Gender and Migration: A Gender-Sensitive Approach to Migration Dynamics 9789462701632, 9462701636

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Gender and Migration

CeMIS Migration and Intercultural Studies 3 The Centre for Migration and Intercultural Studies (CeMIS) was founded in 2005 at the University of Antwerp, at the initiative of a group of researchers who were working together within the framework of the Antwerp Centre for Migrant Studies. The centre conducts research as well as providing education and other academic services relating to migration, integration and intercultural themes in various social fields, including education, the labour market, welfare, family, health and law. Collaborating with civil society, policymakers and other academic partners, the research centre addresses the challenges arising from migration and intercultural life in today’s society. CeMIS seeks to provide an open and pluralistic research platform that fosters collaboration between society and academia. Series editors Christiane Timmerman (University of Antwerp), Noel Clycq (University of Antwerp), An Daems (University of Antwerp) Series board Dirk Vanheule (University of Antwerp), Lore Van Praag (University of Antwerp), Sunčica Vujić (University of Antwerp), Paul Van Royen (University of Antwerp), Godfried Engbersen (Erasmus University Rotterdam), Kevin Smets (University of Antwerp / Vrije Universiteit Brussel), Hilde Greefs (University of Antwerp), François Levrau (Centre Pieter Gillis/University of Antwerp)

Gender and Migration A Gender-Sensitive Approach to Migration Dynamics

Edited by Christiane Timmerman, Maria Lucinda Fonseca, Lore Van Praag, Sónia Pereira

Leuven University Press

© 2018 by Leuven University Press / Presses Universitaires de Louvain / Universitaire Pers Leuven. Minderbroedersstraat 4, B-3000 Leuven (Belgium). All rights reserved. Except in those cases expressly determined by law, no part of this publication may be multiplied, saved in an automated datafile or made public in any way whatsoever without the express prior written consent of the publishers. ISBN 978 94 6270 163 2 e-ISBN 978 94 6166 265 1 D / 2018/ 1869 / 43 NUR: 763 Lay-out: CoCo Bookmedia Cover: Johan Van Looveren

Contents

Introduction7 Part I: Gendered structures and relations

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1. Labour migration from South Caucasus: A lost chance for women’s empowerment Alina Poghosyan

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2. ‘Marriage of convenience’ regulations in Portugal: Gendered constructions of (il)legality Marianna Bacci Tamburlini

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3. Immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious workers: South American migrant women’s and men’s professional trajectories in the care and academic sectors Romina Seminario Luna 4. Cyber space: a refuge for hegemonic masculinity among Polish migrants in the UK  Kamila Fiałkowska

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5. Future: Nowhere? – Stories of young Roma girls from Neapolitan peripheries119 Kitti Baracsi

Part II: Migration trajectories: Origins and destinations

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6. Gender discrimination as a driver of female migration  Ilse Ruyssen and Sara Salomone

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7. Foreign domestic servants in Antwerp: A comparative regional approach on female migration trajectories to nineteenth-century European cities Thomas Verbruggen and Hilde Greefs 8. The vulnerable refugee woman, from Damascus to Brussels Alexandra Parrs

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9. Women in Mediterranean asylum flows: Current scenario and ways forward Milena Belloni, Ferruccio Pastore and Christiane Timmerman

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10. Gendered migration aspirations in Turkey: The importance of the ‘culture of migration’ Christiane Timmerman, Zeynep Zümer Batur and Lore Van Praag

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Conclusion261 About the authors

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Introduction Christiane Timmerman, Maria Lucinda Fonseca, Lore Van Praag and Sónia Pereira

Investigations of migration dynamics would benefit from a gender-sensitive theoretical framework. While the general picture of migration appears to be rather balanced in terms of gender, it conceals a far more complex reality; a more detailed analysis of regions, countries and types of migration reveals major variations regarding the different levels and features of female and male migration. In this book, we approach migration dynamics from a gender-sensitive perspective by providing an interdisciplinary overview of studies carried out in different European countries. This enables us to grasp the distinct ways in which gender roles, identities and relationships, each embedded in particular contexts, affect migration processes, dynamics and tendencies. Thus, we will demonstrate that gender matters in each stage of the migration process—even long after the actual migration has occurred. The research tradition surrounding gender and migration has come a long way. In traditional migration research, the starting point was the pioneer male labour migrant, who would be followed by women in processes of family reunification and family formation. The specific experiences of women, both as independent migrants and as ‘followers’, were systematically disregarded. Despite the fact that men do not migrate significantly more often than women, the latter remained absent or were given a more passive role in most migration studies conducted during the twentieth century (Lutz, 2008). Recently, however, awareness of the lack of women in migration and integration research has increased. Women represent an ever-growing proportion of national and international migratory

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flows (Kofman et al., 2000; Carling, 2005; Kraler et al., 2011; Oso and RibasMateos, 2013; Timmerman et al., 2015) and tend to be overrepresented in family reunification migration, ‘marriage migration’, commercial migration in a marriage context, refugees, human trafficking and certain forms of labour migration (Carling, 2005; Mahieu et al., 2009; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Charsley, 2014; Fonseca et al., 2005; Fonseca and Ormond, 2008). Besides many migration studies’ neglect of women, the migration experiences of men have also changed and become more complex and varied over time. Moreover, the migration experiences of men should be understood alongside the experiences of women (Mahler and Pessar, 2006). Over the years, increasing attention has been paid to gender itself (Donato et al., 2006). While the introduction of gender into migration research has led to the insight that migration experiences differ between men and women (Carling, 2005; Piper, 2005), less attention has been paid to the relational nature of gender and its structuring impact on migration patterns (Boyd and Grieco, 2003; Mahler and Pessar, 2006). These migration patterns are influenced by gender relations at all levels (Grieco and Boyd, 1998). At micro level, personal migration motives and decisions are influenced by gender roles and positions, which are highly dependent on the opportunities that men and women have to migrate (Morokvasic, 1991; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Timmerman, 2008; Timmerman et al., 2015). At meso level, it seems that men and women have different migrant networks, which lead to divergent migration experiences (Curran and Saguy, 2001; Dannecker, 2005). Finally, at the macro level, we cannot ignore the existence of a gender ideology that penetrates all spheres of society (Donato et al., 2006). Patriarchal regimes with established gender relations and norms, which usually relegate women to subordinate positions in society and to the domestic sphere, affect both migration decision-making and integration. This gender ideology can be better understood by looking in more depth at the concept of the ‘gender order’ or ‘gendered structures’ within which migration decisions are taken and migration/ integration take shape. The gender order refers to the historically constructed patterns of unequal power relations between men and women and encompasses established definitions of masculinity and femininity in a certain society (Connell, 1987). It appears to influence migration opportunities, decisions and integration experiences (Mahieu et al., 2009). However, the experience of migration has also served to alter gender relations and establish new gender roles and norms. In sum, the relationship between gender and migration is dynamic and reciprocal. To frame the papers presented in this book, and to disentangle the

introduction

complex relationship between gender and migration, we introduce a conceptual framework first developed by Carling (2005): Social consequences of migration 3

1 Migration

Gender relations 2

4 Representations of migration

Figure 1: The reciprocal relationship between gender relations and migration (Carling, 2005, 5)

