Migration, Globalisation and Human Security (Routledge Research in Population & Migration)

Migration, Globalisation and Human Security In recent years international migration has become a growing political issu...

Author: David Graham

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Migration, Globalisation and Human Security In recent years international migration has become a growing political issue in many countries and a major topic of international debate. In the 1960s, only a handful of countries, mainly the traditional immigration nations in North America and Oceania, were significantly affected by international migration, but by the 1990s virtually every nation was influenced in some way by immigration or emigration of various kinds. As more and more migrants cross inter-state boundary lines, governments are realising that immigration and asylum problems cannot be separated from broader socioeconomic and political issues. Attempts to develop multilateral strategies to ease international tensions arising from uncontrolled migration are complicated by economic disparities, regional political tensions and mounting population and ecological pressures. International migration, particularly in terms of forced resettlement and urbanisation, also gives rise to a myriad of problems relating to aspects of security. Until recently, the question ‘what is security?’ was rarely asked in the context of these developments. Migration, Globalisation and Human Security looks at a range of security and human security issues related to the displacement of civilian populations and shows how the tenuous existence of migrants can lead to a myriad of human security threats. Providing major theoretical analyses of recent migration trends and in depth case-studies, this book shows that a redefinition of the notion of human security is now needed. David T.Graham is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of International Studies, Nottingham Trent University and Nana K.Poku is a Senior UN Researcher, based in the Department of Politics, Southampton University.

Routledge Research in Population and Migration Series Editors Paul Boyle and Mike Parnwell 1 Migration and Gender in the Developed World Edited by Paul Boyle and Keith Halfacree 2 Migration, Globalisation and Human Security Edited by David T.Graham and Nana K.Poku

Migration, Globalisation and Human Security Edited by David T.Graham and Nana K.Poku

London and New York

First published 2000 by Routledge 11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” © 2000 Edited by David T.Graham and Nana K.Poku All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised 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. 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 Migration, globalisation, and human security/edited by David T.Graham and Nana K.Poku. p. cm.—(Routledge research in population & migration) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Emigration and immigration—Political aspects. 2. National security. I. Graham, David T., 1953–. II. Poku, Nana, 1971– III. Series. JV6255.M54 2000 99–33643 325′.09′049–dc21 CIP ISBN 0-203-98067-0 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-415-18436-3 (Print Edition)

Contents

List of contributors

viii

1

Introduction NANA K.POKU AN D DAVID T.GRAHAM

1

2

Human security in a globalising world NANA K.POKU , NEIL RENWICK AN D JOHN GLENN

9

3

‘Neither here nor there?’ The implications of global diasporas for (inter)national security RICHARD DAVIES

23

4

Mapping territoriality: the geopolitics of sovereignty, governance and the citizen PETER MARDEN

47

5

Migration and security from a North-South perspective: Sweden and Malawi ELISABETH ABIRI

70

6

A durable international migration and security nexus: the problem of the Islamic periphery in transatlantic ties MARK J.MILLER

92

7

Meta-societies, remittance economies and Internet addresses: dimensions of contemporary human security in Polynesia RICHARD BEDFORD

109

8

Tourism, globalisation and critical security in Burma and Thailand MICHAEL J.G.PARNWELL

137

9

Emigration and immigration: the case of Russia IGOR USHKALOV

162

vi

10

The brain drain in Russia: scale, direction and structure IRINA MALAKHA

172

11

The people paradox: human movements and human security in a globalising world DAVID T.GRAHAM

185

Index

215

This book is dedicated to F.H.Hinsley for his enormous contribution to international studies and Peter Vale for his tireless pursuit of justice.

Contributors

Elisabeth Abiri is Lecturer at the Department of Peace and Development Research, University of Göteborg, Sweden. She is currently researching on a project entitled International Migration, Europe and the Quest for Security. Her interests include international migration and refugee flows in relation to human rights and globalisation and security. Her publications include Säkerhetsaspekter på internationell migration (Security Dimensions of International Migration), Report to Överstyrelsen för civil beredskap ÖCB (1995). Richard Bedford is Professor of Geography and Head of the Division of Cultural and Environmental Studies, University of Waikato, New Zealand. He has been undertaking research on migration, population change and socioeconomic transformation in the Pacific Islands since the mid-1960s. His recent research has focused on international migration between island countries in the Pacific and countries on the Pacific rim, especially New Zealand. Richard Davies is a former Lecturer and Researcher in International Relations at Nottingham Trent University, England. His primary research interest concerns the formation of national and political identities in Poland. He is now employed as an Emergency Planning Officer at Leeds City Council, working on its Year 2000 programme. John Glenn is a Lecturer in the Department of Politics and International Relations at Southampton University, England. His latest works include The Soviet Legacy in Central Asia and several publications on the problems of nation-building and state legitimacy in the successor states since the collapse of the Soviet Union. David T.Graham is Senior Lecturer in Geography and Information Technology at Nottingham Trent University, England. His research interests cover medical geography, population issues, and political geography. He has written on these and other topics for a variety of academic journals. He is currently working on a book entitled A Twentieth Century History of the Scottish Cities for publication in 1999.

ix

Irina Malakha is a Researcher at the Institute of International Economic and Political Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences and has published extensively in the fields of security, migration and the effects of skilled emigration. Peter Marden is Lecturer in the Department of Geography and Environmental Science, Monash University, Australia. He is also Director of the Development Studies Centre at Monash. He teaches political geography and development theory. His main research interests are globalisation, community studies, social and political theory. He has also published articles on finance capital and is currently completing a book on globalisation and community. Mark J.Miller is Professor of Political Science at the University of Delaware. He co-authored The Age of Migration, with S.Castles (1993), now in its second edition, The Unavoidable Issue: US Immigration Policy in the 1980s (1982), and Administering Foreign Worker Programs: Lessons from Europe (1992). Michael J.G.Parnwell is a Senior Lecturer in the Centre for South-East Asian Studies at the University of Hull, England. He has researched and written widely on aspects of Third World development. His publications include Population Movements and the Third World (1993) and Environmental Change in South-East Asia: People, Politics and Sustainable Development, with M.Bryant (1996). Nana K.Poku is a Senior United Nations Researcher and Lecturer at Southampton University, England. He has written extensively for UN publications. Among his recent books are Marginalisation and the Scope of Marginality (1999) and Regionalisation and Integration in Southern Africa (1999). Neil Renwick is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of International Studies at Nottingham Trent University, England. He is the author of five books and one co-edited book on security and identity in International Relations. His most recent work is America’s World Identity (forthcoming). Igor Ushkalov is Professor of Demography at the Institute of International Economic and Political Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences. He has written on migration and demographics in Russia, including Regional Processes and the Migration Situation in Russia and the Former SU (with I.Malakha) (1995), Vneshniaia migratzia naselenia kak kolichestevennyi i kachestvennyi factor demographicheskoi dinamiki, (External migration as a factor of qualitative and quantitative demographic dynamics) (1996), Territoalnye obtznosty, reghionalnye krizisy i migratzia neselenia v sovremennoi Rossii (Territorial communities, regional crisis and migration of population in modern Russia) (1997).

1 Introduction

Nana K.Poku and David T.Graham

Thomas Hobbes once described the nature of the state as a form of institution— as he put it, an ‘Artificial Man’, defined by prominence and sovereignty, the authorised representative giving life and motion to society and the body politic. There is a form of social contract between the state and citizenry. In this contract citizens confer on the state the right to control a definable territorial space and, in the process, the right to make and enforce such rules or laws as is deemed necessary in exchange for political, economic and military security. Raymond Aron (1962:750) pursues the theme further by describing the nation-state as a ‘collective personality’ which, like the individual personality, ‘is born and dies in time…asserts itself only by consciousness, being capable of [rational] thought and action’. The orderly polity resulting from the Hobbesian contract between individuals and the state cannot, however, be replicated internationally by a similar contract between states. This is so because the ‘ahistoric moment of utilitarian calculation informed by reason and fear that gave rise to social contract has no counterpart in international relations’ (Walker 1989:174). In essence, domestic order becomes the mirror image and necessary condition of international disorder, thus making anarchy the axiomatic and unalterable principle of global life. However mythical this proposition of a mass opting into a social contract to create the state might sound, either for the imposition of minimal order or cooperative communal benefits, people have granted a central organ a monopoly of political authority and power. Reinforced by nineteenth- and twentieth-century concepts of ideology and nationalism, the state system has now become the most prominent unit of political organisation in the world; organisations to which millions of people owe allegiance and for which many are prepared to die. Indeed, the psychological high of belonging has made it particularly satisfying to belong to a particular state and to be stateless is to enter a world of unimaginable misery and insecurity. The disintegration of states like Afghanistan, Chechnya, Azerbaijan, and many countries on the African continent, have demonstrated in the most dramatic way the exposure of vast numbers of people not only to the dangers of violence from contending bands of warriors and bandits, in a manner reminiscent of medieval times, but to hunger and disease on a cataclysmic scale.

2 NANA K.POKU AND DAVID T.GRAHAM

Population movements and human (in)security Since the 1960s, a number of major developments in global migration patterns have placed the phenomenon at the heart of international politics. First, the scale of movements has increased exponentially. In the 1960s, only a handful of countries, mainly the traditional immigration nations in North America and Oceania, were significantly affected by international migration, but by the 1990s more than 2 per cent of the world’s population was living outside of their country of birth (Martin and Widgren 1996), and virtually every nation was influenced in some way by immigration or emigration of various kinds. Second, there has been an enormous increase in the diversity of international population movement. Whereas in the past, the bulk of such movement involved permanent, or at least long-term, settlement at the destination, world migration is now characterised by not only increased levels of permanent settlement in foreign countries but also by a myriad of temporary, circular migrations of varying duration with a range of purposes. Third, and perhaps inevitably, there has been a dramatic increase in the number of global institutions shaping the level and pattern of international migration. Further, government involvement is increasing, not only in destination countries where attempts to limit the number and characteristics of immigrants have escalated, but also in origin countries where nations have realised the benefits of remittances to national development and actively encouraged emigration of various kinds. However, it is often overlooked that there are other institutions that have become important gatekeepers and facilitators in international migration (Goss and Lindquist 1995; Hugo 1995). These factors have reinforced each other to change the racial mix of many countries and cities beyond all recognition. Simultaneously, the increase in international migration has also given rise to paranoia and xenophobia. Migrants everywhere live a tenuous existence—rarely gaining the same rights as nonmigrants, their hosts always aloof. Blamed for a range of ills— from unemployment to crime, strained social services to lack of national unity— migrants are aware of just how easily their rights can be swept away. The plight of refugees is even worse. We are all still haunted by the terrible images of children and elderly people shivering in the snows of the Kurd Mountains of northern Iraq. In the aftermath of the Gulf War in 1991, the Iraqi offensive against the Kurdish populations in the north of the country had pushed one million people towards the Turkish border, which was hermetically closed to them. Rather than admitting the refugees, as Turkey had previously done, they were prevented from crossing the border. Human rights abuses by Turkish border guards and the life-threatening winter conditions of the mountainous border regions led to an increasing death rate—between 400 and 1,000 per day— largely due to hypothermia, exposure, exhaustion, and bacteria-ridden drinking water, which led to pneumonia, diarrhoea and cholera. At the peak of the crisis, 22 per cent of the refugees were malnourished (4 per cent severely), and 70 per cent of all the hospital cases had diarrhoea. An estimated 4,500 to 6,700 Kurds

INTRODUCTION 3

died during the initial crisis. These figures do not account for those refugees who fled to the Iranian border, who at the peak were triple the numbers at the Turkish border. For these people, matters were complicated by the estimated 10 million landmines that had been planted by the government after 1975, predominantly during the Iran-Iraq War. In the end, only a spectacular and unprecedented effort in aid coordination made it possible to avoid total disaster. At the time, the effort seemed to indicate that even the overnight appearance of some two million refugees was not an impossible task to be countered by military-civilian interaction. Then, in April 1994, the world stood by and watched a televised genocide in Rwanda. The scale and brutality of this genocide must rank as one of the most horrific periods of intense killing anywhere in the world. At the end of one hundred days of intense killing, over one million Tutsis were murdered in cold blood and some two million people were displaced. The mass exodus of ethnic Albanians from Kosovo serves as a reminder of the relationship between state security, international security, territoriality, globalisation, ethnicity, itself a function of past migration, and current migration which in turn threatens further instability in the region. Added to this complex scenario is the myriad human security threats—social, economic, environmental, familial, health, welfare, life, among others—to the ethnic Albanian refugees and displaced persons, the Kosovo Serbs and others in the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. At the time of writing, it is estimated that half of Kosovo’s 1.6 million ethnic Albanians have been forced from their homes. Of these, over 450, 000 have crossed Kosovo’s borders since the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) bombing began on 24 March 1999, 60,000 fled before the allied intervention and around 260,000 are displaced within the province. This represents Europe’s largest refugee crisis since World War II. The situation inside the everexpanding refugee camps deteriorated so rapidly that the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), for the first time during this conflict, urged countries not in the immediate areas to offer a ‘safe haven’ to fleeing civilians. In the words of Sadako Ogata (1999), the UNHCR, ‘Kosovo’s neighbours are swamped and they are no longer in a position to cope with the influx of people. All nations must help now to save lives.’ Certainly, the situation in Qafe Prushit, an isolated mountain area in Albania would seem to confirm the desperate nature of the problem. A confidential UNHCR field report indicates that dehydration and hypothermia have already begun to claim victims in this area. Increasingly, the displacement of civilian populations—under the guise of ‘ethnic cleansing’ or some other pretext—is no longer the by-product of war, but a goal in its own right. The human suffering which underlies it, as well as its impact on regional peace and security, has brought into sharp focus the ways in which different categories of people are marginal to the states in which they live and the various forms of insecurity confronting them. Human rights abuses in Burma or Turkey, genocide in Rwanda or Indonesia, and a whole range of


outrages against civilians on all sides in the wars of Liberia, Algeria, Angola, Sierra Leone and parts of the former Soviet Union are all cases in point. The ongoing conflicts over the remains of what was once Yugoslavia highlight the plight of a population without protection from any state—some falling prey to the remnants of the very state that was once supposed to be their protector. Like the Kurds in Iraq and the Tutsis in Rwanda, the plight of the Kosovo Albanians demonstrates in a dramatic way the catastrophic insecurity of ordinary people in circumstances where states— and the international system of states—are either unable to provide protection or are themselves the principal sources of violence. The structure of the book Chapter 2 explores in some detail the central issues and identifies some of the conceptual problems of a state-centred notion of international security which is bound to overlook the interests and needs of large categories of people, particularly those already external in other ways within states or the system of states. In a significant way, this chapter provides the theoretical framework for the book as a whole. Following on from this theoretical debate, Chapter 3 looks at one of the more obvious links between migration and security—the diaspora. The chapter examines the significance of diasporas and the types of threats they pose to the security of a range of actors, primarily their host states, homelands and certain third parties. Davies argues that the definition of diaspora should be opened out to encompass a broad range of groups from a variety of origins. He further argues that diasporas have an increasing relevance and impact on actors as a result of processes transforming global systems. Several ongoing processes, including advances in transportation and communications technology, increasing migratory flows, and increasing levels of pluralism and tolerance in host countries, have provided diasporas with greater autonomy, power and opportunities for the assertion of their identities and interests. He concludes by looking at the impact of diasporic activities on the security of others. Throughout, he argues that traditional conceptions of security need to be revised to incorporate threats and perceptions of threats arising from fears for the survival of collective identities and values, in addition to those relating to military threats. He applies a revised conception of security in order to discuss the enhanced potential of diasporas to threaten the political, economic and cultural security of their homelands, host countries and third parties enmeshed in diasporic networks. In Chapter 4, Peter Marden explores the relationship between territoriality, citizenship and sovereignty. These are traditionally aligned with nationstates and their seeming autonomy in the international system of states. He argues that forces of fragmentation are closely associated with globalisation in the 1990s. The shifting boundaries of authority are diminishing the administrative capacity of states to deal with forces that seem to defy containment. Hence, as borders become more porous and less meaningful the very basis of democratic

INTRODUCTION 5

governance may erode. Increased human migration is seen as another threat to the nation-state. It is reasonable to argue that in a world of shifting boundaries and mobile populations, the institutions of liberal democracy have revealed a peculiar fragility. Rather than close borders and become more exclusionary, states should open up their borders to immigrants. Whatever the case, the moral obligations of states within the current phase of globalisation are no longer based on an uncomplicated relation between state and citizen, as this relation is now bound up with contested sovereignties. Elisabeth Abiri explores the securitisation of cross-border migration from the perspective of refugees in Chapter 5. She uses two contrasting cases to explore some of the issues involved—Sweden and Malawi. She shows how these seemingly dissimilar countries increasingly came to view migration as a security issue. These two countries which, up until relatively recently, had a generous disposition towards refugees began to change perspectives and policies. The chapter focuses on the inflow and stay of Mozambican refugees in Malawi and the inflow and stay of Bosnian refugees in Sweden. She suggests that since the securitisation of migration appears to be part of globalisation, taking place in the South as well as in the North, it is reasonable to assume that some of the dynamics behind the securitisation of migration may be common for a number of cases. She concludes that migration discourse and policy have been securitised in Malawi and Sweden at approximately the same time but for different reasons. In both cases, the securitisation of cross-border migration is used as the channel for the frustration of both the ruling elite and the citizens. In Malawi, the securitisation is carried out as a way to consolidate democratic rule, while in Sweden it is used as a way to recapture faith in politics. In Chapter 6, Mark J.Miller argues that international migration is increasingly viewed as an important regional and geostrategic dynamic with potentially crucial effects upon states, societies and their security. International migration weaves together states, societies and entire regions in complex, frequently inextricable and often strategically important ways. In order to understand international security at the twilight of the twentieth century, one must first understand international migration. Of particular significance is the nature of the relationship between liberal democracies and, what he terms, the Islamic periphery. This refers to the predominantly Islamic states and societies stretching from Morocco to Indonesia. But he focuses on two cases—the Algerian insurgency and its spillover to Western Europe and the Kurdish insurgency in Turkey and its extension to neighbouring Kurdish areas and to Western Europe. They are illustrative of broader processes affecting international security worldwide. The ‘recent’ Polynesian diaspora from the smaller islands of Oceania to New Zealand, Australia and the United States forms the basis of Chapter 7. Here, Richard Bedford uses literature and more conventional academic sources to explore a number of issues, including social, identity and economic security. No matter where Polynesian peoples live, there is always an acknowledgement of a


homeland in the islands. Unlike most diasporas of recent times, that from Oceania is largely voluntary and has resulted in an unusual, if not unique, creation of transnational social and economic relationships at family level which in some respects transcend the state as the primary socioeconomic grouping for whole peoples. The chapter reviews two aspects of the transnational linkages that are so critical for contemporary human security in Polynesia. The first is the meaning of the process of ‘world enlargement’ which some commentators have recognised as being the basis for new meta-societies in Oceania. The second concerns the remittance transfers which ‘lubricate’ the linkages in these metasocieties, and give meaning to the notion of transnational economies and societies of Polynesians. Michael Parnwell explores the impact of tourism within the context of political, societal and environmental security in Chapter 8. The chapter identifies the victims of certain forms of tourism development, and why they are such. Burma and Thailand form the basis of analysis which links globalisation in the form of the largest mass migration of all time—tourism—with human security and development issues. The forces that might serve to protect citizens’ interests in the face of tourist globalisation appear relatively powerless in the face of the prevailing political economy. However, Parnwell presents evidence that the situation is beginning to change with the emergence of advocacy groups, nongovernmental organisations and, in Thailand at least, a gradual tendency towards greater democratisation. These have increased awareness of the negative externalities of tourism development. But the industry has sought to extend its realms of activity and influence to include countries on Thailand’s periphery, where awareness of, and the means to control, the harmful effects of tourism are much less advanced and where, by contrast, the incentive to facilitate the relatively soft form of development that tourism represents is substantial. The issues of emigration and immigration in post-Soviet Russia provide the basis for Igor Ushkalov’s contribution in Chapter 9. The economic and democratic forces that helped cause the downfall of the Soviet Union and the communist state have helped unleash a demand for freedom of movement both internally and externally. Ushkalov shows how migration is an important component in Russia’s demography. He explores some of the population movements consequent on democratisation. He demonstrates how major and complex internal movements pose threats to regional security, including ecological security. International migration is also a threat to security. Most of the emigrants are those with skills and qualifications. Many of the immigrants are from the Far East, particularly China, and this poses a threat to human and conventional security. Throughout the chapter the ethnic dimension to the security-migration nexus is never far from the surface. Irina Malakha takes one aspect of Ushkaolov’s chapter—the brain drain— further in Chapter 10 where she discusses the emigration of highly skilled and highly qualified personnel from Russia. The last few years have seen a large increase in both internal and external movements in what had been, for security

INTRODUCTION 7

reasons, a very immobile society. The lifting of strict restrictions on emigration and the opening of its borders has presented Russia with a number of problems not least of which is the exodus of some of its best people. This has serious economic and social security implications for Russia. With the educational level of these emigrants ten times higher than the average for Russia as a whole this flight of talent has already had an effect on the ‘quality’ of the Russian populace. It also has a deleterious impact on all aspects of research and development in the country, as Malakha amply demonstrates. There are associated problems related to a range of human security issues for modern Russia, particularly during a period of transition. Economic instability and political unrest are least likely to be solved when the most intellectually able are emigrating in large numbers. This is a loss of human capital and a loss of the investment in the education and training of the emigrants. David T.Graham’s chapter explores the population movements in the context of globalisation. Globalising forces have weakened the nation-state and national boundaries have become increasingly porous. While nation-states have little control over the movement of goods, capital and information they have sought to exert their influence on the movement of people. Country after country has erected barriers to immigration. Ever stringent criteria control the entry of labour, refugees, settlers and asylum seekers. National governments, aware of the growth of anti-immigrant sentiment and the popularity of nativist political parties, cut quotas, impose harsher regulations, engage in multilateral agreements and like to be seen to be taking a ‘tough stance’ on immigration. Yet these same countries spend large sums of money encouraging people to visit for tourism, culture, sport, business, study and temporary work, which the host population is unable or unwilling to do. Graham explores this people paradox. The willingness to encourage mass tourism and other short-term movements on the one hand, while curtailing more traditional movements on the other. The many potential human security threats associated with diasporas, settlement migration, refugees, foreign labour and asylum seekers are viewed as serious by policy-makers. At the same time, mass tourism and other short-term movements are seen as unproblematic in terms of human security and accepted as part of the globalising process (but as Parnwell shows this is far from the case). References Aron, R. (1962) Peace and War: A Theory of International Relations, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Goss, J. and Linquist, B. (1995) ‘Conceptualizing international labour migration: a structural perspective’, International Migration Review 29(2):317–51. Hugo, G.J. (1995) ‘Illegal international migration in Asia’, in R.Cohen (ed.) Cambridge Survey of World Migration, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 397–402. Martin, P. and Widgren, J. (1996) ‘International migration: a global challenge’, Population Studies 51, 1:1–18.


Ogata, S. (1999) Quoted from a press conference, Geneva, 4 April. Walker, R.B.J. (1989) ‘History and structure in the theory of international studies’, Millennium 18(2):163–83.

2 Human security in a globalising world Nana K.Poku, Neil Renwick and John Glenn

Introduction For almost half a century, Cold War ideology served to eclipse the distinction between the state, popular interests and the multiplicity of values, claims and identities of a state’s citizenry. When it came to considering security, state and society were considered as one, thereby occluding what was in reality a problematic relation. Issues like internal conflicts, intrastate and interstate migratory flows and environmental problems were more or less subsumed under the security policies and interests of nation-states. In general, state policies always appeared both well defined and comprehensive enough to include everything that mattered to the ‘national interest’. Fundamentally, the ‘national interest’ was a term used by policy-makers to describe the long-term, core collective objectives of the state. Generally, in descending order of priority, the collective objectives were deemed to comprise the security and survival of the state, economic prosperity and the sustenance of the social and political values of the security of the state. Normally, governments would claim that these objectives constitute the fundamental and immutable interest of all the citizens of the state, regardless of social rank, party political affiliation, wealth or ethnicity. These nationwide collective interests were presented as being representative of the vital interests of the whole of the state. In this construction of the ‘national interest’, the state became the censorious referent of security and the concept became synonymous with the defence of the ‘national interest’. Security in this context was conceived internally as the repression of dissidence while externally it involved espionage and massive arms proliferation, in particular the development of ever more sophisticated weapons of mass destruction. This conception of security and its implications for the construction of the ‘national interest’ was indebted to the methodological and ontological insights of the dominant paradigm of the day—realism. In what follows, this chapter examines the challenges to the realist conception of security that have arisen from the increasing globalisation of the world. Although the last two decades have witnessed the extension of the security debate into ever wider issue areas, it is argued that much of this writing has remained within the general framework of

10 NANA K.POKU, NEIL RENWICK AND JOHN GLENN

realism. Thus, by adopting such a framework these writings have, either implicitly or explicitly, accepted the state-centric assumptions of realism and its younger cousin neorealism. In other fields of inquiry it may be considered passé to refer to the increasing interconnectedness of the world and the final realisation of the ‘global village’ that McLuhan and Carpenter (1966) spoke of in the sixties. However, in international relations the globalisation literature has helped highlight the weakness of an approach that takes the state as the primary actor and presents the international environment as essentially static and immutable. The increasing importance of a multitude of actors, the almost instantaneous transmission of information across the world that has led to the ‘annihilation of space’, and the increasing sensitivity of national economies to events elsewhere underline the unreality of realism’s state-centred model (Leyson 1995). At the same time, the growing awareness that the increasing interconnectedness of the world has meant that activities performed at the local level may have consequences, intended or unintended, for distant ‘others’, has raised another series of questions at the ethical level. Transnationalism and interdependence have always had a double-edged quality to them in the sense that they have brought with them both positive and negative impacts, but the dramatic increase in both the speed and number of these interactions has brought into sharper focus their ethical implications. Globalisation has thus brought into stark relief the potential for propagating transnational harm to absent ‘others’ on a daily basis. Although realism has always claimed to eschew any normative stance, its outlook and description of the world has always carried with it normative implications (Brown 1992). At the very heart of its approach is the fundamental assumption that the state is the main referent object of security, thus reifying an abstract social construct. The objective of this chapter is thus twofold. First, to make such normative assumptions explicit and to argue that an approach such as realism is wholly inadequate for dealing with the issue of migration in any meaningful way. Second, to offer in place of realism’s preoccupation with state security, a conception of security that adopts the welfare of humanity as its main concern. Realism, the state and security Although what follows assumes a unitary school, realism must be understood less as a coherent theoretical position in its own right than as the site of a great many contested claims and metaphysical disputes. Whether situated against the early twentieth-century crisis of historicism or analysed as yet another benighted footnote to dualism inherited from classical Greek philosophy, claims to political realism in the theory of international relations carry meanings and implications from a much broader discourse about politics and philosophy. Contrary to the assertion of some critics, however, modern realists share, rather than reject, the core premises of their classical predecessors (Ashley 1984). Indeed, the modern form of realism reiterates the traditional argument that any serious extension of

HUMAN SECURITY IN A GLOBALISING WORLD 11

moral and political community beyond the boundaries of the sovereign state is inconceivable in the context of anarchy. It is from these shared values that we can begin to draw some general conclusions about the core assumptions of realist thought. These are: the state, anarchy of the international system, power and security (Doyle 1990; Rosenberg 1990). Drawing heavily on the classical writings of Machiavelli and Hobbes, realism is grounded in a pessimistic conception of human nature. In general, human beings are perceived to have a problematic nature: they are uninformed, passionate, undisciplined, and even violent. Moreover, they lack the intelligence to perform rational cost-benefit calculations and are incapable of discerning their own best interest, and even if they do, they lack the willpower to act in accordance with those interests. This view of man is tied to a specific image of the state. Because man cannot find fulfilment and salvation within himself he must find it outside himself—in the collectivity, in the state (see Hegel 1953; Hobbes 1964). In this construction, the state compensates for the deficiencies of man; where man is passionate, the state is rational; where man is weak, the state is strong—it possesses reason and will, there is a raison d’ètat and a volonte d’ètat. States have intelligence and will to survive; they are rational actors, entailing a state-centred perception of world politics (Waltz 1979). Yet states are not entirely rational. They have a dualistic nature—there is a certain potential to unreason in each state. They may at times lose their will to exist or they may endanger the existence of other states by pursuing ‘revisionist’ policies. According to this realist view, the state needs an elite because it must survive in a hostile environment, at home and abroad. At home it confronts the irrational masses of citizens—abroad, a host of hostile powers. The supreme goal is to survive in this two-sided state of war, and, to succeed, the state needs to be highly centralised and hierarchical (Bernhardi 1914). It is a tight collectivity in which individuals are treated as a means serving a higher end, subordinate parts of a whole with well-defined functions and roles. Their values are not individualistic, they do not emphasise independence, self-determination, selfdiscipline, voluntariness, or equality. Within this kind of state the emphasis is on dependence, subordination, compulsion and inequality in order that the ‘national interest’ can be pursued. Externally, the state has to be strong because it confronts others of a similar kind—hence the anarchical nature of the international system. The result is a decentralised system where conflict is endemic and security is managed by selfhelp. Each state has to provide for its own security. Each state is forced to arm. Economic considerations are subordinate to military considerations because, although states engage in international trade, this engagement is fragile because states worry about the relative gains accruing from international exchange, gains that directly affect their relative position of strength. In this context, cooperation is temporary because states only cooperate for purely egotistical reasons— concerned with counterbalancing a potential hegemon. As a result, international trade and interdependence must not be valued too highly. The impact of the


‘forces of modernity,’ of science, technology, communication and commerce, is ambivalent: they can strengthen or weaken a country. This is a world of no permanent friendship or enmities but of constantly changing alliances dictated by no other sentiment (such as religion, ideology, or dynastic bonds) than the ‘reason of state’. Such cooperation is natural and rational because it is assumed that each state has the will and the power to aim for its own survival. State representatives are not expected actively to seek conflict but they must regard war as a rational instrument and have to be willing to use it when necessary. At times, war can be avoided because the mere threat of war (deterrence) will suffice, but it is important to prepare for the worst case scenario. To that end, it is vital to be in possession of a broad range of military instruments to handle any situation and to control any crisis. Insufficient armament, and particularly disarmament, leads to a power vacuum and to unstable situations inviting aggression and causing war (Gray 1988). Stability in the international system is more likely when all states are sufficiently secure and armed. Perpetual peace is impossible—at best there can be stability through the adroit management of alliances that counter-balance potential hegemons. The paranoid world of the Cold War proved fertile grounds for these ideas. Accordingly, security came to focus on war, the ability to fight wars and the external threats to the state that might give rise to them (Wolfers 1962). For the analyst, the referent object of security became the state. In this world, security came from being a citizen, and insecurity from citizens of other states. The state was thus depicted as the protector of its citizens from the hostile intentions of other states. According to Krause and Williams (1997:43), these threats from other states were seen as being ‘directed toward individuals qua citizens (that is, toward their states), and the study of security accordingly strives to mitigate these threats through concerted action by the representatives of the citizenry— the state leaders’. Societal security in this context was underplayed, or examined specifically in the context of the legitimacy of the governing structure of any particular state. Thus, such issues as interstate and intrastate migration, environmental protection, food and water security, job security, to name but a few, were either not dealt with or dismissed as domestic political matters. The odious nature of realism in the context of the Cold War, it appears, was sufficient to discourage scholars and commentators from investigating the critical nature of human security. The state and insecurity Since the end of the Cold War, the concept of security has generated an extraordinarily complex debate. In the literature, the concept has found itself redefined (Baldwin 1997; Mathews 1989; Poku and Graham 1998; Thomas 1987), reconceptualised (Håkan 1992), reshaped (Krause and Williams 1997), retheorised (Booth 1991; Wyn Jones 1989), re-examined (Buzan 1993) and revisioned (Lipschutz 1992). The resulting conceptual muddle has allowed some


to claim not so much a redefinition as a de-definition of security (Waever 1993). However, despite the considerable attention, it is still rare to find the security interests of states separated, even conceptually, from those of the people under them; less still, the international security of persons and groups of people, rather than states, made the focus of attention. Some authors, like Waever (1993), are critical of much of the literature that has endeavoured to move the security debate forward. For Waever, any extension of the content and context of security beyond the state and the international system faces three interrelated problems: First, the concept of security becomes all-inclusive and is thereby emptied of content; second, the lack of explicit attention to the connotative core of classical security make the new approaches an innocent contributor to the reproduction— and even expansion—of securitisation; and, third, there is a lack of political effort on ‘security,’ as traditionally defined. The critical approach argued below challenges this view on the grounds that any normative claims for privileging the state—as was witnessed during the Cold War—are untenable because it is quite fallacious to view threats to human security simply in terms of protection from military violence. Such an approach places common humanity rather than raison d’état at the core of the normative concerns, implying that security of the state is not necessarily synonymous with the security of everybody living within that state. As Wyn Jones (1989) rightly noted, in places where security of the state is synonymous with the security of the citizens in that state, it usually comes at a price. In other words, ‘their citizens’ security is bought at the price of insecurity for the vast majority of the inhabitants of [the other] chronically insecure states’ (Wyn Jones 1989:311). Indeed, international politics is littered with instances of how one country or group’s national security can be another country or group’s insecurity. The apartheid system, which dominated South African politics for nearly fifty years, provides an illuminating example of this. Here, we find that, in formal-legal terms, the state was constructed as the state of ‘the people’, of a ‘nation’ of people; but of course that nationhood was racially qualified; it was a white ‘nation’, a nation which took racial similarities and hence European origins as the criteria for membership. The state legally validated the white inhabitants of South Africa as sovereign right-bearing subjects who experienced their liberty through their membership of a ‘nation’ (a nation underpinned by twin ethics of community and brotherhood) and the protection of their rights by the public agency of the state. By so doing, the state formally suggested itself to its white subjects as the architectonic political expression of a rational— liberal ethic. Critical to the crafting of this apartheid state was the principle of the reconstruction of ‘the native’ as a non-national, who stood outside the civilised society of the white nation and who could not therefore find comfort in the public legal paternalism of the modern liberal state. Many of the apartheid laws sought to reinforce, institutionally as well as ideologically, this reconstructive attitude towards the African majority. Above all, the laws passed by Vorster’s government in the 1970s, which set out to make legally viable the reconstitution


of the Homelands as a separate ‘independent’ sovereign state, should be read as an attempt to deny the African majority citizenship of the white nation and hence of the white state. As Connie Mulder, whom Botha narrowly beat in the 1978 leadership election put it: If our [National Party] policy is taken to its logical conclusion as far as the black people are concerned, there will not be one black [meaning African] man with South African citizenship. Every black man in South Africa will eventually be accommodated in some independent new state in this honorable way and there will no longer be a moral obligation on this parliament to accommodate those people politically. (House of Assembly 1978) However, in reference to the white constituency, it was a projection of itself as a formally liberal ideal, which the apartheid state depended on as the rational justification for its continued dominance. In other words, the state tried to argue that, in terms of its rational-ethical relations to the white constituency, it represented the ideal security regime. It was on this kind of argument that the state sought to base its claim to the monopoly both of the means of physical violence, and the means of generating an all-encompassing legal-normative order within the borders of the territory of the South African state. Hence, the state presented itself to the white constituents as a state which was just and deserving of obedience because it was a state which, at root, embraced the modern democratic principle of political organisation (parliamentary practice, electoral politics, party and caucus dynamics), modern bureaucratic principles of civil administration and modern methods of judicial arbitration. Moreover, the state justified its continued dominance by presenting itself as a form of political order which, in the international realm, would always act reasonably in the interests of the sovereign people, in the spheres of economic and military engagement. These were the modern legitimations that the state offered up to the people as arguments which justified its continued dominance. These were also the very arguments that underlined the insecurities of the rest of the black majority. More recently, a number of crises have demonstrated in an equally dramatic way the catastrophic insecurity of ordinary people in circumstances where states— and the international system of states—are either unwilling and/or unable to provide protection or are themselves the principal sources of violence. Human rights abuses in Burma, Turkey, or Indonesia, and a whole range of outrages against civilians on all sides in the wars of Liberia, Algeria or parts of the former Soviet Union are all cases in point. For many people in these societies, their chief security threat is the very government under whose sovereignty they live, either through its power and oppressive policies, or as a result of its incapacity to sustain the infrastructure of life for the vast majority. The conflicts over the remains of what was once Yugoslavia highlight the plight of a population without protection from any state—some fall prey to the remnants of the very state that


was once supposed to be their protector. The disintegration of the state in Yugoslavia has demonstrated in the most dramatic way the exposure of a vast numbers of people not only to the dangers of violence from contending bands of warriors and bandits, in a manner reminiscent of medieval Europe, but hunger and disease on a cataclysmic scale. This is particularly the case in parts of the former colonial world where the very existence of national sovereignty has been threatened by the failure of the nation-building processes (Thomas 1987). Nowhere are there more examples than in contemporary Africa. Far more than in other parts of the post-colonial world, the African state system, as we know it today, is the direct and obvious descendent of European colonialism. Its boundaries are the lines drawn on maps by colonial governments, generally with startling lack of concern for the people whom they casually allocated to one territory or another. Every boundary cuts through at least one cultural area; the Nigeria-Cameroon boundary divides fourteen, while the boundaries of Burkina Faso cross twenty-one cultural areas. At the micro level such boundaries sometimes divided town from hinterland, village from traditional fields and even families from their communities. This artificiality has made it particularly difficult to generate a moral basis for government, which in turn has endowed rulers with legitimacy or authority, rather than with the mere control of the state machinery. Though the notion of government is accepted, the political institutions through which it is exercised are treated with remarkable indifference. Multi-party systems have been replaced by single-party states, and in turn by military regimes, without raising much more than a flicker of interest from any but those who were immediately affected by the change. For the great majority, life simply continued. And, while passive acceptance certainly (from the government’s point of view) has much to be said for it, it provides no assurance of stability. Unlike the colonial state which managed to supervise the disparate elements over which it ruled (with unrivalled military coercion and frequently, brute force), post-colonial states have, in general, failed to resolve intraethnic disputes and the result has been the proliferation of violence we have come to associate with the African continent. This explains why the continent has the highest number of migrants of any region in the world. Indeed, Africa’s present condition draws attention not only to the absence of protection for many people by states, but to the possibility of states that, in their present condition, can barely provide an acceptable degree of security in any sense to anyone. At issue is not whether imperial systems were more secure, or security-giving, or more stable than the post-colonial states, which, quite evidently, they were not, but two issues are worth considering. The first is that the process of transformation through which new states are consolidated by responding to new doctrines of legitimacy and security is, like the reordering of power relations to which it is a response, turbulent and protracted with no guarantee of a happy ending. The second is that in the light of its failure in so many ways to deliver security, we have to question whether the postcolonial state, specifically, is in a


general sense any more satisfactory as a basis of world order than what preceded it. This point is particularly important, because it calls into question the nature of states themselves. The human security approach As we move towards the twenty-first century, questions about the relevance and role of the modern state have become ever more pressing. Although the possibility that international relations may don the mantle of a previous historical epoch is often underestimated, there does seem to be a widespread recognition of the need to reconceptualise the foundations of the emergent global order (Rosenau 1997). Specifically, there is a need to re-examine the impacts of modernity—defined as the latest stage of capitalism—on the objectified notion of the Hobbesian state. It has long been perceived by historical sociologists, like Mann, Hall, Chase-Dunn and Sklair, that the state has been in crisis. It can also be seen in the work of geographers (Corbridge, Martin and Thrift 1994; Dicken 1992). Interest in the decline of the state has been evident among lawyers for some time, particularly those who argue that states are not the only sources of legal authority either today or in the past. It can also be seen in much recent work by scholars concerned with the management and organisation of business, who see the strong development of networks of economic enterprises transcending state frontiers, confusing state agencies and replacing the hierarchical firm as the dominant model for the production of goods and services. This insight is significant for the state since it has hitherto been the state that conferred ‘corporate personality’ on the firm, even though this has always been little more than a convenient fiction. Much of the recent literature on globalisation has focused on the huge array of interdependent relations that have sprung up between a multitude of actors, state and non-state, and the distanciated nature of these interactions. It is argued that the globalised nature of the world has meant that, increasingly, relationships that involve close encounters of a direct kind in which we meet others face to face are being replaced by indirect contact with remote persons. Today, economic activities are no longer focused at the local level and the objective is no longer to serve a limited population with immediate needs. Modern production is spread over large intervals of time due to long-term industrialised planning and does not involve one local site but many spatially distant sites. Generally, production is no longer geared to the satisfaction of a community’s immediate needs. Instead, it is designed to fulfil consumption at a distant site by an unknown user (Saurin 1994). At the same time, the global nature of the financial system has resulted in capital created in one area being reinvested in a multitude of facilities and enterprises situated in other, often very distant, sites. Social activities are geared towards producing items not for immediate local needs but towards producing commodities that satisfy the desires of absent others who in all likelihood one will never meet. Globalisation has therefore radically altered the manner in


which we conduct our lives in the sense that ‘locales are thoroughly penetrated by and shaped in terms of social influences quite distant from them. What structures the locale is not simply that which is present on the scene; the “visible form” of the locale conceals the distanciated relations which determine its nature’ (Giddens 1990:19). Instead of seeing the world as made up of states which limit their cooperative endeavours because of the conditions inherent within the international system, it is argued that we are dealing with a world system in which virtually all areas of the earth are affected, one way or another, by activities in another part of the world. This conclusion has ethical implications for the way in which we regard others, regardless of how remote their habitat may be from ours. Rather than viewing security as being concerned with ‘individuals qua citizens (that is, toward their states)’, our approach views security as being concerned with ‘individuals qua persons’ (Krause and Williams 1997). Implicit, then, in this conjunction of issues with ideas of human security and liberation is the notion of the ethical and moral. As an approach that focuses upon the importance of the insecurities facing people rather than governments or institutional agencies, human security is concerned with transcending the dominant paradigmatic orthodoxy that views critical concerns of migration—recognition (i.e. citizenship), basic needs (i.e. sustenance), protection (i.e. refugee status), or human rights (i.e. legal standing) —as problems of interstate politics and consequently beyond the realm of the ethical or moral. The veteran American diplomat George Kennan offers the clearest exposition of the orthodox perspective: First of all, the conduct of diplomacy is the responsibility of governments. …; What we are talking about, therefore, when we attempt to relate moral considerations to foreign policy, is the behaviour of governments, not of individuals or entire peoples. Second,…the functions, commitments and moral obligations of governments are not the same as those of the individual. Government is an agent, not a principal. Its primary obligation is to the interests of the national society it represents, not to the moral impulses that individual elements of that society may experience…. The interests of the national society for which government has to concern itself are basically those of its military security, the integrity of its political life and the wellbeing of its people. These needs have no moral quality. They arise from the very existence of the national state in question and from the status of national sovereignty it enjoys. They are unavoidable necessities of a national existence and therefore not subject to classification as either ‘good’ or ‘bad’…. Finally,…there are no internationally accepted standards of morality to which the US government could appeal if it wished to act in the name of moral principles. (Kennan 1985:205–7)


This classic exposition of the realist position is deeply embedded in the assumptions about the basic character of humanity itself, the struggle for power that inheres in such character and is thus universal and reified in a propensity for violence in the conduct of sovereign states towards each other. As an assumed, and asserted, ‘undeniable fact of experience’ (Morgenthau 1993:36) in the realist outlook, the contest for power leaves the ethical and moral to be determined almost exclusively by specific political circumstances and ‘prudence’ (‘the political consequences of seemingly moral action’) (Morgenthau 1993:12). Thus moral claims to the ‘just war’ (for example in the war against Iraq), to ideological superiority (as in the Cold War confrontation), or to ethnic and racial superiority (such as in the Bosnia– Herzegovinan, Rwandan or Kosovo Albanian examples of ‘ethnic cleansing’) are couched in ‘zero-sum’ terms. Thus it is and thus it has always been (Morgenthau 1993). Migration in the form of forced expulsions or refugees fleeing war is thus, for realists, less a problem of morality and more a problem of realpolitik (Does this destabilise our country’s political order? What do we do with these people? What does this mean for our available national economic, social and welfare resources? Will our receiving of refugees be seen as a hostile act by the other state’s government?). Clearly, such notions of morality in international affairs have been challenged over centuries by those who have envisaged a world of states the standards of which are guaranteed by international legal prescription. The Grotian tradition assumes the harnessing of states’ egocentric behaviour by voluntarily agreed limitations on sovereign action. International organisations such as the League of Nations, the United Nations or the International Court of Justice at The Hague are therefore contributory to the construction of internationally agreed standards of right conduct. Migration is thus regulated according to both national and international laws. These are supplemented by non-binding declarations on rights and obligations of states designed to establish practical governance. Alternatively, challenges have been mounted from a cosmopolitan tradition claiming universal moral values embedded in a human singularity. All humans thus seek freedom from want and oppression and, as part of a single human species, should seek amelioration as a basic right of existence. It is thus an incumbent obligation upon the rest of humanity to ensure that these rights are heard, respected and met. Arguments for the universality of human rights or for ‘basic needs’ approaches to world suffering clearly assume such ethical precepts. Yet, these approaches are all fraught with problems. Emancipation in the realist perspective rests within the gift of government officials acting upon selfdefinitions of necessarily selfish national interests. Thus, the imperatives of governmental political ‘prudence’ represent an uncertain, ad hoc basis for moral considerations of human security. Claims that the international system displays a significant degree of societal commitment despite its fundamentally anarchical condition are beside the main point that such a definitional self-allocation of responsibility necessarily excludes and subordinates the moral needs of people


themselves. Similarly, cosmopolitan universalism and the arguments of ‘ethical relativists’ devalue the human dimension. A further consideration here is the assumption of the state as an effective and affective agency. Without resorting to the full armoury of postmodernist arguments, the validity of this assumption is clearly open to question. The intensification of complex forms of manufacturing, distribution and marketing interdependency and the heightened sensitivities of the world’s financial interconnections have served to restrict the practical sovereignty exercised by governments in their attempts to conduct day-to-day economic management. The increased scale and velocity of transactional transfers across the boundaries of states are ever more difficult for governments to police and influence. Such processes are further strengthened by a trend towards largescale corporate mergers designed to create enterprises with the genuinely global scale and reach foreshadowed a little prematurely in the 1970s and 1980s (Dicken 1992). If to this is added a sense of a more ‘disorganised’ form of post-Fordist capitalism flowing from these deeper economic processes, then governments appear more as the camp followers rather than the generals of the international system (Lash and Urry 1987, 1994). Here, Anthony Giddens’ arguments offer insight. He argues that such changes are reconstructing social relationships across reorganised time and space. This is ‘a single world, having a unitary framework of experience…yet at the same time one which creates new forms of fragmentation and dispersal’ (Giddens 1992:17) This condition, Giddens (1992: 21) argues, is giving rise to a ‘sequestration of experience’ separating daily life from familiar poles of moral understanding. Thus, ‘for many people, direct contact with events and situations which link the individual lifespan to broad issues of morality and finitude are rare and fleeting’ (Giddens 1992:21). For migrants to a new country even more than for the wider social experience, such sequestration is felt intensively. For refugees or even for some gypsy communities, the sense of displacement is potentially even more acute. The human security approach is particularly concerned with addressing the insecurities of this experience by placing the human subject at the very heart of its analytical focus. The 1994 United Nations Development Report gave this approach its empirical content. In this report, the component of human security fell under two broad headings; freedom from fear and freedom from want (the key principles underlying the UN Charter itself). Of particular importance to us is that this proposal defined human security as ‘people-centred. It is concerned with how people live and breathe in a society’ and argued that ‘to address the growing challenge of human security, a new development paradigm is needed that puts people at the centre of development…and respects the natural systems on which all life depends’ (United Nations 1994:4, 23). The main focus throughout this report was the security of the individuals that constitute humanity. Similarly, the 1995 Commission on Global Governance which emphasises human security, sets out a list of security objectives that should be of global concern. From its


perspective the principal aims of global security ‘should be to prevent conflict and war and to maintain the integrity of the planet’s life-support systems by eliminating the economic, social, environmental, political, and military conditions that generate threats to the security of people and the planet, and by anticipating and managing crises before they escalate into armed conflicts’ (Commission on Global Governance 1995:84). It is both difficult and possibly self-defeating to think of these issues as isolated and disconnected with other security issues. Migration, for example, more often than not goes hand in hand with environmental degradation, economic deprivation and conflict or vice versa. But, also, such events are not regarded as caused solely by events within a particular state’s borders. Rather, interactions with distant others more often than not play a part in the original pressures for populations to move from one place to another. An obvious example of this would be the speculative activities that resulted in the economic meltdown in Southeast Asia which led to the mass expulsion of ‘guest’ workers from these states. A less obvious example is the sale of armaments to oppressive regimes, the use of which in government clampdowns leads to mass exodus. This acknowledgement of causal interdependence lies at the heart of sustainable common security and a holistic perspective of migratory movements. For example, it is said that ‘poverty, injustice, environmental degradation, and conflict interact in complex and potent ways…. The immediate cause of any mass movement of refugees may appear to be political upheaval and military violence. But the underlying causes often include the deterioration of the natural resource base and its capacity to support the population’; similarly, ‘environmental stress is both a cause and an effect of political tension and military conflict’ (Commission on Environment and Development 1997:290–1). Such a global perspective expands our notion of ethical responsibility beyond state borders by recognising that in an increasingly globalised and interdependent world there is a concomitant increase in the likelihood of propagating transnational harm to remote others (Linklater 1998). This has a deep significance for the way in which we regard the issue of migration because such global interactions imply that we have an obligation to those affected. As one author has suggested, we not only have to overcome the dominant discourse of realism/neorealism but also liberal economic thought that separates economics from politics (Mittelman 1994). Human security must strive to relink what liberal economic theory has de-linked. Economic investment, the penetration of distant locales and the trade in weaponry and other forms of technology bring with them political consequences and responsibilities for all involved. Conclusion This redefinition of the content and purpose of security studies does not entail any attempt to deny or ignore the continuing importance of military security. It does mean, however, that by placing the poor, the disadvantaged, the voiceless,


the under-represented, the powerless at the core of their agenda, that for the majority of the people in the world, apparent ‘marginal’ or ‘esoteric’ concerns— such as environmental security, food and economic security—are far more real and immediate threats to their security than interstate wars. This broader conception of security focuses variously, or indeed interchangeably, on the individual, on society, on civil society, on community, on the continuing integrity of ethnic or cultural groups and on global society. In line with the sentiments of Ken Booth (1991), the discourse and practice of security in this context, is primarily concerned with the struggle for human emancipation. It is within this emancipatory discourse that this book is located. References Ashley, R.K. (1984) ‘The poverty of neorealism’, International Organization 38: 255–86. Baldwin, D.A. (1997) ‘The concept of security’, Review of International Studies 23(1): 5– 26. Bernhardi, F.von (1914) Germany and the Next War, New York: Longmans, Green and Co. Booth, K. (1991) ‘Strategy and emancipation’, Review of International Studies 17(4): 313– 26. Brown, C. (1992) International Relations Theory: New Normative Approaches, London: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Buzan, B. (1993) ‘Societal security’, in O.Waever, B.Buzan, M.Kelstrup and P. Lemaitre (eds) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, London: Pinter, pp. 41–58. Commission on Environment and Development (1997) Our Common Future, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Commission on Global Governance (1995) Our Global Neighbourhood, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Corbridge, S., Martin, R. and Thrift, N. (eds) (1994) Money, Power and Space, Oxford: Blackwell. Dicken, P. (1992) Global Shift: The Internationalisation of Economic Activity, London: Paul Chapman Publishing. Doyle, M. (1990) ‘Thucydidean realism’, Review of International Studies 16(3): 223–37. Giddens, A. (1990) The Consequences of Modernity, Cambridge: Polity Press. ——(1992) ‘Modernity and self-identity: self and society in the late modern age’, in F.Frascina and J.Harris (eds) Art in Modern Culture: An Anthology of Critical Texts, London: Phaidon, pp. 210–22. Gray, C.S. (1988) The Geopolitics of Super Power, Lexington: University Press of Kentucky. Håkan, W. (1992) ‘(Re)conceptualising security’, Arms Control 13 (3): 487–92. Hegel, G.W.F. (1953) Reason in History: A General Introduction to the Philosophy of History, New York: Bobbs-Merrill. Hobbes, T. (1964) Leviathan, New York: Washington Square Press. House of Assembly (1978) Debates, 7 February, Column 579. Kennan, G. (1985) ‘Morality and foreign policy’, Foreign Affairs 64(2): 205–7.


Krause, K. and Williams, M. (1997) ‘From strategy to security: foundations of critical security studies’, in K.Krause and M.Williams (eds) Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases, London: UCL Press, pp. 33–61. Lash, S. and Urry, J. (1987) The End of Organized Capitalism, Cambridge: Polity Press. ——(1994) Economies of Signs and Space, London: Sage. Leyson, A. (1995) ‘Annihilating space?: the speed-up of communications’, in J. Allen (ed.) A Shrinking World, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 8–25. Linklater, A. (1998) The Transformation of Political Community, Cambridge: Polity Press. Lipschutz, R. (1992) ‘Reconstructing world politics: the emergence of global civil society’, Millennium 21(3): 389–421. Mathews, J.T. (1989) ‘Redefining security’, Foreign Affairs 68(2): 171–7. McLuhan, M. and Carpenter, E. (1966) Explorations in Communication, Boston: Beacon Press. Mittelman, J. (1994) ‘Production and migration’, in Y.Sakamoto (ed.) Global Transformation: Challenges to the State System, Tokyo: United Nations University, pp. 34–62. Morgenthau, H. ([1948] 1993) Politics Among Nations: The Struggle for Power and Peace, New York: McGraw-Hill. Poku, N. and Graham, D.T. (eds) (1998) Redefining Security: Population Movements and National Security, Westport, CT: Praeger. Rosenau, J.N. (1997) ‘Imposing global orders: a synthesised ontology for a turbulent era’, in S.Gill and J.H.Mittelman (eds) Innovation and Transformation in International Studies, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 220–36. Rosenberg, J. (1990) ‘What’s the matter with realism?’, Review of International Studies 16 (4): 285–303. Saurin, J. (1994) ‘Global environmental degradation’, in C.Thomas (ed.) Rio: Unravelling the Consequences, Oregon: Frank Cass, pp. 20–43. Thomas, C. (1987) In Search of Security: The Third World in International Relations, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. United Nations (1994) Human Development Report, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Waever, O. (1993) ‘Societal security: the concept’, in O.Waever, B.Buzan, M. Kelstrup and P.Lemaitre (eds) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, London: Pinter, pp. 17–40. Waltz, K. (1979) Theory of International Politics, New York: Random House. Wolfers, A. (1962) Discord and Collaboration, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press. Wyn Jones, R. (1989) “‘Message in a bottle”? Theory and praxis in critical security studies’, Contemporary Security Policy 16(3): 299–319.

3 ‘Neither here nor there?’

The implications of global diasporas for (inter)national security Richard Davies

Introduction In a world commonly depicted as constituted by a system of nation-states, diasporas stand out as one of the ‘awkward’ collective identities which are ‘neither here nor there’. To ‘outsiders’, diasporas are often perceived as groups who resist full assimilation into their host society and who desire to maintain strong ties with their homelands. While these transnational linkages may give rise to suspicions or fears about their loyalties to the host, for diaspora ‘insiders’ such fears merely serve to further engender group cohesion and a sense of difference within the host society. Diasporas have long been neglected by international relations theorists so that these ‘quintessentially transnational’ (Rosenau 1993:xvi) actors rank amongst the least understood in global politics. There have been notable exceptions to this oversight (Constas and Platias 1993; Seton-Watson 1977; Sheffer 1986), but in spite of growing international relations research focused on non-state identities, the analysis of diasporas and their role in global politics continues to be dominated by social anthropologists, sociologists and political scientists. In many ways, it is surprising that this absence has persisted for so long; diasporas are widespread phenomena and certain notable diasporas—Jewish, Armenian, and Chinese—have played central roles in international politics and trade. Moreover, it would appear that in recent times several processes have enhanced their ability to play an influential role in global politics and as a consequence heightened their potential for threatening the security of other actors and their interests. Thus, this chapter aims to redress this absence of diasporas in the international relations literature and examine their ability to pose threats to the security of other actors. It will begin by addressing the problem of definition in order to demarcate the scope of the subject matter. Second, it will examine the claim that diasporas are increasingly relevant actors in the realm of global politics worthy of greater consideration by scholars of international relations. Finally, it will consider the potential threats posed by diasporas to aspects of national security. This necessitates formulating a revised definition of security which is appropriate to the study of diasporas and which is not restricted to threats from state or

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military sources. From this basis, the analysis will examine how the activities of diasporas have implications for the ‘national’ security of their homelands and host countries, as well as third parties who become enmeshed in transnational diasporic networks. What is a diaspora? Most scholars researching the concept of diaspora stress its derivation from the dispersion of Jews from their homeland, their subsequent migrations, and the maintenance of their culture and identity in settlements around the world. The Jewish diaspora of ‘victims’ (Cohen 1996) is therefore seen as the ‘archetypal’ diaspora. However, the term ‘diaspora’ slowly came to be applied to other dispersed groups, so that it ‘now shares meanings with a larger semantic domain that includes words like immigrant, expatriate, refugee, guest-worker, exile community, overseas community, ethnic community’ (Tölölyan 1991:4–5). Although the term risks becoming a ‘promiscuously capacious category’ (Tölölyan 1991:8), this wider expropriation reflects a perceived need by scholars to understand a number of increasingly important global political and cultural dynamics which will be discussed in the next section. In many ways diasporas are similar to other ethnic groups in that they maintain and police symbolic and behavioural boundaries which preserve a collective identity different to the host’s hegemonic one (Tölöyan 1991). However, diasporas are unusual in that they place greater emphasis on their social, cultural and economic links at the expense of their political and territorial integrity (Rosenau 1993). In order to tease out these differences further, we will now turn to a definition formulated by Sheffer: Ethnic diasporas are created either by voluntary migration…or as a result of expulsion from their homeland…and settlement in one or more host countries. In these host countries the diasporas remain minority groups…. In their host countries diasporas preserve their ethnic, or ethnic-religious identity and communal solidarity. This serves as the basis for maintaining and promoting constant contacts among the diasporas’ activist elements. (Sheffer 1986:9) In contrast with other ‘indigenous’ ethnic groups which claim an historical association with the particular territory they inhabit, diasporas result from the migration of their members from their homeland and their subsequent settlement in host societies. The mere fact of migration is not sufficient of itself as a diaspora ‘is a type of community whose essential feature is that it is scattered over a wide part of the earth’s surface’ (Seton-Watson 1977:383). Yet while this may overstate matters, other scholars emphasise that the dispersal of members of the community must be to at least two or more ‘foreign regions’, so that the

THE IMPLICATIONS OF GLOBAL DIASPORAS 25

diaspora constitutes a transnational network as opposed to a mere ethnic minority in a territory discontinuous with the homeland (Cohen 1996; Safran 1991). The causes of enforced or coerced migrations of diasporas-in-waiting are more diverse than the archetypal Jewish experience would suggest—to achieve cultural homogeneity (Armenians); as a punishment for rebellion or to deal with political and religious dissidents (Jews, Cubans, Poles); for the purpose of slave or indentured labour (Africans, Indians, Chinese); as a consequence of conflict and malign neglect, leading to famine, epidemic, poverty and hunger (Palestinians, Chinese, Indians, Irish); or to put pressure on other states in order to stop their interference (Cubans), destabilise them, or force recognition (Chaliand and Rageau 1995; Tölölyan 1991; Weiner 1993a). The dispersion of diaspora communities from voluntary population movements may also take a number of forms—unskilled workers seeking employment and better economic opportunities abroad; ‘trading diasporas’ or ‘middlemen minorities’ who fulfil important economic roles through their trading networks and possession of valuable occupational and commercial skills absent from host societies; the diasporas of groups of colonists established as part of the imperialist designs of European nation-states. This broadening of the conception of diaspora to admit those arising from voluntary as well as enforced migration demonstrates that these communities are composed of like members. In fact diasporas often result from different migrations so that members seldom exhibit homogeneous attitudes to the homeland or its government (Shain 1993). Consequently, diasporas encompass a range of members from political exiles and highly mobilised activists to those almost assimilated into the host culture, a composition which is subject to transformation by new migrations and changes in the perceptions of its members. A diaspora is not a self-evident notion and such a community may cease to function for several reasons. First, group members assimilate into their host society to the degree that they lose interest in their land of origin and the group itself loses its cohesion (Esman 1986; Marienstras 1989). This is most likely where the diaspora community is small, where there are close cultural similarities with the host society, or where the host is highly democratic (Chaliand and Rageau 1995). Second, the group may slowly break the sentimental and economic ties binding them to the homeland or may become alienated from it (Esman 1986). Third, group members may ‘return’ to their putative homeland, although the creation of Israel constitutes a rare example of this (Marienstras 1989). This discussion provides useful insights into the maintenance and reproduction of diasporas which Sheffer (1993:263) sheds further light on: ‘There are three interconnected, quintessential elements that determine whether ethnic groups can be regarded as diasporas: identity, organization and meaningful contacts with the homeland.’ We will now examine these three aspects together and attempt to draw out their individual pertinence within the discussion.

