1 Introduction
Few if any topics are more fundamental to the social sciences than international migration. We cannot usefully speak about a âsocietyâ without knowing something about its membership and boundaries. That point has particular force in the contemporary period when most societies are defined in relation to nations: one usually thinks by default of British society or American society. Matters might be simpler if the membership of societies were fixed, static, and thus obvious and uncontested â if we all could easily know who counts as âBritishâ, etc. But when societies experience immigration in non-trivial numbers (as virtually all countries now do) it becomes plain that societies are inevitably quite fluid and perhaps even chronically indistinct. The observation holds not just for social science research but for the experience of everyday life: the basis for social solidarity and cooperation is sometimes less secure than some would like, though the point has as much to do with the preferences (and sometimes the prejudices) of some natives as it does with the inflows of immigrants themselves.
For research and teaching in the social sciences, then, immigration and immigrants are ignored at one's peril even when focusing on topics that might at first glance appear to have nothing to do with immigration. The study of entrepreneurship cannot overlook the strong tendency of immigrants to create their own businesses. Research on elections and voting behaviour would flounder in many contexts without attention to the distinctive patterns of particular immigrant groups; Florida and California are obvious examples in this respect, but the assertion is no less true of France â to say nothing of the emphasis some parties put on immigration as a campaign issue. Perhaps a sociologist could investigate the Amish in the USA without worrying too much about immigrants â but that suggestion demonstrates by way of contrast a broader point about the sociology of religion. In each case, immigrants are not simply a distinctive group: they are a key part of the whole, with far-reaching implications for how we understand important aspects of âusâ.
The centrality of migration in the social sciences is of course matched by its political salience. Migration is a highly challenging policy area in most wealthy countries (and in some poorer ones as well). In many countries there is widespread public opposition to (or, at a minimum, uneasiness about) immigration that reaches any significant numbers. Many people fear, usually with little justification, that migrants will âtake our jobsâ. Having defined migrants as not âpart of usâ, some people also worry about provision of certain public services: instead of seeing the issue simply in terms of numbers (additional demand that can be satisfied via expanded supply, drawing on the added economic contributions immigrants make), many natives identify immigrants as the source of any and all difficulties they experience in gaining access to health care, education, public housing, etc. Political leaders in democratic countries then face a difficult choice: either be led by public opinion, or attempt to lead by trying to educate voters about a highly complex and emotive topic. As in many policy areas, politicians often punt (in the American-football sense), trying to manage expectations by creating an appearance of acting on votersâ concerns about immigration, while bending policy to the wishes of powerful interests such as lobbyists and campaign donors. It is usually difficult to describe the resulting policy approaches as rational and coherent.
It hardly needs saying that efforts to improve policy-making on migration depend heavily on the development of a better understanding of migration, among policy-makers and the public alike. A well-known example illustrates the point. In 2006, the American government began extending a large fence (in certain places, a 21-foot-high steel wall) along its border with Mexico, reinforced by electronic sensors, cameras, etc. (Previously, only limited portions of the border had anything more than basic barbed wire.) The logic was simple: to reduce âillegal immigrationâ, one simply had to prevent entry, making it more difficult to cross the border except at designated places. What the politicians didn't know â indeed, what they failed to learn despite the efforts of migration researchers to help them learn â is that a fence inhibiting entry would discourage the tendency of many migrants (especially those lacking authorization) to engage in âcircular migrationâ. Some migrants are employed in seasonal jobs, and they often return home of their own accord â and then re-enter the USA for the next relevant season. When the fence was built, many migrants worried that they would be unable to re-enter, and so they refrained from returning home: their presence in the USA became more permanent rather than less. On top of that, many âillegal immigrantsâ do not acquire that status by sneaking across the border; instead, they enter by posing as tourists, or they begin with a temporary work permit but then do not leave when it expires. It is not difficult to see, then, that the Americansâ fence did little if anything to inhibit illegal immigration; at best, its simple logic was beneficial only in giving the impression that the government was responsive to votersâ concerns. One might say that we are still waiting for American policy-makers to absorb some lessons readily available in migration research.
