our conceptualization of return, but to the broader examination of migration as well.

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38 The historical, cultural, social, and political backgrounds of ethno-national diasporas Gabriel (Gabi) Sheffer

Working definition This chapter discusses the substantial importance of the historical backgrounds of ethnonational-religious diasporas, as far as their current existence and their growing roles, actions, and influence on both their homelands and hostlands are concerned. In most theoretical and analytical deliberations and discussions of the nature, composition, behavior and activities of ethno-national-religious or transnational diasporas there is a strong tendency to argue that the diasporic phenomenon is not old, and to focus on diasporas’ recent and current situation. Thus, there are relatively few attempts to consider the age of the diasporic phenomenon and to categorize various types of diasporas and, accordingly, to study their historical backgrounds and their impacts on their current states of affairs and positions. Only recently some attention has been given to the very basic fact that the historical background of the diasporic phenomenon in general and of each diaspora in particular, has an impact on their current situation. In this vein, the main purpose of this chapter is to generally examine the histories and the cultural, social, and political backgrounds of current “historical,” “modern,” and “incipient” ethno-national diasporas.

Approaches to the study of diasporas The following is a clarification of the main approaches to the study of the historical emergence, nature, characterizations of diasporic entities. The essential purpose here is to show that diasporism is an ancient phenomenon, that some “old” diasporas still exist and that the historical factor has significant influence on all diasporas. The initial study of the characteristics of diasporas began with what might be called the “diasporic approach.” Later the “Transnationalist approach” has emerged. More recently there is growing recognition that these two approaches should be unified or at least coordinated.1 This chapter follows the ethno-national-religious approach to the diasporic phenomenon. Thus, following are the main factors of a general diaspora’s profile that have historical consequences: the identity of the ethno-national members of diasporas is a non-essentialist primordial one. Such ethno-national-religious diasporas are the outcome of either voluntary migration 487

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(e.g., Irish and Turks) or expulsion from their homeland (e.g., the Jews and the Palestinians). These diasporic entities are formed and become established only after migrants voluntarily, but explicitly, decide to permanently settle in one or a number of hostlands. In most cases, the decision to permanently live in a hostland is taken by individuals, families, and small groups after an initial period of residence and adjustment in the hostland. Such decisions need the acceptance and confirmation of the “receiving” hostlands. Unless they become the undisputed majority that controls the country/state to which they emigrated, most diasporas remain minority groups. Their core members preserve their ethno-national-religious identity and communal solidarity. Based on a combination of historical primordial psychological/mythical and instrumental factors, the ethnic identity and communal solidarity serve as the twin foundations for maintaining diasporas’ collective affinities and connections. To maintain and promote such affinities, constant contacts among the diasporas’ elites and activist grassroots groups are avowedly preserved. Such ongoing contacts have cultural, social, economic and political significance for the diasporans, for their hostlands, for their homelands, for other diasporic communities of the same origin, and for other interested and involved actors. These contacts also provide the essential grounds for all activities of diasporic organizations to deal with various aspects of the entities’ cultural, social, economic, and political needs in a way that usually complements, but at times also contradicts and clashes with, the interests of hostlands and their governments. Diasporas adopt and try to implement coherent strategies. In most cases, they apply the communalist strategy. The emergence of diasporic organizations creates the potential for the development of multiple authority and loyalty patterns. To avoid undesirable conflicts with the norms and laws established by the dominant social group and its political organizations in hostlands, most diasporas accept these countries’ social and political “rules of the game.” At certain periods in their history of integration in hostlands, real or alleged dual, divided, and ambiguous loyalties may create tensions between various social and political groups in the host country and the diaspora. Sometimes such confrontations lead to the intervention of homelands on behalf of their diasporas, or to intervention in the affairs of “their” diasporas. Finally and most importantly, the capability of diasporas to mobilize their members in order to promote or defend their own or their homelands’ interests in their hostlands will result in the formation of either conflictual or cooperative triadic, or even four-sided, relationships and exchanges involving homeland, diaspora, hostland, and other interested actors. These relations are now an inherent part of international politics, and influence the behavior of all parties involved. Some writers in this field classified the diasporas either according to their origin and causes of their emergence and establishment, or according to the cultural, social, political, and economic functions that they perform in their hostlands. Rather, the following distinctions should be made between diasporas, in general, and between the various internal subgroups of diasporas, in particular. The first distinction is between “old/historical,” “modern,” and “incipient” diasporas. The second distinction is between “state-linked” and “stateless” diasporas. The third distinction applies to the various groups and individuals constituting each diaspora – the “core” and various “peripheries.”

The actual historical backgrounds of current diasporas Old diasporas For many centuries the term “diaspora” was applied almost only to the dispersed ethnonational-religious Greek and especially to the Jewish diasporic entities. During recent decades, however, the term has become exceedingly popular and has been applied to numerous dispersed entities. This is the case not only among scholars in this sphere, but also among many 488

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individuals, social groups, politicians, communication persons, and diasporans themselves. By accepting this term and notion, there is a growing realization that the Jewish diaspora is not the only surviving “old historical” diaspora and that it has various similarities to other diasporas of “the same age and younger.” Probably later than the formation of the Jewish diaspora, but still during ancient times, other quite large ethnic diasporas were formed. Indians were among those who formed an old historical diaspora. The Chinese also began their emigration out of China and the establishment of a Chinese diaspora during ancient times. Another well-known old historical diaspora is that of the Armenians. Moreover, various African tribes moved from their countries of origin to other locations and established what also might be called old historical diasporas. Most of these and other old ethnic diasporas have continued to exist until now. The first impact of the historical longevity of diasporic existence is connected to their genetic origin. Thus for example, members of these diasporas, especially the Indians, Chinese and Africans, have maintained their facial and physical characteristics, which, on one hand, distinguish them from other ethnic groups in their hostlands, a factor that in certain cases creates tensions and conflicts between the diasporans and the local people, and on the other hand, these features encourage comradeship and cooperation between the diasporans who belong to the same entity. The later development of modern nationalism (as from the 17th or 18th centuries) only strengthened the ethno-national-religious connections and ties between members of such historical diasporas and added the modern national element to the ethnic-religious ones that marked the very early beginnings of these entities. In turn, these ethno-national basic factors have strengthened the non-geographical communal affinity, cohesion, and cooperation within these entities and between them and their homelands. The history and the memories of a diaspora’s establishment and survival and especially the ingrained memory of the land of origin, strengthen the non-assimilated core diasporans’ connections to their actual or perceived homelands. Members of historical diasporas have maintained legends and true stories about their homelands that are repeated, especially during the various holidays that diasporans celebrate, during religious affairs, and during family and group meetings. Furthermore, these memories are emphasized especially in the educational programs that the diasporans initiate and operate in their hostlands. In certain cases, the result is an urge for diasporans to return to their actual or perceived homeland. This has been the case, for example, for the Chinese, African, Armenian, Jewish, Indian, and even the Japanese diasporas. Yet another aspect of the impact of the history of those old diasporas is the painful memories of acute troubles and conflicts that such diasporans have experienced and suffered either in their homelands or hostlands. Such memories influence the way in which these people regard the entire world and their conception of their ethno-national-religious individual and group characteristics. The historical memories and perspectives that are continuously embraced by diasporans also have substantial impacts on the current culture that these diasporans maintain. This is a result of diasporans’ efforts to actually follow their historical and cultural patterns. Thus, in addition to their churches, mosques, and synagogues, historical diasporas have established special schools, educational institutes and organizations for their young and older children. Among other major issues that they are teaching in these special educational institutes is the ethno-national-religious history of the diaspora and its ramifications, the timing and reasons for its members’ emigration from the homeland and the basic cultural features of the entire nation. On both the emotional and the formal and informal levels, the histories of these entities help to strengthen the existence and cohesion of the core groups and the individual members of these entities. Both historical happy memories about good occurrences in the diasporas, and stories and memories of disasters, strengthen the communal connections and tendencies. 489

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All these historical images and memories also have practical organizational and behavioral meanings. From the organizational point of view, the social and political conflicts between diasporans and hostlands’ societies, rulers, and especially governments, and the involved persecutions and deprivations, encourage these entities to establish and maintain their nongeographical cultural and social boundaries and augment cohesion. As far as possible, such diasporans are doing it through well-established organized groups and institutions.

Modern diasporas Some historians who have written about diasporas argue that the “early modern era” of diasporism started at the end of the 15th century and lasted until the late 18th century. The argument is that this phase in the history of diasporism began with the European discovery of the Americas and later of other continents and countries. It has been argued that following these discoveries there started a growing process of founding the European empires and colonies. In turn, the urge to establish such empires and its actual consequences resulted in the movement of growing numbers of individuals and groups to help in conquering and colonizing more territories and to settle and control them. Such were the cases of the British, Spanish, Portuguese, and French colonies. These migrations enhanced the eventual emergence of modern diasporas rather than of kin-groups in adjacent territories. The contacts between “colonial” diasporas and their homelands were maintained partly by the existence of relatively strong governments that controlled both those empires and homelands. Among other things, such as military units, equipment, and weapons, homelands’ rulers and governments provided means of communications between the homelands and the diasporas. Such networks were, and still are, essential for the continued existence, development, and especially for the relations of diasporans with their homelands. Such processes and linkages between diasporans and their homelands were further enhanced during the early days of the emergence of modern nation-states. The Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 confirmed the existence of ethnicity and ethnic groups that served as the basis for the development of ethno-national states and consequently of “their” ethno-national diasporas. Relevant for the analysis in this chapter is the combination of three main developments that began to occur as from the mid-18th century. The first development were the European Revolutions of the mid-19th century, known as the “1848 Spring of Nations.” This development included a series of political upheavals throughout the European continent, described as a revolutionary wave. While most of the immediate political effects of those revolutions were reversed, the long-term reverberations of the events were far-reaching. These developments marked the beginnings of modern ethno-national homelands for both the local people and for people in the growing diasporas. During that period the numbers of migrants increased quite significantly. The second development occurred during the 19th century, when the Spanish, Portuguese, and Ottoman empires began to crumble and the Holy Roman and Mughal empires collapsed. A main consequence was that “their” diasporas gained greater freedom and autonomy and even sovereignty over the areas where they resided permanently. It meant that settlers began to develop new local identities and reduced their connections with their homelands. It raised the significant question – that is still relevant today – to what extent are these diasporas of their homelands? This applies especially to British, French, Spanish, and Portuguese settlers in North and South America. In any event, following the Napoleonic Wars and the French defeat in Europe, the British Empire became the world’s largest and leading power that encouraged British emigration. The third development was connected to the concurrent processes of industrialization and the emergence of new technologies. Among other things, these developments impacted the ongoing 490

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development of new means of transportation and communication, which contributed to the ease of travelling and communication, and consequently to an increase in waves of migrants to existing imperial or colonial territories as well as to new independent states. Those migrants of different ethno-national backgrounds began to establish and organize diasporas in a more modern fashion. In most cases, people who previously were citizens of the states that established the empires and colonies soon became the local citizens of the independent or autonomous states that had been formed by the imperial and colonial powers. Thus, as has been noted above, there is still an ongoing debate whether these groups can be regarded as diasporas. This was the case for the British in what later became the independent United States, Canada, and Australia, and the Spanish and Portuguese in various areas in South America. In Canada the situation became even more complicated, especially as far as the French Canadians regarded themselves and have been regarded by France. In all these cases there have been debates about whether the people of French and British origin are French or British diasporas, or are only of French and British origins. However, the emigrants from other homelands to these new states, who were not fully integrated or totally assimilated, actually formed modern organized diasporic entities. During the late 19th and early 20th centuries there occurred massive ethnic crises that caused new large refugee and migrant movements and therefore an increase in the complexity of their individual, group, and communal identities and realities. On the one hand, this occurred due to the rise of nationalism and racism that caused critical wars, among them the two World Wars. On the other hand, and in an interconnected fashion, these large waves of migration were caused by social and economic crises in homelands and by the migrants’ hopes to have a better living in hostlands. Later in the 20th century there occurred the movement of millions of ethnic refugees and voluntary migrants across Europe, Asia, and northern Africa. Many of these migrants came to the Americas, which became states ready for, and even encouraging, the absorption of such people. Such groups included Jews, gypsies, and other ethnic minorities from areas under Axis control, as well as various ethnic minorities from areas under Russian and Soviet control following the Russian Revolution, and continuing through the mass forced resettlements under Stalin; Germans; Polish people forced by the Soviet Union to leave their homeland eastwards of the Curzon Line; and Armenians living in the region controlled by the Ottoman Empire. The same applies to Chinese, Palestinians, Iraqis, Iranians, Chechens, Albanians, Afghanis, etc. During the Cold War era large groups of refugees continued to move from areas of interand intra-state wars and conflicts, especially from Third World states all over Africa, the Middle East and East Asia. During those periods the migrants had to mostly rely on themselves for their survival and functioning, and only partially on their established or incipient diasporic groups and organizations. In most cases their homelands were engaged with their own difficult problems and therefore generally there was almost no awareness of whether their diasporas were in trouble, or should be helped and provided with various resources. Thus, most homelands remained indifferent and inactive vis-à-vis their diasporas. Simultaneously, most diasporas were not expecting a great deal of intervention in their affairs or on their behalf in those hostlands. More recently, there has been a noticeable change in this respect. Now most homelands show a growing interest in “their” diasporas. At the same time, members of the historical and modern diasporas also began to show greater interest in their homelands. Therefore, many homeland governments have established special ministries or agencies to develop and keep close relations with their diasporas. For example, this has been the case in France, Italy, Greece, Japan, and Israel. The main reason for this pattern is that homelands have realized that they can culturally, socially, politically, and economically benefit from such closer relations, especially when nationalism and ethnicity are not disappearing but rather regaining their power and influence. For their part, diasporas, especially in more democratic and liberal states can, and on 491

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many occasions want to, maintain such relations with their homelands. Also the diasporas’ close relations with their homelands benefit those homelands’ security and ability to gain cultural and social inspiration, help, and actual resources, especially when these diasporas face persecution or conflict in the hostland.

Incipient diasporas One of the main results of the above-mentioned more recent large waves of voluntary and imposed migrations are the existence and formation of new “incipient diasporas.” The main characteristics of these emerging entities distinguishing them from the historical and modern diasporas are the various aspects of their adaptation to their new position in their hostlands, their integration there, and their continuous relations and contacts with their homelands. During the first years that they live in their new residence locations in hostlands most migrants from the same ethno-national origins are strongly inclined to maintain close relations with their relatives, kin-groups, and former communities in their homelands. Thus, in many cases, the personal history and historical memories of these new diasporans play a major role in their organization and behavior, which is part of their ethno-national identity. When these migrants have not been forcefully expelled from their homelands and when they have relatives there, they are strongly inclined to maintain close relations and connections with the people in their homeland. This is the general inclination since they are not sure whether they will succeed in permanently settling in the hostlands and so might need to return to their homelands. Thus they feel and think that they might need the support of their homelands to ensure their safety and interests during the first years in their hostlands. On the other hand, while these migrants are getting used to the new hostland that does not fully or largely reject them, the first and second generations begin to emotionally and rationally ponder and decide about their degree of integration into the hostland. At that point, one of the main considerations is whether to permanently settle in the hostland or to keep the option of an eventual return to their homeland. Then, when the actual situation and chances for permanently residing in the hostland are adequate, a decision to permanently settle means searching for the best patterns of integration and considering these patterns’ possible impacts on the maintenance of their ethno-national identity and contacts with the homeland. Reasonable integration and, simultaneously, a wish to remain connected to their homeland, is the main inclination of many first and second generations of these migrants. Eventually, these people become the core members of the emerging diaspora. The migrants who are not anxious to maintain their pure ethno-national identity and contacts with the homeland form the peripheries of those emerging diasporas. Some of them eventually fully integrate in the hostland culture and society and change their identity, and consequently they are lost to their emerging diaspora. In most cases the next step made by the core members of these incipient diasporas is to organize. More recently, in many cases these steps are made with the support of the homeland that is also interested in keeping the closest possible connections with “their” diaspora. This is partly because of the homelands’ own interests and partly because of their concern with those migrants who are still very closely connected to the homeland and might consider a possible return, and who in the meantime support their relatives, kin, and communities in the homeland. Though these days migrants who stay for longer periods in their respective hostlands tend to establish voluntary organizations quite rapidly after their arrival, the main energy and resources invested in this aspect occurs when a reasonable number of core members are permanently settled in the hostland, maintain close relations among themselves, and are ready to cooperate and act together. Such a development is an important step on the way to becoming permanent modern diasporas. 492

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The first informal and formal networks and organizations that incipient diasporans shape and establish are mainly in the field of communication. These include newspapers, radio and television stations, and Internet networks. The main purposes of these organizations and networks are to provide the diasporans and their homelands means for regular communication with each other. Simultaneously, or a little bit later, the organizations that core members establish and operate in hostlands are on the local or state level of the social and political spheres. Their activities are aimed at the hostland’s leaders, governments, parties, and social organizations. The main purpose of such politically oriented organizations is lobbying on behalf and in favor of the members of the incipient diaspora. Other types of organizations that are established by such diasporas are the cultural and educational. In cases when the identity of the incipient diasporans includes strong religious elements, this activity is based on or includes religious organizations that activate churches, mosques, and synagogues, and formal and informal educational organizations, which are mainly aimed at preserving and maintaining the historical identity of the members and, as far as possible, to avoid the “loss” of such members. Realizing the significance of these organizations, some homelands spiritually and financially support them. As previously noted, one of the first and then regular purposes of all these organizations is to try to draw and then maintain the non-geographic boundaries of these emerging entities. This is an essential task that is aimed at the avoidance of defection from the community or the “invasion” of unwanted individuals and groups to the emerging community. From the economic point of view, the relevant networks and organizations that the incipient diasporas are forming have to do with remittances to the people in the homelands. Usually remittances directed to people in the homeland are made by individuals, families, and small groups in the hostland. Since one of the reasons for migration out of the homeland is the economic difficulty experienced by those who eventually migrated and of their families and kin, the money is transferred directly to them. In case the general economic situation in the homeland is difficult, the new organizations that are established by the incipient diaspora try as far as they can to raise and transfer donations to the homeland. Usually the amounts of these donations are small. Only when diasporans are improving their general social, political, and economic situations in the hostlands, do they use their existing organizations and form new organizations that specialize in economic issues to promote and conduct business in and with the homeland. When individuals and groups are permanently settled in the hostlands and all those cultural, social, political, and economic organizations operate on a regular basis, the processes of turning an incipient diaspora into an established modern diaspora begin to materialize.

The cultural, social, political and economic backgrounds Besides the ethno-national identity factor, the most significant interconnected factors influencing the historical development, existence, and actual behavior of diasporas are their ethnonational cultural backgrounds. The cultural background that diasporans are carrying on is based on their memories and more factual knowledge of their nation’s and homeland’s history and of the culture that they enjoyed in their hostland. In truly liberal hostlands that are not imposing unbearable pressures on the diasporans to avoid contact with their homeland and its culture, these historical developments are influential. Among the more significant cultural factors that are related to the people in certain homelands is the religious one. This factor plays a major role among core members of both incipient diasporas and older established diasporas. For example, the importance of the religious factor 493

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is very clear among ethno-national Roman Catholic diasporas, such as the Irish, Italian, and Polish; the ethno-national Muslim diasporas, such as the Pakistani, Palestinian, Iraqi, and North Africans; and of course among members of the Jewish diaspora. Despite the growing image that among the more educated and integrated young diasporans there is a strong tendency to become more secular, not all younger core diasporans are giving up their basic religious belief in their ethno-national-religious identity and their views and activities in this sphere and in the closely related cultural sphere. Though they might not attend all religious events conducted in their communities in hostlands, still those who are not totally integrated into the culture and society of the hostland are not giving up the most fundamental side of their religious belief. More generally, maintaining the most basic religious beliefs and attendance of religious functions daily, end of the week (Fridays, Sabbaths, and Sundays), and holidays, help core diasporans to maintain not only their strict historical religious identity but also their connections to their diasporic entity in their hostlands and to their homeland. For secular and religious diasporans, the variety of cultural events and activities arranged by diasporic organizations are not less important. Among the most significant activities in this sphere are the above-mentioned various educational programs organized and carried out by the entity or by certain groups within it. All such educational institutions dedicate a lot of classes and teachings to the history of the nation and of the diasporas themselves. It should also be noted that during recent years all these organizations, events and activities, that among other things promote the knowledge of the history of their national entities, are expanding and becoming more effective in strengthening these diasporas. The social importance of the roles of family, kin, and social groups in the creation, survival, continued activities and relations with the homeland cannot be exaggerated. Like the significance of the cultural religious and ethno-national identities, the interlinked history of the social backgrounds both in the homeland and hostland are essential factors that to a great extent determine the continued existence and behavior of diasporas. If not relying on the genetic aspect for diasporans’ relations with the homeland and their entities, then the non-essentialist primordial social elements that lie at the heart of diasporas’ histories are basic factors in the diasporic phenomenon. These fundamental social background factors determine, among other things, the possible and actual existence and the degree of porosity of the non-geographical cultural and social boundaries of a diaspora. It is clear that such boundaries are abstract but they create important historical meanings for the diasporans, for the people in their homelands, and for the society in their hostland. On the local, regional and municipal levels, these boundaries are made noticeable by the diasporans’ residence locations. Voluntary or forced diasporans’ residence in clearly isolated and identified “ghettoes,” or in certain easily recognized districts, mean that such boundaries are not totally abstract but that they are real and meaningful. The actual “spaces” of such locations create recognizable settings that members of other ethnic-religious groups would avoid. In the past, such ghettoes were the living spaces of most of the Jewish diaspora and now such spaces are inhabited by Mexicans, Muslims, and African diasporans. Such “real” local boundaries make the keeping of the diaspora community easier, on the one hand, and the ability of the various opponents of the diaspora to avoid living there, to follow and to control the diaspora, on the other hand. Generally, such spaces and their boundaries have some practical implications. In cases where such boundaries subsist, one of their meanings is the actual existence of a clearly defined and coherent diaspora community, at least on a specific local level. Interconnectedly, the maintenance of such boundaries by the diasporans means that “defection” from the entity, on the one hand, and “intrusion” into such entities, on the other hand, are either not acceptable or limited. 494

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The size of the diasporic entities on the state, regional and local levels and their locations in the hostland – in large or small cities, in smaller towns and villages, in the main geographical and political centers, or in the geographical peripheries of the hostland – have noticeable effects on various aspects of the social background of individuals and groups of diasporans. These factors have quite clear effects on the social stratification, cohesion, and the historical behavior of these entities. Thus, residing in smaller communities in the geographical peripheries of a hostland increases the diasporans’ continuous need for connections between themselves and other members of the same diasporas, especially in the central locations where most or larger groups of the diasporans reside, and the centers of their organizations are located. Living in small communities in isolated areas in a hostland results in the constant search by “older” diasporans for newcomers of the same origin and attempts to enlist these newcomers as active members of the community. The permanent cores of diasporans in these communities invest efforts and material resources in the drive to attract new migrants and absorb them into the existing local community. The social contacts are established and maintained on the basis of family connections, individual friendships, and groups’ ties. These social activities contribute to the nature of the local communities and also might have impacts on the entire entity in a certain country and its relations with the homeland. Once these communities are active, the homeland is bound to establish some contacts with them and try to act together to accomplish both the homeland and diasporic goals. One of the main implications of the ability, or the inability, of the activists and their organizations to enhance social cohesion is the capability, or incapability, to prevent full integration of the members of the diaspora into the hostland society, especially in larger towns and cities. The more effective means to prevent that integration, on the one hand, and to enhance the cohesion of the community, on the other hand, are the above-mentioned parades, prayers, seminars, conferences, and meetings. The current advancing media and means of electronic communication systems, facilitate the creation of quite complex and extended diasporic social networks. These networks are needed and formed in view of the ideological, political, and economic heterogeneity of the various diasporas. The political culture of a diasporic entity is also an important basic factor influencing individual diasporans and the entire entity’s activities and ability to have an effect on all involved actors. One of the main factors affecting this sphere is the historical non-democratic or democratic inclinations and experiences of the more politically active diasporans and their organizations. When the historical practical political experience and memory is non-democratic and their permanent residence is in democratic hostlands, then during their earlier periods there the diasporans have difficulties in fully understanding the meaning and nature of the democratic regime in general, and in such states in particular. One of the consequences is incipient diasporans’ relative lack of political activity during their first period of residence in their hostlands. When incipient diasporans and diasporas turn into permanent and established ones, their involvement in hostland and homeland politics gradually increases. In certain diasporas such increasing involvement happens quickly and in others it develops more slowly. That pace depends on a number of factors: first, after a while in their hostlands growing numbers of such diasporans gain a better understanding of the political system there; second, the actual situation in the hostland – when there are acute real or imagined social or political threats and pressures on the diaspora it is quite natural that the more knowledgeable and active diasporans would do their best to change the situation through political actions; third, positive assistance that the diasporans get from their homelands encourages them to be more politically active; fourth, 495

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the actual appearance of political activists in the diaspora, and not less important, or even more important, is the existence of relevant politically oriented diasporic organizations and activists; fifth, the access of the diasporans to the politicians and even more significantly to the bureaucrats in the hostland; sixth, the right to vote in local and state elections and the rate of voting in such elections. The higher the voting rates the greater are the cooperative relations between the diasporans and the hostlands’ politicians and bureaucrats. The diasporans’ strategic policies to tackle their political situation in the hostland and the main strategic alternatives that are open to them are: first, their historical isolation, on the one hand, and participation, on the other hand, in the hostland. Except for very special entities, such as the Roma, full isolation is unwanted and impossible. However, the strategy of relative isolation has been adopted by various diasporas with the main purpose of keeping, as far as possible, the entity’s boundaries, their historical culture, including in certain cases the religious affiliation of the members, social and family connections, and connections to the homeland. The second political participatory strategy is that of adopting the well-defined and recognized autonomy of both the individuals and the entire entity through a limited degree of integration into the hostland. Diasporas that adopt this strategy accept the most basic rules of the game in the hostland, but still try to maintain the entity’s non-geographical borders fairly closed in order to avoid defection of members. The third strategy is fuller integration in all aspects of the hostland’s life, including politics. This includes acceptance of the main cultural characteristics, mixing in the society, joining the state educational system, participating in the various political processes such as elections, running for offices, advertising, using the media, and lobbying. The fourth strategy is connected to the diasporans’ wishes and abilities to influence the hostland’s politics without undertaking any major responsibility for all actions and statements made by these diasporans. The main actual political issues that traditionally the diasporans decide upon are their general intention, mode and responsibility for participation in hostlands’ political system. In the cases of incipient diasporas, most of these activities are undertaken and performed on an individual level. As mentioned above, in most cases of established diasporas the activities are conducted on both the individual and organizational levels. On the local level, the contacts and political activities are more frequent and intense. On the state level, most activities are conducted by the leaders and heads of the organizations. During recent years more diasporas have established representatives in various international organizations. One of these organizations that is demonstrating interest in diasporas, and in turn these entities have active representatives there, is the United Nations (UN). The main tactics that established diasporas, most of whose members are full citizens of their hostlands, use is participation in elections on the local and state levels. Their voting has an impact on their political contacts and achievements. The voting for both winners and losers in the election buys chances for the diasporans to influence future political developments on the local or state levels. Also, the ability to offer financial and publicity support for candidates and later for those who have been elected paves the way to diasporans’ demands for political actions in their favor. One of the most popular and frequently used means for gaining political influence is lobbying in favor of the diaspora itself and/or the homeland. One of the questions raised in this context is that of the target of the lobbying. Depending on the diaspora’s political position and contacts, the individual and organizations conduct direct talks with politicians, governmental institutions, and bureaucrats. While on most occasions lobbying is secretly conducted, when the worst comes to the worst, then, simultaneously or separately, in addition to their regular use of the current media, the diasporans make public demands in order to raise questions and get results. Usually these demands are directed to the politicians rather than to the bureaucrats. 496

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Conclusions This chapter emphasizes the substantial importance of the historical backgrounds of ethnonational-religious diasporas as far as their current existence and their growing roles, actions, and influence on both their homelands and hostlands are concerned. The first argument is that contrary to has been written in many books and articles, the diasporic phenomenon did not begin in the modern period. There are established diasporas, such as the Jewish, Chinese, Indian, and Armenian, that were formed in ancient times and still exist. Their long historical survival has major influence on their fundamental identity, emotions, and thoughts. The same applies to “modern diasporas.” These factors determine the rates of diasporas’ connections to individuals, groups, official and social-political offices, and organizations in their homelands. In various ways historical diasporas have shaped the main aspects of the general phenomenon and the above-mentioned profile and patterns of developments of the modern and incipient ethno-national diasporas. However, the existence of these factors does not mean that all such diasporas are exactly similar. The general diasporic phenomenon is heterogeneity, and there is a certain degree of divergence among and inside these entities. Interconnected to the first main argument is the more specific one, which is that the history of each diaspora has influenced the cultural, social, and political elements determining their ability to survive and be active. After settling permanently in their hostlands, diaspora members develop their relations with the hostland and homeland based to an extent on the memories of the historical circumstances that its members experienced. The third main argument of this chapter is that in view of the few studies and publications about the historical backgrounds of most diasporas and their various impacts on their current cultural-social-political nature and their relations with their homelands, there is a substantial need to enlarge the scope of the studies and publications in this direction. The study of the historical aspect and its impacts will enhance our better understanding of the entire diasporic phenomenon.

Note 1 See a list of further reading at the end of this chapter.

Further reading Alfonso, C., W. Kokot, and K. Tololyan (eds.) 2004. Diaspora, Identity and Religion, New Directions in Theory and Research, New York: Routledge. Armstrong, J. 1976. Mobilized and Proletarian Diasporas. American Political Science Review 70(2): 393–408. Bauböck, R. and T. Faist (eds.) 2010. Transnationalism and Diaspora: Concepts, Theories and Methods, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Ben-Rafael, E. and Y. Sternberg (eds.) 2009. Transnationalism, Diasporas and the Advent of a New (Dis) order, Leiden: Brill. Braziel, J. and A. Mannur (eds.) 2003. Theorizing Diasporas. A Reader, Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd. Brubaker, R. 2005. The “Diaspora” Diaspora. Ethnic and Racial Studies 28: 1–9. Cohen, R. 2008. Global Diasporas: An Introduction, New York, NY: Routledge. Dufoix, S. 2008. Diasporas, Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Esman, M. 2009. Diasporas in the Contemporary World, Cambridge: Polity Press. Levitt, S. and S. Khargram (eds.) 2007. The Transnational Studies Reader: Intersections and Innovations, New York: Routledge. Miles, W. and G. Sheffer 1998. Francophone and Zionism: A Comparative Study of Transnationalism and Trans-statism. Diaspora 7(2): 119–48. 497

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Safran, W. 1999. Comparing Diasporas: A Review Essay. Diaspora 8(3): 255–92. Shain, Y. 2007. Kinship and Diasporas in International Affairs, Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Sheffer, G. 1986. A New Field of Study: Modern Diasporas in International Politics. In Sheffer, G. ed. Modern Diasporas in International Politics, London: Croom Helm, pp. 1–15. Sheffer, G. 2003. Diaspora Politics: At Home Abroad, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sheffer, G. 2006. “Transnationalism and Diasporism,” Diaspora, 15(1): 121–45. Tololyan, K. 2007. The Contemporary Discourse of Diaspora Studies. Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa, and the Middle East 27: 647–55. Vertovec, S. 1997. Three Meanings of Diaspora. Diaspora 6(3): 277–97. Vertovec, S. 2009. Transnationalism, New York: Routledge.

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39 Transnationalism Thomas Faist and Başak Bilecen

Introduction “Transnationalism” entered the lexicon of migration studies in the early 1990s, over a century after earlier generations of migration researchers had introduced and made extensive use of the concept of assimilation. It did so in rather different circumstances, for whereas assimilation gained currency with relatively little reflection or debate at the moment that migration research was in its early formative period, transnationalism entered a well-developed sociological subfield dealing with migrant incorporation. Several principal advocates assertively promoted the concept, which was rather quickly embraced by many scholars. However, it was also confronted by sceptics. The result is that the concept has undergone substantial revision since its earliest formulations, the consequence of an often-spirited dialogue (see Levitt and Jaworsky 2007). Over time, the debate around transnationalism in migration has concerned broader issues in the social sciences, such as nationalism, political power, methodological nationalism, and essentializing ethno-cultural groups. Those scholars who initially embraced the idea of transnational migration did so because of a conviction that it was necessary to capture the distinctive and characteristic features of the new immigrant streams and groups that have developed in the advanced industrial nations at the core of the capitalist world system. The term has emerged and evolved at a time characterized by high levels of labor migration from economically less developed nations to the most developed, and from similarly high levels of political refugees fleeing conflicts and instability in former communist and Third World nations. The influx of these new labor migrants and refugees has reshaped, not only nation-states with long histories of immigration, the settler states of the United States, Canada, and Australia, but also states that have not been notable as immigrant-receiving nations in the earlier phases of industrialization, those of Western Europe and, to a lesser extent, Japan and nowadays Turkey and Lebanon due to the regional unrests. The high levels of immigration, the new locales of settlement, reshaped ethno-cultural mixes, changes in the nature of capitalist economies in a new (post-)industrial epoch, changes in the meaning and significance attached to the idea of citizenship, and the potency of a globalized popular culture have contributed to the conviction that what is novel about the present requires equally novel conceptual tools if we are to make sense of the impact of the new international migration on the receiving, transition and sending countries. 499

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This overview proceeds by examining: (1) the initial conceptualizations of the transnational perspective on migration and efforts at systematization; (2) discussions around contentious issues regarding past vs. present transnationalism, the extent of transnationalism among migrants, and transnationalism, states and politics; (3) methodological notes on transnational research; and, finally (4) venues for further research through a transnational optic. Transnational social formations – also called fields or spaces – consist of combinations of social and symbolic ties and their contents, positions in networks and organizations, and networks of organizations that cut across the borders of at least two national states. In other words, the term refers to sustained and continuous pluri-local transactions crossing state borders. Most of these formations are located in between the life-world of personal interactions, on the one hand, and the functional systems of differentiated spheres or fields, such as the economy, polity, law, science, and religion, on the other hand. The smallest element of transnational social formations is transactions, that is, bounded communications between social agents such as individual persons. More aggregated levels encompass groups, organizations, and firms. It is an empirical question whether such transnational transactions are global or regional.

Initial conceptualizations Transnational approaches certainly do not form a coherent theory or set of theories. They can be more adequately described as a perspective, which has found entry into the study of manifold cross-border phenomena. We can delineate several generations of transnational scholarship but focus mostly on those that are relevant for migration research. A first precursor to the use of the concept in migration research, flourishing in the late 1960s and 1970s, asked about the emergence, role, and impact of large-scale, cross-border organizations. This literature, steeped in the field of International Relations, focused its attention on interdependence between states, resulting from the existence and operations of powerful non-state actors, such as multinational companies (Keohane and Nye 1977). Curiously, the interest in this transnational approach quickly disappeared with the onset of debates on globalization from the late 1970s onwards. Perhaps this demise was related to the fact that globalization studies re-centered the interest to how national political economies were reshaped by ever growing capital flows across borders. Almost two decades later, transnational ideas took root again in a very specific field – international or cross-border migration – and with a decided focus on the agency of a particular type of agent, namely migrants. It was in social anthropology and later sociology that this lens took hold. This approach dealt with dense and continuous ties across the borders of nation-states, which concatenate into social formations. The initial phase ran from the early 1990s until the dawn of the new century. While a number of scholars contributed to this development, cultural anthropologist Nina Glick Schiller and her colleagues Linda Basch and Christina Szanton Blanc provided the pioneering impetus (Basch et al. 1994). Based on this foundation, a number of scholars have contributed to a further elaboration of types of transnational practices, and provided typologies of transnational practices and spaces.

Transnationalism as a new mode of incorporation: Glick Schiller and colleagues Basch et al. (1994) made two initial points, one historical and the other theoretical. Historically, they contended that there is something qualitatively different about immigrants today compared to their late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century counterparts. Glick Schiller viewed this earlier era’s immigrants as having broken off all homeland social relations and cultural ties, thereby locating themselves solely within the socio-cultural, economic, and political orbit of the 500

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receiving society. By contrast, she contended, today’s immigrants are composed of those whose networks, activities, and patterns of life encompass both their host and home societies. Their lives cut across national boundaries and bring two societies into a single social field. From this historical comparison, Basch et al. (1994) offered a rationale for a new analytic framework, making a case for the introduction of two new terms: “transnationalism” and “transmigrants.” The former refers to “the process by which immigrants build social fields that link together their country of origin and their country of settlement,” while the latter refers to the “immigrants who build such social fields” by maintaining a wide range of affective and instrumental social relationships spanning borders (Basch et al. 1994: 27). Implicitly, the introduction of these new concepts suggested that existing theoretical frameworks are not up to the task of analyzing the new immigrants. To make their case, the authors presented vignettes. One of them involved a Haitian hometown association located in New York City. While the activities of the association clearly have something to do with immigrant adjustment, it has also initiated various projects in Haiti. This, Glick Schiller and her colleagues contended, distinguishes contemporary mutual aid societies from those in the past, which they argued were solely designed to address the adjustment needs of the immigrants themselves (Basch et al. 1994: 145–224). Another example involved white-collar Grenadian immigrants being addressed by Grenada’s Minister of Agriculture and Development: Immigrants are at once both Grenadian citizens with an ability to influence friends and relatives who have remained in the homeland and American ethnics capable of undertaking efforts to shape economic and political decisions in the host society. The third example looked to Filipinos and the Balikbayan box, a formalized and regulated form of remittance. This illustration suggests that remittances are not new, but that homeland governments are increasingly likely to embrace their expatriate communities when such an embrace can be economically beneficial. From these illustrations, the authors made two main conceptual points. First, social science must become “unbound.” The argument is that the problem with theories operating as closed systems in which the unit of analysis is ultimately the national state is that they fail to provide room for the wider field of action occupied by contemporary immigrants. Thus, Glick Schiller et al. argued for the necessity of recasting theory from the national to a global systems perspective. They stressed that transnationalism is the product of world capitalism that has produced economic dislocations making immigrants economically vulnerable (Basch et al. 1994: 30–34). While sympathetic to the discussions of transnationalism as cultural flows, seen in the work of scholars such as Arjun Appadurai and Ulf Hannerz, the main thrust of the authors’ argument involved an articulation of a notion of transnational migration that focuses primarily on social relations. Second, the authors pointed to the multiple and fluid identities of contemporary transmigrants, contending that their manipulation of identities reveals a resistance on the part of transmigrants to “the global political and economic situations that engulf them” (Glick Schiller et al. 1992: 13). This insight necessitates a rethinking of received ideas regarding class, nationalism, ethnicity, and race. Relying on the Gramscian idea of hegemony, the authors treated each of these aspects of identity as contested and pliable. The real significance of the discussion is that assimilation and cultural pluralism are inadequate to account for the distinctive character of contemporary immigration. From this perspective, whereas assimilation implies the loss of past identity, cultural pluralism advances an essentialist perspective that treats ethnic identities as immutable.

A typology of transnationalism While Basch et al. (1994) placed transnational social fields in the framework of world systems analysis, this raised the question of how to conceptualize transnational social formations. One 501

Thomas Faist and Başak Bilecen Table 39.1  Types of transnational social spaces Degree of formalization Low: networks

High: institutions

(1) Diffusion: e.g. fields for the exchange of goods, capital, persons, information, ideas, and practices (3) Issue networks: e.g. networks of business people, epistemic networks, advocacy networks

(2) Small kinship groups: e.g. households, families (4) Communities and organizations: e.g. religious groups, political parties, businesses

answer has been the concept of transnational social space. The idea of transnational spaces entailed considering the migratory system as a boundary-breaking process in which two or more nationstates are penetrated by, and become a part of, a singular new social space. This space involves in part the circulation of ideas, symbols, activities, and material culture. It also involves the bordercrossing movements of people who then come to engage in transnational social relations, with implications for immigrant incorporation. Social space refers not only to physical features, but also to larger opportunity structures, the social life and the subjective images, values, and meanings that the specific and limited place represents to migrants. Space is thus different from place in that it encompasses or spans various territorial locations. It includes two or more places. Transnational spaces can be differentiated according to their degree of formalization. The degree of formalization refers both to the internal characteristics of group organization and the extent of common or shared values and symbols. On the one end there are networks with low levels of formalization, and on the other there are highly formalized institutions. Organizations are characterized by a high degree of formalized relations, for example in terms of hierarchy and control. Communities also show a high degree of formalization, though not in terms of their internal organizational structure but their common values and symbols. There are four ideal types of transnational spaces: areas of contact and diffusion; small groups, particularly kinship systems; issue networks; and communities and organizations (see Table 39.1). 1

2

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Diffusion in contact fields: This category comprises phenomena such as the exchange of goods, capital, and services between businesses. People engaged in these transactions do not necessarily have sustained or close contact with each other. In some cases, strangers meet at the marketplace or at tourist resorts. Transboundary ties between individuals and organizations may also lead to a diffusion of language, e.g. specialist terms are borrowed from one language and incorporated into another. We also find social and cultural practices diffusing across borders – as in the action repertoires of social movements. Among immigrants, for example, we observe processes that partly point to cultural diffusion from the country of origin to the country of settlement. For instance, Kurds from Turkey brought their traditional New Year’s celebration (Newroz) to Germany, where it became an important symbol of common Kurdish identity. In order to take the wind out of the Kurdish separatists’ sails, the Turkish government promptly responded by declaring Newroz an official bank holiday in 1996. Small groups – kinship systems: Highly formalized transboundary relations within small groups such as households and families, or even wider kinship systems, are representative for many migrants. Families might live apart because one or more members work abroad as contract workers (like the former “guestworkers” in Germany), or as posted employees within multinational companies. Small household and family groups have a strong sense of belonging

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4

to a common home. A classic example for such relations are transnational families, who conceive themselves as both an economic unit and a unit of solidarity and who might keep, besides the main house, a kind of shadow household in another country. Transnational families make use of resources inherent in social ties, such as reciprocity, and also resources existing in symbolic ties, such as solidarity. Economic assets are mostly transferred from abroad to those who continue to run the household “back home.” Issue networks: These are sets of ties between persons and organizations in which information and services are exchanged for the purpose of achieving a common goal. Linkage patterns might concatenate into advocacy networks (e.g. for human rights), business networks, or science networks. Often, there is a common discourse concerning a specific issue such as human rights or a profession, and such networks and organizations are sometimes even seen as the nucleus of a “global civil society” (see Keane 2003). In contrast to organizations with formal membership, access to these networks is not strictly limited to interested actors. While issue networks look back upon a long tradition in the realm of human rights, and are making steady progress in ecology, they are also emerging among migrants who have moved from the so-called third countries to the European Union (EU). Regarding business networks, persons from emigration states who live abroad constitute an important source of financial transfer and investment, both as immigrant entrepreneurs in their new societies of settlement and with their countries of origin. The governments of sending nations have increasingly initiated programs to attract emigrants’ investments. By far the largest set of transnational networks – a set of interlinked local, national, and regional networks – in the world is that of the Overseas Chinese and Indians abroad, promoting trade by providing market information and matching and referral services by utilizing their co-ethnic ties. Such ties alleviate the problems associated with contract enforcement and provide information about trading opportunities. Transnational communities and organizations: Communities and organizations constitute highly formalized types of transnational spaces with an inherent potential for a relatively long life-span. Close symbolic ties are characteristic of transnational communities, whereas a more formal internal hierarchy and systematically structured controls over social ties exist within transnational organizations.

Transnational communities comprise dense and continuous sets of social and symbolic ties, characterized by a high degree of intimacy, emotional depth, moral obligation, and sometimes even social cohesion. Transnational communities can evolve at different levels of aggregation. The simplest type consists of village communities in interstate migration systems, whose relations are marked by solidarity extended over long periods of time. Members of such communities who are abroad or have returned home often invest in private or public projects for the benefit of the community in question. The quintessential form of transnational communities consists of larger transboundary religious groups and churches. World religions, such as Judaism, Christianity, Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism existed long before modern states came into existence. Diasporas also belong to the category of transnational communities. In classical renditions, these are groups that experienced the territorial dispersion of their members at some point in the past, either due to a traumatic experience, or specialization in long-distance trade. Jews, Palestinians, Armenians, and Greeks can be named as examples here. Generally, members of diasporas have a common memory of their lost homeland, or a vision of an imagined one to be created, while at the same time the immigration country often refuses the respective minority full acknowledgment of their cultural distinctiveness (see Gold 2002). An early type of transnational organization – interstate non-governmental organizations (INGOs) – developed out of issue networks such as the Red Cross, Amnesty International, and 503

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Greenpeace. At the other extreme there are organizations that are based in one specific country but whose sphere of influence extends abroad, as with the ethno-nationalist Kurdish Workers Party (PKK). Transnational enterprises constitute a further type of transnational organization. Overall, such transnational communities and organizations must be theoretically linked to transnationalism from above, rather than treating transnationalism from above and from below as discrete parallel phenomena (Smith and Guarnizo 1998). What makes transnational communities different from the more familiar form that typified immigrant enclaves in industrializing nations a century ago is that they are located in a space that encompasses two or more nation-states, a situation made possible by time–space compression. Metaphorically, assimilation is associated with the image of “the uprooted” (Handlin 1973 [1951]), and cultural pluralism with “the transplanted” (Bodnar 1985). An appropriate transnational metaphorical alternative may be – borrowing from the novelist Salman Rushdie – the idea of “translated people,” that is, migrants are continually engaged in translating languages, cultures, norms, and social and symbolic ties. Transnational migrants forge their sense of identity and their community, not out of a loss or mere replication. Crucially, it is not simply individuals living with one foot in two places that constitute the sole occupants of transnational communities. The latter does not necessarily require individual persons living in two worlds simultaneously or between cultures in a total “global village” of de-territorialized space. What is required, however, is that communities without propinquity link through exchange, reciprocity, and solidarity to achieve a high degree of social cohesion, and a common repertoire of symbolic and collective representations. Summarizing the various strands of research sketched here, Steven Vertovec (1999: 449–456) points out several recurring themes that shape the ways the term is employed. He identifies six distinct, albeit potentially overlapping or intertwined, uses of the term: (1) as a social morphology focused on a new border-spanning social formation; (2) as diasporic consciousness; (3) as a mode of cultural reproduction variously identified as syncretism, creolization, bricolage, cultural translation, and hybridity; (4) as an avenue of capital for transnational corporations (TNCs), and in a smaller but significant way in the form of remittances sent by immigrants to family and friends in their homelands; (5) as a site of political engagement, both in terms of homeland politics and the politics of homeland governments vis-à-vis their émigré communities, and in terms of the expanded role of INGOs; and (6) as a reconfiguration of the notion of place from an emphasis on the local to the translocal.