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Successful diaspora communities display a variety of levels of consciousness, but they have in common their success in perpetuating their ethnoreligious identities and solidarity over extended periods in host societies (Esman 1986). The significance of the time factor is vital for it is the lapse of time which tests whether a diaspora has been able to survive and adapt against the corrosive impact of assimilation, cultural commonalities with the host society which hinder differentiation, internal tensions posed by the physical distance and temporal absence from the homeland. Moreover, the diaspora’s minority identity undergoes constant transformation and is subject to a constant interaction of history, culture and power (Hall 1990). Hence, the maintenance of diasporic consciousness necessitates a high degree of boundary-marking which is ‘a matter of will, of conscious decision and… determination’ (Marienstras 1989:125). In practical terms, this implies several things. First, within the diaspora, members must perceive themselves as belonging to a collectivity whose specific identity is clearly differentiated from the host’s identity and constructed through its communal institutions (Tölölyan 1991). The degree to which the diasporic community organises as embodied by its network of institutions is a powerful indicator of its ‘desire to endure’ (Chaliand and Rageau 1995:xviii). Usually, the community establishes specialised organisations to conduct, promote and defend their political, cultural, religious and economic interests in host countries (Sheffer 1986, 1993). Diasporic consciousness and mobilisation are easier to maintain within groups which have already developed clearly defined identities over several centuries, although this may also be facilitated where members feel a heightened sense of alienation within the host society (Safran 1991). Second, with regard to the ‘external’ dimension, group members must continue to relate to their co-nationals in the homeland and elsewhere in the diaspora, such that their collective consciousness is significantly defined by this relationship (Safran 1991). The notion of ‘homeland’ may not always be unproblematic. First, there may no longer be an existing homeland or national state. Second, the boundaries of the homeland may not be fixed, because the group is nomadic, straddles the boundaries of several states, or because the group has been ‘ethnically cleansed’ from key parts of the historical homeland. From within a host country, the diaspora maintains this relatedness sentimentally through the collective memory and myths, which communicate its cultural heritage, the reasons for dispersion, and any commitments to maintain, or return to, the homeland (Chaliand and Rageau 1995; Safran 1991). However, a diaspora community’s links to the homeland also have an equally significant ongoing material dimension. Individuals and diasporic communal organisations engage in a variety of meaningful practices linking them to their co-nationals in the form of communications, visits by public figures, financial remittances, lobbying national and international institutions and a variety of cultural, economic and political exchanges (Esman 1986). These contacts have the effect of preserving the diaspora’s links with the homeland, providing a form of solidarity which enables it to confirm its identity and its difference from the host. The manner in


which the diaspora is viewed by the homeland also contributes to the maintenance of diaspora identity. However, co-nationals in the homeland itself may no longer similarly recognise them as members of the wider national community or display ambivalence towards them (Tölölyan 1991). A diaspora’s situation within its host and its ties beyond the host’s boundaries to the homeland constitute its relevance to global politics and furnish the diaspora with one central and common characteristic—‘a continuous involvement in a triadic relationship between the diaspora, the host country and the homeland. Consequently, all these diasporas are active in the trans-state arena and have a certain influence in international politics’ (Sheffer 1986:8). Each actor in the triad has its own interests which may lead to conflict between the parties, but which may also coincide to facilitate cooperation. The outcome will depend on the configuration and relations within the specific network. Although this notion of a triad was a significant development in comprehending the significance of diasporas in global politics, in reality it constitutes a simplification of configurations that often encompass more than three actors. In this regard, Constas and Platias (1993:4) described the so-called ‘triad’ containing Greece, the United States and the Greek-American diaspora as a pentagonal relationship which included Turkey and Cyprus because American Greeks regularly act against Turkey and also on behalf of Greek Cyprus. New relevance for old phenomena? Although a number of older diasporas have continued to thrive and have successfully reproduced themselves, there is a growing consensus amongst scholars that, due to recent dramatic changes in the global system, the number of ethnic groups who may be ‘sensibly described’ as diasporas is increasing and that diasporas in general are assuming a growing influence in global politics. This section will consider the underlying factors and events which have been put forward to explain the increased salience of diasporas in the global domain and consider the consequences of these changes. To this end, we shall refer to the work of five key scholars—Clifford (1993), Cohen (1996), Constas and Platias (1993), Sheffer (1993), and Tölölyan (1991), amongst whom there is a high degree of consensus on four main factors responsible for the transformation. First, trends associated with processes of globalisation enable ties with homelands and other ‘locales’ to be preserved. Second, there has been a qualitative increase in the levels of mass migration creating new diasporic communities or increasing the size of older ones. Third, cultural and political pluralism has become more widespread following the end of the Cold War, reducing the pressures to assimilate. Fourth, increasing ethnonationalism has led to a greater assertiveness of, and struggles over, identity and reawakening dormant diasporas. We will now turn to examine these factors on an individual basis.

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Globalisation The most comprehensive discussion of the impact of globalisation on diasporas is provided by Cohen (1995). Cohen (1995:12) contends that three aspects of globalisation ‘have opened up the spaces for diasporas to survive and thrive’ in the period of late modernity—a world economy characterised by enhanced transactions between its constituent parts; forms of international migration of a shorter duration; a cosmopolitan and hybridised culture produced and maintained by global players. For the purposes of this discussion we will restrict ourselves to the first two points, while immigration will be addressed in the following section. Cohen (1995:12) describes this late modern world economy as being characterised by ‘quicker and denser transactions between its sub-sectors and regions due to better communications, cheaper transport and the effects of liberal trade and capital-flow policies.’ Over the course of this century, and particularly in the post-World War II era, technological advances have demolished the natural and spatial impediments to contacts between disconnected segments of communities. Advances in transportation technology, particularly in relation to air travel, have facilitated easier and more affordable maintenance of a variety of exchanges and ties (familial, religious, political, business), which have the positive effect of reducing a sense of physical estrangement. It also makes it easier to transport arms to homelands in conflicts and as well as inflammatory or seditious materials. Nevertheless, whilst states are able to exercise some control over physical movements, this is more difficult in relation to communications technology, such as telephones, fax, satellite television and electronic mail. Diasporas now have the possibility of maintaining cheap and speedy permanent contacts with homelands through verbal communication, the transfer of information or money by computer, live coverage of dramatic events, largely unhindered by any political and legal barriers posed by the host government. Thus, these technologies offer diasporas an increased viability, a renewed interest in the homeland for ‘dormant diasporas’ (Shain 1993) and the creation of sophisticated networks of participation and communication with diasporic homelands (Sheffer 1993). Increased migratory flows Although Cohen lists international migration as one of his aspects of late modernity, this phenomenon is too old and important to be reduced to a mere process of globalisation. In fact, migration has increased steadily from the midnineteenth century as a result of improving transportation and uneven economic development (Esman 1986). However, new processes and technologies have resulted in unprecedented migratory flows (Constas and Platias 1993), enhancing the opportunities for maintaining old and new diasporas alike. Moreover, although the formation of new diasporas has been attributed to accelerated


immigration to the industrialised world (Sheffer 1986; Tölölyan 1991), the bulk of population movements continue to be between developing countries (Weiner 1993b). Cohen (1995) contends that much of present international migration is short-term, noting that industrialised countries now offer only limited immigration opportunities, but Sheffer (1993) argues that sooner or later most migrants will settle down in their host countries and become members of an organised diaspora because they are disinclined both to return home or to assimilate fully. The major underlying causes for the migration continue to be the ongoing inequalities in the global political economy, the persistence of violent conflicts and political disorder across the world and the effects of natural disasters. For the people affected, the improvements which have occurred in terms of global transport and communications networks have served only to make the escape from poor conditions more of a possibility (Weiner 1993a). Continuing high levels of poverty in the developing world, allied with growing populations and surplus labour, provide an impetus for major population movements from ‘South to North’, supplemented by others now travelling ‘East to West’ following the political and economic transformation of the former Soviet bloc (Constas and Platias 1993). Furthermore, current global economic forces and attitudes (lowwage flexible labour regimes) have also created a demand which necessitates such migrations (Clifford 1993). However, unlike Armstrong’s (1976) proletarian diaspora, these diasporas are more likely to be educated, affluent and politically mobilised, more able to influence their host’s foreign policy (Constas and Platias 1993). Changes such as these herald a changing attitude towards diasporas and an acknowledgement of the power and influence they are able to wield. As Weiner stated, migration issues are ‘now matters of high international politics involving heads of states, ministries of defence, security and external relations’ (1993a:1). Increased levels of pluralism and tolerance Sheffer (1993), Constas and Platias (1993), and Cohen (1996) each claimed that there were global trends towards cultural and political pluralism which had begun in the liberal democracies and which had spread following the end of the Cold War. Until recently, the majority of European states perceived themselves as relatively homogeneous nation-states in which it was implicitly assumed that immigrants should be assimilated into each state’s hegemonic identity (Waever 1993). However, this aspiration to normative cultural and ethnic homogeneity was challenged in the post-World War II period in a number of ways—first, by the growth of immigrant populations of a greater cultural distance than previously; second, certain groups vigorously defended their right to maintain their cultural difference; third, by a degree of popular resistance to the acceptance of immigrants of such cultural difference; finally, a number of ‘multiculturalists’ viewed processes of assimilation as illiberal and advocated

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acceptance of some of immigrants’ values and culture by the host society (Waever 1993). In recent times circumstances have changed dramatically with major receiving countries in the industrialised world becoming increasingly culturally and ethnically heterogeneous entities which have abandoned assimilation as a policy (Tölölyan 1991; Waever 1993). Consequently, the increasing tolerance of cultural diversity by states has been matched by a growth in the assertion of diaspora identities and the desire to maintain external links. Increased ethnonationalism For many Western countries the end of Cold War meant not only the disappearance of a powerful external threat to their security, but also the loss of an important source of cohesion between the diverse groups which constitute them. In these states this transformation opened a space for allowing marginalised identities to be freely reasserted. Following the collapse of many authoritarian regimes across the world, this pluralism has also begun to develop across other parts of the global system. On a broader level, this has allowed a reawakening and expression of many ethnic and national identities after years of authoritarian rule. For diasporas in the Soviet bloc, the changes ended the enforced estrangement of their communities from their contacts with the homeland. Moreover, it also provided an impetus for the reawakening of a sense of ethnic identity amongst former members of diasporas in the West whose homelands had been subject to authoritarian regimes and who had ceased to participate in diasporic networks (Constas and Platias 1993). These diaspora communities had achieved a high degree of assimilation in their host countries, but had reactivated their moribund organisations and networks in response to dramatic events or misfortunes in their homelands. The collapse of communism has encouraged these groups to provide financial and technical assistance to help the process of reconstruction and transition to market economies and liberaldemocratic political systems, to become involved as interest groups in homeland politics and, on a more negative note, as participants in some of the ensuing conflicts. Although diasporas and the networks through which they operate have long played a significant but neglected role in global politics, this discussion has clearly shown that in marked ways the world has changed and that several processes—increasing migration, advances in communications and transportation technology, and growing political pluralism—have demonstrably enhanced the relevance of these old phenomena and the number of diasporas. Diasporas have become more important transnational actors on the global political, cultural and economic stage and now form an integral part of the global political structure. As Constas and Platias (1993) contend, the status of diasporas as international actors is confirmed by their fulfilment of three key criteria. First, they have an impact on international politics by influencing the behaviour of host countries, homelands and third parties. Second, diasporas are perceived as significant by


state leaders and thus are regarded in their strategies. Third, they have a degree of autonomy from external influences, although they may be used as an instrument by other parties. If one accepts the view that global politics remains largely predicated on the existence of sovereign states, albeit as entities under challenge, then we may conclude that these enhanced diasporic groups pose a greater level of potential threat to the ‘national’ security of host countries, homelands and third parties than heretofore, particularly in terms of their loyalty, accountability and disproportionate ability to influence policy and wield power: the growing number as well as the more elaborate and efficient organizations of both migrants and diasporas, tend to increase the potential and the actual incidence of tension and conflict in host countries and in international politics…. Like most other social conflicts…they should be regarded as givens of present domestic and international politics. (Sheffer 1993:284) These issues will now be considered in detail in the final section. Diasporas and threats to security This analysis does not presume that diasporas are inherently inimical to the security of states or the global system. In fact, diasporas offer many opportunities for enhanced security by providing bridges between cultures and polities which facilitate cultural, political and economic exchanges and understanding. Today, many diaspora groups play an important role in the democratisation and development of their homelands, processes which have tangible consequences in terms of national, regional and global security. Nevertheless, the expanding power and numbers of diaspora communities pose an increasing potential for threats to the ‘national’ security of their host countries, homelands as well as to third parties enmeshed voluntarily or involuntarily in transnational diasporic networks and it is with this detail which we are concerned with here. Redefining security In order to formulate a definition of security applicable to threats posed by invigorated diasporic groups, we will use an article by Baldwin (1997) as a departure point. In this article, Baldwin contended that, in spite of its wide use in international relations, the conceptual analysis of security has been much neglected and that recent attempts to reorientate security away from military threats towards new issues had failed to receive appropriate attention. In Baldwin’s framework, security is a social construct rather than fixed, possessing different meanings in different societies (Huysmans 1995; Weiner 1993a). Thus, it is necessary to understand the context in which the notion of security is formed

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and from whose perspective this is being viewed. Baldwin (1997:13) defines security as ‘a low probability of damage to acquired values’. This broader and more relative view of security emphasises the preservation of acquired values rather than the existence or absence of threats, acknowledging that no actor can ever be wholly secure (Waever 1993). From this basis, the definition of security may be established through the specification of two factors. The first factor to be specified is a referent object, the actor(s) whose security is under discussion. In orthodox international relations, this has traditionally been the nation-state (Huysmans 1995), even though there is ‘nothing inevitable or permanent about defining security in state-centred terms’ (Waever 1993:20–1). However, Baldwin’s (1997) framework is equally applicable to the security of other levels of analysis whether the individual, ethnic or religious group, society, state, or international system. Second, it is necessary to specify the values to be protected, such as political autonomy, territorial integrity, or continuity of state identity. Although ‘state security’ continues to be relevant and states still face challenges to their values of sovereignty and territorial integrity (Waever 1993), the changing global landscape has allowed new agendas to emerge and given a greater prominence to other values which relate to other sectors, such as economic, environmental, and social security. Waever (1993) distinguished between state security (military, political, economic, environmental) and its concern with threats to its sovereignty, and societal security which relates to existential threats to a cultural identity, particularly in the areas of language, ethnicity and religion. This emphasis on the maintenance of the referent object’s identity was also highlighted by Huysmans (1995: 58), who remarked that ‘the security involved in the security construct is ontological security; it is a security which involves the continuity of self-identity…a struggle for survival.’ Clearly this is not another value, but one which reflects the survival of the referent object. Nevertheless, the formulation of a security policy necessitates the specification of further variables. These are: the source of specific threats; the degree of security given competing objectives; the means and policies for the pursuit of security; the opportunity cost of security for specific values; the time period for a given security policy (Baldwin 1997). It is also important to distinguish between the objective and subjective dimensions of security. While there are often clear differences between what can objectively be assessed as a ‘real’ threat and what is ‘perceived’ as such (Waever 1993), states and societies may feel insecure without the threat of armed attack— and the perception of threat may be regarded as significant as the threat itself. Moreover, fears ‘often do have a basis in reality, and whether they do or do not, fears shape the way peoples and their governments behave’ (Weiner 1993b:ix). As Waever (1993) suggested, there are a number of ways in which groups may perceive their identities as threatened: suppression of their expression (language, names or dress); impeding their ability to reproduce through the closure of key cultural institutions or exile of members; competition with other incompatible identities or the immigration of ‘others’.


The high degree of specificity present in Baldwin’s (1997) analysis suitably illustrates the multifaceted nature of security and enables it to be redefined so that it is appropriate to the study of diasporas. However, it is necessary to amend his definition for our purposes and security will be defined as the relative absence of real or perceived threats and low vulnerability of damage to the identity and acquired values of specified collectivities in important sectors of its collective life. These changes allow the definition to address a number of points outlined above. First, the existence or absence of perceived and real threats are so central to our understanding of security that it was felt necessary to reinclude this in a modified form. Second, it was felt that ‘vulnerability’ conveyed the openness of referent objects to risk more accurately than ‘probability’. Third, the inclusion of ‘specified collectivities’ makes clear that security is not the exclusive concern of the state. Fourth, the need for existential survival is such a central motivation for all collectivities that it necessitated specification as a separate value. Diasporas and threats to national and global security This section explores a number of important threats, real or perceptible, which the heightened significance of diasporas poses to the identity and acquired values of actors implicated in diasporic networks. In particular we will examine their impact on the ‘national’ security of their host countries and homelands, before turning to consider their effects on third parties who are enmeshed voluntarily or involuntarily in these networks. To facilitate this discussion we will utilise a taxonomy developed by Weiner (1993a), which suggests five broad types of situation in which ‘migrants’ may be perceived as a threat to their homelands, hosts or between the two sides. For our purposes, we will adapt and supplement this in order to deal with: first, the specific sources of tension and conflict which arise from the ‘rather unique and precarious existence of diasporas, as well as the main patterns of loyalty they develop’ (Sheffer 1993:283); and second, the impact on the much neglected third parties who are often implicated in diasporic networks, but who do not figure in the rather narrow ‘triadic’ configuration. The revised taxonomy of situations where diasporas may be perceived as threats to acquired values and identities is as follows: 1 Diaspora communities are hostile to homeland regimes and attempt to destabilise them. 2 Diaspora communities are used by host states as an instrument against their homelands either as agents and resources, or for blackmail. 3 Diasporas as a political threat to the host society by acting as an instrument of homelands, through excessive influence on host foreign policy, or involvement in sponsoring illegal or other activities which problematise the host’s relations with homelands or third parties.

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4 Diasporas constitute threats to the host’s cultural identity and values through their desire to maintain their own distinct identity and institutions, implying a disinclination to assimilate into the host identity. 5 Diasporas as an economic or social problem in terms of crime and a drain on social welfare budgets due to their housing and education needs. 6 Diasporas as a political threat to the identity and values of third parties, and to regional and global security, through their support of homeland aggression and irredentism, the use of political and economic resources to block assistance to parties affected by their activities and their lack of accountability for their actions. Factors influencing the likelihood of these threat scenarios arising include the following variables—the size, history and location(s) of the diaspora’s sectors, its levels of mobilisation and organisation, the relative distribution of power and wealth, the self-perception (values and objectives) and mutual perception of the parties concerned, inter alia. As Esman (1986:344) notes, both host and home governments have ‘varying capacities, opportunities and inclinations to become involved in activities that affect diaspora communities.’ It is not possible to draw generalised conclusions which are appropriate to all diasporas, and each case requires separate consideration. Diasporas and threats to homelands Apart from their sentimental ties with their homeland, diasporic communities usually maintain cordial material links to their homeland and are generally welldisposed to provide assistance and to act in home government’s interest in interstate relations (Esman 1986). However, such cordial ties may not always exist. A diasporic community can be highly heterogeneous and, while many of its members may have emigrated voluntarily, others—often political exiles, religious dissidents or refugees—may have been expelled from the homeland. Thus, some groups and individuals may display a high degree of hostility towards the homeland regime, as distinct to the homeland, a situation made more probable where the host’s democracy contrasts with the homeland’s authoritarianism (Weiner 1993a). Where the homeland fails to sustain friendly relations with its diaspora, or becomes engaged in active confrontation with it, this may portend serious implications for its own security. The consequences are largely dependent upon the intensity of mutual antipathy, diaspora solidarity and organisation, and the incentives for mobilisation (Shain 1989). This might imply relatively passive opposition in the form of a suspension of cultural contacts and financial assistance, and muted criticism of the regime. On a more serious level, influential sectors of the diaspora, who have taken umbrage at the behaviour or policies of the regime, may seek to exert a moral or material influence on events in the homeland in order to actively oppose or destabilise its regime (Esman


1986; Shain 1989; 1993). This influence may take the form of the promotion and transmission of propaganda to the homeland denouncing its lack of legitimacy or democracy (such as Cuban exiles’ use of Radio and TV Marti), financing opposition groups and armed insurgencies (as in the support provided by the Irish-American organisation NORAID for republican causes in Northern Ireland), lobbying host and other governments and international institutions to withhold support or break off relations with the homeland and recognise governments-in-exile. While these activities may often be laudable from a pluralist perspective, they can have awkward reverberations on other relationships within a diasporic network. The diaspora’s success at damaging the stability or credibility of the homeland regime may be such that this leads to requests for the host government to restrain the diaspora’s activities. As Esman (1986) observed, this has led to the Irish government asking the US government to prevent arms shipments to the IRA and Beijing to request Southeast Asian states to stop funds being channelled to Taiwan. A failure to prevent the escalation of these activities by host countries may also lead to them being held responsible by homeland regimes, leading to direct conflicts between them or diplomatic action to counter their perceived involvement (Weiner 1993a). For opportunistic hosts, breakdowns in relations between diasporas and their homelands provide an opening for them to use the diaspora as agents or instruments to pursue its own political and economic interests. Such arrangements can be beneficial to both sides as ‘the diaspora may be a convenient and low-cost for the host government, while by supporting its government, the diaspora enhances its status and security’ (Esman 1986: 342). In circumstances where homelands do not have repressive or authoritarian regimes, the diaspora is not seen to represent a legitimate alternative to the nation in exile and its powerful, even overweening, influence on the affairs and culture of the homeland becomes more problematic. It should be noted that members of the diaspora are not domiciled in the homeland, may not possess formal citizenship and largely do not formally participate in its democratic political process or perform the obligations implied by such systems through the payment of taxes, performing military service and so on. The ability to profoundly influence events in another state or society, possibly as the instrument of another state, which one may never have visited, suggests a potential for threats to the security of the homeland through a frightening lack of accountability, if not a perversion of its democracy. For example, diasporas may pressurise homelands to adopt inappropriate policies based on outmoded premises rather than the current geopolitical context. They may engage in activities which endanger a rapprochement between former adversaries and exacerbate conflicts, which many have contended is the case with Irish-Americans and certain Jewish groups in the United States. It is apparent that the interests of diasporas and homelands cannot be identical by virtue of their different circumstances and conditions. There is a potential for differences in other dimensions and it may be argued that diasporas can also pose

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a threat to the homeland’s cultural identity. All identities are subject to transformation and evolve in the light of historical processes and events. Even amongst relatively recently founded diasporas, the diaspora identity can be distinguished from that of the homeland by virtue of its defining experience of dispersion, and this difference will be heightened when this event is particularly traumatic. In spite of the continuing links connecting the two groups, each community will undergo distinct experiences in their individual contexts and the passage of time compounds the potential for greater differentiation. Thus, no matter how appreciative homelands are for assistance from the diaspora, its members may also be viewed negatively—for vulgarising the ethnic culture, being tainted by other cultures, being too ambitious or politically demanding— and returnees may not be welcomed back (Safran 1991). Returnees from more advanced countries may pose threats to the given order by unsettling the political, social or economic balance, creating a sense of inferiority, and ironically given their persistence in host countries, creating problems of integration and assimilation, as in the case of Soviet Jews settling in Israel (Safran 1991). Diasporas and threats to host countries Our taxonomy highlighted three primary contexts in which diasporas may be perceived as threats to their host society—first, as a political threat or security risk as a consequence of their external links to homelands and diasporic networks; second, as a cultural threat to its identity and values through the preservation of their own distinct identity and institutions; and third, as an economic or social problem posing disproportionate costs and burdens. Given the constraints of space, the third area of threat will be briefly discussed together with threats arising from cultural factors. Diasporas and the political security of the host While differences in identity underpin the perception that diasporas constitute a political threat to their hosts in a variety of manifestations, it is the defining aspect of diasporic identity—the maintenance of sentimental and material links with ‘their’ homeland through transnational networks—which gives rise to a perception of threats to the security to a host state or society. In many ways the links to diasporic homelands, which are often other states, may be deemed as ‘loyalties and solidarities inconsistent with and sometimes even contradicting the traditional allegiances to territorial states’ (Sheffer 1986:1). Hence, diasporas find themselves simultaneously in both an existential dilemma and a security dilemma. In order to allay perceptions of disloyalty or dual loyalties among other members of a host society, they must assimilate or cut their links to their homeland. However, if they assimilate or sever their ties, they cease to be a diaspora. Put another way, in a global political system predicated on nation-


states, diasporas seem to be expected to reconcile the irreconcilable. This dilemma is compounded as there is ‘explicit and implicit continuous competition between homelands and host countries about moral and practical authority over the members of the diaspora’ (Sheffer 1993:279). However, whether or not the perception of threat arises depends on the activities in which the diaspora and its organisations are engaged, on whose behalf they are acting, and the quality of relations between the host and homeland. The specialised organisations established by diasporic communities facilitate communication with the homeland, but also enable the diaspora to conduct certain forms of political activity. In particular, they provide the basis for performing a significant role in the foreign policies of both host countries and homelands by constraining their behaviour, by having an autonomous influence on events and policies in both countries, and finally by influencing events and policies and outcomes in home and host countries acting as an instrument (Constas and Platias 1993). The ability of diasporas to exert this influence depends on two factors. First, on their possession of the requisite organisation and motivation (leadership, coordination, collective will) necessary to mobilise members and maintain a solidarity and commitment to achieve their objectives. Crises are particularly effective in this regard, but the intensity of such feelings may wax and wane over time. Second, on the existence of an appropriate political opportunity structure in the host country which embodies the degree to which the host is sensitive to, or prepared to tolerate, the political activism of diasporas. This particular factor determines not only the extent to which they may organise and act, but also the levels of access to its policy-makers to which they are permitted (Constas and Platias 1993). In more closed and authoritarian host countries, it is more difficult for diaspora organisations to operate openly, especially in terms of maintaining relations with the homeland. In these contexts, the mere existence of organisations representing the interests of the diaspora may be sufficient to cause confrontations, although this is likely to be more acute where these form part of a transnational network (Sheffer 1993). In some circumstances, as in the Cold War, the host regime may fear that the actions of these organisations pose threats to its sovereignty or vital interests, and give rise to problems of dual loyalties. Such confrontations have often arisen as a direct result of changes in the host’s or homeland’s foreign policies and may lead to further restrictions on diaspora activities, particularly in their transnational networks. In the past, perceptions of threat or paranoia have developed or been manipulated to such levels of hysteria that other sectors of society have visited extreme violence—mass expulsions, massacres, and genocide—to devastating effect upon whole diaspora communities as exemplified by the cases of Jews in Europe, Asians in East Africa, and Palestinians in Kuwait (Sheffer 1993). In relatively tolerant pluralist societies the external links of diasporas are accepted on the implicit understanding that these organisations do not engage in activities which may endanger the host’s political security by compromising its

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sovereignty or interests, which breach its laws or which engage in overtly treasonable or disloyal behaviour. Many host states take the attitude that diaspora organisations also offers a means for them to exercise a certain amount of control over these activities, although this opportunity is now threatened by the use of less easily regulated new technologies. Nevertheless, such scenarios facilitate a wide scope of possible activities for diaspora organisations to pursue formally their own interests and exert influence relatively unimpeded. In countries which have fragmented or decentralised power structures and are relatively sensitive to societal demands, powerful interest groups like diasporas are more able to influence or manipulate policy-making towards their own ends. In the paradigmatic case of the United States, various diasporic lobbies—notably the Jewish, Greek, and Armenian—have profoundly affected the US foreign policy on behalf of the homelands (providing military and economic assistance, arms sales, diplomatic recognition, boycotts and embargoes of third parties) through publicity and media pressure, demonstrations, petitions, campaign contributions, and intervention in electoral campaigns threats, directed at both Congress and the US Presidency (Constas and Platias 1993). The ability to exert this degree of influence may, however, pose threats to the host’s security. It is extremely questionable as to whether such small unrepresentative but vocal minority interest groups should be able to exert such a disproportionate influence, or constrain the host’s freedom on policies which ought to be more objectively defined and represent the interests of a greater segment of society. As Esman (1986) poignantly observed, it is a widely-held belief in the United States that the Jewish lobby has distorted American Middle Eastern foreign policy. As a consequence, diasporas may have a negative impact on the host’s economic, cultural and political relations with other parties who do not subscribe to the same policies. Furthermore, diasporic activities may affect the security of host states in less benign ways beyond exerting an excessive influence on the host’s foreign policy or acting as an instrument of the homeland. For example, in recent years certain diasporas—Algerians in France and Kurds in Germany—have allowed homeland conflicts to spill over into the host state through their involvement in terrorist acts against opposing groups (see Chapter 6). A further recent example has been seen in the growing use of diasporic networks by members of the Turkish diaspora in London to transport heroin into the United Kingdom. Other examples may be found in the use of often elaborate transnational networks for money-laundering and other criminal activity, links with other terrorist or armed groups, and so forth, which may create internal security problems as well as drawing host states into conflicts with third parties. In the light of this, it is not surprising that Sheffer (1993) concluded that tensions and conflicts between host countries and diaspora are more frequently caused by the activities and attitudes of the diaspora than vice-versa. A clear tension and potential for conflict exists between the attitudes and interests of the different parties, but as far as possible diasporas will attempt to


avoid a perception of partiality. On the one hand, homelands may exploit diaspora sentiments to pursue their national interests and have traditionally been keen on using them as foreign policy and financial assets (Esman 1986; Safran 1991). Simultaneously, on the other hand, host countries will adopt a mixture of incentives and implied coercion through an emphasis on the need for activities to be legal (Sheffer 1993). As we noted earlier, diasporas are normally inclined to act in the homeland’s interest in interstate relations, particularly where these coincide with their own objectives. This may not always be possible though, particularly when relations between the host and homeland are at a low ebb or where the two sides are engaged in conflict. Of course, the loyalty of some diaspora members to their homelands will always take precedence over that to their host countries. However, some diaspora groups may be sensitive or vulnerable to accusations of disloyalty, and are loath to be portrayed as an extension or lobby for foreign interests, because their own security and status may be at risk. Thus, where there is a clash of interests between the host and homeland, the less able the diaspora is to reconcile its own interests with those of the homeland, the more likely the diaspora is to give precedence to its own domestic security needs by accepting certain rules of behaviour rather than risking its victimisation for the sake of the homeland. Nevertheless, this vulnerability may be exploited by both sides to stimulate or inhibit political activity (Shain 1993). This erring towards self-preservation may be prudent given homelands’ often ambivalent attitude towards their diasporas. According to Sheffer (1993), the majority of homeland states develop a relatively cynical attitude towards their diasporas, which they expect to exhibit complete loyalty, and exploit them for their own narrow national interests, including their use in espionage and other activities which may affect the host’s security. When diasporas are consequently discriminated against, threatened with mistreatment or have already become victims of a confrontation (as refugees, expellees, internees), they may seek protection from the homeland government and this may lead to some form of intervention on their behalf (military action, negotiations, or lobbying). However, when relations between a host and the diaspora or homeland sour, homelands are generally either reluctant or cautious of becoming involved in confrontations to defend the interests of their diasporas, as seen in China’s behaviour in relation to its diasporas in Southeast Asia. There are, of course, limits to what a disconnected and possibly distant homeland is able to do, but the diplomatic costs and dangers of intervention as well as the principle of noninterference in other sovereign states also play a part (Esman 1986). In the final analysis, homelands will rarely jeopardise their own security or other important interests for those of their diasporas.

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Diasporas and the cultural security of hosts The salience of threats posed by diaspora communities to the political security of states, primarily through subversion, fits more neatly within traditional conceptions of international relations than the idea that the security of host states and societies may be threatened by the culture and values of a resident minority diaspora community. However, following the loss of more traditional military threats implied by the end of the Cold War, academic and popular attention has refocused on perceived and real threats to acquired values emanating from other quarters, namely to economic, environmental and particularly ontological or identity security. The latter is concerned with the survival or sustainability of the identities of particular collectivities in the face of real or perceived existential threats and under changing conditions. The importance of this area was emphasised by Sheffer (1993) who opined that differences in identity of diasporas and host societies are the cause of all their conflicts and that all other reasons which may be apparent follow from this. In terms of identity construction, the perpetuation of separate groups demonstrates that both entities are engaged in processes of boundary formation and maintenance, or inclusion and exclusion, which are mutually constitutive. Nevertheless, for our purposes we are concerned only with the issue of how and why host societies perceive threats to their ontological security. According to Waever (1993), the authority and legitimacy of state institutions has come to depend increasingly on its claim to offer social and economic security as opposed to protection from real or imaginary external military threats, which had long been the principal justification for their monopoly of power. This contention is a powerful one, but it is also clear that the state has long provided a high degree of ontological security inherent in societal security as can be witnessed by its use and abuse of nationalist ideology. However, a number of changes outlined earlier have in many ways led to an increasing perception of threat to the security of identities within host societies, namely increasing levels of immigration, growing acceptance of cultural pluralism, the abandonment of assimilation by receiving states, and advances in technology which facilitate the maintenance of meaningful links by migrants with their sending countries. At a broader level, the degree to which a host perceives diaspora communities as an existential threat will depend in large part upon the form of its society and its political institutions and their historical attitude to such immigrant groups— for example, tolerance, indifference, assimilation, exclusion or discrimination. Historically, some skilled ‘middlemen’ diasporas were welcomed by their hosts and their talents exploited in order to serve the host’s interests, while others were mistreated as inimical aliens and put into ghettos where they could not contaminate the host culture. Until recently, most industrialised receiving states aimed to create culturally homogeneous nation-states with a uniform national identity and to that end undertook policies of assimilation. The virtually


complete abandonment of such policies is symptomatic of the problems which even tolerant host countries face in relation to diasporas. As Clifford (1993) asserted, states like the United States which subscribe to an assimilationist ideology are unable to assimilate groups which preserve significant loyalties and material links to a homeland or other sectors of the community, in contrast to other immigrants who wish to be assimilated. This may pose no problems for those who might be termed as ‘multiculturalists’, but for many others in host countries the failure to assimilate may be perceived as a rejection of the dominant culture’s identity and values. By preserving their own distinct identity and institutions, they are perceived as signifying that ‘they’ are not one of ‘us’. This then poses the dilemma for host countries, namely to what degree is it legitimate or necessary to insist that newcomers accept current political and social norms (Cohen 1995). The complete absence of any degree of assimilation implies a potential inability for the diaspora to play any meaningful part in the cultural, economic and political life of the host country and an obvious inability for diasporas to pursue their own and the homeland’s interests within this context. On the other hand, by succumbing to assimilation pressures, diasporas face the risk that the community will lose its cohesion and become alienated from its links with the homeland. There are, needless to say, additional factors aside from the degree of assimilation of the community’s members which will determine whether ‘they’ are perceived as threatening to the hegemonic identity. First, such perceptions will take account of the extent to which the community has overtly organised its own distinct or parallel institutions. Furthermore, the increasing quantity, scope and efficiency of such organisations is likely to raise the potential and the actual incidence of tension and conflict with the host (Sheffer 1993). Second, the location and size of the diasporic community, both in absolute terms and in relation to the indigenous population, may have an impact on the perceptions regarding the capacity of the host society’s various institutions to absorb and adapt to the diaspora (Waever 1993). Although attitudes to what is acceptable will vary, many governments and individuals alike fear that large numbers of immigrants, particularly those belonging to groups resistant to assimilation, may destabilise the state and society by weakening its cultural identity, disturb a delicate ethnic balance, and impose strains on their welfare and economy (Waever 1993; Weiner 1993b). Weiner emphatically states that such perceptions should not be summarily dismissed as xenophobic, paranoid or inhumane responses, as these insecurities relate to important aspects of human life in areas such as employment, welfare, and housing. The perception of cultural threat is likely to be particularly acute where diasporas become concentrated in specific areas or occupations, whether this is caused through discrimination or selfimposed (Tölölyan 1991; Waever 1993). Finally, the perception of threat outlined in the last point is further compounded where the degree of difference between the host society and diaspora is such that they may be unassimilable. The host’s boundary may be solidified and its perception of threat reinforced

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where diasporas are viewed as physically or culturally distinctive or where their values and behavioural norms—especially in terms of politics and religion—are mutually incompatible (Tölölyan 1991; Waever 1993). From this discussion it can be concluded that diasporas are not constructed as threats to the cultural values and identity in isolation, for both communities engage in processes of boundary-marking characterised by ‘a dialectic of trust and fear’ (Huysmans 1995:60). This leads to the creation of an ‘us’ whom we include and trust, and a ‘them’ whom we exclude and fear. Where diasporic communities pose real threats in objective terms, or are perceived to be threatening, the survival of the host’s cultural identity and way of life is placed at the centre of the security agenda. The diaspora identity is invested with danger, distance and worthlessness and collective action may occur to eliminate the threat via exclusion, assimilation or destruction (Huysmans 1995). Diasporas and threats to third parties It has already been demonstrated that the often politically-charged activities of diasporas have the potential to jeopardise the acquired values and identities of their hosts and homelands. However, the impact of diasporic activities often reverberate beyond the triad of the diaspora and its host and homeland; indeed, such actions may have been intended to have an effect upon the political, economic and cultural security of third parties, whether states, other collectivities or international institutions. By virtue of the existence of a system of sovereign states and the maintenance of links between diasporas and their homelands, other actors—host states, other parts of the diaspora, third parties which interact with the motherland—may become enmeshed voluntarily or involuntarily in complex transnational diasporic networks. Thus, this characterisation of diasporic networks as a triadic configuration must then be discounted as a simplification of reality. Earlier we cited Constas and Platias’ (1993) contention that the triad consisting of Greece, the United States and the Greek diaspora in the United States usually incorporated Turkey and Greece in a pentagonal relationship as the diasporic group regularly acts against Turkey as well on behalf of the Greek sector of Cyprus. Once again, this constitutes a slight simplification as a number of other important actors are directly and indirectly involved in this quagmire —United States (host), Greece (homeland), Greek-Americans, Greek Cyprus and other Greek diasporas, plus third parties such as Turkish Cyprus, Turkey, together with international organisations in the shape of NATO (Greece and Turkey as members), the UN (peacekeeping force), and the EU (Greek Cypriot application for membership and the influence of Greece and diaspora lobbies in member states). Moreover, while not necessarily the norm, such complex situations are also far from unusual. In another particularly high profile case, namely the situation of Jews in the USSR seeking emigration, the various processes concerned the Soviet Jews themselves, the Soviet government, Israel, Jewish diaspora groups in the United


States and elsewhere, the US government, and lest we forget, Palestinians whose lives have been profoundly affected by the immigration and housing needs of large numbers of Jews from the USSR. The degree to which diaspora activities affect the security of third parties depends on their inclination to become involved in activities which have implications beyond the homeland. However, when the diaspora perceives the existence of a crisis situation in which the survival or existential security of the homeland is at stake—as exemplified by Israel’s Six Day War, the Turkish invasion of Cyprus, or the outbreak of war in the former Yugoslavia—;there is a powerful impetus for diaspora mobilisation. The outcome of this can be seen in fundraising to provide financial or logistical support to the homeland, a redoubling of pressures on foreign policy-makers in host states, lobbying of international organisations to act against third parties by freezing aid or military assistance, by forcing a change in policy or an end to aggression and through the use of various forms of diplomatic action. These activities will have ramifications for the behaviour of all actors directly or indirectly involved in these conflicts (Constas and Platias 1993). Although these activities have clear implications for the security of other states, if this is to ensure the survival of the homeland against the aggression of belligerent neighbour states then this would seem to be motivated by good intentions. The recent role of Irish-Americans in securing a new IRA cessation of violence should be seen in this light and this will enhance the security of those third parties—for example Germany and the Netherlands— who have been directly affected by the IRA’s activities on their sovereign territory. However, the roles and motives of diaspora groups have in many other instances been questionable or insensitive, facilitating or perpetuating aggressive conflicts by the motherland, supporting irredentism, and using their often considerable political and economic clout to block developmental assistance to third parties in pursuit of ancient interethnic feuds, all of which have had the effect increasing conflict and exacerbating regional or global tension. It will suffice here to cite two recent examples. In the first, a Jewish-American bingo tycoon obtained planning permission to build a large Jewish settlement in Arab East Jerusalem which led to further major crises in the foundered peace process (Borger 1997). In the second instance, Armenian-Americans lobbied the US Congress to continue the 1992 restrictions on aid to Azerbaijan imposed in response to its energy blockade of Armenia in spite of its military defeat by Armenia and massive refugee problems. Simultaneously, the Armenian diaspora was funding the reconstruction of a road linking Armenia and NagornoKarabakh across annexed Azerbaijani territory (Meek 1997; Ottaway and Morgan 1997). Reducing the security of the third party will not help resolve the differences between these groups, but will rather inflame already difficult relations. Consequently, it would appear that there is a growing risk that diaspora groups, with their enhanced ability to influence events in global politics, will

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undertake activities which jeopardise the security of third parties while not being accountable for their actions. Conclusion This chapter has examined the significance of diasporas and the types of threats they pose to the security of a range of actors, primarily their host states, homelands and certain third parties. In the light of earlier neglect of this theme in international relations, it began with a detailed discussion of the widely appropriated notion of diaspora. It was demonstrated that the definition of diaspora should be opened out to encompass a broad range of groups from a variety of origins, but which desire to endure as separate entities and most importantly to maintain their links with a homeland. From this foundation, we concluded that the pertinence of diasporas to global politics stemmed from its participation in complex transnational networks providing connections between different segments of the diaspora, their host countries, and the homeland, a configuration which often engages a number of third parties who may be directly or indirectly affected by, or involved in, these relations. The second section explored the contention that diasporas have an increasing relevance and impact as actors as a result of processes transforming the global political system. It was concluded that several ongoing processes, including advances in transportation and communications technology, increasing migratory flows, and increasing levels of pluralism and tolerance in host countries, have provided diasporas with greater autonomy, power and opportunities for the assertion of their identities and interests. These changes have qualitatively enhanced the ability of diasporas to play an influential role in global politics and as a consequence pose a greater potential to threaten the security of other actors and their interests. The final section of this chapter then contemplated the ramifications of diasporic activities for the security of others. It was noted that the concept of security has a history of conceptual neglect which mirrors that of diaspora. Similarly, it was made clear that traditional conceptions of security needed to be revised to incorporate threats and perceptions of threat arising from fears for the survival of collective identities and values, in addition to those relating to military threats. A revised conception of security was applied in order to discuss enhanced potential of diasporas for posing threats to the political, economic and cultural security of their homelands, host countries and third parties enmeshed in diasporic networks. It was concluded that it has become more difficult to control diasporas and to hold them to account for their activities. Moreover, they have a greater capacity to threaten various sectors of the security of an increasing range of actors, shown by their potential to constitute threats to the national security of host, homeland and third-party countries alike, all of which may have a wider impact upon regional and global stability. However, at the same time, the many responsible diasporic communities offer the possibility to bridge cultures, to limit conflicts, facilitate interaction and commerce between


peoples, and play a powerful role in the democratisation and development of societies in which they have meaningful connections and interests. Finally, the growing potential of diasporas for threatening the security of other significant actors appears to be symptomatic of the declining ability of the nationstate to assert itself as the primary focus of allegiance and ‘call the shots’ in global politics. We should not forget that diasporas ‘pre-dated the nation-state, lived within it and now may, in significant respects, transcend and succeed it’ (Cohen 1995:16). The growth in the number and influence of diasporas, and expanding implications for national and global security are likely to continue. Further, as Rosenau (1993:xvi) made clear: ‘Given the ever greater salience of diasporas, it seems unimaginable that international relations theorists will not have to make a place for them in their analytical frameworks.’ References Armstrong, J. (1976) ‘Mobilized and proletarian diasporas’, American Political Science Review 70:393–408. ——(1996) ‘Archetypal diaspora’, in J.Hutchinson and A.D.Smith, (eds) Ethnicity, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 120–7. Baldwin, D.A. (1997) ‘The concept of security’, Review of International Studies, 23(1): 5– 26. Borger, J. (1997) ‘Bingo tycoon threatens Jerusalem’s future’, The Guardian, 26 July, p. 15. Chaliand, G. and Rageau, J-P. (1995) Penguin Atlas of Diasporas, New York: Viking. Clifford, J. (1993) ‘Diasporas’, Cultural Anthropology 9(3):302–38. Cohen, R. (1995) ‘Rethinking “Babylon”: iconoclastic conceptions of the diasporic experience’, New Community 21(1):5–18. ——(1996) ‘Diasporas and the nation-state: from victims to challengers’, International Affairs 72(3):507–20. Constas, D.C. and Platias, A.G. (1993) ‘Diasporas in world politics: an introduction’, in D.C.Constas and A.G.Platias (eds) The Greeks in Comparative Perspective, London: Macmillan, pp. 3–28. Esman, M.J. (1986) ‘Diasporas and international relations’, in G.Sheffer (ed.) Modern Diasporas and International Politics, London: Croom Helm, pp. 333–49. Hall, S. (1990) ‘Cultural identity and diaspora’, in J.Rutherford (ed.) Identity: Community, Culture and Difference, London: Lawrence & Wishart, pp. 222–37. Huysmans, J. (1995) ‘Migrants as security problem: dangers of “securitizing” societal issues’, in R.Miles and D.Thränhardt (eds), Migration and European Integration: The Dynamics of Inclusion and Exclusion, London: Pinter, pp. 53–72. Marienstras, R. (1989) ‘On the notion of diaspora’, in G.Chaliand (ed.) Minority Peoples in the Age of Nation-States, London: Pluto, pp. 119–25. Meek, J. (1997) ‘To the victor the spoils’, The Guardian, 9 June, p. 11. Ottaway, D. and Morgan, D. (1997) ‘US aides seek the Caspian’s black gold’, The Guardian, 8 July, p. 17.

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Rosenau, J.N. (1993) ‘Foreword’, in D.C.Constas and A.G.Platias (eds) Diasporas in World Politics: The Greeks in Comparative Perspective, London: Macmillan, xv– xxi. Safran, W. (1991) ‘Diasporas in modern societies: myths of homeland and return’, Diaspora 1(1): 83–99. Seton-Watson, H. (1977) ‘Diaspora nations’, in Nations and States: An Enquiry into the Origins of Nations and the Politics of Nationalism, London: Methuen, pp. 383–415. Shain, Y. (1989) The Frontier of Loyalty: Political Exiles in the Age of the Nation-State, Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press. ——(1993) ‘Democrats and secessionists: US diasporas as regime destabilizers’, in M.Weiner (ed.) International Migration and Security, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 287–322. Sheffer, G. (1986) ‘A new field of study: modern diasporas in international politics’, in G.Sheffer (ed.) Modern Diasporas and International Politics, London: Croom Helm, pp. 1–15. ——(1993) ‘Ethnic diasporas: a threat to their hosts’, in M.Weiner (ed.) International Migration and Security, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 263–85. Tölölyan, K. (1991) ‘Rethinking diaspora(s): stateless power in the transnational moment’, Diaspora 5(1): 3–36. Waever, O. (1993) Securitization and Desecuritization, Working Paper no. 5, Copenhagen: Centre for Peace and Conflict Research. Weiner, M. (1993a) ‘Introduction: security, stability and international migration’, in M.Weiner (ed.) International Migration and Security, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. 1–35. ——(1993b) ‘Preface’, in M.Weiner (ed.) International Migration and Security, Boulder, CO: Westview Press, pp. ix–xix.

4 Mapping territoriality

The geopolitics of sovereignty, governance and the citizen Peter Marden

In the present era of international politics, whether one refers to it as belonging to the vagaries of globalisation or some postmodern domain, there seems to be an intellectual obligation to revisit critically some long-held cherished assumptions about politics and society. Indeed, to suggest that the territorial boundaries of states are no longer commensurate with political authority and absolute control is hardly innovative. Nor is it necessarily startling to recognise the growing network of non-state organisations exercising levels of influence over states and national policy-making agendas. If anything, the literature on globalisation has at least brought this to our attention. But to what extent has some of the language and conceptual iconography usually associated with a state-centred polity come under serious scrutiny? Notions of difference, ethnicity and the cultural realm of identity politics have all surfaced as essential features of the contemporary international political landscape. This is not surprising when one considers the diverse and powerful responses to the dimensions of international migration. Indeed, the accommodation of cultural differences is becoming a real test of tolerance for some communities. But what impact are these events and recognitions having on hitherto unproblematised conceptualisations of territoriality and sovereignty? This chapter will examine how broader understandings of territoriality and sovereignty will help us come to grips with what many have called postmodern world politics. Rather than rallying around the call for the ‘end of geography’ this analysis will affirm the imperative of geography, but only through a redefinition of these foundational terms. By adopting a broader perspective on these terms, the issues surrounding the nature of governance and the challenges to the state also become clear. Hence, the need to break away from previous deterministic geopolitical theoretical frameworks concerning territoriality and world politics. This chapter is primarily theoretical and it is hoped that new areas for research and discussion concerning international political space can be opened. Geopolitics and the nation-state So much of our theoretical literature in the humanities and social sciences is based on traditional conceptualisations about the nation-state as a defining

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geographical and historical entity. Indeed, there are some concepts that appear to only have meaning when applied within the nation-state framework, and much of our Western legal reasoning is grounded on these assumptions. It is now widely recognised, however, that some of the problems facing nations are forcing us to rethink the specificities of the past. For example, environmentalists for quite some time have been pointing to the inability of states to manage and control environmental problems. The recent fires in Southeast Asia are an unfortunate reminder that this inability, matched with a lack of political will, can have disastrous ramifications beyond that of loss of life, such as the chronic impact on the agricultural productivity of an entire region. The very idea of ‘security’ within the nation-state is also being redefined due to changes in the relations between states and the global nature of problems which are interlinked. There is, of course, good reason not to exaggerate this shift in our understanding as the Gulf War and its ongoing legacy demonstrate. The nature of conflict between states may be changing but the potential of real aggression is still present. The point though, is that the risks associated with long-term environmental degradation, of hunger, of shortages of oil or electricity, of unemployment and penury and perhaps of preventable disease, are adding new dimensions to the problems of national security. Rosenau (1994:255) sums it up well with the observation that security is more elusive than ever because ‘it is embedded in the interaction of localizing and globalizing forces.’ How can we say there is a decline in the authority of the state within its territorial borders? It has been argued that: we must look to the quality of that authority. It rests on the failure of most governments to discharge those very basic functions for which the state as an institution was created—the maintenance of civil law and order, the defence of the territory from the depredation of foreign invaders, the guarantee of sound money to the economy, and the assurance of clear, judicially interpreted rules regarding the basic exchanges of property between buyers and sellers, lenders and borrowers, landlords and tenants…;the very idea of a social contract could not have been conceived without the economic necessity of civic cooperation between state and society. (Strange 1996:xii) In many respects this cooperation is breaking down as the state attempts to deal with numerous social and economic agendas being shaped by exogenous factors. We will see evidence of this later when I look closely at the nature of governance and how this political task has become both delicate and complex for states to perform. On one hand, civil society is vibrant and offering new opportunities for political expression and community development, yet on the other hand, it is being squeezed by the state intervening not on the basis to fulfil social obligations but for purposes of attracting international capital interests quite often at odds

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with grassroots alternatives. Indeed, perhaps the most crucial question of all about the state is: government for whom and in whose interest? This era of globalisation is bringing with it a new set of responsibilities and obligations that lie well outside the parameters of the traditional domestic constituency. A recognisable part of this constituency, however, is placing increasing demands on the state to meet international obligations over specific global problems. The language of human rights, environment and markets is transnational in both meaning and context. However, international law has clearly been developed faster than individual nationstates can fulfil their regulatory responsibilities, or develop an institutional capacity to deal with the complexities involved. It is also predicated on a number of inconsistencies and contradictions. On one hand, nation-states are expected to engage in global dialogue and meaningful strategies to offset environmental disaster, yet on the other hand, they are also expected to control and manage market forces along nationalistic lines, sometimes by the same constituency. So the question, ‘government for whom’, is a vexed one. Constituencies need to be identified and located and the democratic implications considered seriously. Essentially, to be a good global citizen, or in Hegelian terms ‘a good state’, may involve rearranging the priorities that were once considered inviolable to political elites. Yet this may be achieved by stealth or subterfuge. The whole free-market trade arguments that have dominated international forums since GATT (General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade) are essentially about governing for a specific constituency under the banner of national reform. This is not to suggest some crude form of ‘capture theory’ or conspiracy theory but attests to a reality of global finance and the increasing influence capital interests are having on states and national policymaking outcomes. This aspect of globalisation has been well documented and there is no need to go over these debates (see Corbridge, Martin and Thrift 1994). But there is one aspect worth noting. In many respects the dichotomy between global capital and the state is a false one. McMichael and Myhre (1991) for example, claim that the current process of capital transnationalisation also involves a reorganisation of the state into a ‘transnational state’ commensurate with a shift in the regulatory regime from one that was ostensibly national in character to one firmly grounded in the global. Such thinking lies at the heart of the ‘end of geography’ thesis (see O’Brien 1992) concerning the loss of economic sovereignty and impinges directly upon our concerns about sovereignty in general. It is though, above all else, quintessentially about territory, but this too is becoming complicated. There is a prevailing set of spatial referents that resonate through our understanding such as space, place, milieu, region, environment, locality that are all used interchangeably with ‘territory’. Yet, despite the multiplicity of its usage, the meaning of territoriality has remained disturbingly vague. It has become a trendy word which can mean anything from geopolitics of sovereign states to the idea that something is fixed by location. In a more exaggerated form, cultural

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critics like Baudrillard argue that territory is being remapped before our eyes and that we are rapidly becoming floating identities in a world characterised by hyperreality and ephemeral images. It is a world dominated by interconnecting media and multifaceted technology that is taking on a whole new vocabulary. Against such a backdrop where are our ideas about territory and its fundamental importance to our sense of attachment, to belonging, to sharing a collective identity that has a past, a culture—a set of images that stay etched in our subconscious? What becomes of our relationship to place as we have known it, to spatial communities, whether neighbourhood or small town, to the bonds of social capital and to those primordial social networks? Is the spatial/temporal phenomenon of postmodern capitalism actually destroying communities as we have experienced them? Has the technological juggernaut redefined space and our sense of relationship by creating a spatial anomaly whereby the actual sharing of space is a highly individualised process—a lonely vigil? These questions may resemble a script of a Star Trek episode but they are important questions to ponder because of their social implications and to their association with the notion of territoriality. However, I have no hesitation is suggesting that such language belongs more to playful imaginations than to reality. The fact is, place does matter and we are not floating identities on landscapes of hyperreality, but rooted in places of reality. Globalisation is producing strange juxtapositions between image and text and allowing us to connect to other spaces in a micro-second. But does this enabling technology yield much insight into who we are as people, as citizens of nations, as members of a local community, as simply interacting human beings taking solace and comfort from these relations? One does not have to evoke a romantic image of community to provide a counterpoint to some of the exaggerated claims of globalisation theorists. Virtual geographies stand side by side with real geographies as part of the lived experience for many today. Hence, where exactly to locate culture is no longer an easy task, or a set of meanings that can be read off from the nationstate as the defining variable. On this point Bhabha (1994) makes a valuable argument for considering those ‘interstices’, the overlapping and displacement of domains of difference, where the intersubjective and collective experience of ‘nationness’, community interest and cultural value are negotiated. The relationship between territory and identity is a powerful historical association imbued with a plethora of cultural and literary images. But to what extent has globalisation altered this? To answer this we first need to recognise that territoriality is complex and not simply defined, it comprises a variety of social arrangements. Constructing territorialities According to Forsberg (1996:359–62) we can distinguish between six forms of territoriality. I want to examine each in turn with a view to building on these categories for the purpose of establishing the discursive precursors to a successive discussion on sovereignty and governance. These six forms are by no means


definitive. They are, however, an appropriate starting point for further discussion on the operational boundaries of the term and its application in modern politics. There is much that is intangible about postmodern discussion on territory and the subject. However, the tangibilities of the term ‘territoriality’ are quite apparent when considering the changeability of possession with reference to sovereignty and ownership. Subsequently, territoriality as it is commonly held can be either given or taken away due to nefarious political processes, outward aggression or judicial outcomes. Hence, what impact does the process of ‘de-territorialisation’ have on identity and traditional notions of sovereignty? We are getting ahead of ourselves, however, because we first need to understand the various dimensions of territoriality. The first feature to examine is that of the existential aspect of territoriality. This, of course, is the most basic and fundamental as it involves that which is most intimate—personal space. Without trivialising the obvious requirements of physical existence, this notion of territory is tenuous indeed. Nevertheless, a heightened sense of overcrowding in a world that is shrinking is a commonly expressed anxiety today. The various ecological disasters that await an overpopulated world are also well and truly embedded in daily consciousness, albeit with varying degrees of intensity. Another important, yet ignored, factor to consider with this existential component is that of privacy and its continuing relevance to the human condition (see Squires 1994). The fear of invasion of personal space can be just as traumatic as the foreboding presence of isolation. It can be argued with some confidence that the perceived need to rejuvenate public spaces and to rethink the idea of the public sphere are recurring motifs in contemporary social and political theory. Yet, this same literature is remarkably silent on the issue of privacy and its importance to social and political life. I will have more to say on this later. Suffice to say, one should distinguish between privacy as that pertaining to isolation and solitude and to that which involves power over space: hence, the question of autonomy needs to be raised. For now though let us return to our forms. Operational territoriality lies at the heart of the classical geopolitical tradition in global politics by supporting the simple dictum that geography provides the conditions and opportunities for human behaviour. At the crudest level of analysis it represents an expression of geographical determinism belonging to early schools of geography and geographers. It still remains somewhat surprising to find such deterministic thinking within the bounds of international politics scholars who still seem to regard the ‘first law of geography’ as the operational basis of territoriality. Nonetheless, this form of territoriality is widely recognised and described in association with the ‘tyranny of distance’ whereby location influences decision-making and distances limit interaction by setting physical constraints. It is also a fundamental axiom of economic thought; namely, the idea of comparative advantage and the fact that resources are bounded in space and such occupation will largely determine the nature of trade and commerce. Despite its many problems as a workable concept in today’s complex world, this