In this conceptual framework, Carling identifies four different causal relations between gender and migration. First, gender relations are assumed to have an impact on the size, direction and composition of migration flows and the perception of migrants. Secondly, and conversely, migration could have an impact on gender relations. Thirdly, the framework of gender relations may also define the wider social consequences of migration. Finally, the representations of migration by academics, policymakers, the media and migrants themselves are also embedded in particular gender relations. These four relations can be divided into two groups: one focuses on the influence of gender on migration (arrows 1, 3 and 4), while the second group concentrates on the influence of migration on gender (arrow 2). These reciprocal influences are vital to our understanding of the different ways in which gender relations and migration are linked. Nevertheless, to grasp these relationships fully, we must also consider the sociological concept of ‘social change’ in order to relate gender relations and migration to each other (Curran and Saguy, 2001; Lutz, 2008). Theories of social change are interesting and necessary starting points for theorising international migration (Castles, 2008; Portes, 2008; 2010) as social change develops along gender lines and generates gendered patterns of migration and integration. Migration patterns and networks function as a catalyst for social change—particularly in gender relations—in both sending and receiving regions and countries. While gender and migration are indisputably linked, previous

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research findings are far from unequivocal and indicate that this link is highly contextualised. More specifically, migration can both break down and reinforce existing gender roles (Foner, 2001; Piper, 2005; Timmerman, 2006; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Timmerman et al., 2015; Bastia, 2015). This is often the case, as the influence of migration on gender is exerted in several life domains and could thus have a distinct impact in each domain. In addition to theories of social change, the conceptual framework of Carling builds further upon the model for gender-sensitive research developed by Grieco and Boyd (1998). These authors state that gender relations and identities are determined only temporarily and contextually. Therefore, it is necessary to take a longitudinal life course approach that transcends the traditional division between migration and integration. After all, gender and changing gender relations throughout the migration cycle actually link pre- and post-migration phases at all levels (macro, meso and micro). Following this approach, we consider migration processes as continuous ‘trajectories’ or courses in which individual characteristics, family dynamics and social factors in the region of origin have an impact on the migration course in the receiving region or society and vice versa. Hence, in this model, ‘feedback’ plays a crucial role in the explanation of migration processes and the impact of changing gender relations on the regions and societies where migration develops. In this book, we propose an analytical framework for the gender-sensitive study of migration consisting of two analytical themes: (1) gendered structures and relations, and (2) migration trajectories and regions or country of settlement and/or origin. This framework also underlines the relevance of the three analytical levels (i.e. macro, meso and micro) in order to explain the reciprocal relationship between gender and migration. Finally, the model pays special attention to social change throughout the entire migration process and during particular shifts in gender relations throughout the migration course. The relationship between gender relations and migration is dynamic and reciprocal. Due to migration itself, significant shifts in identities (gender, ethnic and social class) may occur, entailing transitions in the identities experienced before and after migration in several domains of life (e.g. labour and family). These shifts, as parts of the migration process, differ from the shifts that occur later in the migration life course in the region of settlement. The latter is the subject of the second analytical theme and focuses on migration experiences in the receiving region or country. We present a number of empirical studies from various disciplines that make use of different research methods to demonstrate the diversity in gender-specific migration

introduction

patterns, experiences and motivations and to examine the gender sensitivity of traditional migration theories. The first part of the book opens with a chapter by Alina Poghosyan which analyses the impact of labour migration on the empowerment of women in Armenia and Georgia. In contrast to the common notion that labour migration has an empowering influence on women, due to the dominant patriarchal structures she found that migration affords women little or no empowerment, though it does give them a chance to gain economic independence and influence decision-making in families and communities. In the second chapter, Marianna Bacci Tamburlini provides a critical reflection on the interplay between migration processes and gendered regulatory frameworks. Based on the analysis of the regulation and criminalisation of marriages of convenience in Portugal, in the context of increasingly restrictive family migration policies and highly stratified family migration rights in the European Union, the author argues that rather than ‘safeguarding legality’ and protecting migrant women against abusive and violent situations, this regulatory frame hinders the autonomy and life opportunities of women engaged in transnational lives and conjugalities. In the third chapter, Romina Seminario Luna looks at the different types of gender inequalities that Swiss immigration controls produce, depending on the independent or dependent procedure for obtaining a residence permit, and their impact on the professional careers of highly skilled migrants from South America working in gendered and foreign-based employment sectors, such as care and academia. In Chapter 4, Kamila Fiałkowska discusses the influence of embedded gender relations on the integration experiences of Polish migrants in the United Kingdom. She emphasises the influence of migration on gender roles, particularly with reference to the transformations effected through women’s behaviour, as expressed in discussions in online forums. In the fifth and final contribution in the first part of the book, Kitti Baracsi focuses on the stories of young girls living in the informal camps of Neapolitan peripheries. The chapter shows how the (mis)governance of the ‘Roma migration’ reproduces and fosters gender inequalities. The second part of the book explores how gender relates to migration courses in countries or areas of origin and destination. In the first contribution in this second part, Chapter 6, Ilse Ruyssen and Sara Salomone provide an overview of how gender discrimination can be a driver of female migration from an economic perspective. In the seventh chapter, Thomas Verbruggen and Hilde Greefs apply a historical perspective and focus on the importance of female migration during

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the nineteenth century, specifically the impact of socio-economic conditions in the regions of origin on the profiles and life courses of female migrants who moved to the city of Antwerp, in order to understand push and pull factors of migration. In the eighth chapter, Alexandra Parrs elaborates on how policies approach gender and what effect those approaches have. She examines the various meanings of vulnerability associated with refuge in Syria, Egypt, Europe in general and Belgium more specifically. In the ninth chapter, Milena Belloni, Ferruccio Pastore and Christiane Timmerman examine the gender dimension of CrossMediterranean mixed migration flows to Europe. The authors provide a detailed analysis of the evidence available on the gender balance of Mediterranean asylum flows and offer a more nuanced understanding of women’s migration pathways by looking into the strategies of specific nationalities. In the final contribution, Christiane Timmerman, Zeynep Zümer Batur and Lore Van Praag focus on how region-specific characteristics play a role in shaping migration aspirations and the actual decision-making process involved in moving from one country to another. More particularly, the authors aim to clarify whether women and men have different migration aspirations and whether migration aspirations for women are affected by a culture of migration. The chapters included in this book all focus on gender and migration. Their common point of departure is the finding that gender has generally been overlooked in previous research. Yet, the abundance of different ways in which gender can play a role in migration studies shows that the relationship between gender and migration varies widely depending on time, place and the topic of study.

Bibliography Boyd, Monica, and Elizabeth Grieco (2003). “Women and Migration: Incorporating Gender into International Migration Theory.” Migration Information Source. Web. March 2003 . Curran, Sara, and Abigail Saguy (2001). “Migration and Cultural Change: A Role for Gender and Social Networks?” Journal of International Women’s Studies 2(3): 54–77. Connell, Raewyn (1987). Gender and Power. California: Stanford University Press. Dannecker, Petra (2005). “Transnational Migration and the Transformation of Gender Relations: The Case of Bangladeshi Labor Migrants.” Current Sociology 53(4): 655–674.