Transnational social spaces and globalization When comparing transnational and global approaches, transnationalism is an older term, predating globalization by some 10–15 years; around 1970 as compared to the early to mid-1980s. Methodologically, most globalization approaches are concerned, in the first instance, with macro-dynamics, whereas accounts of the transnational tend to be more agency-oriented. This is very visible in world systems theory, which is, in essence, a top-down, outside-in approach. In contrast, transnational approaches take an agency-oriented view, usually starting from small groups and networks of mobiles. In its broader meaning, “transnational studies” (Khagram and Levitt 2008) thus tends to be concerned with topics such as migrant networks, traders and ethnic business constellations, politics of place among migrants and returnees, diasporas and development, immigrant incorporation – but also social movements and advocacy networks. Transnationalism as a discourse could be regarded as a stepping stone toward globalism and even cosmopolitanism – but also, on the contrary, reinforcing nationalism. After all, transnationalism refers to the Janus face of cross-border processes and conditions which may 504

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foster long-distance nationalism. Nationalist claims are frequently articulated and mobilized within cross-border groups and structures. Nationalism is not always geared toward achieving congruence between national-cultural boundaries and state borders. Nation-building may be confined to sub-state territories without ever crossing the threshold to secession, and it may extend beyond state borders by attempting to bind together populations in a homeland territory and abroad without trying to remove the borders between them or to bring back external kin-populations into the homeland. An example of the former has been, until now, Québec in Canada; an example for the latter has been the Irish diaspora in the USA since the nineteenth century.

Open and contested questions A number of contentious issues have characterized the debate around transnationalism since the late 1990s: Is transnationalism a mode of immigrant incorporation or is it a mode of activity? If it is a mode of incorporation, is it antithetical to assimilation or multiculturalism? How many transnationals are there? What is the role of national states in forging transnational social ties and spaces?

Migrant incorporation: assimilation and transnationalism: exclusive or overlapping? What is the relationship between transnationalism and assimilation? It is noteworthy that the pioneers of this understanding of the transnational challenged the notion that the incorporation of immigrants takes place in the container of the respective nation-state in which immigrants settle for longer periods of time in their life course. The early Glick Schiller and colleagues (Basch et al. 1994) formulation viewed assimilation and transnationalism as contrasting, antithetical modes of incorporation, the former being at the least an alternative to the latter and perhaps – as a form of resistance – a direct challenge to it. Later contributions conceptualized the two as distinct modes of incorporation, which existed side by side, such as assimilation, partial adaption, or integration in transnational groups. More recent arguments point toward assimilation and multiculturalism as modes of incorporation, and transnationalism, as distinct activities which may contribute to incorporation in various ways (Kivisto 2005); for example transnationalism, rather than being seen as something that slows assimilation, might actually accelerate the process. A general consensus has emerged among key proponents of transnationalism that “simultaneity” is the characteristic relationship between assimilation and transnationalism. The point is that assimilation and transnationalism ought not to be construed as competing alternatives and the reason is clear: whereas assimilation refers to a mode of immigrant incorporation into a receiving society, transnationalism does not. Rather, it is a mode of connection between and across the borders of various states, a mode of connectedness that is achieved to the extent that a dialectical relationship between the movers and stayers in the two worlds is achieved in one or more arenas of social life: familial, religious, economic, political, cultural, and so forth.

How many transnational migrants? The guiding assumption of the first phase of transnational theorizing was that all, most, or at least a significant percentage of contemporary immigrants were transnational. Alejandro Portes and associates (1999) were among the first scholars to offer empirical evidence about the scope of transnationalism, studying three specific immigrant groups in the U.S.: Colombians, Salvadorans, and Dominicans, and three fields, economic, political, and socio-cultural. Their conclusion was 505

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that a relatively small minority of immigrants can be defined as transnational. Looking at the economic realm, they focused on self-employed immigrants whose business activities require frequent travel abroad and who depend for the success of their firms on their contacts and associates in another country, primarily their country of origin. They discovered that the percentages of immigrants from each group that were transnational entrepreneurs was very small, ranging between 4 to 6 percent. Similar results were obtained in their examination of the political activities of these three groups. The study examined such practices as memberships in home country political parties, giving money to those parties, taking part in home country electoral activities, membership in civic hometown associations and charity organizations, and giving money to such non-electoral organizations. The percentages of immigrants involved in regular engagements with these practices ranged from 7 to 14 percent. While the percentage of migrants engaged in routine and sustained cross-border activities might be small, this does not necessarily lead to the conclusion that transnationalism is a minor side stream (Portes 2003).

National states, politics and transnationalism What is new is the role some emigration country governments are playing in attempting to encourage ongoing connections with their expatriate communities. Immigrants in Europe and North America a century ago confronted governments and cultural elites that tended to be overtly hostile; today’s counterparts, in contrast, frequently find their emigrants to be useful economically, and sometimes politically and culturally as well. Thus, rather than condemning their decision to exit or enticing them to return, they instead work to create relationships with the immigrants that are beneficial to the homeland. Moreover, for a viable transnational community to be established and to sustain itself over time, a continual pattern of involvement with both governmental and civic institutions in the homeland and receiving country is essential. This is because transnational immigrants qua transnational immigrants are engaged in activities designed to define and enhance their position in the immigration region, while simultaneously seeking to remain embedded in a participatory way in the everyday affairs of the homeland community, be that national or local or both. What is distinctive about this type of communities without propinquity is that over time the transnational social space thus carved out makes the dichotomous character of host society concerns versus homeland concerns if not irrelevant, at least less pronounced and at some level part of a transcendent structure of border-crossing social relations. Instruments include dual citizenship, tax incentives for investments by expatriates, additional social security schemes, and consular services abroad. Vice versa, there are manifold efforts of diasporas to engage in “homeland” politics. Migrant transnational activities are part of broader transnational politics, expressed in studies of social movements and advocacy networks. This literature mainly does not address competitors to the state, such as multinational companies, or flows across the borders of states, such as transnational migration, but emphasizes issues prevalent in the public spheres and involving mobilization of target groups around various issues, such as the environment, production chains, human rights, gender, religion or crime (see collection in Khagram and Levitt 2008).

Methodological notes on transnational research Current scholarship has taken off with the criticism of methodological nationalism and groupism. Methodologically, both criticisms are crucial points of departure toward developing a transnational or transboundary methodology. First, studies in a transnational vein are critical of methodological nationalism (Wimmer and Glick Schiller 2003), that is, the often unstated assumption 506

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that national society or the national state is the “natural” unit of analysis and of data collection as if they are the only main relevant contexts. These assumptions are usually prevalent in studies investigating migrants’ integration, assimilation, multiculturalism, migration regulation and control. Previous studies explore policies and indicators of migrants’ integration and assimilation in the countries of immigration with concepts that treat social structures as spatially strictly bounded entities. Yet there is a need to go beyond criticism and explicitly name the reference points for transnational analysis in addition to the receiving contexts as well as not only from the perspectives of researchers but also from the researched. Second, the concomitant danger of groupism (Brubaker 2004) refers to studies that treat diasporic and transnational communities as units that are stable over time, and of overriding importance for the individual identities and social practices of their members. Migrant formations can be built around various categorical distinctions, such as ethnicity, race, gender, schooling, professional training, political affiliation, and sexual preference. Ethnicity constitutes a particularly vexing issue in transnational studies. On the one hand, a transnational approach should be able to overcome the ethnic bias inherent in much migration scholarship. The fallacy is to label migrants immediately by ethnic or national categories. Often scholars presuppose prematurely that categories such as Turks, Brazilians, and so forth matter a lot for all realms and purposes, since they often do in public discourse. In so doing, those studies fail to account for other important markers of heterogeneities such as gender, age, language, worldviews, life styles, and migration histories. On the other hand, methods should enable researchers to trace actually existing social formations, such as networks of reciprocity built around ethnic markers, which are of great importance, for example, in informal transfer systems of financial remittances. This means to turn the issue of the importance of ethnicity into an empirical question. So far, both qualitative and quantitative approaches to transnational phenomena have used ethnicity as a category during data collection and analysis (Amelina and Faist 2012). While investigating ethnicity self-reflection of researchers is necessary as they investigate the perspectives, experiences, and attached meanings of the researched population which might not totally overlap even if they share the same ethnicity. Researchers with a transnational lens investigate multiple relevant frames of references migrants and non-migrants experience going beyond the nation-states in order to capture crossborder ties, practices, and their implications. In order to unearth transnational phenomena a variety of methods has been utilized. The most popular ones in transnational migration literature have been multi-sited ethnography, mobile ethnography, and recently network analysis. Multisited ethnography (Marcus 1995) has been the long-standing empirical tradition approaching transnational formations through simultaneous fieldwork in manifold locales and contexts across countries (e.g. Falzon 2016). Inspired by multi-sited ethnography, mobile ethnographic research in transnational studies investigates social practices across borders where the context is usually defined by the researcher along the fieldwork as they trace and observe migrants. In this vein, multi-sited matched sampled studies captured experiences, practices, and lifeworlds of manifold actors who are also positioned in a variety of places and social spaces (e.g. Barglowski et al. 2015; Mazzucato 2009). Moreover, social network analysis began to be utilized by migration researchers recently, going beyond its metaphorical use by the motto that the dynamics of cross-border interconnectivities can be captured through the systematic analysis of social networks concocting transnational social spaces (Bilecen et al. 2018). Social networks are acknowledged to be important perpetuators of international migration, which is termed “cumulative causation” theory indicating that once started migration will continue by information flows through personal ties (Massey et al. 1993). Networks are also proved to be important not only for international migration itself but also after migration through fabrication of safety nets (e.g. Bilecen and Sienkiewicz 2015) and contexts of belongings (e.g. Lubbers et al. 2007). Currently mixed-methods studies 507

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are also on the rise in the realm of transnational methodology as researchers are after a combination of multifarious perspectives in order to assess in depth the significance of socio-spatial categories, practices, resource flows as well as meanings surrounding them. For instance, lately transnational social protection has been studied through a mix of methods including multi-sited ethnography, document analysis, and personal network analysis through which reciprocity has been identified as an overarching mechanism in the flows of protective resources in differently characterized transnational social spaces (e.g. Barglowski et al. 2015). Nevertheless, transnational studies are not short on further criticisms. Of particular importance, one issue raised by Portes (2001) pinpointing a methodological trap most of the researchers are prone to, is the overestimation of transnational phenomena through the use of only ethnographic case studies. In other words, bias in transnational research should be avoided by not sampling on the dependent variable, namely transnational phenomena, highlighting the idea that not every migrant is transnational and transnational activities should not be generalized to all migrant populations. Following this critique, recently the term transnationality has been coined and studied with a mix of methods and methodologies. Transnationality refers to the strength of ties individuals, groups, or organizations entertain across the borders of nation-states, ranging from thin to dense on a continuum. While a high degree of transnationality indicates higher probability of informal social protection within families and friendship cliques to be organized across borders, a low degree of transnationality highlights the importance of orientation toward locally bounded ties and practices of social protection (Faist 2019). In a similar understanding, for instance, Barglowski and colleagues (2015) mapped strategies to capture transnationality of migrants through investigating their social protection practices while arguing for avoiding predetermined socio-spatial categories in any of the methods, so that researchers would not jump into direct and non-reflexive conclusions.

Outlook: beyond methodological nationalism and groupism Against this background, future research should be concerned less with accounting for crossborder ties and flows of fixed categories of persons or groups, but focus more on changing boundaries. This is so because social spaces denote dynamic processes, not static notions of ties and positions. The main point is a concern with boundaries demarcating social spaces in a wider sense – in particular, how the boundaries themselves come into existence and change. Boundaries may refer to distinctions along categories such as groups, organizations, and cultural differences. In general, if it makes sense, as the critique of methodological nationalism charges, that national states – and, by implication, ethnic or national groups – are not quasi-natural entities, it is of prime importance to get away from fixed notions of social formations and their boundaries. It is then useful to start with less obtrusive concepts such as boundaries and spaces. This way offers a chance to look at changing boundaries – in relation to existing ones (e.g. national states) and to new ones (emergent properties of transnational and global systems), and explore how old spaces are transformed and new spaces emerge. It is an approach cognizant that borders and, more broadly, boundaries, are ever shifting and changing. Looking at cross-border transactions is intimately connected to changing boundaries along economic, political, and cultural lines. Boundary changes are essentially a question of power constellations. The creation, maintenance, and enforcement of boundaries are functions of power, be it authoritative (non-)decision-making or symbolic power of generating frames through which persons, groups, and events are slotted. Just take geographical mobility across borders and boundaries. States make rules of admission and membership; they exercise the power of ascription in that they and other agents are involved in definitions of “us” and “them,” 508

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or desirable and undesirable migrants. The early transnational migration literature portrayed the power aspect as dichotomous. Transnationalism from above referred to the practices of multinational corporations, or international institutions, such as the IMF’s structural adjustment programs in the 1990s. By contrast, transnationalism from below was supposedly found in grassroots transnational enterprise, social movements, and migrant networks – and challenged the institutionalized power structures. In early formulations one almost gets the impression that transnational migrants are a cross-border substitute for the lost working class as a historical subject of social transformation. Such a conceptualization of above vs. below is misleading, however. As we know, practices from below may also reproduce authoritarian structures or exclusion along gender, class, religious, ethnic, or racial lines (e.g. Goldring and Krishnamurti 2007). In short, the above and below are found in all social formations, however small and grassroots they might (appear to) be. If this is plausible, then we need to turn to a more nuanced discussion of borders and boundaries within social spaces going beyond and intersecting with places such as nationstates. It is important to unpack the notion of power and identify the social mechanisms that are at work in the making and unmaking of boundaries in social spaces (Faist 2016). The search for mechanisms indicating change of boundaries leads to a distinction of two crucial fields: first, accounting for the integration of social spaces and, second, accounting for changing boundaries in social spaces. The first realm has received some attention. Transnational ties can concatenate in various forms of transnational social spaces, namely transnational reciprocity in kinship groups, transnational circuits in exchange-based networks, and transnational communities such as diasporas, characterized by high degrees of diffuse solidarity. Thus, mechanisms such as various forms of exchange, reciprocity, and solidarity are operative in ensuring the integration of cross-border social formations. What has received much less attention is the transformation of boundaries in intersecting social spaces. We need to understand how boundaries in such spaces change, are redrawn, reinforced, or transformed. It is therefore helpful to think about how boundaries change and by which mechanisms such transformations occur. Social boundaries interrupt, divide, circumscribe, or segregate distributions of persons and groups within social spaces which cross the borders of national states. Shifting boundaries are indications of the changing of institutions, practices, and cognitions. The dynamics of changing boundaries can be nicely captured in the debate on the newness of migrant transnational social spaces. Some transnational scholars early on claimed the newness of such phenomena. It did not take long until historically minded social scientists showed convincingly that not only have return migration and occasional visits to home regions existed for quite some time (Foner 2005), but also that transnational communities, with dense internal ties both within states of immigration and toward regions of emigration, have likewise existed for a long time. Max Weber, for example, spoke of the Auslandsgemeinschaften of German immigrants in South and North America in the late nineteenth century (Faist 2000). Certainly, these cases were not as widespread as they are today, and were not further encouraged by means of instant long-distance communication. Yet these technological changes would not have translated into social change if it had not been for the claims toward collective self-determination, and boundary shifts in thinking and acting upon cultural diversity which have produced the new trends. Among these socio-political processes are a higher degree of tolerating cultural pluralism (multiculturalism) and dual citizenship provisions, in conjunction with other changes in the national and international political contexts. All of these have added new dimensions to and altered the scope and thrust of transnational cultural, political, and economic involvements. It is useful to analyze actual boundaries as the institutionalization of the relations and differentials of power. There are four ways in which boundaries are being redrawn (inspired by 509

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the typology in Zolberg and Woon 1999): First, existing boundaries become porous, as in the case of dual citizenship when more and more national states tolerate overlapping membership in nations. Second, boundaries may shift, as when lines between “us” and “them” do not run along national lines but along religious ones. This has happened in many states in Western Europe over the past three decades. Public debates have come to portray not nationalities but conflicts between Muslims and “us” as relevant trench lines. Third, boundaries can be maintained or even reinforced, as in the extension of border control in the EU to both the patrolling of exterior borders, the emergence of buffer zones with adjacent countries, and an increase in controls internal to national states. And fourth, new boundaries emerge, as evidenced by the portrayal and public policies toward transnational activities. While transnational practices of highly skilled and prosperous migrants are celebrated by immigration country and increasingly also emigration country governments as a significant contribution to the competitiveness of national economies, transnational ties of other categories of so-called low-skilled migrants are often seen as contributing to segregation and self-exclusion. Or, to give another example, transnational ties could represent a security risk, as in the case of terrorists, on the one hand, but international migrants are also cast as a new type of development agent, on the other hand. The exact mechanisms of boundary genesis, changes, and the implications for social inequalities need to be researched in order to gauge how new societal formations emerge across borders but also in what ways well-entrenched institutions such as national states and international organizations change and adapt (Faist 2019).

References Amelina, A. and Faist, T. (2012). De-naturalizing the national in research methodologies: key concepts of transnational studies in migration. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 35(10), pp. 1707–1724. Barglowski, K., Bilecen, B. and Amelina, A. (2015). Approaching transnational social protection: methodological challenges and empirical applications. Population, Space and Place, 21(3), pp. 215–226. Basch, L., Glick Schiller, N. and Szanton Blanc, C. (1994). Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nation-States. Longhorne, MA: Gordon and Breach. Bilecen, B. and Sienkiewicz, J. J. (2015). Informal social protection networks of migrants: typical patterns in different transnational social spaces. Population, Space and Place, 21(3), 227–243. Bilecen, B., Gamper, M. and Lubbers, M. J. (2018). The missing link: social network analysis in migration and transnationalism. Social Networks, 53: 1–3. Bodnar, J. (1985). The Transplanted: A History of Immigrants in Urban America. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Brubaker, R. (2004). Ethnicity Without Groups. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Faist, T. (2019). The Transnationalized Social Question: Migration and the Politics of Inequalities in the TwentyFirst Century. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Faist, T. (2016). Cross-border migration and social inequalities. Annual Review of Sociology, 4, pp. 323–346. Faist, T. (2000). The Volume and Dynamics of International Migration and Transnational Social Spaces. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Falzon, M. A. (Ed.) (2016). Multi-Sited Ethnography: Theory, Praxis and Locality in Contemporary Research. New York: Routledge. Foner, N. (2005). In a New Land: A Comparative View of Immigration. New York: New York University Press. Glick Schiller, N., Basch, L. and Szanton Blanc, C. (1992). Towards a Transnational Perspective on Migration: Race, Class, Ethnicity and Nationalism Reconsidered. New York: New York Academy of Sciences. Gold, S. J. (2002). The Israeli Diaspora. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Goldring, L. and Krishnamurti, S. (Eds.) (2007). Organizing the Transnational: Labour, Politics, and Social Change. Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. Handlin, O. (1973) [1951]. The Uprooted: The Epic Story of the Great Migrations that Made the American People. 2nd edition enlarged. Boston, MA: Little, Brown. Keane, J. (2003). Global Civil Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Keohane, R. O. and Nye, J. S. (1977). Power and Interdependence: World Politics in Transition. Boston, MA: Little, Brown. Khagram, S. and Levitt, P. (Eds.) (2008). The Transnational Studies Reader: Intersections and Innovations. London: Routledge. Kivisto, P. (2005). Incorporating Diversity: Rethinking Assimilation in a Multicultural Age. Boulder, CO: Paradigm Publishers. Levitt, P. and Jaworsky, B. N. (2007). Transnational migration studies: past developments and future trends. Annual Review of Sociology, 33, pp. 129–156. Lubbers, M. J., Molina, J. L. and McCarty, C. (2007). Personal networks and ethnic identifications: the case of migrants in Spain. International Sociology, 22(6), pp. 721–741. Marcus, George E. (1995). Ethnography in/of the world system: the emergence of multi-sited ethno­ graphy. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24(1), pp. 95–117. Massey, D. S., Arango, J., Hugo, G., Kouaouci, A., Pellegrino, A. and Taylor, J. E. (1993). Theories of international migration: a review and appraisal. Population and Development Review, 19(3), pp. 431–466. Mazzucato, V. (2009). Bridging boundaries with a transnational research approach: a simultaneous matched sample methodology. In: M. A. Falzon, ed., Multi-Sited Ethnography: Theory, Praxis and Locality in Contemporary Research. New York: Routledge, pp. 215–232. Portes, A. (2003). Conclusion: theoretical convergences and empirical evidence in the study of immigrant transnationalism. International Migration Review, 37(3), pp. 874–892. Portes, A. (2001). Introduction: the debates and significance of immigrant transnationalism. Global Networks, 1(3), pp. 181–193. Portes, A., Guarnizo, L. E. and Landolt, P. (1999). The study of transnationalism: pitfalls and promise of an emergent research field. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 22(2), pp. 217–237. Smith, M. P. and Guarnizo, L. E. (1998). Transnationalism from Below. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Publishers. Vertovec, S. (1999). Conceiving and researching transnationalism. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 22(2), pp. 447–462. Wimmer, A. and Glick Schiller, N. (2003). Methodological nationalism, the social sciences, and the study of migration: an essay in historical epistemology. International Migration Review, 37(3), pp. 576–610. Zolberg, A. R. and Woon, L. L. (1999). Why Islam is like Spanish: cultural incorporation in Europe and the United States. Politics and Society, 27(1), pp. 5–38.

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40 Survival or incorporation? Immigrant (re)integration after deportation Kelly Birch Maginot

Introduction Since 2000, the United States has deported more than five million people, including individuals removed from national borders as well as from within the U.S. interior (U.S. Department of Homeland Security 2017). During the 73 years prior to 2000, conversely, approximately 1.9 million people were deported from the U.S. As the U.S. has entered this era of mass deportation (Golash-Boza 2015), scholars have increasingly explored migrants’ post-deportation survival strategies and (re)integration1 trajectories. Several early studies investigated the characteristics of recently arrived deportees and their initial reception after arrival (for example, Rodríguez & Hagan 2004; Hagan, Eschbach & Rodríguez 2008). Others explored the experiences of deported 1.5-generation migrants and other long-term settlers who arrived in their countries of origin after years or even decades spent abroad (Zilberg 2004, 2011; Brotherton & Barrios 2011; Coutin 2013). More recently, scholars have extended post-deportation (re) integration research using cross-national comparisons (Kanstroom 2012; Golash-Boza 2015), comparisons of voluntary and involuntary return migrants (Boehm 2016; David 2017), and samples with more diverse immigration characteristics (Golash-Boza 2015; Dingeman 2018). The results are a rich, nascent literature with much to offer migration scholars interested in citizenship and belonging, transnationalism, immigrant incorporation, and return migration. In this chapter I will explore (re)integration scholarship based on deportation flows from the U.S. to Latin America and the Caribbean, drawing primarily on El Salvador as a case study.2 I will briefly outline deportation patterns from the U.S. and other deportee-sending countries and then turn to key trends in (re)integration research, including stigmatization, criminalization, social citizenship and belonging, and transnationalism. I will conclude by suggesting new directions for the study of deportee (re)integration.

Current patterns of immigration enforcement Though the U.S. is deporting more immigrants than ever before, most eligible individuals will not be removed. Rather, a specific subset of noncitizens will be targeted for deportation: Tanya Golash-Boza and Pierette Hondagneu-Sotelo (2013) reveal that current U.S. immigration 512

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enforcement comprises a “gendered racial removal program,” as 97% of those removed are sent to Latin America and the Caribbean, and the vast majority are men of color3 (see also De Genova 2002). Golash-Boza (2015) further argues that deportation maintains a system of global apartheid, in which affluent, mostly white individuals cross borders freely while the mobility of poor, often nonwhite citizens is constrained. Deportation simultaneously sustains neoliberal economies by inciting fears among migrants in the U.S. and removing surplus labor— in sum, ensuring a vulnerable, compliant workforce in both sending and receiving states (see also De Genova 2002). Moreover, migrants are not only returned from the continental U.S. but also from Puerto Rico and other nations, such as Mexico, Great Britain, and European Union member-states. Deportations from Mexico to Central America have risen significantly alongside the militarization of Mexico’s southern border, which is funded in part by U.S. monies. In 2015 Mexico deported approximately 166,000 Central Americans and the U.S. deported about 75,000 (International Crisis Group 2016). Finally, the majority of those deported from the U.S. are removed for noncriminal reasons (U.S. Department of Homeland Security 2017), though rates vary by nationality and year.4 These factors—race/ethnicity, gender, nationality, cause(s) of deportation, the deportee-sending state, and immigration characteristics—affect migrants’ post-deportation reception and the resultant (re)integration paths available (Dingeman 2018).

Contexts of reception Recent scholarship has shown that the context of reception significantly shapes the impacts of deportation and the reintegration trajectories open to deported migrants (Golash-Boza 2015). For example, in Brazil, deportees are not processed by the government or stigmatized, so deportation is primarily considered a financial setback, rather than a damaging status (Golash-Boza 2015: 247–253). In the Dominican Republic, Jamaica, and other contexts, conversely, deportees are highly stigmatized and criminalized (respectively: Brotherton & Barrios 2011; Headley & Milovanovic 2016). Possible reintegration paths are further affected by the local economy, policing, and social safety net (i.e. availability of medical care, access to social security and retirement funds, protection from violence, education system, and formal reintegration programs), the absence of which can render deportees especially vulnerable.

Stigmatization and criminalization of deportees Drawing on the case of deported Somalis, Nathalie Peutz (2006) argues “the deportee body is doubly stigmatized—polluted and polluting—both in the host society and at ‘home’” (2006: 223). Similarly, multiple deported Salvadorans told me that in the U.S., native-born U.S. Americans asked them, “Why are you here?” and told them to “go home,” and, after their deportation to El Salvador, local Salvadorans asked, “Why don’t you go back to the United States?” (Maginot 2016). Somali deportees are treated with derision and considered suspect (Peutz 2006), while Jamaican deportees are seen as criminal and unemployable (Headley & Milovanovic 2016). Though research has shown no clear relationship between deportation and crime rates in Jamaica, deportees have been scapegoated for current crime levels (Kanstroom 2012; Golash-Boza 2015; Headley & Milovanovic 2016). David Brotherton and Luis Barrios additionally find that deported Dominicans are othered in several destructive ways, such as “the felon,” “the dangerous other,” “the Dominicanyork,” and “the failure” (2011: 202–209). Significantly, Dominicans deported for criminal reasons are processed as criminal deportees and subjected to structured surveillance in the Dominican Republic, even if they have no criminal 513

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record there. They are booked by police, fingerprinted, photographed, and have their personal data recorded, and they are only released either to family members or after spending several days in the local jail, ostensibly to ensure their own safety (Golash-Boza 2015: 230). In El Salvador, similarly, deportees marked by their U.S.-Americanized clothing, tattoos, body language, and speech are stigmatized by local society and potential employers, harassed by police and military, and targeted by gangs (Zilberg 2004, 2011; Dingeman-Cerda & Rumbaut 2015; Coutin 2016). In life history interviews with deported Salvadorans, I found that deportees’ visible signifiers of U.S. settlement and youth culture—Nike shoes, baseball caps, close-cropped hair, and tattoos, for instance—were stigmatized and often conflated with gang affiliation, resulting in social ostracism, harassment, verbal threats, and physical violence (Maginot 2016). Deportees revealed that “native” Salvadorans (i.e. nonmigrants) will not sit beside them on public buses; security guards follow them through department stores; and police, soldiers, and gang members stop them without cause, often strip-searching them to look for gang-related tattoos (see also Dingeman & Rumbaut 2009; Zilberg 2011; Dingeman-Cerda & Rumbaut 2015). These exchanges range in degree from humiliating to fatal: deported Salvadorans recount being kidnapped and beaten by gang members, police, and military and share scars as well as stories and photographs of brothers, cousins, and friends they have lost to violence (Zilberg 2011; Kanstroom 2012). To cope with these threats, some deported Salvadorans change how they style their hair and clothes, have their tattoos removed, and improve their Spanish. Even deportees who arrived without tattoos and noticeable signifiers of deportation or gang affiliation report encounters with substantial social stigma, however. Men over the age of 35 revealed that they applied for jobs for months or years without finding an employer willing to hire them: several attributed their continued unemployment to age discrimination coupled with anti-deportee prejudice (Maginot 2016).

Local contexts Contexts of reception further shape deportees’ reintegration possibilities through un- and underemployment rates; crime statistics; and resources available from states, NGOs, and informal networks. For example, Brazil’s economy is growing, so deported Brazilians are valuable assets to the Brazilian state, rather than “surplus labor” (Golash-Boza 2015: 254), as in states characterized by economic instability and high un- and underemployment. In El Salvador, on the other hand, deportees face poor prospects of finding work in the formal labor market, let alone earning a living wage. Research on reintegration in the Dominican Republic (Brotherton & Barrios 2011), Jamaica (Golash-Boza 2014, 2015), Guatemala (Golash-Boza 2016b), and Somaliland (Peutz 2006) provide parallel results. In these contexts, employment opportunities are also limited, wages are much lower than they would be in the U.S., and deportation status and stigma compound the already narrow options. Immigrants deported to the Northern Triangle in Central America additionally find themselves in very dangerous environments, where they may feel anxious or afraid while taking public transportation, walking around, or leaving their (or their families’) homes alone. As noted, Salvadoran deportees are especially likely to be targeted for violence (see also Fariña, Miller, & Cavallaro 2010), particularly if they have been abroad so long that they are unfamiliar with the local geography and socio-cultural context (Zilberg 2004, 2011). Violence, threats, and insecurity are concerns for all those who live in El Salvador, Guatemala, and Honduras, however, as evidenced by the nations’ high homicide rates, number of internally displaced persons, and current emigration flows (International Crisis Group 2016). Deportees experience these trends not only as fear for their safety but also as prolonged family separation. One-fourth of deportees are parents of U.S.-citizen children, and an untold 514

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number are parents of non-U.S. citizens (see Cardoso et al. 2016). Most of these individuals are forced to leave their sons and daughters in the U.S. upon their removal, and they do not know when—if ever—they will be reunited. Family separation is dependent on the context of reception, in addition to geography and immigration status, because it is contingent upon spouses’ and children’s ability (and willingness) to travel or relocate. For example, undocumented family members are unable to leave the U.S. without risking their own deportation upon reentry, and purchasing airplane tickets may be unfeasible for poor and working-class families even if their migration status permits it. Moreover, my research suggests that in the Salvadoran case, families consider El Salvador too dangerous for their children and adolescents to visit or live. I frequently asked deported fathers if their families had been to visit them or had plans to come to El Salvador, and many responded that it was too risky to consider or that the children’s mothers would not allow it. Some hoped that they would be able to bring their children for a visit once they were economically stable enough to afford safe housing and transportation (Maginot 2016). Conversely, in other contexts families might decide to visit during school holidays or relocate together after a parent’s deportation. In an ethnographic study of Mexican deportees and their loved ones, Deborah Boehm (2016) finds that the children and partners of deported Mexicans often move together, causing a web of de facto deportations among U.S. citizens and other authorized migrants. Boehm (2016) illustrates the (re)integration challenges these youths face upon “return” to a country they might have left as young children or where they might have never lived, in the case of U.S. citizens. Notably, more than half a million U.S. citizen children currently live with their deported or voluntarily returned parents in Mexico (see Sanchez 2017)—a trend unique to the Mexican context of reception.

The new American diaspora: theoretical and methodological approaches to deportation The reintegration challenges discussed above demonstrate that the context of reception is central to the reintegration trajectories available to deportees, but they also reveal that deported people share certain experiences. For instance, while deported Brazilians reentered the local economy relatively easily, deportees in other contexts faced barriers to employment and longterm economic reincorporation. Likewise, deportees in many contexts experienced some form of stigmatization and anti-deportee sentiment, and most—if not all—encountered the immigration industrial complex during apprehension, sentencing, detention, and/or removal. These commonalities have prompted the development of distinct methodological and theoretical approaches to deportation and return (Peutz 2006, 2010; Kanstroom 2012; Boehm 2016). For example, Peutz advocates an anthropology or ethnography of removal based on the pre- and post-deportation narratives of people who are removed. She explores deportation through legal, economic, embodied, and spatial contexts, though she asserts that these are only a few of the many areas that require further research (2006: 218; Peutz 2010: 374). Boehm’s ethnographic field research with deported individuals and their families in Mexico and the U.S. additionally demonstrates that deportation “moves widely through families and communities,” producing multiple forms of return and rendering it “impractical and unfruitful, if not impossible, to consider deportees in isolation” (2016: 10). Her bi-national, multi-sited approach is particularly useful for understanding the effects of deportation on families and communities, as well as the relationship between voluntary and involuntary removal. The growing number of long-term settlers and legal residents deported from the U.S. prompted Daniel Kanstroom to characterize this population as “the new American diaspora”: 515

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The United States deportation system has created a forcibly uprooted population of people with deep and cohesive connections to each other and to the nation-state from which they were removed. Around the world, . . . there are now hundreds of thousands of former long-term legal resident deportees who were raised and fully acculturated in the United States. (Kanstroom 2012: xi) Immigration status (such as legal permanent residence or temporary protected status) and time spent in the U.S. arguably unite these deportees, who often feel they belong in the U.S. as much if not more than in their countries of birth (Zilberg 2004, 2011; Coutin 2013, 2016; Boehm 2016). In this section, I will review major contributions to the (re)integration literature on the new American diaspora, including social citizenship and belonging, transnational ties and spaces, family separation, and gendered experiences of return.

Deportation as “exile”: social citizenship and belonging Members of the new American diaspora forcibly removed from the U.S. often experience their deportation as “banishment,” “exile,” “confinement,” “rejection,” or “estrangement” (Zilberg 2004, 2011; Coutin 2007, 2010, 2016; Brotherton & Barrios 2011; Boehm 2016). Susan Bibler Coutin’s interviews with deported 1.5-generation Salvadorans reveal that some consider their removal a “sentence” or punishment (2016: 154). My interviews confirm additional research (Zilberg 2004, 2011; Coutin 2010, 2016; Golash-Boza 2016a), which has revealed that, for these migrants, “home” is often the U.S., rather than their citizenship country (Maginot 2016). Coutin highlights the profound irony of deporting these long-term settlers and quasi-citizens: “[T]he notion of being ‘exiled home’ through deportation conveys the fundamental contradiction between the legal notion that deportees are being sent ‘home’ and deportees’ own experiences of deportation as exile from their U.S. homes” (2016: 160–161). Such deportees often answer “L.A.” or “Houston,” when asked, “Where are you from?”, express a longing to re-migrate, and stake claims of belonging in the U.S. Deportation scholars, therefore, have argued that members of the new American diaspora frequently develop social citizenship in the U.S., where they feel they belong and have histories of social and cultural participation and family ties (Zilberg 2004, 2011; Coutin 2013, 2016; Boehm 2016; Golash-Boza 2016a). In Zilberg’s (2004, 2011) and Coutin’s (2010, 2016) interviews with deported Salvadoran youths, participants recalled specific street names, high schools, localized U.S. knowledge, and work experiences that served as “evidence” of belonging and “having been there” (Coutin 2010: 326). For instance, Coutin’s (2010) participants listed schools they attended and their street addresses as well as shared memories of childhood games played in school. My interviews yielded similar narratives, most notably references to U.S. events, culture, and history. One participant recalled his anger and tears after the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks, and others shared that they could recite the Pledge of Allegiance and sing the Star-Spangled Banner. Significantly, multiple participants contrasted their knowledge of the Star-Spangled Banner with their unfamiliarity with the Salvadoran National Anthem, implicitly asserting that their claims to belonging and social citizenship were stronger in the U.S. than in their “home” country of El Salvador (Maginot 2016). Golash-Boza’s interviews with deported Jamaicans with legal permanent residency further revealed that family ties were a central reason that they felt they belonged in the U.S. and deserved to return, especially among those with U.S.-citizen family members. Again, they implicitly contrasted their deep ties in the U.S. to their lack of connections in Jamaica, where they felt lost and out of place (2016a: 1583). 516

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Migrants’ sense of belonging and deep ties to the U.S. shape their likelihood of repeat migration and affect their possible reintegration trajectories. In interviews with a random sample of 300 recently arrived deportees in El Salvador, Jacqueline Hagan, Karl Eschbach, and Nestor Rodríguez (2008) found that strong social ties in the U.S. influenced plans to re-migrate, and subsequent analyses showed that family separation was the most important factor influencing re-migration intentions (Cardoso et al. 2016). Brotherton and Barrios (2011) and Coutin (2016) found that deportees rejected their exile through return migration attempts, because they saw little hope in their future if they stayed in the Dominican Republic (Brotherton & Barrios 2011) and wanted to return to their former lives (Coutin 2016). My interviews reveal that deportees also may attempt to re-migrate because of stigmatization, harassment, and violence, which renders successful reintegration—even mere survival—impossible (see also Schuster & Majidi 2015). Participants mentioned feeling forced to flee from their homes and migrate internally because of gang threats, as well as migrate to new locations such as Costa Rica, Mexico, and even China to escape increased insecurity and economic precarity (Maginot 2016).

Transnational spaces and social networks Members of the new American diaspora who remain in El Salvador and other deporteereceiving states frequently reintegrate by drawing on transnational ties, spaces, and networks. English-speaking deportees often find work in transnational call centers in countries such as Mexico (Anderson 2015), El Salvador (Coutin 2013, 2016; Dingeman-Cerda & Rumbaut 2015; Goodfriend 2016), Guatemala (Golash-Boza 2015, 2016b), and the Dominican Republic (Brotherton & Barrios 2011). In El Salvador, Mexico, and Guatemala, these workplaces provide deportees with relatively decent wages. Though they earn much less than they would in the U.S., their pay is generally higher than it would be for other available jobs, especially because anti-deportee stigma limits their options (Anderson 2015; Golash-Boza 2016b). Golash-Boza (2015) finds that it is easy for Guatemalan deportees to find jobs in call centers, and Jill Anderson (2015) echoes that call centers in Mexico City readily employ people who have been deported or arrive with visible piercings or tattoos. Many of my interview participants in San Salvador also reported finding work in call centers, though they mentioned that prospective employees are increasingly expected to undergo criminal background checks and physical examinations to reveal their tattoos. Several reported being hired and dismissed within weeks because of their criminal record in the U.S. (see also Rivas 2014). Call center jobs are easy to find, but the work is characterized by high turnover rates and poor labor conditions. Call center labor thus facilitates deportees’ short-term survival, but it is unclear how much it fosters their long-term reintegration. The call center environment arguably provides another incentive to deportees, however. It offers a distinctly transnational space, where members of the new American diaspora can speak English, meet other return migrants and English speakers, and connect with people in the U.S. (Coutin 2010, 2016; Anderson 2015). A Mexican call center agent told Jill Anderson that he only feels comfortable at work, where “it’s like you’re in the States” (2015: 19). Another agent described her social network, which originated at the call center, as her “family” (Anderson 2015: 19). My research similarly demonstrated that call centers served as transnational spaces where deported Salvadorans could connect with one another and strengthen their social networks (see also Dingeman-Cerda & Rumbaut 2015). Katie Dingeman-Cerda and Rubén G. Rumbaut find that groups of deportees get together to hold barbecues, watch American football games, and share stories (2015: 241). Through call centers and related informal groups, Salvadoran deportees also learn about local American 517

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football teams and other sports leagues, which became a “home” or “family” for many of my research participants (Maginot 2016). Call center employment can thus foster economic subsistence as well as social reintegration, albeit in constrained ways. Future research should explore the long-term effects of call center work on deportee incorporation: do workers find stable positions, and do their jobs in the call center industry aid their search? Moreover, how do call center workers’ social networks shape their socio-cultural reincorporation? Do such networks change over time? Sustained connections with family members and friends in the U.S. can also help deportees emotionally and financially, though such support may strain these relationships (Golash-Boza 2014, 2015). Golash-Boza asserts that some deportees use transnational practices as coping strategies for surviving emotional stress and financial hardship (2014: 64). She recounts that many Jamaicans stay in touch with loved ones in the U.S. to “hold on to a part of themselves” (2015: 224). My interviews similarly reveal the importance of keeping up with friends and family, as well as following U.S. events, sports, and television (see also Goodfriend 2016). Research participants regularly used cell phones, social media, and online sources to chat with their children and other loved ones, check their favorite teams’ scores, and read the news. However, some participants were hesitant to contact their families, because they did not want to appear needy or like they were asking for money (Maginot 2016). Other deportees feel obliged to ask for money to survive, especially in Jamaica where deportees’ main struggles are against poverty, unemployment, and homelessness (Golash-Boza 2014, 2015).

Gendered stigma and shame For the overwhelmingly male deported population, economic and emotional dependence on loved ones compounds the stigma and shame associated with deportation (Golash-Boza 2014). Male deportees face a distinctly gendered stigma, as they are unable to meet gendered expectations that men should be emotionally and financially self-reliant, able to provide for themselves and others (Golash-Boza 2014: 64). Jodi Berger Cardoso and colleagues further hypothesize that Salvadoran deported husbands’ and fathers’ plans to re-migrate are based not only on their desire for family reunification but also because they will be better able to provide for their families in the U.S. than in El Salvador (2016: 218). These findings demonstrate that post-deportation integration processes are gendered, and future research should address the growing population of deported women and the reintegration paths open to them. Future investigation also should examine how deportees’ relationships with their children and spouses shape their reintegration trajectories. Current scholarship provides substantial evidence that family separation devastates deportees and their loved ones (Golash-Boza 2015; Boehm 2016), prompting high rates of attempted return migration (Cardoso et al. 2016). However, what happens when deportees are reunited with spouses and children or form new families after their removal? My interviews with deported Salvadorans and local gatekeepers suggest that the formation of new families is fairly common and improves men’s sense of belonging and self-worth in El Salvador (Maginot 2016).

Areas for future investigation Post-deportation reintegration scholarship is relatively young and could expand in several directions, especially as immigration enforcement policies, deportation flows, and demographics continue to change. Here I highlight three directions for future research, which will strengthen our theoretical understanding of deportee reintegration trajectories and challenges. 518

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Disaggregating deportee experiences Past research has concentrated on deported 1.5-generation migrants and other long-term settlers (i.e. the new American diaspora; Golash-Boza (2015), Boehm (2016), and Dingeman (2018) are notable exceptions). Future research should highlight additional segments of the deportee population, such as women, children, adolescents, and elderly migrants. Such an expansion would be particularly timely given the increased removals of unaccompanied minors and family units from Mexico and the U.S. (International Crisis Group 2016). Future research should also address sexuality and family characteristics, such as the formation of new families in the deportee-receiving state. For instance, what factors contribute to the formation of new romantic relationships and families? How does becoming a father, mother, partner, or spouse affect deportees’ sense of belonging and social citizenship? Finally, future research should compare deportation and reintegration trends across a wide variety of nation-states, methods, and disciplines to combat American exceptionalism and disciplinary silos (for example, see De Genova & Peutz 2010).

Deportee reception and reintegration resources Several states and non-governmental organizations have begun to implement reception and reintegration programs for arriving deportees. In El Salvador, these range from the initial reception at the airport (i.e., lunch, transportation to city bus terminals, a local telephone call, and bus fare) to business workshops and seed funds to create or strengthen deported Salvadorans’ small businesses (see Rietig & Villegas (2015) for an exploration of existing reception and reintegration programs in the Northern Triangle of Central America). Future scholarship should assess these programs, their participants, and their effects on short- and long-term reintegration outcomes, particularly on deportees’ sense of belonging and social citizenship.

Deportee organizing and deportees as “agents of change” As this review illustrates, deportees comprise a highly stigmatized and vulnerable population whose best hope is often just survival rather than authentic reintegration. Still, recent scholarship suggests that deportees exhibit agency and resistance, albeit in subtle ways (Brotherton & Barrios 2011; Zilberg 2011; Dingeman-Cerda & Rumbaut 2015; Coutin 2016). Elana Zilberg (2011) reveals that deported Salvadoran youth and ex-gang members engage in cultural production, such as tattoo artistry, rap, and graffiti art. Dingeman-Cerda and Rumbaut (2015) assert that Salvadoran deportees carry social remittances, though they often lack the social capital needed to disseminate them. Similarly, Cesar Ríos (2015) argues that deportees are “agents of change” for community development in El Salvador, bringing experiences, skills, and vision that could revitalize the local economy (2015: 22). Coutin argues that deportees resist their deportation through re-migration or by recreating aspects of their former lives in El Salvador, processes that enable deportees to “[defy] removal, giving landscapes and territories a degree of portability and permeability that [belies] strategies of territorial confinement” (2016: 160). Additionally, Brotherton and Barrios find resistance in “not giving up, of refusing to lose the dream, of doing one’s utmost to maintain and retain personal appearance and dignity despite it all, of fulfilling one’s family obligations” (2011: 300–301). Future research should investigate the role of agency and resistance among deportees and other return migrants, especially as multiple deportee-led organizations have been established recently, including the Deported Veterans Support House in Mexico, Red Nacional de 519

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Emprendedores Retornados (National Network of Returned Entrepreneurs) and Alianza de Salvadoreños Retornados (Alliance of Salvadoran Returnees) in El Salvador, Asociación de Retornados Guatemaltecos (Association of Guatemalan Returnees) in Guatemala, and the National Organisation of Deported Migrants in Jamaica (see Headley & Milovanovic 2017). Though previous research has found little evidence of collective action among deportees, this may change alongside shifts in deportee demographics, resource availability, and contexts of reception.

Notes 1 Technically, all deportees are reintegrated after their removal to their country of origin. In practice, however, deportees who migrated to the U.S. as children or adolescents may be integrating into the local context for the first time. I use (re)integration to denote both integration paths. 2 The present case study will draw from the author’s ethnographic field research and life history interviews with deported Salvadorans, collected between 2014 and 2016 in San Salvador (Maginot 2016), as well as published and unpublished reports and previous literature. 3 Deirdre Moloney (2012: 31) demonstrates that U.S. immigration enforcement has been shaped by race and gender since the late nineteenth century, when the 1875 Page Law was first used to restrict the immigration of unmarried women from China, who were cast as potential prostitutes. 4 For example, Jaime Rívas Castillo and a multidisciplinary team at the Universidad Centroamericana “José Simeón Cañas” (2015) found that 70% of Salvadorans deported between 2011 and 2013 had no criminal record, while Golash-Boza (2015: 22) found that 71% of Dominicans deported in 2005 and 2006 were deported for criminal reasons.