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form of territoriality still remains the most basic and commonplace point of reference. A similar form to the above is ecological territoriality concerning the bounded distribution of resources with territory. Hence, ownership and access to these resources is also tied up with political power, as well as determining climatic factors that provide the physical conditions of habitation and action. This form is the primordial link with ‘mother earth’, it is our daily reminder of the ecology of human action on all spatial scales, from the local to global. It is also the form of territoriality that is most contested by contrasting claims of ownership, particularly at the subnational level where resources and politics and issues of eroding sovereignty are pronounced. The language of ‘ethnodevelopment’ and the new cultural politics of difference is bringing to the fore concerns that go to the very centre of Western political thought about sovereignty and its direct link with territoriality and resources. The emphasis is on state’s rights and the rights of indigenous communities that are strategically located within the bounds of ecologically sensitive, yet highly marketable, natural resources (see Howitt et al. 1996 for excellent examples). Concern about the eroding sovereignty of indigenous peoples is not solely based around ‘colonial practices’ whereby national governments are entering into equity partnerships with transnational companies in resource ventures, but also with the rights afforded national claims of sovereignty over those communities with alternative epistemologies. Hence, forms of territoriality attached to resources and sensitive ecologies could very well be the battlegrounds of the next millennium where the concept of ‘nation’ itself may come under increasing scrutiny. Biological territoriality is probably the most popular image of territoriality which simply regards the human species as a territorial animal. This image mainly comes from sociobiologists attesting that certain territorial aspects of human behaviour are grounded in genes. Hence, the ‘marking of one’s territory’ is regarded as part of our evolutionary psyche and that every other interpretation must be subsumed under the universal laws of genetic determinants. In many respects, the ‘territorial imperative’ is emerging again, not that it ever really disappeared, with a new fascination with genetics and its association with philosophy, politics and matters theological (witness Jones 1996). Irrespective of the criticisms of social scientists concerning simplistic biological models pertaining to human behaviour, the images evoked by sociobiologists and geneticists still hold a powerful sway over notions of territoriality. Psychological territoriality is closely associated with some interpretations of nationalism and our link with community, history and nation. This form concerns the cognitive and emotional connections between people and their environment. It is central to cultural theory and social theory concerning mental mapping, or imaginary constructions of place which exhibit powerful expressions of sentiment. Hence, folklore and myth are often a part of this form of territoriality, particularly various manifestations of nationalism which are embedded in cultural and literary contexts that conjure up images of place, heritage and political


identity (see Anderson 1991). Because of the social and cultural milieux and the highly emotive language quite often used in association with attached meanings to place and homeland, this form of territoriality is most prone to political and ideological manipulation (see Zizek 1990 as an example of this point). An emphasis on the psychological brings together some interesting literatures on modernity and identity, especially with relations between self and society. Particularly important is how an analysis of this form enables a crucial intersection between psychoanalysis and social theory to bring to bear a distinctive viewpoint on matters of territoriality. Indeed, recent interpretations of the phenomenon of nationalism amidst growing globalisation stresses the importance of cognitive factors such as collective memory and cultural symbolism to conceptions of territoriality (see Smith 1991). The final form, political territoriality, is in many respects the most basic, yet also the most complex because it underlies the other forms to various degrees. In other words, the previous forms all have the potential to be politicised but sometimes the process is not clearly defined. What is not political when it comes to territoriality? Clearly in the modern era the idea of territory and political power are contiguous, which further renders any notion of politics without its accompanying spatial referent redundant. Thus, the very idea of sovereignty and territoriality residing within clearly defined borders, as with the nation-state, remains an enduring image. Clearly, these forms of territoriality are not all recognised and afforded equal status by various disciplinary practitioners. However, whether it is regarded as predominantly a political concept, or one belonging to our genetic primordial matrix, the predisposition to ‘mark territory’ appears as a natural feature of the human condition. Territoriality represents a political concept rooted in geography, as is much of our political taxonomy. For example, democracy and sovereignty have a distinctive geographical tone to their application in thought and practice. Can we envisage a form of democracy in non-spatial contexts whereby the action of participation in the political process is not bounded by distinct territories? To what extent are our conceptions of territoriality and governance being challenged by the growth in civil society, for example? It is to these questions I now turn. Shifting boundaries and autonomy The burgeoning literature on globalisation is highlighting the shifting boundaries of identity and the final annihilation of space. The growth of global civil society is supposedly creating new forms of association that transcend spatial boundaries, with a particular challenge to nationally defined territories of identity (see Lipschutz 1992). I commented on this phenomenon elsewhere and offered a cautionary warning against those proclaiming that the decline of the nation-state is nigh (see Marden 1997). We do, nevertheless, need to give due acknowledgement to the reality that historical boundaries of attachment that were

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once regarded as ‘natural’ are undergoing change. Subsequently, the close links between territoriality and the state are breaking down and the boundaries of communities are being reconstituted. In the political domain, authority is simultaneously relocating upwards towards supranational institutions, sidewards towards transnational organisations and social movements and downwards towards subnational communities (Rosenau 1994). Hence, the nation-state is being pulled and pushed from various directions to an extent that control and management of space within its jurisdiction is becoming more and more difficult. Meeting domestic demands for reform and justice may impinge upon international expectations of the ‘good state’, as is clearly evident with matters global such as human rights and environmental responsibility. In some instances, being the dutiful state in the eyes of the international community may involve making domestic sacrifices such as jobs in order to maintain a commitment towards a free trading system. The constituency of national-based governments has broadened significantly; therefore, decision-making and policy formation, once firmly aligned within national borders, are increasingly being influenced by agents that take no active part in democratic processes which are still nationally constituted. Another unprecedented phenomenon belonging to the late twentieth century is migration. In the late 1980s the United Nations’ estimate was that around 1 per cent of the world’s population (50 million people) were living in a country other than their place of birth. Within three years, the World Bank concluded that this figure had already increased to 100 million (UN 1993). Undoubtedly, that number is now much greater and already the contemporary period has been labelled the ‘age of migration’ (Castles and Miller 1993). As has been noted, the world’s population doubled to five thousand million between 1950 and 1995, and is projected to increase yet again to eight thousand million by 2025, and this: demographic explosion lies at the very heart of many of the world’s problems and is also a source of the complexity and dynamism that has overwhelmed the parameters of the global system…ever greater numbers of people have meant larger, more articulate, and increasingly unwieldy publics. (Rosenau 1995:196) Rosenau then proceeds to outline and discuss the ‘dizzying increase in the density of actors’ that now sustain world politics and the global networking between this myriad of organisations, interest groups and social movements. Grant (1995) is not alone in bemoaning the fact that we have neither a clear understanding of the causes and outcomes of this massive contemporary movement across the juridical boundaries of nation-states. However, she does present the argument that voluntary migration, at least, appears to be largely implemented by kin networks as a mechanism for surviving continual redefinitions of modern political and economic life. Whatever the reason, there is


no doubting the complexity and dynamism of current patterns of international migration. As I have discussed elsewhere (see Marden and Mercer 1997), there is also the growing problem of ‘undocumented immigration’ which, in the late 1990s, has been described as a ‘hot issue’, not only in Europe, Japan and the United States (Burgers and Engbersen 1996), but also in countries like Malaysia where, in January 1997, the government ‘purged’ an estimated one million illegal immigrant workers. As mentioned earlier, consideration must also be given to those internal forces that are contesting nation-state sovereignty, such as indigenous groups pursuing goals relating to autonomy and land rights. For some, the phenomenon of indigenous movements is a strong indication of the emergence of civil society and a new postmodern politics, one centred around claims of ‘authenticity’, culture and identity. Whatever conceptual or theoretical importance we wish to accord this movement, there is no uncertainty about the serious implications for those groups who find themselves in opposition to the state over matters of national development. A useful example, and one that this author is most familiar with, is the Australian experience where there is currently an expanding indigenous land rights’ movement and renewed calls for Aboriginal self-determination (Reynolds 1996; Sullivan 1996). Presently growing at twice the rate of the population as a whole, Australia’s Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander population will rise to around 360,000 by the turn of the century. Increasingly, since the election of the conservative coalition government in March 1996, Australia’s indigenous peoples are looking for international support in their fight against a strong community and state backlash. This situation highlights for me one the most important problems facing modern states, namely, the challenge posed by marginalised groups to issues of sovereignty and nationhood. As Howitt et al. (1996) point out, this should not be surprising considering that it is often indigenous peoples whose sovereignty is most decidedly challenged by the colonial and post-colonial practices of state formation. For indigenous groups, the idea of the territorially defined nation is more of a ‘dangerous fiction’ than an ‘imagined community’ because it is frequently established on the denial and subjugation of their rights, aspirations and culture. Indeed, the experience in many Third World countries, suggests that the project of national development will not tolerate even their presence, let alone any realistic chance of an alternative development model being considered. The tensions between the state and indigenous peoples are of course intensified when the sovereignty of resources is called into question. National governments have claimed indigenous lands, seas and resources as representing fundamental components of their own territorial integrity and political sovereignty. The extension or reinterpretation of ‘sovereignty’, however, remains conservatively opposed. As many indigenous activists have pointed out, while there is powerful resistance to the yielding of national sovereignty, the true meaning of selfdetermination will remain obscured. For example, Dodson (1994) admonishes those national representatives who support decolonisation of former colonial

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spaces on the principle of justice at the United Nations, while simultaneously refusing to accept an extension of the principle of self-determination from states to peoples. On this front, perhaps Yeatman (1995) is right to argue for a reconstitution of ‘sovereign selfhood’, but one that is distinctly divisible as opposed to an indivisible sovereign subject, and one that is reconcilable with justice. The main point to draw from this for our discussion is that the geopolitics of indigenous claims for self-determination and recognition of resource rights, pose a real challenge to long-held cherished assumptions about ‘territoriality’ and ‘sovereignty’. There are, indeed, shifting boundaries that are problematising historically situated institutional structures such as the nation-state, along with the accepted discourse and a foundational epistemology that has legally sanctioned, institutionalised and canonised these twin pillars of international politics. The shifting boundaries are not simply about language and theory as some realist attacks on post-colonialism would lay claim to, but rather belong to new ways people are organising themselves for social and political action. It may well be that one of the paradoxes of globalisation is the advent of highly localised sites of resistance that have the potential for global change (see Marden 1997). Whether we refer to these sites as evidence of new social movements or simply an expression of a growing global civil society, Escobar (1992) is right when he points to a multidimensionality which is indicative of a new mode of doing politics. In this sense, the term ‘environmental’ as a description of various grassroots movements is somewhat misleading because of the commonly held principles of justice and human rights that seem to augment and overlap with an environmental ethic. It is the ‘politics’ of everyday experience where cultural struggles over meaning are coexistent with concerns over material conditions: where an ethnography of popular resistance is evident, or to use de Certeau’s (1984) phrase a ‘marginal multitude’; or to what Williams (1980) claims as the continuation of residual practices that provides the basis for collective resistance and action (see Peet and Watts 1996). Contested sovereignties and the citizen Let us now establish a couple of propositions that are more argumentative than definitive. First, we should recognise that there are complexities surrounding the idea of sovereignty as belonging exclusively to the nation-state, albeit not reflected in international law or institutional practice. Second, the complexities are not just to do with reinterpretations from various new theoretical approaches, but derive out of a politics of dissent and resistance that are offering real challenges to state autonomy. These forces, however, should not be interpreted as conclusive evidence that the nation is withering away in the face of a newly emerging global civil ethic. The long process of state formation will not dissolve easily. The question now, though, lies within the context of the normative and the ethical: to what extent can we say that this is a desirable outcome? What of


democracy and citizenship should a world of free-floating identities emerge? It is beyond the scope of this chapter to attempt to answer such questions with the space it deserves. Let us, though, probe some of these issues in the hope that further research can be forthcoming. What are the virtues of citizenship? And how is the relationship between citizenship and democracy changing with the potential ‘leaking away’ of sovereignty from states? Before proceeding with these questions we should first ask—why is citizenship important in the modern political setting? Barrington (1995:731) offers two reasons: first, citizenship ‘is one of the few official identities that a state can bestow on its residents’; and second, it carries with it a privilege of specific economic and political rights that are denied ‘noncitizens’(e.g. ethnic Russians currently residing in Latvia and Estonia). In this context, citizenship can be interpreted as ‘a powerful instrument of social closure’ (Brubaker 1992:x). Rubenstein (1995) argues that debates surrounding citizenship are often confused because at least three different criteria are frequently invoked. At the simplest level there is the criterion of strict legal status (i.e. someone is recognised as a citizen by the state). But there is also a much broader interpretation based around what Alejandro (1993) refers to as ‘citizenship as communality and participation’. Relatedly, there is the ‘civic virtues’ construction of citizenship which focuses on the desirable activities involved in being a ‘good citizen’. This is simply citizenship by action, whereby the extent and level of one’s citizenship is directly attributable to one’s participation in that community (see Kymlicka and Norman 1994). The latter is especially favoured by those on the right who argue that ‘rights’ too often are privileged over ‘obligations’. Unlike Marshall’s (1965) earlier call that the full expression of citizenship can only derive from a liberal-democratic welfare state, usually referred to as ‘passive citizenship’, the ‘new right’ emphasise the virtue of responsibility and a heightened sense of social obligation. Predictably, their attacks on the welfare state are premised on a redefinition of citizenship, one that rejects passive citizenship and embraces the notion that failure to fulfil common obligations should exclude those individuals from the benefits of full membership. The idea being reinforced here is that citizens should be selfsupporting. To this end, conservatives have rejected the idea that citizenship can confer a status independent of economic standing (Mead 1986; Plant 1991). It is not my purpose to discuss the many theoretical variants now emerging about citizenship and its relationship to the state and democracy (see Beiner 1995). Suffice to say, we quickly come to a realisation that a precise definition is elusive for the simple reason that the concept has an unfortunate, yet predictable, habit of changing form depending upon political context and ideology. The interdependency between sovereignty and citizenship cannot go unnoticed as it directly placates the power of the state. Put simply, the sovereignty of states enshrines their right to delineate the boundaries of citizenship; of who belongs and who does not; of who can participate in the democratic process and who is excluded. Thus, there is not the same universal language surrounding the concept

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of citizenship as there is with ‘human rights’, nor the same expectant measure of reform. And, despite the challenges, there is still considerable domestic resistance to fundamentally altering or in any way diminishing the rights of states to define the operational parameters of citizenship (see Lahav 1993). It should also be recognised that whatever progress is made at the international scale, domestic reforms can be somewhat slower, and even purposefully undermined. As Rees (1995:316) has noted ‘given an adequate Parliamentary majority, rights may be enacted, added to, abridged or abrogated with relative ease…it makes little difference whether they are classed as civil, political or social’; Notwithstanding this, a world increasingly characterised by population movements and expanding diasporas will make it less tolerable for nations to evoke highly restrictive policies of citizenship. However, such a speculation should be positioned against the rising parochialism that appears to be invigorating particular nationalisms (see Marden 1997). Minogue (1995:11) argues that citizenship is best visualised as a spectrum ‘such if we go too far in either direction [it] disappears altogether’. At one extreme, the ‘pure’ Marxian vision has no real place for the concept of citizenship, nor for the nation if it comes to that—indeed, for Marx, citizens are ‘imaginary members of an illusory sovereignty’ (James 1996:81)—while at the other extreme, despotism does not either. Between these two we can distinguish variants loosely clustered around the foundational philosophies of such people as Hobbes, on the one hand, and Rousseau, on the other. These offer different emphases on the roles of participation and obedience. Even with a minimalist interpretation, citizenship certainly involves membership status in a legitimate entity, as well as legally recognisable rights. But in practice the latter are significantly mediated such that ethnicity, class, race and gender have a major impact upon the extent of active and meaningful participation in society. In short, formal citizenship rights are contingent upon the application of informal power. Liberalism is largely silent on this issue. Where to governance? In appraising the various risks and opportunities brought about by globalisation none seem to be as critical as the problems posed by the changing nature of government in democratic societies. What is the actual role of government in these days of global markets and financial networks uncompromising in their ability to render national economic policy problematic? The recent crisis in Asia should be a salutary lesson for those development strategists pushing the socalled Asian model on the rest of the developing world. This is particularly the case for the economic rationalists who regarded the trade-led expansion in Asia as the panacea for all social and economic ills facing Western developed nations. The role of the state was accorded minimalist consideration, and the whole issue of human rights and environmental responsibility treated as part of the sacrifice required for growing economies. Throughout the 1980s the left and the right,


albeit somewhat blurred around the edges, were engaged in a development debate centred around the role of the state in Asian development. This debate became predictable, convoluted and theoretically tiresome, with very little constructive understanding forthcoming. In this regard, even the critics of the dominant economic models concerning the newly industrialised countries provided scant attention to the changing nature of government in terms of social obligations. I believe the problems facing many of these successful Asian nations stem not only from fiscal mismanagement, but also from an ever-growing incapacity to deliver on social and political reforms commensurate with the relatively high levels of economic growth. There may, indeed, be a fiscal crisis of the Asian state, but there is also a crisis of obligation which is threatening to further destabilise many of these societies. It is no stretch of the imagination to suggest that such crises may bring about new opportunities for a more inclusive politics; a politics more in tune with notions of community. It may also, however, bring about an even more austere form of governance in keeping with major international development institutions’ idea of what constitutes ‘good governance’. It is therefore no surprise to find that part of the International Monetary Fund (IMF) rescue package to countries like South Korea will emphasise the need for significant reductions in government spending, especially those areas of social reform. The A$88 million IMF loan is also based on labour market reforms that may involve up to a million layoffs in 1998/9 and a wage freeze (The Age 1997:13). A financial crisis of this dimension is unlikely to foster an interventionist agenda embracing social democratic ideals, despite the ongoing unrest of students. Whether or not this current crisis is directly, or partly, attributable to globalisation is somewhat of a vexed issue, albeit an interesting one. What is less problematic is that there appears to be a crisis of development, at least in the type of social and economic modelling that has dominated institutional culture for the last two decades. Are we seeing a fragility to the dominant development paradigm of ‘perpetual growth’ and export-led development that have up until now been paraded as ‘absolutes’? If so, what are the political implications for the citizen and communities? Such questions as they apply to Asia’s current crisis cannot be answered here. Nevertheless, in the light of the current problems Fukuyama’s (1995) central argument requires reexamining, particularly some of the juxtapositions he posited between the West and the Asian experience. A task for another time, however. What is more immediate for our concerns, though, is the nature of politics itself and how the local and the global are becoming even more inextricably linked in terms of process and outcome. What are the ethics of obligation for the state? To what extent does ‘good governance’ mean different things to contested constituencies such as the tension deriving from being a global ‘good state’ to that of domestic expectations of the national citizenry? In short: what is good governance and how is the nature of politics changing with the onset of globalisation? Such questions go to the very heart of concerns about sovereignty, citizenship and security

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because, put simply, governance resonates through all of these dimensions of social and political life. In the United Kingdom, Tony Blair was recently elected on a platform of ‘social inclusion’ of bringing politics to the community, of reinvigorating the practice of democracy. This is the language of contemporary concerns about the diminishing of civil society under Thatcher’s ideologically inspired ‘there is no such thing as society’. It is argued that a restoration of civil society will inspire new dimensions of ‘good governance’, particularly as this process involves building up networks of ‘social capital’; communities of trust rather than of fear and risk. There is considerable rethinking being done at the moment concerning the politics of state and citizen. Elsewhere I have commented on the disempowering as well as the empowering dimensions of globalisation, especially the links between telecommunications technology and community development (see Marden 1997). But some of these issues need closer scrutiny because of their sheer importance to the whole debate on sovereignty. Part of this rethinking is coming from Demos, an independent think-tank primarily devoted to reconstructing political thinking involving theoretical analyses and studies of ethics and values (see Mulgan 1996). The core of Demos thinking is a belief that on a global scale, public confidence in politics and politicians to find solutions to major social and economic ills is at an all-time low. National governments seem to be unable, or indeed unwilling, to respond to growing national problems of unemployment, health, education and crime other than initiating policies that are both reactionary and short-sighted. Of course, Demos is not the first to lament the loss of imagination in political thought and action, but it is does represent a genuine effort to reinvigorate political thinking for the next century by addressing those structural changes that are taking place in many democratic societies that largely go unnoticed by political elites and the popular media. Another critic of contemporary British society is Hutton (1996) who argues that the political system is malfunctioning to the point where the idea of the public realm is discredited due to the inept nature of party politics itself to deal with the real issues. This former workshop of the world is now Europe’s fourth economic power after Germany, France and Italy. One in three children grow up in poverty, and a 1991 survey also showed that one 21-year-old in five was innumerate and one in seven was illiterate. Another disturbing fact is that the prison population is the highest in Europe. All this leads Hutton (1996:2) to conclude that ‘the British are failing’. Hutton’s work is largely a critique of New Right policy, particularly the legacy of Thatcherism on the nation’s social institutions. It is also, however, an affirmation of the need for rethinking politics in Britain such as that represented by Demos. However, it is interesting to note that even the early shine of New Labour in Britain under Blair is starting to dull as the financial realities concerning welfare begin to bite. Social security spending is a contentious issue in the Blair government as senior ministers are beginning to speak of too much money being spent on welfare and the need for reform, mainly through a superannuation system similar to that which exists in


Australia. The concern over cradle-to-grave welfare and the increasing demands placed on a shrinking economy has initiated such intense discussion that the British Prime Minister faced the threat of a cabinet revolt recently over a range of reform measures that included a cut to disability benefits (Weekend Australian 1997:17). What this highlights is that the language of ‘New Labour’ including references to ‘civil society’, ‘community’ and ‘social capital’ is now juxtaposed with a financial constituency placing demands on the new government for the urgent need of ‘good governance’ to avoid falling behind the rest of Europe, even if this means abandoning some of the pre-election rhetoric about ‘social inclusion’. The importance of these matters of governance go well beyond simple ideological predispositions of parties to lie deep within the relation between state and citizen. For where is the sovereignty of the citizen when measured against these marked shifts in the obligations of state responsibility? As pointed out by Rose (1996), in almost all advanced industrial countries, from Sweden to Australia, the shibboleth of the ‘welfare state’ is under attack with many welfare systems undergoing transformation. Like some economic blueprint, the similarities of government strategies are quite remarkable: the privatisation of public utilities and welfare functions, the marketisation of health services, social insurance and pension schemes, educational reforms to introduce competition between schools and colleges, the emergence of new forms of management into the public service modelled upon an image of methods in the private sector, new contractual relations between agencies and service providers and between professionals and clients, a new emphasis on the personal responsibilities of individuals, their families and their communities for their own future well-being. In many cases these changes are accompanied by concerted attacks on organised labour, particularly any form of centralised wage-fixing and/ or government/ union relation deemed to be improper and inflexible for the current needs of efficient and competitive labour markets. Hence, while membership of trade unions is on the decline, at least in Australia, the switch to individual contractual arrangements is gaining ground as the preferred option by employers and government. But more pervasive are the selective attacks on society itself, especially on those perceived vested interest groups that have benefited from previous social policy initiatives. The politics of postmodernism, it would seem, reflect the theoretical and philosophical attacks on logocentrism and modernity. The politics of the grand, of the ideological, of the ‘mega’ is coming under serious threat by conservative elements who have, ironically, found sustenance with fashionable postmodern critiques of totality. It is hardly unreasonable to suggest that the politics of deconstruction rather than opening space for difference and a new ethic of responsibility has in fact led to closure, anxiety and the creation of an underclass in many advanced capitalist nations. It has, perhaps even more importantly, provided the means through which government can minimise social obligation and establish a new set of codes and regulatory devices that ensure the prosperity of a minimal state under the persuasive morality of ‘belt tightening’ and the

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beguiling simplicity of deficit avoidance. The idea of the social itself is caught up in the new politics. As Rose (1996) has observed, the political rationalities that have so dominated this century: socialism, social democracy, social liberalism, and their corresponding domains such as social protection, social justice, social rights and social stability—despite their considerable political differences—have all shared the notion that the nation must be governed. However, it seems today that notions of governance can involve a range of rationalities and techniques without an accompanying commitment to society as a whole. Governance, in this sense, is taken out of the imperative context of the social and is made the province of regulated choices made by discrete and autonomous agents within their familial and communal setting. Hence, whether we accept Thatcher’s bold claim that ‘there is no such thing as society’ or Baudrillard’s (1983) provocative call for ‘the end of the social’ we are faced with an inevitable realisation that this vast abstraction we have labelled ‘society’ is undergoing transformation. In a rather diachronistic way we have embraced the notion of society as the standard horizon for our thought, and of our moral evaluations. In the process, we have regarded identity, at least in a collective sense, commensurate with bounded territories governed by their own laws. But as alluded to elsewhere (see Marden 1997), processes of globalisation are redefining to some extent these archetypes by making them appear ephemeral and transitory in the face of new technologies, and are giving rise to new forms of allegiance to community values, beliefs and commitments. Rose (1996) points to a profound shift taking place within advanced liberal societies from ‘the social’ to ‘the community’ as representing a new territory for the administration of the individual and collective. New political languages are being formed around different versions of communitarianism involving representations of complex micro-moral relations among individuals and strategies of governance. One example is the emergence of ‘risk communities’ such as drug abusers and gay men, where individuals are seen to be subjects of allegiance to the dynamics of communities rather than to society as a whole. Hence, within these communities we find norms, beliefs and various codes of behaviour that are intricately linked with notions of selfgovernance and responsibility. But how far do we draw the distinction between community and society? In a somewhat neglected work, Etzioni (1968:2) argues that ‘the self which is to be activated is neither the centre nor the appendage of the individual self, but rather the self of a social collectivity’. He goes on to argue that ‘a social collectivity has a self, not as a reified or metaphysical category but as the carrier of an active orientation’. Collectivities can set goals, commit themselves to their realisation, and pursue them. Etzioni’s observations about the social self are, of course, reminiscent of the sociology of the 1960s, whereby ideas of community were invoked as an appropriate response to the alienation of modern mass society, as typified by Reisman’s The Lonely Crowd (1961) and Galbraith’s The Affluent Society (1973). A very important addition to these works is the intuitive analysis


of Veblen’s Theory of the Leisure Class (1967), now regarded as a sociological classic, albeit largely ignored by modern social theorists (see Mestrovic 1993 on this point). Together, these early intelligent forays into the problems and dilemmas facing advanced societies like North America, exhibit a certain resonance in contemporary discourses on communities and governance. Early sociological interpretations of community, at least those emanating from the 1960s, were based around invocations of community as lost authenticity as a counter to the dehumanising influence of a bureaucracy that was both remote and paternalistic (Rose 1996). Community in this sense was predicated on a language of empowerment, but as Rose (1996:332) comments, ‘what began as a language of resistance and critique was transformed…into an expert discourse and a professional vocation’. This professionalisation corresponded to a shift in vocabulary that rendered communities knowable and capable of social engineering, as witnessed by the plethora of community studies throughout the late 1960s and early 1970s. It is interesting to note the use of the term ‘authentic’ with reference to community, considering today’s usage of the term by postcolonialist writers and the like. Once again, turning to these earlier texts brings forth an array of terms that are responsive and applicable to contemporary social theory. For example, examining Etzioni’s usage of the term reveals an insight into the dynamics of social alienation that is particularly applicable for the 1990s: Authenticity exists where responsiveness exists and is experienced as such. The world responds to the actor’s efforts, and its dynamics are comprehensible…authenticity requires not only that the actor be conscious, committed, and hold a share of the societal power, but also that the three components of the active orientation be balanced and connected. It is the fate of the inauthentic man that what he knows does not fit what he feels, and what he affects is not what he knows or is committed to do. His world has come apart…authenticity is not possible under alienating conditions. While the actively alienated man may play a significant role in transforming his condition and in creating the opportunity for authenticity, so long as this transformation is not advanced, he is not free from the effects of his alienating condition. (Etzioni 1968:620–1) In this respect, an authentic community is one where there are clearly defined reciprocal bonds of responsiveness. However, this can only be attained under non-alienating conditions in wider society. Thus, it is the wider societal conditions that largely determine the communal parameters of authenticity. Just how the individual within such a communal setting is empowered beyond the bonds of shared experience and solidarity is not really addressed by Etzioni to any satisfactory degree. It is here that contemporary concerns over the role of the

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state in the process of community construction as a method of governing are representative of a definite shift in the politics of modernity. The idea of government through community is probably best defined by the Commission on Social Justice (1994) which argues that if society is to be regenerated and social justice maximised, then the building of responsible communities that are prepared to invest in themselves is the only sure way. The idea is to minimise statism and redemocratise society by developing strong social bonds through local autonomous networks that facilitate the development of social capital. The core values can be identified as fairness, cooperation and responsibility. However, what constitutes government in this context? The refiguring of government through community has a number of features (see Rose 1996). The first is a spatial configuration and processes of detotalisation. This aspect has already been partly covered when we discussed globalisation and the rise of cosmopolitan social space. The context is one of fractured political-ethical forms of citizenship beyond that which the nation-state designates as belonging to a national community. The detotalisation is readily seen in the emergence of a plethora of communities covering a diverse range of social and cultural interests. These moral communities (ecological, feminist, religious…), lifestyle communities (fashion, taste, mode of life…) and communities of commitment (health, disability, local activism…) and the like, are thought to command our allegiance. These communities are construed as overlapping, multiple and heterogeneous, and characterised geographically as occupying the micro-locale. They also exhibit a non-spatial character such as those designated ‘virtual communities’ involving networks of communications, symbols, images and various associations such as non-governmental organisations. There are, as Wark (1994:x) has observed, ‘moments which reveal in everyday life something of the abstract form of the emergent virtual geography lacing the world together via the various technologies.’ There is no denying the power, actually or potentially, of the Internet and its spreading usage as a form of global communications, although there are still many problems associated with this medium as a channel of dissent or discourse of resistance (see Marden 1997). The implications of disrupted political space, however, is enough to concern some Asian countries such as Singapore to look into ways of regulating this explosive technology. The second feature of government through community is that of its changed ethical character. The social constituted an order of collective being, responsibility and obligations. And although policies of the social accorded individuals personal responsibility for their actions, there always existed a tacit understanding that external determinants also played their part, such as those of social class, family background and numerous other related contexts that may impinge on behaviour and determine life chances. However, these ‘ethical vectors’ as Rose (1996) refers to them, have been reorganised under the guise of community. Here, the subject is still regarded as a moral individual with bonds of obligation and responsibilities, but reconfigured differently. The individual in


his community is both self-responsible and subordinate to particular emotional bonds of affinity to a specific network of other individuals, and also unified by other ties such as family, locality or moral commitment. Rose (1996:334) argues that ‘conduct is retrieved from a social order of determination into a new ethical perception of the individualized and autonomized actor, each of whom has unique, localized and specific ties to their particular family and to a particular moral community’ (my emphasis). The third aspect is that of the role of identification, and a distinction is made between those processes of identity formation that bind the individual to the social, as a unified single national society, and those that operate at the community level. Once again, emphasis is placed on how these lines of identity are reconfigured towards community as a locus of allegiance, which is not that difficult considering that community is less remote and more directly involved in the matrices of everyday life than that of this vast abstraction we call ‘the social’. The image of community, and of a sense of belonging, is deemed to be preexistent of modernity’s turn towards national unified space. It is, in other words, a more primary source of individual and collective belonging outside of the fundamental unit of the family. However, just like other sources of collective identity, particularly the narratives constructed around the nation, there is also a Janus-faced logic that is employed by proponents of community based on the fact that an assertion of community refers itself to something already existing and, therefore, has a claim on us; yet at the same time, our knowledge of particular communities is something we have to made aware of. There are two prominent images associated with the promotion of community (see Rose 1996). Each, to some degree, admonish the principles of neo-liberal social thought and politics such as the ethos of individualism of choice, control over one’s fate, personal responsibility, self-promotion and self-government. The other image concerns the virtues of community activ ation as a response to remote central governments, insensitive bureaucracies and incompetent local authorities. To actively participate in community is said to foster self-motivation, self-responsibility and self-reliance as opposed to a paternalistic centralising social government. Relations of identification are developed so that individuals can speak of ‘their community’ in terms that place emphasis on the emotional interdependency established between the self and the wider community. Community, in this sense, is not just the territory of government, but a means of government, ‘its ties, bonds, forces and affiliations are to be celebrated, encouraged, nurtured…and instrumentalized in the hope of producing consequences that are desirable for all and for each’ (Rose 1996:335). The image of community, therefore, starts to take on very complex characteristics, that are by no means confined to the definitional, as to notions of governance.

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Conclusion Whatever the vocabulary, we are facing challenges to the usage and application of central concepts of political association. Citizenship, sovereignty and territoriality are traditionally aligned with nation-states and their seeming autonomy in the international system of states. The sense of ‘belonging to’ similarly has always found a home with this primary unit of association, albeit an imagined one to some degree. So are postmodernists right when they point to the forces of fragmentation that are supposedly shifting the boundaries of these longheld assumptions? One is immediately drawn into an apology on behalf of those critics, however, who may hold such views but do not associate with postmodernism in any shape or form. Nevertheless, the importance of this question cannot be overstated in the light of the many problems facing nations, governance and democracy itself. I believe Rosenau (1994) is correct in his focus on ‘forces of fragmentation’ as representing the reality of globalisation in the 1990s. This fragmentation, however, does not necessarily translate into the language of disempowerment because there are many indications that new political space is being opened up at the margins for communities and social movements aspiring and working towards a different future other than that ascribed to them by global capital. For example, it is interesting to ponder the notion that if sovereignty adheres in the ‘people’ and not the state per se, then a delegation of authority can be reinterpreted or perhaps even reclaimed by popular action (see Falk 1992). It is difficult to see how this reinterpretation can satisfactorily counter the prevailing orthodoxy of statist interpretations of sovereignty. The issue is a vexed one because on one hand it is reasonably accepted that sovereignty rests on an overall congruence between, territoriality, authority, capability and loyalty (Falk 1992). On the other hand, though, new loyalties and capabilities are forming that are essentially transcending statist claims of natural legitimacy and authority. The potential for political transformation with the onset of global civil society has been debated elsewhere (see Lipschutz 1992; Marden 1997) and all that needs reiterating at this point is that the leaking away of sovereignty from states is no longer as fanciful as first thought. Fragmentation has certainly weakened states and ‘pitted them against their societies and citizens’ while congruently weakening the interstate system and ‘pitted international organisations against a multitude of actors who seek to realize their goals through either transnational or subnational relationships’ (Rosenau 1994:257). This turbulence in world politics, as Rosenau calls it, should awaken us to the realisation that such fundamentals as territoriality, community, productivity and loyalty are subject to quite dramatic transformation. The shifting boundaries of authority are diminishing the administrative capacity of states to deal with forces that seem to defy containment. Hence, as borders become more porous and less meaningful the very basis of democratic governance may erode. In other words: is this weakening of state sovereignty


necessarily leading to a more inclusive politics where participation in the political process is actually enhanced; empowering those groups hitherto considered subversives or aliens? How is democracy assured with the leaking away of sovereignty? For example, pluralist and particularistic interpretations of citizenship are producing distinctive claims about the rights and obligations of communities and the state. Indeed, it is reasonable to argue that in this world of shifting boundaries and mobile populations, the institutions of liberal democracy have revealed a peculiar fragility. The problem is not the recognition of diversity, but the inclusionary/exclusionary nature of cultural determinants and the seeming incapacity of liberal states to cope with a politics based on diffuse threads of commonality. What is revealed is that the difficulties for liberal democratic states in a postmodern political world do not derive so much from the demands for recognition by numerous groups, but rather from the transition from recognition to reconciliation. It is here where correction for past injustices has to be juxtaposed with demands for tolerance and equality within the framework of liberal democracy (see Marden and Mercer 1998). On the other hand, some commentators argue that rather than close borders and become more exclusionary, states should open up their borders to immigrants, especially those from the Third World. This is indeed the case argued by Carens (1995) who claims that citizenship in Western liberal democracies is simply the modern equivalent of ‘feudal privilege’, an inherited status that greatly enhances one’s life chances. Whatever the case, the moral obligations of states within the current phase of globalisation are no longer based on an uncomplicated relation between state and citizen, as this relation is now bound up with contested sovereignties. References Alejandro, R. (1993) Hermeneutics, Citizenship and the Public Sphere, Albany: State University of New York Press. Anderson, B. (1991) Imagined Communities, London: Verso. Barrington, L. (1995) ‘The domestic and international consequences of citizenship in the Soviet successor states’, Europe-Asia Studies 47(5):731–63. Baudrillard, J. (1983) Simulations, New York: Semiotext. Beiner, R. (ed.) (1995) Theorizing Citizenship, Albany: State University of New York Press. Bhabha, H. (1994) The Location of Culture, London: Routledge. Brubaker, R. (1992) Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Burgers, J. and Engbersen, G. (1996) ‘Globalisation, migration, and undocumented immigrants’, New Community 22(4):619–35. Carens, J. (1995) ‘Aliens and citizens: the case for open borders’, in R.Beiner (ed.) Theorizing Citizenship, New York: State University of New York Press, pp. 229–54. Castles, S. and Miller, M.J. (1993) The Age of Migration: International Population Movements in the Modern World, New York: Guilford Press.

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Commission on Social Justice (1994) Social Justice: Strategies for National Renewal, London: Vintage. Corbridge, S., Martin, R. and Thrift, N. (eds) (1994) Money, Power and Space, Oxford: Blackwell. de Certeau, M. (1984) The Practice of Everyday Life, Berkeley: University of California Press. Dodson, M. (1994) ‘Towards the exercise of indigenous rights: policy, power and selfdetermination’, Race and Class 35(4), 65–76. Escobar, P. (1992) ‘Imagining a post-development era? Critical thought, development and social movements’, Social Text 31/32:20–56. Etzioni, A. (1968) The Active Society: A Theory of Societal and Political Processes, New York: The Free Press. Falk, R. (1992) Explorations at the Edge of Time: The Prospects for World Order, Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Forsberg, T. (1996) ‘Beyond sovereignty, within territoriality: mapping the space of latemodern (geo)politics’, Cooperation and Conflict 31(4):355–86. Fukuyama, F. (1995) Trust: The Social Virtues and the Creation of Prosperity, New York: The Free Press. Galbraith, K. (1973) The Affluent Society, London: Penguin. Grant, G. (1995) ‘International migration, “middle classness” and the state’, Urban Anthropology, 24(3/4):281–312. Howitt, R., Connell, J. and Hirsch, P. (eds) (1996) Resources, Nations and Indigenous Peoples, Melbourne: Oxford University Press. Hutton, W. (1996) The State We’re In, London: Vintage. James, P. (1996) Nation Formation: Towards a Theory of Abstract Community, London: Sage. Jones, S. (1996) In the Blood: God, Genes and Destiny, London: HarperCollins. Kymlicka, W. and Norman, W. (1994) ‘Return of the citizen: a survey of recent work on citizenship theory’, Ethics 104:34–48. Lahav, G. (1993) ‘Immigration, hypernationalism, and European security’, in J.P. Rogers (ed.) The Future of European Security. The Pursuit of Peace in an Era of Revolutionary Change, London: Macmillan, pp. 74–81. Lipschutz, R. (1992) ‘Reconstructing world politics: the emergence of global civil society’, Millennium 21(3):389–421. McMichael, P. and Myhre, D. (1991) ‘Global regulation versus the nation-state’, Capital and Class 43:83–106. Marden, P. (1997) ‘Geographies of dissent: globalization, identity and the nation’, Political Geography 16(1):37–64. Marden, P. and Mercer, D. (1997) The Tyranny of Difference: Multiculturalism, Citizenship and National Identity in Australia, Working paper no. 38, Clayton, Victoria, Australia: Department of Geography and Environmental Science, Monash University. ——(1998) ‘Locating strangers: multiculturalism, citizenship and nationhood in Australia’, Political Geography 17(8):939–58. Marshall, T. (1965) Class, Citizenship and Social Development, New York: Anchor. Mead, L. (1986) Beyond Entitlement: The Social Obligations of Citizenship, New York: The Free Press.


Mestrovic, S. (1993) The Barbarian Temperament: Towards a Postmodern Critical Theory, London: Routledge. Minogue, K. (1995) ‘Two concepts of citizenship’, in A.Liebich, D.Warner and J. Dragovic (eds) Citizenship East and West, London: Kegan Paul International, pp. 9–22. Mulgan, R. (1996) ‘A race relations lesson from across the Tasman’, Australian Quarterly 68(2):77–87. O’Brien, R. (1992) Global Financial Integration: The End of Geography, London: Pinter/ RIIA. Peet, R. and Watts, M. (eds) (1996) Liberation Ecologies, London: Routledge. Plant, R. (1991) ‘Social rights and the reconstruction of welfare’, in G.Andrews (ed.) Citizenship, London: Lawrence & Wishart, pp. 50–64. Rees, A. (1995) ‘The promise of social citizenship’, Policy and Politics 23(4):313–25. Reisman, D. (1961) The Lonely Crowd, New Haven: Yale University Press. Reynolds, H. (1996) Aboriginal Sovereignty, Sydney: Allen and Unwin. Rose, N. (1996) The death of the social? Re-figuring the territory of government, Economy and Society 25(3):327–56. Rosenau, J. (1994) ‘New dimensions of security: the interaction of globalizing and localizing dynamics’, Security Dialogue 25(3):255–81. ——(1995) ‘Security in a turbulent world’, Current History 94, 592:193–200. Rubenstein, K. (1995) ‘Citizenship in Australia: unscrambling its meaning’, Melbourne University Law Review 20, 503–27. Smith, A. (1991) National Identity, London: Penguin. Squires, J. (1994) ‘Private lives, secluded places: privacy as political possibility’, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 12:387–401. Strange, S. (1996) The Retreat of the State: The Diffusion of Power in the World Economy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Sullivan, P. (ed.) (1996) Shooting the Banker, Essays on ATSIC and Self-determination, Darwin: North Australia Research Unit, The Australia National University. The Age (1997) ‘Asia’s woes!’, The Age, 25 November, p. 17. UN (1993) State of the World’s Population, Toronto: Penguin. Veblen, T. ([1899]1967) The Theory of the Leisure Class, New York: Penguin Books. Wark, M. (1994) Virtual Geography, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Weekend Australian (1997) ‘Social insecurity’, Weekend Australian, 27 December, p. 17. Williams, R. (1980) Problems in Materialism and Culture, London: New Left Books. Yeatman, A. (1995) ‘Justice and the sovereign self, in M.Wilson and A.Yeatman (eds) Justice and Identity: Antipodean Practices, New Zealand: Allen and Unwin, pp. 195– 211. Zizek, S. (1990) ‘Eastern Europe’s republics of Gilead’, New Left Review 183:50–62.

5 Migration and security from a North-South perspective Sweden and Malawi Elisabeth Abiri

Since World War II, refugees and asylum seekers have been connected to the international human rights regime in four different ways. First, Article 14 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights of 1948 declares that every human being has the right to seek and enjoy asylum from persecution in other countries. Second, the Convention on the Status of Refugees of 1951 (or the Geneva convention) defines a ‘refugee’ as a person who crosses internationally recognised borders to escape state organised persecution for having exercised her or his political and civil rights. Third, the Convention firmly states that a refugee, once given asylum, shall be granted the same rights and freedoms as ordinary citizens. And finally, the protection of refugees by United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) and other humanitarian organisations has generally been perceived as safeguarding human rights. These four connections between refugees and asylum seekers on the one hand, and the human rights regime on the other, have consequently positioned the discourse of involuntary migration within the human rights domain for almost forty years. This is not the case anymore. In the 1990s, changes have taken place that have led to the discourse on involuntary migration becoming situated inside the security domain. New Dimensions of Security The end of the Cold War opened up both political and academic space for a redefinition of the concept of security (Buzan 1991; Campbell 1992; Tickner 1993; Waever et al. 1993; Krause and Williams 1997). Today, talking or acting security is not limited to the military sphere of the state. The redefinition of security has brought in a broad range of new issues and an equally broad range of referring objects into the field of security. Most of these redefinitions have taken place both in the political and the academic arenas. In the political sphere, alternative referent objects besides the state, such as the individual or the social group, are, however, seldom taken seriously. For state officials, security is first and foremost a business for the state system, even though it is frequently acknowledged that the only acceptable goal for a national security policy (statecentred security policy) is the safeguarding of all inhabitants of the state

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territory. When it comes to the broadening of the national security agenda, states have been more willing to include economic, environmental, societal aspects of security into their overall national security policy. In some cases, states have not only been willing but indeed eager to add new aspects of security, sometimes without stating the need for adding these aspects in the first place. The adding of new issues to the security agenda, while the object of security still remains the same—the individual state—has led to the occurrence of a new phenomenon. To include new issues into the sphere of security is a way to raise the attention on the issue in question, or to sound the alarm on developments within a specific field. If this prioritising technique is to work, a strong connection between the national security of the state and the issue in question has to be presented. Involuntary migration is often mentioned as this connection, implying that the issue in question, be it of a environmental, social or economic kind, is a security concern since it has the potential for triggering refugee flows. In a way, involuntary migration has thus been positioned within the security domain, as a by-product of the securitisation of environmental, economic and societal concerns, rather than as an issue in its own right (Myers 1995). However, politicians and academics are increasingly focusing on cross-border migration as a security concern per se (Heisler and Layton-Henry 1993; Huysmans 1995; Loescher 1992; Papademitriou 1994; Poku and Graham 1998; Weiner 1993). Of course, not all types of migration are brought to the forefront as security problems. On the contrary, all kinds of organised migration tend to be understood as being under state control, a fact that seems to substantially reduce the notion of threat. Thus, the ‘migration threat’ almost always refers to involuntary migration, that is of a more irregular and unorganised nature. Involuntary migration definitely raises questions of security. Human beings who involuntarily move across internationally recognised borders to escape persecution, war, violence or starvation are indeed experiencing threats to their security both as individuals and as a group. The paradox is that when the linkage between security and migration is highlighted, it is rarely with reference to the refugees. Quite the opposite—it is the refugees themselves who are presented as threats to presumptive receiving states and their citizens. Thus, the change from human rights to security does not only indicate a switch in perspectives and wordings, it also changes the focus from the refugees to the receiving state. The process by which a public migration discourse changes towards an emphasis on security issues is often referred to as a securitisation of migration (Hettne and Abiri 1998; Huysman 1995; Waever 1993a). In the case of refugees, securitisation of migration manifests itself in three main areas both in policymaking and in research. It is used as a way to acknowledge the role the so-called national interest plays in refugee policy-making. This has previously been highlighted by several authors; however, not so much in security terms as in terms of foreign policy (Loescher and Scanlan 1986; Mitchell 1992). As these authors point out, the ‘national interest’ has always been present in refugee policymaking, even though it has not surfaced in the public migration discourse until

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after the Cold War. The securitisation of migration can also be used as a way to frame the challenges cross-border migration pose to the receiving societies, when it comes to economic, social and cultural integration of the immigrants (Waever 1993b). The individual state’s power over the asylum determination process is indeed used to regulate refugee immigration so it benefits what is seen at the time as ‘the national interest’. To understand the state’s interest in shaping migration policies that match both domestic needs and foreign policy priorities is important in order to grasp developments in the field of global migration at large. However, framing this state-biased focus in words of security may not be the best way to visualise a range of appropriate actions, since insecurity is a state that is generally understood to be best dealt with through the elimination of the threat in question. A securitisation of migration may also manifest itself in a third way. Organisations and states dealing with refugee protection are changing their earlier emphasis on human rights for an emphasis on the term ‘human security’. This new interest for ‘human security’ is often understood as an improvement since it proves that the notion of security has assumed a more human and ‘peoplecentred’ aspect (UNHCR 1997). It can, however, also be argued that by using the term ‘human security’ instead of human rights, one accepts a renegotiation of the importance that have been attached to human rights. UNHCR’s 1997 report The State of the World’s Refugees defines ‘human security’ as having two principal aspects—safety from chronic threats such as hunger, disease and repression, and protection from sudden and hurtful disruptions in the pattern of daily life (UNHCR 1997:14). When human beings are fleeing war zones a first priority is, of course, to find them a place where they can be safe from these threats. However, there is a risk that a narrow focus on ‘human security’ will lead to a lowering of the goals of international humanitarian assistance, and consequently also to a lowering of the expectations refugees and other cross-border migrants can have on their life in exile. This chapter explores some of the issues of involuntary migration and its relationship with ‘human security’ from the perspectives of one of the world’s most developed countries—Sweden—and one of the least developed— Malawi. The securitisation of migration: the case of Sweden Since the end of the Cold War, the public migration discourse in Sweden can be said to have made a U-turn. The Swedish defence resolution which came into effect on 1 January 1997, reflected the degree to which involuntary migration and refugee flows had moved away from the exclusive realm of relief agencies and human rights bodies, by including the phenomenon among the non-military threats that now were officially declared to be of concern for Swedish security (Totalförsvar i förnyelse 1997). A news item from the Swedish news bureau TT, illustrates the changes perfectly. The headline reads ‘European preparedness for


a refugee flow out of Albania’, and it is obvious that the word preparedness does not reflect humanitarian concerns: As a first step, the border control of the outside borders of Schengen will be strengthened…. The Schengen member countries are also encouraging the buffer states of East and Central Europe to heighten their efforts to limit the transiting of illegal refugees. (TT/AP 1998) The quotation above shows how the connection between cross-border migration and security is presented as natural and self-evident. The view of refugee flows as by definition constituting a threat to Swedish security has thus been accepted as a part of a new form of conventional wisdom (Bosniak 1991). In what ways refugee migration, or any kind of cross-border migration constitutes a threat to the Swedish state and society are seldom elaborated on. An attempt to map the different ways that refugee migration is perceived to be connected to Swedish national security has, however, been made by Hettne and Abiri (1998). In the Swedish case, security is perceived to be linked to crossborder migration in four distinct ways. First, immigration of possible terrorists, spies and the like. has always been understood as deeply connected to national security. Second, the organising capacity of the military is seen as a prerequisite to manage potential refugee emergencies. The transnational character of crossborder migration is perceived as a third security concern since it weakens the state’s room for independent actions. Finally, cross-border migration is seen as a security concern in the sense that it is perceived as a subnational challenge to civil society, connected to the risk of a possible disintegration of civil society. Comparing the incomparable: Sweden and Malawi In order to understand the character of the securitisation of migration it is necessary to situate the phenomenon in different case studies. However, a chronological study that focuses on one case over a longer period of time makes it harder to separate between characteristics that are unique to that case and others that might be of more general interest. A way to overcome this problem and generate new insights is to choose a specific event in the overall securitisation of Sweden and contrast this to another case. This chapter outlines such an exercise and attempts to show how the understanding both of the specific case of Sweden and the overall process of securitisation of migration can be improved. The two cases of cross-border migration that will be contrasted are the inflow and stay of Mozambican refugees in Malawi (from 1986 until the end of the United Nations’ organised repatriation programme in 1994), and the inflow and stay of Bosnian refugees in Sweden (from 1992 until the end of 1997).

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The reasons behind the choice of Malawi are twofold. The first reason can be found in my own curiosity of the Malawian case. Malawi—for a decade the host country of over one million Mozambican refugees—was not perceived to be just any host country. In very much the same way as Sweden has been referred to as the ‘good guy’ among the richer states, Malawi has been presented as the symbol for all generous poor host countries. [Sweden] did have a strong political commitment to create an equitable society and a national dedication over the last 30 years to meeting the needs of people in the developing world. It has been more generous than other European nations to refugees… (Hoge 1998) News reports of unwanted immigrants overrunning Canada or the United States can be placed in context by looking at Malawi, where, according to the 1993 World Refugee Survey, refugees outnumbered local residents more than two to one in some districts (Papademitriou 1997). Today, Malawi has ceased to be a symbol. A news item in 1996 reported that Malawi had deported ten illegal immigrants in three weeks. The report continues: ‘deportees include a Mozambican and a South African, five Asians of Indian origin and a Pakistani national’ (Malawi News Roundup 1996). In a country which only five years earlier had been counting refugees in hundreds of thousands, it is definitely noteworthy that ten immigrants, no matter how illegal, are considered news material at all. It seems obvious that the Malawian attitude towards migration is changing as well. The other reason behind the choice of Malawi can be found on the theoretical level. Since the securitisation of migration appears to be part of globalisation, taking place in the South as well as in the North, it is reasonable to assume that some of the dynamics behind the securitisation of migration may be common for a number of cases. The rift between the North and South, here represented by Sweden and Malawi, does, however, influence not only the living conditions of people, but also the level of theoretical generalisation possible. This is often acknowledged through the act of avoidance, that is by not doing any comparison at all. This is unfortunate, since it is important to consider the seemingly separate together, in an informed way, and not be discouraged by manifest differences. Although the members of receiving societies and the refugees inside these societies experience quite different realities, these realities are all the time contemporary and interlinked. Consequently, comparative analyses are often made between what is commonly referred to as ‘comparable’ countries (often rich industrial or poor developing ones). These comparisons, however, often understate the underlying differences that nevertheless exist between these countries. In the same manner, the resemblances that do exist between ‘incomparable’ countries are downplayed. Malawi and Sweden are both small countries with populations of


less than ten million that have found themselves as receiving countries for large numbers of refugees that have crossed internationally recognised borders in order to escape brutal civil wars in their countries of origin. As such, both countries were forced to develop a political response to the refugee migration in question. Furthermore, they both represent cases where states have not talked or written about cross-border migration in security terms, although they may have reacted in such terms. The era of globalisation: two forms of modernity Since the focus of the study is on the securitisation of migration discourses and policies of states, the differences between the Swedish and Malawian states are, of course, important to keep in mind. As can be seen by the brief description of the two countries below, Sweden and Malawi differ on a number of points. Sweden, on the one hand, can be described as a developed country, while Malawi, on the other hand, must be classified as being among the least developed countries and, consequently, in urgent need of development. However, these opposites connect over the notion of industrial modernity. The industrial modern state with predictability, order and progress as its main features is often understood as the goal of development. Sweden, or the Swedish model, has earlier been seen as the prototype for industrial modernity, with a state that was able to deliver all three of the main features to its population (Hettne et al. 1998). Since a number of processes, commonly labelled globalisation, are increasingly calling the sovereignty of individual states into question, it has become necessary to distinguish between ‘simple’ modernity, or industrial modernity, with its view on modernity as a linear development towards more of the same—more modernity—and a more complex modernity— reflexive modernity—with its focus on doubts, questioning, and the risks modernity has brought upon itself. The differences between these two kinds of modernity has been masterly elaborated upon by Beck (1997). It appears to be fruitful to frame the differences between Malawi and Sweden in terms of modernity. The analysis will therefore use Beck’s three coordinates of politics and conflicts which according to him can be approached conceptually in three dichotomies. The first dichotomy ‘safe-unsafe’ deals with attitudes towards uncertainty, the second one, ‘inside-outside’ focuses on attitudes towards strangers and the third dichotomy, ‘political-apolitical’ highlights attitudes towards the possibilities. These dichotomies are also useful for framing the conflict of the two modernities mentioned above (Beck 1997). Malawi: country profile When the Mozambican refugees started to arrive in Malawi, the country was one of the handful of poorest countries in the world with a population of around ten

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million, a per capita gross national product of US$160, infant mortality rate 153 per 1000 live births, life expectancy 46 years and an adult literacy rate about 25 per cent. It had an annual population growth rate of 2.6 per cent and a population density of 1,061 inhabitants per 1,000 hectares (or 106.1 inhabitants per square kilometre). The country is divided into three administrative regions: Northern, Central and Southern. Economic development has tended to be channelled to the Central region where the largest ethnolinguistic group, the Chewa, who constitute rather less than half the population, live. Other important groups are Tumbuka-speakers in the north and Yao, Lomwe and Nyanja-speakers in the south. In 1968, Chewa was made the sole national language and the use of other African languages in the press or on the radio was declared illegal. Chewa thus became the sole medium of instruction and information, although it is the mother tongue of less than half of Malawians. Between independence in 1964 and the emergence of a democratic opposition movement in 1992—the major part of the period in focus—Malawi was ruled by a single-party government which was unusually restrictive of any form of dissent. According to Human Rights Watch (1990), all independent associations and free expression were effectively forbidden. Although many states in subSaharan Africa at the time suffered from greater political violence than Malawi, there were few African countries that had such a combination of totalitarianism and personal despotism. An extensive system of censorship operated, which put tight limits on academic and press freedom. Life in Malawi At the time of the arrival of the Mozambicans, life in Malawi appears to have been unsafe for the people since they were generally living in poverty, under harsh political control and with drought as an ever-pending threat to subsistence farming. If the normal state of life is one of vulnerability due to events beyond individual control, then uncertainty will be the only thing one can be certain of. Paradoxically, ‘unsafety’ might be accompanied with a more relaxed attitude towards unpredictability. Simultaneously, expectations of possibilities to change the situation might be very low. In the first place, it is important to point out that to lead a life of poverty is in itself time-consuming and leaves little room for manoeuvre to contemplate change. Second, a long period of dictatorship with the resultant disregard for the life conditions of the ordinary person encourages an apolitical attitude to public affairs. Strategies for change are difficult to visualise and if they are, the cost of change appears to be too high. On the other hand, Malawi’s political elite lived the life of industrial modernity. The Cold War with its ideological divide seemed to be a constant in international relations, a fact that ensured the regime of unconditional US support for years to come. Furthermore, the elite did not experience the


‘unsafety’ of the people, since their lives were not touched by poverty or drought, and the control of politics lay in its hands. Sweden: country profile When the Bosnian refugees started to arrive in Sweden, the country was one of the wealthiest countries in the world, with a population of a little less than nine million, a per capita gross national product of US$26.500, an infant mortality rate so low it is not even mentioned in the United Nations Development Programme’s Human Development Reports, a life expectancy of 77 years and an adult literacy rate of almost 100 per cent. It had a population growth rate of 0.5 per cent and a population density of 209 inhabitants per 1,000 hectares (or 20.9 inhabitants per square kilometre). Economic development has tended to be channelled to the southern parts of Sweden where the majority of the population lives. The country’s largest ethnolinguistic group is the Swedes, who constitute close to 90 per cent of the population. Small ethnolinguistic minorities had existed for centuries (the indigenous population of Laps in northern Sweden and Finnish-speaking groups) but these groups had been neglected or suppressed in national policymaking. Swedish has been the sole national, as well as official, language. Since World War II, immigration has created a number of new ethnic minorities. Today, 900, 000 of Sweden’s inhabitants are foreign citizens, of which citizens from the Nordic countries constitute around 40 per cent (the bulk of them, 200,000, being Finnish). Other European Union citizens make up another 40,000 (or around 5 per cent). These minority groups originate from the labour immigrants of the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s. Yet other minorities originate from the refugee immigration from the 1970s and onwards, among them around 50,000 Iranians and 30,000 Chileans. Sweden, although still a constitutional monarchy, has been a parliamentary democracy for the last century. It has neither been colonised nor has it been a major colonial power. For most of the twentieth century, the country has been governed by the Social Democrats. During the 1960s and 1970s, Sweden developed a high internationalist profile with its engagement in various UN multilateral institutions and in other issues of international solidarity. However, the developments in the Swedish economy and labour market, and consequent reductions in the former comprehensive welfare system, have in many ways changed the Swedish attitude towards international commitments. Life in Sweden Until the 1980s, because of the extensive welfare state, life in Sweden had been safe and planable both for the people and the political elite. For most of the twentieth century, life had continuously been improving, as economic conditions improved and democracy deepened. A long period of democracy, economic

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prosperity and the important role of the welfare state had, however, instilled a strong sense of entitlement in the Swedish citizens. Consequently, every frustration could be understood as a failure of politics. Strategies for change and improvement were supposed to be inherent in the political system. When the Bosnian refugees arrived in Sweden at the beginning of the 1990s, the end of the Cold War had consolidated the feeling that the country had reached the end of a predictable era and was now entering an era of risk. Sweden had been considered a safe haven for its people. The rest of the world was, on the contrary, considered unsafe and in need of change. It is possible that Swedish internationalism was conditioned by the upholding of a sharp distinction between outside and inside. As long as the inside remained safe and ‘unsafety’ was an outside phenomenon, the Swedish government and civil society was easily mobilised to assist people living under unsafe conditions through the UN, international aid and a generous refugee reception. That the border between inside and outside, safe and unsafe, was not as impermeable as once imagined, was brought to Sweden’s attention by two dramatic events in 1986. The murder of Prime Minister Palme proved that the inside was not so safe after all. That a political leader could be murdered on the streets of Stockholm was not only unexpected, it was entirely inconceivable, and the murder thus signalled the end of the trusting attitude that had characterised Swedish society. Only two months later, the serious accident in the nuclear plant of Chernobyl left large areas of northern Sweden contaminated with nuclear radiation for several years to come. The ‘unsafety’ of the outside could overnight become the ‘unsafety’ of the inside. Malawi and the Mozambican refugees During 1985–91, the number of refugees in Africa increased by 8.5 per cent per year, rising from 2.9 million to 5.4 million. The reasons behind this dramatic increase was the increased incidence of internal conflict, civil unrest and instability, often exacerbated by the persistence of drought and famine. The number of African countries that hosted over 100,000 refugees doubled during the period (from seven to fourteen). Three of these countries— Ethiopia, Somalia and Malawi—were each hosting more than a million refugees (Oucho 1996). Although many of the world’s poorer countries have shown remarkable hospitality towards refugees, Malawi stands out as an exemplar. For almost a decade, Malawi was the major receiving country for all Mozambicans whose flight from civil war and drought had brought them across state borders. In fact, large parts of the refugee flows were forced across the border by RENAMO—the violent opponent to the governing party, FRELIMO—that wanted to use the refugee camps as a basis for recruitment (Nilsson 1999). During that period, very few incidents were recorded in which displaced Mozambicans were refused admission to the country, or were forced to leave Malawi against their will (UNHCR 1997). In 1993, Malawi was the top country


on two of the lists of UNHCR; the one ranking countries according to the ratio of the refugee population to the total population, and the list ranking countries according to the ratio of refugee population to the gross national product per capita. The country was also the receiver of the UNHCR’s fifth largest assistance programme in 1991, and the sixth in 1992. A massive influx of refugees from the devastating civil war in neighbouring Mozambique began in 1986, and by 1993 Malawi was host to over a million Mozambican refugees—the equivalent to 10 per cent of its own total population. Refugees lived in thirteen of Malawi’s twenty-four administrative districts and in some cases, they outnumbered the local inhabitants. Transnational politics A number of aspects of Malawi’s policy towards Mozambique in the 1980s can be directly linked to the civil war in Mozambique, and the creation of the one million refugees. Senior members of the Malawian government were closely associated with the rebel RENAMO. Malawi became a staging post for South African logistic support for RENAMO. Furthermore, the movement was provided with rear bases and recruitment bases inside Malawi. In 1986, this support provoked a major crisis between Mozambique and Malawi, with the former threatening military action. The crisis was only defused by the death in a plane crash of the Mozambican president, Samora Machel, the same year. Later, the entanglement in Mozambique became an important factor in alienating the army from the government and the party. Malawian troops were deployed within Mozambique to guard Malawi’s main route to the sea (the transport corridor to the port of Nacala) against attack from RENAMO. When the Malawian soldiers suffered casualties at the hands of enemies backed by their own government this created a frustration that built up over the years, to show itself in the violent attacks on headquarters of the party and the Malawian ‘Young Pioneers’ in December 1993 (Human Rights Watch 1990). The country that the refugees left behind was a country in chaos. According to Wilson and Nunes (1994) most of the fifteen million rural Mozambicans were not living in their home areas, and many had been displaced several times during the course of the war. The series of displacements mirrored the turns in the civil war that swept over the country, leaving some parts calm for periods of time when the fighting was concentrated in other regions. During quieter times, refugees returned, only to be forced to leave again. A chronology of the population movement to and from the Milange district in Northern Mozambique, presented by Wilson and Nunes (1994), gives an excellent illustration of how the migration of refugees across the Malawi-Mozambican border was in a state of constant change. As one group tried to repatriate, another was forced to leave.