The demands we as citizens and voters try to impose on policy-makers are rooted in our own understanding of migration, and in that respect social science research has a great deal to offer. Courses on migration have become a staple of degree programmes in most social science disciplines, and in addition to the primary research there is now a good selection of texts designed to help students gain entry to the field. The exposition in most instances is historical and / or explanatory (i.e., with respect to particular historical or sociological developments). There is usually direct treatment of a limited number of core concepts (e.g. integration, ethnicity), but in general the concepts relevant to the study of migration are embedded in historical or analytical discussions and are thus not readily accessible to those seeking to understand the concepts themselves. Indeed, in some instances the historical/analytical discussions presume an understanding of the concepts, and so a neglect of concepts per se potentially results in an underdeveloped appreciation of concepts and history/analysis alike. The logic of a âkey conceptsâ book is thus quite attractive: one can have direct access to a focused (and relatively brief) treatment of a wide range of the concepts that underpin more conventional forms of writing. We say âwide rangeâ and not âcomplete setâ because the porous boundaries of migration studies as a field mean that any claim we might make here for the latter would inevitably run up against someone's sense that we have omitted something important.
Writing this book was a much less onerous task than we initially imagined. While it took a great deal of work, the work was rewarding insofar as it led us to read more widely than we normally would in our more circumscribed research efforts. In certain instances we found ourselves asking questions like âOkay, what does integration mean?â We suspect that sort of experience is quite common, given the wide range of concepts migration scholars use together with the tendency to do quite specific research. This reasoning leads us to expect that the book will be useful not only for students but for other researchers as well; we have each learned a great deal from contributions written by the others.
In addition to our own research and teaching, the book is informed to a degree by our own personal histories of migration, which have been useful insofar as we have tried to write about concepts in a way that connects to lived experience. After all, concepts (and theories) do not exist for their own sake but to help us understand the world we live in and our place in it. While our own migration experiences are distinctive in that most migrants are not academics moving with relative ease among the world's wealthiest countries, all three of us have a âgroundedâ sense of what at least some of these concepts mean. For what it's worth: Bartram is originally from the USA but has lived in the UK for twelve years; he is now a British citizen, after passing the âLife in the UKâ test, participating in a citizenship ceremony and paying an extortionate fee to the British government. He also lived for extended periods in Israel, and for part of that time he was arguably an âillegal immigrantâ by virtue of doing paid work (editing someone else's manuscript), probably in violation of the student visa he then held (again, though, hardly a typical illegal immigrant). Poros is a second-generation American, born to Greek parents; her partner lives in London and holds Greek citizenship, which has afforded her an EEA (European Economic Area) permit and residence in the UK on the basis of European Union mobility provisions. Her pursuit of Greek citizenship has turned out to be far more complicated. And Monforte is originally from France but now lives in the UK (having also spent an extended period in Canada) on the basis of EU mobility provisions.
We have benefited enormously from the feedback and suggestions of colleagues in a wide range of countries. We are particularly grateful to Rutvica Andrejasevic, Loretta Baldassar, Paolo Boccagni, Richard Courtney, Antje Ellermann, Russell King, Peter Kivisto, Marco Martiniello, Laura Morales, Aubrey Newman, Mary Savigar, Kelly Staples, Carlos Vargas-Silva, Gustavo Verduzco and Catherine Wihtol de Wenden. Poros also wishes to thank Taressa Dalchand for her diligent assistance on several chapters. Finally, we are very grateful for the support and forbearance of our editors at SAGE â especially Martine Jonsrud and Chris Rojek â who responded with unfailing patience to our messages about the competing demands of very small children.
2 Migration
Definition: international migration is the movement of people to another country, leading to temporary or permanent resettlement; in the aggregate it commonly raises questions about national identities and social membership.
In a perspective that is content with common sense, migration is the relocation of individuals to some distant place, i.e., at least beyond one's own city or town. In these basic terms, it is primarily a geographic phenomenon. It is also a very common experience: as is often noted, migration is a universal feature of human history, reaching back many thousands of years.
This book focuses mainly on international migration, however, and the definition in the previous paragraph is then too broad. What really matters about international migration â the reason many people find it interesting (and some find it challenging) â is the international part. Internal (domestic) migration is much more common, especially in the USA: every year significant percentages of Americans move between cities or states. But migration to another country is different â often more difficult, more fraught, and arguably more consequential despite the lower numbers of people who do it (relative to internal migration). The geographic nature of migration is hardly unimportant, but international migration is better understood more broadly as a social phenomenon that connects with a comprehensive range of life domains â politics, economics, culture, identity, etc.
To understand international migration at a conceptual level, consider that at the heart of the word âinternationalâ is the word ânationâ. Migration from one country to another is usually consequential because of differences in nationality, or because of differences among people that are understood to correspond to nationality. An immigrant in any particular destination country is often noticeable, meriting attention as unusual, for being âforeignâ. This is a form of difference typically perceived as highly salient, one that marks âimmigrantsâ as distinct from those who migrate within a country; in some cases this perception contributes to a feeling that people who are immigrants are âout of placeâ and really belong elsewhere (i.e., not âhereâ).