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Dingeman, K. (2018) “Segmented re/integration: Divergent post-deportation trajectories in El Salvador.” Social Problems 65: 116–134. Dingeman, M. K. and Rumbaut, R. G. (2009) “Immigration-crime nexus and post-deportation experiences: En/countering stereotypes in Southern California and El Salvador.” University of La Verne Law Review 31(2): 363–402. Dingeman-Cerda, K. and Rumbaut, R. G. (2015) “Unwelcome returns: The alienation of the new American diaspora in Salvadoran society.” In D. Kanstroom and M. B. Lykes (eds), The New Deportations Delirium: Interdisciplinary Responses. New York, NY: New York University Press, pp. 227–250. Fariña, L. P., Miller, S., and Cavallaro, J. L. (2010) No Place to Hide: Gang, State, and Clandestine Violence in El Salvador. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Golash-Boza, T. M. (2014) “Forced transnationalism: Transnational coping strategies and gendered stigma among Jamaican deportees.” Global Networks 14(1): 63–79. —— (2015) Deported: Immigrant Policing, Disposable Labor, and Global Capitalism. New York, NY: New York University Press. —— (2016a) “Feeling like a citizen, living as a denizen: Deportees’ sense of belonging.” American Behavioral Scientist 60(13): 1575–1589. —— (2016b) “‘Negative credentials,’ ‘foreign-earned’ capital, and call centers: Guatemalan deportees’ precarious reintegration.” Citizenship Studies 20(3–4): 326–341. Golash-Boza, T. and Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. (2013) “Latino immigrant men and the deportation crisis: A gendered racial removal program.” Latino Studies 11(3): 271–292. Goodfriend, H. C. (2016) “‘Where you from?’ Discursos de identidad construidos por trabajadores de call center en El Salvador que han sido deportados de los Estados Unidos.” Master’s thesis, Universidad Centroamericana “José Simeón Cañas,” Antiguo Cuscatlán, El Salvador. Hagan, J., Eschbach, K., and Rodríguez, N. (2008) “U.S. deportation policy, family separation, and circular migration.” International Migration Review 42(1): 64–88. Hagan, J. M., Rodriguez, N., and Castro, B. (2011) “Social effects of mass deportations by the United States government.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 34(8): 1374–1391. Headley, B. and Milovanovic, D. (2016) “Rebuilding self and country: Deportee reintegration in Jamaica.” Migration Policy Institute, www.migrationpolicy.org/article/rebuilding-self-and-countrydeportee-reintegration-jamaica [accessed January 11, 2017]. —— (2017) “Rights and reintegrating deported migrants for national development: The Jamaican model.” Social Justice 43(1): 67–84. International Crisis Group (2016) Easy Prey: Criminal Violence and Central American Migration, Latin America Report N. 57. Brussels, Belgium: International Crisis Group, www.crisisgroup.org/latin-america-caribbean/ central-america/easy-prey-criminal-violence-and-central-american-migration [accessed July 28, 2016]. Kanstroom, D. (2012) Aftermath: Deportation Law and the New American Diaspora. New York, NY: Oxford University Press. Maginot, K. B. (2016) Paperless Citizens: Perceptions and Practices of Citizenship among Salvadoran Retornados. Unpublished fieldwork. San Salvador, El Salvador: The Author. Moloney, D. M. (2012) National Insecurities: Immigrants and U.S. Deportation Policy Since 1882. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Peutz, N. (2006) “Embarking on an anthropology of removal.” Current Anthropology 47(2): 217–241. —— (2010) “‘Criminal alien’ deportees in Somaliland: An ethnography of removal.” In N. De Genova and N. Peutz (eds), The Deportation Regime: Sovereignty, Space, and the Freedom of Movement. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 371–409. Rietig, V. and Villegas, R. D. (2015) “Stopping the revolving door: Reception and reintegration services for Central American deportees.” Migration Policy Institute, www.migrationpolicy.org/research/ stopping-revolving-door-reception-and-reintegration-services-central-american-deportees [accessed May 3, 2016]. Ríos, C. (2015) “Los deportados como agentes de cambio para el desarrollo comunitario en El Salvador.” Entorno 60: 22–24. Rivas, C. (2014) Salvadoran Imaginaries: Mediated Identities and Cultures of Consumption. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Rívas, J. C. (2015) Sueños deportados: El impacto de las deportaciones en los migrantes salvadoreños y sus familias. Antiguo Cuscatlán, El Salvador: Universidad Centroamericana “José Simeón Cañas,” http://observatoriocolef.org/_admin/documentos/SUE%C3%91OS%20DEPORTADOS.pdf [accessed July 25, 2017]. 521

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41 Return migration Audrey Kobayashi

Return migration takes many forms in different international contexts and covers every emotional and material aspect of human experience. The phenomenon most frequently takes the form of labor migration, typically from a less developed to a more developed context, but there is no simple description and no singular category. It varies by length of tenure, by reasons for migration, by the permanency of the move (many migrants become transnationals, moving between an original and a destination country), and by its effects upon both individuals and families and upon social/ community relations in places both of origin and of destination. The conditions of return migration are highly context- and place-specific. This chapter reviews some of the range of patterns and processes. Given the vast scope of the literature, however, no attempt is made here to conduct a comprehensive review; rather, the chapter develops as a series of mini case studies that illustrate some of the major themes around return migration. Fran Markowitz (2007) surveyed the literature about a decade ago to find that 20 percent of titles (4,027) containing the words “immigration” and “emigration” were about return migration. A Google Scholar search in 2017 brings up about 4,400 titles related to return migration in the past year alone. Of course, such gross figures tell us nothing about the quality or direction of scholarship; but they do indicate that return migration has since at least the 1970s become “clearly recognized as a global phenomenon” (Brettell 2006: 989), and that scholarly interest is growing. The vast literature to which these scholars refer is uneven in scope and depth, but reveals a huge range of human circumstances from the scale of the individual to that of the nation-state and the transnational field. The stories are often prosaic, often tragic, almost always ambivalent, and certainly fascinating. To speak of return migration is also to speak implicitly of non-return migration. For every migrant returning triumphant bearing wealth and prestige, or feeling discouraged and disappointed, there are hundreds who for whatever reasons do not return. The various terms used to describe migrants—colonists, slaves, coolies, migrant laborers, newcomers, asylum seekers, ex-patriots, and much more pejorative terms—carry different connotations and expectations of permanence, transience, otherness, and the power (or lack of power) to control their destinies. Moreover, the varied terms that describe return—from simple return to repatriation, refoulement, voluntary and involuntary—also speak volumes of the connotations and expectations of return. All these terms also are relative to the contested, shifting, recursive, and very adaptable, concept of “home,” the place where all migrations both start and end. Or do they? 523

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Theories of return migration? Not a few scholars have attempted to develop overarching theories of return migration. Lesińska (2013: 78) describes the major approaches as the disappointment theory, circular migration theory, target income theory, social network theory, neoclassical economic theory, and transnationalism. While Lesińska’s list is by no means exhaustive, it does provide a useful framework to understand the major thrusts of theoretical scholarship on the topic. Attempts to theorize return migration fall into two broad but overlapping categories. The first set consists of explanations based on empirical evidence of choices to return. But while such work might test a theory in a particular place and time, the conditions of migration and return vary so broadly that only context-specific findings are reliable. For example, Constant and Massey (2002) compare neoclassical (assuming a permanent move in order to maximize lifetime earnings) and new economic (assuming temporary migration because of lack of opportunity in the source country) theories to explain return migration from Germany to a number of southern and eastern European source countries from 1984 to 1997. Based on one of the largest and most comprehensive migration studies every conducted (n = 33,493), they conclude that there is some evidence for both explanations, but no unitary process. Variations occurred according to human capital, social and employment attachment, place of birth, and family circumstances, with choices over remittances a key factor in identifying those who returned. But if the conditions of the study were moved to another context, varied by placed of origin, racialization, class, or reasons for migration, the findings would be very different. Amparo et al. (2014) postulate a new economic theory, which gives fine-tuned analysis of decision-making, but its behavioral, decision-making assumptions fail to take into account the larger context in which individuals make choices. The second set of theories looks for evidence of broader processes of social change or social relations. Among such approaches, theories of transnationalism perhaps loom largest (see Bauböck and Faist 2010; Faist and Bilecen, Chapter 39 in this volume). Recent work depicts transnationalism as occurring across a social field, involving movement back and forth between two— and in some cases more—countries and involving social, economic, and citizenship commitments in more than one place. Where it is applicable, the concept of transnationalism presents a more realistic and dynamic picture of migration than simply one of emigration and (sometimes) return; and it complicates the notions of return and of home, recognizing that many people think of home as more than one place. It also brings return migration studies into closer alignment with diaspora studies. The concept of transnationalism has also pushed scholars to think more broadly about issues such as the life course, the impact of community, the effects of public policy, and the importance of modern technology in decisions about migration and return. The broadest theoretical claims point to the need to study context, both spatial and chronological, to place migration movements in a context of understanding the role of states, of capital, of families and household structure, and of others in influencing patterns of return, and recognizing differences in degrees of coercion, whether from the influence of sociocultural norms at one end of the spectrum, or from the coercive actions of states and employers at the other. Ultimately, there is no theory of return migration as such (Castles 2010).

Return migration in historical context This chapter is concerned mainly with contemporary return migration, but it is worth pointing out that return migration has occurred under many historical circumstances. Countless men, and a few women, have gone away to fight wars and battles, for example, and many of them “returned” to their homes, some richer and wiser, some damaged physically and emotionally. 524

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Seafarers have long set off for distant lands and returned—again, richer, wiser, or damaged— although many have not been heard from again. Even pastoralists can be said to be a kind of return migrant in their seasonal movements and returns. All of these forms of migration make interesting studies in themselves, which are not the concern of this chapter, but they all have things in common with labor migration—relations between migrants and states, anxiety, uncertainty, and danger in many migratory experiences, concerns over families and social relationships. The majority of international migrants historically never returned to their homes. From the early Greek “colonists” in the 1st century bce (Cartwright 2014) until well into the 20th century, there is scant evidence that those who set off for foreign lands returned, or ever had expectations of return. Few prisoners, who in the past were commonly banished throughout the world ever returned, notwithstanding heroic (or anti-heroic) tales such as that of Nelson Mandela or Napoleon (Larkins 2010). As for more conventional emigrants, in the European context, most of those who left prior to the 20th century never expected to return, although there are fascinating accounts of attempts to stay in contact with family members, at least for a generation or two. Accounts from Thomas and Znaniecki’s (1958 [1918–1920]) groundbreaking study of interaction between emigrants and their families, to myriad on-line archives available today (e.g., “The Irish in America” n.d.) which tell us a great deal about the human experience of migration and its finality, and of the vast diversity of experiences, achievement, and heartbreaks of the emigrant. But such accounts are small in number compared to the untold millions of emigrants, including forced emigrants such as the enslaved or the coolified,1 for whom lack of literacy and/or lack of a means of communication ensured that contact was lost. Indentured laborers entered North America in the thousands during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Many returned to their places of origin, under a variety of circumstances. Some were forced to return before ever setting foot at the destination. At Angel Island in San Francisco Bay, for example, about 10 percent of would-be migrants were turned back (Takaki 1989: 238), notwithstanding the fact that their cheap labor was desired by employers who “ordered” them to be delivered much like supplies of imported victuals. The tragic and infamous case of the Komagata Maru, a ship full of would-be labor migrants from India that was turned away from Vancouver Harbour in 1914 after a two-month stand-off (Somani 2012), demonstrates the extent to which racism was a factor in controlling the movement of migrant labor. Many of the Komagata Maru passengers died in a skirmish on the docks upon their forced return to India. Sue-A-Quan’s (1999) careful documentation of Chinese indentured immigrants to Guyana demonstrates the complex situation in which African-origin slave labor was displaced by indentured labor from both East and South Asia.2 As economic conditions in Guyana changed, the majority of the Chinese-Guyanese population later undertook a second migration northward to Canada. There were few cases historically of return to Africa, although the experience of the Maroons represents an interesting exception. The Maroons, whom Lockett (1999: 5) describes as the “slave masters’ worst nightmare . . . the front-line fighters in the struggle against slavery,” were Africans who escaped enslavement and united people of diverse cultural backgrounds from communities throughout the Caribbean, Middle America, and the southern U.S. During the 18th century, the largest communities were in the mountains of Jamaica, whence they mounted a series of wars with the British colonial government. In 1796, the British exiled nearly 600 Maroons to the colony of Nova Scotia (Halifax was the first stop by ship from Jamaica). Most later migrated to West African countries such as Ghana, Nigeria, Liberia, and especially Sierra Leone, later to become Liberia, where their descendants form a major part of the population. Their migration was not a “return” in the strict sense, since although many had African roots, few had originated from the places where new communities were established. 525

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Unlike enslavement, coolification, or indentured servitude, was established throughout the colonial world without any sense of permanency. It was widely practiced by the European powers, especially the British, from the end of British slavery (officially, 1833) until the 1920s. Several large diaspora now result, originating especially in South and East Asia, and spreading across Africa, North America, Latin America, the Caribbean, and the Pacific, wherever there were plantations to be worked, mines to be mined, or railways to be built. The extent of return varied hugely, depending in part on the opportunities in both countries of origin and of destination, and also on whether the destination countries provided opportunities for citizenship, or anything close to the status enjoyed by their dominant populations. A striking example is that of the 32,000 workers brought from India by the British East India Company in 1890 to build the Uganda Railway, known as the “Lunatic Express.” After completion, the majority returned to India, but nearly 7,000 remained in Kenya and Uganda, where they established thriving commercial communities, part of a world-wide South Asian diaspora (Wolmar 2009). Their story invokes all the good, bad, and ugly of colonialism’s role in migration and return migration: hope, passion, greed, violence, exploitation, and the pitting of migrant labor against indigenous populations. Another railway story tells of the transcontinental lines built across North America from the 1860s to 1880s. Cantonese workers imported from what is now the south of the People’s Republic of China became a major source of hard labor in the U.S. and Canada. Many scholars support the theory of coolification, and point out that in the U.S. context, after the putative emancipation of Black Americans in 1865, and incidentally coinciding with the railway construction, Chinese workers became a viable source of cheap—almost free—labor. The statistics are vague, but we know that the majority of those who built the transcontinental railways did not stay on in the U.S. or Canada. Many died, of course. Others moved on to other countries. Many returned, fueling stories of “Gold Mountain” and the riches to be obtained. But there are only a few studies of return migration historically, and data are scarce and inconsistent. Case studies of Japanese “emigrant villages” document the impact of return labor migration (dekasegi) beginning during the Meiji Period (e.g., Ishikawa 1967a, b, c). Kobayashi’s (1983) in-depth study depicts a village in which a majority of households (115 of 155) sent dekasegi to Canada between the 1880s and 1930s. The original emigrants returned in all but a handful of cases, and used their earnings to consolidate their agrarian holdings, to build houses (easily distinguishable in the village landscape), to participate in village social and religious life, and to establish a living for their children (some of whom were born in Canada). Her study also shows that a second generation of labor migrants, including younger, non-inheritor sons, chose to remain in Canada to become, along with their children, Canadian citizens. This study is one of a few that differentiates return migration according to household circumstances and to the role of the individual within the household, showing that migration and return often occur over several generations and that the circumstances of return vary by generation.

Return migration that is not a return The term “return migration” is also often used in both popular and scholarly language to refer to migrants who are not returning at all, but rather are migrating for the first time to a place where their parents, or even more distant ancestors, may have originated. The term “return” is therefore used to denote otherness from a place of birth, reflecting ignorance, racism, or xenophobia on the part of a dominant population or, in some cases, a sense of identity with a place other than one’s birth. 526

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The earlier story of workers on the Ugandan Railroad culminates in Uganda in 1972 with Idi Amin’s expulsion of the entire Asian-background population, by then approximately 80,000 people. Amin’s rhetoric was that this population should “return” to their homes in India or Pakistan (Reid 2017: 60); but in fact they were far removed from South Asia, by generations and by spatial and cultural distance. Fewer than 5,000 of the expelled Asians went to India, while the largest numbers went to the U.K., or to British settler societies such as Canada (Jørgenson 1981). Their story shows the extent to which stories of “return” need to be understood in long historical, especially colonial, context, and the extent to which such stories are imbued with political, economic, and ideological rhetoric that seldom matches the experiences of the putative “returnees.” During the Great Depression in the United States, thousands of Mexican-born labor migrants and their U.S.-born children were “repatriated” to Mexico, shipped across the border by the truckload and trainload. Thousands of American children, classed, racialized, and othered by virtue of their parents’ status, found themselves in a foreign country. Many invoked their American birth years later to return, to be known, ironically, as repatriadas, but according to Balderrama and Rodríguez (2006), their family histories of contratista (contract, or coolie, labor) had resulted in generations of uncertainty, danger, marginalization, uncertainty, and shame, transmitted to Latino/a communities today who remain at risk under more recent attempts to curtail their existence in American society. For those children and their children’s children, “return” is a foreign concept. Another infamous story of “return” migration occurred from Canada several decades later when in 1946 the Canadian government exiled nearly 4,000 individuals, more than half Canadian-born children and therefore not “returnees” at all, following their also forced uprooting and removal from coastal British Columbia during the 1940s. This story provides another example of a myth of return perpetrated upon a population amid rhetoric of other-ness and alien-ness so powerful that it justifies state sanction. At the other end of the scale, however, are growing numbers of second- and thirdgeneration individuals who choose to “return” to their parents’ homelands. As King and Christou (2010: 168) note, “this is not the return migration of migration statistics. Yet, for the protagonists themselves, it is very much a real, ontological return to the land of their ancestors.” Such “counter diasporic migration” is not of course return at all, but nonetheless it is an important part of the rhetoric of return, either on the part of dominant society members who express discrimination, xenophobia, or racism to all generations; or on the part of the second generation themselves who hold a (sometimes) romantic narrative of origins and finding their roots These cases range from Japanese Brazilians, who provide cheap labor and often experience discrimination and cultural challenges in Japan (Tsuda 2003), to “Bajan Brits”, who experience cultural fulfillment and enhanced material circumstances, but still an ambiguous sense of belonging at the destination (Potter and Phillips 2006). No matter the circumstances, “return as a ‘homecoming’ project is not a unified social process but a versatile cultural experience characterized by diversity, complexity and ambivalence” (ibid.: 175). The spatial displacement of the second generation seldom transcends their sense of in-between-ness, hybridity, and ambiguity.

Working and returning The largest number of return migrants internationally are those labor migrants who worked abroad temporarily—often in agriculture, mining, or the service industries—and eventually returned to make a life in the country of origin. Again, the circumstances vary hugely. Some 527

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studies emphasize the affective reasons for return, such as identity (Bolognani 2014), while others focus on the economic aspects, especially the greater consumption opportunities at the place of origin (Dustmann and Weiss 2007; Bastia 2011). Increasing numbers of temporary workers are part of organized movements that provide service workers outside formal immigration controls. These include workers who fall under the conditions of international trade agreements such as the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), as well as those in itinerant industries such as passenger ships, a significant source of labor for Filipino/a migrants. In addition, there are millions of undocumented migrants, whose returns to their home countries are especially difficult to confirm. Canada provides an interesting case study of some of the ways in which public policy can influence levels of return. A number of programs, for example, the “working holiday,” or the Seasonal Agricultural Workers’ Program are visa programs designed specifically to encourage return after a brief period of working in Canada. Agricultural workers come from countries with whom the Canadian government has written an agreement that regulates the period of time in Canada, and where and how income taxes and employment benefits are handled. The vast majority of such workers (about 80%) travel to Canada and return to their countries of origin on an annual basis. This program differs from those in other countries (e.g., the U.S.) because the conditions for return are very specific, because there are regulated financial incentives for return, and because there is reduced incentive for undocumented workers (North-South Institute 2006). Reflecting concerns about “brain drain,” the return of students who have received education and training overseas is a major concern for many countries. While many individuals of course see education abroad as a ticket for permanent migration—and some countries such as Canada even encourage permanent immigration of international students who have received degrees in Canada—source countries are increasingly concerned to create programs and incentives to ensure return. One of the most aggressive return promoters is China, although there as everywhere it is difficult to disentangle state actions from cultural practices (Tsuda 2010). At the other end of the life course, return migration upon retirement is a large, and probably growing, phenomenon. For many migrants, working abroad is seen as a necessary step in a plan eventually to return to the home country (Byron and Condon 1996; Duval 2004). In some cases, such as Sweden, immigrants return to their countries of origin with a highly thought-out plan, including not only the desire to return “home,” but also to optimize state benefits, such as pensions, that they can take with them (Klinthäll 2006). Emigrants who moved from a lesser to a more developed context might wish to take advantage of lower costs of living and might have invested in property in the place of origin years before their retirement (Agyeman and Fernández 2015), building houses as a sign of their economic success. There is a growing number of agencies that serve returning migrants, such as on-line blogs that provide information on real estate, health care, income taxes, and cheap freight. Lebanon has one of the highest levels of retiree return (Malhamé 2009). A public controversy arose in Canada in 2006 during the brief Israel–Lebanon conflict, when 13,000 Canadian citizens sought evacuation (McKie 2011), giving rise to the term “Canadians of convenience” (see Wikipedia n.d.). The use of such language in popular culture, however, indicates little understanding of the circumstances: Thousands of Lebanese emigrants had spent their working lives paying taxes and contributing to the destination economy, making their “convenience” no different from that of other citizens. In many cases, they had undergone several cycles of “return” to and from both countries. Furthermore, the small nation of Lebanon houses a higher proportion of refugees than any other country, many of whom would like to return to their own countries of origin (IOM 2015). This case demonstrates that the concept of return is often ambiguous and subject to change with circumstances, entwined with multiple meanings of home in a transnational context where “re-return” is perhaps a more appropriate term. 528

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Transnationalism and return migration The largest transnational fields of return originate in China (the PRC, Hong Kong, and Taiwan), South Asia, the Philippines, and increasingly Latin America and the Caribbean. These contexts represent a huge swathe of the world, involving destination countries on a global scale. It is in the nature of transnational fields to grow as they incorporate more generations, and as the economic and social activities expand. Over the past several decades, not only have civic and kinship networks strengthened, but so have state responses, in countries of both origin and destination. There are also transnational fields within fields, structured according to racialization, class, and political ideologies, all of which affect rates of return and re-return in significant ways. Because the topics and issues surrounding return in a transnational context are so huge, only two examples—Hong Kong and the Philippines—are briefly discussed here.

The Philippines By far the most developed national policy for return migration is that of the Philippines. For more than 40 years, the numbers of migrants climbed to the point that emigrant remittances have become the single largest contributor to the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) (Asis and Baggio 2008; Assis 2017) (see Figure 41.1). The top three destinations are the U.S., Canada, and Japan, and the policy circumstances in those three countries account for significantly different rates of return. Filipino/a emigrants are a very distinctive population: the majority are women, and among them the majority have degrees in nursing. The largest source of overseas 2,000,000 1,800,000 1,600,000

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Figure 41.1  Emigration from the Philippines 1975–2015 Source: Asis 2017, compiled from Philippine Overseas Administration (POEA) n.d.

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employment is in the health or personal care professions, with very strong representation as live-in child and elder care workers, although there is also a significant number who have emigrated for marriage (especially to Japan; Suzuki 2000), without intention to return. Although the United States has been the largest destination, the proportion that does not return is much higher in Canada, where the Live-in Caregivers Program until recently provided a pathway to permanent residence after three years, and allowed family members to immigrate permanently (Tungohan et al. 2015). The stories around the decision to leave and return involve wrenching decisions over family obligations and wellbeing, often at odds with one another, especially for women who make up the majority (Pratt 2012). Recently, the priorities around labor migration from the Philippines have begun to shift. After many decades in which the Philippine state has defined its objectives according to the economic value of remittances the recent challenge is to solidify the benefits of migration as human capital by building capacity within the Philippines (Asis and Baggio 2008). In 2014 alone, “1.8 million temporary migrant workers left the Philippines to work in more than 190 countries, each one bearing an employment contract issued and certified by the government” to become part of a diaspora of more than 10 million people (Mendoza 2015: 1). As the number of international migrants continues to grow, so does the number of people permanently abroad. Therefore, the objective of encouraging return has taken on greater importance, creating what Asis (2017) calls a “remarkable shift” to focus on related policy issues that involve decreasing unemployment at home and expanding regional development plans; issues whose past neglect, analysts believe, has stymied return migration.

“Back” to Hong Kong It is estimated that approximately 300,000 Canadians live in Hong Kong. The internet is replete with sites devoted to “ex-patriots” living in Hong Kong, including dating sites, sites to foster social or business links, and sites providing practical advice on everything from moving house to medical care and income taxes. In the decade prior to the 1997 handover of the territory to the PRC, nearly 400,000 immigrants arrived from Hong Kong, one of the largest-ever influxes from a single source until that time. Their stories soon became a complex interplay of transnational activities involving work, family, and education, showing that there are significantly different forms of human capital at play, depending on the context (Waters 2005). Kobayashi and Preston (2007) studied 185 Hong Kong emigrants to understand dynamics of families living in two places, to show that strategic decisions are made at key points in the life course: leaving for Canada at key points in children’s education, returning to Hong Kong for work (often leaving children, a spouse, and parents in Canada), returning to Canada to retire. Ley and Kobayashi (2005) interviewed “returnees” in Hong Kong, about half of whom had been born in Canada, to reinforce the life course decision-making process: nearly all of them had been educated in Canada, had migrated to Hong Kong for work, but intended to return to Canada either for their children’s education or to retire. The justification for their decisions shifted over the life course as well. The highly rational process of decision-making, as well as its link to cultural values around children and life style, indicate the extent to which decisions around return migration occur within a social context, not as random decisions on the part of individuals.

Emerging themes If no question about return migration can be addressed without consideration of context, then those questions change in a rapidly changing world. The 21st century has seen economic ups 530

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and downs, violence, and political upheavals, all of which have profound impacts upon both emigration and return. A few case studies shed light on some of the emerging issues about which we currently are unable to predict rates of return. In Ireland, the 2008–2009 depression, followed by several years of austerity government, has hit the population very hard. Within a year of the downturn, Ireland went from a net increase to a net decrease in its population of migrants, suffering the highest net migration loss in Europe. In 2015, approximately one in six of those entering the country were return migrants holding Irish citizenship; but one in three of those leaving the country were Irish citizens. Among non-Irish nationals, although more than 57,000 entered the country, nearly 26,000 left, either becoming return migrants to their countries of origin or moving on to other parts of the world (An Phriomh-Oifig Staidrimh 2015). Of course, these gross descriptive statistics give us no detailed stories of who the migrants were, their reasons for migrating, or how they fared. What they tell us is that large-scale economic shifts generate return migration both to and from individual countries. Ireland’s case is particularly interesting because it is a country of historic net migration loss that had reversed the flow as a result of the relative economic gains resulting from membership in the European Union. What is not known, however, is the migration impact of the economic downturn as a global phenomenon in relation to the impact of austerity practices undertaken at a national scale in response. Responses to recent economic policies have led to protests on the part of those in the 15–24-year-old age bracket who refer to themselves as “Generation Migration,” and “forced migrants” (Kenny 2014). In conflict situations, the fraught issue of return migration grows more intense, volatile, and critical. Situations change from week to week, even daily. People who have fled conflict in one country to another, many of them without documentation, face a number of issues in making a return decision: where is the least risk? Where are possibilities for work and education? Is there support from government, non-government organizations (NGOs), or the United Nations? Some groups have been living in exile for decades, and their ability to return is mitigated by all these factors as well as by the intervention of international political will. To take an example, the year 2017 saw a reverse of the movement of undocumented Afghan citizens crossing the border to Pakistan and Iran. The International Organization for Migration (IOM 2017a, 2017b) estimated that the number could reach 600,000 in 2017 alone. Some of these people have been deported, but the majority are voluntary returnees. All the flows of returnees include unaccompanied children and elders, and many people with significant health concerns. The human and financial costs are great, and so is the impact on the labor market, the health and education systems, housing, and the social structure of former settlements (where the former settlements still exist). In the case of returning Afghanis, cash grants are given at the border, as well as settlement support, but the degree of support, and the agencies that provide it, vary considerably. At the time of writing this chapter, there are other conflict zones, including Syria, Columbia, Afghanistan, Iraq, South Sudan, and others, from which the United Nations (UNHCR 2017) estimates there were about 65.6 million forcibly displaced people at the end of 2016, the highest in decades. They include 75,000 unaccompanied or separated children. The largest numbers currently are in Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan, where refugees make up significant numbers of residents (1 in 6 in Lebanon). How many will return? Estimates are that 552,200 returned to their countries in 2016 (mostly to Afghanistan), and just 189,300 were referred by the UNHCR as designated refugees, well over half of those destined for the U.S. and Canada. These figures indicate that the potential number of return migrants internationally is huge and growing, literally by the minute. This situation makes the issue of return of people fleeing conflict zones one of the most important on the international political, social, human rights, and financial agenda. 531

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Finally, the rhetoric return, which we have seen in various guises historically and cited earlier, was ramped up under the Trump administration in the United States. Of course this issue has never gone away. As the number of undocumented workers, primarily from Mexico, has increased over the past several decades to an estimated more than 12 million, the rhetoric has also increased, and whereas some states and cities have created places of sanctuary that protect undocumented workers, other states, such as Arizona, have attempted to impose legislation that would allow otherwise illegal acts on the part of the police to identify and “return” them, and rates of forcible return were high under the Obama administration. But the 2016 election and the first few months of the Trump administration saw increasing references to forcing the return of migrants, and increasing public controversy over the importance of migrant labor, particularly for local economies. Actions intended to either prevent immigration or facilitate return have included a ban on Muslims from certain countries entering the U.S., discussion of extending the border wall with Mexico built under the Clinton regime, stepping up deportations initiated under the Obama regime. On 1 August 2017, a proposed bill (RAISE) would re-vamp the immigration process entirely, by removing many of the provisions for the immigration of family members and prioritizing skills. It remains to be seen whether these new initiative will substantially increase the rate of return—of both documented and undocumented workers—but the idea of return has certainly taken on new, and increasingly intolerant, meanings in this political rhetoric (Gelatt 2017).

Return migration: a contradictory story It is impossible to estimate the number of return migrants across the world each year. They include people who have set out to work abroad for short and long periods of time, retirees who made a living abroad and wish to return to their countries of birth, entrepreneurs whose earnings abroad have provided the opportunity to advance their interests, and those of their countries of origin, refugees fleeing conflict and famine whose return might or might not result in a better life. Some of them are not “returning” at all; they are the children of parents born while sojourning overseas. Still others are being told to “return” from the countries of their birth. And what of the so-called “transnationals,” multinational citizens for whom every journey is a return, where home is not a single place but multiple locations. The stories conveyed here refer to millions of people who return for one reason or another. Whereas it might be possible to estimate the number who did not return, it is not possible to know how many have made a deliberate choice, how many still hope or intend to return, how many will make a decision, or have it made for them, in the future. We know only that there are many, many people in each of those categories. The brief stories related in this chapter give an idea of the wide range of conditions under which return migration occurs, and of the political, social, and economic complexities that influence both the decisions of individuals and household and the development of public policy (or lack thereof) that influences return. For every country such as the Philippines or Canada where movements are highly regulated and rationalized, there are others for whom the situation is quite chaotic. Either way people’s lives are affected. For every story of return there is a story of hope, ambition, triumph, love, or disappointment and heartbreak, that tells us that every statistic represents a human being.

Notes 1 Following Carter and Torabully (2002), who coined the term “coolitude,” I use the terms “coolified” and “coolification” to refer to the practice of creating indentured labor, transported great distances to do a large part of the colonial world’s dirty and dangerous work during the 19th century at extremely low wages and without any rights to citizenship. They were often pitted against either indigenous peoples or the enslaved, leading those engaged in coolitude studies to point out that the differences in 532

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living conditions were almost non-existent. “Coolification” is also used in contemporary hipster language to refer to something becoming cool, or popular. 2 The British outlawed slavery from Africa beginning with an Act of Parliament in 1833, thereby fundamentally changing international patterns of forced labour. This Act needs to be understood, however, in the context of a global political economy in which it made more sense for the British to use indentured labor from its far-flung empire, while the Americas continued to benefit from the economic rewards of African-origin enslavement.

References Agyeman, Akwasi and Mercedes Fernández (2015) “Connecting return intentions and home investment: The case of Ghanaian migrants in Southern Europe.” Journal of International Migration and Integration 17(3): 745–759. DOI: 10. 1007/s12134-015-0432-2 Amparo, González-Ferrer, Pau Baizán, Cris Beauchemin, Elisabeth Kraus, Bruno Schoumaker, and Richard Black (2014) “Distance, transnational arrangements, and return decisions of Senegalese, Ghanaian, and Congolese migrants.” International Migration Review 48(4): 939–971. DOI: 10.1111/imre.12148 An Phriomh-Oifig Staidrimh [Central Statistics Office] (2015) “Population and migration estimates.” Available at: www.cso.ie/en/releasesandpublications/er/pme/populationandmigrationestimatesapril2015/. Accessed 28 July 2017. Asis, Maruja M.B. (2017) “The Philippines: Beyond labor migration, toward development and (possibly) return.” Migration Information Source 12 July 2017. Available at: www.migrationpolicy.org/ article/philippines-beyond-labor-migration-toward-development-and-possibly-return. Accessed 2 August 2017. Asis, Maruja and Fabio Baggio (eds). (2008) Moving Out, Back, and Up: International Migration and Development Prospects in the Philippines. Manila: Scalabrini Migration Centre. Balderrama, Francisco E. and Raymond Rodríguez (2006) Decade of Betrayal: Mexican Repatriation in the 1930s (rev. ed.). Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Bastia, Tanja (2011) “Should I stay or should I go? Return migration in times of crisis.” Journal of International Development 23: 583–595. DOI: 10.1002/jid.1794 Bauböck, Rainer and Thomas Faist (2010) Diaspora and Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Bolognani, Marta (2014) “The emergence of lifestyle reasoning in return considerations among British Pakistanis.” International Migration 52(6): 31–42. DOI: 10.1111/imig.12153 Brettell, Caroline B. (2006) “Review of Homecomings: Unsettling Paths of Return, edited by Fran Markowitz and Anders H. Stefansson.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 12(4): 989–990. Byron, Margaret and Stephanie Condon (1996) “A comparative study of Caribbean return migration from Britain and France: Towards a context-dependent explanation.” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 21(1): 91–104. DOI: 10.2307/622927 Carter, Marina and Khal Torabully (2002) Coolitude: an Anthology of the Indian Labour Diaspora. London: Anthem. Cartwright, Mark (2014) “Greek colonization.” Ancient History Encyclopedia. Last modified October 28, 2014. Available at: www.ancient.eu/Greek_Colonization/. Accessed 28 July 2017. Castles, Stephen (2010) “Understanding global migration: A social transformation perspective.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 36(10): 1565–1586. DOI: 10.1080/1368183X.2010.489381 Constant, A. and D. Massey (2002) “Return migration by German guestworkers: Neoclassical versus new economic theories.” International Migration 40(4): 5–38. Dustmann, Christian and Yoram Weiss (2007) “Return migration: Theory and empirical evidence.” Discussion Paper Series 02/07. Centre for Research and Analysis of Migration. Available at: http:// discovery.ucl.ac.uk/14285/1/14285.pdf. Accessed 8 August 2017. Duval, David (2004) “Linking return visits and return migration among Commonwealth Eastern Caribbean migrants in Toronto.” Global Networks 4(1): 51–68. DOI: 10.1111/j.1471-0374.2004.00080.x Gelatt, Julia (2017) “The RAISE Act: Dramatic change to family immigration, less so for the employmentbased system.” Migration Policy Institute Commentary August. Available at: www.migrationpolicy.org/ news/raise-act-dramatic-change-family-immigration-less-so-employment-based-system. Accessed 8 August 2017. International Organization for Migration (2015) Returnees at Risk: Profiling Lebanese Returnees from the Syrian Arab Republic Four Years into the Crisis. Beirut: International Organization for Migration (Lebanon Mission). 533

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International Organization for Migration (2017a) “Return of undocumented Afghans.” Weekly Situation Report 23–29 July. Available at: www.iom.int/sitreps/return-undocumented-afghans-weekly-situationreport-23-29-july-2017. Accessed 2 August 2017. International Organization for Migration (2017b) “Return of undocumented Afghans.” Weekly Situation Report 30 July–5 August. Available at: https://afghanistan.iom.int/sites/default/files/Reports/iom_return_ of_undocumented_afghans_weekly_situation_report_july_30_-_aug_5.pdf. Accessed 8 August 2017. Ishikawa, Tomonori (1967a) “Hiroshima Wangan Jogozenson keiyaku imin no shakai chirigakuteki ckosatsu. (A social geographical study of contract labour from the coastal village of Jogozen, Wangan, Hiroshima).” Jinbunchiri 19(1): 75–91. Ishikawa, Tomonori (1967b) “Hiroshimaken minamibu Kuchidason keiyaku imin no shakai chirigakuteki koosatsu. (A social geographical study of contract emigration from Kuchida, a village in southern Hiroshima).” Shigaku Kenkyuu 99: 33–52. Ishikawa, Tomonori (1967c) “Yamaguchiken Ooshia Kugason shoki keiyaku imin no shakai chirigkuteki Koosatsu. (A social geographical study of contract labour from Kuga, Oshima, Yamaguchi)”. Chirigaku 7: 25–38. Jørgenson, Jan Jelmert (1981) Uganda: A Modern History. London: Croom Helm. Kenny, Ciara (2014) “Forced to leave Ireland, forced to stay away.” Irish Times, 25 October 2014. Available at: www.irishtimes.com/blogs/generationemigration/2014/10/25/forced-to-leave-ireland-forced-tostay-away/. Accessed 28 July 2014. King, Russell and Anastasia Christou (2010) “Diaspora, migration and transnationalism: Insights from the study of second-generation ‘returnees.’” In Diaspora and Transnationalism: Concepts, Theories and Methods, edited by Rainer Bauböck and Thomas Faist, pp. 167–184. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Klinthäll, Martin (2006) “Retirement return migration from Sweden.” International Migration 44(2): 153–180. DOI: 0.1111/j.1468-2435.2006.00367.x 153–180 Kobayashi, Audrey (1983) Emigration from Kaideima, Japan, 1885–1950: An Analysis of Community and Landscape Change. PhD dissertation, Department of Geography, University of California at Los Angeles. Kobayashi, Audrey and Valerie Preston (2007) “Transnationalism through the life course: Hong Kong immigrants in Canada.” Asia Pacific Viewpoint 48(2): 151–167. DOI: 10.1111/j.1467-8373.2007.00338.x Larkins, Karen (2010) “Ten infamous islands of exile.” Available at: www.smithsonianmag.com/history/ ten-infamous-islands-of-exile-1947938/. Accessed 1 August 2017. Lesinska, Magdalena (2013) “The dilemmas of policy towards return migration: The case of Poland after the EU accession.” Central and Eastern European Migration Review 2(1): 77–90. Ley, David and Audrey Kobayashi (2005) “Back to Hong Kong: Return migration or transnational sojourn?” Global Networks 5(2): 111–127. DOI: 10.1111/j.1471-0374.2005.00110 Lockett, James D. (1999) “The deportation of the Maroons of Trelawny Town to Nova Scotia, then Back to Africa.” Journal of Black Studies 30(1): 5–14. Malhamé, Nathalie (2009) Lebanese returnees: Reasons for return, adaptation, and re-emigration. PhD Dissertation, American University of Beirut. Available at: www.10452lccc.com/special%20studies/ nathalimalhame8.7.06.htm. Accessed 2 August 2017. Markowitz, Fran (2007) “Ethnic return migrations—(are not quite)—diasporic homecomings.” Diaspora: A Journal of Transnational Studies 16(1–2): 234–242. McKie, David (2011) “Evacuation: The lessons of Lebanon.” CBC News, 31 January. Available at: www. cbc.ca/newsblogs/politics/inside-politics-blog/2011/01/evacuation-weve-been-down-this-roadbefore---sort-of.html. Accessed 2 August 2017. Mendoza, Dovelyn Rannveig (2015) “Shortage amid surplus: Emigration and capital development in the Philippines.” Migration Policy Institute Issue in Brief 15: 1–11. North-South Institute (2006) Migrant Workers in Canada: A Review of the Canadian Seasonal Agricultural Workers Program. Ottawa: The North-South Institute. Available at: www.nsi-ins.ca/wp-content/ uploads/2012/10/2006-Migrant-Workers-in-Canada-A-review-of-the-Canadian-Seasonal-AgriculturalWorkers-Program.pdf. Accessed 2 August 2017. Potter, Robert B. and J. Phillips (2006) Citizens by Descent: Bajan-Brit Young Return Migrants. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Pratt, Geraldine (2012) Families Apart: Migrant Mothers and the Conflicts of Labor and Love. Minneapolis, MN and London: University of Minnesota Press. Reid, Richard J. (2017) A History of Modern Uganda. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Somani, Alia Rehana (2012) Broken Passages and Broken Promises: Reconstructing the Komagata Maru and Air India Cases. PhD dissertation, University of Western Ontario. Available at: http://ir.lib.uwo.ca/cgi/ viewcontent.cgi?article=1579&context=etd. Accessed 25 July 2017. 534

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Sue-A-Quan, Trev (1999) Cane Reapers: Chinese Indentured Immigrants in Guyana. Vancouver: Riftswood. Suzuki, Nobue (2000) “Between two shores: Transnational projects and Filipina wives in/from Japan.” Women’s Studies International Forum 23(4): 431–444. DOI: 10.1016/S0277-5395(00)00111-4 Takaki, Ronald (1989) Strangers from a Different Shore (rev. ed.). Boston: Little, Brown, and Company. “The Irish in America” (n.d.) https://theirishinamerica.com/2011/06/26/emigrant-letters-help-tell-thestory/. Accessed 25 July 2017. Thomas, W. I. and Florian Znaniecki (1958 [1918–1920]) The Polish Peasant in Europe and America, Volumes I and II. New York: Dover Publications. Tsuda, Takeyuki (2003) Strangers in the Ethnic Homeland: Japanese Brazilian Return Migration in Transnational Perspective. New York: Columbia University Press. Tsuda, Takeyuki (2010) “Ethnic return migration and the nation-state: Encouraging the diaspora to return ‘home’.” Nations and Nationalism 16(4): 616–636. Tungohan, Ethel, Rupa Banerjee, Wayne Chu, Petronila Cleto, Conely de Leon, Mila Garcia, et  al. (2015) “After the Live-In Caregiver Program: Filipina caregivers’ experiences of graduated and uneven citizenship.” Canadian Ethnic Studies 47(1): 87–105. United Nations High Commission on Refugees (2017) Global Trends: Forced Displacement in 2016. Available at: www.unhcr.org/5943e8a34. Accessed 2 August 2017. Waters, Johanna (2005) “Transnational family strategies and education in the contemporary Chinese diaspora.” Global Networks 5(4): 359–377. DOI: 10.1111/j.1471-0374.2005.00124.x Wikipedia (n.d.) “Canadians of convenience.” Available at: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canadians_of_ convenience. Accessed 2 August 2017. Wolmar, Christian (2009) Blood, Iron and Gold: How the Railways Transformed the World. London: Atlantic Books.

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Part IX

Methods for studying international migration

The study of international migration is a multiform project shaped by many academic disciplines, research methods and approaches to social research. While this area of investigation has long been a significant focus of certain academic fields, in recent years, disciplines that were not previously concerned with the topic have begun to study it as well. This burgeoning interest in studying international migration notwithstanding, few academic disciplines have created research methods and techniques that are specifically devoted to it. Instead, they have relied upon approaches commonly used within the discipline at large. Here we offer five chapters that describe research techniques developed specifically for the study of international migration. It is our hope that this part will provide readers with two ways of improving their migration research. First, these chapters offer an excellent summary of the diverse tools and techniques used to examine the topic. Second, the chapters will assist readers in mastering research methods specifically designed for the collection and analysis of data on international migration. Migration scholars increasingly understand their endeavor to be multidisciplinary in nature. They contend that to achieve a well-rounded comprehension of topic, one must bring together theories, data and findings from many academic fields. The chapters in the part facilitate this goal. By learning about these methods, students and scholars will be able to evaluate and integrate the findings of multidisciplinary research on immigrants. The part begins with one of the most commonly applied tools used for the study of international migration: census analysis. National censuses provide both high-quality, credible data about the total numbers of international migrants as well as a large amount of social, demographic and economic information about their characteristics, ways of life, settlement patterns and behaviors. Karen A. Woodrow-Lafield describes the kinds of questions that are best answered via census data and suggests useful techniques for measuring variables that are not easily accessible – such as religious or sub-ethnic differences. She also explains how census practices have changed over time and reflects on the challenges involved in making international comparisons using data from different countries. Finally, she shows how census analysis can be supplemented with other data sources. Mariano Sana’s chapter addresses survey strategies that pertain to the study of international migration. He beings by reviewing the barriers to creating bi- or multinational sampling frames

Part IX

while addressing the challenges of representativeness and standardization. He then describes how a specific type of migration survey, the ethnosurvey, provides bi- or multinational data in a way that responds to those challenges. Afterward, he reviews a number of research projects that have employed the ethnosurvey methodology. He closes by considering two recent developments in social survey research that are of central interest to migration survey practitioners. In her chapter on interviewing immigrants and refugees, Chien-Juh Gu introduces in-depth interviews and life-history interviews and discusses their applications to immigrant and refugee studies. While in-depth interviews aim to understand subjects’ life experiences in depth, lifehistory interviews capture the changes of subjects’ life trajectories and social relations over time. Topics covered in this chapter include the researcher’s role as an insider or outsider to the subject population, the effects of structural position (race/gender/class) on the interview encounter, language use, cultural sensitivity, and research ethics. Steven J. Gold’s chapter draws on his research with various migrant populations to offer basic information for those who wish to incorporate visual methods and data into studies of international migration. Visual methods are shown to be useful for learning about generating rapport with respondents, accessing migrants’ understandings of situations and issues, facilitating communication, exploring theoretical concepts, comparing groups, sharing findings, and teaching about results. Finally, Irene Bloemraad’s chapter reveals that doing comparison well provides many rewards for migration scholars: It challenges taken-for-granted assumptions regarding immigrant populations, context and time; it reveals new ways of understanding the social world; and it provides an analytical way to test and advance theory. Having covered this approach’s advantages, Bloemraad then warns practitioners about the pitfalls of comparative research. Poor choices or too many comparisons can make data collection and analysis difficult, timeintensive, costly, and possibly overwhelming. To advance productive comparative research design, this chapter covers why (and whether) migration scholars should use comparative methodologies, what to compare, and how to compare. The question of “what” to compare is about choosing a general conceptual class of “cases.” “How” to compare is about choosing specific empirical cases that drive the comparative logics of analysis. The chapter closes with the assertion that researchers must ensure that comparison has a purpose.

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42 Census analysis Karen A. Woodrow-Lafield

Introduction For the majority of nations, censuses are the primary source of information on the migrant stock, but certain countries instead have population registers as an excellent and timely data source. For the United States, the census is constitutionally mandated every ten years for purposes of apportioning political representation among the states according to the distribution of the population. Dramatic changes have occurred over time in implementing this count and current technologies are more efficient and utilize high capacity computers. The U.S. Census Bureau’s mission of providing timely, relevant and quality data about the people and economy of the United States has evolved to include not only the crucial topics of people, housing, business, and governments, for which the major resource has historically been the decennial census of population and housing, but also information from other surveys and administrative statistics. The American Community Survey (ACS) is designed for collecting detailed social and economic characteristics nationally and subnationally on a continuous basis. The U.S. 2010 Census was the re-engineered census with full implementation of the “census-quality” ACS for which respondent participation is mandatory. National censuses include persons according to residence rules—de jure criteria, or legal residence, or de facto criteria, or “usual residence,” the place where a person lives and sleeps most of the time or the place they consider their usual residence. The U.S. census is based on de facto residence rules and thus includes certain temporary residents and unauthorized residents as counted in their usual place of residence in the United States. Mexico’s census is by de jure criteria, thus encompassing those migrants sojourning north of the border. For the first time, China’s 2010 census counted residents at their place of enumeration. Previous censuses counted persons according to their place of usual residence according to their local household registration. The Chinese government long sought to control geographic mobility through mandatory local household registration, known as the hukou system. Most countries have had a complete periodic census, typically every ten years in years ending in “0” or “1,” for a long time, as in the case of the United States (1790–2010) and Canada (1871–2010). In the case of China, complete censuses occurred over a shorter period (1990–2010) after previous national censuses in 1953, 1964, and 1982. Canada also took censuses in years ending 539

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in “6” over the period 1981–2016, following several mini-censuses (1906–1976). Nationally representative surveys often augment census-taking. China now conducts a population sample census in years ending in “5.” Census-taking is subject to change for reasons of costs, privacy concerns, and various crises, and, indeed, censuses may be postponed—the 2000 round of censuses were postponed until 2005 or 2006 for Nicaragua, Colombia, Peru, and El Salvador. The United Nations (UN) provides technical and financial assistance in national censuses in order to enhance the value of data for the international community.