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Transnational life The moving back and forth over the border had taken place as long as the border had existed. Like so many other African borders, the border between Malawi and Mozambique has never been understood as a border in the nation-state sense of the word. In fact, it is more appropriate to see the border as central to the community than as a boundary dividing the people. The existence of two different economic and political systems within walking distance formed a livelihood that took advantage of the differences in prices and/or rules (Wilson and Nunes 1994). The border people were in fact so closely integrated that they did not really feel that they were refugees until they were targeted for separate assistance by the international aid organisations (Wilson 1994). It was not until 1986 that Malawi started to classify Mozambican immigrants as refugees that should be held separate from the local people even against their will. This policy of non-separation had been quite natural in a situation where most southern Malawians had Mozambican origins. Consequently, Malawians welcomed and assisted the refugees and the Malawian state accepted their presence. However, the sheer number of refugees arriving, together with the arrival of international aid in 1986, resulted in a separation of refugees from the local people. Growing concerns about the impact of the refugee influx and the administrative control needed for the humanitarian assistance, meant that refugees were increasingly placed in camps. Family networks were, however, used to find better places to stay, since many of the refugees preferred to stay with local people and meet their own needs (Wilson and Nunes 1994). The Mozambicans wanted to stay as close to the border as possible. This closeness enabled them to keep in touch with people at home and, in some cases, also to keep cultivating their land through nightly visits back to their fields. In late 1989, the Malawi government decided to transfer new arrivals to another site across the country due to overcrowding of the camps close to the border. This move constituted a major problem for the Mozambican refugees. According to Wilson and Nunes (1994), they were concerned over the fact that this transfer would separate them from their compatriots and their land, and make self-repatriation more difficult in terms of both information and logistics. Changes connected to the refugee presence The impact of the arrival of an additional million human beings to a poor country with a shortage of arable land puts an intolerable strain on already meagre resources and administrative structures. The ecological effects caused by the refugee settlements and camps have been especially noteworthy. Refugees felled large number of trees in order to acquire wood for fuel and building material. This is not something that is specific to the Malawian case. However, the location of the refugee settlements in some of the most ecologically vulnerable


areas of the country exacerbated deforestation and has led to subsequent land degradation. The shortage of arable land prevented the refugees’ involvement in agriculture, and consequently also their possibility of becoming self-sufficient. The majority of the refugees were almost entirely dependent on outside relief for food, water, health care and other support. Nevertheless, the Malawi government had to divert a significant proportion of its own revenues to the refugee programme, despite the provision of large-scale foreign aid to support the refugees. The presence of international relief aid of such magnitude had a detrimental effect on the country’s road system. As a result it became more difficult for Malawian farmers to transport their agricultural products, something which in its turn affected the food distribution throughout the country (UNHCR 1993). At the end of the 1980s, the Malawian economy was badly hit by a fall in tobacco prices on the world market, since tobacco, along with sugar and tea, constituted its major export. Remittances from migrant workers in South Africa, that once had been the mainstay of Malawi’s foreign exchange earnings, had also been reduced to an illegal trickle. As the years went by and the UNHCR’s relief programme diminished from fifty to twenty-six US dollars per refugee annually, refugees came into direct competition with Malawians for access to health facilities, schools, water supplies and informal employment opportunities. Notions of inside and outside in Malawi It is quite clear that the definition of outside and inside did not correspond to the Malawian-Mozambican border, neither when it came to social or economic networks, or to the political impact Malawi’s ‘foreign policy’ had on its ‘domestic policy’. Inside and outside had always been blurred and continued to be so during the civil war. As far as the people were concerned, the movement across the border between the two countries was not a movement from an ‘inside’ to an ‘outside’. The most important divide between inside and outside appears to have been the one between areas controlled by RENAMO and the ones controlled by FRELIMO. Being on the inside or outside of these areas mattered more to the refugees than on which side of the international border they were. Internationally, the refugee movement was, however, described as an interstate affair, where citizens from one country enter the territory of another country. Furthermore, it is interesting that it was by the actions of the international community that the notion of difference between Malawians and Mozambicans first entered the minds of the border people, since it made a stronger point of separating citizens and refugees than the two countries and the people did themselves.

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Changes in the 1990s The beginning of the 1990s was the era of two major changes in Malawi. The Mozambican refugees started to return home, some of them as a part of the United Nations repatriation plan, the rest of them through their own initiative. The changing situation inside Mozambique, together with the Malawian government’s increasingly explicit focus on repatriation, led to the repatriation of the majority of the refugees over a period of two years. The repatriation was no more a one-time event than the flight had been. It can rather be characterised by a moving back and forth until a final decision to resettle was taken. During this period, a revival of Malawian civil society was initiated by a pastoral letter written by the country’s eight Catholic bishops in May 1992. The letter, containing severe criticism of the government, was the first open act of opposition to the Banda regime in twenty-eight years. As such, it paved the way for an increasingly bold public agitation for political reform, that led to Malawi’s first ever multi-party election in May 1994, two years after the pastoral letter (Posner 1995). It is interesting that it was not until this contemporary democratic post-refugee period that ten illegal immigrants became an news issue. Sweden and the Bosnian refugees Between 1988 and 1992, the number of people seeking asylum in the whole of Europe increased by an average of 31 per cent per year, only to decrease again by an average of 18 per cent per year in the time period between 1992 and 1997. During the peak year of 1992, close to 700,000 persons sought asylum in a European country, three times as many as four years earlier. The main reason behind this dramatic increase was the internal conflict in the former Yugoslavia, especially in Bosnia-Herzegovina. The civil war in Bosnia-Herzegovina led to the arrival of around 70,000 Bosnians to Sweden. Sweden now hosts around 5 per cent of all Bosnians who crossed state borders during their flight. Transnational politics A number of aspects of Sweden’s policy towards Yugoslavia in the 1980s can be directly linked to the civil war in the former Yugoslavia, and the creation of the one million refugees. First, Sweden was an arms exporter to Yugoslavia, indirectly arming the executors of the infamous ‘ethnic cleansing’ that created millions of refugees. Second, the post-World War II economic boom in Sweden led to a labour shortage which was met by recruitment tours to Yugoslavia. The previous role of labour importer proved to be an important factor for the refugees’ choice of destination in the 1990s. Sweden was the place of friends and relatives, and consequently a place to turn to. When the Bosnian refugees arrived


in Sweden, around 40,000 persons of Yugoslavian origin were already living in the country on a permanent basis (SOPEMI 1992). The country that the refugees left behind was a country in chaos. According to UNHCR (1995), over one million Bosnians left the country, while another million were displaced inside Bosnian borders. The people fled the so-called ethnic cleansing that was one of the main purposes of the civil war. Due to the intensity of fighting, the Bosnians left their homes, or what remained of them, in concentrated groups in a relatively short period of time, as compared to the Mozambicans in Malawi who arrived over a much longer period of time. Twelve European countries became host countries for over 20,000 Bosnian refugees. Three of these countries—Germany, Yugoslavia (FR) and Croatia—were each hosting more than 250,000 refugees, together more than 69 per cent of all displaced Bosnians who had crossed any internationally recognised borders. In 1993, the ratio of the refugee population to the total population was one refugee for every 26.7 inhabitants, a ratio that placed Sweden at number twelve on the list ranking countries according to the ratio of refugee population to total population (UNHCR 1993). Unlike Malawi, the country was not one of the fifty top countries on the list ranking countries according to the ratio of refugee population to the gross national product per capita. Sweden was, however, one of the largest contributors to UNHCR both in absolute terms and according to per capita income. In 1992, Sweden’s contribution to the UNHCR was close to US $92,000 (UNHCR 1993). Changes connected with the refugee presence The period in focus can generally be described as one of hardening of immigration and refugee policies. By December 1989, the Swedish government considered the refugee situation had become so serious that an emergency decision had to be made that narrowed the granting of asylum to only refugees under the Geneva convention. The most noteworthy policy change during the period must, however, be the introduction of a visa obligation for refugees from Bosnia. This visa obligation was decided upon in June 1993, the same month as the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees had earlier described the situation in Bosnia-Herzegovina as follows: The intensification of the war, the absence of decisive political breakthrough, the restrictions on asylum and the virtual depletion of resources for humanitarian efforts constitute an explosive mixture which may cause a massive humanitarian disaster with even greater consequences for Europe. (UNHCR 1993:184) One of the arguments behind the visa policy change was that the acceptance of refugees was not the best way to deal with the situation in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

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The act of giving asylum to people fleeing Bosnia could indeed be of indirect assistance to the persecutors for whom the creation of refugees was a goal in itself, and a part of a strategy of ethnic cleansing. The people who fled the civil war had, however, made their choice—the personal cost of maintaining an ethnically mixed society were much too high. To introduce a visa obligation against people fleeing ethnic cleansing ended the last claim Sweden could have to a ‘good-guy’ status in refugee affairs, as is also reflected in the way Sweden’s refugee policies are treated in the international media. The Swedish minister, responsible for immigration at the time, Birgit Friggebo, tried to soften the humanitarian significance of the policy changes by declaring that most of the 40, 000 Bosnians awaiting decisions on their asylum applications in Sweden would be granted a permanent residence permit. Furthermore, the government was considering seeking parliament’s approval to raise the number of so-called ‘quota-refugees’ to 1,000 persons per month for refugees from former Yugoslavia. The introduction of the visa obligation was formulated in a way that underlined the Swedish government’s feeling that the country had admitted more than its share of refugees compared to some other states outside the former Yugoslavia, with the obvious exception of Germany. The official statement announced that Sweden was not able to cope with the influx, at the time reaching 1,200 to 1,700 Bosnians per week. Most of them arrived by bus via Poland, Hungary and Slovakia—countries that, according to Friggebo, did not take their responsibility seriously since they were merely transiting asylum seekers to Sweden. The introduction of the visa obligation should be seen as a direct signal to these countries to change their policies (Dagens Nyheter 1993). Even with the introduction of the visa obligation, the accumulated number of Bosnian refugees makes them the largest refugee group received in Sweden to date. The majority of them are young, well-educated Bosnian Muslims, originating from all over Bosnia (Eastmond 1998). It is not self-evident that the arrival of an additional 70,000 human beings to a country with Sweden’s administrative capacity and economic resources should have any significant impact on the country. The Bosnians did, however, arrive at a time when the number of foreigners had become a sensitive and problematic issue. The number of crimes with racial motives, among them attacks on refugees and refugee camps, has increased all through the 1990s. The location of refugee camps in vulnerable areas with a high degree of unemployment has in some cases exacerbated the tensions between local youths and the asylum seekers in the camps. Even if asylum seekers have a legal right take up employment, the shortage of jobs has prevented their involvement in society, and consequently also their possibility of becoming self-sufficient. The majority of asylum seekers were dependent on the camps for their daily subsistence. When given asylum, the refugees were settled in communities all over Sweden in accordance with the refugee settlement policy aiming at dispersal of the refugees throughout the country. This dispersal policy had the consequence that


refugees settled in one community were very different. They not only came from different parts of Bosnia-Herzegovina, they were also from different social strata and would probably not have associated with each other or felt that they had much in common before the war (Eastmond 1998). This method of locating the refugees made it hard to use any social support groups and networks that might exist both within the refugee community at large, and between the established labour immigrants and the refugees. This approach stands in contrast to the Malawian case where these social ties appear to have been the basis for the organisation of the settlements and camps. Once resettled with their permanent residence permit, the Bosnians continued to encounter poor prospects in the Swedish labour market. After the first years of an introductory programme (including Swedish lessons and complementary professional training) almost 50 per cent of them are still unemployed. However, this is not a specific trait for the Bosnian group. Immigrants have much higher unemployment figures than the Swedish population. Even though official explanations of the different employment rates focus on the features of the individual immigrant, like lack of Swedish language skills, and the ‘right’ education, the degree of generalisation seems to suggest that it is more of a structural dilemma than it is usually presented as. An explanation more in line with this interpretation is given by Eastmond (1998), who states that acceptance on the labour market does increasingly depend on being Swedish not only in the cultural but also in the ethnic sense (i.e. of Swedish descent, rejecting visible marks of foreignness, such as appearance, accents, names). Stories about the difficulties a ‘foreign’ name may give its job-hunting owner are abundant. At the end of the 1980s, the dismantling of the extensive Swedish welfare state began and unemployment rates rose. As a result of economic decline, a general feeling that refugees were in direct competition with the Swedes for employment opportunities surfaced. The so-called popular discontent in Sweden has, during the 1990s, to a large extent focused on immigration and the occurrence of the comparatively new ethnic minorities. Immigration has thus become an urgent issue. The recent tightening of asylum law and policy in Sweden, and across all Western states, can in part be understood as an attempt to regain voters from rightwing extremist and/or anti-immigration parties (Heisler and Layton-Henry 1993; Papademetriou 1994). Notions of inside and outside in Sweden That the notion of the indivisibility of outside and inside had entered the Swedish public conscience did not indicate that there was an acceptance of the fact. Even though the case of the Bosnian refugees pointed out how the outside-inside dichotomy did not correspond to the Swedish internationally recognised borders, neither when it came to social or economic networks, or to the political impact Sweden’s ‘foreign policy’ had on its ‘domestic policy’, this blurring of inside and outside tended to be seen as an anomaly. The existing of social networks

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between the labour immigrants on the inside of Swedish borders and the refugees-to-be on the outside were never mentioned as a possible explanation as to the choice of Sweden as a country of asylum. In the Swedish case, the definition of outside and inside is still generally seen as corresponding to the borders of the country, or at least it is still understood as the preferable order of things. It is interesting to note that even when strangers are physically inside the territorial borders, they still remain on the outside of the invisible borders of Swedish society. As noted by Eastmond (1998), the official inclusion into Swedish society has not been followed by an inclusion in practice. Malawi and Sweden: differences and similarities It has become a truism to say that all states’ actions are increasingly influenced by ongoing globalising processes. In a way, the term globalisation has been coined to capture the realisation that state borders do not separate the outside from the inside to the degree that the industrial modernity presupposes. Today, it is obvious that a number of cross-border phenomena have eroded a state’s abilities to obtain the ‘non-interference in its internal affairs’ that was the precondition for the creation of a safe predictable domestic sphere. Among these phenomena, finance, trade, production are often mentioned as the most influential, but changes within technology, international law, transportation, mass media, together with environmental changes and refugee flows also have a substantial impact on the life inside state borders, since developments within all these fields increasingly shape the room for manoeuvre for individual states. The industrial modern state had been seen as a goal for development strategies on both sides of the Iron Curtain, the only difference in opinion being concerned with the appropriate form of government. After the end of the Cold War the model remained, but the political differences petered out. The multi-party democratic version of the industrial modern state was becoming a model with global spread. A number of states embarked on a rocky road towards democratic rule, following the countries of Eastern Europe. Malawi: on the road to industrial modernity? These changes on the international scene contributed to the pressure for reform in Malawi. The examples of political change in Zambia and South Africa had the important effect of convincing Malawians that change was indeed possible. Furthermore, the Malawian government felt the growing pressure from the international community that increasingly stressed the importance of democracy and human rights once the strategic imperative of maintaining unconditional support for Banda had disappeared (Posner 1995). With the change in form of government came the expectations about what the introduction of democracy would mean to the people of Malawi. Through democratisation, the development of the industrial modern state appeared to be


well on its way. A transformation from unsafe and uncertain conditions to a state of predictability, order and ongoing progress was about to take place. The arrival of democracy was understood as the arrival of safety. Thus, the previous apolitical life of the citizens was becoming political since it became a site for the delivery of democracy. For the Malawian elite, life had become more complicated and uncertain. The diminishing support from abroad was conditioned on democratic rule, and the elite’s place in the country’s hierarchy was dependent on the support of the majority. Thus, the life of the elite was becoming increasingly unpredictable and uncertain. For members of the elite, the notion of reflexive modernity began to surface. In the Malawian case, the people were expecting democratic change to create a state that cared for the welfare of its people. Simultaneously, the members of the political elite had a need to strengthen the notion of citizenship in order to make the citizens put their trust in them and their policies. The difficulties that faced the new government were, however, significant. The democratic era in Malawi began against a background of serious environmental and social problems, amongst them rapid population growth, acute land scarcity and widespread food insecurity. The economic prospects were also troublesome. Malawi’s principal source of foreign-exchange earnings, tobacco, had already reached its growth potential, and other routes to economic expansion seemed non-existant (Posner 1995). The role of cross-border migration in Malawi In fact, the expectations of the benefits that the political transition would bring were impossibly high. When the economy failed to grow as fast as predicted, and democracy failed to produce health clinics, good schools and other services, frustration grew. However, life in uncertainty and under unsafe conditions was now interpreted differently, as a failure of the democratically elected government. The dilemma was that the government’s abilities to deliver were limited at best. In the nexus between the need of the government to deliver some proof of the working of the democratic system, and the frustrated needs of the Malawians, cross-border migration had a new role to play. The securitisation of migration may thus be interpreted as a process by which the Malawian elite tried to deliver at least some of the demands raised by the introduction of the democratic state of industrial modernity in order to restore some certainty in the lives of its members. The only way to convince the Malawians that some parts of the predictable safety of industrial modernity were coming their way was through the exclusion of all non-Malawians. At least one could be certain that the scarce resources should not be shared by others.

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Sweden: still on the road? If the end of the Cold War meant a strengthening of the idea of progress for the Malawian citizens, it meant exactly the opposite for their Swedish counterparts. For the majority of Swedish people accustomed to a predictable life and wellbeing, the changing world appeared chaotic and the increasing indivisibility of the inside and outside unfamiliar and even terrifying. The state of industrial modernity was changing into a stage of reflexive modernity, symbolised by questioning, doubts and risk awareness. An insight that the notions of safe and unsafe, and inside and outside had been completely changed has spread. It is interesting that the differences between the life of the Swedish people and the political elite have increased during the last decade. The dismantling of the welfare system, together with the rise of unemployment, has introduced Swedish citizens to an era of reflexive modernity and to life in uncertainty and risk. The elite has not been hit by the changes in the same way and can in many respects be seen as remaining in the predictability of the industrial modern state. These differences in life experiences between the people and the elite have, among other things, led to a loss of interest in party politics. The previous political attitude to the life of citizens became increasingly apolitical and the expectations of the possibilities of changing the situation through existing institutions have been sinking all through the 1990s. The political elite in Sweden is concerned with the growing doubt in the democratic system and is consequently trying to recapture the loss of legitimacy by constantly demonstrating that the Swedish state is still an industrial modern state that does deliver the goods. The role of cross-border migration in Sweden Even if the state’s decreasing capacity to uphold the borders between safety and unsafety is increasingly acknowledged by the Swedish citizens, this loss of capacity has led to strong demands on the state to reconstruct the lost certainty. The political elite’s need to restore faith in industrial modernity and the power of domestic politics, together with the frustrated needs of the Swedes to recapture the safety and predictability of the welfare state, have met around the issue of cross-border migration. The issue is not so much of refugee immigration challenging the Swedish state or not. The securitisation of cross-border migration should rather be interpreted as a simultaneous reaction of the state and society is expressing their wish to reconstruct certainty through the staging of the exercise of firm border control. The world economy, environmental change and mass media are all more elusive phenomena, almost impossible to shut out. This is, however, not the case with cross-border migrants. If life in Sweden is more insecure and unpredictable than before, the only way to convince and be convinced of the fact that the state exercises some control over the situation is through the hardening of border control.


The securitisation of migration: the staging of certainty It appears that migration discourse and policy have been securitised in Malawi and Sweden at approximately the same time but for different reasons. In both cases, the securitisation of cross-border migration is used as a channel for the frustration of both the ruling elite and the citizens. In Malawi, the securitisation is carried out as a way to consolidate democratic rule, while in Sweden it is used as a way to recapture faith in politics. In both cases the securitisation of cross-border migration aims for the predictability and certainty of industrial modernity, since this appears as the only possible meeting place between a political elite, state democracy and the citizens of a state. In none of the cases, however, will the aim be fulfilled, as it is becoming increasingly unclear ‘whether or how much concretely existing boundaries still bound and delimit anything’ (Beck 1997:89). The certainty of industrial modernity is simply not possible to attain anymore. The securitisation of cross-border migration does, however, in both cases, give a painfully clear signal to people living under extreme poverty, oppression, and/ or in ecologically vulnerable conditions. Cross-border migration should not be considered as a strategy for survival. Meanwhile, the global scale of forced displacement continues to grow (UNHCR 1997). Sovereignty is nowhere more absolute than in matters of emigration, naturalisation, nationality and expulsion (Arendt 1973). References Arendt, H. (1973) The Origins of Totalitarianism, San Diego: Hartcourt Brace Jovanovich. Beck, U. (1997) The Reinvention of Politics: Rethinking Modernity in the Global Social Order, Cambridge: Polity Press. Bosniak, L. (1991) ‘Human rights, state sovereignty and the protection of undocumented migrants under the International Migrants Workers Convention’, International Migration Review 25(4):737–70. Buzan, B. (1991) People, State and Fear: The National Security Problem in International Relations, Hertfordshire: Harvester Wheatsheaf. Campbell, D. (1992) Writing Security: United States Foreign Policy and the Politics of Identity, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Dagens Nyheter (1993) 22 June. Eastmond, M. (1998) ‘Nationalist discourses and the construction of difference: Bosnian muslim refugees in Sweden’, Journal of Refugee Studies 11(2):161–81. Heisler, M. and Layton-Henry, Z. (1993) ‘Migration and the links between social and societal security’, in O.Waever, B.Buzan, M.Kelstrup and P.Lemaitre (eds) (1993) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, London: Pinter, pp. 148– 66.

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Hettne, B. and Abiri, E. (1998) ‘The securitisation of cross-border migration’, in N. Poku and D.T.Graham (eds) Redefining Security: National Security and Population Movements, Westport, CT: Praeger, pp. 187–201. Hettne, B., Sörlin, S. and Østergaard, U. (1998) Den globala nationalismen, Stockholm: SNS Förlag. Hoge, W. (1998) ‘A Swedish dilemma: the immigrant ghetto’, New York Times, 6 October. Human Rights Watch (1990) Where Silence Rules: The Suppression of Dissent in Malawi, New York: Human Rights Watch. Huysmans, J. (1995) ‘Migrants as a security problem: danger of ‘securitizing’ societal issues’, in R.Miles and D.Thränhardt (eds) Migration and European Integration: The Dynamics of Inclusion and Exclusion, London: Pinter, pp. 53–72. Krause, K. and Williams, M. (eds) (1997) Critical Security Studies: Concepts and Cases, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Loescher, G. (1992) Refugee Movements and International Security, Adelphi Papers 268, London: Brassey’s. Loescher, G. and Scanlan, J. (1986) Calculated Kindness: Refugees and America’s HalfOpen Door, 1945 to the Present, New York: The Free Press. Malawi News Roundup (1996) 2 December. Mitchell, C. (1992) Western Hemisphere Immigration and United States Foreign Policy, University Park, PA: Pennsylvania University Press. Myers, N. (1995) Environmental Exodus: An Emergent Crisis in the Global Arena, Washington DC: Climate Institute. Nilsson, A. (1999) Peace in Our Time, Göteborg: Padrigu Papers. Oucho, J. (1996) ‘Refugees and displacements in sub-Saharan Africa: instability due to ethnic and political conflicts and ecological causes’, in A.Adepoju and T. Hammar (eds) International Migration In and From Africa: Dimensions, Challenges and Prospects, Dakar, Stockholm: Population, Human Resources and Development in Africa, (PHRDA), in association with Centre for Research on International Migration and Ethnic Relations, (CEIFO), pp. 161–84. Papademitriou, D. (1994) ‘At crossroads: Europe and migration’, in K.Hamilton (ed.) Migration and the New Europe, Washington DC: The Center for Strategic and International Studies, pp. 12–36. ——(1997) ‘Migration: think again’, Foreign Policy 109:15–31. Poku, N. and Graham, D.T. (eds) (1998) Redefining Security: National Security and Population Movements, Westport, CT: Praeger. Posner, D. (1995) ‘Malawi’s new dawn’, Journal of Democracy 6(1):131–45. SOPEMI (Continuous Reporting System on Migration) (1992) Trends in International Migration, Seventeenth Annual Report, Paris: OECD. Tickner, A. (1993) Gender in International Relations—Feminist Perspectives on Achieving Global Security, New York: Columbia University. Totalförsvar i förnyelse (1997) (Total Defence in Renewal) Prop. 1996/97:4, Stockholm: Regeringskansliets Offsetcentral. TT/AP (1998) ‘Europeisk beredskap för flyktingvåg från Albanien’ (European preparedness for a refugee wave from Albania), 17 September. UNHCR (1993) The State of the World’s Refugees: The Challenge of Protection, London: Penguin Books.


——(1995) The State of the World’s Refugees: In Search of Solution, Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——(1997) The State of the World’s Refugees: A Humanitarian Agenda, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Waever, O. (1993a) Securitization and Desecuritization, Working Paper no. 5, Copenhagen: Centre for Peace and Conflict Research. ——(1993b) ‘Societal security: the concept’, in O.Waever, B.Buzan, M.Kelstrup and P.Lemaitre (eds) (1993) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, London: Pinter, pp. 17–40. Waever, O., Buzan, B., Kelstrup, M. and Lemaitre, P. (eds) (1993) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, London: Pinter. Weiner, M. (ed.) (1993) International Migration and Security, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Wilson, K. (1994) Internally Displaced, Refugees and Returnees From and In Mozambique, Uppsala: Nordiska Afrikainstitutet. Wilson, K. and Nunes, J. (1994) ‘Repatriation to Mozambique: refugee initiative and agency planning in Milange district 1988–1991’, in T.Allen and H. Morsink (eds) When Refugees Go Home: African Experiences, Geneva: UNRISD, pp. 167–235.

6 A durable international migration and security nexus

The problem of the Islamic periphery in transatlantic ties Mark J.Miller The post-Cold War period has been marked by rethinking of national security, of theories of international relations and of the significance of international migration (Weiner 1993). International migration is increasingly viewed as an important regional and geostrategic dynamic with potentially crucial effects upon states, societies and their security (Waever et al. 1993). International migration weaves together states, societies and entire regions in complex, frequently inextricable and often strategically important ways. The circumstances and processes through which international migration has importantly affected international security and bilateral and regional relations, however, are insufficiently understood. In order to understand international security at the twilight of the twentieth century, one must first understand international migration. A tantalising question facing the liberal-democratic states in the transatlantic area is the nature of their relationship with what can be termed the Islamic periphery. The term refers to the predominantly Islamic states and societies stretching from Morocco to Indonesia. However, the focus here will be upon several states and societies in proximity to the Western European pillar of an emergent transatlantic polity (Shaw 1997). This proximity renders migratory processes and potentials between the two areas particularly geostrategically noteworthy. Some theorists have speculated that future wars and conflicts will principally arise from clashes of civilisations (Huntington 1993). The immutability of such clashes and the grounds for the prediction have been convincingly refuted (Ajami 1993; Esposito 1995). Nevertheless, international migration processes have interwoven the two regions in ways that vitally affect security calculations. Through comparison of two cases bearing importantly upon international security, one can elucidate processes which transform international immigration into security concerns. Two of the most important cases affecting transatlantic security are the Algerian insurgency and its spillover to Western Europe and the Kurdish insurgency in Turkey and its extension to neighbouring Kurdish areas and to Western Europe. These cases bear upon the overall texture of security relations between the Mediterranean littoral and Western Europe and, less

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directly but no less importantly, to the other side of the Atlantic. They are illustrative of broader processes affecting international security worldwide. Exaggerated fears of spillover of Algerian insurgency to France? The 1992 decision to cancel elections which would have resulted in the Islamic Salvation Front taking over the Algerian government led to civil strife which, by 1998, was estimated to have claimed between 40,000 and 70,000 lives (Tuquoi 1998). The major protagonists in the civil war are governmental forces and the Armed Islamic Group, a more radical splinter group from the Islamic Salvation Front. Both the Armed Islamic Group and the Islamic Salvation Front were outlawed by the Algerian government which is dominated by the Algerian military. Some of the Algerian rebels are thought to have been ‘Afghanis’, volunteers who fought in Afghanistan for Islam against Soviet-backed forces. Since the onset of the fighting, there has been concern over the potential for spillover to Algerian communities in Western Europe, principally in France. There have also been concerns expressed about fundraising, organising and other political activities by Algerian Islamic activists in Western Europe. A major spectre affecting French politics is that of mass emigration by Algerians in the wake of an Islamic rebel victory. However, the war became a stalemate with neither side capable of achieving total victory. The government claimed to hold the upper hand by 1998 and to have greatly weakened the rebels (Tuquoi 1998). The French government has discretely given the Algerian regime economic and military assistance while calling, along with the European Union, for a negotiated settlement to the conflict. Several thousand Algerian citizens are thought to have taken refuge in France during the 1990s, mainly highly educated persons with family in France (Abdi 1994). The long-feared massive influx had not occurred, nor was there ever much of a serious chance that it would. French authorities have dramatically curtailed issuance of visas to Algerian citizens. Nevertheless, French government officials would openly discuss scenarios wherein up to one million Algerians would seek refuge in France. The US Ambassador to the European Union declared Algeria to be Europe’s most important security issue in 1995. There were grounds for worry about spillover and it did occur to a limited extent. The most important episode took place in 1995 when an Armed Islamic Group cell launched a bombing campaign in France. French police eventually killed or arrested the guerrillas but only after severe disruption brought on by the bomb threats and the quite draconian countermeasures that were taken to thwart them. French police conducted tens of thousands of identity checks upon North African-looking persons. Periodically, scores of alleged Armed Islamic Group sympathisers have been detained and many have been sentenced to jail terms. All told, several hundred alleged activists and sympathisers were detained between 1992 and 1998.

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The background processes which interwove French and Algerian societies and transformed population movements into a factor bearing importantly upon international security are historically complex but can be summarised. Algeria was an integral part of France until 1962. During World War I and the interwar period, there were significant migrations of Muslims from French Algeria to metropolitan France for military service but mainly for employment. Only a tiny minority of Algerian Muslims became French citizens until they were accorded full citizenship in 1947. The Algerian Muslim population in metropolitan France grew rapidly after 1947 and particularly after the onset of the Algerian war of national liberation in 1954. The Algerian Muslim community in metropolitan France was greatly affected by the war and many French citizens of Algerian Muslim background sympathised with the rebels. There was horrific internecine fighting in metropolitan France between rival Algerian nationalist factions. And, in the later stages of the war, there were attacks by Algerian nationalist rebels upon targets in metropolitan France. The major rebel group, the National Liberation Front, called upon its sympathisers in metropolitan France to demonstrate in favour of Algerian independence. These demonstrations were savagely repressed (Einaudi 1991). The most significant one, on 17 October 1961, resulted in scores of deaths, although a 1998 French governmental inquiry into the events of that day came to surprisingly modest conclusions (Le Monde 1998). At any rate, the traumatic experiences of the 1954–62 period alone provided ample historical precedent to warrant worry over possible spillover of the insurgency in Algeria in the 1990s to mainland France. The Evian Accords of 1962, which enabled Algeria to become independent, allowed French citizens to retain their French citizenship or to become citizens of the new Algerian Republic. A sizeable minority of French citizens of Algerian Muslim background retained their citizenship, particularly Harkis who fought in the French army against the Algerian rebels. Hence, the aftermath of Algeria’s independence witnessed retention of French citizenship by hundreds of thousands of persons of Algerian Muslim background and the inception of a specific legal regime affecting persons born in Algeria prior to its independence and subsequent emigration by Algerian citizens to France. Most significantly, it is stipulated that the French Ministry of the Interior regulate the postindependence movement of Algerian citizens to France and that specific nationality and naturalisation rules apply to the children of persons born in Algeria prior to independence. By 1964, a bilateral labour accord was signed by France and Algeria to regulate the movement of Algerian workers to France (Miller 1979). Between 1964 and 1973, hundreds of thousands of Algerian citizens were authorised to seek employment in France under the terms of bilateral accords which were periodically renegotiated. Algerian workers and their dependants had a distinctive status and were not admitted through National Immigration Office procedures. In 1973, the Algerian government unilaterally suspended further recruitment of Algerians for employment in France after a wave of violence


against Algerians in southern France. By then, the Algerian community was the largest of France’s foreign communities, numbering about one million. Since 1973 the size of the Algerian community in France has declined to about 600,000 due to repatriation and naturalisation. France has quite generous naturalisation laws, particularly in comparison to Germany. In 1996, for instance, 44.5 per cent of the 109,823 persons who received French nationality that year were Maghrebis —North Africans from Algeria, Morocco and Tunisia (Lebon 1997). However, there also has been a steady arrival of new immigrants from Algeria for family reunification and/or marriage. The precise legal status of children born to Algerians in France has been a major point of contention (Costa-Lascoux 1985). Due to France’s republican traditions, it is impossible, indeed forbidden, to precisely enumerate the French citizenry of Algerian Muslim background. There are several million such persons with varying degrees of interest in or attachment to Algeria. There is also a large population of dual nationals. France’s total Muslim population is commonly estimated to comprise four to five million persons. Islam became the second largest religion in France by 1970. By the 1990s it had become the second largest religion of the French. While conversions to Islam are not uncommon, most French Muslims are of immigrant background. The French government does not record departures of resident aliens from French territory so there is no way of exactly knowing how many Algerians enumerated as legally resident in France are actually there. All that can be said is that the sequels of colonialism and a post-independence period of labour recruitment have fostered a sociologically distinctive community of several million persons of diverse legal status, ranging from French citizens to illegal immigrants. This transnational community importantly interconnects France and Algeria economically, culturally and politically. Its tissue is sufficiently dense and entrenched to conceptualise it as an autonomous transnational phenomenon or field (Smith 1998). It is responsive to various measures taken by governments, which is why the scenario of a mass influx was unrealistic, but it has taken on a certain autonomy, albeit one that is difficult to describe and measure exactly. This autonomy results from the thick and complex web of human relations that have been wrought by population movements in the twentieth century. French counterterrorism measures have largely prevented the Armed Islamic Group from successfully mobilising the Algerian diaspora on its behalf. Active sympathisers and recruits from among the Algerian diaspora appear few. There is more sympathy and support for the Islamic Salvation Front. However, judging particularly from Algerian consular voting in France in the Algerian presidential election of 1996, there is considerable diasporic support for the Algerian government or, at least, for an end to the violence. The Algerian diaspora, on the whole, has probably had a democratising and moderating effect on the situation in Algeria. Many have been struck, however, by the disinterest manifested by many persons of Algerian Muslim background for the events in Algeria. Recent surveys of Muslims in France suggest why. They suggest an overall pattern of

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integration. While up to half of young Algerian men in France are unemployed, most are not practising or devout Muslims. Most regard French as their language and have French friends. Dating and cohabitation with French citizens is commonplace (Bernard 1995). The overall picture which emerges is that of a population little disposed to Islamic militancy. According to Patrick Weil (1991), Arab-background persons helped French police dismantle the Armed Islamic Group cell that wreaked havoc in 1995. The identification checks targeted at North African-looking individuals were generally viewed as justifiable in view of the threat. In sum, limited spillover did occur but the worst scenarios did not. The potential for disastrous outcomes was there, migration does importantly affect security, but the migrant and diasporic population of Islamic background proved less susceptible to the siren call of militant Islamic fundamentalism than supposed by analysts with simplistic or overtly hostile views about Muslims. Islam and Islamic populations have always been part of the fabric of Europe and of the West. Twentieth-century population movements have reinforced this historic pattern. Unrest in Kurdish areas and spillover to Western Europe Most of the world’s estimated twenty to twenty-five million Kurds live in contiguous mountainous areas of Turkey, Syria, Iraq and Iran. Twentieth-century migrations have fostered a sizeable Kurdish population in Western Europe, estimated at least one million. Although its precise dimensions are unknown, it is centred amongst the two million Turkish citizens resident in Germany. About one quarter of Germany’s Turks are thought to be of Kurdish background. There are sizeable Kurdish minorities in Turkish communities across Western Europe. France, the Netherlands, Sweden, Switzerland and Austria also have important populations of Turkish residents. After hopes for the creation of a Kurdish state were thwarted by the postWorld War I settlements, Kurdish areas have been endemically restive and Kurdish identity as such has been denied and contested. Major uprisings by Iraqi Kurds in the 1970s were aided by the United States and Israel. Iran and its Shah were also involved although Kurdish nationalism threatened Iran. Kurdish society has been fragmented by clan, family and regional ties which are accentuated by division between four sovereign states. Kurdish minorities are estimated to comprise about one quarter of the total population of Iraq and Turkey, 9 per cent of Syria’s and 12 per cent of Iran’s (Izady 1992). Most Kurds are Sunni Muslims and there is a distinctive Kurdish language and culture with ancient roots. It has been observed that Kurds comprise one of the world’s largest culturally distinctive populations without a state. Turkey’s Kurdish population was largely politically quiescent until the 1980s. Kurds were sometimes called mountain Turks and Kurdish culture was repressed. As the principal successor state to the Ottoman Empire, the Turkish Republic


was forged in conflict after World War I and based on the twin premise of a common Turkish identity and secularism. The Anatolian Peninsula had absorbed millions of Muslims and Jews from European areas of the Ottoman Empire from the seventeenth century onwards (Karpat 1994). Their diversity was to be subsumed under Turkish identity. This left little room for Kurdish cultural expression. Indeed, it was considered subversive. It was unlawful to speak Kurdish in Turkey until 1991. Turkey became an important member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) and, in 1963, signed an association agreement with the European Community. By the late 1950s, a number of Turkish students had taken up employment in the Federal Republic of Germany. In 1961, a bilateral labour agreement was signed to regulate recruitment of Turks for employment in Germany. Turkey eventually signed similar bilateral agreements with five other Western European states. Between 1961 and 1975, some 800,000 Turkish workers were sent abroad through the Turkish Employment Service. Another estimated 120,000 to 150,000 Turks emigrated illegally (Martin 1991). Like Algeria during this period, Turkey viewed its manpower emigration as temporary in nature. By the early 1970s, over 100,000 Turks per year were being sent abroad for employment, equivalent to a third of the annual increase in the Turkish labour force. Gitmez estimated the stock of Turks in Western Europe at 1,350,000 in 1973, of whom 900,000 were workers and 450,000 were dependants (Martin 1991). The premise upon which guestworker recruitment was based appeared increasingly questionable. Many Turks were being joined by family members and some were getting involved in strikes and politics. A major strike by the Turkish workers at the huge Ford-Cologne plant in 1973 caused consternation (Betriebzelle Ford der Gruppe Arbeiterkampf 1973). In 1973, the Federal Republic of Germany unilaterally suspended further labour recruitment. Similar curbs were soon announced by most other Western European countries. Over two million Turks had applied for employment abroad when the German recruitment halt was announced. German authorities hoped that the recruitment halt would decrease Germany’s foreign population. There was also discussion of enforced repatriation but this option was ruled out (Miller 1986). Instead, the arrival of dependants joining resident aliens offset guestworker repatriation. Germany’s alien population stabilised at around four million, including over one million Turks, by 1976. As in the Franco-Algerian case, German authorities would grudgingly accept the principle of voluntary return for legally admitted resident aliens. They would try to induce repatriation through cash for return programmes but these measures yielded modest results. Turks comprised the bulk of the 300,000 aliens who repatriated under a highly touted programme of the new Kohl government in the early 1980s. But studies revealed that most returning under the auspices of the programme would have returned anyway. The German government subsequently renounced further cash for repatriation efforts. Within a few years, the Turkish

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population of the Federal Republic of Germany exceeded its size prior to the onset of the principal cash for return. policy. To paraphrase Stephen Castles, Germany’s Turks were there for good. Very little thought was given to the political or foreign policy implications of Germany’s guestworker policy when recruitment of aliens began in the mid-1950s. There was optimism that bilaterally organised labour recruitment could benefit both labour-sending and receiving countries. One half of the Turks who left for Western Europe came from rural areas. Most were minimally educated (Martin 1991). Major works written on Turkish emigration did not disaggregate Turkish emigrants by ethnicity, although it was known that Alevi villages reported much heavier emigration than nearby Sunni villages. Alevis are an Islamic sect, considered heretical by some Sunni Muslims. Seventy per cent of Turks are Sunni Muslims (Martin 1991). In retrospect, it seems clear that labour emigration was not the only factor at work. Political, ethnic and religious factors affected emigration from Turkey long before the onset of asylum seeking in the late 1970s. By the 1970s, German security authorities reported sizeable numbers of Turkish political extremists of the left and right on German soil. The murderous political violence that rocked Turkey in the 1970s frequently spilled over onto German soil. Violence between Turkish factions was an important concern for German security officials by the mid-1970s. However, explicitly Kurdish organisations were not major participants in it until the mid-1980s. Most of the violence of the 1970s pitted Turkish extreme leftists against extreme rightists, groups like the Dev Genc against the Grey Wolves. Throughout the 1970s, the appeal of Islamic fundamentalism amongst Turks in Germany appears to have progressed, to the consternation of secular-minded Turks. German and Western European toleration of Islamic fundamentalist schools and organisations was viewed as a serious threat to the Turkish Republic. In 1978, the Kurdish Workers Party (known by the acronym of PKK) was founded by a group of students, many of whom had studied in Germany. Mass emigration appears to have nurtured the emergence of Kurdish political organisations amongst Turkish citizens (Oezdemir 1997). While abroad in Western Europe, despite their alienage, Turks were generally freer to express themselves politically. The Kurdish language could be taught and Kurdish books and newspapers sold. Kurdish cultural centres were founded. Restrictive German naturalisation laws meant that relatively few of Germany’s half million Kurds became German citizens (Leggwie 1996). The freer context available to emigrants from Turkey would profoundly affect their homeland in time. Germany and Western Europe were not the only springboards for Kurdish nationalism. Lebanon also had a sizeable Kurdish population, including many Turkish Kurds, who were migrant workers. This population was caught up in the Lebanese strife of 1975–88 and was frequently attacked as many of the Kurds lived interspersed with Palestinians and others in poorer areas like Qarantina suburb of Beirut (Gilmour 1983; Petran 1987). The murderous Phalangist attack


on Qarantina in early 1976 constituted one of the worst atrocities committed during the war (Gilmour 1983). Many Turkish migrants were also killed by Israeli air strikes. Some Kurds took up arms and fought in militias generally aligned with the leftist Lebanese National Movement (Gilmour 1983). Areas of Lebanon, such as the Bekaa Valley, eventually became bases for military training of PKK guerrillas and PKK leaders frequently circulate between Lebanon and Syria. The PKK’s concept of armed struggle and its revolutionary programme appear to have been influenced by the strife-torn Lebanese environment familiar to tens of thousands of Kurdish-origin migrants and students. Kurdish activism amongst Turks was also undoubtedly influenced by developments amongst Kurdish populations in Iran, Iraq and Syria. The PKK’s ability to operate in zones of Lebanon under Syria’s control and in Syria proper quickly made PKK activities of geostrategic significance. At its creation, the PKK called for the creation of a Kurdish state out of traditionally Kurdish areas of Turkey, Iran, Iraq and Syria (Schmidbauer 1995). It has since called for autonomy for Kurdish areas within the framework of the Turkish Republic (Verrier 1997). PKK nationalist and autonomist aspirations correspond to a certain extent to those of Kurdish political movements in Iran and Iraq. The implications of PKK activities for Kurds elsewhere added another geostrategic dimension as Iran and Iraq, like Turkey, opposed the creation of an independent Kurdish state out of their territory. Iranian agents have frequently attacked and killed Kurdish leaders in Germany and elsewhere in Western Europe. By the mid-1980s, full-scale insurgency had engulfed Kurdish areas of Turkey. Tens of thousands of guerrillas, Turkish soldiers and civilians died. The Turkish government estimated that 27,000 persons, including 10,000 Turkish soldiers, were killed between 1984 and 1997 (Verrier 1997). Like the conflict in Algeria since 1992, details concerning the fighting are murky and contested. The Turkish army has forcibly relocated hundreds of thousands of Turkish Kurds. The fighting and the population dislocations played an important role in the upsurge in asylum applications by Turkish citizens reported by most Western European countries in the 1980s and 1990s. Turkish authorities have steadfastly maintained that there are no grounds to grant Turkish citizens asylum. European courts and asylum judges have frequently determined otherwise. As the conflict intensified in Turkey, the upsurge in Kurdish asylum seekers was not the only direct consequence for Western Europe. Increasingly, PKK-linked demonstrations and marches were organised across Western Europe. They became commonplace and suggested a high degree of organisation and commitment by PKK members and sympathisers in Western Europe. In Germany, during the mid-1990s, German government security specialists estimated that there were 7,500 suspected PKK members on German soil along with 50,000 sympathisers out of the estimated Kurdish population of 500,000 (Schmidbauer 1995).

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By the early 1990s, PKK activities in Germany and across Western Europe turned increasingly violent and confrontational. Coordinated attacks against Turkish targets such as consulates, banks and airline offices were launched across Western Europe using molotov cocktails (Harden 1992). Inevitably, police repression of Kurdish activities led to bloody clashes between police and Kurdish activists. European officials responded by banning the PKK and its front organisations. Germany banned the PKK in 1993. The PKK leader Abdullah Oecalan ominously spoke of Western Europe, especially Germany, as a second front. The banning of the PKK and its front organisations was followed in Germany by measures to deter marches and demonstrations by PKK activists. One measure made it a deportable offence to participate in a banned demonstration. Several apprehended Kurds faced deportation to Turkey as a result. This prospect sparked disagreement among German political parties as torture in Turkish prisons is widely viewed as commonplace and protests by inmates in Turkey, many of whom were PKK militants, led to many deaths due to starvation (The Week in Germany 1995). Turkish forces intensified their counterinsurgency efforts in the 1990s and appear to have inflicted heavy losses on PKK guerrillas. The PKK denounced German and other ‘Western imperialists’, including growing Israeli support for the Turkish military. In the wake of suicide bombings by HAMAS militants in Israel, the PKK leader threatened to similarly target Germans and Israelis. An attack was carried out that was intended to scare away Western tourists, especially German, from Turkey. Escalation of the war of words and threats continued until 1997. Suddenly, PKK activities in Germany and elsewhere in Western Europe ebbed. A number of important PKK leadership cadre appears to have been apprehended and a less confrontational stance towards Germany soon replaced the hard-line rhetoric. A new dimension to Turco-Kurdish conflict developed when fighting erupted between rival Kurdish factions in the Kurdish safe haven in Northern Iraq. An enclave or safe haven had been created in Northern Iraq in the wake of the Gulf War and a subsequent Kurdish uprising against the Iraqi government in March 1991. Kurdish rebels seized most of Iraq’s Kurdish area but then were attacked by Iraq’s army leading to mass flight by Iraqi Kurds to Turkey and Iran. About twice as many Iraqi Kurds fled to Iran as to Turkey, contributing to an influx which made the Islamic Republic the world’s principal refuge in the early 1990s. Iran granted sanctuary to five million refugees in 1991–2 out of a world total of 17.5 million recognised refugees (Rajaee 1998). Turkey quickly moved to close its borders to Kurds fleeing the Iraqi army. It brought pressure to bear upon the United Nations to prevent recurrence of 1988 events which had left tens of thousands of Iraqi Kurds on Turkish soil. That influx cost Turkey huge sums of money and had complicated Turkey’s counterinsurgency (Oezdemir 1997). Turkish authorities feared that the pesh merga, as Kurdish fighters are called, from Iraq had strengthened the PKK and that the Kurdish populations from the two countries would unite.


United Nations resolution 688 led to humanitarian intervention by US-led troops and Iraqi forces were barred from the area above the 36th Parallel in Northern Iraq. The US Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) then began a covert effort to create a form of government in the area. Efforts to unite disparate Iraqi opposition groups appear to have failed miserably and fighting between the two major Iraqi Kurdish factions, the Kurdish Democratic Party and the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan erupted in 1996 (Rajaee 1998; Verrier 1997). The progress of Patriotic Union of Kurdistan fighters with ties to Iran prompted the Kurdish Democratic party leader to call for intervention by Iraqi troops who quickly repelled the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan fighters. Iraq’s intervention, however, was perceived by the United States as violating the safe haven and led to US military retaliation. Iraqi military units subsequently withdrew but not before destroying or routing persons suspected of cooperating with the CIA effort. Several thousand Kurds fled to Turkey and eventually were afforded asylum in the United States. As US strategy for Northern Iraq crumbled, PKK guerrillas increasingly infiltrated the area and established bases there. Turkey’s military began to strike against these bases and launched major invasions involving tens of thousands of Turkish troops into Northern Iraq. By 1997, Turkey declared its intent to establish a security zone on Iraqi territory similar to Israel’s self-proclaimed security zone in Southern Lebanon. The extension of Turkey’s war against the PKK deep into Iraqi territory contributed to a new wave of Kurdish asylum seekers arriving in Western Europe. Thousands of Iraqi Kurds arrived in Italy, Germany and France in 1997 (Kinzer 1998). There were sharp disagreements between Western European states about how to treat the Kurdish asylum seekers. Germany complained that Italy’s acceptance of the Kurds as asylum seekers would inevitably result in further accretion of Germany’s Kurdish population. Germany’s entanglement with volatile Middle Eastern politics was an unintended and unanticipated consequence of decisions back in the mid-1950s and early 1960s to authorise foreign labour recruitment. Many of the supposedly temporary foreign workers became legally resident aliens and their settlement helped create a transnational society that has significantly affected Germany’s national security. The transplanting of millions of Turkish citizens to German soil helped foster Kurdish identity and independence or autonomy-minded organis ations. The very real fabric of post-World War II German democracy made it impossible to enforce involuntary repatriation of guestworkers, gave Kurdish activists sufficient space to organise abroad and afforded a safe haven to thousands of individual Kurds who could demonstrate persecution. Germany could and did influence population movements involving Turks and Kurds, but several mechanisms endowed their transnational society with a degree of autonomy. Despite Germany’s efforts to deflect refugee and asylum seeker inflows to nearby states, Kurds continue to arrive in Germany both legally and illegally. Family unification and asylum remained possibilities and there was considerable

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illegal immigration. By the time of the autumn 1997 crisis over alleged Iraqi noncompliance with UN efforts to eliminate Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction, it seemed obvious that a major military strike against Iraq ran a high risk of resulting in further mass movement of Iraq’s population, especially the Kurds. There could be little doubt as to the potential for such movements to further destabilise an already volatile region with virtually inevitable major migratory consequences for Western Europe. Already in 1997, Iraqi citizens comprised 10 per cent of asylum applicants in Germany that year. Boats full of Iraqi Kurds landed in Italy and Greece. Turkish and Greek authorities reported intercepting large groups of Kurds transiting their territories towards Western Europe. Prospects for unauthorised mass movement of Kurds appeared higher than for Algerians. Highly organised and effective smuggling networks were available to Kurds despite intergovernmental efforts to interdict them. The role played by criminal organisations and/or political movements in the smuggling networks was not entirely clear. Like a number of revolutionary organisations with bases in Lebanon, the PKK has been suspected of involvement in drug trafficking. How and why international migration affects security: comparative insights International migration affects international security, in part, because of colonial legacies. French domination over Algeria from 1830 to 1962 deeply interwove what would become two independent and sovereign states. Algerian independence changed but did not discontinue the trans-Mediterranean society forged by colonialism. Post-1962 labour recruitment deepened and expanded the tissue of a transitional society involving mass movement of persons between Algeria and France but also millions of persons who did not travel back and forth across the Mediterranean. These were the Algerian Muslim diaspora in France and the millions of Algerians affected by mass emigration, for instance, by benefiting from wage remittances sent home by Algerian workers in the France of the Fifth Republic. The governmentally-organised nature of labour recruitment from 1964 to 73 had the effect of broadening the geographic scope of Algerian emigration to France. The preponderance of ethnically distinctive Berbers in pre-1962 emigration declined as the Algerian government tapped manpower from throughout Algeria to fill annual quotas. The Algerian decision to suspend further labour emigration in 1973 resulted in a dramatic decrease in further legal labour emigration. However, hundreds of thousands of Algerians continued to go to France, some for purposes of family unification, some to take up employment illegally, others to study or to visit. The French government tried to forcibly repatriate hundreds of thousands of Algerians during the presidency of Valery Giscard d’Estaing from 1974 to 81 (Weil 1991). But these efforts failed because of French treaty commitments and other legal and political concerns. By 1984, the French government accepted that legally


resident aliens, under normal circumstances, could not be forced to repatriate against their will. The French government instituted voluntary repatriation programmes for aliens, especially for those unemployed, but relatively few, particularly Algerians, have repatriated under these programmes. Hence, France’s Algerian population has diminished since the 1970s but it is steadily replenished. There are millions of French citizens of Algerian Muslim background. Living in a democratic setting, this population is diversely affected by trends and developments in Algeria and throughout the Islamic periphery but also by the French environment. The size and entrenchment of Franco-Algerian transitional society endow it with a certain autonomy, meaning that neither the French nor the Algerian governments can fully control movements between the two states or control events affecting this distinctive population. This is not to suggest that sovereign states cannot prevent unwanted mass movement of persons. The French state can prevent the mass arrival of Algerians feared in alarmist scenarios. Both the Algerian and French governments greatly influence the population in question. They are scarcely without means and most bear them allegiance. Algerian Islamic rebels do find adherents in the Algerian diaspora in Western Europe and, like earlier Algerian revolutionaries, they fight on several fronts. Their acts and activities are grounds for immense concern, because liberaldemocratic societies are so vulnerable to disruption by acts of terrorism by small minorities. But these security concerns need to be kept in perspective. Despite the enormous barriers faced by France’s population of Algerian-Muslim background, very few have been successfully mobilised into organisations like the Armed Islamic Group. The vast majority of this population is law-abiding and opposed to the GIA’s cause. The Kurdish case did not arise as a legacy of colonialism but as an unplanned and unanticipated consequence of temporary foreign labour recruitment which went awry. German guestworker policy led to settlement and this in turn created a dense web of family and village networks which would importantly shape family-related legal immigration, illegal immigration and refugee/asylem-seeker influxes in the future. The key point is that German governmental policies induced international migration that one day would significantly and adversely affect German security. Little heed was paid to possible political consequences of international migration back in the 1950s and 1960s but this view is only somewhat less prevalent at the twilight of the twentieth century. In an influential conceptualisation of the post-Cold War world, the transatlantic area is viewed as the core of a durable zone of stability in which there were few prospects for war or major conflicts (Goldgeier and McFaul 1992). Those scourges would be largely confined to outlying lesser-developed areas such as the Islamic periphery. This analysis suggests a limitation to the Goldgeier and McFaul conceptualisation and a need for refinement. International migration processes so interweave core and peripheral areas that neat spatial delimitations of zones of stability and instability are no longer

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warranted. They need to be refined to account for potential dislocation of conflicts to diaspora populations including those within liberal-democratic states. The consequences of strife in Algeria and the Kurdish areas were not confined to the Islamic periphery but importantly affected security in Western Europe, at the very heart of the zone of peace and stability. Just as it is necessary to reconceptualise international security and international relations to become inclusive of international migration-forged transnational processes and events, it is important not to overstate the disruptive potential inherent in international migration and its political legacy. Relatively few members of the Kurdish and Algerian diaspora populations in Western Europe became involved in political violence. Those who did, however, raised a spectre that could not and should not be ignored. The two cases considered here have directly affected Western Europe but only indirectly influenced North America and other constituents of the putative transatlantic policy. US policies towards the Islamic periphery have considerable bearing and can have direct consequences for Western European allies. Due to geography, international migration processes have fostered disjuncture between Western European and North American security concerns and needs. Western Europeans are much more vulnerable to population movements arising from conflict and political instability in the Islamic periphery. Conflicts there are more likely to be spatially diffused to Western Europe via migration processes and the human and political legacies of earlier migrations. The United States, of course, is by no means immune to international migration-related contagion possibilities, but, on the whole, its security is less likely to be adversely affected by conflict and disorder in the Islamic periphery. This disjuncture may be a factor in divergencies between US and Western European policies towards the Islamic periphery. While the United States and its Western European allies routinely coordinate their international security, counterterrorism and regional policies, there can be no masking certain facts arising from geography and international migration history. Those facts must be borne centrally in mind if transatlantic relations are to run smoothly. They may suggest a clue as to why the United States did not launch a major military strike against Iraq in the autumn of 1997, although UN Secretary General Kofi Anan’s intervention certainly helped defuse that crisis. A major US attack would have run a risk of further destabilising Iraqi government and society when hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions, of Iraqi citizens had already poured into the adjacent states of Jordan, Turkey and Iran. Thousands of Iraqi Kurds had already made their way to Western Europe. It was not unreasonable to anticipate a larger influx, unless draconian countermeasures were adopted by Western European governments, in the event of a military strike that severely damaged Iraq. There were many imponderables, but the potential for mass movement of people out of political and socioeconomic chaos could not be ignored, nor could its proximity to Europe.