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Donato, Katharine, Donna Gabaccia, Jennifer Holdaway, Martin Manalansan IV, and Patricia Pessar (2006). “A Glass Half Full? Gender in Migration Studies.” International Migration Review 40(1): 3–26. Fonseca, Maria Lucinda, ed. (2005). Reunificação Familiar e Imigração em Portugal. Observatório da Imigração 15. Lisboa: ACIME. Fonseca, Maria Lucinda and Meghan Ormond (2008). “Defining ‘Family’ and Bringing it Together: The Ins and Outs of Family Reunification in Portugal.” In: The Family in Question Immigrant and Ethnic Minorities in Multicultural Europe, edited by Ralph Grillo. IMISCOE-AUP: 89–11. Grieco, Elizabeth, and Monica Boyd (1998). “Women and Migration: Incorporating Gender into International Migration Theory.” Working Paper Florida State University 139. Kofman, Eleonore, Annie Phizacklea, Parvati Raghuram, and Rosemary Sales (2000). Gender and International Migration in Europe: Employment, Welfare and Politics. London: Routledge. Lutz, Helma (2008). “Gender in Migratory Processes.” Paper presented at Conference on Theories of Migration and Social Change. United Kingdom, St. Anne’s College, Oxford, July 1–3, 2008. Mahieu, Rilke, Dirk Vanheule, and Christiane Timmerman (2009). De genderdimensie in het Belgische en Europese asiel- en migratiebeleid/La dimension de genre dans la politique belge et européenne d’asile et de migration. Brussels: Instituut voor de Gelijkheid van Vrouwen en Mannen/Institut pour l’Egalité des Femmes et des Hommes. Mahler, Sarah, and Patricia Pessar (2006). “Gender Matters: Ethnographers Bring Gender from the Periphery toward the Core of Migration Studies.” International Migration Review 40(1): 27–63. Morokvasic, Mirjana (1991). “Fortress Europe and Migrant Women.” Feminist Review 39, Winter: 69–84. Piper, Nicola (2005). “Gender and Migration.” Paper prepared for the Policy Analysis and Research Program of the Global Commission on International Migration (GCIM). Timmerman, Christiane, Martiniello Marco, Rea, Andrea and Johan Wets (2015). New Dynamics in female migration and integration, London: Routledge.

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Part I: Gendered structures and relations

1. Labour migration from South Caucasus: A lost chance for women’s empowerment Alina Poghosyan

Abstract In studies on gender and migration, labor migration is often discussed in the light of its empowering influence on women. The analysis of the Armenian and Georgian cases, however, presents an alternative scenario: labour migration from Armenia and Georgia affords women little or no empowerment, though it gives them a chance to gain economic independence and influence decision-making in families and communities. One of the main factors jeopardising the empowerment of women is the traditional environment of the migrant communities and women’s efforts to comply with its norms. Both labour migrant women and stayat-home wives tend to narrate their migration-related experiences so as to fit the dominant patriarchal discourse and meet traditional expectations. As a result, potential changes promised by labour migration are blocked.

Introduction Driven by high rates of unemployment and low wages many families in Armenia and Georgia send their family members to work abroad, anticipating remittances from them (Labadze and Tukhashvili, 2013; Minasyan et al., 2007). Being conditioned by similar reasons, many migratory practices in Armenia and Georgia are analogous. But they differ in terms of women’s involvement in

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migration. In Georgia, many women go abroad to support families back home (Zurabishvili and Zurabishvili, 2010). In Armenia, women usually stay at home to take care of the children and the elderly, while their husbands do seasonal work abroad (Minasyan et al., 2007). Research has revealed cases when the economic and social capital women gained through labour migration resulted in their liberation and enablement (Dannecker, 2005; Chant, 1997; Tacoli, 1999, etc.). In this chapter I consider the impact of labour migration on the empowerment of women in Armenia and Georgia, as well as the cultural environment and the discursive landscape, as factors conditioning such impact. As I will presently show, labour migration offers an opportunity for the empowerment of women in Armenia and Georgia. Economic independence, demand for public participation and many other factors generated by labour migration are important assets for the empowerment of women in these two countries. Yet, those factors are rarely interpreted as such in migrant communities. Instead, they are often regarded as adverse consequences forced by hard economic conditions. Their interpretation in the context of the dominant patriarchal discourses dramatically weakens their empowering influence in these countries. Based on the Georgian and Armenian cases, I discuss in this chapter labour migration’s influence on the changes in women’s status, their authority and roles in the family, as well as their economic independence and freedom. I pay particular attention to the ways in which women perceive and narrate their migration-related experiences demonstrating their efforts to fit into the patriarchal discourse. Furthermore, the traditional environment of migrant communities and women’s striving to meet its norms weaken labour migration’s influence on the empowerment of women in Armenia and Georgia. The chapter explores the field data, secondary material and statistics on migration from Armenia and Georgia. In particular, the field research conducted in Arpeni (Shirak, Armenia)—a village with decades-long tradition of seasonal labour migration—suggested qualitative material to discuss the impact of labour migration on women in Armenia. Empirical data on the gender aspects of migration in Gegharquniq (Armenia) presented by Navoyan (2015) were also an important source for this chapter. The secondary data were especially important for the discussion of the Georgian case.

labour migration from south caucasus

Theoretical background Since the 1990s, research on the gender aspect of migration has increased comprehensively (Donato et al., 2006). In recent decades, scientists have succeeded in bringing gender issues out of the shadows and developing a gendered approach to migration studies. This opened the door to new gender-related dimensions, uncovered new, diverse patterns and experiences of migration and suggested new approaches to migration studies. Here I will mention some of those approaches which I find particularly significant for our discussion. The multi-scenario approach and new dimensions of the influence of labour migration on migrants, their families and communities The focus on the gender aspect of migration offers an alternative to the universalistic approach, attracting researchers’ attention to the diversity of possible impacts of some factors. The non-gendered approach to social, economic and political factors often discusses them in the light of their universal effects. For example, remittances are usually discussed from the perspective of their positive contribution to the migrants’ families and communities (Castles and Wise, 2008). Conversely, studies on the gender aspects of labour migration strengthen the multi-scenario approach by opening new dimensions of labour migration’s influence on migrants, their families and communities. They refer to the impact of labour migration on the economic sustainability of women (Dannecker, 2005), their self-actualisation and emancipation (Tadevosyan, 2013; Tacoli, 1999; Chant, 1997; Curran and Saguy, 2001), control over women and patronage (Deere, 1978; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994; Grasmuck and Pessar, 1991), gender and family roles (Navoyan, 2015; Grasmuck and Pessar, 1991), etc. The multi-scenario approach is important not only because it helps us to understand a complex phenomenon comprehensively, but also because it emphasises the questions about the factors that give rise to this or that impact. It invites attention to the conditions under which labour migration either leads to the empowerment of women or makes them more vulnerable. Researchers often refer to migration patterns, duration of migration, post-marital residential norms, family structures and traditions, gender roles, and some other factors that determine the influence of labour migration on women (Navoyan, 2015; Mahler, 2010; Curran and Saguy, 2001). As will be seen, the interpretation of migration experiences and the discursive landscape those interpretations are linked to are also important factors conditioning labour migration’s influence on women.