Data, questions, and issues Censuses of nations receiving many migrants, especially the United States, Canada, and Australia, have generally included the major questions for studying migration. The key questions that are recommended and most related to migration are place of birth, citizenship, and place of residence five years ago (Massey and Clemens, 2008; UN DESA, 1998). Additional questions that might be considered useful in analyzing migration are race, origin, such as Hispanic, ancestry, parental birthplace, date of entry or immigration, language spoken, and departures of household family members. Place of birth is not typically detailed as to specific area within a foreign country, which may sometimes result in incomplete information, although, for natives, place of birth might be detailed as to specific area, permitting measurement of lifetime migration within the nation of birth. Formal citizenship in the United States is set forth in the Fourteenth Amendment as jus soli or citizenship by birthright, jus sanguines (right of blood), or citizenship as inherited from parents (born abroad of American parents) or derivative, and citizenship conferred through naturalization, sometimes referred to as administrative assimilation. Place of prior residence is useful in measuring the net in-flow for a recent time period. Many experts regard this response data as factually based and preferable to any response as to the date of immigration, entry, or last arrival. National censuses are generally limited to information on whether an individual holds that nation’s citizenship without ascertaining multiple citizenships. Individuals are increasingly adopting dual or multiple citizenships and maintaining transnational ties. The Hague Convention of 1930 stated that each nation is responsible for determining who may be a citizen or national of their country and declared that dual nationality, or dual citizenship, was undesirable. However, in 1997, a new European Convention on Nationality was adopted which accepts the concept of multiple nationalities, subject to regulation, and more nations are permitting dual citizenship. From the 1871 Census until 2011, Canadian censuses had included a question on place of birth. Questions on citizenship and year of immigration were initiated with the 1901 Census. The 2001 and 2006 Censuses included place of birth, citizenship, “landed immigrant status,” and “year of landing,” referring to the granting of permanent Canadian residence. These censuses also renewed data collection on birthplace of parents which had been previously included in the 1971 Census. Canada adopted an official policy of diversity and multiculturalism in the 1970s, and those Canadian census data were richly detailed on ethnicity and religious affiliation. In tandem with immigration policies based on a point system and targeted limits on immigrants and refugees, Canada has settlement policies for which census analyses are informative as to integration over duration of official residence in Canada. The censuses ascertain the non-permanent resident population of which about ten percent are U.S.-born citizens (Michalowski and Norris, 2005; Statistics Canada, 2010). The 2011 Census covered only basic demographic characteristics after Canada initiated the National Household Survey (NHS) for which participation was voluntary and to which were shifted the detailed questions about citizenship, immigration, and language. By the time of the 2016 Census, the NHS was again mandatory as the census longform questionnaire due to concerns about the quality of community-level data. 540

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Since the 1850 Census, the U.S. census included data collection on the nativity (place of birth) of the population, with other questions and sampling bases varying among censuses (Grieco et al., 2012a, b). Over 1980–2000, data about place of birth, U.S. citizenship, residence five years ago, language, ancestry, and year of entry into the United States (for anyone born outside the United States) were gathered on the detailed questionnaire administered to the one-in-six sample. With the 2010 Census, the ACS became the resource for detailed characteristics, including place of birth, U.S. citizenship, and year of U.S. entry. New questions are being included, such as date of naturalization on the 2008 ACS. Ancestry statistics depict somewhat the origins of past migrants plus their descendants; ancestry refers to ethnic origin, descent, roots, heritage, or a place of birth of a person as he or she wishes to respond. English language proficiency, how well spoken, is the basis for understanding linguistic assimilation as well as linguistic isolation. The Integrated Public-Use Microdata Samples are a tremendous asset for researchers, including decennial census and ACS data. A remarkable change with China’s 2010 Census, consisting of a short-form and a long-form survey, is inclusion of place of birth for the first time with a smaller eight-question survey, and foreigners were enumerated, possibly including unauthorized migrants and internal migrant workers to whom special efforts were directed. The international migrants were counted as low (594,000) relative to the overall population of 1.35 billion (Haugen, 2015). Sending unauthorized migrants to Japan and the United States, China itself is a destination for unauthorized residents from such countries as Indonesia, Malaysia, Philippines, and Thailand from which legal workers have been allowed, of whom some estimated may have become undocumented (Massey et al., 1998). Place of prior residence is sometimes specific to area within a country for purposes of assessing internal migration that occurred over a defined period. In the U.S. case, there have been extensive studies of internal migration patterns of the foreign-born and native-born populations across metropolitan areas, states, and regions (Rogers and Raymer, 1999; Frey and Liaw, 1998; Kritz and Gurak, 2004). China’s 2000 Population Census was a detailed 10-percent sample survey that included intricate questions related to migration of household members residing outside the household for less than six months or for more than six months, and of household members temporarily residing in the current location and away from their place of household registration for less than six months (Liang and Ma, 2004). Each individual was questioned about his or her hukou status and place of household registration, place of birth, and date of arrival in the current location. Those who had moved in the last five years were asked about county and province of origin, original residence as rural or urban, reason for migration, and province of prior residence. Since 1890, the U.S. census classifies individuals who were born in a foreign country, but who had at least one parent who was an American citizen, as native rather than as foreign-born. Questions about birthplace of parents allow classification of the native population by native, foreign, or mixed parentage. The term foreign stock includes the foreign-born population and the native population of foreign or mixed parentage. A question on birthplace of parents was included in the U.S. census from 1870 to 1970, but that question, along with other nativity and immigration questions, is now regularly included on the monthly CPS. In 2013, slightly less than one-quarter of the population was of foreign birth (12.9 percent) or foreign descent (11.7 percent) (Trevelyan et al., 2016). Parental place of birth has not been included on the ACS despite expert recommendations and serious consideration (Massey, 2010; National Research Council, 2013; Thompson, 2014). The question on ancestry replaced the question on birthplace of parents on the 1980–2000 Censuses and is included on the ACS. Based on self-identification, individuals respond to the ancestry question as to their ethnic origin, heritage, descent, or “roots,” which may reflect not only the place of birth of their parents or ancestors but also their place of birth and ethnic identities that have evolved within the United States. 541

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When individuals answer a question about date of entry or immigration, their responses might be based on different interpretations given migration circularity and status irregularity. Respondents might answer in terms of last arrival, an earlier arrival, coming to stay, or obtaining legal documents (Massey, 2010). Measuring net in-flow for a recent time period is therefore complicated. In addition, responses are usually for categorized years rather than specific years, or continuously. Latin American countries are improving census quality as well as expanding information about international migration, and, in the past two decades, Mexico has particularly expanded national surveys for studying migration. Following the inclusion on several household surveys of questions about household members living outside the country, this was a sample topic in Mexico’s Population and Housing Census 2000. Intended to estimate emigration levels and characteristics, the questions were about whether any members of the household had left to live abroad within the prior five years, with further questions on sex, age at departure, month and year of departure, country of destination, country of present residence, and month and year of return of each such member. The relevance of migration analyses and census inclusion of key questions may depend on the prominence of migration for the country, especially for destination countries. For countries of mass emigration, their own census data are usefully augmented with census data in destination countries. Data on international migrants are now easily accessible from the UN, e.g., International Migration Report 2015: A Global Assessment, according to official statistics (censuses, national surveys, or population registers) on the foreign-born or the foreign population enumerated in the countries or areas of the world with classification by origin, sex, and age (UN DESA, 2008, 2016; Henning and Hovy, 2011). National data for country of origin are either for country of birth or country of citizenship. The most recent tables released by the UN for 2015 (UN DESA, 2016) show data for the total migrant stock, female migrant stock, and male migrant stock at mid-year by origin and major area, region, country or area of destination, and similar tables show data for 2010, 2005, 2000, 1995, and 1990. The Database on Immigration in OECD and non-OECD Countries (DIOC-E) is based on the 2000 round of population censuses for OECD countries and nonOECD destination countries and includes demographic characteristics, duration of stay, labor market characteristics, education, and place of birth (Dumont, Spielvogel, and Widmaier, 2010). The report Connecting with Emigrants: A Global Profile of Diasporas (OECD, 2012) had country notes describing these diaspora for 140 countries, including the United States, for 2000 and 2005/2006. (See also Dumont, 2012.) By 2015, the largest diaspora populations were from India (16 million), Mexico (12 million), the Russian Federation (11 million), China (10 million), Bangladesh (7 million), and Pakistan and Ukraine (6 million each) (UN DESA, 2016).

Analyzing migration from censuses Population growth and distribution International migration Migration is a key component in demographic change for a specific population and in changing the contour of the world population. From 1850 to 1930, the U.S. foreign-born population increased from 2.2 million to 14.2 million, reflecting that period’s large-scale immigration from Europe. Immigration was low during the 1930s and 1940s and, by 1950, the U.S. foreign-born population had declined to 10.3 million, and its percentage of the total population had declined from 13 percent to 15 percent during 1860 to 1920 to 6.9 percent. The foreign-born population 542

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dropped to 9.6 million in 1970, or only 4.7 percent. With post-1965 immigration from Latin America, Asia, and elsewhere, the decennial censuses showed increases in the foreign-born population from 9.6 million in 1970 to 14.1 million in 1980, to 19.8 million in 1990, and to 31.1 million in 2000, or from 4.7 percent in 1970 to 6.2 percent in 1980, to 7.9 percent in 1990, and to 11.l percent in 2000. By 2010, the foreign-born share of 12.9 percent (Grieco et al., 2012a, b) surpassed the historical high of 11.6 percent in 1930. This level of representation exceeded the 9.5 percent share of international migrants in the European countries in 2010, with higher percentages in Germany with 13.1 percent and Switzerland with 23.2 percent. Beyond the straightforward counting of foreign-born persons present in the census data of a country, population characteristics by period of migration or date of entry are indicative of newly arrived immigrants and migration flows, although these counts differ from actual population flows measured at least partially through administrative statistics. Initial migrants may reverse migrate or make another migration or have been lost through mortality. Because date of arrival is subject to response error, asking about place of residence five years ago is a preferable measure for recent migration. Quantification of global international migration flows (Abel and Sander, 2014) has been accomplished in a manner that appropriately accounts for both birthplace specificity of census data for all 196 countries and for population changes from deaths and births. Although numbers of worldwide international migrants were steadily increasing, that analysis indicated there was not a continuous increase in migration flows over 1990 to 2010 in either absolute or relative terms. The volume of global migration flows showed declines during the interval from 1990–1995 to 1995–2000, followed by increases from 1995–2000 to 2000–2005 as well as from 2000–2005 to 2005–2010.

Census accuracy and coverage Comparison of population stocks across time may suggest the net flows or net change. With an increasing U.S. foreign-born population, the accuracy of measuring components of net immigration became more crucial for population estimates, projections, and census evaluation. Detailed demographic analyses may reveal estimated net immigration, emigration, or net migration. U.S. decennial censuses previously provided benchmarking data as to international migration components of population change. The ACS is now the basis for measures of year-to-year change in the foreign population: (1) change in the total foreign population from one survey year to the next; (2) the number reporting year of U.S. entry one year prior to the current survey year; and (3) the number having reported residing abroad one year prior to the current survey year (Norris and Costanza, 2005; Grieco, 2008, 2009; Grieco and Rytina, 2011; Grieco, Larsen, and Hogan, 2016). The latter is the basis for the net international migration component in U.S. population estimates and for evaluating 2010 Census coverage (U.S. Bureau of the Census, 2010). When the first results from the U.S. 2010 Census were released on December 14, 2010, the U.S. population count (308.7 million) matched closely with census demographers’ best population estimate (308.5 million) as of Census Day 2010, the middle estimate from demographic analysis (U.S. Census Bureau, 2010). A decade ago, the 2000 Census count had shown the greatest national population increase ever and increased populations for each of the 50 states, was higher than the demographic estimate by 6 million (2 million more than the 1990 Census net undercount of 4 million), and sparked immediate reassessment of net immigration for the 1990s. The number of unauthorized residents in 2000 was estimated to be substantially greater than in 1990 with the increase happening in the late 1990s (Bean et al., 2001). Again emphasizing the value of census analysis for understanding migration, regular and irregular, the 543

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Mexican Census 2010 showed higher than expected return migration from the United States for 2005–2010 than in 1995–2000 (Stevenson, 2011).

Internal migration In the U.S. case, international migration events are outnumbered by internal migration events due to job mobility, individual preferences, rural–urban shifts, and economic restructuring, but net international migration contributes to population growth. In recent decades, industrial expansion in China has resulted in a large “floating population” (liudong renkou) of workers living near those industrial centers, i.e., living at a place different from the place of their household registration, or hukou. The 2010 Census revealed some geographic diversification of the floating population that might be attributable to factory closures following the global financial recession, and returning migrant workers as economic conditions improved in western China (Liang, Li, and Ma, 2014). Considerable population growth had occurred in Mexico near maquiladoras located at the U.S.–Mexico border. These are manufacturing plants primarily owned by Mexican, Asian, and American countries that operate to utilize low-cost labor and the calculation of duty fees based on the value added, that is, the value of the finished product minus the total cost of components imported to make the product. There was some decline in the export industries after the Great Recession. An interesting look at the changing demography and geography of Mexican return migration based on recent censuses noted changing urban economic opportunities from tourism and export industries (Masferrer and Roberts, 2012). With expanded questions, China’s 2010 Census documented a vast internal migration, concluding that more than 261 million citizens—nearly one in five—were living in places other than where China’s household registration process had indicated that they did. Most of those were probably migrant laborers who have swelled big cities in search of higher-paying jobs so as to send money back to families that remain in rural areas (Wines and LaFraniere, 2011). Based on U.S. Census 2000 data on current place of residence and place of residence five years ago, gross and net mobility/migration data were available for various levels of geography with demographic, family, or household characteristics with county-to-county migration flow data for counties and other entities by selected characteristics. Migration patterns in the 1990s were in the context of high immigration, extensive housing construction and low interest rates, economic growth and low inflation, and high employment and labor demand. Nearly one in every two persons lived elsewhere in 1995 from the 2000 residence. Retirement migration to Florida continued, making that state first on net increase from internal migration. The pattern of black migration to the South that was visible in the 1960–1990 censuses was even more clearly demonstrated in the 2000 Census as a major return migration to the Southern region that included highly educated individuals, especially to Georgia, Texas, and Maryland, at the expense of New York, California, and Illinois (Frey, 2004). In a sharp shift to the trend since 1940, more people left California in the late 1990s than moved to California from elsewhere in the United States, and this loss was offset with movers from abroad to California. Instead of asking about place of residence five years ago as had recent U.S. decennial censuses, the ACS asks for residence one year prior to the enumeration date, which varies depending upon when the respondent is interviewed for the survey. This narrower time interval is somewhat preferable in that there is less time for occurrence of migrations and the concept of the net migrant might be more meaningful (Rogers, 1990). After 2000, both new and traditional destination areas of Hispanic settlement depended on immigration for population growth due to domestic outmigration (Lichter and Johnson, 2009). Following the Great Recession, geographical mobility slowed to historically low rates (Frey, 2009). 544

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Unauthorized migration and immigration status Since the 1980 Census, international migration components have contributed to substantial uncertainty as to the total resident population. In evaluating a higher than expected U.S. 1980 Census count, census demographers for the first time estimated a resident unauthorized population of 2.1 million, including one million Mexicans (Warren and Passel, 1987). The final undercoverage estimates by age, sex, and race hypothesized total resident populations of legally resident persons (counted and uncounted), “counted” undocumented persons, and alternative figures of “uncounted” undocumented persons (Fay, Passel, and Robinson, 1988). Given geographically detailed data on the legally resident foreign-born population in 1980, the estimated geographic distribution of undocumented residents showed concentrations in California, New York, Texas, Florida, Illinois, and New Jersey; the same areas that have large numbers of immigrants (Passel and Woodrow, 1984). Measuring unknown immigration with the basic population accounting equation is subject to response errors and nonresponse errors as to census enumeration as foreign-born, and other errors accruing from the estimation technique (Massey and Capoferro, 2004; Woodrow, 1992; Woodrow-Lafield, 1995). Due to uncertainties about international migration in the 2000s, the preliminary estimates ranged from 9.5 million to 13.5 million (U.S. Bureau of the Census, 2010) and the final estimates ranged from 8.6 million to 12.6 million (Devine et al., 2012). Application of residual methodologies utilizing U.S. census national surveys and administrative data over 1983–2012 illustrated a more spatially dispersed unauthorized population, although the greatest concentration still resided in California (Woodrow-Lafield, 2014; U.S. Department of Homeland Security, 2013). From early to more recent studies of the U.S. unauthorized population, findings consistently showed the majority were male, Hispanic (Mexican and other Central American), and had arrived in more recent periods.

Emigration Although countries typically measure in-migrants with administrative systems and censuses, scarcely any have measurement systems for emigration, relying on intercensal comparisons and other countries’ data for foreign-born populations and lawfully admitted individuals. Intercensal survival techniques using successive censuses appeared to show emigration of 1.1 million foreignborn persons for 1960–1970 (with age and sex detail) (Keely and Kraly, 1978). After the 1980 Census, U.S. demographers focused on an alien address registration system to develop an estimate for legally resident aliens by demographic and temporary or lawful permanent residence categories, with a bonus of legal emigration estimates (Warren and Passel, 1987). This evaluation gave an estimate that 1.2 million legally resident immigrants had emigrated in the 1970s and about .5 million aliens emigrated in 1965–1970. A range of 1.0 to 2.1 million was established for emigration in the 1980s of lawful permanent residents and naturalized citizens (Woodrow, 1991a). Emigration estimates for U.S. population programs are currently developed with a similar methodology comparing ACS data on foreign-born and native-born populations, yielding estimates ranging between 2.0 and 2.6 million for 2000–2010 (Devine et al., 2012; U.S. Bureau of the Census, 2010). In principle, one strategy for measuring emigration would be to conduct multiple country surveys in order to link individuals on current and previous place of residence, but this would scarcely be feasible for studying emigration from major receiving countries for which there are many origin source countries. With a specific focus on origin–destination linked country surveys within a migration system, one notable example is the Netherlands Interdisciplinary Demographic Institute-Eurostat project in 1997–1998 involving origin countries in Africa and 545

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the Middle East and destination as the European Union (Bilsborrow, 2007). Households were designated as migrant households on the basis of having a member who had emigrated at any time in the past ten years which seemed a broad definition. A related strategy is to conduct surveys in the host or destination country with some mechanism for introducing those individuals who are not present and have emigrated, even if their characteristics would be only partially revealed. Such a mechanism exists through network sampling with a consanguineal counting rule that links nonresident relatives with the host population (Woodrow-Lafield, 1996; Woodrow, 1991b). Only those who emigrated without leaving behind a relative in the host country would be outside this consanguineally linked transnational population. As mentioned earlier in the case of Mexico, some sending countries, such as Georgia, Moldova, Poland, and Tunisia, included emigration questions on the 2000 round of censuses, that is, asking about persons absent from the household, with greater success more likely for recent emigrants (past five years), emigrants with close ties in the country through family or proximity, and emigrants on registration systems in their origin countries (Chudinovskikh, Anich, and Bisogno, 2008). This approach might not be the best way for identifying migrants for multi-country surveys (Beauchemin and González-Ferrer, 2011). Particularly for smaller national populations, receiving country statistics on immigrants can be more helpful than this approach. From Mexico’s 2010 Census, 1.1 million Mexicans had migrated abroad in 2005–2010, of whom 723,000 remained abroad and 351,000 had already returned at the time of the interview. These implied annual figures of 145,000 net migrants to the U.S. and 70,000 return migrants over that period. Comparing with about 240,000 net migrants per year between 1995 and 2000 based on the 2000 Census, the number of international migrants decreased by 31.9 percent. There was a peak of about 450,000 net migrants per year that occurred between 2000 and 2005 (Stevenson, 2011). Following the economic downturn of 2007–2008, about twice as many Mexicans had returned home in the five years previous to the 2010 Census than had done so in the five years before the 2000 Census (Passel, Cohn, and Gonzalez-Barrera, 2012). Based on 2010 Census data, a large share had returned to Mexico with their entire household.

Addressing gaps, managing controversies, and future policies Gaps Among the most serious gaps in studying migration with census data, small origin populations remain elusive without population census data adequate for showing their detailed characteristics. Even censuses in the major destination countries are limited in studying populations and migration dynamics for such countries of origin as Thailand or Panama. Innovative research is possible for smaller populations, such as Hidalgo and Bankston (2011). Their focus was intermarriage for Thai American immigrants over 1980–2000, specifically examining marriage of foreign-born women with non-Thai men. Historically associated with the U.S. military presence in Thailand, Thai American intermarriage has become demilitarized but there may be some legacy effects toward continuing intermarriage of Thai-born women with native men. Sometimes, focusing on the ethnic, ancestral, or language group is sufficient for substantive and analytical purposes. A useful variable is the percentage of foreign-born in the community as representation of co-ethnics as a measure of social capital or social ties (Yang, 1994; Liang, 1994). At the country level, economists include as an influence for international migration the stock of previous migrants from the source country living in the destination—the “friends and relatives” effect. One rationale is that having these friends and relatives might reduce the overall loss of ethnic capital in the source country, and another is that these networks lower migration costs through 546

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helping with loans or giving resources (Hatton and Williamson, 2002). The “friends and relatives” effect does not seem to persist over time as much as demographic and economic factors (Clark, Hatton, and Williamson, 2002). Researchers may employ a variety of techniques to study socio-demographic outcomes for origin or special status groups, e.g., refugees or unauthorized high school graduates, living in a city or metropolitan area (Gold et al., 2008). Census sources are severely limited for causal modeling of international migration processes and for generational and assimilation analyses. Data are often rich on socioeconomic measures but weak as to migrant characteristics and timing of events. For example, census survey-based studies show human capital measures as associated with having naturalized by the census date, but many initial characteristics are unknown, such as immigration status, English proficiency, educational attainment, and occupational background. On a measurement basis, demographers attempt to make the most of available census and survey sources in studying dynamic migration change. Census surveys typically do not include questions about immigration status—legal status— because individuals would be unlikely to provide such private details to the government and individuals might then avoid census-takers. Special survey techniques involve a series of questions about immigration status that do not require an individual to self-identify as unauthorized (Massey, 2010; U.S. Government Accountability Office, 2006). Basically, individuals may select from several lawful status categories presented as options without feeling threatened, and those remaining as not having selected one are classified as likely to be without status. Another strategy draws upon survey questions about immigration status at time of entering the United States as the basis for modeling immigration status in relation to key demographic and socioeconomic characteristics in other surveys (Bachmeier, Van Hook, and Bean, 2014). Studying certain groups that are defined on the basis of ethnic and religious markers is difficult given prohibitions against asking individuals about religious affiliations. An alternative approach is to draw upon country of birth, reported ancestries or ethnic origins (or parental place of birth, when available in earlier censuses), for identifying foreign-born and native-born individuals as Jewish (Waldinger and Lichter, 1996) or as Middle Easterners, e.g., Arab, Armenian, Iranian, or Israeli (Bozorgmehr, Der-Martirosian, and Sabagh, 1996). Language spoken is another crucial characteristic in triangulation for group identification. U.S. census data, however, appear rich in comparison with French census data which lack racial and ethnic characteristics due to an historical prohibition on acquiring such details.

Census controversies and inadequacies Census controversies persist with attacks over privacy concerns. First, individuals might dislike follow-up contacts in regard to non-returned census forms. Second, individuals might feel their privacy is invaded by the detailed nature of questions about race and other socioeconomic characteristics. In part, these concerns reflect lack of understanding of census data uses for public policy, but increasing mistrust in government is relevant. In the U.S. case, the presumed and measured presence of millions of unauthorized residents resulted in pre-1980 and pre-1990 litigation to prohibit inclusion of unauthorized residents in the apportionment counts. That issue diminished with reengineering of the 2010 Census that limited the actual census to only ten basic questions, without any questions on place of birth and citizenship that would have been necessary for identifying the foreign-born resident population, including the unauthorized resident population. In March 2018, the Secretary of Commerce announced that a citizenship question would be added to the 2020 Census in response to a request from the Justice department that the data were necessary to implement 547

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the Voting Rights Act. Experts, professional associations, minority advocacy groups, civil rights organizations, governors, mayors, politicians, and the Census Scientific Advisory Committee stated this change would be detrimental to census operations, response, coverage, and accuracy. There is grave concern that asking everyone about their citizenship status would be invasive and heighten perception of governmental authorities as threatening to immigrant communities. In 2009, certain advocacy groups sought briefly to rally anti-census sentiment in reaction to the lack of immigration reform to provide status for unauthorized residents, and groups are similarly reacting negatively to this question about immigration status and the 2020 Census, particularly given the current administration’s stance on tough immigration policies whereas the authorities agreed in the past to easing interior immigration enforcement during census-taking. The state of California quickly sued, and the attorney generals of New York, 16 other states, and seven cities, including Washington, D.C., filed a multi-state lawsuit against inclusion of the citizenship question for the 2020 Census. A recent example of a census controversy involving a vulnerable population is the case of the Muslim Rohingya population which is basically stateless despite historical claims to the land of Burma or Myanmar. When Myanmar conducted the first national census in its 30-year history, in March–April 2014, the government did not allow self-identification as Rohingya although the census allowed reporting from among 135 official ethnic groups. UN advisors had assisted in fielding this first census, and Myanmar had promised to include the Muslim Rohingya population that has not been recognized as holding citizenship, a population estimated at one million. However, on the day before the beginning of the census, the government made the decision that individuals had to report as Bengalese rather than as Rohingya. Their plight deteriorated politically afterward.

Reengineering censuses and/or harmonizing censuses U.S. social scientists and demographers analyzed data from the 2010 Census along with data from the ACS, considering changes relative to detailed social and economic characteristics data from the 2000 Census. The ACS data are regarded as a rich resource for studying the U.S. foreignborn population, from larger origin groups to smaller origins, although studies have mixed comparability with those from earlier U.S. censuses. The first five-year data set of 2005–2009 ACS was released in December 2010, providing detailed information for groups or areas as small as 20,000. The ACS sample size was increased from 2.9 million to 3.3 million housing units in 2011 and then to 3.5 million in 2012 for enhanced data quality for small areas. Thus, the five-year data set of 2011–2015 ACS released in December 2016 represented a better resource for smaller areas. The national statistical agencies of Canada, Mexico, and the United States formed a North American Migration Working Group (NAMWG) shortly after the 2000 census round for documenting existing sources of migration data and working toward the development of harmonized data on migration flows between the three countries. For binational or joint studies, researchers must resolve a number of issues as to data comparability (Pryor and Long, 1987; Norris and Costanza, 2005). Through the World Bank, Organization of Economic Development, and United Nations Population Division, migration statistics from national population censuses and surveys are improving migration studies worldwide. Through maximum utilization of existing data sources, migration studies might truly be moving forward (Willekens et al., 2016). Although the absolute number of worldwide international migrants has increased, a stable intensity of global five-year migration flows has persisted at –0.6 percent of world population since 1995 (Abel, 2013; Abel and Sander, 2014). The urgency might be as much driven by within-country conditions as by external concerns about borders. 548

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Canada had an experience with lower quality data after replacing the mandatory long-form survey questionnaire with the voluntary NHS on which were included questions about mother tongue and language spoken at home as well as several immigration and citizenship questions. Following the 2011 Census, the British National Office of Statistics initiated the Beyond 2011 Programme to review needed population information and evaluate the best method and technologies for producing population statistics from administrative data sources and the census for 2021. The 2016 Census again included the long-form survey questionnaire. There is a new era of census-taking with both promises of detailed data on a continuous basis and reservations about census-level quality in addition to traditional concerns about response and nonresponse. As final preparations are under way for the 2020 Census, major challenges are evident with regard to putting in place new leadership and securing adequate funding for technological innovations. Immigration scholars and migration analysts must be attentive to national agency roles in shaping census-taking. This chapter has attempted to set forth many of the basic concepts and strategies for migration studies with census analysis.

Public policy In the U.S. case, the presence of irregular migration as defined by survey-based studies has brought considerable debate over immigration policies and border enforcement. A series of immigration, trade, and welfare reforms are the backdrop for concerns about an accumulation of perceived and real inadequacies and brokenness, along with unanticipated consequences. The control and abatement of unauthorized immigration may be perceived by some as a difficult social policy issue. Research should guide policy formulation, and sounder policy-making would follow from sharpening this link and from more research about migration dynamics, migrant populations, and demographic and economic impacts of immigration.

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43 Binational migration surveys Representativeness, standardization, and the ethnosurvey model Mariano Sana

Introduction The popularity of surveys for the collection of data on individuals and households hinges on two scientific strengths: statistical representativeness—based on proper sampling—and standardization— the principle of using the same tools to collect comparable data from different subjects. The most desirable properties of survey data, such as maximum validity and reliability and minimum or no bias, are thought to be achieved when representativeness and standardization are secured. A third advantage of collecting data from a sample of the population is of a practical nature. Surveys cost only a fraction of what their alternative, a population census, costs. These themes are thoroughly addressed in survey methodology textbooks. In the present essay, I address some specific survey developments as they pertain to the study of international migration. First, I review the barriers to creating bi- or multinational sampling frames while addressing the challenges of representativeness and standardization. Then I describe how a specific type of migration survey, the ethnosurvey, provides bi- or multinational data and responds to those same challenges. After reviewing the ethnosurvey, I introduce a number of research projects that have employed the ethnosurvey methodology, often introducing important variations. I close by considering two recent developments in social survey research that are of central interest to migration survey practitioners. Let me list as well what I do not do. As the focus of this essay is surveys, I do not consider other sources of immigration statistics, including censuses and government administrative records. While I do refer to specific survey migration research projects, I do not attempt to offer a catalog of all of them. I do not discuss the advantages and disadvantages of surveys for the study of international migration, the many substantial challenges faced by migration surveys, and issues of questionnaire design. As a comprehensive treatment of these issues, the volume by Bilsborrow, Oberai and Standing (1984) remains a primary reference text for migration survey practitioners. Kalton (2003) is a good starting point for those seeking technical guidance on sampling mobile populations, and Beauchemin (2014) provides a recent thorough review of multi-sited migration surveys. Finally, while I briefly refer to studies conducted elsewhere, the emphasis is on surveys addressing migration to, or immigrants in, the United States. 553

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Migration process and migration outcomes International migration is a vast field of scientific inquiry. It ranges from the study of the conditions that generate migration at origin or attract migrants to a destination, to the process of migration itself, to the various eventual outcomes of the process. Considerable research focuses exclusively on outcomes, and in particularly one type of outcome: permanent settlement. When the focus is on permanent settlement, studies are largely concerned with immigrant incorporation and use censuses and representative survey data collected in the host country. It must be noted that a thorough understanding of immigrant incorporation must be informed by the insight that knowledge of the migration process provides. Yet policy proposals often stem from a single focus on immigrant incorporation and migration effects on the host country while substituting assumptions for actual knowledge of the migration process. The main organization collecting data through social surveys is the government, but nongovernmental entities carry out surveys as well. In the United States, two government surveys commonly used for the study of immigrants are the Current Population Survey (CPS) and the American Community Survey (ACS). The CPS is a monthly survey of about 60,000 households and is the main source of information on the characteristics of the U.S. labor force. The ACS produces population data for small areas annually—an improvement over the 10-year gap between censuses. Assuming no significant omissions of specific subpopulation groups, both surveys produce statistically representative data for the United States. Representativeness is a useful statistical property for the study of immigrant incorporation, but it does not mean that the data are sufficient for the study of the migration process. An example of non-governmental large survey is the New Immigrant Survey (NIS), a nationally representative multi-cohort longitudinal study of new legal immigrants and their children, which samples its subjects from government administrative records on newly admitted lawful permanent residents (Jasso et al. 2000). The NIS has information on an impressive array of variables, many more than the CPS and the ACS, but while the latter lack information on legal status, the NIS does not have undocumented immigrants in its sample frame to begin with. The NIS was fielded in 2003, with follow-up interviews in 2007 and 2009. In short, the major surveys available for the study of immigrants in the United States provide a wealth of data but are also affected by significant constraints. The importance of these constraints depends on the questions that guide the analysis. When those questions focus on the experience of immigrants in their host country, national surveys are likely to be useful, but when the questions pertain to migration as a process that contemplates the experience of people before and after migration, they are less helpful. The same can be said of a number of Mexican government-sponsored surveys that collect data on the context of emigration and the migration experience of those who have returned to Mexico. While U.S. surveys omit returned migrants, Mexican surveys omit those who remain in the United States. As forcefully argued by Beauchemin (2014), the migration process can be best studied with multi-sited data. As he notes, multi-sited data can be procured without multi-sited data collection, but the latter offers the advantage of recording data from the subjects of interest rather than from proxies. I turn now to the Mexican Migration Project (MMP), the most prominent and longest-running migration research project involving multinational data collection through surveys.

A binational approach to the study of Mexico–U.S. migration The MMP began in 1982 with the goal of gathering a wealth of social and economic information on both sides of the border to better understand the complexities of the Mexico–U.S. 554

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migration process. The first product of this endeavor was the volume Return to Aztlan (Massey et al. 1987), which reported findings from the first four MMP surveys in as many survey sites (called “communities” in MMP terminology) in Western Mexico. Data collection resumed in 1987 and, since then, surveys have been fielded every year. As of this writing, the MMP has produced data from surveys in 154 Mexican communities. Each Mexican survey is followed by interviews of members of that same community who have settled in the United States. These are located via chain referrals—or “snowball sampling”. Typically, each Mexican survey consists of 200 households from the selected site, with the goal of interviewing 20 migrants from the same community for a matching U.S. sample—a goal that has been at times impossible to meet. As of today, the MMP has compiled data on 162,293 individuals (16% of them with U.S. migration experience) and 25,658 households, of which 957 were located in the United States. Over time, the MMP has diversified the location and size of the communities it samples so that it has achieved a more or less balanced coverage of the rural–urban continuum and of places both with and without a tradition of migration to the United States. However, the MMP communities are neither chosen at random nor part of a stratified sample design. Adding that the U.S. samples are drawn from contacts in a snowball fashion, it is clear that the MMP data cannot claim statistical representativeness. It might strike some as odd that the largest continuous survey data collection effort on Mexico–U.S. migration does not benefit from one of the two main strengths of survey research, but lack of statistical representativeness is inevitable in surveys that shed light on the migration process. This constraint is not unique to the MMP, but present in all bi- or multinational migration surveys. Far from resembling a one-time definitive move, international migration is most often a nuanced process that involves multiple locations and transitions. Once international migration is understood as a process, migrant communities—such as those Mexican barrios, towns and ranchos where migration to the U.S. is commonplace—must be conceptualized as transnational communities. When only one border is involved, we can think of them as binational communities. Since each of these binational communities has a fixed location in the country of origin but diffuse locations in the country of destination, assembling a sampling frame is an insurmountable challenge and probabilistic sampling becomes logistically impossible or prohibitively expensive. Simply put, there is not, and in all likelihood there will never be, a statistically representative survey of transnational communities. Data diversity cannot properly substitute for representative data. A large sample size cannot help either. Each MMP survey is only representative of the community where it was fielded—in fact, it is only representative of the survey site, which may be a subset of the community in question, especially when the community is a medium-sized or large city. When pooled together the MMP samples are not representative of Mexico. The MMP provides a set of weights to account for different sampling fractions in each survey site, but that is unrelated to statistical representativeness. Hence, the MMP data are not appropriate to produce national-level estimates. What the MMP survey is best for is to study migration as a social process and to do so from a binational perspective (Massey and Zenteno 2000). Statistical inference of population characteristics using the MMP is inappropriate, but data diversity and large sample size are very helpful for statistical modeling of social processes, a legitimate and customary use of the MMP data. These features of the MMP are generalizable to all multinational migration surveys. The population of interest in all such surveys spans multiple sites and they all must include sampling at destination, for which a sampling frame cannot be assembled. It follows that statistical representativeness cannot be achieved, but this is not a fatal flaw. Since representativeness is needed for proper population inference, population inference will be bypassed. Instead, the analyst 555

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should focus on statistical modeling of migration as a social process. Not ideal, but the best we can do given the constraints associated to a mobile population in a transnational community. In addition to its binational approach, the other defining characteristic of the MMP challenges the second established strength of survey research that I mentioned at the outset: standardization.

Criticisms of survey standardization The standardization principle is ingrained in the survey research ethos. As a prominent methodologist put it: “Standardized measurement that is consistent across all respondents ensures that comparable information is obtained about everyone who is described” (Fowler 2002: 4). This principle governs every aspect of the interview process, including the environment in which the interview takes place, the interviewer’s behavior throughout the interaction and the formulation of the questions: Survey questions are supposed to be asked exactly the way they are written, with no variation or wording changes. Even small changes in the way questions are worded have been shown, in some instances, to have significant effects on the way questions are answered. (Fowler 2002: 119) The standardization principle has been criticized on validity grounds. Formulating the same question in exactly the same way to two different respondents does not guarantee that they will interpret the question in exactly the same way. The traditional approach to standardization seeks to eliminate any undue influence of the interviewer over the respondent by denying the interviewer any freedom to depart from the script, even when the respondent asks for clarifications. This “prohibition against interaction” intends to ensure reliability, but it potentially undermines the validity of survey data (Suchman and Jordan 1990). On the other hand, a closer look at interviewing as it takes place in leading survey laboratories in American universities would reveal that there are many interpretations of the standardization principle. In practice, interviewers and their supervisors adopt a more flexible approach than what standard methodology textbooks suggest (Viterna and Maynard 2002). Experimental research suggests that validity may improve with some relaxation of standardization, such as a “personal” as opposed to a “formal” interviewing style (Dijkstra 1987), a flexible interviewing approach (Schober and Conrad 1997), or question clarification provided by the interviewer even when the respondent does not request it (Schober, Conrad, and Fricker 2004). After much debate and experimentation, survey methodologists now favor an approach that maximizes the advantages of structured interviews while allowing for some flexibility in interviewing techniques (Maynard et al. 2002).

Standardization and the ethnosurvey The MMP method, known as the ethnosurvey, was conceived in the early 1980s, at a time when the standardized approach to interviewing was under sharp scrutiny (e.g. Cicourel 1974). The perennial concern over validity was augmented by the sensitive nature of some of the questions in the MMP survey, including those on illegal border crossings, legal status while in the U.S., and financial matters. In this context, the ethnosurvey did not reject the survey approach but sought to complement it with components of the ethnographic method. In combining the quantitative approach of social surveys with the qualitative approach of anthropological inquiry, the ethnosurvey sought to employ the strengths of each to minimize the weaknesses of the other (Massey 1987). 556

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In the ethnosurvey, the scientific rigor of random sampling is applied in a small number of study sites to conduct a number of household interviews, typically 200, which pooled with interviews from other sites adds to a sizable data set, especially if the process continues over time. Community data gathered from local archival records supplement the interview data. The research team may add other elements of qualitative inquiry, such as in-depth interviews with key community informants. As mentioned earlier, the ethnosurvey acknowledges the binational nature of migrant communities by implementing parallel sampling, i.e. sampling the community of origin in Mexico and migrants from that community who have settled in the United States (Massey 1987). When it comes to the interview interaction, the ethnosurvey “yields an interview that is informal, non-threatening, and natural, that allows the interviewer some discretion about how and when to ask sensitive questions; yet it produces a standard set of data” (Massey 1987: 1506). In practice, the interviewer does not have a questionnaire with scripted questions, but a set of forms that she/he needs to fill in. To correctly fill in each cell of these forms, “it is absolutely essential that interviewers understand clearly what information is being sought in each table of the questionnaire” (Massey et al. 1987: 13). Given this, considerably more time needs to be allotted for interviewer training in an ethnosurvey than in a mainstream social survey. The ethnosurvey interview lies somewhere between the standard social survey interview and the qualitative in-depth one. Fundamental differences with standardized surveys include: (a) the survey instrument is not fully structured and the questions are not worded in advance; (b) instead of being banned from departures from the interview script, or even following any script at all, the interviewers have freedom to conduct the interview in the way they deem best; (c) instead of focusing on procedure, interviewer training is mostly concerned with securing the fieldworkers’ correct understanding of the information that needs to be captured. Yet for all these departures from standardization, the ethnosurvey is not an in-depth ethnographic interview, fundamentally because: (a) the interviewer does not have an interview guide, but an actual set of constructs—future variables in a data set—on which he/she needs to collect specific information, (b) the meaning of the constructs is defined in advance, i.e. there is no meaning-construction work to be shared between interviewer and respondent (as in Holstein and Gubrium 1995), (c) the data are to be used in a quantitative manner, which makes precision in the information collected a primary concern and recording/transcribing of interviews unnecessary. In short, instead of standardizing the interview interaction, leaving interpretation of scripted questions up to the respondent (Schober et al. 2004) the ethnosurvey standardizes the meaning of constructs and trains interviewers to understand them, leaving the development of the interview interaction up to the interviewer.

Other studies based on bi- or multinational approaches A number of international migration studies have followed the MMP model. Riosmena (2016) mentions three elements of the ethnosurvey that can be found in all these studies. First, as discussed above, each survey at origin is representative at the local level. Second, a basic sociodemographic profile and information on the first and last international trip are collected for all household members. Finally, a retrospective life history is recorded for at least one member of the household, accounting for the fundamental events in the life of the respondent, including employment, migration, marriage, fertility, and property ownership. The MMP co-directors, Douglas Massey and Jorge Durand, followed in their own footsteps with the Latin American Migration Project (LAMP), which carried out the first round of data collection in Puerto Rico in 1998. Since then, the LAMP has fielded surveys in the Dominican Republic, Paraguay, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Haiti, Peru, Guatemala, El Salvador, Colombia, 557

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and Ecuador. The surveys in Paraguay and Guatemala were made possible by association with other research projects, and all of the surveys benefited from collaboration with local scholars. As of the end of 2016, the LAMP has data on 57,433 individuals (9.6% of them migrants) who are members of 10,687 households in 63 communities throughout these countries. The surveys in Puerto Rico, Dominican Republic, Nicaragua, and Costa Rica included parallel sampling with households interviewed in the United States. One of the Dominican surveys was also followed by a sample in Spain. Surveys in Argentina supplemented the Paraguay surveys and the Colombian surveys were followed by surveys of migrants from these communities in Spain. The rest of the LAMP surveys have not been binational. Ethnosurvey-inspired research projects have also been carried out in other regions of the world. The Migrations between Africa and Europe (MAFE) study, which began its data collection in 2008, seeks to explore migration patterns from Senegal to France, Italy, and Spain; from the Democratic Republic of Congo to Belgium and the United Kingdom; and from Ghana to the Netherlands and the United Kingdom. The MAFE study design builds on the MMP and the Push and Pull Factors in International Migration project, mentioned below. It used randomization for the selection of the survey sites in the country of origin, subject to some constraints—for example, in most African countries the survey was only implemented in the capital city (MAFE 2010). For the surveys at destination, the MAFE study relied on a variety of sampling techniques. For example, for the Senegalese surveys, municipal population registries in Spain provided an ideal sampling frame, including both documented and undocumented migrants. In France and Italy, however, there were no registries available and the researchers had to resort to quota sampling, recruiting respondents through a variety of channels to minimize biases (Beauchemin and González-Ferrer 2010). Another example of a survey research project methodologically linked to the MMP ethnosurvey is the Polish Migration Project (PMP), started in 2005, which explores migration from Poland to Germany (Massey, Kalter and Pren 2008). Unlike the MMP, however, in the PMP the interviews were conducted in an almost fully standardized fashion. In addition, the PMP secured a balance between migrants and nonmigrants by means of a stratified sample design. Finally, the PMP included follow-up interviews, allowing for prospective longitudinal data (Kalter and Will 2016), in addition to the retrospective life histories collected initially. There was a precedent of ethnosurvey with prospective longitudinal data: the Health and Migration Survey (HMS), set up to examine the health consequences of migration from Mexico to the United States, conducted surveys in six Mexican communities and two U.S. cities (San Diego and Houston) in four waves fielded between 1996 and 2002 (Kanaiaupuni et al. 2005). See Riosmena (2016) for a discussion of the advantages and disadvantages of retrospective vs. prospective longitudinal data in migration surveys. The Gender, Migration, and Health among Hispanics study introduced another variation over the MMP methodology. This project sampled Mexican immigrants at destination in Durham, North Carolina, first (Parrado, McQuiston, and Flippen 2005). The sample frames were produced by field teams that canvassed residential areas that were selected based on census information and reports from members of community-based organizations in order to maximize the likelihood of interviewing a significant number of immigrants from the target population. The interviews in the United States provided information on the communities of origin of the migrants, which the researchers used to subsequently field surveys in eight of them (Flippen and Parrado 2015). Thus, instead of selecting communities at origin and later locating migrants at destination, this study started with the interviews at destination and determined the communities of origin afterward. It must be noted that canvassing is not the only choice for sample-frame construction at destination. Other choices, such as census-based random sampling in targeted 558

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blocks, a snowball sample using community groups to select the seeds, and an intercept-point survey collected at community gathering sites are reviewed in an experiment conducted by McKenzie and Mistiaen (2009). Above I mentioned the Push and Pull Factors in International Migration project. This seminal project generated a large volume of research informing the dynamics of migration from Africa to Europe. It focused on the migration flows from Morocco and Senegal to Spain; Ghana and Egypt to Italy; and Turkey and Morocco to the Netherlands. The surveys in the African countries were fielded in 1996–1998. The selection of countries of origin secured the coverage of both long-established and more recent migration flows, a sizeable migration flow in each case, regional differentiation in socioeconomic development and access to migrants from these countries in Europe (Schoorl et al. 2000: 14). As in the case of the MMP and the MAFE, then, constraints on statistical representativeness were countered with an emphasis on diversity of study sites. Like the MMP, the study sampled respondents in both the country of origin and the country of destination, but there was no link between them. The reader seeking more background on early migration surveys in Europe should consult the Push and Pull Factors study 2000 report (Schoorl et al. 2000: 10–12). Groenewold and Bilsborrow (2008) offer a discussion of methodological considerations concerning the study. Shifting to a different region of the world, the China International Migration Project (CIMP) is explicitly modeled after the MMP, including the multimethod approach, multiple survey sites and parallel sampling, multilevel data collection, and an ethnosurvey questionnaire applied to 200 households in each community (Liang et al. 2008). The surveys were fielded in eight towns of Fujian Province between October 2002 and March 2003. The U.S. interviews—all of them in New York City—of migrants from the selected towns were conducted in the summer of 2003. The CIMP’s ethnosurvey questionnaire is very similar to the questionnaires employed by MMP and LAMP, with modifications appropriate to the Chinese case. For example, it includes questions on cadre status and limits detailed inquiry on migration trips to the U.S. sample— due to low levels of return migration, respondents in Fujian were typically not the migrants themselves but relatives who knew no more than very basic information about the trip. This low prevalence of return migration, in turn, led the researchers to conduct a higher proportion of interviews in the United States than is typical in MMP surveys: 25 to 40 interviews in the United States for every survey site in China—the typical MMP target is 20 U.S. interviews. Finally, and most recently, the Bangladesh Environment and Migration Survey (BEMS) added South Asia to the roster of regions where variations of the ethnosurvey have been implemented. The study follows the MMP template closely, collecting data on international migration, but only from those who remained in, or returned to, the home communities. Budgetary constraints precluded interviews of migrants outside Bangladesh. The BEMS contains demographic and migration data on approximately 1,800 households in nine villages in the low-lying southwestern region of the country, and retrospective migration and employment histories from more than 3,000 residents of those households. The location makes this data set ideal for the study of environmentally induced migration (Donato et al. 2016).