A number of factors suggest that international migration from the Islamic periphery will long affect transatlantic security. Wage, quality of life and demographic disequilibria between Western Europe and the Islamic littoral of the Mediterranean are expanding, not contracting. Over the short to the medium term, little can be done to reverse these trends through foreign assistance or direct investment. Most US foreign assistance goes to Israel and Egypt and much of it is military assistance. There are few prospects for major expansion of US foreign assistance to the Islamic periphery. Western European states are more generous and supply proportionally more assistance to the area. Governments simply exercise little control over direct foreign investment. Modification of trade policies is an option open to governments and the European Union has recently moved to create a customs union with Turkey and to remove barriers to trade between the European Union and Algeria’s neighbours, Tunisia and Morocco. However, free trade reforms involve a paradox. Over the long term, trade liberalisation holds out a prospect for reduction in international migration because it encourages investment in lesser developed areas. But over the short to medium term such policies increase international migration because they have more disruptive effects upon less competitive sectors in less developed areas. Additionally, post-Cold War hopes for negotiated settlement of key conflicts affecting the Islamic periphery are fading. New regional alliances and fault lines are emerging which auger poorly for peace and stability in the Islamic periphery. Diaspora populations from the Islamic periphery will continue importantly to affect the homelands in largely beneficial and constructive ways through remittances and perhaps democratisation. But they can be adversely affected by untoward developments. War and conflict in the Islamic periphery may cast a shadow over the integration of Islamic immigrants in Western Europe as it did during the Gulf War. Perpetuation of conflicts and human suffering in the Islamic periphery may lend credence to perceptions of double standards for Muslims. There is no guarantee that the overall pattern of Islamic integration into Western Europe will endure if Muslims are massacred, their lands confiscated and they are oppressed within the near confines of Western Europe. Yet, this has been a recurrent reality of the post-Cold War period. How much pain and injustice can be endured before the millions of Muslims in Western Europe react? Will their political participation be channelled through European democratic institutions or will it take other, possibly disruptive, forms? Most indications would suggest the former, not the latter. However, periodic unrest and violence in French urban areas with large numbers of marginalised youths of Islamic immigrant background may be indicative of future problems. Thus far, rioting by beurs, as North African Muslim-background youths are known in slang, generally erupts after a local incident—usually a violent encounter between the police and beurs or confrontation with merchants. The flash points are usually in poorer, heavily immigrant areas with high unemployment and school failure rates, gangs and drug trafficking. Of the French citizens and resident

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aliens recruited into radical Islamic organisations, most appear to come from such neighbourhoods. Further progress of extreme right anti-immigrant parties, whose most radical elements typically foresee civil war, may make such visions a self-fulfilling prophecy. But, for all the consternation over the electoral progress of extreme right parties in Western Europe in the 1980s and 1990s, they were largely blocked from exercising governmental power or, as in the Italian case, had to moderate their programmes to enter coalition governments. Short of an unanticipated arrival in power of a party like the National Front in France, an extremely remote scenario, the overall pattern of Muslim integration into Western European society should continue. This constitutes a vital security interest for Europeans and Muslim immigrants alike. Americans in particular need to appreciate fully just how much is at stake. They should adjust their policies accordingly to ensure transatlantic security which is inclusive of growing Islamic populations fostered by international migration. It is illusory to think about transatlantic security without according events in the Islamic periphery proximate to Western Europe the priority they warrant. The transnational society and politics forged by international migration can be ignored only at considerable peril. Acknowledgements This paper developed out of several lectures given at the invitation of the Five College Program in Peace and World Security Affairs in 1996 and 1997 in the Amherst, MA area. The author wishes to thank the organisers of and participants in the Summer Faculty Institute on World Security Affairs and the Faculty Seminar on International Affairs for their encouragement. Thanks as well to Aaron C. Miller for his assistance and to UDIRT, the University of Delaware International Relations Theory discussion group. In memory of F.H.Hinsley 1918–98. References Abdi, N. (1994) ‘Les nouveaux rapatries d’Algerie echouent en Seine-Saint-Denis’, Liberation, 23 May, p. 13. Ajami, F. (1993) ‘The Summoning’, Foreign Affairs, 72(4):2–9. Bernard, P. (1995) ‘Le France integre avec une relative facilite les imigres et leurs enfants’, Le Monde, 23 March. Betriebzelle Ford der Gruppe Arbeitenkampf (1973) Streik bei Ford Koeln, Cologne: Rosa Luxemburg Verlag. Costa-Lascoux, J. (1985) ‘La nationalite des enfants algeriens en France: identite et appartenance’, in J.Costa-Lascoux and E.Temime (eds) Les Algeriens en France, Paris: Publisud, pp. 345–69.


Einaudi, J. (1991) La bataille de Paris, Paris: Seuil. Esposito, J. (1995) The Islamic Threat: Myth or Reality?, second edition, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Gilmour, D. (1983) Lebanon: The Fractured Country, New York: St Martins Press. Goldgeier, J. and McFaul, M. (1992), ‘A tale of two worlds: core and periphery in the post-Cold War era’, International Organization, 46(2):467–91. Harden, B. (1992) ‘Turkish Kurds’ revolt sparks wide violence’, The Washington Post, 25 March, sec. A, p. 25. Huntington, S. (1993) ‘The clash of civilizations?’ Foreign Affairs, 72(3):22–49. Izady, M. (1992) The Kurds: A Concise Handbook, Washington, DC: Taylor and Francis. Karpat, K. (1994) ‘The civil rights of the Muslims of the Balkans’, Asian and African Studies 27:25–45. Kinzer, S. (1998) ‘Turk-Kurd war begins to spill refugees into Europe’, The New York Times, 6 January, sec. A, p. 9. Lebon, A. (1997) Migrations et nationalite en France en 1996, Paris: La Documentation Francaise. Leggwie, K. (1996) ‘How Turks became Kurds, not Germans’, Dissent 43:79–83. Le Monde (1998) ‘Reactions au rapport Mandelkern sur le 17 octobre 1961’, 6 May, p. 12. Martin, P. (1991) The unfinished story: Turkish labour migration to Western Europe, with special reference to the Federal Republic of Germany, Geneva: International Labour Organisation. Miller, M. (1979) ‘Reluctant partnership: foreign workers in Franco-Algerian relations, 1962–1979’, Journal of International Affairs 33(2):219–37. ——(1986) ‘Policy ad-hocracy: the paucity of coordinated perspectives and policies’, The Annals 485:64–75. Oezdemir, Y. (1997) ‘Kurdish Migration and Turkey’, unpublished University of Delaware paper. Petran, T. (1987) The Struggle over Lebanon, New York: The Monthly Review Press. Rajaee, B. (1998) ‘The evolution of Iran’s post-revolutionary refugee policy’, 1979–96, unpublished University of Delaware paper. Schmidbauer, B. (1995) Deutschland im Blickpunkt extremistischer und terroristischer Auslaendergruppierungen, Bonn: Federal Intelligence Service and Office for the Protection of the Constitution. Shaw, M. (1997) ‘The state of globalization: towards a theory of state transformation’, Review of International Political Economy 4(3):497–513. Smith, R. (1998) ‘Transnational public spheres and changing practices of citizenship, membership and nation: comparative insights from the Mexican and Italian cases’, paper presented at the conference on States and Diasporas, Columbia University, 8 May. The Week in Germany (1995) ‘Bonn lifts ban on expelling Kurds after Turkey pledges fair treatment; SPD-led States disagree’, 17 March. Tuquoi, J. (1998) ‘L’armee algerienne reconnait la difficulte de venir a bout de la violence dans les grandes villes’, Le Monde, 7 May, p. 4. Verrier, M. (1997) ‘Les atouts de la guerilla Kurde en Turquie’, Le Monde diplomatique, 10 December.

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Waever, O., Buzan, B., Kelstrup, M. and Lemaitre, P. (eds) (1993) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, New York: St Martin’s Press. Weil, P. (1991) La France et ses Etrangers, Paris: Calmann-Levy. Weiner, M. (1993) International Migration and Security, Boulder, CO: Westview.

7 Meta-societies, remittance economies and Internet addresses

Dimensions of contemporary human security in Polynesia Richard Bedford

Wherever I am at any given moment there is comfort in the knowledge stored at the back of my mind, that somewhere in Oceania is a piece of earth to which I belong. In the turbulence of life it is my anchor. No one can take it away from me. I may never return to it, not even as mortal remains, but it will always be homeland. We all have or should have homelands: personal, family, national homelands. And to deny human beings the sense of homeland, is to deny them a deep spot on earth to anchor their roots. (Hau’ofa 1994a:15) The island states of the eastern Pacific Basin, comprising an ethnographic region which Europeans named Polynesia, have a celebrated place in the literature on population movement in Oceania. In 1996, the Cook Islands, Niue, Samoa, Tuvalu, the colonies of French Polynesia and American Samoa, and the New Zealand dependency of the Tokelau Islands were places of residence for just under 600,000 people (Bedford 1998). They are also the ancestral homes for an estimated 400,000 migrants (and their descendants) who, since the 1950s, have left the islands of Polynesia temporarily or long-term to live in countries on the Pacific rim, especially Australia, New Zealand and the United States. If account is also taken of the descendants of a much earlier Polynesian migration to New Zealand—the Maori migration over 1,000 years ago—then the Polynesian descent population living in countries on the rim exceeds one million. In this chapter, it is the ‘recent’ Polynesian diaspora that is the focus of attention; not the ‘ancient’ migrations of some of the world’s most adventurous seafarers and explorers. Tongan Professor of Sociology and novelist at the University of the South Pacific in Suva (Fiji), Epeli Hau’ofa (1994a, 1994b, 1998), has captured a critical dimension of this oceanic population well in the quotation at the beginning of the chapter. No matter where Polynesian peoples live, there is always an acknowledgement of a homeland in the islands. This is at the root of their identities as peoples of Oceania, even if some never actually spend time living on the islands to which they ‘belong’. It is also at the root of a complex

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system of transnational social and economic relationships which underpins the human security of contemporary Polynesians. As R.Gerard Ward, a geographer whose writing on the Pacific has been extremely influential, recently argued in a review of what he called the ‘expanding worlds of Oceania’: Unlike most diaspora of recent times, [the recent migration] is not caused by war, expulsion or famine; it is not forced movement; it is not the flight of dispossessed to the margins of the occupied world. And unlike those diaspora in which there was a major break from the source area, physically, socially and often emotionally, that of Oceania has seen the maintenance of very close ties between source and destination areas and communities. It has resulted in an unusual, if not unique, creation of transnational social and economic relationships at family levels which in some respects transcend the state as the primary socio-economic grouping for whole peoples. …these transnational linkages…are some of the most interesting features of the current diaspora in Oceania, and may give us clues to future socio-cultural developments and networks in other parts of the world as people everywhere become more mobile and migration does not carry the old implication of almost complete social and economic separation at the household level. (Ward 1997:179–80) Since the early 1980s the literature on ‘development’ in the micro-states of the eastern Pacific has emphasised the importance of transnational communities rather than national populations when considering economic and social transformation in the island states. This is hardly surprising: in the case of countries like the Cook Islands and Niue much larger populations of Cook Island Maori and Niueans now live in New Zealand than in their Polynesian homes. There are almost as many Samoans living in New Zealand, Australia and the United States as in Samoa, and it will not be long before this situation applies to the Tongans as well. The small population in Tuvalu (around 9,000 in 1996) is not matched by an overseas Tuvaluan community yet. However, as will be shown later in this chapter, the Tuvaluan economy depends almost entirely on a series of transnational linkages which have nothing to do with the standard sorts of resource transfers which underlie human security in most nations. The major objective of this chapter is to review two aspects of the transnational linkages which are so critical for contemporary human security in Polynesia. The first is the meaning of the process of ‘world enlargement’ which Hau’ofa (1994b) and Ward (1997), amongst others, have recognised as being the basis for new meta-societies in Oceania. The second concerns the remittance transfers which ‘lubricate’ the linkages in these meta-societies, and give meaning to the notion of transnational economies and societies of Polynesians. In the final section of the chapter, continued innovation in the nature of transfers which

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underpin transnational economies is examined with particular reference to the unusual case of Tuvalu, especially a recent, quite unexpected windfall from the cyberspace revolution associated with development of the Internet. It will become clear from this review that it is no longer appropriate to write about human security in Pacific micro-states in the traditional contexts of national economic indicators (gross domestic product and the like) or even living conditions within national boundaries. As Ward (1997:194) argues: ‘It may be questioned whether it is realistic to consider the “Western Samoan economy”, or the Tongan or other island economies, as something bounded by the territorial extent of the state. Certainly the transnational households do not regard it as such.’ He goes on to ask, with regard to assessments of ‘sustainable development’ and ‘self-reliance’: ‘Could we devise a system of assessment which would allow for [exchange, cross-subsidisation and temporal variation in the net flow of resources] in communities which transcend the unity constrained by the boundaries of nation states, and which encompass the unity of transnational ethnic communities?’ (Ward 1997:194). This phenomenon is by no means unique to the island states of Polynesia. As Portes (1996:151) recently observed in his attempt to give theoretical form to the concept of transnational communities, ‘what common people have done in response to the process of globalisation is to create communities that sit astride political borders that, in a very real sense, are “neither here nor there” but in both places simultaneously’. These are what Macpherson (1997:96) refers to as ‘metasocieties’—transnational societies which are formed to encompass highly dynamic systems of free movement of people, ideas and practices between various localities. ‘Meta-societies’ and a meanings of ‘security’ Recently there has been a shift in focus in much of the writing on contemporary international migration, both in Oceania as well as in other parts of the world. Much more attention is now being focused on the ‘meaning’ of migration in a world full of ‘the metaphysical displacements of homelessness, alienation and the uncertainty of place(s)’ (Connell 1997:197). This is a literature which attempts to come to grips with what Carter (1992:101) calls an ‘authentically migrant perspective’, a perspective that begins by ‘regarding movement, not as an awkward interval between fixed points of departure and arrival, but as a mode of being in the world’. Coming to terms with an ‘authentically migrant perspective’ means coming to terms with the cultural meanings of migration for people. In the case of Oceania, there has been a significant rethinking of the ways in which the social realities, within which migration is situated, are constructed. Two eminent Pacific writers have made highly influential contributions in this regard: Albert Wendt, a Samoan migrant to New Zealand and long-time resident in Auckland, the largest urban concentration of Polynesians in the world; and Epeli Hau’ofa a Tongan


currently living in Fiji, who has lived in many different parts of urban and rural Oceania. Both writers place considerable emphasis on the multinational worlds of contemporary Pacific migrants; a ‘meta-society’ of groups living in different countries, but increasingly tied together and seeing themselves as part of some larger entity. This approach to migration studies is generating new perspectives on the flows of people between countries in Oceania and the implications of these flows for social and economic transformation in the islands. These perspectives place greater emphasis on the multiple meanings of international mobility for Pacific peoples—meanings which go far beyond a simple conceptualisation of migration of cheap labour from island satellites to the metropoles on the rim. In addition, there is much greater interest in the multiple identities which Pacific Islanders have as ‘immigrants’, ‘return migrants’, ‘non-migrants’, ‘overseas-born’, ‘islandborn’—the labels usually ascribed by researchers to subgroups of people living in either the island or rim countries of Oceania. Gender perspectives (e.g. Larner 1991; Thaman 1985), and a sustained questioning of ‘the tidy and dualist logic of either/or’ (Chapman 1991:289; Chapman 1995; Bonnemaison 1985; Connell 1997; Hau’ofa 1994a, 1998) have created spaces for much more imaginative, culturally informed analyses of mobility in Oceania. Three aspects of these ‘new’ cultural perspectives on the ‘meta-societies’ of Oceania are examined in this section: Oceanic social realities, the promise of return, and the ambiguity of migration. Oceanic social realities Hau’ofa (1994a, 1994b) has become quite disillusioned with the interpretations of Pacific societies and economies emanating from the writings of anthropologists, geographers, historians and others whose thinking is structured, first, by a temporal division of the past into pre-contact (often prehistory), early contact, colonial and postcolonial or neocolonial periods, and, second, by a spatial division of Oceania into territories or states whose existence occupies less than 200 years of the more than 30,000 years of human habitation of some islands. Such conceptions imply that the main factors for the constructions of Pacific histories and geographies were determined, and remain determined, by EuroAmerican imperialism. Hau’ofa (1994a:1) holds firmly to the belief that as all social realities are human creations, it is imperative that the indigenous peoples of Oceania take active steps to construct their own realities. He cites a former premier of the Cook Islands, Sir Tom Davis, who, in his autobiography Island Boy, makes a telling statement about what can happen when other people’s representations of social reality are accepted without question: Because we were told that small Pacific Island states could never make a go of it without largess from their former colonial masters, we did not try

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very hard to see the possibilities from our own points of view which had to be quite different from theirs [Australians’ and New Zealanders’]…; We therefore accepted largess as a right without questioning the matter further, and without the thought that one day it may not be forthcoming. (Davis 1992, quoted in Hau’ofa 1994a:1) A critically important component of mobility systems anywhere is the creation of new identities and, with these, new social realities. Hau’ofa (1994a, 1994b) is convinced that much of what is meaningful for the daily lives of ‘ordinary people’ in Oceania lies outside the prevailing development discourses, whose only points of reference are to our dismally portrayed present, to our increasingly marketised national institutions, to international development agencies, international lending organisations, transnational corporations, fit only to be globalised and whateverised, and slotted into our proper places on the Human Development Index. (Hau’ofa 1994a:11) In his view, these discourses are premised on very narrow economistic and geographically deterministic views of an oceanic world (Hau’ofa 1994b). Such perspectives generate negative stereotypes which tend to overlook culture history, and the contemporary process of ‘world enlargement’ carried out by tens of thousands of ordinary Pacific islanders right across the ocean from east to west and north to south, under the very noses of academic and consultancy experts, regional and international development agencies, bureaucratic planners and their advisers, and customs and immigration officials, making nonsense of all national and economic boundaries, borders that have been defined only recently, crisscrossing an ocean that had been boundless for ages before Captain Cook’s apotheosis. (Hau’ofa 1994b:151) While there is much debate about Hau’ofa’s view of Oceania (see the comments by academics, poets, planners, amongst others, in Waddell, Naidu and Hau’ofa, 1993), there is no question that his search for a more meaningful frame of reference for contemporary social realities in Oceania, especially as these relate to the peoples of Polynesia, has had a profound impact on recent writing about migration in the region. Well-known academic specialists on Pacific migration, such as Connell (1997), Macpherson (1997) and Ward (1997) have all drawn inspiration from Hau’ofa’s writing, and incorporated a ‘new’ cultural perspective into their interpretations of the social context for contemporary international mobility.


The core to Hau’ofa’s argument is that Oceanic peoples have always been mobile, often traversing considerable distances in their social and economic exchanges before the division of their ‘sea of islands’ into colonial territories, and some consequential restrictions on ocean-going canoe travel, confined them to specific islands and island groups. The reasons for migration becoming the norm for such a high proportion of Polynesians seem to lie as much in their ability to adapt to and to adopt new cultural models, as to their time-honoured tradition of mobility within a ‘sea of islands’. Following Crocombe (1994), one commentator suggests that: [p]erhaps the great success of Pacific Islanders as long distance migrants has bases not only in deep cultural history but also in recent educational policies which have tended to fit people for occupations most readily practised outside their natal areas, and frequently overseas, and in factors such as the remarkably thorough incorporation of Pacific Islanders into the broad world of Christian ideas which gives some intellectual or social link to the mores of their new homelands. (Ward 1997:182) A distinguishing feature of the recent diaspora of Pacific Island peoples is the strength of linkages between the island and rim-based communities. These linkages, which are sustained by complex networks of communication, trade, and circulation of people and ideas, are constantly changing Pacific cultures and, in the process, generating a number of subcultures which have distinctive characteristics associated with their locations. Thus the Samoan culture of villages in Samoa is different in many ways from Samoan culture in Auckland or in Los Angeles. With the emergence of multiple levels of identity amongst Samoans, the differences between these subcultures become acceptable; they enable people to have real personal identification with different places and different cultures as they move between the multiple centres of Samoan residence in the contemporary world. Some critical questions about this multinational social reality do emerge, and these can create tensions for those who wish to move for some length of time from the island to one of the rim homelands (or vice versa). While there is little disagreement amongst members of the island and rim-based communities that the cores of Tongan and Samoan culture are located in the islands, a question can be raised with reference to Niuean or even Cook Island Maori culture. In both of these cases there are far more Niueans and Cook Island Maori living in Auckland than in the islands. Does the weight of population distribution affect the relative cultural weight of island communities in the rim? The issue is not trivial, especially for the second-and third-generation descendants of Pacific migrants in New Zealand and, increasingly, the United States and Australia. Another question which arises in the meta-societies of contemporary Polynesians is what are the relevant ‘national’ entities that describe

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these societies and cultures near century’s end? Both Crocombe (1994) and, as noted in the introduction to this chapter, Ward (1997) stress that the nation-states of Samoa and Tonga are not particularly relevant units for assessing development in terms of sustainability or self-reliance. Much more meaningful social realities are the multinational communities which now comprise the ‘nations’ of Samoan and Tongan peoples. International migration is generating big questions about the basic premises that underlie citizenship and ‘membership’ in multicultural societies all over the world (Castles 1997; Spoonley 1997). Just as New Zealand citizens now jealously protect their ‘right’ to move freely to and from Australia (the only citizens in the world, other than Australians, who have this right), so Cook Islanders, Niueans, and Tokelauans wish to retain their rights to citizenship in New Zealand. Equally, the Samoan communities living in the rim countries wish to retain rights of access to their island ‘homelands’, even if the dream about going to live permanently in the village is rarely realised. The promise of return Migration back to island homes from the cities on the rim has not been researched in depth by migration specialists in Oceania. Yet, as is shown in the next section where recent research on remittances is reviewed, return migration is a process which has considerable significance because an intention to return ‘home’ at some stage in the future seems to be one of the most important reasons given for sending money back to kin based in the islands (Connell and Brown 1995). It has been argued in many studies of internal and international migration that intentions to return are not a good basis from which to project actual movement behaviour (e.g. Bedford 1980; Haberkorn 1989; Ward 1980). The rapid growth in Polynesian populations in the Pacific rim cities during the 1970s and 1980s, while island-based populations were growing much more slowly (or declining, as in the case of Niue), could be interpreted as one quantitative indicator of limited return migration. When household surveys seeking information on mobility behaviour have been carried out amongst Samoans, Tongans, Fijians and other Pacific Island peoples resident in cities such as Auckland, Hamilton, Sydney and Brisbane, it is often found that most of the migrant adults have been ‘home’ at least once since arrival, and there are plans to take their children ‘home’ at some stage (this statement is based on findings in a number of unpublished graduate research reports written by Pacific Islanders, such as Liki 1990; Fauolo 1993; Fuka 1985; Stanwix 1994; Tongamoa 1987). The return trips have been in the form of visits, rather than migration back to live in the village. However, similar types of surveys in villages in Samoa, Tonga, the Cook Islands, Niue and the Tokelaus reveal that many adults, especially men, have lived and worked overseas at some stage in the past (e.g. Hooper 1982, 1993; James 1991; Mitchell 1978; Underhill 1989). It is clear from retrospective mobility histories collected in both the island and rim homes that international population circulation is a very common


process, and there are several bases from which this circulation emanates. These bases may change for particular individuals and families at different stages of their lives. At various stages during the 1980s and early 1990s, economic conditions in the main rim destinations deteriorated with the implementation of widespread structural adjustment programmes associated with the latest phase of capitalist development. The significant decline in manufacturing employment in the late 1980s in New Zealand, for example, and the major changes to the social welfare system in that country in 1991, caused considerable hardship amongst the communities of Pacific Islands peoples (see Le Heron and Pawson 1996 for an excellent review of the implications of restructuring for society, economy and environment in New Zealand). In the case of New Zealand, there was a reversal of net migration flows of peoples of Pacific Island nationalities with larger numbers leaving the country than arriving (Bedford 1994, 1996). The impression created by the statistics, and also by informal discussions with members of Auckland’s Samoan and Tongan communities, was that return to the islands was much more significant than it had been in earlier years. Research in the Cook Islands did reveal that return migration had picked up in the late 1980s and early 1990s, although it was difficult to establish how much of this was ‘permanent’. However, significant restructuring of the Cook Islands in the mid-1990s has produced a further outflow of ‘white collar’ workers to New Zealand and Australia (Mellor 1997). The most comprehensive account of the process of return migration to a Pacific village setting from a city on the rim is contained in Wendt’s (1973) first novel, Sons for the Return Home. Connell has recently examined Wendt’s various books from the point of view of the insights they contain about culture and identity amongst Samoan migrants. As he notes: Migration—and the movement between and within cultures—are crucial elements in his life and throughout his work but particularly in his first novel…. Wendt has said about this novel ‘it is an attempt… to show what it is like being Samoan and being Samoan in another culture…. It is about every migrant’s dream of the grand return home.…; To sound really grand, I think Sons is about Polynesia—what it was, what it is, what it is becoming’. So is all of Wendt’s work. (Connell 1994:263) Wendt’s (1973, 1974, 1977, 1979, 1991) books contain graphic descriptions of the difficulties faced by Samoan migrants in New Zealand, and the adjustments made to cope with the alien residential, working and social environments. They also contain graphic descriptions of life in Western Samoa, and the difficulties faced by families, especially the children raised in New Zealand, in adjusting to village life when they make ‘the grand return home’. Connell (1994:272–5) summarises the reality of return, drawing extensively on Wendt’s work, and notes

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that while Samoans almost always return home at some stage, this is usually for a visit rather than on the assumption of permanence. A triumphant return home is possible, but for many return can be an alienating experience. Wendt (1973) describes both success and ultimate failure for different generations in Sons. Citing Pitt and Macpherson (1974) Connell concludes that: Ultimately few definitely choose to return, and fewer succeed. Even those who visit Samoa are often glad to return to New Zealand. It seems that the closer the contact with the reality of home, the stronger is the migrant’s resolve to consolidate his new life in New Zealand. Thus if the dream remains it seems likely that it is nostalgia for the past rather than a plan for the future. (Connell 1994:274–5) For the hero of Sons return also proves ultimately impossible; he cannot adjust and returns to New Zealand as a lonely exile. Others, too, re-emigrate to an established community of New Zealand Samoans, to their place in the growing diaspora. Dreams may be tarnished but they will remain, as the choice of return is postponed indefinitely. While the choice of return to live permanently may be postponed indefinitely, return visits, by both island-based and rim-based Pacific Island peoples, are common and unlikely to diminish in significance. Although data to prove the point are not available, it is likely that all Niuean and Cook Island families living in the islands will have at least one close relative living overseas. A similar situation probably exists now for most Samoan and Tongan island-based families. One of the various forms of interaction between members of the extended families will be visits. Indeed, James (1991) describes a phenomenon she calls ‘human remittances’ when children are sent back to the islands for a range of social reasons, including providing assistance to relatives living in the villages. A similar movement occurs in the opposite direction when village parents, seeking a school or university education for their children overseas, request kin living in rim cities such as Auckland to provide accommodation. In return, the children assist their Auckland family with the daily routine of domestic chores. The ambiguity of migration Persistence of the ideology of return is, as Connell (1994) points out, just one means of bridging and welding together many different lifestyles and opportunities. Over the past three decades, the diversity of lifestyles experi enced by Pacific Island migrants in the rim cities as well as in the island homelands has required inevitable acceptance of culture clashes, discrimination and disappointment, notwithstanding the fact that there will always be some individuals who ‘move easily between islands, oblivious to difference, sheltered


in the confines of transnational aiga [Samoan extended families]’ (Connell 1994: 276). Much more cosmopolitan populations of Samoans, Tongans, Cook Islanders, Niueans and Tokelauans now inhabit both the villages in the islands and the cities on the rim than was the case in the 1950s and 1960s when the most recent Oceanic diaspora commenced. These people are much more at ease with the multiple identities that are required to cope effectively with living in many locations. There are costs associated with the increasing ambiguity in identity which accompanies the successful cosmopolitan. As Wendt himself said: when you don’t belong completely to any culture…you will always be an outsider and suffer from a sense of unreality…. I know I can’t live away from Samoa for too long. I need a sense of roots, of home—a place where you live and die. I would die as a writer without roots; but when I go home I’m always reminded that I’m an outsider, palagified [Europeanised]. (cited in Connell 1994:276–7) Ambivalence remains the norm for most Pacific Island migrants and their children living in cities on the rim. As Connell suggests, capturing some of the essence of Chapman’s (1991) powerful paper: In an uncertain global political economy, even the most cosmopolitan Samoan must ensure that Samoa is not merely a nostalgic fantasy, but a potentially real destination…. Migration is rarely absolute, unambivalent or final; it is not a cause and consequence of a definite break with a cultural life that is part of history, but a partial and conditional state, characterised by ambiguity and indeterminacy. A fixed status presupposes that the future can be foretold. Uncertainty defines the experience of migration, even in second generations. (Connell 1994:277) Keeping options open for movement between multiple potential ‘homes’ is now accepted to be a critical strategy which drives Polynesian economic behaviour (Macpherson 1997). Evidence for this can be found most clearly in the massive transfers of money, material goods and human capital which flow between Polynesian communities in the islands and in cities on the Pacific rim. It is to the highly contentious debate about the impact of remittances on aspects of human security in Polynesia that the discussion now turns. Remittances and the operation of transnational corporation of kin One of the most pervasive research themes in the literature on migration and development in Oceania over the past decade has concerned the role of

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remittances in the transformation of island societies and economies. Within this extensive literature three major questions are explored: (1) What is the place of remittance transfers in the national economies of Pacific countries and how sustainable are these transfers over time? (2) How are remittances being used in the migrant source areas to further socioeconomic development? (3) How does the process of remittance transfer relate to a wider process of ‘world enlargement’ which Hau’ofa (1994b) and others associate with the strategies deliberately adopted by Pacific Island migrants to extend the reach of their economic and social activities, and thus the basis for their human security, into the countries on the rim and beyond. These questions are not mutually exclusive, and a number of authors consider more than one in their studies of remittances and development. However, for ease of discussion, each question will be considered separately in this section after an introduction to some of the main contributors to the debate on the remittances and socioeconomic transformation in this region. Prominent writers The names of two pairs of authors feature prominently in the literature on migrant remittances and the dependency linkages and structures which ensure continuity of these transfers back to migrant source countries in Oceania. The first pair comprises the New Zealand-based economist Geoff Bertram and geographer Ray Watters. The second pair comprises the Australia-based geographer John Connell and economist Richard Brown. The writings of these academics have become inextricably interwoven, largely because elements of a model developed by the New Zealand pair became the focus of intensive empirical and theoretical assessment by the Australia-based pair. The contributions made by Connell, on the one hand, and Bertram and Watters, on the other, have, in turn, been subjected to critical evaluation by other writers, thus generating an extensive debate about international migration and human security in this part of the world. In the mid-1980s, Bertram and Watters (1984, 1985, 1986) articulated a model of the economies of those small Pacific countries which had extensive expatriate communities overseas (Cook Islands, Niue, Tokelaus, Samoa [formerly Western Samoa], Tonga, American Samoa), or which relied heavily on transfers of income from contract labour employed overseas (e.g. Tuvalu). The model, which carries the acronym MIRAB (Migration, Remittances, Aid, Bureaucracy), applies in situations where external resource transfers, rather than productive activity within the country, actually drives the economy (Bertram 1997; Bertram and Watters 1985, 1986). Thus, in MIRAB economies, international migration generates remittance flows which fuel internal consumption of imported goods in the islands and raise expectations for higher material living standards. Aid transfers from former colonial powers and multilateral agencies, which have either a vested interest in or a sense of obligation towards the development of


countries which are perceived to have limited potential for endogenous economic growth, contribute to the improvement of infrastructure and expansion of the state bureaucracy which becomes the largest single employer of salaried staff in the country (Bertram and Watters 1985; Watters 1987). The perpetuation of MIRAB economies was seen to be contingent upon regular flows of remittances and continued dependence on international aid (Bertram 1986, 1993, 1997; Bertram and Watters 1986). Both were seen to be sustainable in the case of several small island countries of Polynesia, partly because of the access which their inhabitants had to metropolitan countries on the Pacific rim (thus ensuring access to employment opportunities for migrants), and partly because of the commitments which successive governments in New Zealand and Australia had made to furthering the development of Pacific microstates. Bertram and Watters (1985, 1986) recognised the potential fragility of economies which relied for their survival on external resource transfers which reflected ‘good will’ rather than economic necessity. However, in the particular circumstances which surrounded the dynamics of these transfers in parts of Oceania, they considered this dependency to be both sustainable and positive in terms of its contribution towards the development of the island peoples concerned. Independently of the work being done by Bertram and Watters, John Connell (1980, 1983a, 1983b, 1983c, 1983d, 1983e, 1987a) was articulating a much more pessimistic assessment of the role of migrant remittances in the transformation of Pacific societies. He was particularly critical of the way in which remittances were being used to fuel consumption of imported commodities (especially food and building materials), thus deepening the dependency of Pacific economies on external sources of income to cover the costs of imports. Remittances did not seem to be being invested in activities which contributed directly to exports and the generation of employment and wealth within the island economies. Instead of making a case supporting perpetuation of the dependency structures which sustained MIRAB economies, Connell (1987b, 1990, 1991a, 1991b) stressed the importance of increasing the contribution made by domestic economies to the infrastruc-ture and wealth of Pacific micro-states. He was an advocate of greater self-reliance, rather than greater dependency. In the early 1990s, Connell joined forces with an economist, Richard Brown (1992a, 1992b) who had worked on remittances, capital flight and associated macro-economic imbalances in the Sudan, to carry out a series of empirical studies of remittance behaviour and the use of remittances in the Pacific. This research, which was sponsored by the International Labour Organisation, included surveys of Pacific migrant communities in Australia, as well as surveys in the migrant source countries of Western Samoa and Tonga (e.g. Brown 1994, 1995a, 1995b; Brown and Connell 1993a; Brown and Foster 1994, 1995; Brown and Walker 1995; Brown, Foster and Connell 1995; Connell and Brown 1995; Foster 1995; Stanwix and Connell 1995; Walker and Brown 1995). Some of their main findings, together with those presented by other authors who have

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carried out detailed empirical research designed to test the MIRAB model in specific countries, are now outlined with reference to the three questions posed at the beginning of this section. Remittances in the national economy Since the mid-1970s it has been recognised that the cash economies of several Polynesian countries were receiving more revenue from remittances sent by migrants overseas than from the sale of goods and services overseas as exports. Shankman (1976:29), for example, observed that ‘in 1974, 20 per cent of the Western Samoan population was overseas and remitting 50 per cent of the national income’. The situation was believed to be broadly similar in Tonga (Campbell 1992; Connell 1983d), the Cook Islands and Niue (Connell 1983a, 1983b), although documentation of actual transfers through the banking system was not very well developed in some countries. Connell and Brown (1995) point out that much of the analysis of remittances in the national economies of Pacific countries has been based on the supposition that the volume of all receipts from migrants overseas equates with transfers to their families through the official banking system. However, as Connell (1980), Loomis (1990), Ahlburg (1991) and Brown (1994, 1995a, 1995b) show with regard to Tonga and Samoa, official estimates, based on recorded migrants’ transfers, grossly underestimate the true magnitude of these flows. There are substantial flows of remittances, both in cash and kind, which never enter the official statistics. These are the ‘hidden’ foreign exchange flows which are transferred through informal channels, perhaps as cash carried by migrants on return visits, or as goods entering the country as personal baggage either for use by the recipient or for resale in the informal markets which are a characteristic of all major Pacific towns. The practice of sending remittances in kind, ranging from inexpensive consumer non-durables to highly priced durables and investment goods, is widespread among the remittance-dependent economies of the Pacific (see Brown and Connell, 1993b for a detailed case study of Tonga’s ‘global flea market’). Using data collected in three sets of surveys undertaken in Tongan and Samoan households in the islands, among petty traders in the flea market of Tonga’s capital, Nuku’alofa, and among Tongan and Samoan households living in Brisbane, Australia, Brown (1995b) estimates that unrecorded remittances to Tonga amount to between 34 and 41 per cent of the total recorded remittances in the early 1990s, while in Samoa, the unrecorded proportions are between 42 and 60 per cent. In order to illustrate the meaning of these estimates for the total value of remittances in the national economies of the two countries, it has been observed that: In 1992, total recorded remittances to Tonga and Western Samoa were US $27.2 and US$43.4 million respectively. In both cases, remittances


represented almost 90 percent of total exports of goods and services; 20 percent of estimated GDP in the case of Tonga and 30 percent in the case of Western Samoa. If the 1992 remittance estimates are adjusted for the unrecorded flows estimated here, they would need to be increased to between US$47 and US$68 million in the case of Tonga, and US$68 million to US$74 million in the case of Western Samoa. Adjusted remittances would then represent around 50 percent of 1992 GDP in both cases, although it is recognised that the GDP estimates would also need to be revised. (Brown 1995b:50) The surveys conducted by Brown and his colleagues validated much anecdotal evidence reported in earlier studies about the importance of remittances in kind, and the significance of ‘hidden transfers’ in the form of airfares and other travel expenses paid by the migrant on behalf of a member of the receiving household. They also demonstrated clearly that a significant amount of remittances are sent directly to churches and other institutions such as community organisations, sports clubs, cyclone relief appeals and so on. Brown (1995a) estimates that these amounts represent an additional 18 per cent and 41 per cent of remittances sent to Tongan and Western Samoan households. A key concern amongst policy-makers in countries where remittances make a significant contribution to aggregate national incomes is the sustainability of these transfers over time. Indeed, it was this question which prompted the interest in estimates of the total value of remittances in the economies of Tonga and Samoa, using household surveys to gather information on individual remittance behaviour. The issue of remittance decay has assumed greater significance in this region following the restructuring of economies in New Zealand and, to a lesser extent in Australia, during the 1980s, and the decline in employment opportunities in both countries for unskilled or semi-skilled migrant labour (Bedford 1993a, 1993b, 1994; Larner 1991). There has also been a reassessment of foreign aid commitments in the Pacific by both New Zealand and Australia in recent years, and this has made the governments in a number of Pacific countries nervous about the sustainability of external unrequited resource transfers (Appleyard and Stahl 1995; Cuthbertson and Cole 1995). There is an extensive literature on remittance decay functions, both in the international literature (Stark 1991a, 1991b contain useful reviews) and in the Pacific (e.g. Forsyth 1992), and the difficulty of measuring the determinants of remittances in a way which makes modelling of a remittance decay function possible. Relying largely on anecdotal evidence, Bertram and Watters (1986) argued that a persistent stream of new immigrants from the islands, coupled with strong social networks linking overseas migrants with their kin back in the island ‘homes’, and a long-term intention on the part of migrants to return to the islands, would ensure that remittances did not decline over time.

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Connell and Brown (1995) note that few systematic studies of the changing patterns of remittance flows over time have been conducted amongst migrant Pacific Islanders living overseas. Two studies by Tongan graduate students in Auckland (Fuka 1985; Vete 1995) and Sydney (Tongamoa 1987) showed that the pattern of flows over time is complicated because remittances tended to drop after four to seven years, and then rose again after a decade overseas with those individuals still remitting after fifteen years sending the greatest per capita amounts. After reviewing a range of survey data and anecdotal evidence, they concluded that: Generally…the volume and regularity of remittances is a function of the intent to return. However, what is striking in every case, and well documented in the case of Tongans and Cook Islanders overseas (Loomis 1990), is just how long and at what levels remittances are maintained, with only slight evidence of the anticipated decay. From their econometric analysis of recent cross-sectional data from a survey among Tongan migrants in Brisbane, Walker and Brown (1995) found that while the propensity to remit was negatively related to the age of the migrant, it was positively related to the migrant’s length of absence from home. (Connell and Brown 1995:17–18) The detailed statistical and econometric analyses which Walker and Brown (1995) and Foster (1995) have carried out on remittance determinants of Tongan and Samoan migrants, and on the nature of remittance decay functions for Pacific migrant communities, provide strong support for the view that remittance levels do not appear to decline with length of absence away from the migrant’s home country (Brown, Foster and Connell 1995). They also indicate that, contrary to much of the conventional wisdom about the use of remittances in the migrant sending countries, a significant motivating factor for migrants to remit is the accumulation of assets and investment in the home country. The important policy-related conclusion which comes from the recent research into remittances in the national economies of Pacific Island countries is that governments should be more pro-active about creating investment environments which will attract more of the savings of migrants overseas. The findings from the various studies reviewed by Brown, Foster and Connell (1995) suggest that remittance levels would be sensitive to policy interventions affecting relative real interest rates, given that there is evidence from both the primary, micro-level survey data and the secondary, macro-level data, that where opportunities arise, remittances are used for investment and can be investment-motivated. As they state, ‘It cannot be expected that externally-based migrants will be willing to risk their capital in an investment in the domestic economy where much safer alternatives exist elsewhere’ (Brown, Foster and Connell 1995:183). The investment climate back home is a very important determinant of the magnitude of the remittance flows and uses made of these resources in the local economy.


Uses of remittances It is generally argued and accepted that migrant remittances are used extensively to cover the costs of everyday household consumption needs. Walker and Brown (1995), in a review of literature on remittance use in the Pacific and in other parts of the world where there is heavy dependence on cash transfers by migrants back to source countries, cite a number of recent studies in which it is contended that the primary use of remittances in the Pacific has been for consumption with the remainder being used for house construction, debt repayment and the financing of future migration (Ahlburg 1991; Connell 1991b; Forsyth 1992; World Bank 1991, 1993). In these studies, and a number of others (including Bertram and Watters’ initial MIRAB papers), remittances are seen as having raised levels of consumption without creating a firm basis within the domestic economy to sustain them in the future. Indeed, a common conclusion is that remittance dependence feeds on itself in the sense that it increases the need for further migration. As the private transfers associated with remittances become more dominant in the economy, lack of investment in productive activities becomes more pronounced, thus reinforcing the concepts of the ‘migrant syndrome’ and the ‘frozen’ domestic economy (Walker and Brown 1995:90). The policy implications drawn from such findings tend to place emphasis on the need for government strategies to reduce domestic consumption and increase more savings and investment in the domestic economy (World Bank 1991, 1993). On the basis of their surveys into remittance behaviour by Samoan and Tongan migrants in Australia, and the use of remittances by recipient households in the islands, plus some recent evidence from surveys in the Middle East and parts of Asia, Walker and Brown (1995) challenge this conventional wisdom. It is worth citing the substance of their conclusions because they suggest there is scope for quite different policy prescriptions to ensure that governments maximise on the potential for remittances to contribute to development: [E]conometric analysis of both secondary data on remittances and savings for Tonga and Western Samoa and survey data on Tongan migrants in Brisbane indicated that migrants do not remit only for purposes of family support but also for reasons of investment in both financial and productive assets in their home countries. Remittances in kind can, in some instances, therefore be best understood in the context of the economic activities of a migrant family-based ‘transnational corporation’, where the sending of remittances in the form of goods is an integral part of the family’s international trade and investment activities…. Contrary to the orthodox policy recommendations which place much emphasis on the need to reduce consumption in order to promote savings, there appears to be substantial scope for policy intervention on the part of Pacific island governments to increase the flows of remittances into their

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economies. These could be channelled either into productive investment in their domestic economies or into the build up of financial assets to provide for longer-term income security without reducing present consumption levels. (Walker and Brown 1995:110–1) It is unlikely that these conclusions will go unchallenged. The argument about unproductive consumption of remittances is firmly established in the literature on migration and development in Oceania and many other parts of the world. However, the much more explicit attention being focused on the volume and use of remittances which are transferred through informal channels, coupled with increasing recognition of the need to incorporate the findings from micro-level research into analyses of savings and investment in Pacific countries, is likely to favour less pessimistic perspectives on remittance use than have been emphasised to date. Appreciation of the trans-national social contexts within which these remittance transfers are embedded is playing a major role in encouraging a more positive perspective on the international migration of Pacific peoples. This social context lies at the heart of Bertram and Watters’ model of MIRAB economies: it has been termed, suggestively, a ‘transnational corporation of kin’ (Marcus 1981). Transnational corporations of kin Hau’ofa (1994b:156) has argued that ‘[t]he resources of Samoans, Cook Islanders, Niueans, Tokelauans, Tuvaluans, I-Kiribatis, Indo-Fijians and Tongans are no longer confined to their national boundaries; they are located wherever these people are living permanently or otherwise’. Evidence of this is seen, in his view, everyday in the seaports and airports of Pacific countries where consignments of goods from what he calls ‘homes abroad’ are unloaded, and goods from the homelands are loaded. Supporting the arguments made by Connell, Brown, Foster and Walker in the studies referred to above, he notes: Construction materials, agricultural machinery, motor vehicles, other heavy goods, and a myriad of other things are sent from relatives abroad, while handicrafts, tropical fruits and rootcrops, dried marine creatures, kava and other delectables are despatched from the homelands. Although this flow of goods is not generally included in official statistics, yet so much of the welfare of ordinary people of Oceania depends on informal movement along ancient routes drawn in bloodlines invisible to the enforcers of the laws of confinement and regulated mobility…. [Islanders] are once again enlarging their world, establishing new resource bases and expanding networks for circulation. (Hau’ofa 1994b:156)


The process of ‘world enlargement’ to which Hau’ofa refers is considered to be a deliberate strategy by Polynesian extended families to gain access to opportunities for education, employment, material goods, welfare support, indeed all of the essentials for a rising material standard of living in the modern capitalist world for their own generation as well as for future generations. This strategy involves maintaining a strong connection to the places they term ‘home’— the rural and urban communities where they have rights to land and where their indigenous cultures and languages are rooted—;as well as establishing bases in towns and cities in a number of countries overseas. These bases take their human form in the presence of kinsfolk who have residence rights and, sometimes, citizenship rights in other countries. A collective strategy of creating multilocal, multinational communities of kin or, in the words of Marcus (1981), Bertram and Watters (1985, 1986) and a number of contributors to the debates surrounding the concept of MIRAB economies (e.g. Brown and Connell 1993a; Hooper 1993; James 1991, 1993; Underhill 1989; Watters 1990), establishing ‘transnational corporation of kin’ has been emphasised in much of the recent research on international migration in Oceania. The operation of these kinship networks to promote development both in the islands as well as amongst Pacific islanders living overseas, is graphically illustrated in what is probably a rather extreme case of mutually supportive exchange and production relationships involving Tongans on Tongatapu and in Sydney, Australia. The example comes from a study of the operation of the informal economy, via the ‘flea market’, in Tonga: D is a man in his mid-forties, from a rural village on the main island of Tongatapu. There he has a farm and an agricultural equipment leasing business. He has a stall in the [flea] market which he operates two days a week, depending on supplies of goods to sell. The goods on sale consist almost entirely of second-hand clothing (apart from a few toiletry items) which are sent by his relatives in Sydney. His parents and seven brothers and sisters live there. They send him container loads of agricultural equipment and second-hand clothing for his leasing business and market stall. He returns the containers to Sydney filled with cassava for the metropolitan market. Over the last year he had earned T$100,000 from his cassava exports. When asked what he did with the profits from these enterprises, he indicated that he was in the process of building a shopping centre in Nuku’alofa. (Brown and Connell 1993b:638) This man is not too dissimilar in terms of the use of his kinship networks to expand the world of his economic activity from Hau’ofa’s Tongan friend who lives in Berkeley, California. His ‘story’ is also recounted because it illustrates the operation of the ‘transnational corporation of kin’ from the perspective of a Pacific Islander living in a city in the United States.

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He is not an educated man. He works on people’s yards, trimming hedges and trees, and laying driveways and footpaths. But every three months or so he flies to Fiji, buys eight to ten thousand dollars worth of kava [a root used to make a drink favoured by Fijians, Tongans, Western Samoans and ni Vanuata], takes it on the plane flying him back to California, and sells it from his home. He has never heard of dependency, and if he were told of it, it would hold no real meaning for him. He told me in Honolulu that he was bringing a cooler full of T-shirts, some for the students at the University with whom he often goes when he stays in Suva, and the rest for his relatives in Tonga, where he goes for a week or so while his kava is being gathered, pounded and bagged there. He would later fill the cooler with seafoods to take back to California, where he has two sons he wants to put through college…. There are thousands like him, who are flying back and forth across national boundaries, the International Dateline, and the Equator, far above and completely undaunted by the deadly serious discourses below on the nature of the Pacific Century, the Asia/Pacific coprosperity sphere, and the dispositions of the post-Cold War Pacific Rim, cultivating their ever growing universe in their own ways, which is as it should be, for therein lies their independence. (Hau’ofa 1994b:160) Powering these transnational exchanges are two sets of forces: on the one hand, the social networks and the exchanges in money, goods and what James (1991) calls the ‘human remittances’ or children sent to live with and assist families either at home, in the islands, or in the new homelands, overseas; on the other, the economic imperatives which are driving a burgeoning ‘trade’ in island produce and manufactured goods from metropolitan countries through the informal channels that link family members in different countries (Ward 1997). Understanding the operation of these ventures, which are predicated on the processes of migration and remittances, and the aid transfers which pay for the infrastructure that helps make the ventures possible and profitable, requires an appreciation of the multilocal and multinational identities which increasing numbers of Pacific peoples have. These identities have, in the words of James (1993:147) made possible ‘a great deal of ingenious indigenous entrepreneurial endeavour as people create durable income-producing arrangements from the opportunities which the expansion of external relations offers them’. Capitalising on investment and cyberspace opportunities Perhaps the strangest case of ‘ingenious entrepreneurial opportunities’ associated with the expansion of external relations in Polynesia can be found in the case of Tuvalu—one of the smallest independent nations in the world (resident population 9,000; land area, scattered over 8 atolls and reef islands, totalling 25 square kilometres). On 1 October 1998, the Tuvaluans celebrated 20 years of


independence from the former British colony of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands (Waqa 1998). They also used the occasion to celebrate the signing of an agreement with a Canadian communications company (Information.Ca Corporation) giving the company exclusive rights to market Tuvalu’s internet two letter suffix, .tv. Waqa (1998:16) goes on to observe that, ‘Before December 31 1998, Tuvalu is due to collect an upfront payment of US$50 million. After that they expect between US$60 million and US$100 million a year in a projected revenue split of 65 per cent to Tuvalu and 35 per cent to their Torontobased partners’. Since its independence in 1978 Tuvalu has been regarded by most ‘experts’ as one of the least developed countries in the region. The major sources of government revenue since the late 1980s have been remittances from contract labour working for overseas shipping lines and the income generated by the Tuvalu Trust Fund—a kind of ‘family trust’ set up to provide financial support for infrastructural development and maintenance (Fisk and Mellor 1986). Tuvalu’s characteristically postmodern cyberspace deal with Information.Ca will make the inhabitants of these coral islands the richest nation, on a per capita basis, in the region. This must be the most unusual ‘from rags to riches’ story for any nation in the late twentieth century. Representations of Tuvalu and its people by ‘palagi’ (Europeans) have always highlighted the limited options available for Western-style economic growth and an associated materialist lifestyle. I recall my own ‘geography’ of Tuvalu and Kiribati, its former partner in the Gilbert and Ellice Islands Colony, written in 1967 (Bedford 1967). It is full of descriptors and metaphors for ‘smallness’, ‘isolation’, ‘fragmentation’—classic attributes of the geographies of countries in Oceania at this time (e.g. Cumberland 1954; Ward 1967). What impressed me most about coral atolls and reef islands was their physical limitations and the problems such limitations might pose for future social and economic development (Bedford 1998). My geography of Tuvalu and Kiribati in the 1960s was clearly of the kind which Hau’ofa (1994b:150) has termed ‘a belittling view that has been unwittingly propagated, mostly by social scientists who have sincere concern for the welfare of Pacific peoples’. New forms of dependency Tuvalu’s story of post-colonial development demonstrates that even the smallest, ‘least developed’ countries can exploit external linkages in innovative ways to underpin human security. Unlike many of the other Polynesian countries, Tuvalu did not have special arrangements in place on independence to ensure that Tuvaluans could establish communities in New Zealand, Australia or the United States, and thus evolve the meta-society structures that characterise contemporary Samoan, Tongan, Cook Island and Niuean ‘worlds’. However, the Tuvalu government was able to persuade the former colonial ruler (the United Kingdom) and its two main ‘settler colonies’ on the southern Pacific rim

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(Australia and New Zealand) to contribute to a trust fund which would be invested offshore in order to generate an annual income to supplement the Government’s current revenue account. Under the terms of an International Trust Agreement, signed in Fiji in June 1987 by representatives of the governments of Australia, New Zealand, Tuvalu and the United Kingdom, the fund was set up to assist Tuvalu finance chronic budget deficits, underpin economic development and achieve greater financial autonomy by reducing reliance on overseas aid (Government of Tuvalu 1987, 1997). A Tuvaluan economist who has written a brief history of the Tuvalu Trust Fund (TTF), notes that: The TTF had an initial capital of $27 million in 1987. Prior to the formation of the Fund the Government carried a deficit of $376,000 which was financed from an overdraft from the National Bank of Tuvalu (Fairbairn 1993). Since the establishment of the Fund the Government has been able to repay its overdraft of $2.9 million in 1992 and has continuously employed a balanced recurrent budget since 1994 (Government of Tuvalu 1997). Between 1990 and 1996 the TTF contributed 19 per cent of the Government’s total revenue which is a little higher than import taxes (18 per cent) and fisheries fees (16 per cent), the next most important sources of revenue (Bell 1998)…. As at April 1997 the maintained real value of the Fund is $48.3 million (Government of Tuvalu 1998). (Simati 1998:16–17; all sums of money in $Australian, the currency of Tuvalu) The TTF has been an extremely successful venture, not withstanding the vagaries of international share markets over the period 1987–98. Prudent management has ensured that the Fund has continued to grow, and become the main anchor to the Government’s fiscal policies. Dependency theorists would be appalled to think that a country’s financial wellbeing lies in the investment decisions of two groups of accountants and investment specialists in Australia. Yet, as Simati goes on to argue, rather paradoxically: By creating a Trust Fund that is invested overseas and paying interest into the economy, Tuvalu can become more autonomous in its development decisions…. Tuvalu can benefit from other affluent nations albeit with switching roles, this time with Tuvalu exploiting the financial markets and developed labour markets [specialist investment advice] of the developed world…. The Tuvalu Trust Fund is merely a process of utilising and maximising a unique comparative advantage. It is invested in a more developed country because like migrants (‘M’ element in MIRAB) it can have better returns than if it was invested in the domestic economy. It does not imply a lack of entrepreneurship or diligence on the part of Tuvaluans.


On the contrary, the TTF arises precisely because of the economic responsiveness and flexibility of the Tuvaluans in their very open economy. Given the advancement in the telecommunications, television, computer and internet technology, the TTF can overcome the severe development constraints imposed in Tuvalu by its remoteness and distance from markets, environmental fragility, aid red tape and limited migrants. (Simati 1998:21–6) The recent agreement between the Tuvalu Government and Information.Ca Corporation to market Tuvalu’s ‘.tv’ Internet domain, especially in North America, is another example of the flexibility of Tuvaluans in their very open economy. Information.Ca is a Canadian corporation which has been set up to develop and market interactive advertising systems on the Internet. Basically, what the company proposes to do is to register and maintain domain names in the ‘.tv’ name space in Internet addresses for companies and organisations at similar cost to that charged for use of the ‘.com’, ‘edu’ and ‘.gov’ domains. This is truly a ‘windfall’ for Tuvalu. The income which is expected to be generated annually through the venture could well exceed the revenue generated by the Tuvalu Trust Fund. It is not surprising, therefore, that considerable optimism about the future for this Pacific micro-state was being expressed at the twentieth anniversary celebrations of independence in October 1998. As the Prime Minister (Bikenibeu Paeniu) put it: This is a rare deal. It is the first time anything like this has happened. We are very open, and we have transparent partners. We will have two Tuvaluan members on the board of directors and we will have access to audited accounts. We have nothing to invest in the deal. We will be sharing gross revenue. The expected earnings from this deal will make a lot of money for our country and very much put our country on the market. (Quoted in Islands Business 1998:34) Transnational communities, remittance economies, Trust Funds, Internet marketing schemes and a host of other novel arrangements are challenging our approaches to the study of human security. National boundaries have become more ‘permeable’, ‘flaky’ and ‘transient’, returning to their precolonial realities in the vast expanses of Oceania. As Hau’ofa (1994b:160) so graphically emphasises, and the case study of Tuvalu so clearly illustrates, we must ‘overturn all hegemonic views that aim ultimately to confine us again, physically and psychologically, in the tiny spaces that we have resisted accepting as our sole appointed places, and from which we have recently liberated ourselves. We must not allow anyone to belittle us again, and take away our freedom’.