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The family-oriented and narrative-oriented approaches My own and other researchers’ experience of field studies (Ozinian, 2009; Hofmann and Burckley, 2011; Mamonowa, 1994; Navoyan, 2015, etc.) reveals that women, more than men, are inclined to interweave their migration experiences into their family stories and relationships. This style of narration nurtures the family-oriented approach to studies on the gender aspects of migration. Women’s involvement in migration is often discussed and presented in relation to women’s life cycle and family obligations. If in the case of male migration their marital status and family obligations can be invisible, in the research referring to women’s experiences those aspects are specifically highlighted (Brettell, 2008; Pedraza, 1991). The family-oriented approach of gender and migration studies is not only driven by women’s narration features, but is also influenced by cultural anthropology. As Mahler and Pessar discuss in their articles (Mahler and Pessar, 2006; Pessar, 2005), cultural anthropology managed to bring gender from the peripheries to the core of migration studies, significantly contributing to the studies on gender aspects of migration. With its traditional interest in family types and traditions, kinship, dwelling traditions, gender-ascriptive roles (wife/ husband), traditions of the life cycle and other cultural aspects of everyday life, anthropological research brought those factors up to prominence in migration studies (Brettell, 2008). Thus, orientation towards individual stories, family and relationships became inherent features of gender and migration studies. These features are particularly important for our further discussions of migrationrelated experience of women in Armenia and Georgia. Focus on the gender roles and family relations, as well as the interpretations of the migrations’ influence on them will help uncover new vistas of labour migration’s impact on the empowerment of women in Armenia and Georgia. The cultural and discursive landscape as part of the environment of labour migration processes, and their influence on women Thanks to the researchers’ particular interest and focus, gender has ceased to be just a variable in the studies on migration; it has acquired a rich social and cultural meaning. The gendered approach made cultural and discursive landscapes a part of migration studies. Many researchers into gender and migration, particularly those affiliated with gender studies and cultural anthropology, demonstrate immense interest in the cultural context of migration—family norms, gender traditions, attitudes towards female labour and migration, etc. (Brettel, 2008; Pessar, 1999; Mahler and Pessar, 2006; Pedraza, 1991, etc.). Attitudes towards

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female labour migration and interpretations of women’s migration experiences are part and parcel of gendered studies of migration. Researchers reveal cases when labour migration among women is highly criticised and judged as an inappropriate activity for women (Dannecker, 2005; Hofmann and Burckley, 2011; Navoyan 2015, etc.). They also discuss cases of more positive attitudes towards female migration, when women are encouraged to go abroad for work (Tacoli, 1999; Curran, 1995). In contrast to the intensive discussions on the public interpretations of a female migrant, women’s own interpretations of their experiences are less discussed. In this chapter I pay particular attention to the way in which women interpret their migration-related experiences. The discursive landscape and interpretations of female labour migration are usually analysed as important features of the environments where the migration experiences of women take place. My analysis of the Caucasian cases suggests that the discursive landscape and particularly women’s own interpretation of migratory practices are not only a part of the environment but also important factors conditioning labour migration’s influence on women’s empowerment.

Migration in the South Caucasus The South Caucasus has always had intense migration within and from the region. The migration context in the region will help locate women’s involvement in labour migration in the overall migration picture of the societies. The discussion of migration processes in the region will trace the diverse ways in which women become involvement in labour migration in Armenia and Georgia. During the collapse of the USSR migration processes sprang up in almost the same way in all the countries of the region. The commonalities were conditioned by identical economic, social, and political situations of that time, as well as by the similarities of the migrants’ social networks, cultural capitals and other aspects of the Soviet legacy. The conflicts in Nagorno-Karabakh, Ossetia and Abkhazia, economic and political crises, inflation, shortage of food and oil accompanying the collapse of the USSR made many people leave their home countries in the South Caucasus. A decade later emigration from the countries was still quite high though its patterns had shifted from economic and permanent migration of refugees to seasonal labour migration. Household surveys of the countries have revealed that in 2007 nearly 8–11% of the Georgian (Labadze and Tukhashvili, 2013: 25)

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and 3–3.8% of the Armenian population (Minasyan et al., 2007: 18) were labour migrants. Starting almost the same way, however, migration processes in the two countries later diverged and developed in different ways. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia was the main destination for migrants from Armenia and Georgia. In 2000s the out-flow from Georgia to Russia decreased as emigration to EU countries increased. Following the military conflict between Georgia and Russia in 2008, Russia’s inhospitable attitude towards Georgian immigrants and the obstacles to their immigration, as well as Georgian pro-Western politics accounted for the substantial decrease in Georgian migration to Russia and the increase of migration to the Western countries. The changes in destinations contributed to the feminisation of labour migration from Georgia. If Russia offered the migrants jobs in construction mostly attracting male immigrants (HRW, 2009: 12), Western labour markets offered larger segments of domestic services and other feminised working areas, thus rendering them more attractive for female migrants from Georgia. In Armenia, men are much more mobile than women. Seasonal labour migration is the most intense outflow from Armenia. The vast majority of men leave Armenia for work in Russia in the spring and return at the end of autumn. They spend nearly three-quarters of the year in Russia (Minasyan, et al., 2007: 28). Women, if they migrate, do so mostly to accompany or visit their migrant husbands and sons. By contrast, in Georgia the proportion of female labour migrants is quite high. According to household surveys, female labour migrants constituted 43.4% of labour migrants from Georgia (Labadze and Tukhashvili, 2013: 29). Meanwhile, the ratio of women in overall emigrant stocks (not just labour migrants) in Armenia is 17,9% (Gois, 2014: 17), which means that the proportion of female labour migrants is even smaller. The change in destinations and labour markets are not the only reason for the preponderance of female emigration from Georgia. Here, migration rates are high in the capital Tbilisi (Dermendzhieva, 2011: 385–86), while in Armenia, peripheral towns and villages record higher rates of migration than the capital Yerevan (Minasyan et al., 2008: 11). Tbilisi, the capital and cultural center of Georgia, offers more liberal and modern cultural environment, giving women more freedom of mobility. Once established, social networks contribute to the perpetuation of migration. As research demonstrates, social networks have a notably gendered character (Dannecker, 2005). Women create their own networks of support and channels of

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information dissemination. The experiences of migrant women and information about jobs of potential interest to other women are disseminated through those channels, instigating new migration flows. Established networks suggest support, decreased costs and risks, perpetuating female migration. Thus, women’s emigration from Georgia keeps growing, while the number of women emigrants from Armenia remains quite low. Women in Armenia are involved in labour migration mostly as stay-at-home wives. Going further in our discussion we will see that labour migration’s influence on the empowerment of women has many commonalities in Armenia and Georgia, determined by the similarities in the discursive landscapes of gender in the countries.