Two recent developments Most recently, two developments stand out. First, community-based participatory research (CBPR) has taken a prominent place in the study of immigrants in the U.S. through social surveys, especially when unauthorized immigrants are included in the sample frame. CBPR integrates members of the community under study into all stages of the research project in a mutually beneficial partnership with the researchers. From the point of view of the community, 559

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this partnership secures that the new knowledge produced by the study is relevant and efficiently used to target community needs and improve its members’ well-being. Thus, it is not surprising that CBPR has been mostly applied to health research—or, in the case of migration studies, research concerned with the health of migrant populations (Marcelli 2014). From the point of view of the researchers, the account from Parrado and colleagues serves as an apt example: “In our case, community involvement was of key importance to gain access to a difficult-to-reach population, develop a flexible survey instrument, increase data quality, and ground our findings within the cultural realities of Durham migrants” (Parrado et al. 2005: 211). In short, community involvement legitimizes both the research methods and the research results. This legitimacy addresses a fundamental problem raised by Josephson (1970), who reported significant resistance to a survey for a public health research project in a low-income neighborhood of New York City when community members questioned the intentions of the survey and trusted neither the institution responsible for it nor the researchers in charge. It is clear that CBPR can be particularly useful for survey research projects that need to reach undocumented immigrants, a population with a justified instinct to avoid disclosing sensitive information to strangers. The Gender, Migration, and Health among Hispanics study, mentioned above, is an example of CBPR. So are the surveys of Brazilian and Dominican immigrants in the Boston metropolitan area conducted between June and September of 2007 (Marcelli et al. 2009a, 2009b). The study in North Carolina combined CBPR, targeted random sampling and parallel sampling in sending and receiving areas to sample a difficult-to-reach migrant population and study a sensitive issue: HIV risk. The similarities with the MMP approach are apparent. The novelty is the mix of the ethnosurvey with CBPR. There is a precedent worth reviewing in a survey of an “underground”, hard-to-reach population of largely uncertain documentation status: Haitian immigrants in Southern Florida (Stepick and Stepick 1990). The researchers spent about five years engaged in anthropological work in the community prior to their survey, an involvement that explains the high response rates to the survey. The researchers were able to obtain representative results by drawing random samples from a map of census blocks where the community was concentrated. They also hired Haitians to conduct the interviews—being trilingual was a crucial requirement for interviewers in this case—and the interviewers had considerable flexibility in the implementation of the survey instrument as a way to increase rapport as well as gain acceptance to do the interviews in the first place. Even though Stepick and Stepick did not explicitly call their study an “ethnosurvey” or a “community-based participatory study”, their research was indeed a combination of both. CBPR rests on the assumption that members of the community under study can constructively participate in the research process, and that this participation will be effective by virtue of their being part of the community. Since they are part of the community, they presumably possess background knowledge that should be useful for the study, they would know how to relate to the research subjects, and so on. Their proximity to the survey setting should be valuable. This thinking is consistent with results from an experiment reported by Sana and Weinreb (2008), who formulated the following question: given survey errors, specifically data inconsistencies, who is best suited to fix them? Using carefully altered MMP data in an experiment involving MMP personnel and data users, they showed evidence that fieldworkers have an advantage over those who have never been to the field, even when the latter were regular users of the MMP data. They concluded that field experience gives fieldworkers an instinctual edge that results from their familiarity with the setting and culture where the data were collected. Thus, solving inconsistencies is not simply a matter of common sense. The evidence then points to likely data quality gains that arise from closer proximity of the interviewers to the survey setting—which implies closer proximity, or less social distance, 560

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between the interviewer and the respondent. While this expectation would strike many as commonsense, it questions a norm established since the early development of survey research. The “stranger-interviewer norm” (Sana, Stecklov, and Weinreb 2016) posits that, in order to collect unbiased and valid data, the interviewer must have no prior social relationship with the respondent. CBPR practice questions this norm: the involvement of community members in the survey process implies closer proximity between interviewers and respondents than condoned by the stranger-interviewer norm, even if a direct relationship between the interviewer and the respondent is absent. The same can be said of the popular practice of matching interviewers and respondents along key demographic attributes such as gender, race, or ethnicity. There is an undeniable tension between a long-established norm that dictates that interviewers must be strangers, and the practice of employing interviewers who stand closer and closer to the respondent in terms of gender, race, ethnicity, community membership, or social distance defined in a variety of ways. Social surveys, including the MMP ethnosurvey, have traditionally assumed that more valid data are collected when there is no prior relationship between interviewer and respondent. In no CBPR survey of which I am aware did the researchers allow the interviewers to interview people they directly knew, even though the interviewer was someone from the same community as the respondent—which in the case of the Durham and Boston surveys meant someone from the same ethnic group, who spoke the same language, and lived nearby. Working with data from a (non-migration) survey in Kenya where local interviewers were used and in which a significant number of interviews accidentally violated the stranger-interviewer norm, Weinreb (2006) found that validity seemed to be improved, and social desirability bias reduced, in interviews in which the interviewer was the ultimate insider: namely, when the interviewer and respondent were not just from the same community, but actually knew each other prior to the interview. As he eloquently argues, the basic proposition that respondents are more honest with strangers than with insiders (. . .) draws on assumptions about microsocial relations that at best are inconsistent with and at worst antithetical to a large body of social theory at the micro level. (Weinreb 2006: 1016) In short, everything we believe we know about trust, truth-telling, intimacy and deception suggests that people are more likely to practice the first three of these with those whom they know well, and more likely to resort to the latter with those whom they do not know. In the summer of 2010, Alexander Weinreb, Guy Stecklov, and I set out to test the validity of the stranger-interviewer norm by means of a systematic, controlled experiment fielded in a town in the Dominican Republic (Weinreb, Sana, and Stecklov 2018). Our survey instrument was a composite of typical household surveys but our stratified and random sample design was unique. We manipulated the assignment of interviewers to generate three types of interviews: outsider interviews (where the interviewer was from out of town), local-stranger interviews (where the interviewer was local but there was no prior acquaintance between interviewer and respondent), and insider interviews (where the interviewer and respondent knew each other prior to the interview). Empirical results indicate that insider interviewers were more successful at eliciting greater respondent effort and more honesty than outsider interviewers. They also suggest that insider interviewers collected more accurate responses to questions that are sensitive to the degree of trust between interviewer and respondent. Of particular interest here are our findings concerning attitudes toward three stigmatized groups: gays and lesbians, sex workers, and Haitian immigrants. In general, respondents reported less prejudiced attitudes when interviewed by outsiders, who were all from the capital city of 561

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Santo Domingo and could be seen as representing progress and modern values. If respondents do have a tendency toward ingratiation with the interviewer (Back and Gergen 1963), then it is possible that they were presenting themselves in a more cosmopolitan, tolerant light, producing downward-biased estimates of prejudice. This finding has clear implications for survey research that attempts to measure attitudes toward immigrants, in particular the undocumented. Most of the analyses that we conducted had to rely on indirect measures such as the likely direction of social desirability bias, but we were able to directly validate answers to up to 18 questions per respondent by checking official documents in their possession (Sana et al. 2016). Contrary to expectations derived from the stranger-interviewer norm, respondents were more reluctant to show the documents needed for validation when the interviewer was an outsider. When the validation documents were provided, we found no difference in accuracy by type of interviewer. A separate analysis also showed no differences by type of interviewer when ten sensitive questions, including one on unauthorized migration to the U.S., were asked by means of a self-administered questionnaire, but prior familiarity between interviewer and respondent did lead to lower nonresponse rates to those questions (Rodriguez, Sana, and Sisk 2015). Taken together, these empirical results seem to weaken the foundational assumptions of the stranger-interviewer norm considerably. Once one opens the door to revisiting the quality of data gathered by strangers, some long-established empirical patterns may come into question. For example, it has long been accepted that prejudice diminishes with education (Hyman and Wright 1979), but in our data, statistical modeling of prejudice as a function of education shows results that are conditional on interviewer-respondent familiarity. As expected, those interviewed by outsiders report less prejudice with increased education. However, prejudice increases with education in insider interviews, and shows no variation by education level in local-stranger interviews. In a different analysis using the same data, we show that the longestablished high sterilization rates in the Dominican Republic could be mostly a result of the data having been gathered by stranger-interviewers (Stecklov, Weinreb, and Sana 2015). In sum, survey researchers might want to consider not just establishing productive partnerships with local communities, as recommended by the CBPR approach, but also hiring members of the community as interviewers without constraining them to interview only people they do not know.

References Back, Kurt W., and Kenneth J. Gergen. 1963. “Idea orientation and ingratiation in the interview: a dynamic model of response bias.” Proceedings of the Social Statistics Section. American Statistical Association: 284–288. Beauchemin, Cris. 2014. “A Manifesto for Quantitative Multi-sited Approaches to International Migration.” International Migration Review 48(4): 921–938. Beauchemin, Cris, and Amparo González-Ferrer. 2010. “Multi-Country Surveys on International Migration: An Assessment of Selection Bias in Destination Countries.” MAFE Working Paper 3. Bilsborrow, Richard E., A. S. Oberai, and Guy Standing. 1984. Migration Surveys in Low Income Countries: Guidelines for Survey Questionnaire and Design. London and Sidney: Croom Helm. Cicourel, Aaron V. 1974. Theory and Method in a Study of Argentine Fertility. New York: John Wiley and Sons. Dijkstra, Wil. 1987. “Interviewing Style and Respondent Behavior: An Experimental Study of the Survey Interviewer.” Sociological Methods and Research 16(2): 309–334. Donato, Katharine M., Amanda R. Carrico, Blake Sisk, and Bhumika Piya. 2016. “Different but the Same: How Legal Status Affects International Migration from Bangladesh.” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 666: 203–218. Flippen, Chenoa A., and Emilio A. Parrado. 2015. “A Tale of Two Contexts: U.S. Migration and the Labor Force Trajectories of Mexican Women.” International Migration Review 49(1): 232–259. Fowler, Floyd J. Jr. 2002. Survey Research Methods. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Applied Social Research Methods Series v. 1. Third edition. 562

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Groenewold, George, and Richard E. Bilsborrow. 2008. “Design of Samples for International Migration Surveys: Methodological Considerations and Lessons Learned from a Multi-Country Study in Africa and Europe.” In Corrado Bonifazi, Marek Okólski, Jeannette Schoorl, and Patrick Simon (eds.), International Migration in Europe: New Trends and New Methods of Analysis. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, pp. 293–312. Holstein, James A., and Jaber F. Gubrium. 1995. The Active Interview. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Qualitative Research Methods Series v. 37. Hyman, Herbert H., and Charles R. Wright. 1979. Education’s Lasting Influence on Values. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Jasso, G., D. S. Massey, M. R. Rosenzweig, and J. P. Smith. 2000. “The New Immigrant Survey Pilot (NISP): Overview and New Findings about U.S. Legal Immigrants at Admission.” Demography 37: 127–138. Josephson, Eric. 1970. “Resistance to Community Surveys.” Social Problems 18: 117–129. Kalter, Frank, and Gisela Will. 2016. “Social Capital in Polish-German Migration Decision-Making: Complementing the Ethnosurvey with a Prospective View.” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 666: 46–63. Kalton, Graham. 2003. “Practical Methods for Sampling Rare and Mobile Populations.” Statistics in Transition 6(4): 491–501. Kanaiaupuni, Shawn Malia, Katharine M. Donato, Theresa Thompson-Colon, and Melissa Stainback. 2005. “Counting on Kin: Social Networks, Social Support and Child Health.” Social Forces 83(3): 1137–1164. Liang, Zai, Miao David Chunyu, Guotu Zhuang, and Wenzhen Ye. 2008. “Cumulative Causation, Market Transition, and Emigration from China.” American Journal of Sociology 114: 706–737. MAFE. 2010. “Activity Report 1”. Migrations between Africa and Europe, April 2010. Marcelli, Enrico. 2014. “The Community-Based Migrant Household Probability Sample Survey.” In Marc B. Schenker, Xóchitl Castañeda, and Alfonso Rodriguez-Lainz (eds.), Migration and Health: A Research Methods Handbook. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, pp. 111–140. Marcelli, Enrico, Louisa Holmes, David Estella, Fausto da Rocha, Phillip Granberry, and Orfeu Buxton. 2009a. (In)Visible (Im)Migrants:The Health and Socioeconomic Integration of Brazilians in Metropolitan Boston. San Diego, CA: Center for Behavioral and Community Health Studies, San Diego State University. Marcelli, Enrico, Louisa Holmes, Magalis Troncoso, Phillip Granberry, and Orfeu Buxton. 2009b. Permanently Temporary? The Health and Socioeconomic Integration of Dominicans in Metropolitan Boston. San Diego, CA: Center for Behavioral and Community Health Studies, San Diego State University. Massey, Douglas S. 1987. “The Ethnosurvey in Theory and Practice.” International Migration Review 21(4): 1498–1522. Massey, Douglas S., and Rene Zenteno. 2000. “A Validation of the Ethnosurvey: The Case of Mexico-US Migration.” International Migration Review 34(3): 766–793. Massey, Douglas S., Rafael Alarcón, Jorge Durand, and Humberto González. 1987. Return to Aztlan: The Social Process of International Migration from Western Mexico. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Massey, Douglas S., Frank Kalter, and Karen A. Pren. 2008. “Structural Economic Change and International Migration from Mexico and Poland.” Kölner Zeitschrift fur Soziologie and Sozialphsychologie 60: 134–162. Maynard, Douglas W., Hanneke Houtkoop-Steenstra, Nora Cate Schaeffer, and Johannes van der Zouwen, eds. 2002. Standardization and Tacit Knowledge: Interaction and Practice in the Survey Interview. New York: John Wiley & Sons. McKenzie, David J., and Johan Mistiaen. 2009. “Surveying Migrant Households: A Comparison of Census-Based, Snowball, and Intercept Point Surveys.” Journal of the Royal Statistical Society: Series A (Statistics in Society) 172(2): 339–360. Parrado, Emilio A., Chris McQuiston, and Chenoa A. Flippen. 2005. “Participatory Survey Research: Integrating Community Collaboration and Quantitative Methods for the Study of Gender and HIV Risks among Hispanic Migrants.” Sociological Methods & Research 34(2): 204–239. Riosmena, Fernando. 2016. “The Potential and Limitations of Cross-Context Comparative Research on Migration.” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 666: 28–45. Rodriguez, Leslie, Mariano Sana, and Blake Sisk. 2015. “Self-Administered Questions and InterviewerRespondent Familiarity.” Field Methods 27(2): 163–181. Sana, Mariano, and Alexander A. Weinreb. 2008. “Insiders, Outsiders, and the Editing of Inconsistent Survey Data.” Sociological Methods & Research 36(4): 515–541. Sana, Mariano, Guy Stecklov, and Alexander A. Weinreb. 2016. “A Test of the Stranger-Interviewer Norm in the Dominican Republic.” Population Studies 70(1): 73–92. 563

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Schober, Michael F., and Frederick G. Conrad. 1997. “Does Conversational Interviewing Reduce Survey Measurement Error?” Public Opinion Quarterly 61(4): 576–602. Schober, Michael F., Frederick G. Conrad, and Scott S. Fricker. 2004. “Misunderstanding Standardized Language in Research Interviews.” Applied Cognitive Psychology 18(2): 169–188. Schoorl, Jeannette, Liesbeth Heering, Ingrid Esveldt, George Groenewold, Rob van der Erf, Alinda Bosch, et al. 2000. “Push and Pull Factors of International Migration: A Comparative Report”. Luxembourg: Office for Official Publications of the European Communities. Stecklov, Guy, Alexander A. Weinreb, and Mariano Sana. 2015. “Family Planning for Strangers: An Experiment on the Validity of Reported Contraceptive Use.” PLOS ONE 10(8): e0136972. Stepick, Alex, and Carol Dutton Stepick. 1990. “People in the Shadows: Survey Research among Haitians in Miami.” Human Organization 49(1): 64–77. Suchman, Lucy, and Brigitte Jordan. 1990. “Interactional Troubles in Face-to-Face Survey Interviews.” Journal of the American Statistical Association 85(409): 232–241. Viterna, Jocelyn S., and Douglas W. Maynard. 2002. “How Uniform is Standardization? Variation within and across Survey Research Centers Regarding Protocols for Interviewing”. In Douglas W. Maynard, Hanneke Houtkoop-Steenstra, Nora Cate Schaeffer, and Johannes van der Zouwen (eds.), Standardization and Tacit Knowledge: Interaction and Practice in the Survey Interview. New York: John Wiley & Sons, pp. 365–397. Weinreb, Alexander A. 2006. “The Limitations of Stranger-interviewers in Rural Kenya.” American Sociological Review 71(6): 1014–1039. Weinreb, Alexander, Mariano Sana, and Guy Stecklov. 2018. “Strangers in the Field: A Methodological Experiment on Interviewer–Respondent Familiarity.” Bulletin of Sociological Methodology/Bulletin de Méthodologie Sociologique 137–138(1): 94–119.

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44 Interviewing immigrants and refugees Reflexive engagement with research subjects Chien-Juh Gu

Introduction Qualitative interviewing is often used in migration studies; however, there has been little discussion concerning the application of this research method to immigrant subjects. Before interviews are conducted, a number of questions often arise: Why are interviews important for studying immigrants? What interview methods are used in empirical research and what are their principles? What factors need to be considered when interviewing immigrants and why? How does a researcher’s role affect interview dynamics? What interview strategies are useful when interviewing women, men, and adolescents? How should undocumented immigrants and refugees be approached? How does the interviewer earn the trust of interviewees? How is the interview consent acquired? How should sensitive questions be posed? What language should be used when interviewees are not native speakers? How should interviews conducted in a foreign language be transcribed and reported? How should the interviewer dress for an interview? Is giving gifts unethical? What are the strengths and weaknesses of interview methods? How are interviews used in a mixed method approach and in team research? To address these issues, this chapter provides reviews of interview methods and discusses their applications to immigrant subjects, including refugees. The chapter begins with an introduction of two interview methods: in-depth interviews and life history interviews. Following this introduction, I discuss various issues to be considered during the interview process with immigrants and refugees. These issues include the researcher’s role as an insider or outsider, structural positions (race/gender/class) in the interview encounter, language use, cultural sensitivity, and ethics. To address these issues, I draw from examples of my own research of Taiwanese immigrants and Burmese refugees and integrate studies by other scholars.1

Interview methods Interviewing is used in both quantitative and qualitative research, and its format can vary greatly. Interviews involve asking questions and getting responses. They can be conducted in one-on-one interactions, as group discussions, or over the phone. Interviews may be

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completed in five minutes; be one-time exchanges that last from 30 minutes to a few hours; or be conducted over multiple, lengthy sessions. Interview questions can be structured (such as in surveys), semi-structured, or unstructured; their purposes vary for different disciplines and projects, and they range from opinion polling to academic analysis. The following review focuses on face-to-face qualitative interviewing in social sciences. Charles Booth was the first scholar to use interviewing in social research. In his 1886 study, Booth combined survey, unstructured interviews, and ethnographic observations in data collection (Converse 1987, cited in Fontana and Frey, 2005, p. 699). Booth’s approach influenced later community research, including the studies by DuBois (1899) and Lynd and Lynd (1929). The Chicago School, which was founded in the early 20th century, relied greatly on informal interviews, personal documents, and observations in ethnographic studies. Although quantitative survey research has been a dominant approach in social sciences since World War II, in-depth interviewing has been broadly employed in qualitative research—particularly in ethnographies—and remains significant. From classic studies, such as Street Corner Society (Whyte, 1943), Boys in White (Becker et al. 1961), and Black Metropolis (Drake and Cayton, 1970), to contemporary works, such as The Unfinished Revolution (Gerson, 2010), The Latinos of Asia (Ocampo, 2016), and No More Invisible Man (Wingfield, 2013), qualitative interviewing has been an important method of data collection. Qualitative interviewing seeks to understand subjects’ life experiences in great depth, coherence, and density (Weiss, 1994). As Fontana and Frey (2005) state, interviewing is one of the most powerful tools we can employ to understand fellow humans; it is not merely listening to what the subjects have to say, but it is an active collaboration between the interviewer and the interviewee. During the interview process, both the interviewee and the interviewer engage in the construction of meaning (Mishler, 1986). Qualitative interviewers seek to empower respondents by giving them a voice and by positioning them in the center of their stories (Holstein and Gubrium, 2003; Mishler, 1986). This objective is similar to several theoretical approaches and political agendas, such as symbolic interactionism, feminism, and post-colonialism. For instance, symbolic interactionists consider interviewing to be a social interaction in which meaning emerges in the communication process—both parties present themselves and are influenced by each other’s presentation of self (Berg, 2009; De Santis, 1980). Feminists advocate equal status between the researchers and the subjects; and they argue that interviewers should disclose their personal information to their interviewees in order to achieve this goal (Cotterill, 1992; Oakly, 1981). Post-colonialist scholars underline the multiplicity of local culture and indigenous voices (During, 1998). Although scholars have different foci, all of these approaches highlight the subjectivity and agency of the researched. In immigration studies, interview-based research has gained increased visibility and significance. Examples include Urban Villagers (Gans, 1962), Gendered Transitions (Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994), The Transnational Villagers (Levitt, 2001), Mexican New York (Smith, 2006), The Israeli Diaspora (Gold, 2002), and The Last Best Place? (Schmalzbauer, 2014), to name a few. Many immigration scholars rely on qualitative interviewing, combined with ethnographic observations, to acquire in-depth knowledge of immigrants’ life experiences. This approach not only gives immigrants a voice, but the vivid portraits of each community bring immigrant experiences to life. Before discussing specific issues concerning interviewing immigrants and refugees, I introduce two approaches of qualitative interviewing, in-depth interviews and life history interviews. I review the overall principles of the two methods and then focus on main issues in data collection.

In-depth interviews In-depth interviewing is a popular method in qualitative research. It is usually conducted as a oneon-one encounter between an interviewer and an interviewee, with the goal of understanding 566

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the interviewee’s perceptions and experiences. In qualitative interviewing, the researcher and the interviewee are “conversational partners” (Rubin and Rubin, 2004). This means that the interview format is a conversation between two parties; however, the two parties are not in equal positions (Berg, 2009; Kvale, 1996; Rubin and Rubin, 2004). Although the interviewee does most of the talking, the interviewer designs and directs the conversation. In other words, the interviewer maintains a certain amount of intentional control over the interview process. The interview should have a smooth conversational flow and allow great flexibility for the interviewee to express himself or herself. Moreover, it should be kept on target and focused on the topics that the interviewer plans to explore. Creating a conversational partnership is essential to a successful interview, which relies on establishing and maintaining good rapport. Various factors can affect the rapport between the interviewer and the interviewee. In addition to reactivity (i.e., how the interviewee responds to the questions), qualitative methodologists often discuss two issues: interviewers’ appearance and personal characteristics. An interviewer’s overt physical characteristics, such as hairstyle, mode of dress, race (skin color), and gender, create a first impression for the interviewee. These characteristics can affect the interviewee’s consent to participate in an interview (De Santis, 1980). Moreover, the interviewer’s individual attributes, such as mood, personality, and experience, influence how an interviewer asks questions and how the interviewee perceives the researcher and answers the questions. In other words, the interviewer brings his or her own emotions, values, and biases into the interview (Rubin and Rubin, 2004). Therefore, qualitative interviewing is not value free or neutral of a researcher’s judgment (Bowman et al., 1984). To reduce personal influences and biases in the interview encounter, researchers must remain self-aware. As Berg (2009, p. 132) suggests, the interviewer should be a “self-conscious performer” who carefully prepares and rehearses the lines, roles, and actions that will be carried out in the interview in advance. Later in this chapter, I discuss several structural factors that can also influence the proceedings of qualitative interviewing, of which researchers must be aware to produce successful interviews. Qualitative interviews use open-ended questions, often loosely structured around topical themes. This approach allows flexible and in-depth expressions of emotions, experiences, and opinions. An interviewer should remain open-minded to new directions, interpretations, and sub-themes during the interview process. Unlike surveys in which a standard questionnaire is used, qualitative interview questions are not fixed and can be modified during the interview process. Because of the open-ended format of qualitative interviewing, unexpected answers often emerge. Thus, probing questions are often necessary to attain explanations or clarification. The interviewer needs to be sensitive and catch important clues to acquire more extensive information. Intensive and active listening is important to accomplish this task. As Rubin and Rubin (2004) argue, the interviewer must learn to capture cultural meanings in context during qualitative interviews (i.e., to “hear data”). The pattern of questioning can also be modified, depending on what works in the actual interview. Furthermore, interviewees have different speaking styles and respond to questions in varied ways. Some are talkative and self-revelatory, while others need frequent probing to elaborate, and some are informative while others have little to say about the topic. The researcher must modify questions and customize questioning approaches to suit each interviewee. In other words, maintaining a flexible question design allows the interviewer to follow the interviewee’s train of thoughts closely. To “hear” data in qualitative interviewing requires cultural sensitivity. Cultural sensitivity facilitates the interview and the data interpretation and analysis. The interviewer and the interviewee often come from different life worlds, which could result in different understandings of the same word. As Johnson (2001) points out, interviewers’ commonsense cultural knowledge 567

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often influences what they hear, which might not reflect what interviewees say or mean. Therefore, researchers must be aware of their own cultural assumptions and be careful about the terms used in questioning; they must also learn to understand subjects’ cultural definitions and recognize words that convey rich connotative meanings for the people being studied (Rubin and Rubin, 2004). Non-verbal clues, such as facial expressions, body gestures, and grunts, are also important to uncover cultural meanings in context. In other words, interviewers must hear both what subjects say and how they say it to discern the layered meanings of their perceptions (Gorden, 1987; Johnson, 2001). Verbal and non-verbal channels of communication between an interviewer and an interviewee convey messages and meanings for social interpretations. Qualitative interviewing is often combined with participant observations in field research. Instead of conducting interviews in more formal one-on-one encounters, researchers might talk to their subjects in the field while participating in the subjects’ social lives. Sometimes called ethnographic interviews, this type of qualitative interviewing is usually unstructured and is seldom recorded. Researchers document their conversations and observations in the field in journals (field notes), which become the main data for analysis. Ethnographic interviewing is more advantageous than one-time formal interviewing because of the researcher’s participation in the field. By being present, the fieldworker acquires a broader understanding of the subjects, their surrounding environment, and their social relations and interactions. This understanding helps to guide the research direction and construct interview questions, thereby refining the researcher’s reflexivity in the research process (Briggs, 1983; Whyte, 1984). In addition, rapport can be established with subjects prior to interviews. Although ethnographic interviewing and one-on-one formal interviewing have different formats and procedures, they share major principles of execution. Many scholars conduct both formal and ethnographic interviews; some use interviews as their main data, while others use them as supplemental data.

Life history interviews The life history interview is a qualitative research method for gathering information on the subjective essence of a person’s entire life (Atkinson, 1998). Through a guided interview, the interviewee tells stories of what has happened in his or her life, including important events, people, feelings, and experiences. In a life history interview, the interviewee is a storyteller who gives a personal narrative of his or her life as a whole. Thus, every interview is a mini-autobiography. The storyteller chooses what and how to tell the audience his or her life story through a guided conversation. In contrast to in-depth interviews, which usually center on a particular topic, the life history method focuses on an individual’s experiences during different phases of life. Life history interviews require a longer time for data collection, but they allow the researcher to gather more comprehensive information about subjects than other types of interviews. The life history interview has been used primarily in anthropological work, but has also been used in other disciplines (see McCall and Wittner, 1990). Anthropologists use the life history interview as a unit of study for individual case research; historians, on the other hand, use life story materials to enhance their understanding of local history; and sociologists use life stories to explore relationships and group interactions (Atkinson, 1998). The life history method has also been applied to disciplines such as education, health sciences, and women’s studies (Cole and Knowles, 2001). The life history method takes a longitudinal approach to conducting interviews. The less structured the interviews, the better the interviewer can get subjects to tell their stories (Atkinson, 1998). A life history interview typically begins with questions aimed at understanding 568

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the circumstances in which the interviewee was born, including questions about the subject’s birth, family members, and special events or childhood traditions. Asking about childhood memories deepens the understanding of the interviewee, his or her relations with others, and the surrounding community. Religious beliefs and practices, cultural traditions in the family, relationships with family members, leisure activities, and neighborhood environment are examples of initial questioning areas. Questions then move on to the next stage of life: the school years. Examples of such questions include, but are not limited to: “What was it like in elementary school?”, “What was it like in middle school?”, “What are your best and worst memories about school?”, “What were your teachers and peers like?”, “What did you learn about yourself during your school years?”, and “How was your college experience?” Finally, the interview moves on to adulthood and includes questions about work and romantic relationships. During each stage of questioning, efforts should be made to acquire in-depth and extensive understanding of the subject’s life experiences. In particular, the interviewer should pay close attention to significant life events, people, and personal feelings involved in the events and relationships. Throughout the process of collecting and interpreting life stories, it is important that the researcher maintains trust and close relationships with interviewees to acquire in-depth insights (Watson, 1985). In contrast to verbatim transcription, which is often used with in-depth interviews, life story interviews should be written in the first person, using interviewees’ own words (Atkinson, 1998). Thus, each interview becomes a flowing narrative in the words of the person telling the story. These personal narratives are then examined to understand one’s life in detail, as well as the individual’s roles in the community and social relations. In other words, interviewees are the first interpreters of the stories told. Through storytellers’ personal constructions of reality, researchers discover what they plan to learn from subjects (Holstein and Gubrium, 1995). McCall and Wittner (1990) argue that life histories deepen existing knowledge because researchers are forced to examine their own assumptions in relation to subjects’ experiences. By incorporating more actors into scholarly conceptions, the life history method helps researchers understand the complexities of social life and the processes of change. In particular, life stories illuminate a person’s evolution of his or her self-concept over time. They help researchers understand a person’s subjective meaning and interpretations of his or her life story and the contexts in which such meaning and interpretations are produced at different points in that person’s life. Although not yet a prevalent research tool in immigration studies, some scholars have adopted life history interviews (e.g., Gabrielli et al., 2007; Gu, 2017; Ling, 2007; Smith, 2006). There are two main reasons why the life history method is particularly suitable for studying human migration. First, contemporary international migration is rarely a one-time action or event; rather, it is a developmental social process (Massey, 1986). Therefore, the ability of the life history method to trace this process from social actors’ viewpoints makes it a proper approach for immigration research. In fact, nearly a century ago, Thomas and Znaniecki (1927) stressed the importance of life histories (what they called “personal life-records”) in their classic work, The Polish Peasant. Second, relocating oneself and one’s family to a new society is one of the most drastic actions that people can take in their lifetime (Gold, 1997). International migration is a significant life event that brings fundamental changes to individuals’ lives. The life history approach is a great tool to explore issues relevant to this action and consequent effects of this action. For example, how do individuals adapt to the changes that immigration creates? How does a person’s sense of self evolve during the immigration process? How do immigrants’ significant relations change over time? Life history interviewing is helpful to discover the answers to these questions. This method also empowers immigrants, as it highlights subjects’ subjective interpretations and meaning-making processes. 569

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Applications to immigrant and refugee interviews Kvale and Brinkmann (2009, p. 87) note, “Good interview research goes beyond formal rules and encompasses more than the technical skills of interviewing to also include personal judgment about which rules and questioning techniques to invoke or not invoke.” With general interview principles as the foundation, specific strategies and techniques can vary, depending on the research topic and the researched group. Immigrants are a unique population. They have relocated from another society, often do not speak the host country’s language, and have varied migration backgrounds. Many immigrants experience dramatic changes in their social and economic lives as a result of immigration; for instance, some are forced to leave their countries due to special circumstances such as wars or disasters. The extent of immigrants’ acculturation and adaptation varies, as do their social practices and cultural traditions. Therefore, a variety of factors need to be considered when adopting interview methods to study immigrants. In this section, I discuss four issues: the influences of structural positions (such as gender, class, and race) on the interview, language use in conducting and reporting interviews, cultural factors to be considered in the interview process, and research ethics.

Structural positions Many scholars have discussed the idea that interviewers’ observable features (age, gender, race, hairstyle, clothing, manner of speech, etc.) and personality attributes (moods, interests, experiences, biases, etc.) affect both how subjects respond to an interview and what the researchers hear in that interview (Berg, 2009; Gubrium and Holstein, 2001; Rubin and Rubin, 2004). On the other hand, interviewees’ perceptions of, and responses to, the interview are also shaped by their own structural positions and life experiences. As a result, being aware of the influences of both parties’ characteristics helps researchers adopt effective interview strategies and prevent biases. Unlike ethnographic studies, in which researchers spend months or years with their subjects to develop trust, understanding, and relationships, interview data are often collected within a few hours. Therefore, making a good impression in the first ten minutes is essential for completing a successful interview. As Berg (2009, p. 131) points out, “The interviewee’s conception of the interviewer centers around aspects of appearance and demeanor.” This conception affects interviewees’ interactions with the interviewer and how they answer the interview questions. For instance, how interviewers dress is one of the first impressions given to interviewees. The principle is to dress appropriately—do not dress too formally or fancy when interviewing immigrant laborers or refugees; do not appear sloppy when interviewing immigrant entrepreneurs. Overall, it is important to present a polite, patient, and friendly demeanor when conducting interviews. While clothing and manners seem easy to manage, other factors such as gender, race, and social class are much more complicated.

Race/ethnicity and insider vs. outsider status The insider-outsider controversy was heated in the 1970s, when white people comprised 98 percent of all social scientists (Moore, 1973). Much of the scholarly concern centered on whether and how researchers’ race affected studies of racial minorities (see Baca Zinn, 1979; Merton, 1972; Moore, 1973). Even today, with a more diverse demographic composition of the profession, the issue of race/ethnicity and insider-outsider retains its importance in empirical and epistemological discussions in social research. In fact, race or ethnicity is not the only element that constitutes a researcher’s insider or outsider status. Other factors, such as gender, 570

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sexuality, immigrant status, nationality, social class, and residential region, can also become major distinctions between researchers and the researched. These differentiations are sometimes multifaceted rather than dichotomous. Therefore, it is useful to understand the potential effects of insider-outsider positions in interview-based research. The researcher’s role as an insider or outsider affects both subject recruitment and the interview process. Advantages and disadvantages exist with these two roles. When the researcher belongs to the immigrant group under study, it is easy to collect information, locate informants, and communicate with subjects because of their shared cultural background. Moreover, it is likely that subjects will be more willing to share their experiences because they expect the interviewer will have a good understanding of them or will want to help a fellow immigrant. However, there are some drawbacks when the interviewer is an insider. When coming from the same culture, the researcher could easily take certain things for granted and miss important clues in the subjects’ stories. Some subjects may also hesitate to be interviewed by a fellow immigrant because they have concerns about their anonymity and confidentiality. In some cases, insider researchers take on more responsibility than they can handle because of their reciprocity ideal and their informants’ expectations (see Baca Zinn, 1979). In contrast, out-group interviewers benefit from their outsider status in that they tend to make fewer assumptions about the researched group. Because of the cultural gap with their subjects, outgroup researchers are more likely to ask questions that insiders do not typically pose, which can lead to important discoveries. However, there are also obstacles that out-group researchers must overcome when studying an immigrant group; for example, understanding the group’s culture and migration history, finding key informants to help them collect information and locate interviewees, speaking the language, and earning subjects’ trust. Many outsider researchers therefore conduct fieldwork in addition to interviews to strengthen their ties with the researched community. Race/ethnicity is probably the most apparent characteristic for defining insiders and outsiders, as a great number of contemporary immigrants do not belong to the mainstream racial group in the host society and many are non-white. As Dunbar and his colleagues (2001) suggest, interviewing racialized populations requires very special attention and caution because the social context of a racialized experience differs significantly from the mainstream culture. Interviewers must be deeply familiar with respondents’ lives to elicit a full version of their stories. Self-disclosure on the part of the insider interviewer is sometimes helpful to facilitate in-depth expressions of an interviewee’s emotions and life experiences. Reflexivity, empathy, and sensitivity are also valuable assets that can help researchers capture the complexities of ethnic minorities’ lives. Refugees are a special group of immigrants—they are often forced immigrants as a result of economic, political, or social oppressions in their home countries, many of whom experience trauma before settling into the host society. Recruiting refugees for interviews poses more difficulties than studying non-refugee immigrants, especially for outsider researchers. Trust and subjects’ expectations for reciprocity are two main issues. To establish a foundation for trust, researchers must find key informants and earn support from social leaders in the refugee community, such as ethnic pastors or staff at ethnic organizations. In my study of Burmese refugees, subjects did not respond to recruitment flyers or advertisements in social media. They accepted my invitations to be interviewed simply because they knew and trusted my bilingual Burmese research assistant. Long prior to my interviews, I spent almost two years gathering information from the director and staff at the Burmese Culture Center, visiting Burmese community gardens and apartment complexes, and looking for a good insider research assistant. After I found my assistant—a 1.5 generation Burmese American with an advanced degree in social work—I spent much time communicating with her about my research plans and getting to know her on a personal level. The investment paid off when I began collecting data in the field. 571

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Learning from my past experiences of interviewing both immigrants and refugees, I found refugee subjects to have greater expectations for reciprocity than their non-refugee counterparts. Mainly because of their socioeconomic disadvantages and educational backgrounds, many refugee subjects and some immigrant laborers confused researchers with social workers and hoped for substantial help in return. Supported by grants, I was able to give gift cards to refugee subjects as compensation for their participation in my research, although the little amount was unlikely to make a difference in their lives. I also always spent some time at the end of every interview explaining the nature and collective benefits of the study. Such an explanation was also needed when communicating with ethnic community leaders, as they sometimes expected reciprocity. During my fieldwork, I often found people puzzled about my presence in the community and my status as a researcher. I was evidently an outsider—not a policy maker, not a social worker, and not a Burmese. “What can I do for my subjects and their community?” was always a question pounding in my head. Although policy recommendations may result from my study of Burmese refugees, the nature of pure research (as opposed to applied research) does not situate scholars in a position that easily contributes to the studied group immediately or directly. Therefore, I made a personal donation to the Burmese community and helped the community connect with local experts when needs arose (e.g., childhood trauma clinicians, psychologists, ESL teachers, etc.). Finally, immigrants and refugees can be seen as outsiders simply because of their foreign-born status, regardless of their racial and ethnic backgrounds or those of the interviewers. In a study of homeless immigrants in Copenhagen, Järvinen (2003) discovered that her interviewers treated immigrant subjects as “guests” of the country. The native-born Danish interviewers asked whether their immigrant subjects intended to “go home,” implying their subjects’ outsider (“non-us”) status. These interviewers also took a defensive position when the interviewees criticized “their country.” Such host–guest distinction and interaction reveals an insider-outsider perception (us vs. them) unconsciously drawn by native-born interviewers, which could further marginalize immigrants and prevent subjects from freely expressing their opinions. Therefore, researchers should avoid making this mistake when interviewing immigrants; they should also closely supervise their interviewers during the process of data collection.

Gender, age, and social class Gender is another major factor that influences interview dynamics and results. Interviewers and interviewees are shaped by culturally ascribed meanings of masculinity and femininity; therefore, gender will affect both the interaction atmosphere and the extent to which personal experiences are shared. Cross-sex interviewing appears to be more challenging than same-sex interviewing, as feelings of discomfort and limited self-disclosure occur more frequently in cross-sex interactions. For instance, women volunteer more personal information to female interviewers than to male interviewers (Padfield and Procter, 1996); women interviewers may sometimes appear too flatteringly attentive to male interviewees (De Santis, 1980); and the interview relationship could become a sexual one in some encounters, although infrequently (Weiss, 1994). Such gendered phenomena can also hold true in immigrant communities, which suggests caution when interviewing the opposite sex. Considering gender effects, scholars have suggested different strategies for interviewing men and women, which are also useful for interviewing immigrants and refugees. Schwalbe and Wolkomir (2001) contend that men’s masculine selves lead to their little disclosure of emotions and exaggeration of rationality, autonomy, and control. Therefore, interviewers should avoid questions that threaten a male subject’s masculine self, such as economic failure and 572

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stress—taking indirect approaches would work more effectively. For example, asking for stories (instead of direct questions about emotionally loaded topics) and shifting the focus to the contexts (rather than actions) are useful ways to elicit in-depth expressions from men. Until the 1970s, female subjects were excluded from social science studies (Reinharz and Chase, 2001). In immigration research, the long-missing voices of women did not begin to be heard until the 1980s (see Curran et  al., 2006; Pedraza, 1991; Pessar and Mahler, 2003). Socialized into their gender role, women tend to be self-silencing and soft-spoken, especially when men are present. Interviewing women, therefore, needs an approach that differs from that of studying men (Reinharz and Chase, 2001). Feminist scholars advocate a feminist methodology that highlights women’s standpoints and subjectivities. They argue that choosing female interviewers to interview women, developing sisterhood bonds with subjects, and the interviewer’s self-disclosures are essential approaches to encourage and hear women’s voices in the interview (DeVault, 2004; Oakley, 1981). Whether explicitly adopting the feminist methodology or not, scholars who study immigrant women share the goal of unfolding women’s subjective experiences (see Gabaccia, 1992; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 2003; Kelson and DeLaet, 1999). Age and social class are two other factors that shape the power dynamics in interviewing. Eder and Fingerson (2003) argue that children and adolescents are socially disadvantaged and disempowered groups; therefore, interviewing them requires a different approach to interviewing adults. They suggest that creating a natural context, conducting a brief observation before the interview, and interviewing in group settings are all useful methods. In a study of second-generation immigrants, Wolf (1997) conducted four focus groups to elicit the perceptions of Filipino youth concerning intergenerational conflicts. These group settings allowed these immigrant children to freely express their psychological struggles with two competing cultural traditions—a topic that might not have been as easy to discuss in other contexts. Hearing similar stories from their peers allowed these adolescents to open up and share their own experiences. They felt that they were not alone in their cultural tug with their parents and that they could be well understood. This study exemplifies the importance of group settings when interviewing adolescents. Immigrants of different socioeconomic backgrounds might perceive research differently and thus call for different interview strategies. For instance, immigrant laborers and refugees might be exhausted simply by everyday survival and be difficult to approach for interviews; they might also be unfamiliar with research processes and interview interactions. Researchers need to be patient and flexible when scheduling interviews with laborers and refugees, and explain the purpose and process of their research clearly. Questions need to be asked in lay terms that are easy to understand; asking for examples and stories is useful in helping subjects express their opinions. The purpose of recording and acquiring consent should be explained politely; however, the interviewer should not insist if subjects feel uncomfortable with a tape recorder. Some laborers and refugees might be suspicious of interviews. Therefore, researchers can seek assistance or introductions from non-profit organizations familiar to the subjects, or conduct fieldwork in the subjects’ communities to establish relationships and networks before interviews take place. Malpica (2002) conducted in-depth interviews after the researcher had earned the trust of day laborers through participant observations. While there might be fewer obstacles when interviewing immigrants who are highly educated and who understand the nature of research interviews, establishing networks with co-ethnics remains useful for locating interviewees. Some immigrant communities proscribe interactions between the sexes, or particular age or status groups. Researchers need to be aware of, and sensitive to, these cultural taboos. For instance, Muslim women are not allowed to be alone with men who are not relatives, and older Muslim men might not feel they are being taken seriously when interviewed by women 573

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(Wenger, 2003). In Asian communities, age and occupation construct hierarchies of social statuses. Student interviewers might not be able to reach entrepreneurs, politicians, or organization leaders for interviews. These factors need to be considered when choosing interviewers. Of course, the extent of the influence resulting from a researcher’s social characteristics can neither be measured nor easily verified. It is also impossible to isolate any single factor from the intersecting effects of gender, ethnicity, social class, age, sexual orientation, and immigrant status (among others) on an interview encounter. However, being aware of potential influences helps keep the researcher attentive while observing and interpreting interviewees’ responses. It also helps prevent reactivity and makes good use of the advantages that such influences can bring to research. In particular, if a researcher hires assistants to conduct interviews, then the interviewers’ structural positions and their potential effects on the interviewing process becomes a necessary consideration.