The word âperceivedâ in the previous sentence is important. Immigrants are not different from natives in some sort of essential or inherent way; in many respects they can have a great deal in common with natives.1 But in modern societies where nation-states are core institutions, nationality and âforeignnessâ are constructed as central points of difference (Waldinger and Lichter 2003). People latch onto these points of difference, endowing them with meaning and significance, often reinforcing them in the process (see Gilroy 1993). As Martin et al. (2006) argue, international migration is a response to differences between countries (e.g. economic inequality, or variations in political freedom or repression): individuals migrate because they want something not available in their own country. But the point can be taken further: the concept of international migration is animated by (perceptions of) difference. Again, differences are identified and labelled in terms relating to nationality but are understood to correspond to other forms of difference â social, economic, cultural, etc. As a matter of intuition, someone moving to New York from El Salvador is defined as different in ways that someone moving from Cleveland (Ohio) is not.
We can appreciate the utility of the conception provided here by considering instances of international migration that depart in interesting ways from more typical cases. The population of Israel consists of a very high percentage of immigrants; almost one million people migrated to Israel in the 1990s alone, adding more than 20 per cent to the population. Israel is very keen to welcome Jewish immigrants, even to the point of offering virtually unconditional citizenship to Jews upon arrival, prior to leaving the airport. Jewish immigrants are then eligible for substantial benefits and support for integration and settlement. The apparent contrast with other countries, where quite restrictive attitudes and policies prevail, could hardly be greater. Even in Canada immigrants are desired only to a point: one's chances of admission are higher if one is relatively young, well-educated, etc. In Israel the age and education of immigrants are unimportant at least in policy terms, as are other characteristics that might affect one's economic prospects (Cohen 2009).
What is important, however, is being Jewish. The reason Jewish immigrants are welcome in Israel â indeed, are eagerly sought â is that Jews who live in other countries are not considered foreign. Instead, insofar as Israel is the âJewish stateâ, Jews everywhere are already considered part of the Israeli/Jewish nation (what matters here is Jewishness not as religious practice but as national identity/belonging). This point is apparent in the way certain words are used to describe the immigration of Jews. Many people do not use the Hebrew word for immigration (hagirah) when discussing Jewish immigrants (Shuval and Leshem 1998). Instead, the term used in normal conversation and official discourse alike is aliyah, meaning ascent: Jews who move to Israel are âgoing upâ. The term has highly positive connotations, not least for the fact that it also describes the ancient practice of ascent to Jerusalem for religious festivals when the Temple was standing; it also denotes being called to recite a blessing before and after a Torah reading during synagogue services.
From this perspective, in being so welcoming to Jewish immigrants Israel is not quite the exception it might otherwise appear to be. Again, in most countries immigrants are âforeignersâ, and the presence of large numbers of foreigners amounts to an anomaly that (for many) requires resolution, e.g. via departure or integration/naturalization. For Israel, it is the fact that Jews are living somewhere else that (for many) constitutes an anomaly, and immigration (of Jews) is the resolution of the anomaly.2 The law regulating Jewish immigration to Israel is the âLaw of Returnâ: Jews who move to Israel are understood to be âreturningâ to the land of their ancestors. In English one sometimes speaks of the diaspora â but the Hebrew term galut (meaning exile) carries a stronger connotation of not being where one belongs. From a mainstream Zionist point of view, Israel is where Jews belong, even if they are also members of other nations. From this perspective, the movement of Jews to Israel is hardly international migration at all.
That perspective is in certain respects a peculiar one, and it overstates the differences between Israel and other cases in some unhelpful ways. (Similar points apply to âAussiedlerâ/ âreturneesâ in Germany, where the notion of âreturnâ informs policies and attitudes but should not lead us to perceive something other than immigration.) From a point of view that does not begin with mainstream Zionism, Jewish immigrants in Israel are indeed immigrants, and they share certain characteristics and experiences with immigrants elsewhere. But the Israeli/Zionist way of looking at these matters is useful for our consideration here, because it shows how important perceptions of national belonging vs. foreignness are to the concept of international migration. If one already belongs to the nation, then perhaps one is not quite an âimmigrantâ in the way âforeignersâ are. By the same token, foreignness is a key component of the definition of international migration. International migration is thus necessarily specific to the (modern) period characterized by the dominance of nation-states (Joppke 1999a).
Israel is not the only country that helps makes this point. At the risk of provoking ire among Canadians: consider whether migration from Detroit to Windsor is âinternational migrationâ in the same way that that term applies to migration fro...