Fitting into the dominant discourses The discursive landscape of gender in Armenia and Georgia is variegated. It reflects patriarchal traditions, unique Soviet emancipation policies, as well as post-Soviet modernisation and nationalisation processes (Poghosyan, 2013). During the Soviet time, the central government initiated changes in some of the patriarchal traditions. The emancipation of women and the creation of a ‘New Soviet Woman’ were among the main visions of the Communist party. After the socialist revolution, the ideas of ‘equality and liberalization of exploited classes’ touched women too. Women were considered to be active participants in the revolution, and entitled ‘to enjoy’ the fruits of the socialist victory. During the Soviet period women got more access to education, health, governance, etc. Nevertheless, Soviet liberalisation of women must be treated with much reservation. The Soviet government neglected many gender issues, gave birth to new forms of women’s inferiority, developed new stereotypes and ideologies weakening women. There is a rich literature about exploitation and control, the restriction of rights, and abuse of women (Engel, 2004; Willis, 1985; Ayvazowa, 1998). Mother and toiler were the most popular images of the Soviet woman. Given the high rates of industrialisation and shortage of labour, women’s labour was in demand for almost the whole of the Soviet era. Thus, Soviet women were taken out of their homes and into the factories. Women were involved in economic and public activities. Nevertheless, they were not released from the in-house obligations. In Soviet ideology, family was considered to be the smallest cell of society, which was responsible for raising ‘decent Soviet citizens’, reproducing

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Soviet values and maintaining social solidarity: they were expected to bear and rear children, look after the family and maintain a congenial atmosphere at home. Thus the ideal Soviet woman was supposed to be a caring mother and wife, as well as a loyal worker (Poghosyan, 2013: 15–16). After the collapse of the USSR, transitional processes permeated Armenia and Georgia. Post-Soviet political, socio-economic and cultural transformations affected women and gender discourses too. In her essay, Chkheidze (2011) writes: ‘Women in Georgia face a reality filled with contradictions. On the one hand, they have access to education, work actively in civil society organizations, and run small businesses, but, on the other, society still considers the major duty for a woman to be taking care of her children and household. Although lately there has been a shift in gender roles and women are starting to become their families’ main breadwinners, this situation has not changed men’s roles and the division of labor in households.’ In Armenia, too, on the one hand one witnesses the modernisation of families and gender relationships, as well as the liberalisation of gender discourses. On the other hand, driven by the continuous spread of religiousness and militarisation, post-Soviet gender discourse has developed a new, strong patriarchal character (Ishkhanian, 2003). Thus, notwithstanding new modernisation and liberalisation trends, rapid changes and a mixed picture of the discursive landscape, the patriarchal gender discourse is still quite dominant in both Armenia and Georgia. The patriarchal discourse in Armenia and Georgia calls for a strict division of family roles. As Tadevosyan suggests in his research (2015), patriarchal discourse situates women and their roles within the house, leaving the space outside the house and family mostly to men; assigns to women the role of bearing and rearing children, attending to the family and looking after the household. Men are expected to provide for the family, protect it and control it. Making sure that all family members conform to the cultural expectations is one of men’s key roles. Divergence from the norms is considered a threat to the honour of the ‘deviant’ person and of the family’s men in particular (Tadevosyan, 2015). Within this discourse, the happiness of a woman is in the family, fulfilling her traditional family roles and being appreciated for her proper implementation of the role of a mother, wife and daughter. The failure to live up to these standards is

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believed to draw a woman into unhappiness. As a result, female labour migration is often narrated as an unfortunate event. Recalling the words of one of the Georgian labour migrant women: ‘When a woman leaves her home, that is something bad’ (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011:84). In her article (1999) on Filipina migrant women’s experiences, Tacoli fairly mentions that although women have a strong commitment towards their family members, their migration is not just an altruistic decision, but ‘reflects the complex interrelationships between self-sacrifice and self-interest. In other words, some women (although not all of them) are able to pursue goals such as freedom of movement, desire for adventure and escape from unhappy marriage’ (Tacoli, 1999: 677). This statement is supported by Chant (1997) too. She claims that, for some, migration is a strategy for distancing themselves from an unhappy marriage, while avoiding the unwanted consequences of a divorce. Some female labour migrants in the South Caucasus supposedly have self-interest migration experience too. This is hardly traceable, however, because most women scarcely speak of the self-interest aspects of their experience. Instead, they underline hard economic conditions as the reason for emigration. Hofmann and Buckley (2012) noticed a similar case among female labour migrants in Georgia. While discussing their respondents’ strategies of constructing a ‘legitimate’ migration story, they noticed that women claimed labour migration to be the only solution to their families’ economic difficulties, and stressed that their migration story differed from other stories. ‘[First], respondents repeatedly differentiated their individual migration experience from situations linked to stigmatizing or “bad” migration strategies of “other” (stereotypical) Georgian women. Second, all of the respondents described labor migration as their only available option for economic survival, framing migration as an action forced upon them by economic circumstances, rather than the result of active decision-making’ (Hofmann and Buckley, 2012: 82). Given the high poverty rate and economic difficulties many families in Armenia and Georgia face, economic factors play a decisive role in the development of discursive landscapes in the two societies. The gender and migration discourses are highly affected by that too. But it is interesting to note that the economic highlights touch male/fathers’ and female/mothers’ labour migration differently. In light of the dominant patriarchal discourse, mothers leaving for labour

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migration are (self-)perceived as abandoning their children (Ozinian, 2009; Hofmann and Buckley, 2011). On the other hand, in the case of male labour migration the role of the breadwinning father gains even more significance. A stay-at-home wife of a labour migrant says: ‘Don’t you know that men always work more? Looking after the household is nothing. It is just an everyday duty. He is a man. He works a lot and gets tired’ (Navoyan, 2015: 9). The narrative about male labour migration, where the significance of men’s work and earnings is emphasised, further bolsters patriarchal values and power structure in migrant families and communities. Women, too, narrate their own migration experience in a way that fits the dominant patriarchal discourse. By having their individual stories accord with the dominant gender and migration discourses, women strive to legitimise and justify their experience, upholding, willy-nilly, the patriarchal discourse and values.

Influence of labour migration on the status and role of women in the family Does labour migration bring about changes in family roles and gender relations? Based on theoretical considerations one could suppose that in the women’s absence men would take on the responsibilities of looking after the children and the household. Or, in the absence of men, the women would undertake their traditional responsibilities. In addition to theoretical observations, many empirical studies also support this idea. For example, Danneker stresses that ‘…[t]ransformation of gender relations is an intrinsic part of the global and regional migration movements’ (Danneker, 2005: 658). I agree with this finding as a global trend. But, depending on various factors, this may not be applicable to all cases. In many families in Armenia and Georgia migration hardly entails big changes in family and gender traditions. Often the activities prescribed to one gender are either abandoned or undertaken by another family member of the same gender. In the few cases where new gender roles are taken on, they are presented as exceptional or out of the ordinary. Field studies in rural communities in Armenia do not reveal extensive trends of women undertaking traditional male activities e.g. large-scale agricultural activities, farming, etc. (Poghosyan et al, 2014; Navoyan, 2015). Most often labour migration and the long-term absence of men lead to the abandonment of farming. Many families, if they receive remittances, prefer to opt out of