Language Many immigrants are non-native speakers. Since the main purpose of qualitative interviews is to gather in-depth information about subjects’ perceptions and experiences, using a language with which the subjects feel comfortable helps them express themselves freely and vividly. Before the interview, the researcher can ask what language the subject would like to use for the interview, or can proceed in the language the subject speaks while in conversation. Speaking in the subject’s native tongue is beneficial to the research in many ways. For example, subjects are better able to express themselves well and describe their life experiences in great depth. Language is also the carrier of cultural meaning and reflects the speaker’s way of thinking. During my interviews, several second-generation subjects tried to communicate in Taiwanese, while several first-generation interviewees started our conversations in English (both were their second language, respectively). In both situations, I went along with the language the interviewees chose to speak, but subjects switched to their first language after a few minutes. It was obvious that they expressed themselves best in their native language. Without having to switch between two languages, subjects can speak their minds using complex vocabulary and sophisticated expressions. Such vivid illustrations of meaning are exactly what the researcher wishes to capture in qualitative interviews. Moreover, a connection between the researcher and the researched can be established more easily when they speak the same language. In my research, I often sensed subjects’ excitement and feelings of closeness when I spoke their mother tongue. My position as an outside researcher immediately turned into that of an insider, thereby establishing a special bond. By speaking the same language, subjects knew that I was “one of them” and that I understood their culture. This feeling of closeness is valuable because immigrants live in a foreign land and often feel alienated. For instance, several subjects in my study traveled one hour every Sunday to attend a Taiwanese church so they could hear the language that they dearly missed. Many participants ordered Taiwanese CDs and videos from overseas to ease homesick feelings. Being able to speak their native language brings their home to them, which means a lot to many subjects. When a researcher makes the effort to learn the interviewees’ language, it is certainly appreciated, and the friendship between the two parties can be more easily established. While I believe that language proficiency and linguistic competence are valuable assets in interview research, there are alternatives. When the principle researcher does not speak the immigrants’ language, an interpreter can be hired to help conduct interviews. Researchers can hire interviewers who speak the language; they can also interview only those immigrants who speak fluently the language of the host society. Although these approaches are feasible, the 574

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translation process can result in a loss of connotation because cultural meanings are embedded in language. Therefore, I encourage researchers to conduct interviews in the subjects’ native language whenever possible to document the vibrant expressions subjects use to illustrate their thoughts and emotions. If researchers hire interviewers to conduct interviews, they should be present at some, if not all, of the interviews. It is difficult to oversee the interview process if the researcher is absent. Researchers should also maintain frequent communication with interviewers to discuss any concerns or problems that might arise throughout the research process. In my study of Burmese refugees, my bilingual assistant worked as an interpreter in my interviews with first-generation Burmese. She translated my interviews back and forth in English and Burmese. This approach took much longer than those interviews conducted without the need for translation, but it allowed me to observe subjects’ emotions when telling their stories. It also allowed me to probe for more detail during the interviews and ask questions not listed in my original interview schedule. I was able to understand each subject’s life history and experiences before the interviews were transcribed, which also helped me discover important issues and change my research directions during the process of data collection. Researchers inevitably face issues of transcription and translation when compiling data and writing reports for interviews conducted in a foreign language. I have found the following approaches to be most effective. First, interviews should be transcribed in the language spoken during the interview, even if they must be translated into another language for reports. In my opinion, verbatim transcripts are the best way to document interviews because they allow researchers to review the entire conversation and trace clues in the story. These clues, which sometimes include inconsistencies or contradictions, help the researcher discover the complexities and nuances of individuals’ life experiences. Moreover, when transcribing interviews, subjects’ emotional expressions (e.g., smile, hesitation, confusion, pause, etc.) should be noted to capture the covert contexts of their stories. Second, data analysis should be conducted before translating interviews into another language to keep the analyses as close to the original contexts as possible. Third, when publishing interviews, all translations should reflect the original cultural meanings as closely as possible. This might include using idiomatic language and keeping grammatical errors intact to reflect subjects’ minds and expressions zealously. In reality, scholars use different strategies that are conditioned by the purpose of the project, available resources, the researcher’s writing style, and the targeted readers of the research reports. Some researchers transcribe only portions of their interviews, some translate the interviews before data analysis, some re-write the subjects’ narratives in perfect native language, and some write interview excerpts in two languages. As there is no absolute rule, scholars must make good judgments and allow flexibility in the research process. Sometimes, figuring out what works best for a project requires trial and error.

Cultural sensitivity No immigration study can succeed without understanding the culture of the immigrant group being researched. Immigrants come from countries where economic, political, social, and cultural contexts are often quite different from those of the receiving society. These contexts shape and affect individuals’ perceptions and behaviors in the host society, especially first-generation immigrants. Culture is an essential, yet complicated matter in immigrants’ social practices and emotional lives (Foner, 1997; Gu, 2010). In particular, adult immigrants grew up in another society in which they were socialized. Their culture of origin, thus, has a profound influence on their perceptions and behaviors, even among the most acculturated. In a global era where transnational migration is fairly common, immigrants’ continuous exposure to their original 575

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societies and cultures is inevitable, and its impact on their lives cannot be overlooked. Studying immigrants requires a good comprehension of their cultures and sensitivity to their social norms. Culture is important in the interview process in several ways. Asking subjects to sign a consent form could be a potential trigger of anxiety. For instance, Taiwan’s colonization history, China’s communist regime, and Burma’s military dictatorship may cause immigrants from these countries to be suspicious or to fear signing formal documents such as consent forms. In my research with Taiwanese immigrants, oral consent was used and recorded at the beginning of every interview. This approach helped me earn subjects’ trust and facilitated the interviews. For undocumented immigrants, the risks inherent in signing their names on a formal document could prevent them from participating in research. Therefore, earning trust and using oral consent are crucial in this instance. Fieldwork can greatly benefit studies of undocumented immigrants because it helps to build mutual understanding and trust between the researcher and the researched, which facilitates subjects’ consent to interviews (see Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994; Valenzuela, 2003). Cornelius (1982) suggests that conducting fieldwork in immigrants’ communities of origin helps researchers establish networks and friendships with immigrant coethnics back home, which, in turn, helps locate and interview undocumented immigrants in the United States. Some topics could be sensitive to immigrants, thus requiring cautious wording in inquiry, such as legal status, income, mental illness, sexuality, and substance abuse. Knowing immigrants’ attitudes and whether stigmas or taboos are associated with research topics will help the interviewer phrase questions in non-intimidating ways. When inquiring about an immigrant’s legal status, Cornelius (1982) suggests less threatening questions, such as “Are you thinking about getting papers?”, “Would you like to get papers?”, “Did you have trouble getting into the country?”, and “Are you in the process of getting papers?” When asking about income and family finances, I usually use a series of indirect questions, such as “It must be tough managing all the expenses (e.g., mortgage, children’s education, and medical bills). Is one income enough?”, “Do you receive financial support from relatives back home?”, or “How do you manage your family finances?” If the conversation goes smoothly, and the interviewee seems open to answering relevant questions, I may then ask “Do you mind if I ask about your household income?” In contrast, if the interviewee appears reserved and hesitant, I would switch to another topic and give it another try at the end of the interview after the subject has opened up more. As Weiss (1994) suggests, a reliable research relationship should be established before asking sensitive questions. Another sticky issue involves the selection of terms used to discuss respondents’ identities and group memberships. This arose during my fieldwork with members of the Taiwanese American community (Gu, 2006). Some subjects identified themselves as “Chinese” and corrected me during the interview when I referred them as “Taiwanese.” In contrast, those who identified themselves as Taiwanese became offended when I referred them as “Chinese.” One subject spent a lot of time emphasizing the importance of Taiwanese identity. Although national identity was not a focus of my research, I soon realized the sensitivity associated with these two terms. To avoid generating tension, I used “immigrants from Taiwan” in my introductory description and then followed with whatever term the subject used in conversation. Moreover, in my study of Burmese, I learned from a community leader that a stigma was attached to Burmese status as refugees. Therefore, I used the word “immigrant” in my interviews, but asked my subjects whether and where they sought asylum before migrating to the United States. In other words, when interviewing immigrants who are sensitive to specific terms for any reason, the researcher should recognize subjects’ feelings of discomfort and rephrase the questions accordingly. Interviewers can also ask interviewees to explain how different terms are used and perceived in the immigrant community. 576

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In the above examples, the keys to successful interviews include indirect questions and attentive observations. It is particularly important for topics associated with stigmas, such as mental illness, addiction, and homosexuality. In my interviews with Taiwanese immigrants, I used non-stigmatized terms such as “hardship,” “stress,” and “psychological struggles” to discuss mental health issues (Gu, 2006, 2017). These neutral terms did not provoke anxiety or hesitation. Rather, subjects were very willing to talk about their difficulties and emotions, and many appreciated the opportunity to reflect upon their lives. Some found the interviews “therapeutic,” as one subject commented. Another approach to discussing sensitive issues is to explain the purpose of the topic before asking the questions (Weiss, 1994). When subjects understand why certain questions are asked and why the information is important, they may be more likely to collaborate with the interviewer in the discussion. Sexuality, homesickness, and illegal employment are a few examples. Another way to initiate the discussion is to start with general observations on the topic or with other people’s stories, and then ask the interviewee to comment. For instance, “Some people said that drug use is a serious problem in your community. Is it true? How prevalent is the problem?”, “Have you seen anyone you know struggling with drug problems? Could you describe the situation?”, and “What do you think is the major cause of the problem?” Similar topics to which this approach can apply include gambling, economic failure, and generational conflicts. When it comes to sensitive issues, some people feel more comfortable talking about what they see in general or using other people’s stories to express their opinions, rather than talking about themselves. Although indirectly, interviewees’ own experiences are often revealed in this way. Cultural sensitivity helps researchers avoid tension, establish rapport, and choose appropriate approaches to collect data; therefore, its importance cannot be stressed enough. In addition, it is equally important to be cautious when writing up findings on sensitive topics. Pseudonyms must be used, especially in direct quotes, to ensure subjects’ anonymity and protect their privacy. Because indirect questions and alternative terms are often used to ask sensitive topics, it is likely that interviewees also use indirect expressions in their answers. Researchers must be careful in their interpretations and ensure subjects’ narratives are appropriately analyzed to avoid over-interpretations.

Research ethics Is it ethical to pay or give subjects gifts? In principle, scholars believe that subjects benefit from having the opportunity to participate in and contribute to a study (Weiss, 1994). Research will eventually benefit the subjects once scholarly understanding of their lives is enhanced by collecting data from them. In reality, however, it is not uncommon for a researcher to offer gift cards, small presents, or cash as incentives or compensation for participants’ time. Weiss (1994) contends that payment can be an important incentive for low-income respondents to participate in research, but might not be necessary for middle-class interviewees. In my opinion, presenting gifts is not merely an ethical matter but also an issue of cultural appropriateness. In some cultures, such as Asian traditions, giving gifts is an important norm in social interactions. Giving presents can serve as a friendly gesture in a culturally appropriate way, thereby facilitating rapport. I witnessed the awkwardness that can ensue from not presenting gifts and the difference gifts can make to the interview process. During my first few interviews, I did not bring any presents. I sensed some disappointment from my respondents when I arrived at their homes, and I realized that giving gifts is an important norm in Taiwanese culture. Later, I began bringing presents to interviews, usually small fruit baskets. As a result, rapport was quickly established. For my second project, I budgeted gifts into my research proposal and gave subjects a university 577

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mug and a small bottle of Michigan maple syrup; these gifts conveyed gratitude in a culturally appropriate way. After each interview, I sent a thank you card to express my appreciation for their time and assistance. For my Burmese project, I budgeted gift cards for subjects to use at local grocery stores. In summary, I believe that giving payment or gifts is not a right or wrong issue. Rather, its justification requires careful consideration of various factors, such as subjects’ cultures, research budgets, and the rationales of a study. Usually, the material rewards that researchers offer are not large amounts that could dramatically change subjects’ financial conditions. Therefore, gifts may convey more of a cultural, rather than a material, meaning. I suggest that researchers make their own judgments in the field and allow some flexibility when their budgets permit. Interviewees differ from project to project, their cultures vary, and the nature of each project also differs. Giving small presents to interviewees might seem insignificant, but it can help establish good rapport and facilitate the data collection process.

Conclusion Qualitative interviewing serves as a powerful tool for data collection. Its major strengths lie in its focus on subjects’ voices as well as its ability to show the richness and complexity of lived experiences. Through interviewing, researchers acquire an in-depth understanding of interviewees’ perceptions and feelings. In particular, life history interviewing allows researchers to capture subjects’ life trajectories, selfhood evolvement, and changes in social relations over time. Compared to surveys, interview methods are more time consuming and labor intensive. Interviewers need rigorous training and actual practice to develop skills and accumulate empirical experience. Compared to ethnography, interviews lack the opportunity to observe subjects in dynamic social situations; however, they do provide more subjective interpretations of the researched. They also allow researchers to analyze interviewees’ narratives systematically using coding techniques suggested by grounded theory or by using computer software. Research reports that use interview excerpts are able to situate subjects in the center of their stories, which is a powerful way to illustrate subjective accounts of the researched population. Qualitative interviewing is often combined with other research methods in data collection, especially with ethnography. Using mixed methods has been a recent trend in contemporary social research. Each research method has its own strengths and weaknesses, so adopting more than one method can take advantage of the varied pros and cons of different methods, thereby obtaining a more comprehensive understanding of the researched population or social phenomenon. Teamwork is another approach used for studying immigrant communities. For instance, Gatherings in Diaspora (1998) was written by the New Ethnic and Immigrant Congregations Project fellows led by Warner and Wittner. Although members of this research team came from varied demographic, religious, and disciplinary backgrounds, they worked together to produce a book that is coherent in theme and includes studies of diverse immigrant congregations. Another example is The Politics of Diversity (1995) in which Horton guided a research team to conduct this study of Monterey Park in California. The team members’ multiethnic backgrounds allowed them to collect data from different sources and in different languages. This approach is particularly effective for studying an immigrant community composed of varied ethnic groups. Interview research is a craft (Kvale and Brinkmann, 2009). Researchers as interviewers are the main instruments in interview research. Their knowledge, abilities, and sensitivity are crucial to the quality of the produced knowledge. Good craftsmanship requires both practical skills and personal insights, which can be learned through field observations, training, and extensive practice. In this chapter, I introduced two qualitative research methods: in-depth interviews and 578

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life history interviews. I also provided a great number of examples to discuss various issues in interview contexts, including outsider–insider status, structural positions, language, cultural sensitivity, and research ethics. Incorporating my own reflections and other scholars’ perspectives, these discussions offer valuable insights for migration researchers. Interviewing is a fascinating research tool. Through interviews, immigrants’ unvoiced stories are told and heard, and they are brought to the center stage of research inquiries. The richness and complexity of data that interview methods acquire far surpass those collected by other research methods.

Note 1 Many of the examples are derived from three projects. In my first project, I conducted 54 in-depth interviews with Taiwanese immigrants and their adult children in the Chicago metropolitan area. Using semi-structured questions, these interviews ranged from 1 to 4 hours and were conducted in three languages (Mandarin Chinese, Taiwanese, and English). This project was published as Mental Health among Taiwanese Americans: Gender, Immigration, and Transnational Struggles (Gu, 2006). For the second project, I conducted life history interviews with 45 Taiwanese immigrant women, both professionals and homemakers, in the greater Chicago and Kalamazoo areas. These interviews ranged from 2 to 12 hours over multiple sessions and were conducted in Mandarin Chinese or Taiwanese. I also conducted numerous informal interviews during my 7 years of ethnographic fieldwork in an ethnic-Chinese immigrant community in Southwest Michigan. This project is published as The Resilient Self: Gender, Immigration, and Taiwanese Americans (Gu, 2017). The total of 99 subjects I have interviewed in these two projects varied greatly in terms of gender, age, social class, ethnicity of origin, occupation, marital status, and year of immigration. In a recent project, I conducted 28 in-depth interviews with Burmese refugees in Battle Creek, Michigan. My bilingual research assistant, a 1.5 generation Burmese American, assisted me with these interviews. I asked questions in English and my assistant translated them into Burmese and reported subjects’ answers back to me in English. Ranging from 1.5 to 4.5 hours, these interviews were transcribed and translated in English.

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McCall, M. M. and Wittner, J. (1990) The good news about life history. In: H. S. Becker and M. M. McCall, eds., Symbolic interaction and cultural studies. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press, pp.46–89. Merton, R. K. (1972). Insiders and Outsiders: A Chapter in the Sociology of Knowledge. American Journal of Sociology, 78(1), pp. 9–48. Mishler, E. G. (1986). Research interviewing. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Moore, J. W. (1973). Social Constraints on Sociological Knowledge: Academics and Research Concerning Minorities. Social Problems, 21(1), pp. 64–77. Oakley, A. (1981). Interviewing women: A contradiction in terms? In: R. A. Voice, ed., Doing feminist research. London: Routledge, pp. 30–61. Ocampo, A. C. (2016). The Latinos of Asia. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Padfield, M. and Procter, I. (1996). The Effect of Interviewer’s Gender on the Interviewing Process. Sociology, 30(2), pp. 355–366. Pedraza, S. (1991). Women and Migration: The Social Consequences of Gender. Annual Review of Sociology, 17, pp. 303–325. Pessar, P. R. and Mahler, S. J. (2003). Transnational Migration: Bringing Gender In. International Migration Review, 37(3), pp. 812–846. Reinharz, S. and Chase, S. E. (2001). Interviewing women. In: J. F. Gubrium and J. A. Holstein, eds., Handbook of interview research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 221–238. Rubin, H. J. and Rubin, I. S. (2004). Qualitative interviewing. 2nd ed. London: Sage. Schmalzbauer, L. (2014). The last best place? Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Schwalbe, M. L. and Wolkomir, M. (2001). Interviewing men. In: J. F. Gubrium and J. A. Holstein, eds., Handbook of interview research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 203–220. Smith, R. C. (2006). Mexican New York. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Thomas, W. I. and Znaniecki, F. (1927). The Polish peasant in Europe and America. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Valenzuela, Jr. A. (2003). Day labor work. Annual Review of Sociology, 29, pp. 307–333. Warner, R. S. and Wittner, J. G. (1998). Gatherings in diaspora. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Watson, L. C. (1985). Interpreting life histories. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Weiss, R. S. (1994). Learning from strangers. New York: The Free Press. Wenger, G. C. (2003). Interviewing older people. In: J. A. Holstein and J. F. Gubrium, eds., Inside interviewing. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 111–130. Whyte, W. F. (1943). Steet corner society. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Whyte, W. F. (1984). Learning from the field. London: Sage. Wingfield, A. H. (2013). No more invisible man. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Wolf, D. L. (1997). Family Secrets: Transnational Struggles among Children of Filipino Immigrants. Sociological Perspectives, 40(3), pp. 457–482.

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45 Using photography in studies of international migration Steven J. Gold

Introduction The use of visual techniques offers much to the study of international migration. Benefits include collecting information about topics of study, generating rapport with respondents, accessing migrants’ understandings of situations and issues, facilitating communication, exploring theoretical concepts, comparing groups, sharing findings, and teaching about results. This chapter offers basic information for those who wish to incorporate visual methods and data into studies of international migration. While much of the discussion focuses on visual sociology, the essay also includes contributions from other academic disciplines as well as fine art, documentary photography and photojournalism.

The roots of visual sociology According to Howard Becker, a sociologist whose writings have contributed much to the linking of social science and documentary photography, both disciplines trace their origins to the same time and place—France in the 1840s—and both have been concerned with the impact of technology on human life (Becker 1986). Becker suggests that sociology offers photographers theoretical understandings that can enhance the impact of the visual documents that they produce, while photographers can provide social scientists with techniques to make more compelling photographs. Visual sociology incorporates two distinct but related activities. The first involves the analysis of existing images to learn about the social groups that produce and use them. The second is the creation of visual documents—photographs, films, videotapes and the like—as a means of recording social information. Social scientists and historians have been using photography in their studies of immigrant communities and processes for over a century (Stasz 1979). However, both the popularity of photographic methods and the way that they have been used have varied according to political, technological and aesthetic trends and disciplinary norms. From 1896 until 1916, the American Journal of Sociology (AJS) regularly published photographs as part of the Chicago School of urban analysis. Many of the photos documented immigrant communities and work places and 582

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appeared in articles that concerned social reform activities rather than “scientific” studies and were authored by women (Stasz 1979). However, as sociology became more oriented toward scientific objectivity and quantification, photographs were no longer included as part of articles and only appeared in the journal to commemorate the death of renowned colleagues. The exclusion of photographs from AJS occurred prior to the time when natural science used photography as a basic technique for data collection, analysis and presentation. It was also before traditions of serious documentary photography and photojournalism—which both drew upon and contributed to social science and historical knowledge – had been established. Once these practices became accepted, the potential for migration scholars to both contribute to and benefit from the visual study of society was enhanced. In fact, one of the most significant documentary projects of the era, that of The Farm Security Administration—which used photographs taken by Walker Evans, Dorothea Lange, Russell Lee, Arthur Rothstein and others to convince the American middle class to support the New Deal—was informed by sociology. While the project was supervised by Columbia University economist Roy Stryker, the shooting scripts that directed the photographers toward appropriate subject matter were created by Indiana University sociologists Robert and Helen Lind, the authors of the famous Middletown studies. Moreover, many of these images dealt with issues related to migration studies, including farm labor, racial segregation, social inequality and ethnic communities. During the 1930s and 1940s, photographic projects in disciplines and social movements beyond sociology developed a variety of methods that would prove useful to our discipline. One of the most notable of these was Margaret Mead and Gregory Bateson’s The Balinese Character, which relied on thousands of still photographs and extensive film footage to document social life on that Indonesian island. Between the wars, European artist/activists were involved in the worker-photographer movement—which encouraged rank and file people to examine their lives and their conflicts with powerful interest groups via documentary photography (Harper 2012). Helping sociologists overcome some of the status-based challenges that resulted in the exclusion of photographs from AJS after 1915 was the fact that several leading scholars of the Post War era—including John Berger and Jean Mohr (1975), Howard Becker (1986), Erving Goffman (1979) and Pierre Bourdieu (1990)—published significant studies that relied upon the analysis of photographs. Since the 1970s, there has been a renewed interest in visual studies of migration, with the formation of the International Visual Sociology Association, the establishment of several undergraduate and graduate level classes on the topic, the publication of numerous books and journal articles and the regular inclusion of paper and didactic sessions devoted to visual studies at professional meetings (Ball and Gilligan 2010). Anthropologists, psychologists, historians, jurists and educators as well as journalists, documentarians, social activists and film makers also developed a means of using visual methods to explore the experience of immigrants. Most recently, the widespread access to smart phones—that allow users to create, transmit and receive text, sound, and still and moving images—has enhanced the ease, speed and accessibility of using images to record, and study social life (Uberti 2015). In response, scholars, activists and image makers have produced an extensive body of writing about the impacts of such images on communication, politics, identity and activism.

Writing and images Despite the endurance of popular aphorisms about a picture being worth a thousand words, cameras not lying, and the desire of socially oriented photographers to make “purely visual” arguments about social conditions, scholars using photography to explore or analyze social issues 583

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should combine images with text to assist viewers in interpreting what is shown in an image. As Susan Sontag contends, people rely on knowledge they already possess to interpret what they see in a photograph. Accordingly, text is required to help viewers appreciate what is significant about an image. Authors of visual projects have developed a variety of ways of linking images and text and continue to debate about the extent to which viewers should be either encouraged to draw their own conclusions about what is shown or have it delineated for them.

Ethical issues The presentation of photographic images as a part of social research poses ethical challenges (Rose 2016; Papademas and IVSA 2009). Individuals might not wish their image to be reproduced because it is embarrassing or denies them control over their own self-presentation. Some groups maintain cultural or religious beliefs that restrict or prohibit the making of photographs. Finally, appearing in a photograph might cause research subjects to experience various forms of harm, including being objectified or associated with an illegal or stigmatized activity that can expose them to ridicule, deportation or arrest. Migration scholars who seek to use images in their work need to be aware of the consequences of subjects’ being photographed. This is not an easy question to evaluate because of very different outlooks between researchers and subjects. Universities, funding agencies, disciplinary organizations and other institutions under whose auspices researchers function often require researchers to evaluate the impacts of being included in research as part of their human subject review process and take appropriate steps to ensure that subjects are protected. Such procedures may impose substantial obstacles for researchers without providing research subjects with enhanced protection. Moreover, while legal traditions regarding freedom of expression and freedom of the press permit artists and journalists to avoid constraints on their work, such exemptions do not apply to social scientists (Gold 1989; Papademas and IVSA 2009; Rose 2016). Finally, in an effort to avoid lawsuits, publishers commonly demand that researchers provide signed permission forms from persons shown in photographs. The effect of these restrictions is that some of the most dramatic and visually compelling images that migration scholars create in the course of their work might be unpublishable. An alternative approach to ethical problems emphasizes researchers’ commitment to realistic and humane relations with the individuals and groups that they are studying (as opposed to conformity to legalistic procedures), as well as developing a clear understanding of the ways that those being studied, themselves, use photography. For example, Eugenia Shanklin (1979) suggests that instead of relying on consent forms, researchers making documentary photographs should observe the way that photographs are used by members of a social group and conduct their own photography in conformity with those norms.

Collaborative image making and ethical concerns Rather than assuming that those shown in visual research are always at risk of harm and are lacking in agency and self-determination, anthropologist Marcus Banks argues that in certain contexts, members of migrant groups may have considerable control over how images of them are created, such that the resulting photographs reflect not only the perspective of the photographer but also that of the community that is being documented (Rose 2007). Banks describes how he discovered that photographs he took of a religious feast reflected the outlook of his research subjects, who told him what he should photograph and how he should do it: 584

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[T]he “directed” photograph is a collaborative image. It was composed and framed according to my own (largely unconscious) visual aesthetic and is part of my own corpus of documentary images of that feast. But it is also a legitimization and concretization of social facts as my friends saw them. (Banks 2001: 46–47) Like Banks, I realized that my images of ethnic communities reflected collaboration. I had taken many of them at communal festivals organized by the Arab American community for the expressed purpose of showing the population in a positive light and revealing its considerable diversity. In fact, articles in major Detroit newspapers advertising the events specifically invited non-Arabs to attend, and pointed out that the “Organizers of the Dearborn Arab International Festival . . . see the event as an opportunity for more non-Arabs to see a side of the ArabAmerican community they have not experienced” (Walker 2002). Accordingly, my photography at these events, my attempts to establish good relations with subjects (including asking permission to photograph them and sharing images), and my scholarly work to become familiar with basic issues concerning immigrant communities in general and Detroit’s Arab Americans in particular, all contributed to the collaborative nature of this project.

Applications of photography in studies of international migration The visual content of what is shown in an image is not the only benefit photographs can provide to researchers. Rather, photographic images can also serve as tools that facilitate the process of research more generally, especially with regard to communication and interaction. In fact, while scholars of migration are initially drawn to visual methods to create images of migrants’ experiences, many ultimately realize that they learn as much—if not more—from the social interactions associated with making and analyzing visual images.

Migration history A major concern of migration studies involves the geographical, social and historical context of human movement. In what ways are contemporary migrants similar to and different from those of an earlier historical period? A goldmine of visual data for the exploration of this topic is available in the growing number of recently created photographic archives. Many such archives are digitized and accessible online. Consequently, researchers can access images without traveling. Moreover, because such collections of images are maintained in public or non-profit universities and libraries, the cost of accessing and publishing them is often low. (In contrast, acquiring publishable photographs from stock agencies can be very expensive.) A powerful way of identifying historical change is by re-photographing the same people or location at multiple intervals. Camilo Vergara (1997) has photographed inner-city neighborhoods over time to capture the changing environment. Images recorded over several years illustrate the transformation of a New York tenement building from being fully occupied, to its being vacated and boarded up, demolished and eventually replaced with low-rise townhomes. Buffalo New York photographer Milton Rogovin photographed families at multiple intervals over decades (Isay, Miller and Wang 2003). In these images, we see a spunky teenager gradually grow into an adult with his own children and then become a hunched elder standing beside his own grandchildren. In reviewing the series of images, we are moved to speculate on the impact of life experiences and social structures on the people shown. 585

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To examine the experience of displacement encountered by refugees from Sudan’s civil wars, Judith Aston (2010) developed a computer-based interactive web site that juxtaposed anthropologist Wendy James’ ethnographic images of members of the group engaged in various activities during the 1960s, prior to their flight, with images of the population performing traditional music and dance in contemporary refugee camps (www.voicesfromthebluenile.org/). Offering another type of comparison, Tristan Brusle’s (2010) photographs contrast the neighborhood of central Doha, Qatar with the segregated quarters of Nepalese migrant workers. The article shows how immigrants decorate their confined quarters. Relying upon archival photographs and documents, historian Anna Pegler-Gordon (2009) produced an impressive study of Chinese immigration to the US which shows how photographic technology was used to both create and document racial distinctions among immigrant groups. The study also demonstrates how Chinese immigrants manipulated the use of photographs to resist government control and achieve their own ends.

Migrants’ own images As suggested in Pegler-Gordon’s research, the content and meaning of photographs of migrants is shaped by who took them and for what reason. Mugshots, surveillance photos and sensationalist photo journalism have played an important role in the dehumanization and othering of migrants. At the same time, photographs taken or collected by immigrants can be a source of information about their identity and self-definition, and serve to criticize injustices foisted upon them by opponents in the country of origin and indignities endured in points of settlement. For example, in Sojourners and Settlers, Brumfield (1988) displays “sojourner snapshots,” personal photographs brought to host societies by Yemeni immigrants alongside images of the group taken by academics, photojournalists and documentary photographers. In an effort to collect migrants’ own images, the Shades of LA collection at the Los Angeles Public Library was developed through the collaborative efforts of immigrant and ethnic communities and library staff, who came together to scan and document personal photographs and make them available on line and in books for scholars, historians, artists and an interested public. Comparing between public and private images offers fascinating insights into these migrants’ experiences.

Gaining orientation When starting a field study, photographs are useful for recording information about people, locations, and events of interest. For example, photographs can document what environments look like, reveal how locations provide a context in which groups interact, and depict who is present at events. The resulting images can be reviewed to assist in recording, coding and analysis of fieldnotes (Collier and Collier 1986; Suchar 1997). As an academic discipline, sociology tends to value parsimonious and abstract findings that describe social relationships without having to deal with the full range of complexity associated with real people and situations. The most prestigious forms of social research are based on methods such as library research, surveys, and analysis of official statistics, which keep investigators distant from the people, processes and settings that they claim to study (Harper 1987). Even ethnographic data are often collected through gatekeepers and spokespersons in office settings or focus groups distant from the places where the social relations of greatest sociological significance take place. Moreover, in describing what they have discovered, social scientists too often rely on academic abstractions—about which they know a great deal—rather than situational knowledge associated with the setting at hand—about which they know much less (Harper 1987). 586

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When researchers describe an occupation as “service work,” they gloss over what it is like to actually perform the job; when they refer to social relations as “embedded in networks,” they add little to a more general understanding of the deep and intricate relationships on which communities are based. These disciplinary tendencies discourage sociologists from acquiring direct knowledge about real people and settings. The need to create photographs in research settings can provide a corrective by demanding that researchers get involved with the people and settings that are their objects of study to a degree that exceeds what is generally applied in other methods. For example, Vergara’s (1997) photographic explorations of inner-city environments—based on years of immersion within them—offers a more detailed, phenomenologically rich, and arguably more powerful account of urban life than is available in more traditional approaches to the topic. Scholars using visual methods apply this procedure in their research on migrant communities. To create compelling photographs, one must move out of the air-conditioned offices of restaurants and factories, and into kitchens, shop floors and warehouses. To chronicle religious communities, they return to research settings following interviews to observe and photograph holiday celebrations. They also attend communal activities—festivals, classes, weddings, baby showers, and political demonstrations. In this way, the act of making photographs both requires and encourages scholars to approach individuals and aspects of the social world from which they might have otherwise remained at a distance. Their motivation to get near is reinforced by reliance on wide-angle lenses, which require close proximity to work effectively (Becker 1986). The resulting interactions and images enhance researchers’ own insights and their ability to share findings with colleagues. Interestingly, the popularity of smartphones—which incorporate very wide-angle lenses with close focusing capability and small displays—has made such intimate uses of photography ubiquitous.

Developing rapport Making and sharing photographs can be helpful in generating rapport with respondents. As John Collier, Jr., pointed out in Visual Anthropology (1986), many individuals and groups who are unfamiliar with the goals and intentions of migration researchers can comprehend the purposes of photographers. In this way, making photographs gives a fieldworker a basis for meeting and interacting with those present in the location of research. The initial interaction leads to another: return visits when photographs are presented to those pictured. I often begin fieldwork interactions by showing respondents a series of pictures that I have taken in the course of studying their communities. This allows me to quickly and specifically demonstrate my familiarity with the topic and environment of research. I believe that this grounding often enhanced the quality of the interviews that followed. In many cases, the rapport that is established by showing photographs to members of migrant communities can be treated as a photo-elicitation interview (Harper 2012). As respondents view images of their community, their comments can be very informative about both their lived experience as well as their feelings about it.

E-mailing images (and other benefits of digital photography) In the last decade, photography, and with it the visual study of immigrant communities, has been transformed by digital technologies. One of digital photography’s greatest advantages for migration studies lies in its ability to expand paths of connection with respondents. I realized this as I photographed an Arab American community festival in 2005 (Gold 2015). While I had done this kind of photography for years at various events, I had not used a digital camera 587

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in the past. As I normally do, I introduced myself to participants, spoke with them, asked for permission to take a picture, and then got their address so that I could send a print. In the past, this interaction was not complete for a week or so, during which time I would develop negatives, make prints, and send each one to the person whom I had photographed. With digital, I collected the subjects’ e-mail addresses. Not having to develop the images, I was able to deliver images immediately after the event. This rapid turn-around, coupled with a general access to e-mail among members of the community I researched, allowed me to establish communication with several of the people whom I had photographed. These connections permitted me to then correspond with people I met in more immediate and visual ways. Accordingly, I became much more aware of their organizations’ activities, and two of the photographs that I took during the festival wound up being published in community publications. In this way, digital photography and e-mail allowed me to extend rapport with, learn about, and contribute to a community in a manner superior to that which I had used during years of previous experience with film cameras.

Photo voice and reflexive documentaries Photovoice “blends a grassroots approach to photography and social action” (Duke Magazine 2003). Devised by health researcher Caroline Wang, it involves providing cameras to community members for the purpose of documenting issues of concern in their daily lives in order to seek resolution from power holders (Wang and Burris 1997). Because it is a form of participatory action research, researchers facilitate rather than direct community members’ topics of analysis. Instead of artful, meticulously composed images, photovoice seeks empowerment. In two exemplary studies, scholars have applied the photovoice method to allow youth to reflect on their experience of growing up in South Central Los Angeles. Marisol Clark-Ibáñez (2007) worked with undocumented elementary school children who created texts and images to record their aspirations and concerns. In We Live in the Shadow (2013), Elaine Bell Kaplan collaborated with Latino and African American high school students enrolled in an upward bound program. Supplementing respondents’ photographs with interviews and summaries of research on social inequality, Kaplan captures a nuanced and compelling depiction of how young people understand and deal with the neglect, poverty and discrimination they confront because of their race, class and locality.

Photographic evidence and analysis in migration research As suggested by Michael Burawoy’s (1991) extended case method, ethnographic investigations are commonly used to interrogate social life and to reflect on the applicability of theoretical formulations to real-world settings. Many of the most influential of these reveal the complex and often unexpected ways that people cope with the situations that they confront. Drawing from this tradition, photographic methods and visual data can be used to contribute to the refinement of general propositions about the behavior of immigrant and ethnic groups as they adapt to new environments. Most fieldwork methodologies encourage researchers to engage in a sequential process of collecting, coding and analyzing data; memo writing; and revisiting field settings to check their observations, refine findings and create higher-level generalizations. Visual sociologists have understood how visual information can be useful in this kind of research, and they have developed a body of literature that describes ways in which photographs can be incorporated (Harper 1987; Suchar 1997). Suchar (1997) draws on what he calls Becker’s (1986) interrogatory principle, whereby images are used to help answer sociological questions suggested by literature review and previous fieldwork. 588

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The resulting photos are then analyzed in light of other data to generate supplementary questions. Repeating this cycle allows a researcher to collect and incorporate additional evidence (photographic and otherwise) and produce findings.

Coethnic and out-group labor Since the 1960s, migration scholars have revised their understanding of the place of ethnicity in social and economic life. Classical theorists predicted that as societies became more advanced, ascriptive characteristics—race, gender, religion and ethnicity—would be of diminishing economic, social and political importance; instead, societies would become organized on the basis of qualifications and skills. However, since the 1960s, a broad range of scholars have come to understand that ethnic-based ties and resources continue to be vitally important in shaping economic life and access to resources. While appreciating the importance of ethnicity in economic life, much literature on the topic has been concerned with the forms of connection, integration and solidarity that occur within a single ethnic group. Influential studies have shown how Cuban entrepreneurs work together and hire recently arrived coethnics to maintain a powerful ethnic economy in Miami, one that offers coethnics better earnings than generally available to Cubans who find jobs in the larger economy. Similar findings have been noted in research on Korean, Chinese and Caribbean migrants in the US. However, in recent years, a number of scholars have noted the ways in which ethnic entrepreneurs take advantage of their connections with other ethnic populations, institutions and social developments to create jobs, successfully manage businesses and increase earnings. Through fieldwork, I found that many migrant groups have a desire to help their countrymen and women by providing jobs and advice. Loyalty alone, however, is a poor basis for running a business. A deeper look reveals that the issue of coethnic employment is a complex one. Among Soviet Jews, Vietnamese and Israelis, the desire to hire coethnics is often constrained by economic realities involving the costs and accessibility of coethnic workers versus other potential employees who are available in the labor market. Drawing from Becker’s (1986) suggestion to pose sociological questions that can be addressed visually, I created a shooting script that sought information about intergroup relations among employers and workers in ethnic businesses. By observing, photographing, and discussing this issue, I developed a better understanding of it. In the course of observing and photographing Soviet Jewish, Vietnamese and Israeli businesses in the US, I consistently noticed Latinos and members of other groups as employees. This finding contrasted dramatically with the prevailing image of coethnic cooperation. The consistency of this observation prompted me to look closer, to ask questions about out-group labor, and to collect more photographic and other kinds of information about inter- and intra-ethnic economic cooperation. Through this approach, I found that another reason entrepreneurs have for avoiding coethnics is that coethnic workers are generally more likely than out-group members to use their employment experience as an apprenticeship that provides them with the knowledge, connections and capital needed to start their own businesses at a later date. This practice is very common among populations with high rates of self-employment and can be a source of considerable consternation because employers realize that they are training today’s coethnic employee to be tomorrow’s competitor (Light and Gold 2000). Because immigrant business resources and strategies have their origins in shared communal sources, the potential for coethnic competition is considerable. These migrant entrepreneurs found out-group labor to be beneficial in running ethnic businesses. Rather than employing coethnics, they increasingly relied on Mexican, Chicano 589

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and Central American workers. A Chinese-Vietnamese journalist who had extensive contacts in the Southern California business community explained why many coethnic businesses employed Latinos. “Mexican, no green card, so you pay cheap. I pay you $5 an hour, but I pay Mexican $3 an hour. Mexicans are strong, and if I need to fire him, he just goes.” Reliance on Latino workers had become so common that during visits to the Los Angeles garment district, I frequently observed and photographed signs in grammatically flawed Spanish, suggesting that Latino workers were sought by non-coethnic employers (see Figure 45.1). The use of photography helped me notice, document and explore the use of out-group labor in ethnic businesses. In so doing, I was moved to challenge widely held assertions regarding the role of coethnic cooperation in making these enterprises viable. In recent years, several scholars have published studies validating my findings as they describe the employment of one migrant

Figure 45.1 Sign seeking sewing machine operators in the Los Angeles garment district. Errors in Spanish suggest that someone not fluent in Spanish is intentionally seeking Latino workers Source: Steven Gold.

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group by another (Chin 2005; Kim 1999). My research, influenced by photography, played a role in contributing to this new approach. In turn, this growing body of work contributes to our understanding of ethnic economies.

Coping with racism in Arab Detroit In a project intended to gain insight into processes of identity construction that have occurred since 9/11 2001 in Arab Detroit, I interviewed a diverse group of Arab Americans to determine their reactions to a set of photographs I published as a photo essay documenting the community (Gold 2002). As Espiritu (2013) and other scholars of ethnic politics note, migrant and racial, ethnic or religious minority groups have engaged in communal activism—including the creation of panethnic movements—to confront such inequity. As such, some of the photographs I showed prompted respondents to describe how they have learned to cope with negative media portrayals as well as racist comments and actions (Bakalian and Bozorgmeher 2009; Shryock, Abraham and Howell 2011).

Figure 45.2 T-shirt with slogan “We’re NOT Terrorists!” sold along with other clothing and accessories at Dearborn Arab International Festival, 2002 Source: Steven Gold.

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Immediately after 9/11, respondents explained that they did not know how to respond to such attacks, but over time, they became more self-confident and assertive. Accordingly, learning how to understand and respond to racist treatment constitutes a major shared interest underlying panethnic mobilization, and is an important area of focus of community organizations’ programming. An example of Arab Americans’ anti-racist activism can be found in the use of the slogan “We’re NOT Terrorists!,” which has been deployed both locally and throughout the US as a means for Arab, Muslim and South Asian immigrants to confront and deflect racial discrimination (Shryock, Abraham and Howell 2011; Bakalian and Bozorgmehr 2009) A respondent explains the strategy as he comments on a photograph showing merchants selling t-shirts emblazoned with the saying at the Dearborn Arab International Festival (see Figure 45.2). This is typical, by the way, now. At the beginning, you know after 9/11, people tried to avoid responding to being called terrorists. [There were] racial attacks right to your face. They would say “go back home.” In reaction, Arabs would reply “Hey, my home is in Okemos” [a Lansing suburb]. “You want me to move back home.”—“I was born in Okemos.” That’s [what] my son [said]. “Okay I’m going to go to Okemos, so, now what?” But now people are saying “The heck with it, I’m an American citizen, I have rights!” You can sometimes even see on You Tube comedy routines with Arab Americans making fun of themselves. Muslim and Middle Eastern, we have nothing to hide. We are not afraid of anything because we didn’t do anything wrong. So we are going to go out and make fun of it. Reflecting a similar theme, a college student described confronting racism in his dormitory: In the dorms last year, half-way through the year, my friend found out that I was Arabic and he was like, “I didn’t know you were Arabic.” I don’t know how? I play Arabic music in my room and stuff like that and I don’t know how he could have come to that point. But really, a bunch of people were like, “We didn’t think you’re Arabic” and I, yeah, kind of took that as a compliment just because they meant it as that—but then when you think about it, it’s kind of bad. You feel they’re ignorant. Like they haven’t been [told] the right things. I’ve even heard that from intelligent people, [racist] comments such as that. It’s kind of like either you’re American and you don’t like Arabs for patriotic reasons or you know [about Arabs] first hand. Those are the two options. A lot of intelligent people, they know [about] Hispanic culture and they know these things about all of the cultures [of various groups] but Arabic culture is one of those things that has not been touched on and the people in the community haven’t really been exposed. As the above excerpt reveals, photo-elicitation proved to be useful for gaining insight into the experience of racialization and profiling encountered by Arab Americans in greater Detroit and illuminates the strategic development and use of a panethnic consciousness among those organizing against it.

Limitations on the use of photography in migration studies Despite the many benefits associated with using photographs in studies of immigrant communities there are liabilities as well. Visuals have the potential to offend research subjects, and to violate fundamental rules of research ethics. Photography can become an end in itself rather than 592

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a means of improving the comprehension of international migration. Further, given increasing demands for obtaining subjects’ permission to reproduce and display images of them, one might be unable to publish images no matter how great their scholarly or aesthetic value.

Conclusions When integrated with other research techniques, photography has the potential to contribute richness, specificity and nuance to studies of international migration. Showing photographs to respondents can facilitate rapport and yield insightful comments about the nature of the communities and topics in question. The need to take photographs encourages researchers to approach, observe and think about the social world in a much more focused and empirically based manner than would have been the case using other methods of data collection and analysis. E-mailed images can assist researchers to expand their relations with members of communities that they are exploring. When engaged with theoretically oriented questions, photographs can yield data that can be used to confirm, refine or question existing knowledge. Photographs can allow researchers to document and illustrate the diversity of behavior patterns that exist within groups and social categories, thus challenging overly general characterizations of groups. Finally, photographs taken by members of immigrant communities can reflect their outlooks and subjectivity in a manner distinct from forms of data collected by social outsiders. Finally, photographs offer a means of sharing analysis and research findings with community members, students and colleagues.

References Aston, J. (2010) “Spatial Montage and Multimedia Ethnography: Using Computers to Visualise Aspects of Migration and Social Division Among a Displaced Community.” Forum Qualitative Social Research 11(2): Art 36. Available at: www.qualitative-research.net [accessed April 5, 2014]. Bakalian, A. and M. Bozorgmehr (2009) Backlash 9/11: Middle Eastern and Muslim Americans Respond. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Ball, S. and C. Gilligan (2010) “Visualizing Migration and Social Division: Insights from Social Sciences and the Visual Arts.” Forum Qualitative Social Research 11(2): Art 26. Available at: www.qualitative-research.net Banks, M. (2001) Visual Methods in Social Research. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Becker, H. S. (1986) Doing Things Together. Evanston, IL: Northwestern University Press. Berger, J. and J. Mohr (1975) A Seventh Man. London: Writers and Readers Publishing Cooperative. Bourdieu, P. (1990) Photography: A Middle Brow Art. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Brumfield, J. (1988) “On the Photographs.” In Jonathan Friedlander (ed.) Sojourners and Settlers: The Yemeni Immigrant Experience. Salt Lake, UT: University of Utah Press, pp. 173–185. Brusle, T. (2010) “Living in and Out of the Host Society, Aspects of Nepalese Migrants’ Experience of Division in Qatar.” Forum Qualitative Social Research 11(2): Art 31. Available at: www.qualitativeresearch.net Burawoy, M. (1991) “The Extended Case Method.” In Ethnography Unbound: Power and Resistance in the Modern Metropolis. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, pp. 271–287. Chin, M. M. (2005) Sewing Women: Immigrants and the New York City Garment Industry. New York: Columbia University Press. Clark-Ibáñez, M. (2007) “Inner-city Children in Sharper Focus: Sociology of Childhood and Photoelicitation Interviews.” In G. Stanczak (ed.) Visual Research Methods: Image, Society, and Representation. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, pp. 167–196. Collier, J., Jr. and M. Collier (1986) Visual Anthropology (revised and expanded edition). Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Duke Magazine (2003) “Giving Voice Through Photos: Caroline Wang.” Available at: https://dukemagazine. duke.edu/article/caroline-wang-83.January–February [accessed March 15, 2014]. Espiritu, Y. L. (2013) “Panethnicity.” In S. Gold and S. Nawyn (eds) The Routledge International Handbook of Migration Studies. London and New York: Routledge, pp. 239–249. Goffman, E. (1979) Gender A dvertisements. New York: Harper & Row. 593

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Gold, S. (1989) “Ethical Issues in Visual Fieldwork.” In G. Blank, J. L. McCartney, and E. Brent (eds) New Technology in Sociology: Practical Application in Research and Work. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction Books, pp. 99–109. Gold, S. (2002) “The Arab-American community in Detroit, Michigan.” Contexts, 1(2): 48–55. Gold, S. (2015) “Arab American Reflections on Documentary Images of their Community: A PhotoElicitation Study.” Visual Studies 30(3): 228–243, DOI: 10.1080/1472586X.2015.1017348. Published online September 17, 2015. Harper, D. (1987) Working Knowledge: Skill and Community in a Small Shop. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Harper, D. (2002) “Talking about Pictures: A Case for Photo Elicitation.” Visual Studies, 17(1): 13–26. Harper, D. (2012) Visual Sociology. London and New York: Routledge. Isay, D., D. Miller and H. Wang (2003) Milton Rogovin: The Forgotten Ones. New York: The Quantuck Lane Press. Kaplan, E. B. (2013) “We Live in the Shadow”: Inner City Kids Tell Their Stories through Photographs. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Kim, D. Y. (1999) “Beyond Coethnic Solidarity: Mexican and Ecuadorian Employment in KoreanOwned Businesses in New York City.” Racial and Ethnic Studies 22(3): 581–605. Light, I. and S. J. Gold (2000) Ethnic Economies. San Diego, CA: Academic Press. Papademas, D. and the International Visual Sociology Association (2009) “IVSA Code of Research Ethics and Guidelines.” Visual Studies 24(3): 250–257. Pegler-Gordon, A. (2009) In Sight of America: Photography and the Development of US Immigration Policy. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rose, G. (2007) Visual Methodologies (2nd edition). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Rose, G. (2016) “Research Ethics and Visual Materials.” In Visual Methodologies: An Introduction to Researching with Visual Materials (4th edition). Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, pp. 357–372. Shanklin, E. (1979) “When a Good Social Role Is Worth a Thousand Words.” In Jon Wager (ed.) Images of Information: Still Photography in the Social Sciences. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, pp. 139–145. Shryock, A., A. Abraham and S. Howell (2011) “The Terror Decade in Arab Detroit: An Introduction.” In N. Abraham, S. Howell and A. Shryock (eds) Arab Detroit 9/11: Life in the Terror Decade. Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, pp. 1–25. Stasz, C. (1979) “The Early History of Visual Sociology.” In Jon Wager (ed). Images of Information: Still Photography in the Social Sciences. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, pp. 119–136. Suchar, C. S. (1997) “Grounding Visual Sociology Research in Shooting Scripts.” Qualitative Sociology, 20(1): 33–55. Uberti, D. (2015) “How Smartphone Video Changes Coverage of Police Abuse.” Columbia Journalism Review, April 9. Available at: www.cjr.org/analysis/smartphone_video_changes_coverage.php Vergara, C. J. (1997) The New American Ghetto. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Walker, M. A. (2002) “Arab Festival Welcomes Curious Visitors.” Detroit Free Press, 14 June: E 8. Wang, C. and M. A. Burris (1997) “Photovoice: Concept, Methodology and Use for Participatory Needs Assessment.” Health Education and Behavior 24: 369–387.