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Foster, J. (1995) ‘The relationship between remittances and savings in small Pacific Island states: some econometric evidence’, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 4(1):117– 38. Fuka, M.L.A. (1985) ‘The Auckland Tongan community and overseas remittances’, unpublished M.A. thesis, University of Auckland. Government of Tuvalu (1987) Tuvalu Trust Fund Agreement, Funafuti: Government of Tuvalu. ——(1997) Tuvalu Trust Fund 10th Anniversary Profile, 1987–1997, Funafuti: Government of Tuvalu. ——(1998) Tuvalu Trust Fund Advisory Committee 1998. First Half-Year Report, Funafuti: Government of Tuvalu. Haberkorn, G. (1989) Port Vila: Transit Station or Final Stop? Recent Developments in NiVanuatu Population Mobility, National Centre for Development Studies research monograph no. 21, Canberra: The Australian National University. Hau’ofa, E. (1994a) ‘Pasts to remember’, paper presented at the Pacific Writers’ Forum, East-West Centre, Honolulu, August. ——(1994b) ‘Our sea of islands’, The Contemporary Pacific 6(1):147–63. ——(1998) ‘The Ocean in us’, The Contemporary Pacific, 10(2):392–410. Hooper, A. (1982) Aid and Dependency in a Small Pacific Territory, Working paper no. 62, Auckland: Department of Anthropology, University of Auckland. ——(1993) ‘The MIRAB transition in Fakaofo, Tokelau’, Pacific Viewpoint 34(2): 241– 64. Islands Business (1998) ‘Tuvalu’s dream deal’, Islands Business, September, p. 34. James, K. (1991) ‘Migration and remittances: a Tongan village perspective’, Pacific Viewpoint 32(1):1–23. ——(1993) ‘The rhetoric and reality of change and development in small Pacific communities’, Pacific Viewpoint 34(2):135–52. Larner, W. (1991) ‘Labour migration and female labour: Samoan women in New Zealand’, Australian and New Zealand Journal of Sociology 27:19–33. Le Heron, R. and Pawson, E. (1996) Changing Places: New Zealand in the Nineties, Auckland: Longman. Liki, A. (1990) ‘Migration of Samoans in Hamilton: a case study’, unpublished B.Soc.Sc. (Hons) research report, University of Waikato, Hamilton. Loomis, T. (1990) Cook Island remittances: volumes, determinants and uses’, in J. Connell (ed.) Migration and Development in the South Pacific, Pacific research monograph no. 24, Canberra: National Centre for Development Studies, The Australian National University, pp. 61–81. Macpherson, C. (1997) ‘The Polynesian diaspora: new communities and new questions’, in Ken’ichi Sudo and Shuji Yoshida (eds) Contemporary Migration in Oceania: Diaspora and Network, Osaka: Japan Center for Area Studies (JCAS Symposium series no. 3), pp. 77–100. Marcus, G.E. (1981) ‘Power on the extreme periphery: the perspective of Tongan elites on the modern world system’, Pacific Viewpoint 22(1):48–64. Mellor, C.S. (1997) ‘Economic restructuring in the Cook Islands: a review’, Pacific Economic Bulletin 12(2):17–24. Mitchell, G. (1978) ‘Village agriculture and development on Niue Island’, unpublished M.A.thesis, University of Canterbury.

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Pitt, D. and Macpherson, C. (1974) Emerging Pluralism. The Samoan Community in New Zealand, Auckland: Longman. Portes, A. (1996) ‘Globalisation from below: the rise of transnational communities’, in W.P.Smith and R.P.Korczenwicz (eds) Latin America in the World Economy, Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, pp. 151–68. Shankman, P. (1976) Migration and Underdevelopment: the Case of Western Samoa, Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Simati, A.M. (1998) ‘A window for development: Tuvalu Trust Fund’, unpublished B.Soc.Sc.(Hons) research report, University of Waikato, Hamilton. Spoonley, P. (1997) ‘Migration and the reconstruction of citizenship in late twentieth century Aotearoa’, in R.Bedford and P.Spoonley (eds) Migration and Citizenship, Aotearoa/New Zealand migration research network research papers, Auckland: Department of Sociology, Massey University at Albany, pp. 21–40. Stanwix, C. (1994) ‘To the islands: Fijian Migration and remittances’, unpublished B.A. (Hons) thesis, University of Sydney. Stanwix, C. and Connell, J. (1995) ‘To the islands: the remittances of Fijians in Sydney’, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 4(1):69–88. Stark, O. (1991a) The Migration of Labor, Oxford: Basil Blackwell. ——(1991b) ‘Migration in LDCs: risk, remittances and the family’, Finance and Development (Washington, DC) 28(4):39–41. Thaman, K.H. (1985) ‘The defining distance: people, places and worldview’, in M. Chapman (ed.) Mobility and Identity in the Island Pacific, special issue of Pacific Viewpoint 26(1):106–15. Tongamoa, T. (1987) ‘Migration, remittances and development: a Tongan perspective’, unpublished M.A. thesis, University of Sydney. Underhill, Y. (1989) ‘Population mobility as a household strategy: the case of Manihiki Atoll, Cook Islands’, unpublished M.A. thesis, University of Hawaii. Vete, M.F. (1995) ‘The determinants of remittances among Tongans in Auckland’, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 4(1):55–68. Waddell, E., Naidu, V. and Hau’ofa, E. (eds) (1993) A New Oceania: Rediscovering our Sea of Islands, Suva: School of Social and Economic Development, University of the South Pacific. Walker, A. and Brown, R.P.C. (1995) ‘From consumption to savings? Interpreting Tongan and Western Samoan sample survey data on remittances’, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal 4(1):89–116. Waqa, V. (1998) ‘A new high for Tuvalu: the plan for 2015 and beyond’, Islands Business, October, pp. 16–18. Ward, R.G. (1967) ‘The consequences of smallness in Polynesia’, in B.Benedict (ed.) Problems of Smaller Territories, London: Institute of Commonwealth Studies, commonwealth papers no. 10, University of London, pp. 81–96. ——(1980) ‘Migration, myth and magic in Papua New Guinea’, Australian Geographical Studies 18:119–34. ——(1997) ‘Expanding worlds of Oceania: implications of migration’, in Ken’ichi Sudo and Shuji Yoshida (eds) Contemporary Migration in Oceania: Diaspora and Network, Osaka: Japan Center for Area Studies (JCAS Symposium series no. 3), pp. 179–96, Watters, R.F. (1987) ‘The political economy of decolonisation and nationhood in small Pacific societies’, in A.Hooper et al. (eds) Class and Culture in the South Pacific,


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8 Tourism, globalisation and critical security in Burma and Thailand Michael J.G.Parnwell

Introduction Tourism—a positive force for world peace, security, justice and cooperation; a means of forestalling wars, combating racism and spreading wealth. Such were the positive views expressed, inter alia, by President Kennedy in the 1960s, the Hilton Hotels chain in the 1970s, and the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe in the 1980s (Hall 1994). During the 1990s, there has been a veritable sea-change in opinion and attitude: tourism is now seen by many as an international pariah which is threatening societies, cultures and environments, social justice and human rights. The tourism industry does not involve the interaction of people on equal terms. It is seen as an industry for the privileged which, particularly in the developing world context, is predicated upon, takes advantage of and contributes significantly to the underprivilege of others. It is an industry of victims as well as winners. Victimisation, villainy, vulnerability and inequality—these are all anathema to the condition of security, and it is with the security impact of tourism development that this chapter is principally concerned. The discussion is set within the framework of the ongoing ‘critical security’ or ‘human security’ discourse which is attempting to draw the field of security studies away from its traditional concern with military and power relations between nationstates, and into the social, economic, political and environmental realms, with concern for problems and processes occurring at the subnational level. An important stimulus for the human security discourse has come from post-Cold War changes in the geopolitical mosaic, and the increased space which has thereby been created for institutions, actors and processes operating at the global, regional and local levels to influence these security outcomes. With tourism placed near the leading edge of globalisation and, in the Pacific-Asian context, regionalisation, it is appropriate to examine its impact on human security within the globalisation framework. In seeking to understand how and why tourism affects human security, attention will focus on the process of global-local interaction (Berner and Korff 1995; Cox 1995; Dicken 1994; Lipietz 1993; Peck and Tickell 1994). The discussion will show how alliances forged between powerful and influential

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actors at the international and domestic levels allow elite interests to be promoted ahead of those of society at large, a situation which is often having a severely deleterious impact on critical security at the subnational level. Three case studies are used to exemplify different aspects of the security impact of tourism development. The first concerns the human rights impact of tourism in Burma, and as such is used broadly to illustrate the impact of tourism on ‘political security’. The second looks at the HIV/AIDS crisis in Thailand, showing how its close association with the phenomenon of sex tourism has led to the significant compromising of security in the social or societal realm. Finally, the quite recent boom in golf-related tourism development in Thailand and elsewhere in mainland Southeast Asia is used to highlight some of the effects of tourism on ‘environmental security’. All three cases show how tourism development, far from representing a means of emancipation and empowerment for the disadvantaged elements of society, is typically superimposed upon, and subsequently reinforces, the sociopolitical status quo. Globalisation and the control of tourism development A recurring theme in the recent globalisation discourse has been the growing sense of a ‘shrinking’ or ‘borderless’ world (Allen and Hamnett 1995): a world where the nation-state as a structure and concept is seen as increasingly irrelevant (Hoogvelt 1997). Tourism is often portrayed as being at the vanguard of this process (Cater 1995; Wackermann 1997), taking people to the furthest corners of the world, drawing people ever more completely into the global economic system, and corrupting complex and vulnerable local cultures with some form of globalising value system (Amin 1997; Mowforth and Munt 1998). There is no doubt that a rapid ‘space-time compression’ is taking place (Harvey 1989), and that in some realms (e.g. international financial dealings, information flows in hyperspace) the process of interaction is truly global in scope, but in most cases the processes which are occurring within the global system are neither universal nor entirely new (Hirst and Thompson 1996; Hoogvelt 1997; Sibley 1997). As such, globalisation represents little more than a ‘convenient spatial metaphor’ (Kelly 1997:154) and ‘an interesting story but a poor basis for analysis’ (Mowforth and Munt 1998:21). In seeking to establish a framework that can provide the basis for meaningful analysis, the role of local agency has reasserted itself in the globalisation discourse. Amin (1997:133) interprets globalisation from the perspective of the ‘interdependence and intermingling of global, distant and local logics’ which leads to the hybridisation of social, economic and political life. The local, national and global are thus drawn together in complex interrelationships, rather than the global simply swamping and ultimately superseding the national and subnational. Therefore, ‘to think of the global as flows of dominance and transformation and the local as fixities of tradition and continuity…denies the interaction between the two as well as the evolutionary logics of both’ (Amin

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1997:129). As such, any inquiry into the implications of such global processes as international tourism must leave space for consideration of the role and reactions of actors operating at and below the level of the nation-state. The way that global processes and forces are negotiated, regulated and interpreted at the local level may be just as important as the nature and extent of globalisation itself. Thus, in spite of rhetoric to the contrary, we continue to live in a world of nation-states, no less so in the context of tourism. Although the global extent of tourism development may give the impression of a ‘borderless world’, the reality is one where states retain a considerable degree of power to regulate the access of tourists and the tourism industry to their domestic space and resources. Thus, although the imagery of tourism as the world’s largest and most global industry is worthy of retention, how it interfaces with and impacts upon host countries requires an informed understanding of local agency. In the context of Southeast Asia, it also requires the introduction, or even the privileging, of a regional layer in the global-local sandwich: as with many parts of the world today, globalisation has been superseded by regionalisation (Amin 1997; Hoogvelt 1997). The power and influence of the state may also be circumscribed by the uneven and unequal nature of globalisation (Sibley 1997). States may be pressured into a situation where, although they retain nominal control over strategic decisions, they may find the inducements of the global system hard to resist. Thus, rather than the regulation of globalisation, whereby the state picks and chooses those aspects of international engagement which may suit the country’s particular interests and needs, governments are more typically involved in regulation for globalisation, anxiously seeking to secure global competitiveness to ensure that some crumbs fall in their direction (Amin 1997; Hoogvelt 1997; Kelly 1997). An important source of the government’s anxiety may be the powerful elite classes who are keen to reap the economic (and political) rewards to be gained from internationalisation. In furthering their interests, they may forge alliances with international capitalist institutions—what Lanfant (1980:25) has called ‘reciprocal interpenetration’—and thus become the conduits through which international capital penetrates the nation-state. The stronger this alliance, and thus the more powerful the elite conduits are, the more marginalised may become the role of the state as a means of regulating the process of global economic engagement (Parnwell and Wongsuphasawat 1997). As the following case studies clearly show, the scope for government regulation of international capital operating via domestic elite conduits may be further constrained where the space between actor and regulator in this regard is limited or non-existent: that is, where the elite business classes are closely interwoven with, or simultaneously are, the elite ruling classes. Here, the danger is that the regulation of international capital will become guided by elite selfinterest rather than the wider interests of the society. In such circumstances, it becomes easy to confuse the domestic facilitation of international businesses such as tourism with the relentless globalisation of the tourism industry. The global and the local here form an uninterrupted continuum, devoid of layers—


and thus barriers or ‘borders’—which might serve to check or regulate the process of globalisation. It is with the domestic regulatory environment within which international tourism occurs, and its implications for ordinary citizens, that this chapter is primarily concerned. It aims to show how the global tourism industry, operating through domestic political and economic ‘conduits’, is affecting the political, societal and environmental security of ordinary citizens in Burma and Thailand. In particular it aims to test the contention that: the differentiating factor in determining the positive or negative impact of tourism development on the host community is the source of regulatory power—especially whether or not the host community has access to that power. [I]f the power is in the wrong hands, [it] may disadvantage the community. (Hall 1994:53) Is it true that the dominant script of globalisation is the victim role it ascribes to workers and communities (Kelly 1997)? This question will be addressed through the lens of the current debate on ‘critical security’, which I shall now very briefly outline. Critical security The last decade or so has witnessed a ‘demilitarization of security thinking’ (Graenger 1996:111) and a parallel retreat of the state as the principal unit of analysis in security studies (Buzan 1993; Nicholson 1993). In part, this is because the post-Cold War era has seen the emergence of powerful international trends which appear to have significantly changed the context within which security studies is placed. Booth (1991) identifies the growth of complex interdependence, the erosion of sovereignty, the internationalisation of the world economy and the growing scope for non-state actors as fundamental features of the turbulent post-Cold War era. This changing context has thereby created space for the analysis of security to be drawn into fields and disciplines beyond its traditional heartland of strategic studies and international relations, aided by the dawning realisation that long-standing problems such as poverty, inequality, exploitation and short-termism have significant implications for the security of individuals, groups and, ultimately, states and regions (Ullman 1983). A world no longer shaped by superpower influence leaves scope for powerful groupings, both international and intranational, to wrest the initiative in controlling and moulding the world system, adding increasingly to the anxiety of the marginal, the peripheral and the powerless. The state also becomes increasingly irrelevant in the face of challenges to security which require cooperation on a genuinely global scale—such as environmental degradation, trade, migration, AIDS (Paskins 1993). Meanwhile, democratisation and the


emergence of global humanitarian networks have gradually eroded the internal autonomy of states, creating a ‘multi-centric’ as opposed to a ‘state-centric’ world (Sørensen 1996). New challenges to security studies are thus emerging, leading to a radical reassessment of the notion of security (Paskins 1993). Scope has been found for a wide variety of disciplines to enter the fray, and for fresh fields of study—such as tourism—to claim some relevance and value to the field of security studies. A whole gamut of fresh dimensions has suddenly appeared on the security agenda, falling broadly under the headings of economic, political, societal and environmental security (Buzan 1993). The political realm includes restrictions on the liberty of people or constrained opportunities for autonomous action (Ullman 1983), political oppression and the restriction of human rights (Booth 1991; Clements 1992), exploitation of the weak by the powerful (Waever 1993), and a lack of equity and justice (Pasha 1996). The economic realm includes factors which may threaten people’s livelihoods and welfare, such as trade instability (Thomas 1987) and the threat of economic collapse (Booth 1991), threats of impoverishment and to the quality of life (Ullman 1983) and restrictions on the provision of basic human needs (Booth 1991; Thomas 1987). The societal dimension includes restrictions on the expression of societal and cultural identities (Buzan 1993), ethnic rivalry and conflict (Booth 1991; Pasha 1996) and threats to the cohesion of marginal societies (Waever 1993). Finally, the environmental dimension includes the degradation of natural ecosystems (Ayoob 1995; Booth 1991; Magno 1997; Thomas 1992) and growing resource scarcity (Booth 1991; Ullman 1983), linked perhaps to overpopulation or migration, and leading potentially to conflict over natural resources (Thomas 1992). Insecurity may thus derive from vulnerability to danger, anxiety, fear and instability (Ayoob 1995), and from threats to liberty (Booth 1991), selfdetermination (Thomas 1992), self-expression and self-identification. These may emanate from processes of subordination (Pasha 1996), dependency (Ayoob 1995), exploitation, domination, disempowerment and disenfranchisement, and may be conditioned by the distribution of power and control. Paradoxically, security can be enhanced through democracy, freedom, distributive justice and emancipation (Booth 1991). The tourism process So where does tourism fit into the above discussion? First, it fits the framework of globalisation—which itself has underpinned the critical security discourse— because it constitutes a quite central component of the internationalisation process. It epitomises the globalisation of trade, and is built in some considerable measure upon the international operations of powerful capitalist corporations and institutions. Second, tourism is among the most influential forces in affecting those societies with which it comes into contact, and as such constitutes a substantial potential threat to their security. Third, international tourism epitomises many of


the elements that were shown above to be important in determining both winners and losers in the security stakes. It is an industry based upon unequal exchange, exploitation, power and control, where the state is quite often bypassed by both international and local actors and thereby often placed in the role of passive facilitator. Before moving on to look at empirical examples of the security impact of tourism, it is first necessary to identify and operationalise the constituent elements of the processes involved. To understand both the influence and the impact of the tourism process on human security, we need to look particularly closely at the point of articulation between internal and external forces. Tourism, like other forms of population movement, involves people travelling from one place to another in response to some form of motivation. As with migration (Parnwell 1993), the motivation behind tourism is a combination of ‘push’ and ‘pull’ forces, such as the need temporarily to escape the pressures of work and modern living, on the one hand, and the desire to escape to places offering some or all of the more common attractions such as sun, sand, sea, societies, shopping, scenery, sensations and so on. At the same time, a rather different set of motivations is present in the receiving society, driven predominantly by economic considerations—profit, income, employment, opportunity, diversification, decentralisation and the like. Perhaps to a greater degree than is common with most other kinds of population movement, tourism typically involves a quite significant degree of facilitation: international tourism in particular may only be possible, especially on a mass scale, with the support of myriad supporting agencies and institutions. It is the degree of facilitation involved which is significant in respect of the impact of the industry on the security of the host society, most particularly because it allows the insertion of one or several layers between the two principal sets of actors—the tourists and the hosts. Their insertion also allows the introduction of agendas, mechanisms and structures which would not necessarily be present (or at least not to the same degree and in the same way) in a simple and direct interaction between host and guest. It is typically the myriad capitalist institutions—travel agencies, tour companies, airlines, hotel chains, transportation firms—which act as the principal brokers between the tourists and the receiving society. Their insertion significantly shifts the underlying motivation from the pursuit of, say, aesthetic, relaxational or sensational experiences to the pursuit of profit. Another set of intermediate actors is important in accounting for the behaviour and activities of tourists when in the host society. The industry’s promoters and advertisers play a significant role in portraying images of, and influencing behaviour and attitudes towards, the host society (Urry 1990). The underlying objective is typically to engender a ‘carefree holiday’, but this may also serve to remove from the tourist a sense of moral responsibility for the effects their visit is having. A third intermediate layer which this chapter shows to be the most important in respect of human security, occurs where larger-scale institutions (both


external and internal to a host country) link up with or operate through local institutions and agencies—the process referred to earlier as ‘reciprocal interpenetration’. Sovereign states have well-established mechanisms for channelling and controlling the activities of international firms, and even below the layer of state institutions it is often essential for the agents of international tourism to work through and with local actors and institutions—;what I call here the ‘conduits of capitalism’. The partnership between external and internal agencies, driven primarily by the pursuit of profit, and to some extent also power, almost inevitably allows or even requires the integration of external forces with local social and political structures within the framework of tourism development. Where these structures, quite typically in the Southeast Asian context, feature wide differentials in terms of wealth, power and so on, these very quickly provide the thumbprint for the way that tourism operates locally. The insertion of powerful and profit-motivated agencies is significant in helping to explain some of the outcomes of the tourism process in respect of human security. It appears significantly to erode two important ingredients: conscience on the part of the tourists, and choice on the part of the hosts. However, it is important to point out that tourism is largely slotting into a prevailing set of systems and structures, rather than creating them. Tourism is thus just one of the multifarious forces which are simultaneously being brought to bear on the host societies—it is neither possible nor desirable to view it in isolation from the context within which it occurs. There are also, of course, various actors and agencies—non-governmental organisations and advocacy groups, for example—which are seeking, with a growing degree of success, to counter the direct and indirect effects of tourism on host societies. Their involvement emphasises that the process of tourism development is neither unidirectional nor static, nor is it entirely conditional upon or contributing to negative circumstances. Nonetheless, it would appear that the effectiveness of such organisations and actors is also heavily circumscribed by the prevailing sociopolitical context. Where this is amenable to change, some of the negative effects of tourism can be and are being confronted and ameliorated; where it is not, tourism will continue significantly to impair human security in the host society. The following case studies and ensuing discussion suggest that, in the Southeast Asian context at least, the latter scenario is presently more apposite than the former. Tourism, human rights and political security in Burma ‘Travel, it is said, broadens the mind. But there are times when breadth of vision dictates that travel be curtailed in the interests of justice and humanity.’ (detained Burmese opposition leader Aung San Suu Kyi: quoted in The Independent 1996). It was shown at the outset that the restriction of human rights constitutes a significant barrier to political security (Booth 1991; Clements 1992). It removes


the protection to which people are fundamentally entitled from oppressive rulers, governments, systems and structures (Humana 1992). Further, it restricts welfare, dignity and autonomy, which the Universal Declaration of Human Rights decrees are inalienable human rights (United Nations 1983). The erosion of political rights, moreover, provides a strong link into all other facets of human security—economic, societal, environmental and so on. Burma has an appalling human rights record, even allowing for the fact that most conventional human rights treaties are strongly influenced by Western liberal traditions and values (Humana 1992). According to the World Human Rights Guide, the country had a human rights rating of 17 per cent in 1992— equal to that of Iraq, and below those of China (21 per cent), Angola (27 per cent), Afghanistan (28 per cent) and Indonesia (34 per cent) (Humana 1992). Burma has been subjected to half a century of military and elite domination of the political process and the economy, and the armed forces have been in firm control since formally seizing power in March 1962. A quarter-century of economic isolationism ensued. In response to a looming economic crisis in the late 1980s, the junta adopted severe austerity measures which contributed to widespread dissent and political turmoil (Leifer 1995). Demonstrations and protests were bloodily put down in March 1988 when, by most accounts, upwards of 3,000 protesters were killed by the military (Pilger 1997). As a sign of its immense complacency, the military regime then allowed political parties to register in 1989 and an election to be held in May 1990, expecting to obtain a landslide victory, only to experience a humiliating landslide defeat (the National League for Democracy, headed by Daw Aung San Suu Kyi, won 82 per cent of the seats). The results were declared null and void, opposition leaders incarcerated, and business has since continued much as before, stutteringly but heavily controlled by and for the benefit of the military elite. It is against this backdrop that the current move to boost international tourism has to be seen. Desperate for hard currency, and to breathe life into a moribund economy, the junta has sought to follow the lead of neighbouring countries in promoting rapid tourism development. Burma’s tourist attractions—principally culture, history/heritage and landscape—are diverse and considerable, all the more so given that the country’s charm and secrets have been largely kept from the prying eyes of the mass tourism market by Burma’s internal instability and suspicion towards the outside world. The military regime has been keen to cash in on the economic rewards and stimulus which a booming tourism industry would potentially bring, especially as these can be obtained at much lower cost in terms of investment in infrastructure and support systems than is the case with other forms of economic development, industrialisation in particular (Callahan 1996). However, the Burmese economy is virtually bankrupt, and thus the government lacks the resources needed to attract and support the high-spending segments of the international tourism industry. It has responded in two ways, both of which have significant implications for human rights and political


security. In part, it has turned to the international community for the investment resources necessary to develop its tourism infrastructure; and in part it has intensified the exploitation of the Burmese citizenry as a means of eking out its meagre resources. The latter response has led to direct abuses of human rights, whereas the former raises important questions about whether ‘constructive engagement’ by external economies represents a means of either fostering or forestalling internal change in Burma. There has been ‘a large increase in forced labour over the last five and a half years’ (BurmaNews Network 1996), coinciding with SLORC’s (the State Law and Order Restoration Council—the ruling regime in Burma) concerted push to engender economic development. The military regime is using its considerable power to ease funding constraints by coercing its citizens to facilitate infrastructural development. The International Federation of Free Trade Unions believes that 800,000 Burmese are being forced to work without pay or against their will, in the process contributing around 10 per cent of the country’s output (BurmaNews Network 1997). Meanwhile, a US Embassy economic trends survey claimed that forced labour accounts for approximately 3 per cent of Burma’s gross domestic product (The Nation, 7 August 1996). The International Labour Organisation has deplored ‘the serious situation prevailing in Myanmar over many years where systematically recourse was had to forced labour’ (Amnesty International 1997). There is also some compelling evidence to link the practice of forced labour directly to the development of tourism. According to John Jackson, spokesperson for the London-based Burma Action Group, ‘Burma is the only country in the world where mass human rights abuses [are] directly related to promotion of tourism. Nearly two million people were forced to work to restore roads, railways, temples and tourism sites’ (The Nation, 20 December 1996). In January 1996, the United Nations Human Rights rapporteur, Yozo Yokata, reported that Burma was thought to be using forced labour to restore landmarks such as Mandalay Palace for foreign tourists in an effort to promote Visit Myanmar Year (1996/7), and also using forced labour to upgrade the country’s railways and build runways for the new airport at Bassein (The Nation, 20 Decemberl996), adding that ‘many of the measures that the government has taken to prepare the country for foreign tourists reportedly constitute violations of human rights’ (BurmaNews Network 1996). SLORC denies that forced labour exists, and claims instead that the use of citizens in infrastructural projects is simply the continuation of a long-established tradition whereby people voluntarily contribute their labour to projects of communal benefit (BurmaNews Network 1996). In reality the ruling junta is obliged to use a whole variety of means of coercion to ensure citizens’ participation. The government levies special local taxes both as a means of raising revenue for its projects and as a way of mobilising labour. If local citizens will not or can not pay, they must instead undertake fifteen days of unpaid labour, according to Karen National Union (cited in New Frontiers,


November 1995). Such a burden on either/both income and labour is having significant effects on people’s livelihoods, thus affecting their economic as well as their political security. There is a further dimension to the human rights impact of tourism—the phenomenon of forced resettlement. There are two contexts for tourism-related resettlement in Burma: first, where urban people have been forced to move to make way for the infrastructure of tourism (and other developments); and second, where tourism has provided a pretext under which the persecution of ethnic minorities in Burma has been intensified. According to a report by John Pilger (1997), some 4,000 people have been forcibly relocated from Pagan to make way for tourism development, resettlement occurring in an area with inadequate housing provision and a poor living environment, and thus, for many, a significant deterioration in their quality of life. The International Confederation of Free Trade Unions claims that one million people have been forced to relocate from Rangoon alone to make way for the infrastructure of tourism and other developments associated with the recent influx of foreign investment, a situation which has allegedly been motivated as much by land-grabbing by the military, wishing to cash in on ensuing developments, as by genuinely economic considerations (BurmaNews Network 1997). The All Burma Students’ Democratic Front has claimed that ethnic minority peoples from more than two hundred villages in Thandaung township in the hills of northern Karen State were ordered from their homes by the Burmese authorities at the end of 1995 and required to live in a model ethnic village tourist attraction—a human zoo— which was to be constructed outside Rangoon in time for Visit Myanmar Year (New Frontiers, October 1995). The proposed one million hectare Myinmoletkat Nature Reserve, in Tenasserim Division, is projected to necessitate the enforced relocation of up to 30,000 (mainly Karen) villagers in the interests of creating a potential World Heritage Site which the government claims could attract ‘millions of tourists’ (Euro-BurmaNet, 30 March 1997; The Observer 1997). Background research for the nature reserve has involved several Western conservation groups who have faced international condemnation for the way that they have worked with the military regime to pursue a once in a lifetime conservation opportunity, irrespective of the human cost. A spokesperson for the Wildlife Conservation Society claimed: ‘sometimes we have to deal with repulsive regimes. We have to weigh up whether the conservation [and tourism] benefit is worth the risk of being seen, directly or indirectly, to be supporting these regimes’ (EuroBurmaNet, 30 March 1997). The answer in this instance would appear to have been a clear ‘yes’. According to the parameters which were introduced earlier in this chapter, the focus thus far has been on the interface between ‘local’ intermediate agencies and the host society. In the case of Burma, these local agencies overlap to a considerable degree with the various arms and institutions of the military government. In other words, the power structures into which the tourism industry


almost inevitably plugs are those mapped out by the prevailing political economy. This is not to suggest that tourism development is not taking place outside this system and structure, rather that it is very heavily dominated by the prevailing power structure in Burma— particularly the large-scale developments which are linked to the potentially lucrative ‘mass’ tourism market. The degree of direct interaction between tourists and hosts is heavily restricted. Accordingly, the security impact of tourism is very heavily circumscribed by the role, nature and agenda of intermediate agencies and institutions. Because the military government is so tightly in control of the economy (Steinberg 1989), it also strongly influences and controls the actions of extra-national institutions and agencies which are increasingly and necessarily becoming involved in tourism development. Although still extremely modest in volume relative to its ASEAN (Association of South-East Asian Nations) neighbours, the Burmese tourism industry has been growing rapidly since the opening up of the economy in the early 1990s. From 47,230 arrivals in 1993/94, and 95,400 in 1994/95, the figure was expected to increase dramatically to half a million during Visit Myanmar Year (1996/97). However, due to internal strife, the insufficiency of infrastructure, the delayed commencement of the promotion campaign, and also a counter-campaign by various advocacy groups, a more realistic figure was likely to be 200,000, which nevertheless represents a significant growth for the industry in recent years (EIU 1997). Although the recent dynamism of the tourism industry would appear, from the brief evidence presented above, to have compromised the political and economic security of those Burmese citizens who, by ‘virtue’ of location, ethnicity and/or inherent powerlessness, have found themselves in the path of tourism development, two counter-arguments might be made. First, these security (and other) outcomes may not be attributable to tourism per se, but are principally explained, as was discussed earlier, by the way that the tourism industry has been drawn into the prevailing political economy via its facilitators or ‘conduits’ who, in the Burmese case, are often indistinguishable from the ruling elite. However, this ‘old wine in a new bottle’ argument overlooks the fact that international tourism, as with foreign investment more generally, is providing the ruling regime with its lifeblood. It is quite widely held that the military government was on the brink of losing both political and economic control in 1988 (Steinberg 1989), and that it was only the enforced move towards economic liberalisation and the (successful) courtship of international capital that helped to extend the regime’s shelf-life. Second, the ruling junta might point to the wider developmental effects that a booming tourism sector brings to the economy as a whole. Leaving aside the fact that there is no reasonable justification for the abuse of human rights and thus the erosion of political security, the development argument does not stand up to closer scrutiny. Two brief examples to illustrate this point must suffice. First, the military elite has a substantial stake in the infrastructure of tourism—hotels,


airways, golf courses, complexes (BurmaNews Network 1997; The Nation, 20 December 1996). Indeed, ‘most formal tourism enterprises either have direct links with SLORC or must pay off influential local people in the military’ (Burma Debate, June 1994). This determines that very few of the economic benefits from tourism (at least within its ‘formal’ sector) ‘trickle down’ to the ordinary Burmese citizenry. According to one renowned Thai social critic: the Burmese junta…attempts to have dominion over anything that may give rise to opposition to their regime…the result of such control is that much of the [country’s] resources are squandered to provide for the vested interests of the few army generals…. While this happens, it denies the country the possibility for true development to occur…. With the current systems of government some sections of society are subjected to such poverty and lack of choice that such development is sadly far in the distance for them. (Sivaraksa 1994: foreword) Second, the mechanisms of redistribution which are crucial to this developmentalist argument are largely absent, and are certainly weaker than the parallel mechanisms of elite accumulation. Looking at the way that tourism revenues are used: in 1995/96 out of the US$70 million which was earned from tourism, only US$4.5 million (6.4 per cent) went to the government (EIU 1997). Very little that finds its way into the public purse will prove to be of direct benefit to the citizens of Burma. Because of its domination of the political process and the financial burden of the civil war with various of the country’s ethnic groups, as much as 41 per cent of SLORC’s budget is spent on the armed forces (BurmaNews Network 1996). The Burma Action Group cautions that: Tourists must…be aware that dollars brought into the country and put into the hands of the SLORC are being used to sustain military spending which takes up a huge proportion of the annual budget, and is used by the SLORC to wage a campaign against its own people. (The Nation, 20 December 1996) How the international community should respond to the situation in Burma is currently a subject of hot debate. The advocates of ‘constructive engagement’— including other ASEAN states—claim that the isolation of Burma makes it impossible for the international community to influence its internal affairs. Opponents argue in favour of a policy of disengagement—a strategy which is strongly advocated by the detained opposition leader Daw Aung San Suu Kyi. She has stated: ‘we think it is too early for either tourists or investment or aid to come pouring into Burma. We would like to see that these things are conditional on genuine progress towards democratization’ (quoted in Burma Debate, December 1995).


She claims that investment will help only a small elite to get richer, working against the idea of democracy, and causing the gap between rich and poor continually to widen (Pilger 1997). Such sentiments are behind recent campaigns by various international advocacy groups to boycott Burma, both as a tourism destination and more widely as an outlet for foreign investment. However, to get international tourists to comply requires a much higher level of both awareness of and conscience towards the internal situation in Burma than presently exists. Meanwhile, the promotional media have become extremely adept at glossing over the security situation in promoting the classical ‘carefree holiday’. Sex tourism, HIV/AIDS and societal security in Thailand There is only a relatively short step from the impact of tourism on political security to that upon security in the social realm, which the following case study explores in the context of sex tourism in Thailand. Among the most prevalent challenges to human security are the severely exploitative conditions under which the majority of prostitutes operate, their extreme vulnerability where illegal operation and/or illegal immigration is involved and, of course, the massive prevalence and risk of HIV/AIDS in this sector. The sex industry also evinces wide differentials in power and control, often stretching beyond the domestic realm into the international arena. The financial incentives provided by the lucrative sex tourism industry have seen alliances forged between various actors on both a subnational and a regional basis which serve severely to compromise the lives, livelihoods and life prospects for a significant section of society. Before exploring the security implications of sex tourism in Thailand, it is first necessary to establish the association between tourism and prostitution. According to Hall (1992), the transformation of the sexual services sector from informal domestic prostitution and concubinage to being an internationalised industry was primarily associated with the massive US military presence during the Vietnam War. A formal agreement was made between the Thai and US governments for the provision of ‘rest and recreation’ facilities for US soldiers, a form of official complicity which, in the words of US Senator J.William Fulbright, turned much of Thailand into ‘an American brothel’ (TED Case Study 356). The commodification of sexual relations (Hall 1996) thereafter became transformed through its engagement with the international tourism industry into a major item of systematised foreign trade (Thanh-Dam Truong 1990). As tourism promotion was intensified as a means of securing a major source of foreign exchange and employment in Thailand, so sex tourism was until only quite recently also actively promoted as a significant subsector of the tourism industry (Hall 1992, 1996). An indication of the growth of prostitution in Thailand as a consequence of the penetration of external forces is provided by the following figures— from an estimated 20,000 prostitutes in 1957, the figure exploded to 400,000 in 1964


after the establishment of seven US bases on Thai soil (Hall 1992). This figure reached a reputed one million in the early 1980s, and now stands at around two million (some 800,000 of them children) and includes large numbers of women and girls who are drawn into Thailand’s sex industry from neighbouring countries. The most significant source of insecurity among prostitutes in Thailand emanates from the high degree of exploitation and vulnerability which is associated with their profession. This is attributable to significant power differentials which exist between those who are in control of the industry and those who are dependent upon it for their livelihood; in turn, this situation is exacerbated by the wedge which has been driven between state and society by the monopolisation of the industry by powerful actors who are able to manipulate the actions of the state to suit their own interests. This situation is illustrated here through the processes of debt-bonding, trafficking and the exposure of prostitutes to the AIDS/HIV pandemic. Debt bondage, often allied to deception and trickery, is an illegal device which is commonly used in Thailand for ensuring that prostitutes remain under the control of the owners of sexual services establishments irrespective of whether or not this is congruent with the wishes of the women concerned (Far Eastern Economic Review, 20 February 1992). As such, it severely compromises their freedom and choice, and thus represents a significant infringement on their security. Originally, this device was used as a means of drawing young women into the sex industry from Thailand’s rural periphery, taking advantage of the relative poverty and lack of opportunity therewithin and the ease with which girls or their parents could be induced by promises of high-paying jobs in the cities (Hall 1992). Such inducements become all the more difficult to resist when the agents of brothel owners offer to pay off a household’s debts or give a (relatively) substantial sum of ‘strangle money’ as an advance (Far Eastern Economic Review, 20 February 1992). The majority of girls are led to believe that they will be going to work as housemaids, cooks, waitresses, laundresses and so on (The Economist, 5 February 1994), whereas in fact they almost immediately end up in brothels or other similar establishments. Once there, they are obliged to remain until they have repaid their parents’ debt to the owner—a debt which may quite easily double when interest payments are added. Brothel owners may make huge profits from controlling these girls and women, whereas the proportion of the earnings from their services that the debt-bonded prostitutes will receive is often so small that they may be obliged to service up to fifteen clients a day, twenty-five days per month for several years before the debt is repaid. In the meantime, the prostitute is in a very weak position to be able to negotiate the terms of her trade, and various devices are employed to ensure that, upon realising her fate, the prostitute is unable to resist or escape. She may be systematically beaten, and threats of retribution may be made against the parents or relatives who ‘sold’ her into prostitution (TED Case Study 426). This situation has been described by commentators as a ‘modern form of slavery’ (Asia Watch


1993; ECTWT 1991) and is a major human rights violation (TED Case Study 426). This situation of intense societal insecurity is even greater when the illegal trafficking of would-be prostitutes from neighbouring countries is involved. For a number of reasons this is increasingly the case in Thailand: young women are brought into Thailand from Burma and southern China because they are less streetwise/more vulnerable, cheaper, and because the extreme economic dislocation in and/or the opening up of their countries of origin makes them, and their families, even more highly prone to inducements of potential riches to be gained from working in Thailand. Thai nongovernmental organisations estimate that 10,000 new recruits are (or at least were before the current economic crisis) being drawn into Thailand’s sex industry from Burma each year. A more insidious reason for the recent emergence of this particular form of regionalisation is the devastating spread of HIV/AIDS in Thailand. There is a misplaced perception that, because the problem is now so widespread in Thailand, the best chance for providing the sex industry with ‘AIDS-free’ women is to probe ever more deeply into the peripheries of the national and regional space economy (Asia Watch 1993). The threat of deportation, and also the process of deportation itself, is a further source of insecurity to the women who are often unwittingly and unwillingly drawn into the sex industry. Because of their illegal, and thus highly vulnerable, position such women are prone to various forms of extortion and sexual abuse, in addition to the high degree of anxiety that Burmese women in particular have about being handed back to the often brutal Burmese authorities. Instead of facilitating their safe return to their home communities, many women are incarcerated for having left the country illegally and/or for having engaged in prostitution, both of which are offences under Burmese law (Asia Watch 1993). Women with HIV/AIDS are often particularly disadvantaged. Often, the process of deportation simply puts the women back into the hands of the agents of the sex tourism industry, pushing them through what Asia Watch (1993:7) has called ‘the revolving door back to the brothels.’ Most of the above processes can only occur with the complicity of various official actors who, ostensibly, are placed in a position of power and trust in order to protect the interests of society. Official complicity may be both direct (through the abuse of one’s position as a means of gaining financial or some other form of advantage from facilitating recruitment, trafficking and the operations of sexual services establishments) and indirect (through turning a blind eye to what is taking place—although this too may be motivated by some form of economic reward). In the former context, police and military officers as well as government officials are known to be involved in hotels, entertainment places and prostitution and in the traffic of Thai women abroad’ (Asia Watch 1993; Thanh-Dam Truong 1990), and few women and children enter Thailand without the knowledge and complicity of border guards and police. Theoretically, the aiding and abetting of the illegal entry of aliens is a more serious crime than the


entry itself, yet few of those ‘conduits’ who facilitate the process are ever prosecuted, whereas the threat of arrest and punishment is used as a powerful device to force compliance from, and mask abuse to, those who are the victims of traffickers and procurers (Asia Watch 1993). In the latter context, the buoyancy of the sex industry and the various illegal activities which sustain it provide powerful evidence that the Thai government is not serious in its enforcement of various legal devices which would normally be expected to control the industry’s growth and prevent the widespread abuses which are taking place therewithin. In spite of legal powers to deal with many of the negative aspects of sex tourism, trafficking and prostitution, few if any prosecutions have been forthcoming. The Thai authorities have largely turned a blind eye to the illegal import of workers (including sex workers), swayed by the benefits and profits that the formerly booming economy enjoyed from employing cheap labour from neighbouring countries. It is claimed (Asia Watch 1993) that one of the reasons for the authorities’ failure to crack down on the sex industry is the potentially negative impact this would have on sex tourism and thus, by continuation, the buoyancy of both local and national economies. It is this anxiety to maintain the momentum of economic growth, set within a prevailing neo-liberal context, that provides plenty of scope for the forces and conduits of exploitation to prosper ahead of those of protection, regulation and control. Unfortunately, in the context of sex tourism there is a very high price to be paid for such a situation— the rapid spread of HIV/AIDS—which provides perhaps the most sharp and poignant indication of the threats that sex tourism provides to the welfare and thus security of society. Thailand has experienced a veritable explosion in the prevalence of HIV/AIDS during the last decade and, together with India, has been at the vanguard as the centre of gravity in the world’s AIDS pandemic has shifted inexorably from Africa to Asia (TED Case Study 356). Roughly 1.5 per cent of the Thai population, or 850,000 people, are currently infected with the HIV virus, and the total is expected to increase to more than two million by the year 2000 (Thai Development Newsletter 1994:66). The epidemic may have claimed up to 800, 000 lives by the year 2005 (Far Eastern Economic Review, 21 September 1995). The departure of HIV positive prostitutes from Thailand through return migration, deportation or repatriation is contributing significantly to the spreading of the virus beyond Thailand’s periphery— to Laos and Cambodia, as well as Burma and China (Thai Development Newsletter 1994:78–9). Some 400, 000 people are thought to be infected with HIV in Burma (Far Eastern Economic Review, 21 September 1995). These people at and beyond Thailand’s periphery are particularly at risk of contracting HIV/AIDS because of low prevailing levels of education, and because little information about how to avoid the risk of contracting the virus is made available to them in languages that they can readily understand (Thai Development Newsletter 1993:34).


It is self-evident that, in addition to the abuses and exploitation which are commonly associated with the sex (tourism) industry, the risk of HIV/AIDS infection is a massive threat to the security and welfare of those involved (and this includes the clients and partners of the prostitutes as well as the women and girls themselves). Even in the short-term, women’s exposure to this deadly virus is often a source of further infringements of their human rights. Many prostitutes in Thailand are subjected to mandatory HIV/STD tests, the principal objective being more to ensure that they are safe for their clients than as an expression of genuine concern for their health and welfare. Having been tested, prostitutes may be denied the results of the tests, even though they are made available to the brothel owners, police, immigration officials and others (Asia Watch 1993), which in addition to being an infringement of their rights (HIV testing should involve informed consent) may also be used against the prostitute if she is found to be HIV positive, again contrary to official government policy (Thai Development Newsletter 1994:65). The powerlessness of women in forced prostitution puts them at particular risk from contracting HIV/AIDS, because they are unable to negotiate the terms of sex (TED Case Study 426). There are reports of prostitutes being at risk of losing business or being beaten by brothel owners if they insist that their clients use condoms (New Frontiers, November 1997). With the current financial downturn in Thailand, tourism has been singled out as a potential means of helping the economy to stay afloat until the effects of International Monetary Fund and World Bank rescue packages begin to kick in. In support of this, the government is currently mounting a very active ‘Amazing Thailand’ promotion campaign. This campaign is paralleled by, and connected to, wider efforts to promote tourism expansion—;‘Amazing Gateways’—into the Mekong Basin subregion (which includes Yunnan, Burma, Laos and Cambodia, as well as Thailand). Associated with the promotion campaign is a renewed tendency to portray the region’s women as sexual objects (New Frontiers, December 1997), in much the same way as occurred in the 1970s and 1980s. If this is an accurate assessment of the situation, it would appear that the desperation which has been engendered by the current economic crisis has served to evaporate the progress that has been made over the last decade in reducing the overt promotion of sex tourism. As such, the economic crisis may serve to intensify rather than ease the insecurity faced by many of the sex industry’s victims. Golf tourism and environmental security The final case study concerns the impact of the dramatic expansion of tourismrelated golf course development, particularly in Thailand. The principal objective here is to use the case of golf to highlight the environmental security implications of tourism-related development and change but, as with the earlier cases, other aspects of security also venture into the frame. The principal


motivating force behind the ‘golf revolution’ in Southeast Asia has been the desire on behalf of Japanese investors to facilitate the extension of its golf infrastructure into neighbouring countries, and the parallel desire of Southeast Asian governments to facilitate and thus benefit from the resultant golf tourism. In the process, alliances have been established between powerful Japanese capitalist institutions and political and business ‘conduits’ in Southeast Asia who have facilitated the penetration of both the sport and its associated culture, often at a cost to local societies. The explosion of the golf industry in Southeast Asia over the last decade or so is very closely related to developments in golf-obsessed Japan. Prior to this, Japan had experienced its own golf boom, particularly after Prime Minister Nakasone sold off public lands and relaxed development regulations in 1987 as part of his privatisation programme (Rimmer 1994). A great deal of investment from Tokyo-based land and property development companies went into golf courses and complexes, and was paralleled by a massive increase in golf club memberships during the ‘bubble economy’ period. As the golf industry expanded, so too did public concern and counter-reaction. Local tensions arose over the way that the sport was eating up productive agricultural land and aesthetically important forests and other natural places. An industry which had become the domain of the wealthy and influential, created social divisions and resentment from those who were excluded from involvement or who had to make way for golf course development. There were also deep rumblings about the way that the industry had frequently commandeered the support of local political figures in order to further its interests. A growing and increasingly influential anti-golf lobby emerged, and with it mounting pressure to put a lid on golf course development in Japan. Regulations governing the construction of golf courses in Japan were significantly tightened. This encouraged investors and the golf industry to look further afield for land upon which to extend their golf infrastructure, heralding a dynamic period of ‘golf imperialism’ (TED Case Study 259). Allied to the country’s insatiable appetite for golf, and golfers having both the means and willingness to travel several thousand miles for a few rounds of golf (Pearce 1993), Japan’s massive trade and investment surpluses meant that finance was readily forthcoming for investment in golf tourism resort construction in Southeast Asia and elsewhere. To cater for, and capitalise on, this voracious appetite for golf, several Southeast Asian countries have been constructing golf courses and golf resort complexes as if there were no tomorrow. At the peak of the golf construction boom, new golf courses in Thailand were being completed at a rate of one every ten days, assisted to a considerable degree by Japanese finance and the incentive of the massive demand emanating from the Japanese market. By the year 2000, Singapore expects to have 5 per cent of its very precious land area devoted to golf, and courses are also mushrooming in Malaysia, Indonesia, Vietnam, Cambodia and Burma (Pearce 1993; TED Case Study 249). Investment has also (until the current economic crisis) been flowing from Taiwan and South Korea.


Southeast Asia as a whole had only forty-five golf courses in 1970; today there are almost six hundred. A great deal of criticism has been made of the way that business and political elites have promoted and facilitated their growing obsession with golf ahead of those of society and citizenry in general. By and large, the golfing boom has occurred not just because of the financial resources which have been made easily available from Japan but because elite society in Southeast Asia has also caught the golfing bug, and linked to this a very powerful inclination to invest in this booming industry themselves (The Economist, 20 December 1997). Golf has become an elite sport in Asia, and has become the principal domain of the top people in business, politics and the military. Important business and political decisions are made on golf courses or in golf clubhouses. In the promotion of the industry, there has been an ‘entwining of local 41), which is entirely consistent with the conceptual framework which was elites with international business’ (Far Eastern Economic Review, 5 May 1994: established at the beginning of this chapter. Peter Rimmer (1994) writes of the role played by intermediaries (‘conduits’) in transferring Japanese golf resort ideas to the new Southeast Asian milieu. In Indonesia, President Suharto and other members of his family own half of the country’s ninety or so golf courses (Far Eastern Economic Review, 5 May 1994). In Thailand, senior government and military officials hold honorary executive posts in golf club projects (Thai Development Newsletter 1991/2). The military is funding the construction of golf courses in Burma (often using soldiers as construction labourers), ostensibly in the name of tourism but principally for the enjoyment of the members of SLORC and their associates (New Frontiers, September 1997). Just as was the case in Japan a decade earlier, golf-related business interests may nurture and use political connections to help ‘encourage’ people to sell their land to developers (TED Case Study 282). Set against such a backdrop, it is perhaps unsurprising that the relatively powerless local communities are suffering many of the externalities which are associated with tourism-related golf course developments, and which in turn are significantly compromising their security. In addition to swallowing up huge amounts of often prime land and displacing local communities in the process, golf tourism development is responsible for considerable damage to local ecosystems. It is important to note at this stage that many of these ecological problems were behind the growing anti-golf movement in Japan during the late 1980s and early 1990s, which in turn contributed to the construction of Japan’s golf courses in (and thus exporting the associated ecological and social costs to) other countries. Thus, in Japan, the construction of golf courses interfered with water retention capacity, leading to flooding during rainy periods and drought at other times of the year (Rimmer 1994). High inputs of herbicides, pesticides and fertilisers were damaging adjacent agricultural land, and also caused mutations, genetic birth defects and harmful physical effects to golf course workers, players, local residents and wildlife (Pearce 1993). Similar problems are now


being encountered in Southeast Asia. One of the most contentious externalities concerns the voracious thirst that golf courses have for water, and the way that golf interests have frequently used their economic might and political connections to obtain priority access to water resources. In Malaysia, it is claimed that one golf course uses as much water as 2,000 households (The Economist, 15 May 1993). In Thailand, water-thirsty golf courses have continued to exploit water resources even during times of water shortage and when farmers are losing crops because there is not enough water available. In Indonesia, a major drought in 1994 caused wells to run dry and farmers were not able to plant a second crop, but Jakarta’s golf courses continued to receive 1,000 cubic meters of water per course per day —enough to meet the needs of 1,000 families (TED Case Study 282). Near to the tourist island of Langkawi, the Malaysian government has invested heavily in a pipeline to feed water to a golf course resort on Redang Island from the mainland state of Terengganu, where a cholera epidemic recently broke out because of an inadequate supply of clean water (TED Case Study 282). Another ecological problem concerns the encroachment of golf courses into protected areas in Southeast Asia. In Thailand, golf course development has encroached on forest reserves. For instance, in June 1991 the Royal Forestry Department discovered that developers had encroached into the Khao Yai National Park in Nakhon Ratchasima, northeast Thailand, and had cleared stateowned and protected land for the construction of the Golden Valley Golf and Country Club. In Vietnam, the protected Thu Duc forest near Saigon has been handed over to a Taiwanese golf entrepreneur as part of the state’s drive to attract golf tourists. In Malaysia, the aforementioned golf resort on Redang Island, which was until recently uninhabited, is damaging coral reefs and mangrove forests (Pearce 1993). Thus, far from representing a benign form of development, Southeast Asia’s golf revolution has been an important source of disadvantage and insecurity for many, in the interests of supporting the leisure activities of an affluent few. According to the Asia-Pacific People’s Environment Network, based in Malaysia, ‘golf development is becoming one of the most unsustain able and damaging activities to people and the environment’ (TED Case Study 249). At least such statements are symptomatic of a dawning realisation of the harmful effects of the golf tourism boom, and also reflect the emergence of an increasingly influential anti-golf movement in the region, reacting in a similar way to that which emerged in Japan a decade or so earlier. In 1994, Southeast Asia established a Global Anti-Golf Movement (The Economist, 20 December 1997). Meanwhile, local communities are also protesting ever more forcefully against what they perceive to be the injustices associated with golf development and promotion. Even in northern Vietnam, the local community of Kim No village, some 30 kilometres from Hanoi, has been holding up the construction of a luxury golf course by a joint venture involving the Hanoi Electricity Company and South Korea’s Daewoo corporation (Watershed, March 1997). Clashes occurred between local farmers and demolition crews which were sent to clear


their village prior to commencement of the course’s construction. To support the initiative, 600 riot police armed with shields, tear gas and electric prods were sent to the site to protect the demolition workers, indicating very clearly where the priorities of the state lay (Watershed, June 1997). Most of the residents were very reluctant to be displaced from their homes, and/or claimed that the level of compensation offered to them by the developers was woefully inadequate. Somewhat perversely, although the anti-golf movement is gaining an increasing profile, and is gradually starting to take over the moral high ground, it appears that the region’s current financial crisis is being rather more effective in slowing, and even reversing, the rate of golf course development (The Economist, 20 December 1997). Many of the region’s nouveau riche, be they individuals or institutions, have quickly become the nouveau pauvre, and as such the diversion of dwindling incomes to golf course memberships has very dramatically slipped down their list of priorities. Already whole golf courses are being sold off at mega-bargain prices in desperate moves by owners and developers to recoup at least a fraction of their foolhardy and, as it turned out, overoptimistic financial ventures. This raises an obvious question: given the way that many people in the region have suffered in the interests of the ‘golf revolution’, was it all really necessary? Conclusion The foregoing discussion has attempted to explore some of the effects of tourism development within the framework of the human security discourse. It lends weight to Michael Hall’s (1994) contention that the impact of tourism depends crucially upon the ownership of regulatory power. Where this power is in the ‘wrong hands’, as appears to be the case when the state is either bypassed by or colludes with international and domestic agents of capitalism, the ‘community’ (i.e. ordinary citizens) has indeed been shown to be disadvantaged. This chapter has examined the impact of tourism within the context of political, societal and environmental security, but it seems inevitable that the same basic truth applies more broadly. The chapter has identified quite clearly who are the victims of certain forms of tourism development, and why they are such. In the main, they are society’s weak, marginal and peripheral people who lack options and choice, and as such are vulnerable to exploitation by the people, agents and institutions who hold power and the means to control development, motivated predominantly by profit and power. Thus, regulation for this global industry has tended to take precedence over the regulation of its development. The degree of conflation and ‘reciprocal interpenetration’ which occurs between the external actors, domestic conduits and government in Burma and Thailand largely determines this outcome. The counter-forces which might serve to protect citizens’ interests in the face of tourist globalisation appear relatively powerless in the face of the prevailing political economy. However, things are beginning to change with, as has been


shown, the emergence of advocacy groups, non-governmental organisations and, in Thailand at least, a gradual tendency towards greater democratisation. Whilst the alternative development movement in Thailand can claim some success in raising public awareness (both domestically and internationally) of the negative externalities of tourism development, an apparent response of the industry’s agents has been to extend their realms of activity and influence to include countries on Thailand’s periphery, where awareness of, and the means to control, the harmful effects of tourism are much less advanced and where, by contrast, the incentive to facilitate the relatively soft form of development that tourism represents is substantial. Currently, considerable efforts are being made to promote subregional cooperation around the Mekong River Basin, with tourism heralded as a powerful ‘gateway’ to development. With Thailand, or more particularly Thai capitalist agents, anxious to play a leading role in this process, most urgently since the current economic crisis, and with alliances being forged with embryonic agents and institutions in other subregional states, it seems inevitable that, in regard to critical security, the situation will continue to worsen before it has a chance to improve (Hirsch 1995). Acknowledgments Reprinted with permission from Michael J.G.Parnwell (1998) Tourism, Globalisation and Critical Security in Myanmar and Thailand’, Singapore Journal of Tropical Geography 19(2):212–31. ©1998 References Allen, J. and Hamnett, C. (eds) (1995) A Shrinking World? Global Unevenness and Inequality, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Amin, A. (1997) ‘Placing globalization’, Theory, Culture and Society 14(2):123–37. Amnesty International (1997) Amnesty International Country Report, Myanmar (September–December 1996), Amnesty International Online, February 1997, (http:// www.amnesty.org/html). Asia Watch (1993) A Modern Form of Slavery: Trafficking of Burmese Women and Girls into Brothels in Thailand, New York: Human Rights Watch. Ayoob, M. (1995) The Third World Security Predicament: State Making, Regional Conflict and the International System, Boulder, CO: Reinner. Berner, E. and Korff R. (1995) ‘Globalization and local response: the creation of localities in Manila and Bangkok’, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 19: 208–22. Booth, K. (1991) ‘Security and emancipation’, Review of International Studies 17: 313– 26. Burma Debate, (http://www.soros.org/burma/bd.html). BurmaNews Network, ([email protected]).