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agriculture, since remittances constitute the largest portion of the family income (Poghosyan, et al, 2014). As the wife of an Armenian migrant put it, ‘Earlier, we cultivated the land and grew grain. Now, since men leave to khopan [seasonal labour migration-A.P.], we let grass grow there.’ Gender and migration scholarship also consider the public aspects of labour migrants’ stay-at-home wives. In her article on migration from rural settlements in Peru, Deere (1978) maintains that the long-term absence of husbands gives women more power of decision-making and cultivates egalitarian selfperceptions. This scenario, however, is not the only one. In Armenia women usually try to avoid visits to local government and participation in public affairs. When the level of women’s participation increases because of men’s absence, they often view it as a negative development and the price they pay for labour migration. In some cases, public activity even makes women feel lonely, in despair and ashamed, rather than providing opportunities for involvement, influencing public decision-making and empowerment. A labour migrant’s wife in Armenia states: ‘When my husband is not here, but we need to visit the local government office, I do. But I am not used to it. I am embarrassed with that. Why do I have to undertake the responsibilities that my husband is supposed to do? I feel shy and reserved in the local government office. I complain to my husband. Why isn’t he here to do his work? That is a man’s job, the man is supposed to communicate with a man, solve the issues, while the woman must stay in her position: clean the house, cook, take care of the children.’ (Navoyan, 2015: 11). Due to the three-generation family structures and the tradition of mutual support of the relatives, the family members and relatives of the same gender often undertake the roles of the absent family members. When mothers leave for work abroad, usually grandmothers look after the children and household. Hence, the departure of women does not result in large-scale changes in the traditional gender roles. In those few cases when husbands/fathers undertake new roles in the absence of migrant mothers/wives, the changes often remain within the boundaries of the private and family space. They do not spill out into the public space because of the restrains of the dominant discourse. New migratory and gender experiences are usually narrated from the perspective of the dominant patriarchal discourse. They are presented as exceptions, rather than

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opportunities. One of the labour migrants, whose husband took care of their two sons during her absence, comments: ‘Everything was fine, because my husband was such a [good] person… (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011: 85). [But usually] if someone leaves, then let it be the husband who leaves and let the woman stay home. Let the woman stay and look after the home, and that is it (ibid: 84).’ The dominant patriarchal discourse ‘edits’ the individual cases in such a way as to make them meet public expectation. Labour migration in the South Caucasus not only does not bring about big cultural changes, it in some cases even strengthens patriarchal traditions. Male labour migration from Armenia contributes to the strengthening of the traditional patriarchal division of gender roles. In the absence of men, the division of gender roles is quite certain: women have to look after the family while men work to earn money for the family. This division is further consolidated by the larger contribution the migrant makes to the family budget than that made by the women and other family members. Even in cases when women keep livestock, practise agriculture or are employed in an organisation, their financial contribution to the household budget is less than migrant men’s. The large remittances sent by breadwinning fathers magnifies their authority. A schoolteacher observes: ‘Children are mostly taken care of by mothers. If you invite parents, mothers come, you request funding for books, mothers respond. Everything is left on mothers’ shoulders. … There is a kid, whose father is abroad for work. He started lying. It is resulted by his father’s absence. A sagacious person can notice. … They do not obey the mother, but if the father were here they would be more compliant’ (Gabrielyan, 2015: 19). This excerpt from the interview illustrates the point that the stay-at-home wives of labour migrants carry on with most parental duties, taking care of the children and bringing them up almost solely. Still, patriarchal values and the higher authority of fathers do not increase mothers’ influence over the male offspring. This should not be misunderstood as having little respect for the mother. Mothers are highly respected as caregivers but their control over the behaviour and decisions of their sons is limited.

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The power of control in the family belongs predominantly to men. Even in the physical absence of fathers, that role is ‘secured’ for them. Being away for more than three-quarters of a year, men do not become much involved in childcare. In migrant families, the role of the father is narrowed down to financial support and control. Control from a distance obtains a mostly symbolic and authoritybased character. Many women themselves strive to maintain the authoritative dominance of the fathers in order to conform with the traditional forms of parental roles. In cases of improper behaviour on the part of the children, the boys in particular, mothers ‘threaten’ to call and inform their fathers. It is interesting to note how mothers assume the role of mediator between fathers and children. By ‘threatening’ on behalf of the father, the mother undertakes to deliver the father’s ‘virtual’ anger, thus mediating between him and the children. Another form of mediation is delivering children’s wishes to the father and getting his approval. As a woman puts it: ‘When my husband is here, my son is more obedient. But children are more close to me. Even if the father is at home they do not share with him. The father is strict. If they want something, they ask me to convince him.’ (Navoyan, 2015: 13). Seasonal labour migration establishes a unique yearly rhythm for the families’ everyday life. Anticipating their return in the autumn, families prepare to welcome fathers/husbands. They prepare the house, get ready for visits from the relatives, expect presents, etc. The return of the labour migrants is a happy moment for families, and it changes the rhythm of everyday life. Visits of relatives, family gatherings, events and plans to be carried out together with fathers change the family’s routine. In addition, the temporality and festiveness of the father’s visit precondition the ‘breaking of rules’, and affect children’s discipline. During their visits, fathers are laxer with disciplining the children. In her analysis, Navoyan talks about a lack of cooperation between spouses over the rearing of children. ‘Women mention changes in relations with their children. During the period when they are at home, fathers forbid children nothing. The methods of mothers and fathers get into conflict with each other. After fathers leave, mothers have a tough time controlling the children. Conflicts arise between mothers and children’ (Navoyan, 2015: 19).

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Thus, through diverse examples we can witness how labour migration in Armenia and Georgia contributes to the strengthening of the patriarchal traditions. It is interesting to note that the two regions of Armenia having a longstanding tradition of seasonal labour migration—Gegharkunik and Shirak—are considered also to be the most patriarchal ones.

Influence of labour migration on women’s economic independence and freedom Migration contributes to the wellbeing of families in Armenia (Poghosyan, et al., 2014), but it does not necessarily contribute to women’s economic selfsufficiency. Young women in three-generation families often do not have access to the remittances sent by their husbands. A young woman says, ‘my father-inlaw gets the money. We go to the bank together. But I do not like the woman to be in charge of money’ (Navoyan, 2015: 8). Access to the money and managing expenditures depend on the status of the woman in the family. Usually in large families of three generations men and elder women have a higher status. They receive the remittances and plan expenditures. In the families of two generations, elder women are more likely to be in charge of that. ‘These days my wife has opened a bank account. She has pawned her jewelry and taken credit. She handles these things even when I am back. But earlier, when I hadn’t gone for work abroad, my mom was in charge of that. The daughter-in-law [his wife-A.P.] should not deal with that.’ (Navoyan, 2015: 8) Migrant women in Georgia are economically independent. They earn for their families. Nevertheless, the economic independence does not translate into independence in self-actualisation. The new economic roles and economic sustainability do not release them from their traditional roles as caregivers. From this perspective, mothers who leave to work abroad and earn for the family are often seen as women who are abandoning their children and husbands. That is why many female labour migrants struggle to overcome this and other stigmas. ‘I am sure there are some people who are still against [women’s migration], but …before, you know, you may have had one or two or