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46 Comparative methodologies in the study of migration Irene Bloemraad

The very conceptualization of international migration as a field of study rests on a comparison: scholars assume that there is something unique and noteworthy in the experiences of those who migrate compared to those who do not. Moreover, data analysis also rests on comparison, regardless of methodology. An ethnographer, even one studying a specific group of people in a particular setting, constantly compares and contrasts observations. A researcher using data from a thousand survey respondents compares answers using statistical methods. An archival researcher might compare official accounts of a law’s passage to the private letters of those involved. Indeed, comparative migration studies use the full breadth of evidence commonly employed by academic researchers, from in-depth interview data to mass survey responses, and from documentary materials to observations in the field. Comparative studies are thus characterized by their research design and logic of analysis, not by a particular data or methodology. For the purposes of this chapter, “comparative migration research” means the systematic analysis of a relatively small number of cases. “Cases” refer to two distinct aspects of research design. Conceptual cases link a study to research questions and existing academic conversation by identifying the general phenomenon the empirical material represents. It speaks to the question, “What is this a case of?” To carry out actual research, however, you must also choose specific, real-world instances of the conceptual cases. Thus, conceptually, I might be interested how the incorporation of refugees varies when they are resettled by volunteer-based religious institutions or by professionalized, secular nonprofit organizations. I might have theories as to how religion and professionalization affect organizational cultures and activities, which in turn affect refugees. I will then have to pick particular cases, the actual organizations to study. This specific selection carries consequences for data analysis and the conclusions you can draw. The double choice—of conceptual cases, and of specific instantiations of the concepts—makes comparative migration a creative strategy of analytical elaboration using a particular research design.1 In what follows, I first consider why students of migration might want to engage in comparison and when doing so is more costly than helpful. I then examine what migration researchers compare, from groups to time periods. Finally, I examine how to compare. What are the different logics that drive comparative research? Throughout, the discussion is animated by a belief that more studies should employ comparison, but that it must be done with explicit and careful thought to what, how and why we compare. Comparison must have purpose. 595

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Why compare? Comparison is compelling because it reminds us that social phenomena are not fixed or “natural.” Through comparison we can de-center what is taken for granted in a particular time or place: we learn that something was not always so, that it is different elsewhere, or for other people. A well-chosen comparison can challenge conventional wisdom or show how existing academic theories might be wrong. Yet the more things you compare—whether people, immigrant groups, organizations, neighborhoods, cities, countries, or time periods—the more background knowledge you need and the more time and resources you must invest to collect and analyze data. This problem applies across methodologies, from the ethnographer who decides to study two research sites instead of one, to the scholar who wants to survey groups who speak diverse languages. All researchers, but especially students of migration, need to think very hard about why comparison makes sense. Introducing additional comparisons into an immigration research project frequently entails thorny challenges of access and communication, and significant costs in time and money due to the distances involved and the skills needed to study migrant populations. Comparison is not very useful when the goal is merely to “increase the N,” that is, if it is driven by a desire to just expand the number of cases without considering how those cases advance the project. Those doing in-depth interviewing might feel that interviewing 50 migrants is inherently better than interviewing 40. This could be true if the ten additional people represent a particular type of experience or category of individual. The ten people may be a conceptual case of something, which advances an argument. But if the goal is merely to talk to more people to increase confidence in the generalizability of results, additional interviews will contribute little if they are not based on probability sampling.2 Comparison is most productive when it does analytical weight-lifting. A well-chosen comparison allows a researcher to probe alternative accounts for a phenomenon or leverages the researcher’s ability to get at theoretical ideas or build new concepts. For example, in the project that led to the publication of Becoming a Citizen (Bloemraad, 2006), I wanted to study how government policies influence immigrants’ political incorporation. My first comparative choice was to focus on Canada and the United States, countries that are very similar to each other in many ways, but different in their integration and multiculturalism policies. I focused on a particular migrant group that had very similar characteristics and migration trajectories in the two countries, the Portuguese. Comparing the same group cross-nationally served as an analytical strategy to undermine alternative accounts of why immigrants’ citizenship levels in Canada were so much higher than in the United States, such as accounts that focused on the composition of the immigrant populations. It also allowed me to focus on the mechanisms by which government policies trickle down to affect individual immigrants’ decisions about citizenship and political participation.3 In the same project, comparison served a second analytical purpose when I expanded the study to include Vietnamese migrants. Canada and the United States, while alike in many respects, also differ in consequential ways. It was thus difficult to advance the argument that Canadian government support for integration and multiculturalism was a primary determinant of citizenship and political engagement. Critics could reasonably argue that political integration might be driven by a host of other cross-national differences, from welfare policy variation to distinct electoral politics. My nascent argument was that Canadian policies had an effect because they funded community-based organizations, provided services, and advanced symbolic politics of legitimacy. That logic suggested that U.S. migrant groups that received government 596

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assistance—such as official refugees, like the Vietnamese—would resemble the Canadian pattern more. By expanding the comparison to two groups in two countries, I could evaluate whether the mechanisms identified in the first comparison held in a second.4

What to compare? I reserve the term “comparison” for a consciously chosen comparative research design internal to the project. Such comparisons can take a variety of forms, but they all involve a choice about what should be compared. What constitutes a “case”? I discuss three key types of comparisons, roughly ordered from most to least common in studies of migration, and then I consider some additional comparative strategies. Before turning to these examples, however, I flag how single case studies also involve a type of comparison, but not in the analytical sense that I highlight in this chapter. Case studies are often ethnographic, and a fair amount of survey-based research can be considered a “single case” of a particular population living in a specific time and place. Because researchers build on prior research, such ethnographic or survey studies can be “comparative” in contrasting the findings of the study at hand with the research or thinking that has come before. This is especially true when scholars study an immigrant group not investigated before, or when they look at a particular research site—whether a place or type of institution—that does not fit the general pattern. Analytically, such comparison can stretch or modify an existing theory, as Burawoy (1998) recommends in his extended case method. Alternatively, the case can serve as an anomaly that challenges scholarship and generates new theories. Both novice and experienced researchers need to ask the comparative question, “What is the theoretical and substantive edge of my project in relation to others?” This is a question of the external comparative placement of a project vis-à-vis the existing literature.5

Comparing groups of migrants The choice of what to compare is not simply one of choosing a unit of analysis. It is also a theoretical and conceptual choice about what sorts of factors are consequential for an outcome of interest. Traditionally, in the United States, comparative studies contrast different migrant groups in the same geographical location, be it a city or the country as a whole.6 Milton Gordon’s (1964) classic theorizing on assimilation draws on a comparison of four groups distinguished by race and religion: blacks, Puerto Ricans, European-origin Catholics and Jews. Sofya Aptekar’s comparative study (2009) contrasts how white residents of a New Jersey suburb perceive new high-skilled Chinese and Indian migrants. She argues that local processes of racialization portray the less politically visible Chinese as successful but conformist model minorities, while Asian Indians who challenge local politicians and power holders are viewed as invaders and troublemakers. By focusing on immigrant groups, migration researchers in the United States overwhelmingly assume that national origin matters. Thus, Vivian Louie’s (2006) decision to compare the educational aspirations of Dominican and Chinese-origin youth rests on the assumption that national origin (or culture, or homeland economic system, or some other factor for which national origin acts as a proxy) fundamentally matters. Empirically, this assumption often finds support. Thus, Louie’s research reveals that ethnic, pan-ethnic and transnational orientations intermingle to give Dominicans an optimistic view of their social mobility even though most grow up in blighted neighborhoods and their group, on average, has poorer socio-economic outcomes than Chinese-origin youth. More broadly, studying seven ethno-racial groups in 597

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New York City, Kasinitz, Mollenkopf, Waters and Holdaway (2008) report significant differences in the social, political and economic trajectories of second-generation and native-born young adults by ethno-racial background. Even if it turns out that national origin does not matter, this “non-finding” is viewed as important because of the general expectation, among academics or the public, that it should matter. The decision to focus on race, ethnicity or national origin flows from Americans’ longstanding concerns over race and race relations. Comparing groups defined by national origin, ethnicity, or race is “natural” in this context. In France, however, the state—and many researchers—have long rejected race as a social category, a tendency encouraged by the dearth of ethno-racial statistics. Thus, in an analysis of educational outcomes similar in style to the New York studies, Patrick Simon (2003) contrasts educational trajectories of second-generation and native French youth by focusing on social classes as well as ethno-national groups. More recently, some European researchers compare Muslim and non-Muslim immigrants, collapsing together Muslim migrants from South and Southeast Asia, the Middle East and North Africa. Constructing conceptual cases of “Muslim” and “non-Muslim” migrants erases the importance of linguistic, cultural and phenotypical distinctions, and the level of economic development or political strife in the homeland, emphasizing instead the conceptual importance of religious similarity. Comparative migration researchers should be attentive to the cognitive biases of their discipline or society when deciding on what sort of cases to compare. Immigrants can be placed into various conceptual categories, be it by national origin, religion, social class, gender, immigrant generation, legal status or some other socially relevant grouping. A growing body of research compares immigrants based on legal status, documenting how migrants’ lives differ, even if they come from the same country, based on whether they hold citizenship, have permanent residence papers or are undocumented. The conceptualization of groups should be theoretically motivated. Thus, while many large N demographic or survey studies control for gender, few theorize this category, and they are not analytically comparative in a case-oriented way. In contrast, Cecilia Menjívar’s (2000) field research comparing the settlement experiences and use of social networks of Salvadoran migrant men and women in San Francisco links their distinctive experiences to gender norms and economic structures. When done well, comparative researchers explain how a particular categorization (male/female; legal/illegal) represents a series of social, economic, cultural or political processes that produce different experiences and outcomes between groups of people.

Geographic comparisons: nations, cities, towns and other places We find a stronger tradition of cross-national migration studies outside the United States. Researchers usually examine how differences in countries’ laws, policies, economic systems, social institutions and national ideologies affect migration outcomes. An early and influential study in this “national models” tradition is Rogers Brubaker’s (1992) comparison of citizenship laws in France and Germany. Legal differences made it easier for immigrants and their children to become French nationals than German citizens, which Brubaker traces back to centurieslong processes of state-building and nation formation. Other researchers ground their crossnational studies in the notion of political or discursive opportunity structures, an idea taken from social movement theorizing. In this vein, Koopmans, Statham, Giugni and Passy (2005) differentiate five European countries by their relative position on mono- or multicultural group rights and civic or ethnic citizenship. Countries’ placement on these dimensions then drives explanations for immigrants’ claims-making and the mobilization of native-born groups sympathetic or hostile to immigrants. 598

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The greater emphasis on cross-national comparison, especially by those studying Europe, probably lies in the closer proximity of European countries to each other and greater familiarity with an international literature. Many scholars outside the United States regularly read scholarship produced in the United States, as well as in their own country, leading to comparative questions about the importance of place. The European Union and related European bodies have also provided significant funding for cross-national research teams, spurring geographic comparisons. In recent years, more researchers include the United States as a case comparison. Some early comparisons were done by scholars working outside the United States, such as Jeffrey Reitz’s (1998) assessment of immigrants’ economic fortunes in the United States, Canada and Australia or Christian Joppke’s (1999) analysis of sovereignty and citizenship ideologies in the United States, Germany and the United Kingdom. More recently, American scholars Richard Alba and Nancy Foner (2015) compare disadvantaged immigrants across four West European countries, the United States and Canada to evaluate their employment, where they live, who they marry and how their children do in school. They conclude that there is no “grand,” simple narrative as to which societies succeed best at immigrant incorporation. Such cross-national comparisons also help scholars evaluate whether theories developed in the United States can be generalized, or whether they are instances of American exceptionalism. An important caution, however, is necessary: researchers need to be sensitive to the danger of trying to compare places so dissimilar that they reap few benefits from the comparative enterprise.7 Geographic comparisons offer a quite different understanding of migration dynamics and outcomes than migrant group comparisons. Because the group approach contrasts immigrants, collectively and individually, such studies tend to highlight the importance of specific immigrant attributes (e.g. immigrants’ culture, minority status), or the interaction of immigrant attributes with the local environment (e.g., the racialization of certain groups). In cross-national comparisons, the characteristics and agency of immigrants are secondary to the overwhelming constraints of macro-level forces (e.g., receiving nations’ culture, laws around citizenship, the structure of the education system). The upshot of many cross-national studies is that the societies in which immigrants reside have as much, or even more, influence on migration and immigrant incorporation than the characteristics of those who move. Spatial comparisons have long privileged the nation-state as the key unit of analysis. This focus has been challenged by transnational scholars and, increasingly, by those who study subnational places, usually cities, but also regions, provinces/states and neighborhoods. A dynamic frontier in comparative migration is the comparison of immigrant-receiving cities and towns.8 In Europe, theoretical and empirical interest in cities has been fed by dissatisfaction with national models that view all places in a country as homogeneous instances of the same paradigm. Immigrants’ lives are very different in Berlin as compared to a small town in Bavaria, despite their common location in Germany. Nina Glick Schiller and Ayse Çalar (2009) have theorized a localities approach to migration that focuses on post-industrial restructuring. The work of Rafaela Dancygier (2010) suggests that within the United Kingdom, conflict over immigration varies significantly depending on economic scarcity in a city and the level of immigrant electoral power. In the United States, interest in local comparisons has been fueled by the phenomenon of exploding municipal and state legislation—pro- and anti-immigrant—in the face of failed federal immigration reforms (Varsanyi 2010). Immigrants living in relatively progressive San Francisco face different obstacles and opportunities from those in Hazelton, Pennsylvania, the site of a contentious legal battle over local ordinances targeting undocumented migrants. Conceptualization of place can replicate established geo-political borders because these matter 599

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for delineating political jurisdictions with decision-making powers over residents. But places can also be defined conceptually as types of locales based on culture, social relations and the economy, such as in comparisons of immigrants’ experiences in traditional urban gateway cities, new metropolitan destinations, diversifying suburbs, or rural destinations in the U.S. South and Midwest (Singer, Hardwick and Brettell 2008; de Graauw, Gleeson and Bloemraad 2013). “Suburbs” become a type of place, and a “case” for comparative research.

Comparison across time Temporal comparisons are rarer in migration studies. Historians at times speak to current issues to frame a historical study; social scientists might provide a rapid “background” to a particular migrant group or place before plunging into a contemporary research study. Few attempt a sustained comparison of how dynamics “then” replicate or differ from dynamics “now.”9 The paucity of temporal comparison is unfortunate since public debate over immigration— especially in the United States, but also in other countries—poses explicit or implicit questions over whether today’s immigrants are “better” than those in the past. Are they integrating more quickly or more slowly? Do they possess more or less human and financial capital than prior waves? Speaking directly to such questions, Nancy Foner (2000) engages in a sustained analysis of the educational outcomes, occupations, ethnic enclaves, race and gender dynamics of New York’s earlier Jewish and Italian migrants as compared to contemporary New Yorkers from a large number of countries. Similarly, Joel Perlmann (2005) uses statistical analysis to compare the socio-economic trajectories of low-skilled European migrants who arrived at the turn of the 20th century to recent generations of Mexican migrants. Both accounts offer cautiously optimistic assessments of the fate of contemporary immigrants in the United States.

Other comparisons: organizations and institutions Comparing groups of migrants, places and time periods does not exhaust the comparisons available to migration scholars. There are a host of meso-level organizations and institutions that can be compared, such as civic groups, schools, churches, unions, businesses and so forth. For example, Angie Chung (2007) compares two community-based groups in Los Angeles that have different organizational structures and alliance strategies in the Korean community. Daniel Faas (2010) investigates the political identities of Turkish minority and ethnic majority students in two university-track and two vocational schools in Germany and Great Britain, focusing on how educational goals at the European, national and regional levels influence instruction and identities on the ground. Faas’s study (2010) is an example of how migration scholars are increasingly combining comparative strategies. He varies both the country and the type of school, allowing him to nuance simple categorizations of “German” or “British” educational institutions. A common multiple comparison examines a few migrant groups in a few carefully chosen countries. These studies follow what Nancy Green (1994) calls a “divergent” comparison model, or what I label a “quasiexperimental” approach (Bloemraad 2006). This strategy is particularly effective in disentangling the relative importance of immigrant characteristics, societal influences and the intersection between the two. Is there a “Chinese” pattern to immigrant settlement, regardless of destination country, or do similarities due to national origin become negligible when we take into account the receiving society? If Chinese settlement in two places is compared to Indian settlement in the same destinations, what stands out: similarities between groups in the same place, or between members of the same group in different places? Or is such a neat distinction impossible? 600

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Other more complex comparative strategies are also possible. Leveraging comparisons across time, racial groups, citizenship status, cities and regions, Cybelle Fox (2012) uses an array of historical data to argue that European immigrants were provided with more generous public assistance than black or Mexican American citizens, even when white immigrants were noncitizens. Complex comparisons promise substantial pay-offs if done well, but they are difficult to carry out. The individual researcher quickly becomes overwhelmed by data collection and analysis. Team-based projects alleviate some of these problems, but they bring new challenges, such as the need for careful planning to collect comparable evidence and for compromise among partners in identifying and explaining key findings.

Unanticipated comparisons and surprising findings Research often takes unanticipated turns or runs into dead-ends. Sometimes the comparative cases of analytical importance turn out to be different from the ones originally envisioned. In Cinzia Solari’s (2006) study of Russian-speaking immigrant homecare workers, she expected that their different understandings of carework—as a matter of professionalism or sainthood—would be gendered. Instead, she found that an institutional comparison better explained migrants’ discursive strategies: Jewish migrants, whether men or women, were taught a professional orientation by a longstanding Jewish refugee resettlement agency; Russian Orthodox migrants, both men and women, relied on more haphazard networks that privileged a saintly view of carework. Null findings are also important, although they are disconcerting for the researcher who thought hard about analytically informed cases. In his study of third- and fourth-generation Mexican Americans’ ethnic identity, Tomás Jiménez (2010) selected two U.S. towns based on their experience with continuous or interrupted Mexican migration. He expected that these different histories would matter. He found instead that large-scale new migration generated similar experiences and attitudes in both places. While not what he expected, this finding led Jiménez to identify how new migration can “replenish” the ethnicity of those with generations of history in the United States, regardless of place.

How to compare The choice of how to compare is analytically distinct from decisions about what to compare. What to compare involves decisions about the general class of “cases” in the project: are we interested in migrant groups, immigrant-receiving countries, both, or something else? Such decisions are also conceptual and theoretical since they privilege one level of analysis over another and they shape the sort of explanations that flow from a project. How to compare involves decisions about which specific cases one chooses: Kenyan migrants or Peruvians? Amsterdam or San Francisco? Such decisions are also choices about the comparative logics that will drive the analysis and the type of conversation the researcher wants to have with existing theory. Practicalities—including constraints on money, time, the researcher’s ability to speak certain languages and other factors—often means that choices over “what sort” of cases and “which specific” cases intersect. Nonetheless, good comparative designs rest on smart choices about comparative logics.

Most-similar comparative designs Here the researcher chooses specific cases that are very similar in a number of critical respects. The comparison of two or more similar cases allows the researcher to probe whether specific 601

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variations produce consequential divergences.10 Most-similar comparative designs often set up a quasi-experimental logic: given that all else is the same, what is the effect of a particular difference on the outcome of interest? This logic drove my comparison of immigrant political incorporation in Canada and the United States (Bloemraad 2006), and can be applied to comparison of places, groups, organizations and other cases. The persuasiveness of such designs rests on readers agreeing with the similarity between the cases, and that the consequential difference highlighted by the researcher is indeed the critical factor driving dissimilar outcomes.

Most-different comparative designs In these designs, a researcher purposely chooses diametrically opposing cases that vary from each other on a series of characteristics. Such case selection can serve two distinct purposes, based on different comparative logics. One logic builds on Mill’s method of similarity. When a number of cases are very different, but produce a similar outcome, this outcome can be explained by identifying the key factor shared across the dissimilar cases. Few migration scholars adopt this strategy, perhaps because of a bias within academia to explaining discrepant, rather than similar, outcomes. “Most-different” designs can nonetheless be fruitful. Although such a strategy was not his initial goal, elements of this logic are embedded in Jiménez’s (2010) work: despite very different histories, locations and economies, later generation Latinos living in two very different towns had very similar experiences due to recent Mexican migration. “Most-different” logics are also found in arguments about how human rights norms and supranational structures generate similar postnational citizenship practices across diverse countries (Soysal 1994). Other scholars employ most-different cases as manifestations of Weberian ideal types. Brubaker’s (1992) comparison of German and French citizenship is one of the most self-conscious examples of this strategy within migration studies. France and Germany become ideal types for two sorts of immigrant-receiving countries, those with “civic” notions of nationality compared to those with “ethnic” understandings of membership. The logic of ideal-type comparison can also be applied to migrant groups, meso-level institutions and other comparisons.

Comparison as a conceptual spectrum of cases Cases can also be chosen because they fit categories in a typology. In these research designs, a scholar identifies two or three characteristics presumed to be important for explaining an outcome or phenomenon. Cases are selected based on those characteristics, and comparisons between cases speak to the importance of the underlying characteristics. Thus, Koopmans and colleagues (2005) view the Netherlands as a civic, multicultural country and France as a civic but monocultural nation. Both countries are distinguished from ethnic, monocultural Germany. Placement within this conceptual grid subsequently explains variations in immigration claims-making. This method of case selection can be extended to choices over which migrant groups to study or other units of analysis. According to a model of segmented assimilation, immigrants’ incorporation varies by government policy toward the group, a group’s racial minority status, and the group’s social, human and financial capital (Portes and Zhou 1993). A full evaluation of this model would thus entail choosing and comparing groups that vary along each of these key dimensions. The typology approach sits between a variable-oriented and a Weberian method of analysis. By identifying characteristics that inform the placement of cases into a typology, the researcher privileges key variables—such as government policy or social capital—over an understanding of the case as a holistic entity. Thus, for some researchers, the variable itself—its absence or presence, whether it is high, medium or low—becomes the core theoretical thrust of the research; 602

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the case serves as an illustration. For other researchers, however, the overlap of two or three key characteristics cannot be disentangled or isolated. Rather, the intersection of the characteristics creates unique configurations that render the cases conceptually distinct from each other.11 Understood in this more holistic way, the case remains primary, and the analysis fits more closely to the Weberian ideal-type model.

In conclusion Not all migration research needs to be self-consciously built on a comparative research design. Even projects that are not explicitly comparative contain comparative elements through a scholar’s engagement with the existing literature, the process of data analysis, and even in the very identification of migration as a subject of research. Each additional comparison in a project carries costs in time, resources and effort for data collection and analysis, and added complexity in writing about all the moving parts of a project. Comparison is not always the best way forward. Nevertheless, explicitly comparative research designs offer significant advantages. Comparison makes most sense when it contributes directly to theory development, evaluation or elaboration of an evolving argument. It does not privilege any particular type of data; observational, interview, archival and statistical studies can all be comparative. Importantly, comparative studies can challenge accepted and conventional wisdoms, and lead to innovative new thinking. Doing comparative migration research demands careful attention to what sorts of cases will be compared and critical choices over which specific cases will drive the analysis. These choices are not self-evident. Rather, they entail theoretical and conceptual decisions about level of analysis, comparative logics and the particular lens one brings to migration research. This makes comparative research challenging, but it also makes it a highly creative, and fruitful, endeavor.

Notes 1 There is an extensive literature debating the merits of “small-N” (a few cases) and “large-N” (many cases) comparative studies that I cannot cover. I include large-scale statistical studies in this chapter if the primary level of analysis goes beyond individual-level comparisons and is done in the spirit of a “caseoriented” approach to theory rather than a “variable-oriented” logic that assumes the independence of explanatory variables. For an important, early formulation of the distinction between case-oriented and variable-oriented comparative research, see Ragin (1987). 2 If a researcher uses a probability sample, increasing the number of cases can improve the precision of estimates generalizable to a larger population and reduce error around coefficient estimates in inferential modeling. If cases are not chosen using random selection, as often happens with in-depth interviewing, increasing the sample from 40 to 50 has no effect on the statistical generalizability of results. For a related discussion on problematic reasons to “increase your N,” see Small (2009). 3 I draw on this personal example, and the other examples below, because I know the studies well. These examples are far from exhaustive of the excellent comparative migration research that exists; other scholars will identify different exemplars of best practices. 4 For a more extensive account on the choices and challenges of putting together this project, see Bloemraad (2012). 5 Migration research that adopts a transnational approach—viewing migration as occurring in social fields that span places—also usually falls outside of the comparative design logic. Transnational work aims to erase hard-set divisions between here and there, melding two geographic locations into one social field. This is analogous to a single case study. Only a handful of transnational studies compare two or more transnational fields in the comparative sense here. This is what Wendy Roth (2012) did while researching identity formation among migrants and non-migrants in the US-Puerto Rico and US-Dominican Republic transnational social fields. 6 For example, Eric Fong and Elic Chan’s (2008) statistical review of published immigration research between 1990 and 2004 finds that only 14 percent of studies conducted by U.S. researchers focused 603

Irene Bloemraad

7

8

9 10 11

on immigrants in general, while 86 percent focused on particular groups. In comparison, 44 percent of publications by Canadian scholars examined immigrants in general, with only 56 percent centered on specific groups. For example, Joppke (1999) concludes that differences in citizenship and immigrant integration are so large between the United States, Germany and the United Kingdom in the 1990s that it is impossible to draw general lessons beyond the observation that national particularities matter and multiculturalism affects all liberal Western states. In one sense, a focus on cities is not new. Certain U.S. cities, especially Chicago and New York, have generated an enormous volume of influential research over the past century. Beyond the United States, Saskia Sassen (1991) elaborated an early argument for the specificity of global cities, especially their migrant-attracting labor market structures.This research was not, however, focused on comparing cities in order to understand how migration and integration dynamics vary between them; instead, the city became a generalizable case. On historians reluctance to engage in comparison, and a call for that to change, see Green (1994). Przeworski and Teune (1970) first made this influential distinction between comparing “most similar” and “most different” systems in comparative research. This in turn influenced analytical strategies of causal inference using Mill’s method of difference and similarity (Skocpol and Somers 1980). See, for example, Fox (2012). This is the same line of reasoning used by theorists of intersectionality: understanding the experiences of the conceptual category “black women” is not just about putting together “black” experiences and “female” experiences in additive fashion. Rather, black women’s experiences are conceptually and qualitatively different from those of black men or white women.

References Alba, R. and Foner, N. (2015). Strangers no more: immigration and the challenges of integration in North America and Western Europe. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Aptekar, S. (2009). Organizational life and political incorporation of two Asian immigrant groups: a case study. Ethnic and Racial Studies 32(9), pp. 1511–1533. Bloemraad, I. (2012). What the textbooks don’t tell you: moving from a research puzzle to published findings. In: C. Vargas-Silva (ed.), Handbook of Research Methods in Migration. Cheltenham, UK: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 502–520. Bloemraad, I. (2006). Becoming a citizen: incorporating immigrants and refugees in the United States and Canada. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Brubaker, R. (1992). Citizenship and nationhood in France and Germany. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Burawoy, M. (1998). The extended case method. Sociological Theory 16(1), pp. 4–33. Chung, A. (2007). Legacies of struggle: conflict and cooperation in Korean American politics. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Dancygier, R. (2010). Immigration and conflict in Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. de Graauw, E., Gleeson, S., and Bloemraad, I. (2013). Funding immigrant organizations: suburban freeriding and local civic presence. American Journal of Sociology 119(1), pp. 75–130. Faas, D. (2010). Negotiating political identities: multiethnic schools and youth in Europe. Farnham, UK: Ashgate Publishing. Foner, N. (2000). From Ellis Island to JFK: New York’s two great waves of immigration. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Fong, E. and Chan, E. (2008). An account of immigration studies in the United States and Canada, 1990–2004. Sociological Quarterly 49, pp. 483–502. Fox, C. (2012). Three worlds of relief: race, immigration, and the American welfare state, from the progressive era to the new deal. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Glick Schiller, N. and Çalar, A. (2009). Towards a comparative theory of locality in migration studies: migrant incorporation and city scale. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 35(2), pp. 177–202. Gordon, M. (1964). Assimilation in American life: the role of race, religion and national origins. New York: Oxford University Press. Green, N. (1994). The comparative method and poststructural structuralism: new perspectives for migration studies. Journal of American Ethnic History 13(4), pp. 3–22. Jiménez, T. (2010). Replenished ethnicity: Mexican Americans, immigration, and identity. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. 604

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Joppke, C. (1999). Immigration and the nation-state: the United States, Germany, and Great Britain. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kasinitz, P., Mollenkopf, J., Waters, M. and Holdaway, J. (2008). Inheriting the city: the children of immigrants come of age. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. Koopmans, R., Statham, P., Giugni, M. and Passy, F. (2005). Contested citizenship: immigration and cultural diversity in Europe. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Louie, V. (2006). Second generation pessimism and optimism: how Chinese and Dominicans understand education and mobility through ethnic and transnational orientations. International Migration Review 40(3), pp. 537–572. Menjívar, C. (2000). Fragmented ties: Salvadoran immigrant networks in America. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Perlmann, J. (2005). Italians then, Mexicans now: immigrant origins and second-generation progress, 1890–2000. New York: Russell Sage Foundation Press. Portes, A. and Zhou, M. (1993). The new second generation: segmented assimilation and its variants. Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 530, pp. 74–96. Przeworski, A. and Teune, H. (1970). The logic of comparative social inquiry. New York: John Wiley Publishing. Ragin, C. (1987). The comparative method: moving beyond qualitative and quantitative strategies. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Reitz, J. (1998). Warmth of the welcome: the social causes of economic success for immigrants in different nations and cities. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Roth, W. (2012). Race migrations: Latinos and the cultural transformation of race. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press. Sassen, S. (1991). The global city: New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Simon, Patrick. (2003). France and the unknown second generation: preliminary results on social mobility. International Migration Review 37(4), pp. 1091–1119. Singer, A., Hardwick, S. and Brettell, C. (2008). Twenty-first century gateways: immigrant incorporation in suburban America. Washington, DC: Brookings Institution Press. Skocpol, T. and Somers, M. (1980). The uses of comparative history in macrosocial inquiry. Comparative Studies in Society and History 22(2), pp. 174–197. Small, M. (2009). “How many cases do I need?” On science and the logic of case selection in field based research. Ethnography 10(1), pp. 5–38. Solari, C. (2006). Professionals and saints: how immigrant careworkers negotiate gendered identities at work. Gender & Society 20, pp. 301–331. Soysal, Y. (1994). Limits of citizenship: migrants and postnational membership in Europe. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Varsanyi, M. (ed.) (2010). Taking local control: immigration policy activism in U.S. cities and states. Palo Alto, CA: Stanford University Press.

605

Index

Note: References in italics are to figures, those in bold to tables; ’n’ refers to chapter notes. Abdi, C. 302 Abrego, L. J. 378 Acadians 92, 97n4 acculturation 19, 20; group and individual 20–21; psychological acculturation 21–30 Adelman, A. 376 adoption see transnational adoption Adri, N. 128 Afghanistan 60, 82, 91, 94, 294, 298, 300, 301, 531 African migration 48, 489; beginnings 45, 68–69; brain drain 452; colonial migration 73–75; forced migration 46–47, 71–72, 74, 249; and international adoption 353; kinship alliances 267; MAFE study 558; other pre-colonial movement 72–73; out of Africa 76–77, 416; role of religion 282–283, 285, 286; trading networks 70; Trans-Saharan movement 69–70; within Africa since independence 75–76 African Union 97n9 Agamben, G. 85, 86–87 age: forced migrants 82; psychological acculturation 22, 23–24; refugees 104, 107, 284, 531; risk of trafficking 189, 190 Ager, A. 285 Ager, J. 285 agriculture: Asia 59; seasonal migrants 35, 181–182; settlement 48–49; and theories of migration 5, 10; unskilled migrant labor 181–182 Akiba, T. 420 Alaska Native communities 120, 125–126 Alba, R. 599 Aleinikoff, T. A. 403 Alesina, A. 462, 464 Algeria 75, 77 Almey, M. 333 Amerasia (journal) 249, 250, 251 American Community Survey 318n2 Americas, migration history: 1492–1776, conquest, coercion and colonization 46–47,

606

71–72; 1776–1940, nation states, settlers and labor migrants 47–51; contemporary refugees, exiles, and job-seekers 51–54; peopling of the Americas 45–46 Amin, I. 76, 527 Amparo, González-Ferrer 524 Anderson, J. 517 Ang, I. 426 Angola 76 Appadurai, A. 501 Aptekar, S. 400, 401, 597 Arab-Israeli conflict 111–112 Arakan Rohingya Salvation Army (ARSA) 213 Arar, R. 79 Arendt, H. 87, 100, 104, 295 Argentina 48, 50, 51, 52, 53, 409–410, 452, 558 Aronson, Joshua J. 318n10 Arpaio, Joe 475 Asian migration history 56; 1840–1940, creation of Asia 62–64; early human movement 56–58; early modern mobility 61–62; Eurasian exchange 59–61; linguistic groupings 57–58; North Asian system 63; population groupings 57–58; into the present 64–65; return migration 63; Southeast Asian system 62; states, agriculture and armies 58–59; transatlantic system 62 Asian migrations and national community 366, 416, 416–417; China 422, 424–425; diversity and multiculturalism 418–422; Hong Kong and Singapore 418, 420–421; Japan and South Korea 418–420; national identity, deterritorialization and transnationalism 425–427; naturalization 398; state–diaspora relations 423–425; superdiversity 417–418; supermobility 417; Taiwan 422 Asis, Maruja, M. B. 530 Assad, Bashar al- 113 assimilation 157–158, 201, 334, 335–336, 398–401, 434, 467; segmented assimilation theory 202; and transnationalism 504, 505

Index

Aston, J. 586 asylum seekers 52, 53, 79, 87; co-construction of state and statelessness 100–101; durability 103, 104; first country asylum 84, 87–88, 99–100, 103, 105n1; in Germany 115, 300, 329, 384, 405; legal basis 99; mandatory detention 384; refugee status 85, 99, 101–102; safe asylum 102; and sexual identity 238; unaccompanied children 101, 104 Australia: asylum seekers 384; foreign-born population 460; immigration restrictions 49; language skills training 330; naturalization 396, 397, 411n1; refugees 85, 284 Austria 396, 410 Austronesian speakers 57–58 authoritarianism 220 autochthony 247–252 Baldassar, L. 447 Balderrama, F. E. 527 Baldwin-Edwards, M. 407 Balibar, É. 254 Balkans conflicts 299 Bangladesh 128, 213, 450 Bangladesh Environment and Migration Survey (BEMS) 559 Banks, M. 584–585 Bankston III, C. L. 546 Bantu people 68–69 Barre, M. S. 300 Barrios, L. 513, 517, 519 Basch, L. 425–426, 500, 501 Bateson, G. 583 Bauböck, R. 403, 409, 447 Bauman, Z. 83 Bean, F. D. 345 Beauchamp, T. 242–243 Beauchemin, C. 553, 554 Becker, H. S. 582, 583, 588, 589 Belgium 396, 397 Bell, M. E. 122 Ben Gurion, D. 111 Benhabib, S. 228–229 Berg, B. L. 567, 570 Berg, E. 191 Berger, J. 583 Berlin, I. 316 Bessière, C. 308 Bhagwati, J. 166 Biafran War 76 Billig, M. 206 Bilsborrow, R. E. 553, 559 Blanc, C. S. 500 Bloch, A. 375 Bloemraad, I. 404–405 Blunkett, D. 207

Boas, F. 319n12 Boehm, D. A. 515, 519 Bonacich, E. 154 Bonilla-Silva, E. 341–342 Booth, C. 566 Borjas, G. J. 5, 6 Bosworth, M. 385 Bourdieu, P. 314, 583 Boyd, M. 333 Brady, D. 463 brain drain 5, 10, 166–167, 452–453, 528 Brazil: deported persons 387, 513, 514, 515; immigration 46, 47, 48, 49, 51, 52; international adoption 357; labor migrants 53, 527; slavery 47, 48, 71 Brennan, D. 190, 241 Breton, R. 274 Breyer, J. 144–145 Briggs Jr., V. M. 137 Briggs, L. 352 Brinkmann, S. 570 Britain see United Kingdom British East India Company 526 British Empire 490 Brotherton, D. C. 513, 517, 519 Brubaker, R. 598, 602 Brubaker, W. 401, 403 Brumfield, J. 586 Brusle, T. 586 Buchanan, P. 475 Buddhism 60 Burawoy, M. 588 Burgoon, B. 137, 463 Burkhardt, C. 463 Burkina Faso 74 Burundi 100, 103 Bush, R. 109 Çalar, A. 599 Cambodia 87, 94, 97n8, 356 Canada: African immigrants 77; Asian Canadians 268, 526; bilingualism 51; border policies 50; census 539–540, 548; CIC settlement policies 328; deportation 527; emigrants 416, 530; immigration 48, 52, 303, 327, 460, 491, 528, 530; immigration restrictions 49, 53, 329; indigenous peoples 48; language skills 328, 330, 332, 333, 334; National Household Survey (NHS) 540, 549; naturalization 395, 396, 397, 404–405, 410; race and prejudice 250, 525; refugees 326–327; role of religion 286; seasonal migrants 49, 528; youth delinquency 475 Cantú, L. 229, 236–237, 239 Cao, X. 333 Cardoso, J. B. 518 care work 182–183, 227

607

Index

Caribbean 39, 41, 46, 47, 48, 51, 71 Carol, S. 347 Carter, M. 532–533n1 Castells, M. 81, 83 Castles, S. 82, 83, 84, 87, 107, 110, 407 CBPR (community-based participatory research) 559–562 census analysis 537, 539–540; census accuracy and coverage 543–544; controversies and inadequacies 547–548; data, questions, issues 540–542; emigration 545–546; gaps 546–547; internal migration 544; international migration 542–543; national censuses 539; public policy 549; reengineering and/or harmonizing censuses 548–549; unauthorized migration and immigration status 545 Central African Republic 79, 91 Central Asia 58, 59, 60–61 Chan, E. 603–604n6 Chao, X. 333 Chaudhary, A. R. 157–158 Chávez, L. 476 children: Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals 369, 370, 436, 442, 478; displaced children 104, 107, 284, 531; interviewing children 573; unaccompanied children 101, 104; see also transnational adoption Chile 48, 360 China: census 539, 540, 541, 544; communism 93, 94–95; diasporas 49, 422, 424–425, 426–427, 489; internal migration 544; international adoption 353, 354, 356; labor migrants 525, 526; migration 48, 49, 63, 64, 65, 421; remittances and investments 450, 453; return migrants 526, 528; risk of trafficking 191, 195; role of religion 283, 287, 290; settlement 61–62; and Taiwan 422 China International Migration Project (CIMP) 559 Chiswick, B. R. 6 Christensen, K. 227 Christianity 60 Christou, A. 447, 527 Chu, J. Y. 283 Chua, A. 307, 313 Chuang, J. 189 Chung, A. 600 Churchill, W. 93 circular migration 166, 181 citizenship 124, 296–297, 394–395; ceremonies 394, 401; dual citizenship 167, 455, 540; extraterritorial citizenship 454–455; and gender 228–229; laws 298; monolingual linguistic citizenship 327–329, 334–335; tests 208, 399; transnational citizenship 409–410; see also statelessness Civil Rights Movement 40 civil wars and border change 299 Clark-Ibáñez, M. 588 608

Clark, K. 326 climate change 102, 112, 119–129, 383; and human migration 119–120; amplified and uneven flows, people on the move 126–127; coastal Alaska and Native communities 125–126; continued vulnerability, environmental migration and growth of slums 127–128; measuring challenges 121–123; small islands, Tuvalu and Kiribati 123–125; terminology 120; who is affected 123–126 Clinton, B. 532 Clinton, H. 148, 472 Cohn, D. 375 Cold War 40, 51, 147, 354, 373, 410, 448, 491 Coleman, J. S. 274–275 Collier, J., Jr. 587 Colombia 353, 452, 540, 558 colonization and colonialism 246–247, 255–256, 526; Africa 73–75; Americas 46–47; diasporas 490; Europe 33, 35–36, 48; migrants as colonizers 246, 247, 248, 249, 251; nationalization 247, 251; territorialization 246–247 Comaroff, J. and J. L. 247–248 communism 93, 94–95 community and group identity 259–260, 273; black and Asian journeys 306–317; ethnicity from community perspective 272–280; panethnicity 261–269; refugees and statelessness 294–303; religion 282–290 community-based participatory research (CBPR) 559–562 Comoros 450 comparative methodologies 538, 595; comparing groups of migrants 597–598; comparison across time 600; comparison as conceptual spectrum of cases 602–603; geographic comparisons 598–600; how to compare 601–603; mostdifferent comparative designs 602; most-similar comparative designs 601–602; organizations and institutions 600–601; unanticipated comparisons and surprising findings 601; what to compare 597–601; why compare 596–597 Congo 74, 76, 91, 299, 558 Constant, A. 524 constrict hypothesis 463 construction industry 182, 185n10 Convention of the Status of Stateless Persons (1954) 297, 298 Convention on the Status of Refugees (1951) 105n1 Cook-Martin, D. 409–410 coolification 48, 525–526, 527, 532–533n1 Cornelius, W. A. 576 Corrigan, O. 465 corvée labor 59 Côte d’Ivoire 70, 72, 74, 75, 76 Coutin, S. B. 401, 516, 517, 519 Cranford, C. J. 229

Index

Crepaz, M. M. L. 464 criminalization of immigration in the U.S. 367, 472; Alien Transfer and Exit Program (ATEP) 478; American Immigration Council (2018) 478; California Proposition 187 477; Consequence Delivery System (CDS) 478; crimmigration and the immigration industrial complex 476–479; Department of Homeland Security (DHS) 477; Dillingham Commission (1911) 473; Industrial Commission (1901) 473; National Crime Victimization Survey 473; National Security Entry-Exit Registration (NSEERS) program 477; Operation Endgame 477, 478; Operation Gatekeeper 476; Operation Streamline 477, 478; Operation Wetback (1954) 476; Palmer Raids (1919–1920) 476; Postville, Iowa 477, 478; public perceptions and empirical realities 472–475; Secure Borders Initiative (SBI) 477, 478; Wickersham Commission (1931) 473; see also detention and deportation in the U.S. cross-community approach to migration 32–33, 34 Crumley, C. 123 Cuba and Cubans: brain drain 452; immigration 48; refugees 94; transculturation 51; in the United States 263, 264, 266, 373, 399, 474, 589 cultural sensitivity 567–568, 575–577 culture 307–308, 314, 317, 319n12 “culture shock” 27 Cummins, J. 331 cumulative causation theory 4, 10–11, 507 Curtis, J. W. 398 Cyprus 410 Czech Republic 216 Dahinden, J. 169–170 Dancygier, R. 599 Dawson, M. C. 262 de Certeau, M. 87 De Genova, N. P. 379 deaths of migrants 91, 238, 284 Debs, E. 139, 141 decolonization 40, 43, 448 Deng Xiaoping 424 Denmark 384, 396, 464, 572 Denton, N. 311 deportation 38, 92, 104, 191, 240, 287, 367, 375–376, 389, 394, 395, 399, 479, 484, 532, 584; mass 34, 217, 219, 476; fear of 182, 288, 436; consequences after 366, 382, 386–388, 512–520; see also detention and deportation; (re) integration after deportation Derwing, T. M. 333 Desai, B. 149 detention across the globe 383–384 detention and deportation in the U.S. 242, 366, 382, 399, 477, 478–480; collateral consequences

385–386; consequences of deportation 386–388; Corrections Corporation of America 479; detention as punitive experience 384–385; GEO 384, 479; history 383–384; Immigration and Customs Enforcement 287, 384, 478, 479; racialized origins of law enforcement 383; research 384–386; Secure Communities program 478 deterritorialization 426–427 Dhingra, P. 161 diasporas 484; approaches to the study 487–488; Chinese 49, 422, 424–425, 426–427, 489; cultural background 493–494; definitions 202, 487; historical backgrounds 488–493; incipient diasporas 492–493; Indian 168–169, 172; modern diasporas 490–492; old diasporas 488–490; political culture 495–496; social background 494–495; state–diaspora relations in Asia 423–425 Dingeman-Cerda, K. 517, 519 displacement 76, 77, 79–80, 82, 92–94, 104, 107, 114, 115, 531; children 104, 107, 284, 531; internally displaced persons 82, 105n1, 298, 300; see also refugees; statelessness Dobrowolsky, A. 229 domestic and care work services 182–183, 193, 227 Dominican Republic: ethnicity 267; Haitians 217, 299; reintegration 388, 513–514, 517; surveys 558, 561–562; women 240, 241 Donato, K. M. 226, 230 Dorais, L. J. 286 Dore-Cabral, C. 266 Down, J. L. 312 Dreby, J. 376 Dua, E. 250, 251, 254 dual labor market theory 3, 8–9 Dublin Convention 84, 87–88 DuBois, W. E. B. 566 Duke Magazine 588 Dumbrava, C. 149, 411n8 Dunbar, Jr. C. 571 Durand, J. 557 Ebaugh, H. R. 283 economic factors 133–135; exploitation and human trafficking 188–196; high-skilled migration 164–173; immigrant and ethnic entrepreneurship 153–161; the informal economy 178–185; unions and immigrants 137–150 economic perspectives 1, 3–4; initiating forces of migration 4–9; migrant remittances 11–15, 13, 14, 15; neoclassical theories of migration 3, 4–6, 7; new economics of labor migration 3, 6–8, 12; segmented labor market theory 8–9; selfperpetuating mechanisms of migration 9–11 609