Buzan, B. (1993) ‘Societal security’, in Ole Waever, B.Buzan, M.Kelstrup and P. Lemaitre (eds) Identity, Migration and the New Security Agenda in Europe, London: Pinter, pp. 41–58. Callahan, M.P. (1996) ‘Burma in 1995: looking beyond the release of Aung San Suu Kyi’, Asian Survey 36(2):158–64. Cater, E. (1995) ‘Consuming spaces: global tourism’, in C.Hamnett and J.Allen (eds) A Shrinking World? Global Unevenness and Inequality, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 183–231. Clements, K.P. (1992) ‘Peace and security in the Asia Pacific region—post-Cold War problems and prospects’, Bulletin of Peace Proposals 23(2):173–84. Cox, K.R. (1995) ‘Globalization, competition and the politics of local economic development’, Urban Studies 32:213–24. Dicken, P. (1994) ‘The Roepke Lecture in Economic Geography: global-local tensions: firms and states in the global space economy’, Economic Geography 70: 101–28. Economist, The (various issues). ECTWT (1991) Caught in Modern Slavery: Tourism and Child Prostitution in Asia, Bangkok: The Ecumenical Coalition on Third World Tourism. EIU (1997) Country Report, Myanmar, First Quarter, London: Economist Intelligence Unit. Euro-BurmaNet, (http://www-uvi.eunet.fr/asia/euro-burma/html). Far Eastern Economic Review (various issues). Graenger, N. (1996) ‘Environmental security?’, Journal of Peace Research 33(1): 109–16. Hall, C.M. (1992) ‘Sex tourism in South-East Asia’, in D.Harrison (ed.) Tourism and the Less Developed Countries, Chichester: John Wiley, pp. 64–74. Hall, C.M. (1994) Tourism and Politics: Policy, Power and Place, London: Wiley. Hall, C.M. (1996) ‘Gender and economic interests in tourism prostitution: the nature, development and implications of sex tourism in South-East Asia’, in Y. Apostolopoulos, S.Leivadi and A.Yiannakis (eds) The Sociology of Tourism: Theoretical and Empirical Investigations, London: Routledge, pp. 265–80. Harvey, D. (1989) The Condition of Postmodernity, Oxford: Basil Blackwell. Hirsch, P. (1995) ‘Thailand and the new geopolitics of Southeast Asia: resource and environmental issues’, in J.Rigg (ed.) Counting the Costs: Economic Growth and Environmental Change in Thailand, Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, pp. 235–59. Hirst, P. and Thompson, G. (1996) Globalization in Question: The International Economy and the Possibilities of Governance, Cambridge: Polity Press. Hoogvelt, A. (1997) Globalisation and the Postcolonial World: The New Political Economy of Development, Basingstoke: Macmillan. Humana, C. (1992) World Human Rights Guide, New York: Oxford University Press. Independent, The (1996) 19 November. Kelly, P.F. (1997) ‘Globalization, power and the politics of scale in the Philippines’, Geoforum 28(2):151–71. Lanfant, M. (1980) ‘Tourism in the process of internationalization’, International Social Science Journal 32(1):14–45. Leifer, M. (1995) Dictionary of the Modern Politics of South-East Asia, London: Routledge. Lipietz, A. (1993) ‘The local and the global: regional individuality or integrationalism’, Transactions of The Institute of British Geographers 18:8–18.


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9 Emigration and immigration The case of Russia Igor Ushkalov

Russia’s transition to a democratic society has had a number of important international repercussions. One of these is the considerable growth in the movement of population. The economic and democratic forces which helped cause the downfall of the Soviet Union and the communist state have helped unleash a demand for freedom of movement both internally and externally. These globalising forces have set in train movements of population which could impact on aspects of human security in Russia and further afield. This chapter explores some of these movements. Demographic background In the last few years Russia’s population has been in decline, and this trend is forecast to continue. The total population will drop by 6.1 million people by the year 2000 giving a total of 145.6 million. By the year 2010, it will have decreased by 9.4 million people. There are even more pessimistic long-term forecasts—with a decrease of more than 13 million people that will be caused by both shifts in the population age structure and trends in fertility. Simultaneously, forecasts show that in the period up until 2010 the negative effects of increased life expectancy will continue. By 2010 the expected duration of life in Russia will be 59.7 years for men and 73.1 for women (Ushkalov 1996). So, according to United Nations (1996) forecasts, by 2050 the population of Russia will be about 130 million people—without taking into account the impact of net migration. This reduction in population will be observed in all regions of the country, except for the Northern Caucasus regions. A more serious trend, concerning economic security, is that there will be a reduction in the working-age population between 2005 and 2007. After 2005, the population of those of working age will diminish by approximately one million people annually. As a result, the dependency burden (the number of people in the non-working age groups per thousand of working age) will increase from 605 in the year 2005 to 617 in 2008 and 645 in 2010 (Zlokazov 1998). Given these structural trends, migration becomes a key factor influencing the dynamics of the population and labour force. It is important, therefore, to take into account that nowadays about 40 per cent of the natural decline in population

EMIGRATION AND IMMIGRATION: THE CASE OF RUSSIA 163

is due to a positive migration balance. This positive impact of migration determines its priority in the migration policy of the country in the long-term. For the analysis of external migration it is important to analyse internal migratory processes which increase ‘pushing out’ factors stimulating the outflow of the population abroad, not only from a number of Russia’s regions but from the country as a whole. There are a number of factors to take into consideration here. First, there is the snowballing growth of ecological migrants. There are no less than thirteen regions where the ecological situation is considered to be critical; about twenty million people now live in areas of ecological disaster in Russia. If radical measures are not undertaken to stop the slide into imminent ecological disaster of a global scale, Russia could soon become the largest source of ecological refugees in the world (Naselenie i Krizisy 2 1996). Second, there is the urgent problem of the large-scale resettlement of the population from northern regions of the country to other regions. This process has already begun. During the period 1992–7, the losses from the northern regions are estimated to have been about 950,000 or 8 per cent of the population of these regions. According to expert estimates the share of the ‘surplus’ population there is not less than 20 per cent. Over the next few years some 500,000 families (1.5 million people) will be relocated within the framework of the state programme, but, as a whole, the number of people which is likely to be resettled is estimated at about 4 million (Reghent 1997). This flow considerably amplifies migratory pressure on other regions of the country. Third, the ethnic-based armed conflicts in some regions have created considerable numbers of refugees and internal forced migrants within Russia. Nowadays, the amount of such registered involuntary migrants exceeds 200,000. The number of non-registered involuntary migrants is estimated at two to three times higher (Mishina and Skorobogatiko 1997). The biggest flow of forced migrants (i.e. those who move ‘voluntarily’ but under the pressure of various circumstances) come to Russia from Kazakhstan, Chechnya, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and the Baltic Republics. The greatest refugee outflows (i.e. persons who have lost dwellings and property) are observed from the conflict in the Northern Caucasus regions of Russia— Chechnya, Ingushetiya, North Ossetiya, Dagestan—as well as Georgia, Azerbaijan and the Central Asia republics. Russians prevail in these flows and they account for about 80 per cent of all forced migrants. If other nationalities of the Russian Federation are included the share grows to 90 per cent. Most of these refugees settle in the areas of Western Siberia, Urals and Povoljie. About 70 per cent of them settle in cities and 30 per cent in rural areas (Mishina and Skorobogatiko 1997). Given the economic and social conditions under which most of these forced migrants live, many consider emigration to the West (Zayonchkovskaya, Kocharyan and Vitkovskaya 1993). These processes of internal population movement have security implications in themselves, but because they impact on international migration streams have

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wider security implications. Let us now consider the emigration and immigration flows to and from Russia. Emigration One feature of Soviet demography which had both conventional and human security issues was the difficulty of both internal and external migration. Internal movements were strictly controlled and most of the internal movement was directed by the central authority in the form of forced labour and military deployment. For most of this century the Soviet Union imposed strict limitations on exit visas. Those who did emigrate tended to be high-profile defectors and those selected from ethnic or religious groups, such as Jews, Germans, Armenians, Pontiece Greeks, Evangelicals and Pentacostals, who had external ‘homelands’ to accept them or powerful states ready to intervene on their behalf (Russell 1995). Emigration tended to fluctuate according to the state of EastWest relations. Between 1948 and 1970, barely 60,000 people emigrated. During the 1970s, the average annual rate was 35,000. That fell dramatically between 1981 and 1986 to around 7,300 annually due to worsening East-West relations (Russell 1995). Since the democratisation process of Russian society and the opening of borders and guaranteeing of the right of free interstate movement began, emigration flows have increased sharply. For example, between 1988 and 1990 international emigration increased twelve-fold across the whole of the former Soviet Union, and in some republics it increased forty-fold (Zayonchkovskaya, Kocharyan and Vitkovskaya 1993). These flows take a number of forms. First, there is the ethnic emigration which has been substantial. Since 1990, between 100,000 to 120,000 people have legally emigrated from Russia for ethnic reasons. During the last five years, 41 per cent of this flow went to Israel, about 42 per cent to Germany and the remainder mainly to the United States, Canada, Australia and the European Union (EU) countries (Ushkalov 1997). Of the emigrating minorities, the flow of Jews to Germany, within the framework of the special law ‘on Jewish emigration’, is of special significance. Since 1992, over 100,000 persons annually have received permission to migrate to Germany from Russia within the frame-work of this programme. Thus, since 1990, the total losses to the population of Russia by this channel of departure has been about 800,000 persons (without taking into account the potential births) (Polian 1997). The second channel of emigration from Russia, which also has an ethnic character, is the emigration of the native population of the republics of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), especially the Ukrainians and Belarussians, to their historical native land. This emigration flow had the greatest intensity in the first few years after the disintegration of the former USSR and accounted for several hundred thousands persons annually. However, the situation soon stabilised. There is now equilibrium in net migration with these countries, since the inflow now equals the outflow. Nevertheless, the departure


of the native population to some countries of the former USSR, especially to the Baltic States, still remains. The third flow of emigration, perhaps the most numerous, is labour emigration under business contract. There are no official statistical data on the size and structure of this outflow or of its geographical nature. However, estimations suggest that the size of this emigration flow is between two and two and a half times more than that of the ethnic flow—that is, about 250,000 persons per year. The main destination countries of this emigrant flow are the United States, Canada and the countries of the European Union. The main distinctive feature of this flow is its temporary nature—that is, returning back to Russia after termination of the business contract. The annual return index estimation (the ratio of those remaining in the destination country and those returning) is about 50 per cent. That means that Russia loses between 100,000 to 125,000 people by this channel annually (Iontzev 1998). It is important to bear in mind that both the ethnic and the labour migrants leaving the country have a much higher level of education and qualifications than the average level of the economically active population of the country. This consequently reduces the intellectual potential of the nation and has direct implications for the economic security of the country (Shevtsova 1992). The nature and consequences of Russia’s brain drain are explored in more detail in Chapter 10. The fourth flow of emigrants is formed by students and businessmen leaving to study or retrain. Of the 25,000 Russian students and managers studying abroad annually, 10,000 are in the United States (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). The annual return index of this group is significantly less than of the whole flow of the labour emigration. Though this type of migration can have positive effects on the economy, in general it lowers the quality and quantity of the labour potential of the country. The initial scale of post-Soviet emigration was seen as a possible threat to both conventional and human security in Russia itself, in neighbouring countries and in countries further afield. Russia, understandably, feared an exodus of its best people. ‘Only pensioners and those incapable of doing a good job will remain here’, was an observation made by one of the deputies at the national parliament when the emigration law was being debated (quoted in Shevtsova 1992:243). The countries most alarmed by a possible mass emigration from Russia were the Soviet Union’s former satellites in Central and Eastern Europe (Reghent 1997). Sources in Poland, for example, predicted that up to 10 million Soviet citizens could arrive in that country within one year (Shevtsova 1992). Exaggerated as these claims were, they indicate the depth of concern. Immigration The disintegration of the USSR intensified the departure of Russians from the former USSR republics back to Russia. Between 1992 and 1998, 5.1 million

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people moved into Russia and, of these, 1.2 million received refugee status. Since 1996, the intensity of this flow has decreased. However, it remains significant. Geographically, about half of all Russian immigrants arriving in the country came from Kazakhstan, followed by Tajikistan, Azerbaijan, Georgia and Moldova (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). This immigration potential still remains quite high. At the time of the demise of the USSR there were 25 million Russians and 4 million people of Russian nationality living outside the Russian Federation. Since more than 5 million of them have already returned, the total immigration potential is now about 24 million. The migration intentions are estimated at about 50 per cent (that is, about 12 million persons). In this context it is important to note that the principle is that everyone who wishes can return to their historical native land—that is, to Russian territory. This is a fundamental principle of Russia’s migration policy. Geographically, Russians living in the Baltic states are least likely to return to Russia. This is because of the relatively high living standards in these countries which outweigh the lack of rights afforded ethnic Russians (see Chapter 4). Those countries from which Russians are most likely to return from are those, such as Tajikistan, Azerbaijan and Georgia, where armed conflict, extreme nationalism or Islamic fundamentalism have made them unattractive. Only about 70 per cent of ethnic Russians migrating in the CIS have returned to Russia. Over 20 per cent have migrated to the Ukraine and more than 5 per cent have gone to Belarus (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). One immigration flow acquiring an increasing importance for Russia’s economy is temporary labour immigration. In the current political climate there are legal and illegal labour inflows. Legal immigration In the first three years after the demise of the USSR the number of labour immigrants in Russia remained practically constant and accounted for about 300, 000 persons per year. Today the number has increased, and labour migrants come from more than 120 countries and work in more than eighty of Russia’s regions. The bulk is in the Central region (more than 35 per cent) and also in the Western Siberia region (more than 20 per cent). The largest importers of foreign labour are Moscow city and the Moscow region and also the Siberian oilextracting regions (Malakha and Ushkalov 1995). Most of the foreign labour is engaged in construction (more than 57 per cent), industry and agriculture (almost 11 per cent) and transport (more than 6 per cent). The major exporters of foreign labour to Russia are the Ukraine (34 per cent), Turkey (14 per cent), China (8 per cent), the countries of the former Yugoslavia (6.5 per cent) and Moldova (more than 3 per cent) (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). The main reason for labour immigration in Russia, especially from the CIS countries, is the relatively high level of earnings (in comparison with some


countries it is ten times higher). But the influence of a legal foreign labour force on the Russian labour market is insignificant and, according to official data, does not exceed 0.5 per cent. Illegal labour immigration The illegal labour inflow into Russia is formed both by migrants from the CIS countries and from so-called ‘far foreign’ countries, especially from China and Vietnam. There are no official data on the number of illegal labour migrants from the CIS countries because they do not have to apply for an entrance visa and do not register with employment agencies. However, estimates put this flow at between 200,000 and 300,000 people (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). The number of illegal immigrants from China, Vietnam and other countries exceeds one million people. The main sphere of their activity is small trade and individual business. Their activity causes significant damage to the national economy of Russia as they are practically excluded from the taxation process. The ratio of illegal to legal immigrants in Russia is estimated at 52:48 (Ushkalov 1997). ‘Transit’ migrants This category of migrants includes the registered refugees, migrants who have yet to achieve refugee status and migrants seeking to move on to another country. These amount to some 700,000 persons of whom only 2,300 have official refugee status, and only 80,000 have applied for it. They are concentrated first of all in Moscow (about 300,000 to 400,000), and in seaport and boundary cities and regions (Naselenie i Krizisy 1 1995). Their main aim is to move legally or illegally through the East European countries or ‘directly’ to the developed countries (especially the Scandinavian countries, Germany and Switzerland). The regulation procedures of this flow are very complex and difficult to analyse because of the absence of registration and, in particular, legal documents of origin. Many of these migrants use forged passports and visas of the ‘origin’ states, but also forged documents of other countries; sometimes they have no documents at all. These complications make it very difficult to define their origin state and hence activate deportation proceedings. ‘Transit’ migration in Russia has a distinctly forced character—new-comers are mainly from poor Asian and African countries characterised by armed conflicts or unstable political regimes. Half of these migrants came from Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, Azerbaijan and Georgia. Yet, the immigrants themselves were not without skills. Half of them had full-time jobs, job contracts or private businesses and 30 per cent were students. Some 20 per cent of those employed were occupied in research and development and educational institutions, 27 per cent were engineers and technicians, medical staff and other

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professionals. Only 7 per cent were unemployed and that is not a high percentage for poor countries (Ushkalov 1997). All migrants coming to Russia from abroad could be divided into three groups: migrants coming after Russia’s ratification of the UN Convention on refugees and adoption of the law on free border crossing; non-nationals left in Russia after graduation from educational institutions or expiry of a labour contract term (especially Africans and Vietnamese); refugees who received shelter before the disintegration of the USSR (especially the Somalis and the Afghanis who were forced to leave their native countries after the withdrawal of the Soviet troops). ‘Transit’ migrants forwarding to EU countries constitute another group of those migrating to Russia. The reason for this migration stream is the ease of acquiring an entry visa and permission to stay in the country. For example, the total immigration from China is over one million people and it is known that a significant number of these have intentions to move on to other countries. At the same time, the immigration process under the modern demographic situation in Russia should not be considered as a particularly negative factor. As discussed in the early part of this chapter, there is a need to encourage immigration in Russia in the context of preservation of the size of the population. Thus, by 2050 the migration inflow into Russia should be not less than 17.5 million people. Only about 15 per cent of this could be met by Russian nationals in other parts of the CIS. This has implications for the economic and cultural security of the country. The most serious aspect of this problem is the regional perspective. This is of particular concern to Siberia and the Far East of Russia. For the last three years, the immigration to the Far East region from the Baltic countries and CIS numbered about 110,000 persons—that is, 4.2 per cent of total number of those who arrived in Russia. But the Far East region only contains around 5 per cent of Russia’s population. Thus, demographic imbalance is amplified in relation to Russia’s geopolitical neighbours to the east of the country, especially China. From Lake Baikal to the Pacific Ocean only around 8 million people live in the Russian territory, whereas there are about 320 million people just over the border in Chinese territory. Worse still is the expansion of Chinese immigration to Russia. In some border areas the number of Chinese immigrants already surpasses the number of Russian citizens, and the total number of Chinese in Russia has already exceeded one million and continues to increase (Zlokazov 1998). The forecast of external migration in Russia up until 2000 According to official estimates the expected number of immigrants into Russia from abroad will increase by at least 3.5 million persons up to the end of the year 2000.


It is expected that official refugees from republics of the former USSR will account about 600,000, and approximately 0.5 million of them will arrive from the Central Asia republics and Kazakhstan. These will account for 71.4 per cent of immigrants between 1998 and 2000. Around 14.3 per cent of the total inflow will consist of migrants from the ‘far foreign’ countries, especially China. A further 14.3 per cent are expected to come from other former USSR countries (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). However, it is important to bear in mind that these data concern the expected legal immigration. At the same time, significant difficulties (owing to the porosity of borders between the CIS countries and some other countries) will be provoked by illegal immigration—both labour (from China and the CIS countries) and ‘transit’ migration (Afghanistan, Pakistan, Sri Lanka and also a number of African countries). If special measures are not taken, the volume of this inflow could become unbearably large and exert negative influences not only in Russia but also in the European economy as a whole (Zlokazov 1998). It is expected, that in the future, unlike now, the main immigrant flows will be turned to the central areas of the country and to the Northern Caucasus. The number of immigrants will also increase in the south and west of Siberia. In regional terms, the breakdown of immigrant destinations in 1998 was: Western Siberia 17.4 per cent; Povoljie 16.9 per cent; Urals region 15.0 per cent; Northern Caucasus 14.6 per cent; Central region 12.7 per cent; Central Chernozemie 7.5 per cent; with the remaining 15.9 per cent migrating to other regions (Kommersant-Vlast 1998). It is important to take into account that external migration processes in Russia will undoubtedly be influenced by internal movements of the population between regions within the country (for example, more than 200,000 refugees are registered from Chechnya), caused or exacerbated by possible internal regional political and economic crises. The forecasts of migration for the longer period have a more contradictory character and are particularly dependent on the dynamics between economic and political factors. Thus, the United Nations (1996) estimates of annual net migration to Russia (middle variant) amount to about 200,000 people, but the majority of the Russian experts’ estimates are higher at up to 350,000 people. Conclusion As a whole, demographic factors, particularly its migration component and especially external migration, influence to an increasing extent various aspects of Russia’s national and human security. But the elaboration of migration policy and the development of effective measures of its implementation is impeded by the economic crisis, the uncertainty of the political situation and further sharpening of social problems. Thus, the emerging situation could provoke or aggravate a number of economic, political and social problems, both in Russia and in Europe as a whole,

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if a well-founded state migration policy is not adopted and special measures and procedures regulating these processes are not developed and put into practice. In this context, Russia’s active inclusion in the international cooperation governing interstate migrations of population (scientific, legislation and practical aspects) is of great importance to aspects of human security both inside and outside Russia. Acknowledgments The research on this problem was carried out in the framework of the project Migration Policy: Regional, National and International Aspects of the Russian Foundation for Humanities References Iontzev, V. (1998) ‘Mejdunarodnaia migratzia naselenia: Rossia i Sovremennyi mir (International migration of population: Russia and the World), Sociologicheskie Issledovania 6:38–48. Kommersant-Vlast (1998) The Report of the Head of the Russian Federal Office for Migration, Moscow. Malakha, I. and Ushkalov, I. (1995) ‘Regional processes and the migration situation in Russia and the former Soviet Union: region and regionalism’, Opole 2:36–59. Mishina, E. and Skorobogatiko, O. (1997) ‘Vynujdennaia migratzia v tzifrah’ (Forced migration in figures), Migratzia 4:35. Naselenie i Krizisy 1 (Population and crisis 1) (1995) Moscow: Dialog-MGU. Naselenie i Krizisy 2 (Population and crisis 2) (1996) Moscow: Dialog-MGU. Polian, P. (1997) ‘Evreiskaia emigratzia v Germaniiu’ (Jewish emigration to Germany), Migratzia 4:25–8. Reghent, T. (1997) ‘Problemy regulirovania migratzionnyh protzesov’ (Some problems of migration regulation), Migratzia 4:1–4. Russell, S.S. (1995) ‘Migration patterns of U.S. foreign policy interest’, in M.S. Teitelbaum and M.Weiner (eds) Threatened Peoples, Threatened Borders: World Migration and U.S. Policy, New York: W.W.Norton & Company, pp. 39–87. Shevtsova, L. (1992) ‘Post-Soviet emigration: today and tomorrow’, International Migration Review 26(2):241–57. United Nations (1996) World Population Prospects: The 1996 Revision. Annex II and III, New York: UN. Ushkalov, I. (1996) Vneshniaia Migratzia Naselenia kak Kolichestevennyi i Kachestvennyi Factor Demographicheskoi Dinamiki, Depopuliatzia v Rossii: Prichiny, Posledstvia i Puti Vyhoda (External Migration as a Factor in Qualitative and Quantitative Demographic Dynamics, Depopulation in Russia: Causes, Consequences and Ways of Development), Moscow: Russian Academy of Sciences. ——(1997) Territoalnye Obtznosty, Reghionalnye Krizisy i Migratzia Neselenia v Sovremennoi Rossii,_Narodonaselenie: Sovremennoe Sostoianie i Perspectivy Razvitia Nauchnogo Znania (Territorial Communities, Regional Crisis and Migration of Population in Modern Russia, Population: Modern Situation and Perspectives of Study), Moscow: Dialog-MGU.


Zayonchkovskaya, Z., Kocharyan, A. and Vitkovskaya, G. (1993) ‘Forced migration and ethnic processes in the former Soviet Union’, in R.Black and V.Robinson (eds) Geography and Refugees: Patterns and Processes of Change, New York: Belhaven, pp. 198–207. Zlokazov, I. (1998) ‘Demograficheskii factor natzionalionoi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatzii’(Demographic factors in Russian national security), Rossiiskii Demograficheskii Jurnal 1:46–9.

10 The brain drain in Russia Scale, direction and structure Irina Malakha

Recent transformations in Russia have exerted an influence upon practically all spheres of public life and changed both qualitative and quantitative features of many socioeconomic processes. One of these is the migration of population. The last few years have seen a large increase in both internal and external movements in what had been, for security reasons, a very immobile society. There are a number of security issues which attach to these increases in movement in both conventional and redefined security terms. This chapter looks at one aspect of external migration—the brain drain—which has serious economic and social security implications for Russia. The shifts in scale and structure of population mobility have a significant impact on the major determinants of the social, demographic and economic development of the country. The emigration of highly skilled personnel plays a special role in external migration from Russia. This flow consists mostly of the most educated, professionally prepared and socially active part of the population (Zayonchkovskaya, Kocharyan and Vitkovskaya 1993). For example, the educational level of these emigrants is ten times higher than the average for Russia as a whole. This exodus of talent has already had an effect on the ‘quality’ of the Russian populace. For example, according to data announced by the regional bureau of the United Nations Development Programme the human development index (HDI) in the Russian Federation has decreased from 0.804 in 1993 (then Russia ranked 57 among 174 countries) to 0.760 in 1996. This is a cause for concern given that the HDI takes account of adult literacy and life expectancy as well as combined national income. Further lowering of the index will mean that the Russian Federation will move from the group of those countries with a high level of human development into the group of countries with an average level. The emigration of highly skilled personnel must be considered as a specific kind of interstate migration, having as an important component the national intellectual elite. The loss of a significant proportion of its intellectual elite and skilled workers has been feared since it is thought to jeopardise future reforms (Shevtsova 1992). Here, the main focus of attention is on the brain drain in research and development (R&D). To analyse this kind of migration it is important to study the factors, causes and conditions of emigration. It is

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necessary to consider both global and specific features and their combination with modern Russian conditions. Among the structural factors of migration the ethnic and professional components are of especial importance. They play a major part in the migratory flow structure and the mobility level of various groups of the population. In the context of emigration of scientific staff, the professional factor is the most important. There is a strong correlation between educational level, professional qualification and mobility of population. This applies to all countries. Among the stimulating factors of migration there are two basic groups: an attractive force of opportunities (‘pull’ factors) and a burden of existing difficulties (‘push’ factors). The economic component prevails in both groups. Deterioration of research conditions and a serious socioeconomic imbalance, which has arisen as a result of unfounded and short-sighted reforms in Russia, compel many scientists (especially young specialists) to leave the country, not only because of professional imperatives but also because of economic reasons. In 1992, considering the new socioeconomic situation in Russia, the declared policy was one of R&D promotion. However, science has not been considered a sphere requiring the greatest attention in the state policy and was excluded from the hierarchy of its priorities. Even the subsequent Presidential Decree ‘The doctrine of development Russian science’ and the Federal law ‘Science and the state scientific and R&D policy’ have not changed the situation. These documents determine a multiplicity of sources for financing scientific and R&D activity. Thus, it was determined that not less than 4 per cent of the federal budget expenditure would be allocated for the financing of civil R&D. This was also supposed to finance R&D at the expense of charges attributed to production costs. However, as it turned out, these legislative provisions for financing R&D were not observed (Malakha 1997). Between 1985 and 1997, there was a significant reduction of internal expenditures for R&D. In comparable prices they decreased, according to various estimates, by 15 to 18 times. There was a sharp drop of the share of internal expenditures for R&D in gross national product—from 2.3 per cent in 1990 to 1.2 per cent in 1997 (the lowest figure was 0.7 per cent in 1995). By this index Russia has remained behind industrial developed countries, especially Switzerland, Japan, Germany and the United States, which allocate more than 2.8 per cent of gross national product for R&D. Now Russia is among such countries as Argentina, Greece and Portugal in terms of R&D funding. Currently, Russia spends about US$4.5 thousand million on science, whereas the United States allocates more than US$170 thousand million for this purpose (Malakha 1998). As a result of significant reductions in the federal budget it has become increasingly difficult to finance R&D from this source. During the last few years there has been a sharp reduction in the share of the federal budget devoted to the financing of science—from more than 90.0 per cent in 1994 to 47.2 per cent in 1997. But the situation is aggravated significantly due to the fact that the budget allocations for science are not carried out completely. In 1995, they were

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fulfilled at 69 per cent of the fixed expenditures for R&D, in 1996 at 60 per cent. In 1997, just 12.3 thousand million roubles were allocated from the sequestered budget for science, but the R&D sphere only received 87 per cent of that (this amounted to only 74 per cent of the initially planned expenditure). In January 1998, it dropped to 80 per cent of the stipulated amount (Malakha 1997; Finansovye Izvestia 1998). At the same time, in conditions of economic instability, the requirement for state support for structural reorganisation and development of the R&D sphere is very significant. On the most modest calculations it is estimated that at least three thousand million roubles are required for reforming the R&D sector. In the 1998 budget this has not been accounted for. This will aggravate the situation even more, as restructuring activity will be financed at the expense of the scientific sector. The direct consequence of this reduction of the expenditures for R&D has been a sharp change in the structure of internal current expenses in scientific institutions. In spite of the fact that nowadays the main share falls on salaries and wages—in 1997 it was more than 85 per cent of the total current expenses, in 1990 30 per cent, in 1994 42 per cent—the level of remuneration in science is much lower than in many branches of the economy. In 1990, the monthly average wages in the R&D sector was 118.6 per cent of the average in the economy and 113.2 per cent of industrial wages, in 1992 it achieved its minimum level and was 64.4 per cent and 54.6 per cent respectively, and in 1996, 81.9 per cent and 73 per cent. Although there has been some growth in R&D pay in the past few years (in 1997 it grew by 42 per cent and in 1998 by 19 per cent), and it averages at around 1,000 roubles per month, real wages still remain very low (CISN 1997). It is also necessary to take into account that there are essential changes in the structure of wages for R&D employees. Now the share of the incentive premiums for winning competitive projects financed by Russian and international foundations supporting R&D and contract work becomes significant. Thus, these kinds of premiums make up more than 30 per cent of the salaries of researchers of the Russian Academy of Sciences. Nevertheless, in spite of the increase in these benefits they have not been of significant magnitude to change the situation. There are two groups of R&D staff—young scientists and those having the highest scientific qualifications (PhD, professor’s qualification) for whom inadequate low wages become a strong ‘push’ factor stimulating their outflow abroad, especially from the natural sciences. The professors’ wages were reduced from 219 per cent of the average wage in industry in 1987 to 62 per cent in 1993. In 1997, wages of a specialist with a DSc, that is a scientist of the highest qualification, was between three and a half and five times less than the minimal salary in the United States. Even allowing for the fact that the level of consumer costs in Russia are only 70 per cent of


those in the United States, scientists have become one of the poorest groups in Russia—this is unprecedented (Malakha 1998). Alongside wage differentials there are essential differences in the rates of growth and the level of monthly average salaries of R&D staff in various economic regions of Russia. The highest wages in this sphere are in the Northern, Far East and East-Siberian economic regions. In Moscow and St Petersburg, where the most significant part of the scientific potential is concentrated, the wages have been much below the average level since 1992. Thus, St Petersburg is among three areas with the lowest wage level in science (Valiukov 1994). Sharp changes in the structure of current expenses in scientific institutions had deleterious effects on the scientific research process, making it practically impossible to update scientific equipment, to purchase scientific literature, to hold scientific meetings or to attend conferences. Thus, many Russian scientists found themselves deprived of the opportunity to carry out research, and their wages seemed more akin to unemployment benefit than a professional salary. But there is one more very important issue. In Russia, as well as in others postsocialist countries, the relative price of labour (compared to other factors of production) was underestimated in comparison with the industrially developed countries, for a number of reasons. This had two consequences. First, there was easy access to higher education for all sections of population. Second, the relative cheapness of training personnel to a high level resulted in an undervaluation of highly skilled labour and inefficient use of its skills. It also became increasingly clear during the transition to a market economy that there would be redundancy among the highly qualified staff occupied in R&D. This situation has become the powerful ‘push’ factor. The outflow of the experts has reached alarming proportions. Personnel trained in R&D leave this sphere and get jobs in other sectors of the economy (internal brain drain), but many of the most highly qualified researchers emigrate abroad (external brain drain). Between 1985 and 1997 more than 2.4 million people left R&D, that is, twothirds of all those so occupied in 1985. There were 258 occupied in R&D per 1000 of population in Russia in 1990 against 150 in 1996 (Malakha and Ushkalov 1997). The emigration of highly skilled scientific staff should be considered as an important component in the adjustment of the modern Russian labour market to varying economic circumstances. Among the reasons for intellectual emigration (understood as a special form of the relations between objective factors and subjective needs) there are two major factors—surroundings and social norms. Contradictions between the level of personal development of a person, her or his needs and opportunities and conditions of their satisfaction act as a reason for emigration. It is possible to resolve these contradictions only by means of moving to another state. Thus, the specificity of the combination of both reasons and purposes of migratory and labour behaviour is important.

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In certain conditions, scientists’ professional development demands a change of location. In this case, professional interests have to be considered as the purpose of moving and a territorial move as a means of implementing this purpose. In other cases the move will be more directly related to socioeconomic betterment. In this case, the job is secondary and is considered as an instrument giving access to an improved livelihood and better lifestyle. However, both these cases are interconnecting in many aspects and their combination depends on the qualities of a particular person. On the whole, external factors (for example, global shortage of workplaces) tend to be less of an incentive to migrate than internal ones—the aspiration to realise through emigration personal professional potential and to get an adequate reward. This does not contradict the argument about the role of labour determinants in interstate migrations of R&D staff since labour is considered not only as a source of earnings. In this case, labour is a way of realising a person’s creative potential. State regulation of immigration through strict selective immigration policy is a characteristic of all countries at this time and has particular significance for intellectual migration. National sovereignty of countries, the situation in international and national labour markets, parity of supply and demand for professions and qualifications are the important regulators in such migratory processes. It assumes the existence of legislation at international, national and regional levels that are promoting or are limiting the migrants inflow depending on their specific characteristics (see Chapter 11). The significant shifts in what are perceived to be the positive and negative impacts of immigration have predetermined that the majority of states carry out selective and strictly regulatory migration policies to suit their national socioeconomic development. The policies represent a system of special measures, acts and international agreements (bilateral and multilateral) on regulation of migratory flows, restricting inflow of refugees, illegal migrants and stimulating the inflow of economically effective human capital, first of all of R&D staff and other highly skilled specialists. The fast growth of emigration from Russia, and in particular labour emigration, reflects the internal relaxation of emigration procedures, on the one hand, and welcoming immigration policy of many countries towards highly skilled personnel, on the other. The United States, Canada and Australia, among others, adopted a relatively favourable attitude towards skilled applicants from the former Soviet Union. The United States adopted a special amendment on the immigration quota from the countries of the former USSR, increasing it by 50,000 persons annually for immigrants having high qualifications and professions in certain areas of expertise (for example, mathematics, computer programming, genetics, biotechnology, chemistry, theoretical and experi mental physics) (Malakha 1998; Shevtsova 1992). Nowadays the intellectual emigration from Russia is realised in two ways —departure for permanent residence and shorter-term labour migration.


Emigration from Russia for permanent residence, after the surge between 1988 and 1990, remains rather stable at about 100,000 to 110,000 persons per year. The majority of those leaving for permanent residence are ethnic emigrants—more than half of them are Germans and more than 12 per cent are Jews. Practically all the Germans (99–8 per cent in 1994) depart to Germany. Almost 50 per cent of Jews migrate to Israel and between 30 and 35 per cent go to the United States (Simanovskii 1997). The outflow for permanent residence is mainly ethnic emigration—a diaspora returning to a homeland. However, a more detailed analysis, taking into account educational level and type and sector of professional activity, shows that there is a large proportion of highly skilled persons among these ethnic emigrants. In 1996, around 20 per cent of these emigrants had higher education diplomas (i.e. they had more than 15 years of schooling). Of the Russian citizens who left for Australia, 60 per cent were educated to higher standard. Of those leaving for Canada, the figure was 59 per cent, for the United States 48 per cent and for Israel 32.5 per cent. This compares with a figure of only 13 per cent for the population of Russia as a whole (Malakha and Ushkalov 1997). Ethnic emigration forms an important structural factor among science and education sectors. Among those going to Germany and Israel, 79.3 per cent were previously engaged in these areas. Thus, a considerable part of the ethnic emigration represents a classical brain drain. Indeed, Israel provides an example of the extent of the ethnic dimension to the brain drain. Among immigrants to Israel from the countries of the former USSR about 40.5 per cent have thirteen or more years of education. Only 24.2 per cent of the Israeli population has a similar level of education. By the beginning of 1996, 110,000 scientists, not including engineers, had emigrated to Israel from the former USSR (Simanovskii 1997). There has been a relative decline in ethnic migration and a relative increase in the emigration of ethnic Russians. Whereas there were equal numbers of Jews and Russians emigrating in 1990, by 1994 there were twice as many Russians as Jews leaving Russia. More than half of ethnic Russians went to Germany (mainly as members of mixed families), 14 per cent to Israel, 18 per cent to the United States, 1.6 per cent to Canada, 1.1 per cent to Australia, 1.5 per cent to Finland and more than 3 per cent to East European countries (Simanovskii 1997). According to official data, between 1992 and 1996 there were on the average about 5,000 persons per year from the science and national education sectors and about 2,000 persons per year from the science and scientific facilities sector emigrating on a permanent basis. That makes about 2 per cent of all emigration for permanent residence. Among the persons with higher education (23 per cent of all emigrants) 0.8 per cent had a scientific degree of the candidate of sciences (equivalent to a PhD) and 0.1 per cent were doctors of science (professor). Between 1991 and 1992, 508 scientists from institutions from the Russian Academy of Sciences (RAS) departed abroad for permanent residence. This comprises approximately 0.8 per cent of the total number in the RAS. Most of

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these emigrants had a very high qualification level—55.9 per cent of them had a scientific degree of the candidate of sciences (PhD) and 16.2 per cent of a doctor of sciences (professor). About half of them (48.5 per cent) were younger than 40 years old. The RAS lost highly qualified specialists at their most productive age. During this period, Israel and the United States were the main recipients of the scientific staff of the RAS with 42.1 per cent and 38.6 per cent respectively. During the last five to seven years, about 15,000 people occupied in R&D have emigrated from Russia. In 1998, about 2,000 Russian scientist moved abroad for permanent residence. About 3,000 specialists go abroad for temporary work under contracts annually (Malakha 1997). The situation in the labour markets of both the receiving and donor countries is an important factor in regulating the structure of professional labour migrations. In Israel, the R&D sector has come to rely heavily on immigration from the countries of the former USSR. About 60 per cent of immigrants had scientific, engineering or other trades (in comparison with 28 per cent of the inhabitants of Israel). More than 68,000 scientists and engineers from the former USSR arrived in Israel between 1989 and 1995. In 1996, among the newcomers, 17.5 per cent were students, 17.1 per cent representatives of engineering and associated professions and 14.8 per cent scientists. In terms of the age structure of migrants to Israel from the former Soviet Union there was a clear bias towards the young with over 25 per cent below 35 years of age. The nature of this flow to Israel met the requirements of intensive R&D. During the first half of the 1990s, 52 per cent of the newly arrived scientists were specialists in physics, computer facilities, mathematics and programming, 27 per cent were experts in biology and biotechnology, 12 per cent in chemistry and 9 per cent were representatives of humanitarian sciences. More than half of the scientist immigrants (56 per cent) had a scientific degree of candidate (PhD) and 16 per cent doctor of sciences (professor). The scientists in the age range of 31– 45 made the largest age group. In other words, these were scientific staff having the highest qualification at their most productive age—the cream of the postSoviet crop (Simanovskii 1997). However, owing to high saturation of the market in scientific labour in Israel, the existence of a language barrier, a high level of competition on the part of the local R&D staff, especially of professors and teachers, together with low flexibility concerning scientists retraining for a new profession, the acquisition of employment was not always unproblematic. Therefore, not all scientists emigrating for permanent residence from Russia in this period got a job according with their speciality and qualification. The risk of failing to get an appropriate job or to be made redundant during an economic downturn was greater among the highly qualified scientific and academic persons than among other groups of emigrants. In conditions of democratisation and an increase in the openness of Russian society, emigration for permanent residence has not been restricted nor regulated by the Russian authorities. According to estimates, the flow of external labour


migration (including family members) is two or three times that of settler emigration. The labour migrants tend to be more highly skilled than those seeking permanent emigration. Some 56 per cent of external labour migrants have university and unfinished university education (against 18 per cent on average in Russia) and 41 per cent have vocational education (against 33 per cent). More than 50 per cent of external labour migrants have the degree of candidate of sciences (PhD) and about 20 per cent the degree of doctor of sciences (professor) (Malakha 1997). Scientists and other highly qualified specialists could go to another country having an agreement for temporary (but sometimes long-term) work. Studies of this process show that, given the conditions in Russia, departure for temporary work abroad as a wholly temporary move is unlikely. More often, many of those who left the country with a firm intention to return, changed plans and engaged in new contracts even if this required moving to a third country (Ikonnikov 1993). An analysis of the data about temporary labour migration of scientists and specialists occupied in the RAS institutions shows that 81.5 per cent of them had a scientific degree and academic status. This is well above the average in the RAS institutions as a whole. More than 60 per cent of those going abroad for temporary work are younger than 40 years of age. The analysis of the age and scientific qualification structure of this outflow allows us to conclude that a significant number of the Russian scientists forming the brain drain flow constitute an elite, and in particular pre-elite, of the Russian scientific community (Malakha and Ushkalov 1997). There is a clear differential in the international market for scientists working in broadly similar fields. Thus, the demand for specialists in theoretical physics from Russia is higher than for those in applied physics. Yet, there are many more of the latter than the former within the structure of the Russian scientific community. According to estimates, about 40 per cent of the best theoretical physicists and approximately 12 per cent of experimental physicists from the former USSR have already left for temporary or permanent employment. Within the Russian scientific and educational sphere, all R&D and educational institutions and centres have been affected by the emigration of highly qualified personnel. But, as a rule, the most respected researchers work in leading centres in the given scientific area and, thus, these centres in particular are exposed to the greatest threat. As the president of the Lomonosov Moscow State University, V.Sadovnichii, noted, between 10 and 20 per cent of leading researchers and teachers, depending on scientific specialism, have left the university recently (Finansovye Izvestia 1998). A particular problem has been the outflow of highly skilled experts from the R&D sphere of the defence industry. In the outflow from the so-called ‘closed’ towns, the scientists and highly qualified specialists prevail. As many as 75 per cent of specialists have left these towns where as much as 60 per cent of all employed residents could be scientists (Zemlianoy and Kuzminov 1992).

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Emigration of those Russian scientists with defence research experience has been highly targeted at a few nations. Consideration of conventional security issues has meant that many of these emigrants are highly prized. The most important location for defence-related emigrants is the United States where about 8,000 Russian scientists work in more than forty scientific programmes carried out by the US Defence and Energy Departments. A smaller proportion of the highly skilled scientific staff is directed to the European Union countries since there are more restrictions to these countries and wages are relatively lower than in the United States (Malakha 1997). Also in these countries the research work, as a rule, is combined with academic activity at universities, and that creates additional requirements in terms of language, knowledge of the educational programmes and the like. There has also been some outflow of scientists from Russia to the developing countries. There is a great demand for scientists to engage in research in these countries. There is a specific requirement for specialists in defence-related research and ‘dual-purpose’ technologies. China, Southern Korea, Brazil, Argentina, Mexico and some Arab countries are among the countries expressing interest in attracting Russian intellectual potential. It is necessary to say something of the inflow into Russia. Most of this is immigration from the other CIS and Baltic countries. The total number of migrants migrating to the Russian Federation from these countries reached its highest level of 1,146,000 persons in 1994. By 1995, this had dropped to 842,000 persons, by 1996 to 631,000 and by 1997 to 430,000 persons. According to estimates, by 2000 Russia will take between 2.5 and 2.8 million people from socalled ‘near foreign countries’, including about 800,000 forced migrants (Malakha 1998). It is reasonable to assume, that the educational level of many of these migrants is higher than the average in the countries which they left (except perhaps the Baltic countries) and also exceeds the educational level of the population in Russia as a whole. This situation has arisen due to the fact that most of these migrants are Russian speakers who, after graduation from universities and high schools, finished postgraduate studies and were directed to Soviet republics to strengthen the R&D and educational potential of these republics. This immigration has gone some way to address the balance of the international brain drain. This brain gain alleviates many of the problems caused by the exodus of skilled Russians, including strengthening of R&D and teaching potential in high schools in peripheral areas. A good example of this is the experience of Volgograd which actively attracts migrants occupied in R&D and education from other republics of the former USSR. That said, the inflow of highly educated people does not match the outflow. Further, many of these Russian immigrants will soon experience the ‘push’ factors of low or no wages, lack of investment in R&D and the general denigration of science and research in Russia which so disillusioned those involved in the initial brain drain.


The numerous polls which have been carried out among the Russian scientists show that some of those polled intend to emigrate to another country for permanent residence. Most, however, would like to engage in temporary work abroad under contract in an appropriate speciality for one to two years. More than 50 per cent of those scientists polled in Moscow between 1992 and 1993 expressed the intention and readiness to leave the country under a temporary contract Sociological polls carried out in 1993 in eighteen scientific institutions showed that 42 per cent of respondents seriously intended to work abroad under a contract though currently did not have the opportunity. Around 8 per cent of respondents said they were going to depart in the near future and 5 per cent had real opportunities to work abroad under a temporary contract and were considering proposals. Only 23 per cent of respondents had no intention of seeking some type of employment abroad. About 30 per cent of the scientists considered the brain drain a deep-rooted problem. Most believed that the crisis situation in the Russian society and economy encouraged the emigration and the brain drain. Therefore, stabilisation of both the economic and political situation was necessary for the resolution of this problem. But most thought that the factors influencing the brain drain could not be eliminated in the near future. A second group of factors causing the outflow of R&D personnel abroad was identified. This revolved around the ever-decreasing level of prestige of science in Russian society and the vague and ambiguous atmosphere surrounding the future of scientific activity and of the careers of researchers. This inability to realise their creative abilities and professional knowledge is a cause of dejection among scientists. Only 46 per cent of those scientists polled considered that they were able to realise their creative potential completely, 31per cent thought that they only reached about half of their full potential and 13 per cent only reached a small or minimal degree of their full potential (Valiukov 1994). Results of sociological polls on migratory intentions of scientific and academic staff and students carried in the Irkutsk area agree completely with the above findings. The polls found that 23.2 per cent of the respondents had very strong migratory intentions and 21 per cent wanted to go abroad for work. Thus, the intention of the scientists to migrate abroad can be estimated as relatively high and the main channel considered is temporary labour migrations (under contract). A specific flow of intellectual emigrants is formed by students and businessmen leaving abroad to study or retrain. Emigration intentions of the students are an important characteristic of the scale of migration potential of highly skilled specialists. The majority of the students polled (82 per cent) considered emigration as a natural phenomenon caused by underestimation of their labour and creative potential by society. The distribution of the students according to emigration intentions gives a ratio 7 to 3 favouring emigration. A poll of students in the Irkutsk area confirmed this with 73 per cent of the polled

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students claiming to be potential emigrants. There were differences according to discipline. There was a lower propensity towards emigration among humanities students with 14 per cent, compared with 18 per cent of engineering students, claiming a desire for permanent emigration. As far as temporary, labour-related emigration was concerned, about 24 per cent of students in the humanities, compared with 31 per cent of the future engineers, said they would like to work in another country, to earn money, then to return home. While the students in humanities preferred emigration to Western European countries, those who studied natural sciences claimed the United States as their prime destination (Sinkevich 1996). The analyses of the emigration potential of students have shown that there has been a growth in emigration intention among future highly qualified personnel. It seems that between 15 and 20 per cent of the future graduates could leave the country, and 9 to 12 per cent of them leave for good. Even though these polls reflect potential emigration, evidence suggests that much of this is translated into practice. Each year, there are some 25,000 Russian students and managers studying abroad, with about 10,000 of these in the United States. The return home index of this group is significantly less than that of the whole flow of the labour emigration. People stay on legally or illegally through extended study and academic employment, marriage or work in or outside their specialist area in the formal or informal labour markets. Some move on to third countries. Though short-term study migration has positive impacts in separate directions, in general it can be considered as a potential brain drain that may also worsen the quality and quantity of the labour potential of Russia. As the experience of the last few years has shown, the United States, for example, prefers to invite those students who would be engaged in scientific research and particularly those who could carry out fundamental research in the natural sciences. There is a very complicated problem concerning the estimation of the socioeconomic consequences of the brain drain phenomenon. On the one hand, emigration permits the scientists to improve their standard of living and realise fully their creative potential in scientific activity (although not all get to work in their chosen specialism); on the other hand, there are the doubtless negative aspect of this phenomenon for the donor country (Biggin and Kuzminov 1993). According to estimates made using United Nations calculations, the annual total losses to Russia as a result of the brain drain are between US$50,000 and 60,000 million, that is more than one third the total external debt. At the same time, the United States annually receives up to US$100,000 million due to the immigration of the scientific and highly skilled specialists (from Russia and elsewhere). It is important to note that the damage caused by the brain drain to the country is significantly greater than these estimates because many of the negative effects (including demographic, social, political and indirect economic) have a noncalculable or qualitative character whose results could become evident only in the longer-term.


Conclusion It is clear that the exodus of a large number of Russia’s most skilled and highly qualified persons is not just a problem for the development of the research and development sector. There are associated problems related to a range of human security issues for modern Russia, particularly during a period of transition. Economic instability and political unrest are least likely to be solved when the most intellectually able are emigrating in large numbers. This is a loss of human capital and a loss of the investment in the education and training of the emigrants. Acknowledgments The research on this problem was carried out in the framework of the project External and Internal Migration of a Highly Skilled Labour Force: Evaluation of Economic Consequences of the Russian Foundation for Humanities References Biggin, S. and Kuzminov, V. (eds) (1993) Proceedings of the International seminar on ‘Brain drain issues in Europe’, 25–27 April, Technical report no. 15, UNESCO Regional Office for Science and Technology for Europe. CISN (Centre for Scientific Statistics) (1997) Science in Russia, Moscow: CISN. Finansovye Izvestia (1998) ‘Otechestvennai nauka vse bolee orientiruetsia na rynok’ (National science is adapting to market conditions), Finansovye Izvestia, 5 March, p. 5. Ikonnikov, O. (1993) Emigratzia Nauchnyh Kadrov iz Rossii (Emigration of Research and Development Personnel from Russia), Moscow: Kompas. Malakha, I. (1997) Mejgosudarstvennaia Migratzia Nauchnyh Kadrov: Faktory, Prichiny, Posledstvia, (International Migration of Research and Devevelopment Personnel: Factors, Causes, Consequences), Moscow: Dialog-MGU. ——(1998) ‘Intellektualinaia emigratzia iz Rossii kak ugroza nattzionalinoi bezopasnosti’, in L.Shishelina (ed.) Rossii i Vostochnaia Evropa v Novyh Geopoliticheskih Usloviah (Intellectual Emigration as a Threat to National Security, in Russia and Central Europe: New Geopolitical Situation), Moscow: AO EPICON, pp. 190–8. Malakha, I. and Ushkalov, I. (1997) ‘Utechka umov: posledstvia dlia Rossii’ (The brain drain: consequences for Russia), Bisnes i Politika 11:60–4. Simanovskii, S. (1997) ‘Intellektualinaia emigratzi: Rossiiskii “mozgi” v Israile’ (Intellectual Emigration: Russian ‘Brains’ in Israel), Poisk 6:13–15. Sinkevich, I. (1996) ‘Sotzialino-economicheskii mehanizm vneshnei trudovoi migratzii’ (Socio-economic mechanism of external labour migration), unpublished PhD. thesis, University of Irkutsk. Shevtsova, L. (1992) ‘Post-Soviet emigration: today and tomorrow’, International Migration Review 26(2): 241–57.

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Valiukov, V. (1994) ‘Utechka umov iz Rossii: problemy i puti regulirovania’ (The brain drain in Russia: problems and regulation), in Institute for Economic Forecasts Migratzia Spetzialistov v Rossii: Prichiny, Posledstvia, Otzenki (Migration of Specialists in Russia: Causes, Consequences, Estimations), Moscow: Russian Academy of Sciences, pp. 19–39. Zayonchkovskaya, Z., Kocharyan, A. and Vitkovskaya, G. (1993) ‘Forced migration and ethnic processes in the former Soviet Union’, in R.Black and V.Robinson (eds) Geography and Refugees: Patterns and Processes of Change, New York: Belhaven, pp. 198–207. Zemlianoy, S. and Kuzminov, V. (eds) (1992) Proceedings of the International Seminar on ‘Utechka Umov v Usloviiah Sovremennoi Rossii: Vnutrennie i Mejdunarodnye’ Aspekty (The Brain Drain in Modern Russia: Internal and External Aspects), 17–18 February, Technical report no. 10, UNESCO Regional Office for Science and Technology for Europe.

11 The people paradox

Human movements and human security in a globalising world David T.Graham

Over the last two or three decades an ever-increasing number of academics, politicians and media commentators have been expressing an interest in globalisation. The various processes of economic, cultural and technological diffusion, which are at the heart of globalisation, have been central to the work of many mainstream geographers for much longer than this. The idea of a shrinking world, where transactions, trade, economic and cultural intercourse are conducted more easily and more rapidly, and where physical distance presents less of a problem, is part of established geographical tradition. One of the most fundamental aspects of globalisation is the movement of people (Burgers and Engbersen 1996). Again, traditional geographers have been studying migration for a long time. ‘Political science and international relations scholarship come rather late to the study of international migration’, however (Mitchell 1989:681). Yet, human migrations long predate the economic, technological and cultural convergence that now excites so many sociologists, economists, cultural studiers and other post-modern commentators. Human migration is the precursor for any process of diffusion. Humans were moving from place to place, often over long distances, long before goods, money, technology and other cornerstones of globalisation were devised, let alone exchanged. However, as the processes of globalisation have advanced, the scale and scope of human movements have expanded to unprecedented levels. Closely linked to human migration is human security. The two are interlinked and immutable. People move because of some threat to security or to improve their security. In so doing, they are often seen as a threat to the security of the receiving population, or at least sections thereof, particularly if the movement is large enough in numerical terms or dissimilar enough in qualitative terms. In recent years there has been a ‘move towards a more human dimension of the notion of security, placing people at its very centre’ (Independent Commission on Population and Quality of Life 1996:66). As definitions and concepts of security have shifted from a narrow state-centred view of national security to a more general humanist approach (Loescher 1995; Renner 1989, 1996; Rosenau 1994; Zimmermann 1995), so the impact of migration becomes more central to security issues. Viewed from a conventional security viewpoint, population movements would only be perceived as a threat if the

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influx was an invading army or, secondarily, a large number of refugees. From the human security perspective a wider range of issues is involved such as economic, social, cultural and environmental security. Here, the impacts of migration are much more complex. This chapter explores the interrelationships between globalisation, migration and human security. It explores the paradox whereby national governments are seeking ever-tighter controls over certain types of migration while simultaneously encouraging short-term population movements. This is taking place during an era of unprecedented population movement, and at a time when the borders of nation-states have never been so porous in terms of the movement of goods, services, finance and ideas, Globalisation: impacts on migration Although human population movements predate trade, commerce, technological advancement and other measures of human progress, which led to globalisation, there is no doubt that reductionist forces of the last hundred years or so have helped in both stimulating and enabling population movements of varying kinds. Such is the scale of human migration that there are now between 100 and 120 million people living in countries other than those in which they were born (Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994; Demko 1994; Parfit 1998; Wood 1994). So great has been the impact of these human population movements that it has been called The Global Migration Crisis (Weiner 1995) and the twentieth century has been called The Age of Migration (Castles and Miller 1993). For most commentators on globalisation, the redundancy of the nation-state is a central feature. As global capital, trade, crime syndicates and trans-national corporations become increasingly outside the control of national governments the power of the nation-state is seen to be eroding. National governments have responded in a number of ways, including entering into multilateral trading partnerships, such as the European Union (EU), the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) and the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), and concentrating on functions with which they are better able to deal. Among these functions is the control of inward labour flows, fostering of a national identity through common citizenship and the exclusion of outsiders (Cohen 1997). States maintain as an attribute of sovereignty the right to set migration policy (Conner 1986; Leitner 1995). As one anti-immigration US Senator put it when debating the 1982 Immigration Reform and Control Act: ‘we intend to clearly exercise the first and primary responsibility of a sovereign nation which is to control its borders’ (quoted in The Economist 1982:32). Of the many features of globalisation there are a number which impact on migration (Burgers and Engbersen 1996; Gould 1994). The operation of transnational companies in seeking to maximise profits by continually seeking the least expensive labour supplies has gone some way in stemming certain labour flows. By building plant in low labour cost countries, such as the

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maquiladoras in Mexico, transnationals retain manufacturing labour (Weintraub 1991). Apart from the sweatshops in the ‘rag trade’, most illegal immigrants to Western countries enter the service or agricultural sectors (Harris 1995). Here, they can more readily avoid the new legislation that puts the onus on the employer to ensure employees are bona fide. Immigration services can more easily target workshops and factories than domestic homes and farms. However, when transnationals relocate, as is their nature, they leave in their wake a former workforce that has not only acquired skills but also a taste for a lifestyle supported by a relatively high income. If no local work is available then these are the types of people most likely to move elsewhere to seek work—the poorest and least skilled are least likely to migrate (Grant 1995; Kritz 1998). Globalisation processes stimulate migration. The inequality inherent in the capitalist system is as evident in the state system as it is within states. Labour migration, both legal and illegal is but one response to this inequality (Salt 1989; Shrestha 1988; Widgren 1987; Zolberg 1989). Developments in transport and transport networks, particularly cheap and comprehensive air travel, mean that quick, low cost links between even distant places allow for easy and frequent mass population movement. This has not been lost on national governments which increasingly insist that the carrier is responsible for ensuring the status of travellers in terms of the right to enter the destination country. The development of global communications and entertainment networks has helped expand awareness of life in other countries. This is particularly the case in developing countries whose populations are exposed to images of lifestyles and cultures of developed countries. Latin America now has sixty million television sets, nearly one per family. In the mid-1980s, Bolivia had only seven television stations, but now has fifty. Star TV, a satellite service based in Hong Kong, is received in almost forty Asian countries (Stalker 1994). That many of these images and messages, particularly from the United States, are sanitised and exclusionary is ignored by, or lost on, the recipients. Thus, even though many communities in the United States experience levels of poverty and infant mortality equal to or greater than those of the target audience, the overall image is of ‘West is best’, and this undoubtedly helps encourage South-North migration. Most migration, internal and international, however, takes place in developing countries (Martin 1997; Parfit 1998; Weiner 1995). In South Asia alone, thirtyfive to forty million people have crossed international borders within the region (Weiner 1993). The bulk of refugee movements is also between developing countries. One consequence of globalisation is that more people and communities become involved in cash economics. This promotes cross-border and regional movement as the cash nexus displaces local self-sufficiency. The most dramatic of all migrations resulting from this restructuring is not illegal migration, asylum seeking, visa applications, transnational family reunification or other international efforts, but urbanisation. The scale of these urbanward movements is such that they create their own security threats—epidemics, crime,


ill-health, political instability, pollution, vice and the like (Demko 1994; UN Centre for Human Settlements 1996; Widgren 1990; Wood 1994). Types of migration Besides tourism—which, like the drugs industry (legal and illegal), arms trade and sex industry, is a truly global industry in terms of scale, value and reach— most other forms of international population movement can be described as migration. Here, the movers have no intention of returning to the origin country or will do so only for a temporary visit, do not know if or when they will return or will return after a specific contracted medium- to long-term period. Stalker (1994) recognises five major types of international migration: 1 Settlers who enter a country with a view to permanent residence. Classic settler countries include Canada, the United States, New Zealand and Australia. In 1992, these four countries accepted over a million new settler immigrants. 2 Contract workers whose entry is conditional on a legally binding agreement with an employer and on a predetermined length of stay. Most contract workers are to be found in oil-rich states in the Near and Middle East. These are mostly Arab and Asian unskilled and semiskilled workers. This category also includes seasonal workers employed in the tourist and agricultural industries. There are around twenty million such workers. 3 Professionals who have higher education or training. Many of these are employed by transnational firms in managerial or technical roles. This is a type of migration where there is as much North-South traffic as South-North. However, these tend to be shorter-term moves. The longer-term moves, which often turn into permanent moves, tend to be from developing to developed countries—the ‘brain drain’ (see Chapter 10). Although relatively small in numeric terms, this is a rapidly growing area of migration and one which governments are least likely to interfere with. 4 Illegal immigrants have either entered the country clandestinely or have breached the terms of their original entry requirements by overextending their stay or by taking paid employment. Sometimes referred to as ‘undocumented workers’ or, more pejoratively, ‘illegal aliens’. There are reckoned to be some five million in the United States and as many in Europe (SOPEMI 1998). There is also much illegal traffic between developing countries. Because of its nature, illegal migration is difficult to gauge but estimates range between thirty and forty million globally. Such is the determination of illegal migrants (and refugees, the distinction is becoming increasingly blurred) that they often risk death to reach their destination. In December 1997, 800 illegal immigrants narrowly escaped drowning off the coast of Italy when their ship foundered (Beaumont 1997). On Christmas day 1996,

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almost 289 illegal immigrants drowned when the boat carrying them to Sicily sank (Hooper 1998). The smuggling of illegal immigrants is now a major international business —on a par with the illegal drug trade—and security concern, and much of it is organised by international criminal gangs (Jakl 1998; Migration News 1998; Morrison 1998; Nowak 1998; Russell 1995), particularly those from China and Russia (Skeldon 1998). According to the International Centre for Migration Policy, smuggling humans into the European Union (EU) is worth US$7,000 million (The European 1998). It has overtones of the slave trade with large sums of money involved and ships’ crews forcing people overboard, often to their deaths, to escape detection by immigration authorities and navies (Ferguson 1997; Morrison 1998). Within countries, immigrant networks provide aid, advice and forged documentation, at a price. In the UK, for example, a forged passport will cost an illegal immigrant £6,000 (Johnston, Wazir and Calvert 1998). In Germany, illegal immigrants are charged as much as DM40,000 for smuggling and forged documents (SOPEMI 1998). 5 Asylum seekers and refugees are those who have left their own countries to avoid human-induced or natural catastrophe, persecution or conflict. This has been one of the largest migrant groups this century. Asylum seekers, of whom there are over a million globally, become refugees (then usually settlers) once their claims have been accepted. But it is becoming more difficult for individuals to convince authorities that asylum is being sought for political rather than economic reasons. Technically, refugees flee en masse from one country to another, usually neighbouring, country where they are strictly controlled and supported by the host government and outside agencies. Where it is impossible to flee to neighbouring countries, as in the Indonesian invasion of East Timor, a refugee crisis is often replaced by genocide. Internal refugees are counted as displaced persons and are not afforded the same international rights as internationally recognised refugees. Kliot (1995) also identifies five categories of migrant and the list is much the same, except that professionals are not distinguished from other labour migrants and asylum seekers and refugees are treated separately. Neither list includes forced or expulsion migration where (usually) ethnic minorities are compelled by government edict or coercion to leave their adopted country. Examples abound where communities, which might have lived in the expelling country for many generations, are forced to return to origin or to move on to a third country. There is a long list of such expulsions: Tamils from Sri Lanka, South Asians from Uganda and Kenya, Palestinians from Jordan, Kurds from Iran, Turkey and Iraq, Kosovars from Serbia, Chinese from Vietnam and Russians from former Soviet republics, are but some of the better known examples. Nor do they discuss voluntary return migration, which has long been a feature of international migration (Baines 1994). This is becoming a major element in


modern migration streams and takes many forms (King 1978). The vast majority of migrants working under contract return when the contract ends. They may seek work in the origin country or secure a new contract in the host or a third country. In some countries, they may marry into the local communities or seek longer-term arrangements. In others, they may simply remain and send for their families as the Turkish gastarbeiter did in Germany. Refugees are encouraged or forced to return when circumstances in the origin or host country change. Some of the 50,000 Asians expelled by Idi Amin have returned to Uganda since President Yoweri Museveni invited Asians to return and reclaim their property (Eliah 1998). Asylum seekers often return when conditions in their country of origin improve. For example, many Chileans returned to Chile during the postPinochet era. There is a growing trend for settlers to return to their origin or, if more than first-generation migrants, to the homeland (Byron and Condon 1996). Tourism What is striking in globalised population movements is the increased explicit and implicit restrictions on various forms of migration, on the one hand, and the explicit encouragement of other, usually short-term movements, on the other. All national governments exercise some control over immigration, all control emigration—a handful explicitly through visas, and all implicitly through passports—and many countries attempt, with varying degrees of success, to direct internal movements. All states, save the smallest and the poorest, actively encourage foreign tourism. Herein lies the paradox of globalisation and migration. Although not technically migration according to the foregoing criteria, tourism and related business travel have increased enormously with the globalising processes at a time when national and supranational governments spend more and more time, effort and money on curbing and controlling other forms of population movement. The scale of international tourism is astounding. In 1950, international tourist arrivals (exclusive of same-day visitors) amounted to 25.3 million globally. By 1997, this had grown to almost 612 million. During the same period, international tourism receipts grew from US$2,100 million to US$443,265 million. At a national level the figures are impressive. For example, the United Kingdom welcomed 25,475,000 foreign visitors in 1998 (more than the global figure in 1950). This figure placed the United Kingdom at fifth place. France was top, followed by Spain and the United States. Such is the appeal of tourism as an unthreatening way of letting people into the country that China, with a once draconian exclusionary policy, is now the sixth most popular destination for foreign visitors. While immigrants are seen as a threat to economic security, tourists are viewed as an economic asset. For example, in the United Kingdom, spending by overseas visitors amounted to around £13,300 million in 1998 (World Tourism Organization 1998).