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three acquaintances who had gone abroad, and people might talk about them. But now very many people have left, and this already touches [everyone’s] families. So if earlier, someone said, look, his wife has left, and is off doing who knows what, well, now his own wife is the one who had left’ (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011: 89). Studies on gender aspects of migration reveal a mixed picture of different attitudes towards women’s mobility. In the Philippines and Thailand women are often encouraged by their families to go abroad for work (Tacoli, 1999; Curran, 1995). Poor families in particular have to send younger women abroad for work to benefit from remittances. Daughters are considered there to be caring about their families and faithful wage remitters (Tacoli, 1999; Curran, 1995). In Bangladesh, attitudes towards women’s migration are different. Women leaving for work abroad are judged, stigmatised, and blamed for violating traditional norms (Danneker, 2005). As Danneker mentions in her article (2005), female labour migrants in Bangladesh face tough criticism for betraying traditions and are blamed for inappropriate behaviour. According to this widespread attitude, women’s migration is closely connected to their honour and moral image and ‘women’s honor could only be protected if women were not allowed to leave their families, their communities and their “home”’ (Danneker, 2005: 657). In the article she also reveals the belief that labour migration makes a woman unwanted as a bride/wife and reduces her chances of getting married. Nevertheless, factors like women’s networks and economic opportunities perpetuate female labour migration. In Armenia and Georgia women’s labour migration is not encouraged either. Women themselves often share the discourse that discourages and stigmatises female labour migration. If in her research Danneker (2005) reveals that in Bangladesh migration generates criticism among women towards the patriarchal order in their society, in Georgia women migrants try to distance themselves from negative attitudes by fashioning their own migration stories (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011). By doing so, they take defensive positions striving to justify migration, rather than presenting it as a conscious choice. ‘Every respondent maintained that women shoulder the primary responsibility for caring for children and family and took significant effort to present their own migration as an expression of this

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responsibility, rather than a renunciation of it’ (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011: 89). Female labour migrants in Armenia and Georgia are blamed not just for abandoning their children and husbands. Women being away from family and male control are treated as morally suspect. In some cases, suspicions and stigmatisation of immoral behaviour (even prostitution) are based on the choice of destination. In Georgia, Turkey and Greece are considered to be ‘dishonorable destinations’, while in Armenia it is Turkey and the UAE (Ozinian, 2009). As a labour migrant in Georgia put it: ‘Those who went to Turkey and Greece, there are legends about them. True or untrue, and maybe they are not true, but once you have gone there, it means you are not a decent person’ (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011: 84). Control over the sexuality of women is considered to be one of the important functions of the family. Tadevosyan stresses particularly the role of the father in controlling a daughter’s sexuality. ‘Father controls mainly those practices of the daughter, based on which, one can assess correspondence of her sexual behavior to the expected moral norms. …The purpose [of the control-A.P.] is to hold the girl from fulfilling her sexuality her way. … The respect of male neighbors and relatives [for father-A.P.] and the father’s honor are conditioned by the authoritarian power he possesses in his family’ (Tadevosyan, 2015: 14). In light of such patriarchal practices, in traditional families the father’s departure strengthens his control over women. When fathers and husbands are absent the responsibility of control over the daughters and wives is transferred to other family members—brothers, mothers, and in-laws. In their research Hofmann and Buckley have also come across similar cases. They discuss the case of a labour migrant woman who used her brother’s residence in Russia as leverage for convincing her husband to support her in leaving to work in Russia. ‘Her husband felt that migration was not a “decent” thing for a woman to do. By offering to migrate to her brother’s home in Rostov (located in the south of the Russian Federation) she was able to gain her husband’s

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approval. The presence of a close (male) relative could provide sufficient protection and supervision, and in the face of economic need, made migration an acceptable action’ (Hofmann and Buckley, 2011: 87). Thus, many women labour migrants from Armenia and Georgia often share the patriarchal norms of their societies. So they do their best to demonstrate that the absence of their husbands does not compromise their loyalty towards traditions. Both labour migrant women in Georgia and labour migrants’ wives in Armenia try to prevent suspicion of not being loyal towards tradition from taking hold. Research into this aspect has indicated that during the absence of husbands their wives take even less care of their looks (Navoyan, 2015: 18), demonstrating that they are not interested in looking attractive when their husbands are not next to them.

Conclusion From the scholarly literature on gender and migration there emerges quite a mixed picture of labour migration’s influence on women. In some cases, labour migration makes women more independent, increases their participation in decision-making, suggests new roles, affords financial sustainability, raises their self-confidence and egalitarian attitudes, contributes to the questioning of patriarchal traditions, etc. (Grasmuck and Pessar, 1991; Dannecker, 2005; Tacoli 1999; Pedraza, 1991, etc.). In other cases, labour migration entails stigmatisation, increases control over women, makes them dependent on other family members, etc. (Deere, 1978; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994; Hondagneu-Sotelo and Avila, 1997; Ferree, 1990, etc.). The analysis of Armenian and Georgian cases does not produce sufficient evidence to prove labour migration’s contribution to the independence, participation and empowerment of women, be they labour migrants or stay-athome wives of labour migrants. In these countries labour migration appears to be a lost possibility for empowerment. In Armenia, stay-at-home women shoulder more responsibilities after their husbands leave for work abroad. Yet, as the field material demonstrates, it does not significantly widen their sphere of activities, power and control. Men’s longterm absence has a limited contribution to the increase in women’s participation in community life, influence in decision-making, and freedom in the spheres that

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traditionally belong to men. In contrast, it strengthens and emphasises traditional female roles, and responsibilities and images. During men’s absence women take on the sole responsibility for taking care of the children, their upbringing and household activities. Due to the three-generation structure of families and the traditions of mutual support among relatives, other family members of the same gender undertake the duties prescribed for labour migrants. Or, as a result of the absence of men, traditional activities like agriculture and farming are abandoned. In cases when women have to take on new responsibilities in addition to their traditional roles, they struggle to protect the family and themselves from the accusation of failing to live up to cultural expectations. Labour migration contributes to the economic well-being of the family, but it does not necessarily affect the economic sustainability of all the female members of the family. In the two-generation family, labour migrants’ wives get access to the remittances and take part in the household’s budget planning. Meanwhile, in the large families of three generations, young wives of labour migrants have little or no say in decision making over the expenditures. Female labour migrants gain economic sustainability and financial independence, but they do not contribute significantly to their empowerment. As Ferree (1979) mentions about Cuman labour migrants in the US, women’s employment does not necessarily facilitate their liberation. Similarly, in Georgia and Armenia many labour migrant women get economic sustainability, but the dominance of the patriarchal gender discourse impedes the transformation of the economic capital into cultural and social capital. Women’s new experiences, economic independence, distance from the patriarchal power and control do not make a significant contribution to liberation, diversification of the gender roles, modernisation of the gender relations, etc. Both in Armenia and Georgia many women demonstrate loyalty towards the patriarchal norms and strive to prove that their practices correspond to them. In the absence of direct control by men, women make even more efforts to meet the expectations of the traditional moral norms strictly, to avoid public suspicion, guard their husbands’ honour and set a ‘good’ example for the children. Even in Georgia, where women leave for work abroad despite the cultural expectations, they strive to present their experience as exceptional, rather than normal. The new practices are situated within the patriarchal discourse. Women labour migration in the South Caucasus is usually presented as a necessity dictated by the economic difficulties and need of providing for the family. It is presented as an inevitability, not as a choice. Women try to fit in the dominant patriarchal