Index

Eder, D. 573 education and immigration 366; diversity policies 26; gender and success 228, 438–439; historical and intellectual development 431–434; main critiques 439–440; major claims and developments 434–439; psychological acculturation 23; and undocumented status 378; continued relevance 440–441; future developments 441–442 education and risk of trafficking 190 Eger, M. A. 463 Eghdamian, K. 287 Egypt 112, 450, 559 El-Hinnawi, E. 119 El Salvador: census 540; deportees 387, 513, 514, 515, 516, 517–518; migrants 373, 374, 480 emigration and the sending state 336–337, 446–447, 449; development and migration 449–452; extraterritorial citizenship 454–455; historical overview 447–449; human capital flight and circulation 452–453; political exiles 453–454; remittance flows 449, 449–452; voting rights 454 entrepreneurship 134, 153; and assimilation 157–158; benefits of 156–157; defined 153; ethnic economy 154–155, 156; ethnic enclave economies 155–156; ethnic entrepreneurial niches 155; franchise entrepreneurs 161; middleman minorities 154; mixed embeddedness and migrant entrepreneurship in Europe 159–160; new directions in research 159–161; and racialized incorporation 158–159; transnational entrepreneurs 160–161 environmental migration 127–128 Erni, J. 421 Eskay, M. K. 333 Esping-Andersen, G. 460, 462, 466 Espiritu, Y. L. 237, 591 Ethiopia 353, 451 ethnic capital 276; new Chinese ethnoburbs 278–280, 280, 280n5; in old Chinatowns 276–278, 277 ethnic economies 154–155, 156 ethnic enclaves: as communities 273; economies 155–156; and immigrant neighborhoods 273–274 ethnic entrepreneurial niches 155 ethnic heterogeneity hypothesis 462, 463 ethnicity 288, 439; cultural perspective 272; structural perspective 272; and transnationalism 507; and the welfare state 467; see also panethnicity ethnicity from community perspective 259–260, 272–273; community 273; ethnic capital 276–280; ethnic enclaves as communities 273; institutional completeness 274; social capital 274–276 610

ethnographic interviews 568 ethnosurveys and interviews 556–557, 561, 570, 571 eugenics 215 Eule, T. 405 Europe: 1848 Spring of Nations 490; African migrants 76–77; agricultural sector 182; immigrant intermarriage 347–348; immigrants and unions 146–147; inclusion over exclusion 147–148; informal economy 179, 182; international adoption 358–360; migrants 34, 416, 416–417; migration surveys 559; mixed embeddedness and migrant entrepreneurship 159–160; multicultural ideologies 25–26; nativist political parties 216; populism 221–222; refugee crisis 221; religion and migrants 287, 343; unions and immigrants 137, 146–147; see also European Union (EU) European Convention on Nationality (1997) 540 European migration history 32–33; colonization 33, 35–36, 48; cross-community migration 32–33, 34; decolonization 40, 43; empirebuilding 46; forced migrations and mass killings 37–38; guest workers and beyond 38–39; labor migrants before World War I 36–37; migration rates 34, 34, 43, 416; mobility transition 32, 33–34; moves to the city 36–39; postwar immigration 42–43; sailors 40; seasonal migrants 33, 35; settlement processes 40–43; soldiers 39–40; World War I 39; World War II 37–38, 39–40 European Union (EU) 41, 43; asylum seekers 384; Blue Card 172; EU-Turkey Agreement (2016) 115, 221; migratory flows 6; naturalization 403–404; refugees 104, 116; Schengen area 407, 411n5; social exclusion 467; Syrian refugees 114–115 Evan P. Donaldson Adoption Institute 358 Evans, P. 318n5 expulsion see forced migrants Faas, D. 600 Faist, T. 455, 467 Fassin, D. 86, 87 Fei, J. C. H. 5 Ferguson, J. 110 Fiji 124, 249 Findlay, A. M. 122 Fingerson, L. 573 Finland 396 Finnigan, R. 463 FitzGerald, D. S. 79, 455 Fix, M. 375 flight 94–96 Foner, N. 599, 600 Fong, E. 603–604n6 Fontana, A. 566

Index

forced migrants 75, 79, 81–82, 91–92, 533n2; Africa 46–47, 71–72, 74, 249; deservingness and the limits of compassion 86–88; integrated theoretical orientation 85–86; theoretical orientations 82–85; in war 37–38; see also MENA region Fournier, M. 319n12 Fox, C. 601, 604n11 France: colonies 74; Confédération Générale du Travail (CGT) 147; emigration 448; immigration 42–43; National Front 148, 213, 216; naturalization 396, 397; refugees in 95, 286; seasonal migrants 35; Sykes-Picot Agreement (1916) 110, 111 franchise entrepreneurs 161 Franklin, B. 149, 310 Franklin, C. 250, 254 Freeman, G. 404 French West Africa 73, 74, 75 Frey, J. H. 566 Friedman, M. 306, 307, 318n1 Fu, X. 340, 342, 345 Fujikane, C. 248, 249 Fussell, E. 11 The Gambia 73, 450 Gambol, B. 342 Gamlen, A. 423 Gandhi, M. 168 García Hernández, C. C. 385 Gaspar, S. 348 GCIM (Global Commission on International Migration) 167 Gemenne, F. 122 gender and migration 49, 65, 199–200, 225, 404; Asian migrants 417; citizenship, transnationalism and borders 216, 228–229, 298–299; domestic and care work services 182–183, 193; domestic violence 376; dynamism in migration scholarship 229–230; and education 228, 438–439; evolution of gender analysis 225–226; immigrant intermarriage 346–347; and immigration research 572–574; in interviews 572–574; labor migration 226–227, 333; language disparities 333, 335; migrant families and social networks 227–228; psychological acculturation 23; risk of trafficking 190, 193, 194; and violence 229; see also sexualities and international migration Gender, Migration, and Health among Hispanics study 558, 560 Geneva Convention on the Status of Refugees see Refugee Convention (1951) genocide: Rwanda 76, 91, 95, 218, 249 geopolitical conflicts see refugees and geopolitical conflicts

Germany: asylum seekers 115, 300, 329, 384, 405; construction industry 182; high-skilled migration 165; immigration policies 329, 467; monolinguistic linguistic citizenship 328; nativism 216; naturalization 395, 396, 397, 400, 405, 408; Pegida 148; refugees 405–406; return migration 524; World War II 37, 38, 93 GFMD (Global Forum on Migration and Development) 167 Ghana 74, 75, 76, 317, 558, 559 Gilroy, P. 267 Gingrich, N. 475 Gladwell, M. 307, 313 Glaeser, E. 462, 464 Glick Schiller, N. 500–501, 505, 599 Global Commission on International Migration (GCIM) 167 Global Forum on Migration and Development (GFMD) 167 global humanitarian crisis 298 Global India Network of Knoweldge (Global-INK) 169 globalization 51, 109, 110, 165, 373, 410, 500, 504–505 Goellnicht, D. 268 Goffman, E. 583 Golash-Boza, T. M. 388, 512–513, 516, 517, 518, 520n4 Gold, S. 157 Goldin, I. 450 Gollac, S. 308 Gompers, S. 139 Gonsoulin, M. 340, 345 González-Lopez, G. 237 Goodman, S. 409, 411n7 Gordon, M. 339, 341, 597 Gramling, D. 328, 329 Greece 148, 216, 221, 303, 330, 331, 451 Green, N. 600 Green, N. L. 446, 456 Greenberg, J. 57 Groenewold, G. 559 group identity see community and group identity groupism 506–507 Guatemala: child trafficking 356; deported persons 387, 514, 517; international adoption 352, 353, 356, 357; migrants 283, 287, 289, 356, 373, 374, 377, 558 Guinea 73, 76 Guinea-Bissau 73, 76 Gulf States 240 Gulf Wars 111 Guo, F. 424 Guo, Y. 333 Guterres, A. 113–114 611

Index

Guyana 525 Guzman Garcia, M. 288 Guzmán, M. 239 Hagan, J. M. 283, 286, 290, 517 Hague Adoption Convention (1993) 357 Hague Convention (1930) 296, 540 Haines, D. 419 Haiti and Haitians 217, 299, 316, 373, 383, 450, 560 Hakuta, K. 331 Hall, S. 250 Halliday, F. 219 Hamilton, T. G. 315, 316–317, 319n13 Hampson, F. 124 Handlin, O. 286–287, 288 Hannerz, U. 501 Hargreaves-Cormany, H. 196n1 Harper’s Weekly 310 Harris, J. 4 Harwood, R. 25 Hatfield, M. 340 Hauer, M. 127 Haugen, H. Ø. 287 Haus, L. 147 Hawaii 249, 250, 251 health and care 27, 28, 87, 128, 194, 238, 239 Health and Migration Survey (HMS) 558 Heaton, T. B. 348 Herberg, W. 287 Herzl, T. 111 Hidalgo, D. A. 546 high-skilled migration 134, 164; government approaches 165–166; India 168–169; the integration debate 169–171; the migration and development debate 166–169 Higham, J. 212, 216, 220 Hinduism 60, 217–218 Hinojosa-Ojeda, R. 145 Hirsh, J. 237 historical-structural theories 83, 85, 87 histories of migration 2; African migration 68–78; Asian migration 56–65; European migration history 32–43; migration history in the Americas 45–54 HIV/AIDS 238 HLCID 01 168 Hochschild, A. 220–221 Hochschild, J. L. 314 Hoefer, M. 375 Hoehne, J. 332 Hollifield, J. 403 Holt International 352 Hondagneu-Sotelo, P. 226, 229, 512–513 Honduras 357, 374, 450, 514 612

Hong Kong 418, 420–421, 530 Hornberger, N. H. 334, 336 Horton, J. 578 Hourwich, I. A. 140 household surveys 11 Howell, S. 358, 359, 360 Hubinette, T. 352, 355–356, 358 Hugo, G. 121 human capital flight and circulation 452–453 human rights 87, 357, 365; Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) 94, 99, 296, 448, 456n1 human trafficking 135, 188–189; child trafficking 356; definitions and terms 189; individual risk factors 189–191; industry-level risk factors 191–193; political risk factors 193–194; socio-demographic and ‘cultural’ risk factors 194–195 Hungary 216, 384 Hussein, S. 227 Ibrahim, A. 335 IDP see internally displaced persons IMF see International Monetary Fund immigrant intermarriage 323–324; assimilation 339–340; color line 341–342; empirical claims 344–347; gender differences 346–347; generation 345–346; international focus 347–348; methodological innovations and limitations 343–344; panethnicity 342–343; race and ethnicity 344–345; religion 347; social distance 340–341; future of immigrant intermarriage 348–349; see also intermarriage and ‘mixed race’ people immigrant neighborhoods 273, 274 Immigrant Services Society of B. C. 326–327 immigration policies 302–303, 329–332 IMR see International Migration Review India: brain drain 452; diaspora policy 168–169, 172, 489; Emigration Act 64; forced migration 75, 97n5; international adoption 354; labor mobility 59; migration 47, 48, 63, 65, 171; nativism 217–218; Pravasi Bharatiya Divas convention 169; remittances 450, 451; “returnees” from Uganda 76, 249, 527 indigeneity and migrants 200, 246–247, 256n1; autochthony 247–252; and border policies 50; colonialism 246, 247; commons and commoners 247, 252, 255; migrants as colonizers 246, 247, 248, 249, 251; nationalization 247; neo-racism, migration and colonialism 48, 252–254; postcolonial theories 247; territorialization 246–247; against nationalism 254–256 Indo-European speakers 57–58 Indonesia 450 industrialization 49, 490–491

Index

inequalities in the lives of migrants 199–200; gender and migration 225–230; indigeneity 246–256; nativism 212–222; race and migration 201–210; sexualities and international migration 235–243 informal economy 134–135, 178–179; circular migration 166, 181; conditions of work 179; day labor 181, 185n5; demand-side approach 180; form of management 179; informal marketing chain 179; informal subcontracting 180; input supply chain 179–180; integrated sector 179; isolated informal sector 180; measurement of 183–184; sectors and occupational niches 181–183; status of labor 179; as steppingstone to entrepreneurship 183; subcontracting in manufacture 180; supply-side approach 180–181 INGOs (interstate non-governmental organizations) 503–504 institutional theory 11 Inter-American Court of Human Rights (1999) 297 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) 119 intermarriage and ‘mixed race’ people 208–209, 266, 347–348; see also immigrant intermarriage internal migrants 33 internally displaced persons (IDP) 82, 105n1, 298, 300 international civil society 405 International Comparative Study of Ethnocultural Youth 440 International Labour Organization 138 International Migration Review (IMR) 225–226, 398 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 108; World Economic Outlook Database 110 International Organization for Migration (IOM) 167, 284, 303, 325–326, 531 International Visual Sociology Research Association 583 International Workers of the World (IWW) 139 intersecting inequalities in the lives of migrants 199–200; indigeneity and migrants 200, 246–256; nativism 199, 212–222; race and migration 199, 201–210; sexualities and international migration 200, 235–243; see also gender and migration interstate non-governmental organizations (INGOs) 503–504 interviewing immigrants and refugees 538, 565, 579n1; applications 570–578; cultural sensitivity 567–568, 575–577; ethnographic interviews 568; gender, age, and social class 572–574; in-depth interviews 566–568; insider vs. outsider status 570–572; language 574–575; life history interviews 568–569; methods 565–569; qualitative interviewing 566, 567–568; race/ ethnicity 570, 571; refugees 571–572; research ethics 577–578; structural positions 570–574

IOM see International Organization for Migration IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) 119 Iran 91, 111 Iraq 82, 91, 101, 189, 453 Iredale, R. 171, 424 Ireland 42, 396, 397, 411n1, 460–461, 531 Islam 60, 69–70, 91, 111, 479, 494 Islamophobia 206–207, 219–220, 239 Israel 94, 111–112, 299, 448, 451 Israel-Egypt peace treaty (1979) 112 Israel-Jordan peace agreement (1994) 112 Italy 35, 42, 48, 53, 148, 303, 396 Itzigsohn, J. 265, 266 IWW (International Workers of the World) 139 Jacobs, J. A. 346 Jacobson, C. K. 348 Jacobson, H. 358 Jamaica 53, 142, 315, 317, 383, 387; deportees 513, 514, 516, 518; Maroons 525 James, W. 586 Janoski, T. 409, 411n6 Japan: diversity and multiculturalism 418–419, 420; foreign-born population 461; immigrant intermarriage 347; “local citizenship” 420; migrants to Americas 48, 49, 53, 63–64, 526; naturalization 396; return migrants 527 Järvinen, M. 572 Jewish diaspora 489, 494 Jewish refugees 38, 94, 100, 318n3 Jiménez, T. 601, 602 Johnson, J. M. 567–568 Johnson, K. 354 Johnson, K. 383 Johnson, L. 216 Jones, G. W. 347 Joppke, C. 403, 407, 599, 604n7 Jordan 101, 109, 111, 112, 114, 287; see also MENA region Josephson, E. 560 Judaism 60, 111 jus sanguinis 396, 401 jus soli 394, 396–397, 411n1 Kalmijn, M. 344, 346, 347 Kalton, G. 553 Kane, O. 289 Kanstroom, D. 515–516 Kaplan, E. B. 588 Kapur, D. 167, 168, 447, 451 Kasinitz, P. 598 Kennedy, J. F. 216 Kenya 70, 74, 75, 249, 451 Kerwin, D. 386–387 Kibria, N. 266 Kim, C. 343, 346 613

Index

Kim, E. 360 King, R. 447, 527 Kiribati 123–125 Kitschelt, H. 462 Kivisto, P. 455 Klausen, J. 466 Klein, C. 352 Kloosterman, R. C. 159 Klusmeyer, D. 403 Kobayashi, A. 530 Koopmans, R. 598, 602 Korea 48, 352, 360, 361 Kostakopoulou, T. 407 Kostyshak, S. 110 Krahn, K. 326 Kramer, L. 191 Kubrin, C. E. 474 Kuehn, J. 424 Kuntz, A. 333 Kuwait 299 Kvale, S. 570 Kyrgyz Republic 450 Laarman, C. 347–348 labor and human trafficking: complex supply chains 192; political risk factors 193–194; worker isolation 192–193 labor migrants: Americas 47–48, 50–51, 52, 54; coolification 48, 525–526, 527, 532–533n1; day labor 181, 185n5; Europe 36–39; and gender 226–227, 333; and human trafficking 191–194; India 59; and language proficiency 326–327 Labov, T. G. 346 Lake, O. 267 Lamont, M. 319n12 LAMP (Latin American Migration Project) 557–558 language policies, programs, and practices 323, 325–326; basic language skills training 329–332; immigrants’ and refugees’ integration 326–327; in interviews 574–575; market-oriented immigration policy 329–332, 330; monolingual linguistic citizenship 327–329, 334–335; naturalization requirements 50; normalized language teaching 332–334; promises, contradiction, constraints 327; psychological acculturation 23; religious imperialism 333; structural barriers 333–334; trading languages 70 Laos 94–95, 97n8 Lartey, E. K. K. 7 Latin America: censuses 542; international adoption 353; migrants 208, 263–264, 265, 266, 269, 283, 289, 290, 416 Latin American Migration Project (LAMP) 557–558 Lawrence, B. 250, 251, 254 Le Pen, M. 213, 221 614

League of Nations 75, 296 Lebanon 75, 101, 114, 451, 528 Lee, E. S. 121 Lee, J. 345 Lee, J. 307, 313, 318n10, 319n11 Lee, R. G. 141, 354 legal and documentation statuses and risk of trafficking 190–191 Legomsky, S. H. 102 Leinaweaver, J. B. 353, 357 Lemann, N. 311 Lesińka, M. 524 Leung, L. 421 Levant 108 Levitt, P. 288, 451 Lewis, O. 318n3 Lewis, W. A. 5 Ley, D. 530 Liberia 76, 450, 525 Libya 189, 384 Lichter, D. T. 345, 346 Liem, D. B. 360 Light, I. H. 154 Lim, J. 421–422 Lim, T. 419, 420 Lind, H. 583 Lind, R. 583 Lindley, J. 326 Lindsay, C. 333 Linebaugh, P. 255 links across borders 483; diasporas 484, 487–497; (re)integration after deportation 484, 512–520; return migration 485, 523–532; transnationalism 202, 483, 484, 499–510 Lischer, S. 108, 113 Liu, H. 425 Lockett, J. D. 525 Longazel, J. 385 Longfellow, H. W. 92 Louie, V. 597 Loury, G. 275 Lucas, R. E. B. 7 Lucassen, L. 347–348 Luxembourg 460 Lynd, H. M. 566 Lynd, R. S. 566 Lyons, L. 250, 254 McCall, M. M. 569 McHale, J. 167 McKenzie, D. J. 559 Madagascar 69, 72, 353 MAFE (Migrations between Africa and Europe) study 558 Magna Carta (1215) 447–448 Malheiros, J. M. 182 Mali 73, 74

Index

Malkki, L. 100, 295 Malpica, D. M. 573 Malta 84 Mamdani, M. 218 Manalansan, M. F. IV 237 Manicheanism 60 Manning, P. 32–33 Marino, E. K. 126, 128 maritime mobility 61 Markowitz, F. 523 Maroons 525 Marre, D. 352, 359 Marshall Islands 125 Massey, D. S. 10, 11, 145, 311, 372, 379, 524, 557 Matias, A. R. 331 Mau, S. 463 Mauritius 75 May, T. 410–411 Mead, M. 583 MENA region (Middle East and North Africa) 107–108; Arab-Israeli conflict 111–112; definitions 108; environmental issues 112; map 108; root causes: economic dynamics 109–110; violent conflicts 109, 110–111; World War I 93; see also Syria MENAP 108 Menjívar, C. 598 mental health 27, 28, 87 Menz, G. 166 Merkel, A. 149, 405 Merton, R. K. 314 Mexican Migration Project (MMP) 554–557, 561 Mexico: border policies 50, 384; census 539, 542, 544, 546, 548; colonization of 47; deported persons 513, 515, 517, 527; immigration 50, 52; labor migrants 50–51, 54; migration to U.S. 554–556; National Commission of Human Rights 145; remittances 450, 451–452; role of religion 283–284, 285–286, 290; surveys 554–557 Michalowski, I. 332 Middle East and North Africa see MENA region migrants as colonizers see indigeneity and migrants migration streams 127 migration systems theory 84–85 Milbrandt, J. 299 Miles, R. 253 Milkman, R. 142, 143 Miller, A. 238 Miller, M. 82 Min, P. G. 154, 155, 343, 346 Mink, G. 141 Mistiaen, J. 559 mixed-methods studies 507–508 Miyawaki, M. M. 342 MMP see Mexican Migration Project mobile ethnographic research 507

Moch, L. P. 229 Modell, J. 154 Modood, T. 206 Mohr, J. 583 Moldova 450, 546 Moloney, D. M. 520n3 Money, J. 404 Mongol Empire 61 Montagu, A. 319n12 Morgan, C. V. 345, 346–347 Morissens, A. 467 Morocco 109, 332, 559; see also MENA region Morokvaśic, M. 226 Moynihan, D. P. 318n3 Mozambique 74, 76, 103 Mudde, C. 214 Mueller, J. W. 216, 220 multi-sited ethnography 507 multiculturalism and citizenship 207–208, 418–422, 465, 505 Murray, C. 318n1 Myanmar: citizenship 298–299; Immigration Act (1982) 299; refugees 79, 95, 571–572, 575; risk of trafficking 191, 195; Rohingya 213–214, 299, 548 Myers, N. 119, 122 Myrdal, G. 10 NAACP 40 NAFTA see North American Free Trade Agreement Naipaul, V. S. 84 NAMWG (North American Migration Working Group) 548 nation-states 295–296; see also state and migrants, the nationalism 41, 248–249, 251, 504–505; against nationalism 254–256 nationality 296, 297, 425–426, 540 nationalization 247, 251 nativism 199; defined 212–214; historical nativism: “us” and the “Other” 214–216; Islamophobia 219–220; politics of nativism 220–222; racism and xenophobia 49, 76, 79, 100, 104, 216–219, 250 naturalization and nationality 366, 394–395; assimilation theories 398–401; clientele politics 404; comparative and global approaches 406–410; convergence theory 403–404; cosmopolitan naturalization 409; cultural view 403; families 400; global political approach 405; global/transnational approaches 394, 395; individual, community and ethnographic studies 397–402, 402; institutional approach 404–405; language requirements 50; nation-state explanations 394, 395, 402–406, 406; positive reception of immigrants 399–400; power 615

Index

resources theory 404; rates 394, 395–397, 396, 411n1; reasons to naturalize 400, 411n3; regime theories 406–409, 408; social psychology of naturalization 397–398; see also citizenship Neather, A. 141 NELM see new economics of labor migration neoclassical theories of migration 3, 4–6, 7 neoliberalism 195, 219, 239, 241, 251, 253–254, 409 Nepal 95, 450 Netherlands: citizenship 328, 329, 401; Freedom Party 148, 213; Interdisciplinary Demographic Institute-Eurostat project 545–546; knowledge migrants scheme 165, 172; nativism 216; naturalization 396 network theory 4, 9–10 new economics of labor migration (NELM) 3, 6–8, 12; altruism hypothesis 12; dual labor market theory 3, 8–9; insurance hypothesis 7, 12; investment hypothesis 7; relative deprivation hypothesis 7; Syrian conflict 8 New Zealand 396, 397, 460 Niger 74 Nigeria 74, 75, 315–316, 317, 450, 451 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 54, 476, 528 North American Migration Working Group (NAMWG) 548 Norway 328, 330, 333, 358, 359, 360, 396 Norwegian Refugee Council 101 Obama, B. 96, 214, 287, 399, 478, 532 OECD see Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development Oh, A. 352 Okamura, J. Y. 249 O’Leary, A. 390 Olneck, M. 432, 433 Omani Empire 70, 72 Ong, A. 87, 228, 241, 409 Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) 148–149, 397, 548 Organization of American States 97n9 Orsi, R. A. 288 Oslo Peace Process 112 Ottoman Empire 33, 64 Ousey, G. E. 474 Pacific islanders 123–125 Padilla, F. 265 Pakistan 91, 450 Palermo Protocol (U.N. Trafficking Protocol) 189 Palestinian refugees 94, 95, 111, 112, 115, 299 Panama Canal 48, 50 panethnicity 259, 261; immigrant intermarriage 342–343; individual panethnicity 265–266; and internal diversities 263–265; panethnic organizing and racialization 261–263; in 616

transnational context 267–268; challenges and possibilities 268–269 Pang, G. Y. 342 Pant, G. 110 Papadopoulos, D. 252 Park Nelson, K. 354, 357 Park, R. 201, 318n7 Parker, J. 161 Parrado, E. A. 560 Parsis 60 Passel, J. S. 375 Patler, C. 386 Patterson, T. 196n1 Pegler-Gordon, A. 586 Penninx, R. 146–147 Perlmann, J. 600 Perry, R. 475 Perry, S. M. 347 Peru 357, 540 Petzen, J. 239 Peutz, N. 388, 513, 515 Phalet, K. 24 Philippines: development projects 452; migrants 237, 343, 383, 399, 420, 528, 529; remittances 450, 451, 529, 530; return migration 529–530 photography 538, 582; applications in studies of international migration 585–588; coethnic and out-group labor 589–591, 590; collaborative image making and ethical concerns 584–585; coping with racism in Arab Detroit 591–592; developing rapport 587; e-mail and other benefits 587–588; ethical issues 584; evidence and analysis in migration research 588–592; gaining orientation 586–587; limitations on use 592– 593; migrants’ own images 586; migration history 585–586; photo voice and reflexive documentaries 588; roots of visual sociology 582–583; writing and images 583–584 Piore, M. T. 146 Piquero, A. R. 191 Plascencia, L. 401, 405 Poland 41–42, 93, 216, 461, 546 Polish Migration Project (PMP) 558 political exiles 453–454 populism 213, 216, 220–222 Portes, A. 156, 179, 202, 275, 398, 399, 433, 505, 508 Portugal 46, 47, 70, 74, 182, 330, 331, 410 posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) 87 Preston, V. 530 Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees (1967) see Refugee Convention (1951) Przeworski, A. 604n10 psychological acculturation 1–2, 19–20, 21; age and developmental status 22; cognition 23; context 25–26; domain 24; gender

Index

23; generation 23–24; motives and means 24–25; personality 23; policy implications 28; processes 26–27; rewards 28; risks 27; within-group variability 22; future research directions 28–29 PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder) 87 Puerto Ricans 263, 265, 267, 557, 558 push-pull theory 82–83, 558, 559 Putnam, R. D. 275, 463 Qatar 109, 586; see also MENA region race and migration 199, 201–203, 319n12; assimilation 201; generational status 203–205, 209–210; identity politics 203; intermarriage and ‘mixed race’ people 208–209, 266, 347–348; Islamophobia 206–207; multiculturalism and citizenship 207–208; presumed salience of ‘race’ and ethnicity 204–205, 467; and risk of trafficking 191; second-generation inclusion and belonging 203–204; taxonomies 47; Whiteness, White migrants and White working classes 205–206; see also immigrant intermarriage; panethnicity; racism racialized incorporation 158–159 racism: neo-racism, migration and colonialism 252–254; and xenophobia 49, 76, 79, 100, 104, 216–219, 250 Raijman, R. 183 Raimundo, M. 238 Ranis, G. 5 Rath, J. 159 Rathzel, N. 254 Rauch, J. 110 Reagan, R. 307, 383, 476, 479 recycling industry 179–180 refoulement 101 Refugee Convention (1951) 94, 99, 100–101, 105n2, 114, 116, 294, 297 refugee settlements 103 refugee status 85, 99, 100, 101–102, 104, 105n3, 112 refugees 52, 221, 284, 384, 448; displaced children 104, 107, 284, 531; interviewing refugees 571–572; labor language profiiciency 326–327; quota refugees 85; as social category 101–102, 104, 105n1; strategic categorization 87; terminology 120, 294; see also refugees and geopolitical conflicts; statelessness refugees and geopolitical conflicts: disaster, flight, and refuge 90–91; displacement 76, 77, 79–80, 82, 92–94, 104, 107, 114, 115, 531; expulsion 91–92; flight 94–96; terminology 90, 97n1, 97n3; considerations 96; see also forced migrants; statelessness regulation of migration 41 Rehnquist, Chief Justice 144

Reid, J. A. 191, 196n1 (re)integration after deportation 484, 512, 520n1–2; contexts of reception 513–515; current patterns of immigration enforcement 512–513; deportation as “exile” 516–517, 527; deportees as “agents of change” 519–520; disaggregating experiences 519; gendered stigma and shame 518; local contexts 514–515; new American diaspora 515–518; reception and reintegration resources 519; stigmatization and criminalization 513–514; transnational spaces and social networks 517–518; areas for future investigation 518–520 Reitz, J. 599 religion: colonization of North America 47; decision-making and departure 282–284; and diasporas 493–494; Eurasian exchange 59–60; faith-based organizations 283–284; and the immigrant experience 49, 286–288; and immigrant intermarriage 347; and international adoption 352, 356; and the journey 284–286; and language programs 333; and the migration undertaking 260, 282–286; threat perceptions 42, 43; and transnationalism 289–290 remittances 11–15, 13, 14, 15, 449, 449–452 Rende-Taylor, L. 190, 193 rentier states 109 repatriation 101 resettlement 102 Resnik, J. 228–229 return migration 485, 523; Asia 63; from conflict zones 531; emerging themes 530–532; historical context 524–526; ‘return’ 526–527; rhetoric 532; theories 524; and transnationalism 529–530; working and returning 527–528; a contradictory story 532 Reuther, W. 141 reversed causality 12 Richman, J. 22 Richmond, A. 79 Ríos, C. 519 Riosmena, F. 557, 558 Rívas Castillo, J. 520n4 Roberts, C. 331 Rodríguez, R. 527 Roediger, D. R. 141 Rogovin, M. 585 Rohingya 213–214, 299, 548 Roosblad, J. 146–147 Roth, W. 267 Rubin, H. J. 567 Rubin, I. S. 567 Rumbaut, R. 399, 433 Rumbaut, R. G. 472, 517, 519 Rushdie, S. 504 Russia 35–36, 37, 38, 353 Rwanda 76, 91, 95, 100, 218, 249 617

Index

Said, S. 72 sailors 33, 40, 525 Sainsbury, D. 464, 465, 467, 468 Saito, L. 264 Salcido, O. 376 Salyer, L. E. 318n9 Sampson, R. J. 275, 473 Sana, M. 560 Sarat, L. 283, 290 Sassen-Koob, S. 179 Sassen, S. 39, 371, 604n8 Saudi Arabia 109, 111; see also MENA region Schierup, C.-U. 467 Schmeidl, S. 107–108, 110 Schwalbe, M. L. 572–573 Sears, C. 242 seasonal migrants 33, 35, 49 Sedgwick, E. 236 segmented labor market (SLM) theory 8–9 self-employment see entrepreneurship self-perpetuating mechanisms of migration 3, 9–11 Seligman, L. J. 353 Selman, P. 353–354 Senegal 73, 75, 289, 558, 559 Sensenbrenner, J. 275 sexualities and international migration 200, 235; challenging models of assimiliation and acculturation 236–237; discourses of migrant sexualities 237–239; incorporation and governance 241–242; juggling contradictory mandates 243; legal statuses 239–240; sex work 240; sexuality as axis of power 235–236; transgender migration 242–243; violence 240; why migration 239; see also gender and migration Shain, Y. 453 Shakhsari, S. 238 Shanklin, E. 584 Shearer, C. 126 Sherman, W. 311 Shin, H. 340, 342, 345 Shinagawa, L. H. 342 Sierra Leone 71, 76 Simmel, G. 153 Simon, D. 128 Simon, H. A. 307–308 Simon, P. 598 Simon, R. 358 Singapore 418, 420–422 slave trade 46–47, 48, 71–73, 189, 533n2 SLM (segmented labor market) theory 8–9 Smith, T. L. 286 smuggling 189 Snyder, S. 285 social capital 274–276, 287, 463 social cohesion 461–464 social network theory 9–10, 227, 507 618

social reproduction 323–324; immigrant intermarriage 339–349; language policies, programs, and practices 325–336; transnational adoption 351–361 social trust 463 Solari, C. 601 soldiers 33, 39–40, 59, 524–525 Somalia 82–83, 95, 294, 298, 300–301, 302, 303 Somaliland 388, 513, 514 Somers, M. 101 Song, M. 342 Sontag, S. 584 South Africa 76, 149, 218–219, 249 South Korea: diversity and multiculturalism 418, 419, 420; immigrant intermarriage 347; international adoption 352, 353, 354, 357, 360, 361 Southeast Asia 62, 194 Soviet Union 21, 91, 93, 353 Sowell, T. 306, 307, 308, 309, 311, 318n1, 318n3 Soysal, Y. 405 Spain 35, 221, 359 Spickard, P. 263 Spiel, C. 26 Stark, O. 7 state and migrants, the 365–367; Asian migrations and national community 366, 416–427; criminalization of immigration 367, 472–480; detention and deportation 366, 382–390; education and immigration 366, 431–442; emigration and the sending state 366–367, 446–456; naturalization and nationality 366, 394–411; undocumented (unauthorized) immigration 365–366, 369–379; the welfare state and immigration 367, 459–468 statelessness 100–101, 104, 260, 294–295; de facto statelessness 295, 300–302; de jure statelessness 295, 297, 298–300; defined 294, 297; essentializing and essentialized categories 295–298; and humane immigration policies 302–303; massive displacement 298 Steele, C. M. 318n10 Stepick, A. 179, 560 Stepick, C. D. 560 Stowell, J. 474 Straut-Eppsteiner, H. 288 Street, A. 400 Strohmeier, D. 26 Stryker, R. 583 study methods 537–538; census analysis 539–549; comparative methodologies 595–603; interviewing immigrants and refugees 565–579; photography 582–593; surveys 553–562 Suárez-Orozco, C. 433 Suchar, C. S. 588 Sudan 76, 95, 300, 301, 356, 586 Sue-A-Quan, T. 525

Index

Sufism 60 surveys 537–538, 553; bi- or multinational approaches 557–559; community-based participatory research 559–562; criticisms of survey standardization 556; Mexico–U.S. migration 554–556; migration process and outcomes 554; standardization and the ethnosurvey 556–557 Swahili 70 Swank, D. 466 Sweden: foreign-born population 460–461, 463, 464; international adoption 358–359, 360; language skills training 330, 331; naturalization 396; return migrants 528 Switzerland 170–171, 222, 384, 396, 460 Swyngedouw, M. 24 Sykes-Picot Agreement (1916) 110, 111 Syria: migrants 113; population 113; refugees 79, 82, 84, 91, 95–96, 100, 101, 113– 115, 285, 287, 294, 298, 300, 405–406; sectarianism 111; unemployment 113; war 8, 81–82, 113–114 Taiwan and Taiwanese 347, 422, 574, 576, 577 Talani, S. 110 Tancredo, T. 475 Tapia, M. 147 Tastsoglou, E. 229 Taylor-Gooby, P. 464 territorialization 246–247 terrorism 398–399, 410 Teune, H. 604n10 Thailand 190, 191, 193, 546 theories of international migration: economic approaches 1, 3–16; psychological approaches 1–2, 19–30 Thomas, W. I. 525, 569 Thompson, F. 475 Tienda, M. 183 Todaro, M. 4 TOKTEN (Transference of Knowledge through Expatriate Nationals) program 452 Torabully, K. 532–533n1 trade: Eurasian exchange 59–61; Europe 137, 138, 147; within and outside Africa 70 trafficking see human trafficking Trans-Saharan movement 69–70 Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (2016) 102 transculturation 51 Transference of Knowledge through Expatriate Nationals (TOKTEN) program 452 transgender migration 242–243 transmigrants 501 transnational adoption 324, 351; adoptees vs other immigrants 353–356; critiques of adoption 356–358; history 352–353; human rights 357;

language of kinship 360–361; racial, cultural and national belonging 358–360 transnational entrepreneurs 160–161 transnational social spaces 501, 502; diffusion in contact fields 502; and globalization 504–505; issue networks 503; small groups–kinship systems 502–503; transnational communities and organizations 503–504 transnationalism 202, 483, 484, 499–500, 524; defined 501; and ethnicity 507; and gender 228–229; and groupism 506–507; initial conceptualizations 500–501; methodological notes on research 506–508; migrant incorporation 505; national states and politics 425–426, 456, 506; as new mode of incorporation 316, 500–501, 505; percentage of migrants 505–506; and religion 289–290; and return migration 529–530; social formations 500; typology 501–504; beyond methodological nationalism and groupism 508–510 ‘trapped populations’ 115 Trask, H. K. 250, 251 Treaty of Utrecht (1713) 490 Trenka, J. J. 361 Trump, D. 86, 96, 105n3, 138, 148, 205, 213, 214, 216, 220, 221, 222, 287, 303, 334, 370, 389, 399, 404, 472, 479–480, 532 Tudor, O. 147 Tunisia 109, 546; see also MENA region Turkey 91, 114, 332, 559; EU-Turkey Refugee Agreement (2016) 115, 221 Turton, D. 107 Tuvalu 123–124, 125 Ty, E. 268 Uganda 74, 75, 76, 103, 249, 526, 527 undocumented (unauthorized) immigration in the U.S. 365–366, 369–371; Cuban Adjustment Act (1966) 373; current trends and estimates 374–375; Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA) 369, 370, 436, 442, 478; domestic violence 376; effects of undocumented status 375–379; effects on family 375–376; historical context 371–374; Immigration and Nationality Act (1965) 369; links to other institutions 377–379; Temporary Protected Status (TPS) 216, 369; the undocumented and the law 143–145 UNESCO 405 UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) 405; in Africa 285; definitions 102, 294; displaced people 8; migrants in Switzerland 170; “Nationality and Statelessness” 296, 297, 301; 296 302; refugees 76, 82, 88, 94, 97n3, 107, 298, 384; on Syria 113–114 unions and immigrants 134, 137–138; Europe 137, 146–147; inclusion over exclusion 619

Index

147–148; rising anti-immigrant tide 148–149; United States 137–146, 140, 142, 147–148, 149–150 United Arab Emirates (UAE) 109; see also MENA region United Kingdom: Brexit 104, 138, 148, 205, 213, 403; census 549; citizenship 208, 328, 401; colonization 46–47; detention and deportation 385, 387; emigration 448; immigrant intermarriage 342; inclusion and belonging 204; Independence Party (UKIP) 216; language skills training 332; nationality 448; nativism 222; naturalization 396, 397, 411n1; Poor Laws 252; race and religion 206–208; refugees 284, 326; superdiversity 418; Sykes-Picot Agreement (1916) 110, 111; Trades Union Congress (TUC) 138, 147; World War I 111 United Nations 52, 303, 447, 449; Charter 251; Convention on Rights of the Child (1989) 357; Department of Economics and Social Affairs (DESA) 542; Development Program 452; diasporas 496; High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR; 1957) 196n2; national censuses 540; Partition Plan (1947) 299; Population Division 548; Relief and Work Agency for Palestinian Refugees (UNRWA) 112, 298; Trafficking Protocol 189; Volunteers 452; Working Group on Indigenous Populations (WGIP) 267–268; World Population Prospects 113; see also UNHCR (United Nations High Commission for Refugees) United States: AFL-CIO 137, 139, 141–142, 148, 149–150; American Civil Liberties Union 145; American Federation of Labor (AFL) 138, 139, 141, 147; American Miners’ Association 140; Americanization 140–141; Asiatic Exclusion League (1905) 139; asylum seekers 102, 384; birther movement 214; border policies 50, 532; Bracero Program 30, 51, 54, 371, 372; Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association (CCBA) 278; citizenship and naturalization 47, 50, 214–215, 396, 397, 399, 401, 404–405, 410, 411n4, 411n9, 540; Civil Rights Movement 432–433; climate change and migration 125–126, 127; Congress of Industrial Organizations (CIO) 139, 141; crime and immigration 472–475; Department of Homeland Security (DHS) 369; education 431–442; enforcementonly border policy 145–146; ethnic capital 276–280; eugenics 215; fascism 141; Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) 126; Gentleman’s Agreement (1907) 215; GEO 479; geopolitical conflicts 91; Government Accountability Office 101; H2 program 371–372;

620

hate crimes 262–263; Haymarket Affair 318n4; high-skilled migration 165; human trafficking 190, 191; immigrant intermarriage 339–347; immigrants’ contributions to labor movement 139–140; immigration 48, 51, 52, 140, 303; immigration restrictions 49–50, 53, 54, 405, 472; incarceration rates 474, 476; informal economy 179, 182, 183, 185n7; internal migration 544; international adoption 352–354, 355, 356, 358, 359–360; labor migrants 50–52, 182, 185n7, 326; language policies 50, 333, 334; National Border Patrol Council 148; National Immigration Forum 142; national security 384; nativism 212–213, 214–216, 219–220; New Deal 310; organizing immigrant workers 141–143; panethnicity 261–266, 268–269; Protecting the Nation 216; public policy 549; race and prejudice 202, 206, 208–209, 217, 262–263, 525, 591–592; refugees 95, 102, 479–480; religion and migrants 285–288, 333, 479; seasonal migrants 49, 50, 185n7; Service Employees International Union (SEIU) 141– 142, 143; slavery 47; social transformations 243; surveys 553–562; unaccompanied children 101, 104; unauthorized residents 369–370; union campaigns 143; unionization, Americanization, and whiteness 140–141; unions and immigrants 137–146, 140, 142, 147–148, 149–150; United Mine Workers of America 140; welfare state 462, 465; women’s rights 216; xenophobia 104, 148, 479; youth delinquency 475; see also Americas: migration history; black and Asian journeys; criminalization of immigration in the U.S.; detention and deportation in the U.S.; Hawaii; (re)integration after deportation; undocumented (unauthorized) immigration in the U.S.; United States law; United States population United States law: Alien & Sedition Acts (1798) 476; Anti-Abuse Act (1988) 476; Antiterrorism and Effective Death Penalty Act (AEDPA; 1966) 477; Border Protection, Antiterrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act (2005) 477; Child Citizenship Act (2000) 355; Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) 139, 215, 276, 312, 383, 476; DHS Appropriations Act (2012) 479; DREAM Act 478; Fair Labor Standards Act (FLSA) 144; Geary Act (1892) 312; Gentleman’s Agreement (1907) 139; Hoffman Plastic Compounds Inc. v. NLRB (2002) 144–145; Homeland Security Act (2002) 477; Homestead Act (1862) 310, 312, 318n5; Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA; 1966) 477; Immigration Act (1917) 139, 215–216; Immigration Act (1924) 216; Immigration and

Index

Nationality Act (1965) 6, 216, 312, 314, 315, 355, 369; Immigration and Nationality Act (1976) 372; Immigration and Nauralization Act (1921) 139; Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA; 1986) 137, 144, 476; JohnsonReed Act (1924) 139; National Labor Relations Act (NLRA) 144; National Origins Quota Act (1924) 476; Naturalization Act (1790) 214–215; Page Law (1875) 383, 520n3; Patel v. Quality Inn South (1988) 144; Patel v. Sumani Corp., Inc. (1987) 144; RAISE Act 165, 532; Refugee Act (1980) 315; Rodriguez v. Robbins (2015) 386; Social Security Act (1935) 310, 318n6; SureTan, Inc. v. NLRB (1984) 144, 145; Veterans’ Readjustment Act (1944) 310, 312; Walter McCarren Act (1954) 216 United States population: African Americans 77, 209, 260, 262, 266, 306–307, 308, 309, 310–312, 314, 315–317, 318n3, 437; Alaska Native communities 120, 125–126; American Community Survey (ACS) 343, 539, 541, 543, 548, 554; Arab Americans 585, 587, 591, 591–592; Asians 157–158, 208, 248, 260, 262–264, 266, 269, 276–280, 290, 307, 309, 312–314, 318n3, 354, 375, 398, 424, 437, 476, 526; asylees 102; Caribbean Americans 142, 228, 266, 315, 316, 399; census 539, 541, 543, 545, 547–548; Cubans 263, 264, 266, 373, 399, 474, 589; Current Population Survey (CPS) 343, 554; Filipinos 237, 343, 383, 399, 501, 530; foreign-born population 473, 542–543; Latinos 208, 263–264, 265, 266, 269, 283, 289, 290, 312, 314, 333, 340, 383, 400, 433, 437, 474–475, 505–506, 590; Mexicans 139, 145–146, 148, 237, 239, 263, 265, 289, 290, 309, 319n11, 372–373, 374, 376, 383, 384, 398, 399, 436–437, 454, 467, 474, 476, 545, 554–556, 558, 590; Native Americans 262; New Immigrant Survey (NIS) 554; Puerto Ricans 263, 265 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) 94, 99, 296, 448, 456n1 urbanization 36–39, 49, 76 Uruguay 48 Vajpayee, A. B. 168 Valaskakis, G. G. 250 Valenzuela Jr, A. 181 Valverde, C. 423 Van Dijk, R. A. 282 Van Dongen, E. 425 Vasquez, J. M. 341 Vedder, P. 329 Vergara, C. J. 585, 587 Verkaaik, O. 401, 405 Vertovec, S. 418, 504

Vietnam: child trafficking 356; diaspora in the US 423; international adoption 353, 354, 356; migrants 23, 52; refugees 94, 96, 97n8, 100, 286, 314; remittances 450 Vink, M. 409 Virta, E. 329 Viscusi, G. 149 Vo, L. T. 264 Vogel, K. 242 Volkman, T. A. 360 Waldinger, R. 159 Walker, K. 238 Wang, C. 588 Wang, L. K. 354 Warner, R. S. 578 Warren, R. 386–387 water resources 111, 112 Watts, J. R. 147 Waugh, E. 333 Wayland, S. V. 327 Weaver, V. 314 Weber, E. 36–37 Weber, M. 153, 509 Weinreb, A. A. 560, 561 Weiss, R. S. 576, 577 welfare state and immigration 41, 43, 182, 367, 404, 405, 459–460, 461–464; class divisions 459–460, 462; constrict hypothesis 463; corporatist-conservative states 460; decommodification 460, 464; ethnic heterogeneity hypothesis 462, 463; foreign-born populations 460, 461, 463; and global change 465–466; immigrant reception perspective 466–467; inclusive and restrictive incorporation regimes 464; legal status 465; liberal welfare states 460, 462; Mediterranean welfare regimes 460; and social cohesion 461–464; social democratic countries 460, 462; social trust 463; welfare chauvinism 462; welfare policies and immigrants’ lives 464–465 Wells, M. J. 143 Whiteness, White migrants and White working classes 205–206 Wilders, G. 213, 221 Wilson, P. 475 Wittner, J. 569 Wittner, J. G. 578 Wolf, D. L. 573 Wolfe, A. 466 Wolfe, P. 248 Wolkomir, M. 572–573 Wong, K. 143 Woon, L. L. 510 World Bank 108, 113, 451, 456n2, 548 World Development Indicators 12

621

Index

World War I 39, 74, 93, 111, 352, 411n9 World War II 37–38, 39–40, 93–94, 294, 297, 310, 352, 411n9 Wu, E. D. 354 xenophobia 49, 76, 79, 100, 104, 216–219; see also nativism Xiang, B. 424 Yamanaka, K. 420 Yancey, J. M. 341 Yemen and Yemenis 109, 586; see also MENA region

622

Yngvesson, B. 358, 360 Yuval-Davis, N. 229 Zabin, C. 143 Zanzibar 76 Zelinsky, W. 33 Zhou, M. 157, 202 Zhou, M. 307, 313, 319n11 Zilberg, E. 383, 389, 516, 519 Zimmerman, W. 375 Znaniecki, F. 525, 569 Zolberg, A. 85, 373, 510