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Migration and human security Migration of various kinds can impact on many aspects of security (Huysmans 1995) and has long been recognised in more conventional terms as a threat to national security (Miller 1997, 1998; Mitchell 1989; Skeldon 1998; Widgren 1990). Sadako Ogata, as UN High Commissioner of Refugees, is quoted as saying: migration must be treated not only as a matter for humanitarian agencies of the UN, but also as a political problem which must be placed in the mainstream of the international agenda as a potential threat to international peace and security. (Quoted in Lyons and Mastanduno 1992:20) Large-scale immigration, particularly of a domineering population can often result in the cultural or actual annihilation or subjugation of the indigenous population. ‘New World’ examples of this abound. The genocide and ethnic cleansing of North American ‘nations’ by the British and US empires is well documented. The Iberian conquerors were no less kind to the ‘nations’ of the Caribbean, Central and South America. A similar fate befell many of the original inhabitants of Africa and the Pacific. Successive waves of migrants to the British Isles led to the creation of victimised indigenous minorities in the ‘Celtic fringes’ (Richmond 1994). More recently, the Beijing government has actively encouraged the influx of ethnic Chinese into Tibet in the name of security. Similarly, the Indonesian government’s Transmigrasi Project, which has been described as ‘one of the most remarkable migration programs in recent history’ (Kilvert 1998:16), has involved the movement of over 750,000 people from the densely populated central Indonesian islands to Irian Jaya—or West Papua, as it is known to those resisting Indonesian occupation. The government of Morocco moved 350,000 civilians into Western Sahara in an effort to support its claims to that country (Weiner 1993). For the Chinese, Indonesian and Moroccan governments the policies of encouraging these migrations is intrinsic to overall national security. For the West Papuans, the Tibetans and the Saharawis, however, national, cultural, economic, environmental, social and personal security issues are involved. In Israel, migration has been used an instrument of security policy in determining demographic hegemony (Cohen 1992; Newman 1998; Weiner 1993). Economic security Many of the security issues associated with immigration, particularly illegal immigration and asylum seeking, relate to economic security (Richmond 1994). These people are often portrayed as ‘freeloaders’, ‘parasites’, ‘spongers’ or ‘scroungers’ who take advantage of state-funded benefits without making a


contribution. The British tabloid press has made much of this, particularly the influx of Roma from Romania and other East European countries (Veash and Bright 1998). Settlers and contract immigrants stand accused of ‘taking jobs’ from the host population. However, there is evidence to suggest that migrants create jobs, directly and indirectly. Indeed, many countries have policies of giving favourable status to wealthy immigrants with an entrepreneurial bent who are prepared to invest in job creation activities. Canada has operated such a scheme since 1986, New Zealand since 1987 and the United States since 1991 (Stalker 1994). The Australian government estimates that between 1994 and 1995 each wealthy businessperson who immigrated created fifteen jobs on average. Another report estimated that if Australia accepted 24,000 more migrants than currently planned between 1998 and 2007, national per capita gross domestic product would increase by A$95. Further, according to the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) each migrant and their children in the United States contributes US$80,000 directly to the government (Ride 1998). There is conflicting evidence as to the economic costs or benefits of migrants (e.g. Briggs 1996; Findlay 1994; Papademetriou 1997; Russell 1995; Stalker 1994; Zimmermann 1995). Most of the analysis here has been from the perspective of receiving nations. However, there are significant migration-related economic security issues for sending nations. On the positive side, remittances from migrants can be substantial and particularly valuable for local communities, families and individuals in sending countries. Globally, some US$65 thousand million are remitted each year (Stalker 1994). For some countries this can be a significant part of the national income. For example, in 1994 some 56.8 per cent of Albania’s foreign exchange earnings were in the form of remittances. In El Salvador, the figure was 36.8 per cent and in Tonga 38.7 per cent. Bangladesh, Jordan, Morocco, Sudan, Mali and Burkina Faso, of the countries for which figures are available, all had figures in excess of 20 per cent (Skeldon 1997a). Many of these countries rely on migrant labour for remitted funds. More established diasporic communities, such as the Indian, Italian, Turkish, Chinese, Greek and Lebanese, are also involved in remitting substantial sums in an organised manner. Some organised diasporic remittances, like those of the Armenians, Palestinians, Kurds and Irish have been more overtly targeted towards ordnance for armed movements in the homeland (Sheffer 1993). Retirement migration acts like remittance in reverse. The pensions and benefits derived from the origin country are credited to the host. Some 700,000 British pensioners, or 7.5 per cent of the total, live overseas on state pensions (Skeldon 1997a). Much return migration is like defrayed remittance. Funds accumulated in the host are spent in another country or are spent in the origin at a later date. For example, Australia pays A$22 million annually to retired British migrants who have since left Australia (Skeldon 1997a). That is, the remittance is pulled rather than pushed. Given the ageing of national populations, increasing

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retirement abroad and return of retirees, the economic security of these aspects of migration can only become more significant for some countries. Dependence on remittances is not unproblematic. Catastrophe can ensue when there is large-scale termination of contracts and therefore remittances as occurred during the Gulf War. The exodus of large numbers of contract workers upset local economies as far afield as North Africa, the Near and Middle East, South Asia and Southeast Asia. The Europeans and North Americans forced to flee the conflict, being employed under professional contracts, were more secure financially. A similar situation has arisen more recently with the collapse of a number of Southeast Asian economies. For example, in mid-1998 the Thai government made the decision to expel up to a million migrant workers, South Korea 146,000 and Malaysia 900,000 (Bullard 1998). Indeed, there is a wider dependency culture that can develop in countries with long-term and large-scale emigration. For many countries, particularly in the developing regions, a ‘culture of emigration’ can develop whereby the assumption is that young people will automatically seek settlement abroad (Stalker 1994). In some developed countries, such as Greece, Portugal and Ireland, a ‘culture of emigration’ existed until recently. Often it is the besteducated and more entrepreneurial who move, leading to a ‘brain drain’ which can have serious impacts on the economic, political and even the cultural security of sending countries (see Chapter 10). Political security Immigration in Europe has been a focus for racist groups and has been a popular political rallying point during the 1990s (Black 1996; Papademetriou 1997; The Economist 1998). Most countries in Europe now have an antiimmigrant, racist party or movement—British National Party in the UK, the National Front in France, the New Democratic Party in Sweden, Vlaams Blok in Belgium, Lega Nord in Italy, the Liberal Party in Austria and the Republican Party in Germany (Hollifield 1997; Stalker 1994; Weiner 1995). The growth of these movements has pushed centrist governments further right (Harris 1995). Immigrants are often blamed for being involved in international terrorism particularly where a significant element of political exile and dissent exists. For example, Palestinian exiles in Lebanon became a political and security problem for Lebanon, Syria, Jordan, Israel, France and the United States (Weiner 1993). International relations between Yemen and the UK were strained when a number of hostages were killed by Yemeni government forces in a rescue attempt. Here, people engaged in the world’s biggest population movement—tourism—became involved indirectly in internal security matters. The situation escalated with the arrest of nine Islamic British passport holders in Yemen on charges of international terrorism (Bright et al. 1999; Carroll and Whitaker 1999). That the arrested are members of immigrant communities in England underlines the complexity of the migration-security nexus.


There are also threats more closely linked to conventional security such as fifth columns and international terrorism (Richmond 1994; Russell 1995; Zimmermann 1995). Suspicion attaches to certain migrant groups particularly when tension erupts between the origin and host countries. Thus, Japanese were interned in the United States during World War II. During the same conflict, Germans in the UK were treated with hostility and subject to considerable harassment. In many countries, ethnic Chinese are treated with suspicion. ‘The rise of powerful Chinese groups concentrated in dispersed centres on the Pacific Rim are perceived as security threats’ (Skeldon 1997b:236). Particularly in Australia, where a traditional fear of the ‘yellow peril’ and the ‘yellow hordes’ sustained the ‘whites only’ immigration policy for many decades (Freeman 1993), and more recently in Indonesia (Cohen 1998). An estimated 100,000 Chinese illegally enter the United States annually (Migration News 1998) and the links between this and organised crime is a source of great concern (Zimmermann 1995). Certain aspects of diasporas, as identified by Safran (1991), are of especial interest in terms of political security. Members of a diaspora believe they are not —and perhaps can never be—fully accepted in their host societies and so remain partly separate or ghettoised. They believe all members of the diaspora should be committed to the maintenance or restoration of the original homeland and to its safety and prosperity. As Davies makes clear in Chapter 3, these beliefs can have impacts on security in the homeland, host or third country. There are also implications for the security of individuals or groups who eschew these beliefs and aim for total immersion in the host. The size and reach of some diasporas is impressive. For example, the Chinese diaspora today comprises twenty-two million (Cohen 1997) and there are few, if any, countries where the Chinese have not established a niche. The South Asian diaspora numbers around thirteen million (Kliot 1995). Of that, some eleven million derive from India and can be found in 136 countries (Helweg 1986). Jews are to be found in 121 countries. The largest community of almost six million is in the United States. There are over three million in Israel and large communities in the former Soviet Union, France, UK, Argentina, Canada, Brazil, South Africa, Hungary and Australia (Elazar 1986). A more recent diaspora from the Philippines has seen around 4.2 million of the 75.3 million Filipinos scattered throughout 160 countries (Parfit 1998). The problem for the security of some sections of diasporas is that of rejection by the host because of racism, ethnic tension, economic jealousy, cultural friction or political instability. Thus, Idi Amin expelled around 50,000 ethnic Indians from Uganda in 1972. The Indian community in Fiji is leaving that country in increasing numbers because of discrimination by the native Fijian population (Kliot 1995).

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Social security Threats to social security often relate to crime and disorder internally. Immigrants, particularly the young, are often blamed for crime of varying kinds at a national level (Henley 1999a), although evidence suggests that immigrant groups have relatively low crime rates (Harris 1995), or no more or less than the host population (Zimmermann 1995). Immigrants are also often blamed for international crime, particularly illegal drug trafficking. Issues such as education policy can become problematic in some areas. The requirement for single-sex schools and extra funding for special language training has led to political and other upheaval. Attitudes to women among some groups have also led to disruption and violence, particularly in relation to arranged marriages. Internal disorder can occur when immigrant communities hold demonstrations that protest at conditions in the host or origin country. Immigrant groups themselves often become the targets of right-wing and antiimmigrant demonstrations. This can be exacerbated when immigrant groups put themselves beyond the law. The fatwa against the novelist Salman Rushdie after the publication of his allegedly blasphemous Satanic Verses resulted in outrageous scenes in parts of England. Some Islamic leaders publicly called upon British citizens to murder Rushdie. The failure of the British government to prevent this illegal activity not only angered the majority but also shocked liberals throughout the country and abroad. It also demonstrated what many had feared— that there was a state within a state in the United Kingdom. This was borne out by a poll of Muslim immigrants in 1989 which found that in case of conflict between Islamic law and national law, 66 per cent would follow the former (Stalker 1994). Another area of concern is the decline in the education and skill levels of immigrants. In 1940, the average immigrant had almost one year of schooling more than the typical American citizen. By 1970, the two were roughly equivalent. However, by 1980, the average immigrant had one year less schooling (Borjas 1990). Cultural security Cultural threats are usually a matter of difference and the ability and willingness of host and incoming group to accept each other. Often this has to do with ‘ethnic affinity’ which itself can vary according to circumstances. ‘Who is or is not “one of us”’ is historically variable (Weiner 1993:10). A lack of affinity can take remarkable forms. For example, up until 1966 it would have been the norm for a Scot to support the English football team in international competitions, as long as the opposition was not Scotland. After the 1966 England World Cup victory, and the constant media hype associated with the victory, increasing numbers of Scots became aware of how biased the national media were, particularly the so-called British Broadcasting Authority. It is now a convention


that Scots will support any team against England, much to the bemusement of non-United Kingdom onlookers. A recent increase in Scottish nationalism has led to some alleged harassment of English ‘immigrants’ which has included, violence (Nelson 1998; Oxley 1999) and murder (Neil 1998). However, this Anglophobia has been exaggerated, particularly in the London media (Esler 1998; Linklater 1998). The English appear to be more tolerant of other UK migrants. The nonwhite immigrants and ethnic minorities fare less well, violence and murder by whites being unacceptably common. Cultural and ethnic differences among the indigenous groups in the UK are not confined to the tribalism of Northern Ireland. As Conner (1986:30) has noted with considerable accuracy, ‘it would be a less traumatic step for a Scottish emigre to the United States to become one of “them”, a polygenetic American, than it would be for a Scottish emigre to London to become an Englishman.’ Normally though, the greater the difference, in term of physical appearance, language, religion, cultural practices and the like, between the host and the immigrant community, then the greater is the scope for mistrust, misunderstanding, mutual loathing and hostility. This is particularly the case where the immigrant group is relatively large and concentrated. In the UK, over 70 per cent of non-white ethnic groups are concentrated in seven English conurbations. The Chinese and other Far East immigrants are more widely scattered and ubiquitous. There have been no ethnic riots or civil unrest involving these latter groups. Cultural threats are as real as they are perceived. Even in liberal, multicultural Canada there are growing calls for ‘the mosaic to melt’, as one 1993 survey put it. In the same survey, Canadians were found to be ‘increasingly intolerant’ of demands for special treatment made by ethnic groups, such as a Chinese group which wanted a publicly funded separate school where the teaching would be in Chinese by Chinese teachers, and an Islamic group which claimed the right to opt out of the Canadian judicial system in favour of Islamic law (cited in Bissoondath 1998). In the United States similar battles have been fought—more in the media and courts than in the streets. These are closely linked with cultural threats, particularly language. The United States has been able to absorb hundreds of languages successfully. By adopting English, immigrants, at least by the second generation, were able to take full advantage of their circumstances. The growth of the Spanish-speaking population and its unwillingness to adopt English has alarmed a number of diverse groups across the country. That Spanish is likely to remain the first language of a growing number of US residents is borne out by the investment in Spanish-language media and by the fact that the most rapidly expanding US television network broadcasts exclusively in Spanish (Helmore 1999). The argument that had it not been for US imperial expansion many of the states with significant Spanish-speaking populations today would have been wholly Spanishspeaking does little to lessen the threat felt by the dwindling number of English

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speakers in some areas. The expansion of the Hispanic population is such that by 2006 they will be the country’s largest minority and by 2050 will make up a quarter of the population (Helmore 1999). Some Hispanic politicians have demanded bilingual education, while other prominent Hispanics have argued that eschewing English results in second-class citizenship (Stalker 1994). In 1990, sixteen US states had statutes or constitutional amendments declaring English the sole official language of the state. The threat of language-based ethnic ‘balkanisation’ of the Union has promoted considerable debate (Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994). As a cultural trait, religion is often a focus for conflict. Adherence by immigrants to an unorthodox religion can often lead to distrust, resentment and a feeling of insecurity among host populations. Suspicion of Jews has almost been universal and led to some of the greatest backlashes in history. Some of the most serious threats are felt amongst European populations that feel threatened by ‘Islamification’ (Stalker 1994:80). Environmental security The environmental degradation associated with global capital’s voracious resource demands has created large numbers of environmental refugees (Renner 1996; Richmond 1994; Widgren 1990) who ‘appear set to become a prominent if not pre-eminent phenomenon of international relations and of the political arena worldwide’ (Myers and Kent 1995:200). At the same time, migrants (as well as tourists, see Chapter 8) can have an adverse impact on environmental systems (Mbonile 1998). Migration has now moved from what diplomats and students of international relations term ‘high politics’ to ‘low politics’ (Collinson 1996; Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994). The former relates to foreign affairs issues in which only a tiny percentage of a national population is interested and is rarely affected by. The latter refers to domestic issues that determine voting patterns and affect everyone. How nations respond to migration depends on a number of factors related to history, geography, politics and economic circumstances. As a result of recent history some countries are extremely heterogeneous ethnically, while others, with no great tradition of immigration, are very homogeneous. For example, Japan, according to Sassen (1993:73), ‘has never had immigration’, though this is not strictly true (Skeldon 1992). Its population is 99.4 per cent ethnic Japanese while South Korea is 99 per cent Korean (Conner 1986). This is maintained through strict immigration policies that carefully control the number and type of migrants permitted entry, as well as the duration of stay. Other homogenous countries, such as Sweden, have been more liberal in terms of immigration policy, though this is changing (see Chapter 5).


State responses to migration For millennia individuals and groups moved to suit their circumstances. Physical, economic, language and other cultural barriers existed, but were not insurmountable, as the remarkable sojourns and settlements of groups as diverse as the Vikings and the Polynesians testify to. For slaves, indentured and bonded persons, freedom to move was more circumscribed. However, human bondage did not necessarily equate with a sedentary lifestyle. One of the largest and most sustained forced migrations in human history was that of people from subSaharan Africa, some fifteen million of whom were sold into slavery and shipped, mostly, but not exclusively, to the Americas. It is estimated that around fourteen million people in the Americas and the Caribbean are descended from slaves. Most indentured labourers were recruited from China in the form of ‘coolies’ to the Americas and colonial holdings where cheap labour was required. India also supplied large numbers of indentured labour that were sent to Africa and the East and West Indies. Bonded labourers left the United Kingdom to predetermined locations in the ‘New World’ and convicted criminals were transported to Australia and other colonies. As Cohen (1997:59) has noted: ‘Unfree labour was of crucial importance to the evolution of the modern world system.’ Even with the advent of the nation-state there were few formal checks on population movement. Indeed, prior to World War I, there were few restrictions on migration (The Economist 1997; Wood 1994). Ironically, state-sponsored movements to curb some types of migration by means of legislation began to grow at around the same period that many would regard as the time when globalisation proper was ‘taking off’. The first curbs in the United States were directed towards the Chinese by means of the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882. There is now a vast panoply of legislation—national, bilateral and multilateral— underwritten by well-financed bureaucracies and organisations designed to maintain the integrity of the sovereign people or exclude undesirables. For example, the US Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) has a 1999 budget of US$3.8 thousand million, 29,000 employees and forty offices around the world aimed at preventing the smuggling of aliens into the US (Migration News 1998). Governments are keen to promote free trade of goods and services, but the free movement of people is more problematic. For example, the first EU-Southern Mediterranean Pact, which included North African countries, set an agenda for a free-trade zone but relegated the issue of immigration to an appendix (Qassim 1998). Globally, the West is promoting openness of borders while at the same time to migrants ‘slamming its borders closed with a giant bang’ (Ride 1998:8). There has not, therefore, been ‘the emergence of a full-blown “international migration regime”, equivalent to existing regimes for trade and finance that act to constrain the sovereignty and autonomy of nation-states in those areas of international relations’ (Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994:31).

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Since states regard themselves arbiters of who can or cannot be a member of the state, they are in a strong position to control immigration even before immigration legislation is required. Statelessness in a globalised world is much more of a liability than it has ever been. In James Ellroy’s semifictional American Tabloid (1995:414), one character was ‘a man haunted by the awful specter of statelessness’. For some countries, such as Germany, Sweden and Norway, citizenship is conferred by paternity. Children take the nationality of the father (or mother in extra-marital births). Other countries confer citizenship according to place of birth. Those born in Canada, the United States or Australia, for example, become citizens of that country. Yet others, such as France, Denmark and the Netherlands, apply a combination of these principles according to expediency (Stalker 1994). Under the 1981 British Nationality Act three types of citizenship were created (Coleman and Salt 1992). Governments also control naturalisation policy. Some countries, for example Sweden and Canada, encourage immigrants to acquire citizenship as rapidly as possible. Others, such as Germany and Switzerland, are much more restrictive and circumspect. A qualifying period of residence is normally required. This can vary from one to two years in Sweden and the Netherlands, to twelve years in Switzerland. Sometimes knowledge of the language is required or evidence of good behaviour (Stalker 1994). Naturalisation is such an important part of US demographic policy that the organisation controlling access to that country is the Immigration and Naturalization Service, and, according to a former chair of the Commission on Immigration Reform, ‘Naturalization is the most visible manifestation of Americanization’ (quoted in Briggs 1996:42). As well as setting citizenship and naturalisation parameters, state governments have at their disposal any laws they care to enact and enforce to control, limit or encourage migration. The first formal attempt at immigration control was in England in 1793. In 1875, the United States sought to exclude prostitutes and convicts. In 1882, other undesirables, such as ‘idiots’, ‘lunatics’ and those likely to be a drain on the public purse, were added to the list. Threats to social and economic security dictated policy. Occasionally, threats to national health are employed in order to impose restrictions on access. These have ranged from smallpox and typhoid to HIV/AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases (Graham and Poku 1998). Initially control was unilateral, but increasingly bilateral and multilateral agreements are enforced to restrict migrants. The Schengen Agreement of 1985, between nine EU countries, and the Dublin Convention of 1990, between twelve EU countries, illustrate how serious a threat some aspects of migration are taken (Leitner 1997; Overbeek 1995; Smits 1998), even though these are not always successful (van Amersfoort 1996). The concern developed countries have for control over international migration can be seen by the setting up of the intergovernmental agency called Informal Consultations on Asylum, Refugee and Migration Policies in Europe, North America and Australia (Richmond 1994).


A few case studies will suffice to show how policies and attitudes towards migration have varied with time and circumstance, as well as highlighting the impact of tourism. All countries have devised ever-stricter immigration policies. Only four countries—the United States, Canada, Australia and New Zealand— can still be said to accept permanent immigrants (Salt 1987) but even these have tight controls. The increasing efforts and legislation to control immigration into Western Europe has given rise to the epithet ‘Fortress Europe’ (Leitner 1995; Smits 1998). Fortress Europe European states still do not tend to think of themselves as countries of immigration (Coleman 1997) even though many accept proportionally more immigrants than the United States, and Europe as a whole has more legally resident foreign-born than the United States (Stalker 1994). Western Europe has historically responded to ‘threats’ from migration through two approaches (Rogers 1993). The first is through controls on entry. The second is through integration to remove any cultural or political threats posed by the migrants to the host. The former has been done through a series of legislative measures that are slowly converging. The latter depends much more on the nature of the migration. Integration is more problematic where immigrants are tolerated only as guests. Thus, Germany has been less successful at integrating its immigrants than some other countries. All Western European countries have strict controls on settlement and contract labour migration. The growth in the number of asylum seekers in the last few years has promoted a series of responses from European governments. These include stricter visa requirements, sanctions on companies which carry undocumented immigrants, the doctrine of safe third country (an asylum seeker must apply in the first safe country he or she comes to) and readmission (designed to speed up refugee and illegal deportation) (Collinson 1996; Lahav 1998). This has coincided with a drop in recognition rates. Over 70 per cent of applications are rejected (Rogers 1993). Some asylum seekers stay on in Europe illegally. Indeed, the number of undocumented immigrants is growing. A closer look at the situation in the United Kingdom, France, Germany and Spain show similarities and contrasts in the experiences of these countries. The United Kingdom The United Kingdom has been described as having a unique approach to immigration (Hollifield 1997; Juss 1994; Layton-Henry 1994; Rees 1993). It ‘is not a nation of immigrants, and is emphatically not a “country of immigration”’ (Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994:21). As an early example of a modern supranational state, the UK has long had free movement between its constituent countries. Even after the secession of what became Eire there was still free

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movement within the British Isles for UK and Irish citizens. The uniqueness of the UK is also reflected in the fact that in the world’s greatest sporting event, the World Cup, as well as many other fixtures, the four home countries each fields a team. Further, with the exception of Wales, each country produces its own banknotes. Immigration restriction began in the UK with the Aliens Act of 1905, followed by the Aliens Restriction Act of 1914. These, with an amendment in 1919, and Aliens Orders in 1920 and 1953 regulated foreign immigration into the country (Juss 1994; Rees 1993). Because of the UK’s imperial history, the Conservative government in the early 1960s reckoned that a quarter of the world’s population was legally entitled to enter the country (Sked and Cook 1979). During the 1950s around 20,000 immigrants from the New Commonwealth entered the United Kingdom every year, mostly from the West Indies. By 1960, the figure was 58,100, and by 1961 it had risen to 115,150 (Sked and Cook 1979). This increase alarmed some people and was highlighted locally because of the geographical concentration of immigrants in specific areas. This led to ‘racial’ disturbances in Nottingham and London’s Notting Hill in 1958. Public alarm at the scale of non-white immigration resulted in the 1962 Commonwealth Immigration Act. This Act was blatantly racist since it did nothing to control immigration from the mainly white Old Commonwealth or from Ireland. This was essentially a reaction to racism that was not exclusively expressed by the political right. It received its best expression by the infamous ‘rivers of blood’ speech of Enoch Powell in 1968, prompted by the threat of a mass influx of Asians who were being threatened with expulsion from Kenya. This was followed by the 1968 Commonwealth Immigrants Act. Shortly after came the 1971 Immigration Act which no longer distinguished between Commonwealth and other immigrants, created a new offence of illegal entry, doubled the maximum fine for harbouring illegal immigrants and extended the time over which offenders remained liable to prosecution (Sked and Cook 1979). However, with the exception of the Chinese, post-World War II ethnic minorities in the UK are spatially concentrated, with almost 50 per cent in London. The indigenous minorities are concentrated in their homelands (Conner 1986). For example, the UK’s biggest ethnic minority, the Scots, are concentrated in Scotland. By far the bulk of international migrants, as opposed to tourists, are destined for England, particularly the metropolitan areas. This multihomeland, multiethnic and multicultural dimension compounds analysis of migration and security in the UK. Nonetheless, the reaction to Schengen and Dublin suggests that the UK wishes to retain strict unilateral control of nonEuropean Union migration. British immigration policy is shaped by political and cultural considerations (Findlay 1994; Rees 1993). Yet, the UK cheerfully received slightly less than 25.3 million (43 per 100 resident population) foreign tourists from whom US$19,296 million (1.8 per cent of GNP) were extracted in 1996 (World Tourism Organization 1998).


France France, another European power with a colonial and imperial past, has a legacy of immigration from ethnically diverse countries. The Caribbean, sub-Saharan Africa and North Africa have provided the main source of immigrants. There are some three million of Maghreb origin living in France whose reluctance ‘to assimilate into normative French society’ has caused resentment and violence (Kliot 1995:188). As in other developed countries, immigrants in France have concentrated in a few areas (Kubat 1993). This exacerbates threats to the human security of host and immigrant populations. Of all Western countries, France has one of the most vociferous and politically successful anti-immigration movements. The National Front, led by Jean-Marie Le Pen, advocates job preference for French citizens, no social security or national health care for migrants and forced repatriation of unemployed migrants (Ride 1998). The party regularly attracts around 15 per cent of the national vote and some 30 per cent of the population have voted for it at least once (Henley 1999b). As with other anti-immigration parties, it fares better locally, in this case in southern areas of France that are geographically closer to the main source of immigrants (cf. Queensland, Australia, or southeast England). Despite its reluctance to accept foreigners for settlement, France is in the enviable position of consistently being the most visited country on earth. In 1996, international inbound tourism amounted to almost 148.3 million (254 per 100) visitors. Some 58 per cent of this horde, however, were day visitors. Clearly, the appeal of France extends not only to legal and illegal immigrants. Although receipts from this influx totalled US$28,357 million they accounted for only 1.8 per cent of GNP (World Tourism Organization 1998). Presumably, some of the pockets into which this foreign money found itself belonged to supporters of Monsieur Le Pen. Germany Germany is a country that has traditionally had a rather ambivalent approach to immigration (Mehrländer 1993). There has been a traditional willingness to accept ethnic Germans from other areas. There are millions of ethnic Germans, or Aussiedler, who can claim the right to take up residence and citizenship in Germany (Stalker 1994). However, the immigration of non-Germans has been more closely controlled since Germany remains the main immigrant target in Europe (The Economist 1997; Rossig 1998). The gastarbeiter programme was designed to cope with Germany’s post-World War II labour shortage. Guest workers were drawn in large numbers from Turkey, though many came from Southern Europe. The growth in the Turkish migration stream was particularly dramatic. From only 1,000 or so Turkish migrants in 1961 the flow was averaging over 100,000 per year by the early 1970s. However, a reform of Germany’s 1913 nationality law based on citizenship by blood will allow for dual

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citizenship. But the country is deeply divided on this issue, since foreigners would be able to acquire a German passport without relinquishing the citizenship of the origin country, which for the majority is Turkey (Kundnani 1999). Germany has a less ambivalent attitude to foreigners, however, when they only wish to visit the country. There are no figures for day visitors to the country, but 15.2 million (19 per 100) overnight visits were made in 1996 and over US$17, 567 million (0.8 per cent of GNP) worth of international tourist receipts accrued to the economy (World Tourism Organization 1998). Spain Spain, traditionally an exporter of people, is relatively tolerant of immigrants (Rocha-Trinidade 1993). Thus far, anti-immigration movements have not made a big impact on Spanish policy. How long Spain can maintain a liberal stance is unclear. Under pressure of illegal immigration from trans-Mediterranean countries anti-immigration may become more of an issue. Each year up to 5,000 illegal migrants, some from as far as Rwanda, Senegal and Somalia, cross the Straits of Gibraltar into Spain (Qassim 1998). Fortunately for Spain, the end of the repressive Franco regime coincided with the growth of the cheap, mass tourist industry. The country’s economic security owes a lot to this industry, despite the extensive cultural and environmental damage it has caused. More than 60.6 million (155 per 100) tourists visited Spain in 1996. Receipts from these totalled US$27,675 million (5.2 per cent of GNP) (World Tourism Organization 1998). Countries of immigration The United States The United States is the classic country of immigration, and although there have been restrictions immigrant flows have not been curtailed as much as in other developed countries (Briggs 1996; Russell 1995; The Economist 1997). But immigration has long been seen as a security threat in the conventional national security sense, as well as in terms of human security. ‘Orientals’, although valued for their labour, were always regarded with suspicion. Nativist parties began to appear in the 1830s and the Native American Party was founded in 1845 (Jones 1960) at a time when the genocide of the real Native Americans was in full swing. The alleged ambivalent allegiance of new Roman Catholics immigrants became. the focus of the ‘Know-Nothings’ or American Party whose slogan was ‘America for the Americans’. Political ‘radicals’ have also been traditional targets of anti-immigrant forces. This culminated in the ‘Red Scare’ after the Bolshevik Revolution, and in 1919 over 500 ‘alien radicals’ were deported to Russia. The controversial trial and subsequent execution of the two


Italian immigrants Nicola Sacco and Bartolomeo Vanzetti being the nadir of the anti-immigrant hysteria. Japanese-Americans, as well as Japanese immigrants, were interned during World War II. Senator Alan Simpson of Wyoming voiced the fears of many by arguing for further curbs on immigration. ‘Uncontrolled immigration’, he argued, ‘is one of the greatest threats to the future of this nation, to American values, traditions, institutions, to our public culture and to our way of life’ (quoted in The Economist 1982:32). The Chinese were the first ethnic group to be officially excluded via the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, though this was preceded by the 1875 Act referred to above (Keely 1993). President Roosevelt succeeded in ‘persuading’ the Japanese government to stop Japanese labourers migrating to the United States in 1910. The Quota Acts of 1921 and the Immigration Restriction Act of 1924 cut permitted immigration to about 162,000 per year, thereby providing an incidental fillip to European migration to South America and British colonies. ‘The implicit and explicit racial criteria for admission were repeated’ in the next major piece of new legislation in 1952 (Harris 1995:96). In fact, up until a 1965 amendment to the 1952 Act, immigration quotas prevented the arrival of large numbers of non-whites (Stalker 1994). In 1986, the Immigration and Control Reform Act was passed. This was designed to reduce illegal immigration from Mexico by regularising the illegals already in the United States. Some two million immigrants changed status thereby. The Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act of 1996 was a further attempt to deal with illegal immigration (SOPEMI 1998). Of the two million Mexican migrants in the United States some 1.2 million are estimated to be illegal. The irony is that the many of the illegal ‘wetbacks’ are employed in border states by the ‘Waynesque’ type of ‘redneck’ who is most vociferously opposed to any type of immigration. Many more illegal immigrants are employed in urban areas in the sweatshops of Los Angeles and New York or in suburban homes and gardens belonging to often more liberal-minded middleclass couples motivated more by cheap domestic service than notions of human rights. As one mother told the New York Times in 1993, ‘I want someone who cannot leave the country, who doesn’t know anyone in New York, who basically does not have a life’ (quoted in Stalker 1994:149). Economic expediency during the Depression meant that President Hoover ordered a statute of 1917, barring anyone likely to become a public charge, to be strictly observed. For several years during the 1930s the country experienced net emigration. With an economic downturn in the early 1990s there was an upsurge in anti-immigrant sentiment (Espenshade and Hempstead 1996) stimulated by groups such as the Federation for Immigrant Reform. Indeed, the 1990 Immigration Act shifted the emphasis slightly from family reunification towards increased immigration of those of independent means, particularly Hong Kong entrepreneurs (Keely 1993; Skeldon 1997a). States that are the major targets for immigrants are particularly prone to a rise in anti-immigrant attitudes during an economic slump.

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As in other countries, immigrants to the United States are geographically concentrated. In 1993, some 70 per cent of the 904,292 admitted went to just six states—California, New York, Florida, New Jersey, Texas and Illinois. Of this, 40 per cent went to two cities—New York and Los Angeles (INS 1994). Tension is most evident in California where legal migrants comprise 20 per cent of the population. California, Texas, New York, Florida and Illinois attracted 81 per cent of the 32 million illegal migrants in 1992 (Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994). Despite ongoing restrictions on immigration, the United States has actively sought to develop its international tourist potential in the last few decades. Offputting visa requirements for short-term visits have been relaxed, particularly for Europeans. In 1996, US$69,908 million (0.9 per cent of GNP) was spent by almost 46.5 million (18 per 100) overnight visitors. This does not account for bona fide day visitors from its northern and southern neighbours (World Tourism Organization 1998). Canada Canada is another country that prides itself on being a nation of immigrants. The very existence of the country is continually under threat because of historical immigration patterns. The French and British colonial powers desired and fought over linguistic and political hegemony (Richmond 1994). Each power sought to strengthen its hold on the country through explicit and implicit means, including expulsion and the encouragement of settlers from French- and English-speaking countries. Even though ethnic division precedes modern Canada (Skeldon 1998), there has long been a consensus that immigrants be white. From the 1880s onwards, a series of racist exclusionary restrictions was in force. Among those excluded by the Immigration Act of 1910 were ‘immigrants belonging to any race deemed unsuited to the climate or requirements of Canada’. This designation was law until 1978. Canada effectively abandoned its ‘white Canada’ policy in 1962 (Stalker 1994). Underlying Canada’s official multiculturalism is increasing tension and fear of organised crime among Chinese and West Indian groups (Cornelius, Martin and Hollifield 1994). Canada’s experiment with multiculturalism, enshrined in the Multiculturalism Act of 1971, is believed by many to have failed (Richmond 1994). This policy of ‘mosaic madness’ is at odds with government policies of forced assimilation of aboriginal populations (Hughes 1999). Multiculturalism has ‘exoticized, and so marginalized’ immigrants, and it reinforces stereotypes, argues Neil Bissoondath (1998:21), himself an immigrant from Trinidad. African immigrants to Canada have found themselves victims of racism (Eliah 1998). The multicultural approach often leads to identity crises for children who, keen to be accepted as Canadians, refuse to speak their native language and feel ashamed of their parents when they speak their own language in public (Stalker 1994).


Canada is another country keen to foster the tourist industry from further afield than its neighbour. In 1996, 43.3 million (145 per 100) international visits were made to the country, though 60 per cent of these were day visitors across its borders with the United States. When only overnight visitors are counted there was still a creditable 58 tourists per 100 population. Nevertheless, tourist receipts totalled US$8,868 million (1.6 per cent of GNP) (World Tourism Organization 1998). Australia Australia also has a long tradition of immigration, drawing its people from over 150 nations. Something like 40 per cent of Australians are migrants or the children of migrants (Ride 1998). Although the anti-immigration, antiaboriginal, right-wing One Nation Party was trounced at the 1998 national elections, it is still strong among working-class white elements and in nonmetropolitan areas, particularly Queensland. Australia’s exclusionary immigration policy has traditionally been a reflection of its vulnerable geopolitical position, as World War II proved. The ‘white Australia’ policy was designed to exclude the Chinese in particular who were seen as a potential fifth column, especially after the Chinese Revolution of 1948. Yet, it was the near disaster of World War II that showed the Australians how vulnerable they were demographically. So seriously did the Australian government take the threat that it established a Ministry of Immigration (Freeman 1993). This actively recruited assisted migration from the British Isles and looked further afield to other European countries, particularly Greece and Italy for immigrants. Although immigration policy in Australia is still quite liberal there is by no means an open-door policy. Throughout the nineteenth century, Australia sought to restrict and control immigration from China and Japan. The perceived threat from the Chinese, Japanese and kanaka (Pacific islanders) communities, which had grown up since the 1850s, led to the Immigration Restriction Act of 1901, which, as Freeman (1993) points out, was the culmination of the ‘white Australia policy’ not its beginning. It had been preceded by the Natal Immigration Restriction Act of 1897. The ‘white Australia’ policy effectively ended in 1966, and officially in 1973. Shortly after this, Australia was declared a multicultural country where there would be official encouragement of distinctive cultural identities and languages, although it was made clear that English would be the official language (Richmond 1994). Inevitably this policy came in for criticism and it was ‘seen by many as social engineering which actually invites injustice, inequality and divisiveness’ (cited in Freeman 1993:98). As in Canada, attempts artificially to maintain cultural difference have encouraged ethnic strife, racism and political extremism (Price 1993). Nevertheless, Australia is still 94 per cent European stock of which 75 per cent is of Anglo-Celtic origin. Only 4.5 per cent have Asian roots (Freeman 1993). Notwithstanding this datum, much of the One

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Nation Party rhetoric has been directed at immigration from Chinese territories, and South and Southeast Asia. In the words of Pauline Hanson, leader of the movement, ‘Australia is being swamped by Asians’ (quoted in Ride 1998:8). Cheap international air travel and longer holiday periods in many developed countries have made visits to the country more feasible. This, coupled with greater disposable income in some neighbouring Asian countries, meant that the Australian tourist industry almost doubled between 1992 and 1996. Almost 4.2 million (23 per 100) tourists visited the country and spent US$8,811 million (2.2 per cent of GNP) in 1996 (World Tourism Organization 1998). New Zealand New Zealand has long based its immigration strategy on cultural, political and economic concerns (Elliott 1993). However, it recognised that its economic security was at stake through a stagnating and discriminatory policy of favouring immigrants from the British Isles and for the past ten years has encouraged the immigration of people from other countries, particularly its actual or potential trading partners in Asia. However, as in other countries, one discriminatory policy was replaced with another— education and skills replaced geography. Between 1991 and 1996, the number of Asian immigrants rose by 76 per cent so that Asians now make up 5 per cent of New Zealand’s population. In 1994, 33, 000 Asian immigrants were admitted bringing with them NZ$722.6 million. But the welfare of immigrants was ignored, immigrants, even professionals, could not find work and the inevitable racism escalated. This has resulted in disillusionment and dissatisfaction among the immigrant community resulting in family breakdown, psychiatric problems and suicide. Many Asian migrants have returned to origin or moved on to another host. This has escalated since the point system was tightened in October 1995 when professionals had to be registered for practice in New Zealand before they could get points for their applications. A further exclusionary move was the introduction of a three-hour English test. This had to be passed by the principal applicant and dependants who could not pass the test had to pay a NZ$20,000 bond. Asian immigration declined dramatically thereafter (Hartill 1998). After the 1995 changes, New Zealand reverted to a country of ‘traditional white’ immigration. Under the post-1995 system over 50 per cent of New Zealand immigrants came from ‘traditional white’ sources, particularly the British Isles and South Africa, compared with 28 per cent before that date. A further blow to immigrants came in April 1998 when it was announced that new immigrants would not be eligible for social-service benefits until they had been in the country for two years (Elliott 1993; Hartill 1998). For a developed country, New Zealand has a low population to resource ratio. Given the low natural growth, the country could afford to be liberal in its immigration regime. However, human security issues—cultural, social, economic, real or imagined, and translated into policy—have ensured that for most people access to New


Zealand will be via the global media or, if they have the funds and have the correct visa and/or come from the right country, by means of short-stay tourism. People are welcome as long as they are of the right type or do not stay long. The irony is that those dictating the policy are those who are themselves relatively recent antipodal migrants whose presence was not welcomed by an earlier set of migrants from closer to home in Polynesia—the Maori. New Zealand has even more hurdles than Australia in developing an international tourist industry, yet has proportionally more visitors. In 1996, more than 1.5 million (42 per 100) people visited the country and spent US$2,432 million (4.7 per cent of GNP) (World Tourism Organization 1998). Conclusion We now live in an era when it is possible to trade invisible money and goods instantly via computer technology; acquire a mate or learn how to commit mass murder via the internet; watch a favourite sporting event or ‘soap opera’ via satellite television; and so on. Or we can visit a dozen countries in as many days. Finance and goods cross borders with relative ease. The drug money of SmithKline-Beecham or Glaxo may not have to make the circuitous route via Switzerland, the Cayman Islands or other such cleansing stations that the profits of the Medellín cartels, Triads, Russian or Sicilian mafias require. But the goods and money move nevertheless. As Eduardo Galeano (1998:17) has noted when commenting on Switzerland’s untenable behaviour in respect of its dealings with Nazi Germany, particularly in terms of Jewish gold, ‘The gold entered Switzerland with no trouble at all, while those persecuted by the Nazis were turned back at the frontier.’ Nation-states are becoming weaker and their boundaries become increasingly porous in spite of increased nationalism and localism in the face of globalisation (Gertler 1997; Overbeek 1995; Rosenau 1994, 1995; van Amersfoort 1996). Countries spend large sums encouraging people to visit for tourism, culture, sport, business, study or work which the host population is unable or unwilling to do, but also spend large sums keeping out people who want to settle, seek asylum and, save for a select few, work. A number of issues are already being mooted as potential threats to global and regional security in the coming century. Even the most optimistic forecasters agree that within a few years oil reserves will have reached their limit with all that entails in terms of conventional, economic and national security (Srodes 1998). A more valuable commodity, water, has already prompted wars and international conflict and is likely to be a major source of insecurity in the twenty-first century (McKie 1998). Migration, as a result of these and other resource problems, is likely to continue in scale and scope (Widgren 1990). There can be little doubt that migration will continue to be viewed as a threat to human security, and as globalisation progresses become one of the major security issues of the twenty-first century.

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Index

Aboriginal population 54 Aboriginal self-determination 54 Afghanistan, disintegration of ix African state system, boundaries of 14 ‘age of migration’ 53 aid, state 2 Albanians, Kosovo 2, 3, 17 Algerian diaspora in France 37, 91, 92–7 Algerian war of national liberation (1954) 93 Aliens Act (1905) (UK) 200 Aliens Orders (1920) (UK) 200 Aliens Restriction Act (1914) (UK) 200 All Burma Students’ Democratic Front 145 ‘Amazing Thailand’ campaign 152 American Party 203 Amin, Idi 189, 194 Ana, General Kofi 104 anti-racist movement 192–5 apartheid system 12–13 Armed Islamic Group 92, 94, 102 Armenian diaspora 22, 43 Asia-Pacific People’s Environment Network 155 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) 185 asylum seekers 188 Australia, immigration to 205–8 authentic community 62–4 Azerbaijan ix, 43

Bertram, Geoff 118, 119 bilateral labour accord, France/Algeria 93 Blair, Tony 59 Blair government 60 Bosnia-Herzogovina 17 Botha, President 13 boundaries, shifting, autonomy and 53–6 ‘brain drain’ 161–84, 187 British Broadcasting Authority 195 British National Party 192 Brown, Richard 118, 119–2 Burkina Faso boundaries 14 Burma forced labour 144 tourism, human rights and political security in 143–50 Burma Action Group 144, 147 Canada, immigration to 204–7 capture theory 48 Central Intelligence Agency (US) 100 Chase-Dunn 15 Chechnya, disintegration of ix Chinese diaspora 22, 193 Chinese Exclusion Act (1882) (US) 197, 203 citizenship 16, 198 contested sovereignties and 55–8 virtues of 56 Cold War 8, 11, 12, 17, 71 Commission on Global Governance (1995) 19 Commission on Social Justice 63 Commonwealth Immigrants Act (1968) (UK) 200

Banda regime 81 ‘basic needs approach’ to world suffering 17

215

216 INDEX

Commonwealth Immigration Act (1962) (UK) 200 communications, global, effect on migration 186 Connell, John 118, 119 conspiracy theory 48 contract workers 187 Convention on the Status of Refugees (Geneva Convention) (1951) 69, 82 Cook Islands 110 cultural security 195–8 ‘culture of emigration’ 192 Davis, Sir Tom 111–14 Daw Aung San Suu Kyi 143, 148 debt bondage 149 Demos 59–1 de-territorialisation 50 detotalisation 63 Dev Genc 97 diaspora definition 23–7 cf dispersion 23 impact of globalisation 27 increased migratory flow s and 27–9 increased ethnonationalism 29–1 levels of pluralism and tolerance 28– 29 significance of 22 successful communities 25 as threat to homelands 33–6 as threat to host countries 35–41 cultural security 39–2 political security 35–39 as threat to nation and global security 32–4 as threat to third parties 41–4 trading 24 see also under destination countries and country or race of origin diplomacy 16 drug trafficking 194 economic security 191–4 education level of immigrants 194–7 end of geography thesis 48 environmental security 153–8, 196–9

ethical relativists 18 ethical vectors 64 ethnic cleansing 2, 17, 25, 82 ethnodevelopment 51 ethnonationalism 29–1 European Community 96 European Union (EU) 42, 92, 185 -Southern Mediterranean Pact 198 trade policies 104 Evian Accords (1962) 93 Federation for Immigrant Reform 204 feudal privilege 66 Firggebo, Birgit 83 forces of modernity 11 Fortress Europe 199–2 fragmentation 65–7 France Algerian diaspora 94–7, 101–4 approach to immigration 201–4 FRELIMO 78, 80 Fulbright, Senator J.William 148 GATT (General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade) 48 Geneva Convention 69, 82 geopolitics and the nation-state 47–49 Germany approach to immigration 202 Kurds in 100–3, 102–5 PKK activities in 99 Turkish guestworkers in 96–9, 189 Giddens, Anthony 18 Giscard d’Estaing, Valey 102 Global Anti-Golf Movement 156 global village 9 globalisation impacts on migration 185–9 security and 140–4 golf tourism in Thailand 153–8 good governance 59, 60 governance future of 57–65 good 59, 60 government through community 63 Greek diasporas 41–3 Grey Wolves 97

INDEX 217

Grotian tradition 17 Gulf War (1991) 1, 47, 99, 104, 192 Hall 15 HAMAS militants 99 Hanson, Pauline 206 Harkis 93 Hau’ofa, Epeli 108, 111–15 Hispanics in USA 196 HIV/AIDS in Thailand 148–5 Hobbes, Thomas ix, 10 Hobbesian state 15 homelands diaspora as threat to 33–6 notion of 25–7 Hoover, President Edgar 203 human rights 16, 57 abuses 1, 2–3, 13–14 universality of 17 human security approach 15–20 illegal immigration 187–90, 193 Mexican, to the USA 203–6 in Russia 166 Immigration Act (1910) (Canada) 205 Immigration Act (1990) (US) 204 Immigration Act (1971) (UK) 200 Immigration and Control Reform Act (1986) (US) 203 Immigration and Naturalization Service (US) 198 Immigration Reform and Control Act (1982) (US) 185 Immigration Reform and Immigration Responsibility Act (1996) 203 Immigration Restriction Act (1901) (Australia) 206 Immigration Restriction Act (1924) (US) 203 individuals qua citizens 16 individuals qua persons 16 industrial modernity 74 Informal Consultations on Asylum, Refugee and Migration Policies 199 insecurity, state and 11–15 International Centre for Migration Policy 188

International Confederation of Free Trade Unions 144, 145 International Court of Justice 17 International Labour Organisation 144 international migration effect on security 101–7 scale of 1 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 58, 152 international terrorism 193 Internet marketing schemes, Tuvalu 129–2 interstices 49 involuntary migration, effect on security 70 IRA, Irish-American connection with 42 Iran-Iraq War 2 Iraq offensive against Kurdish population 1–2, 3 war against 17 Islamic periphery 91 Islamic Salvation Front 92, 94 Israel 42 immigration of Russian Jews to 176–9 Jewish diaspora 22, 23, 42, 194 Jews, Soviet 42, 176–9 Karen National Union 145 Kennan, George 16 ‘Know-Nothings’ Party 203 Kohl government 97 Kosovo 2, 3, 17 Kurdish Democratic Party 100 Kurdish Workers Party (PKK) 97–101 Kurds 95–8 diaspora in Germany 37 insurgency in Turkey 91, 95–101 in Iraq 1–2, 3, 99 land rights movement 54 landmines 2 Le Pen, Jean-Marie 202, 203 League of Nations 17 Lebanese National Movement 98 Lega Nord (Italy) 193 legitimacy, doctrine of 15

218 INDEX

Liberal Party (Austria) 193 Machel, Samora 78 Machiavelli 10 Maghrebis, French naturalisaiton of 94 Malawi country profile 75 industrial modernity 85–8 life in 75–8 Mozambican refugees 77–81 role of cross-border migration 86–9 cf Sweden 72–6, 85–88 meta-societies 110, 110–13 MIRAB (Migration, Remittances, Aid, Bureaucracy) model 118–1, 120, 124, 125 modernity, forms of 74 in Malawi 75–8 in Sweden 76–9 morality in international affairs 17 Mozambican refugees 77–81 border 80–3 changes in the 1990s 81 changes connected to refugee presence 79–2 transnational life 79 transnational politics 78–1 Mulder, Connie 13 Multiculturalism Act (1971) (Canada) 205 multi-culturalists 40 multi-party systems 14 Museveni, President Yoweri 189 Myinmoletkat Nature Reserve 145–8

Nigeria-Cameroon boundary 14 Niue 110 NORAID 34 North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA) 185 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO) 2, 42, 96 Oceania remittances 118–9 in national economy 120–5 prominent writers on 118–2 transnational corporations of kin 124– 9 use of 123–6 return migration to 115–18 social ambiguity 116–19 social realities 111–16 Oecalan, Abdullah 99 Ogata, Sadako 2, 190 One Nation Party 205, 206 Paeniu, Bikenibeu 129 Palme, Prime Minister of Sweden, murder of 77 Patriotic Union of Kurdistan 100 political security 192–6 population, world 53 post-Fordist capitalism 18 Powell, Enoch 200 promotion of community 64–6 prostitution in Thailand 148–5 Quota Acts (1921) (US) 203

Najasone, Prime Minister 153 National Front (France) 192, 201 national interest 8,10 National Liberation Front 93 Nationality Act (1981) (UK) 198 nationness 49 Native American Party 203 naturalisation policy 198–1 neorealism 9 New Democratic Party (Sweden) 192 New Labour 60 New Right policy 60 New Zealand, immigration to 206–9

raison d’état 10, 12 realist conception of security 8–9 reason of state 11 reciprocal interpenetration 138 reflexive modernity 74 refugees 1, 16, 188 remittances 118–9, 192 RENAMO 77, 78, 80 Republican Party (Germany) 193 retirement migration 192 risk communities 61–3 Roosevelt, President 203

INDEX 219

Rushdie, Salmon 194 Russia democratic background 161–5 emigration 163–6 ethnic 176 forecast, up until 2000 168 of scientists 176–82 stimulating factors 172 structural factors 172 of students and businessmen 181–4 human development index 171 immigration 165–9 illegal 166 legal 165–8 transit migrants 166–9 intellectual emigration 171–84 R&D policy 172–7 Rwanda 2, 3, 17 Sacco, Nicola 203 Samoa 110 remittances in 120–4, 123–6 Schengen Agreement (1985) 199 Scottish emigration 195 securitisation of migration 70 in Sweden 71–4 security de-definition of 12 modern form of 10 realist conception of 8–9, 9–11 reconceptualised 12 redefined 12, 30–3, 69–3 reshaped 12 retheorised 12 revisioned 12 sequestration of experience 18 Serbs, Kosovo 2 settler migration 187 simple modernity 74 Simpson, Senator Alan 203 Six Day War (Israel) 42 slave trade 188 social capital 59 social contract ix social inclusion 60 social security 194–7 social security spending 60

South Asian diaspora 193–6 sovereign selfhood 55 sovereignty contested, citizen and 55–8 definition 46 Spain, approach to immigration 202 Suharto, President 154 sustenance 16 Sweden Bosnian refugees 77, 81–7 border 84–7 changes connected to refugee presence 82–6 transnational politics 81–4 country profile 76 industrial modernity 87 life in 76–9 cf Malawi 72–6, 85–88 role of cross-border migration 87–88 securitisation of migration in 71–4 territoriality 46 biological 51–3 constructing 50–3 ecological 51 existential aspect of 50 operational 50–2 political 52 psychological 52 Thailand, sex tourism in 148–5 Thatcher, Margaret 59, 61 Thatcherism 60 Tonga 110 remittances in 120–4, 123–6 Torres Strait Islander population 54 tourism 187, 189–2 Australia 206 in Burma and Thailand 136–59 Canada 205 control of development 137–41 globalisation, security and 140–4 New Zealand 207 USA 204 trade 198 trading diaspora 24 Transmigrasi Project (Indonesia) 190

220 INDEX

transnational companies, effect on migration 186 transnational state 48 transport networks, effect on migration 186 Turkish diaspora in London 37 Tutsis massacre 2, 3 Tuvalu 110, 110, 127–32 Tuvalu Trust Fund (TTF) 127–32 undocumented immigration 54 United Kingdom, approach to immigration 200–3 United Nations 17, 42, 55 United Nations Charter 18 United Nations Development Programme 171 Human Development Reports 76 United Nations Development Report (1994) 18 United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) 2, 69, 78, 80, 82 United States, immigration to 203–6 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948) 69, 143 urbanisation, effect of migration on 187 Vanzetti, Bartolomeo 203 Visit Myanmar Year (1996–97) 144, 145, 146 Vlaams Blok (Belgium) 192–5 volonte d’état 10 voluntary return migration 115–18, 189 Vorster government (S.Africa) 13 war as a rational instrument 11 as worst case scenario 11 Ward, R.Gerard 110, 113 Watters, Ray 118, 119 welfare state 60 Wendt, Albert 110, 115–18 World Bank 152 World Refugee Survey (1993) 73 xenophobia 1

Yokata, Yozo 144 Yugoslavia, disintegration of 14

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