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discourse, explain their choice within it, looking for justifications rather than challenging the traditional expectations, patterns and practices. They construct their migration stories in such a way as to justify their divergence from the ‘normal order’—patriarchal order. With this, they take a defensive position and meet the demands of traditional cultural expectations and the patriarchal discourse. In those few cases when migration brings some changes into individual families, the new practices do not entail large cultural transformations in societies at large. Migration experiences that transform gender relations and roles are seen as personal experiences and remain predominantly in the private space. Patriarchal discourse impedes the changes needed to spill out into the public space, holding those in the private space only. So they mostly remain invisible to the public and do not become part of the dominant discourse. Given the dominance of the patriarchal discourse, the factors usually contributing to the empowerment of women do not have the expected effects. The novelties afforded by new experiences of labour migration are blunted by the traditional interpretations. In order to benefit from the opportunities of empowerment given by labour migration, the overall gender discourse in Armenia and Georgia needs to be changed. In a more liberal gender discourse, new experiences of women would bring new sights to the power and control, enrich the diversity of gendered practices, suggest alternative life-scenarios and multiple ways of happiness.

Notes 1 The study was conducted in the framework of the “Armenia: Migration, Everyday life and Transition” project financed by the Academic Swiss Caucasus Net in 2013–2014.

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International Migration and Development in Latin America and Caribbian, Mexico City, 30 November-2 December 2005. Poghosyan, Alina, Poghosyan, M. and M. Yeranosyan. Labor Market Specifics and Migration from the Perspectives of Development Opportunities in Lori. Yerevan: Comitato Internazionale per lo Sviluppo dei Popoli (CISP). Poghosyan, Alina (2013). Gender discourses and the perspectives of gender policies in Armenia. [Genderain diskursy ev genderain qaghaqakanutyan herankarnery Hayastanum]. Yerevan: Open Society Foundations-Armenia. Tacoli, Cecilia (1999). “International migration and restructuring of gender asymmetries: continuity and change among Filipino labor migrants in Rome.” International Migration Review 33(3): 658–682. Tadevosyan, Aghasi (2015). Gender inequality and everyday practices: objectives and challenges. [Genderayin anhavasarutyun ev aroreaanutyan praktikaner. himnakhndirner ev martahraverner]. Yerevan: Center for Gender and Leadership Studies. Tadevosyan, Aghasi (2013), Migration and everyday life: Movement through cultures and practices. Yerevan: Institute of Archaeology and Ethnography, National Academy of Sciences. Willis, David K. (1985). Klass: How Russians really live. New York: St. Martin’s press. Zurabishvili, Tamar and Tinatin Zurabishvili. (2010). “The Feminization of Labor Migration from Georgia: The Case of Tianeti.” In: Rethinking the South Caucasus, edited by Tsypylma Darieva and Viktor Voronkov. Laboratorium: Russian Review of Social Research 2(1): 73–83.

2. ‘Marriage of convenience’ regulations in Portugal: gendered constructions of (il)legality Marianna Bacci Tamburlini

Abstract This chapter analyses the emergence and social repercussions of ‘marriage of convenience’ regulations in the context of growing migration classification and surveillance efforts in the European Union. Based on case studies regarding transnational conjugal practices in the Portuguese migration regime, this contribution proposes a critical reflection on the interplay between migration processes and gendered regulatory frameworks. The first section focuses on the discourses underpinning restrictive legislation, namely the framing of women in polarised representations as ‘victims’ or ‘abusers’ of the migration system, and the consequent gendered character of policies and practices adopted by institutions. These include double-edged depictions of women, as an inherently ‘vulnerable’ group and, on the other hand, as potential ‘offenders’ against norms and legislation. In the second section, excerpts of accounts by three women, born in Brazil and married in Portugal, will be analysed as emblematic examples of the gendered stratification processes involved in the interaction with the migration regime. Their stories pinpoint several shortcomings in the current policies that establish a dependent residency status of the migrant partners from their spouses. They account for how the policing of their mobility and intimate lives impacts on women in the process of applying for a right of residence on the basis of their marital status, creating barriers for their self-determination. Namely, the case study indicates that rather than reaching their alleged goals, restrictive

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migration control apparatuses based on essentialist categories and policing paradigms potentially (re)produce the stratification of subjects along gender, socio-economic and national origin lines.

Introduction In the context of increasing regulations on family mobility in Europe since the end of the 1990s, specific legislation and policies on ‘marriage of convenience’ have been introduced by EU member states as part of a ‘battle against illegal migration’ (Wray, 2006; De Hart, 2006). The normative, gendered and restrictive notion of marriage subsequently imposed by institutions, as well as the securitarian notion within which such policies seem to be operating, leads to differential repercussions on transnational couples in terms of citizenship opportunities (Charsley and Benson, 2013; Wray, 2006; Bonjour and De Hart, 2013). The present paper aims to gather some reflections stirred by a broader research project on transnational conjugalities in Portugal in the context of (il) legalisation processes within migration regulations. Its purpose is to contribute to the debate on the repercussions and implications of family and migration policies in a specific European contemporary setting. This chapter will argue that the processes involved in transnational conjugalities control call for thorough considerations regarding the impacts of such rhetoric and regulative proliferation on the lives of individuals who cross borders or, in a reverse perspective, whose lives are crossed by borders. Namely, the aim is to explore in what ways institutional obstacles impact on specific groups of migrants during the process of residency regularisation through marriage. In the first section, an analytical review of ‘marriage of convenience’ regulations will be followed by a summary of the current legislation and practice. The second section will reflect on the accounts of three women who experienced transnational conjugalities and a process of residency application in the Portuguese context. Some excerpts of the histories shared by three women, born in Brazil and married and resident in Portugal, will be analysed as examples of the gendered stratification processes involved in the interaction with institutions managing migration control. Based on a perspective considering migration regulations as part of broader systems of social classification which structure, explain and justify unequal social systems, the paper will investigate the stratification dynamics inherent in the discourse and policy on marriage and migration. On one side, it will argue that

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the outcomes of policies appear to be in contrast with the alleged objectives of the migration regime, in particular the officially declared objective of ‘safeguarding legality’ and ‘protecting vulnerable groups’. On the other side, it will uncover how the migration context is hindering in particular the autonomy and life opportunities of women engaged in transnational lives and conjugalities.

Seeking a non-binary and intersectional approach to marriage in a context of mobility The paper’s arguments are based on a selection of the qualitative material collected in the context of a PhD research developed in Lisbon. The documental analysis included data extracted from European Union legislation and reports, Portuguese government memoranda and other administrative sources. Portuguese data sources included publications of specific state agencies, such as the National Statistic Agency and the Border and Immigration Police. Additionally, I used European Migration Network and Immigration Observatory materials to complement the scholarly literature on family reunification, conjugality and migration. This exploration of the available information was used as a basis to identify the arguments supporting and justifying public discourse and policies, and to trace the evolution of public policies over time, so as to frame the empirical data. The fieldwork, conducted in the city of Lisbon from 2011 to 2015, included interviews with functionaries of the border and immigration police, and with representatives of NGOs working in migration issues, as well as narratives collected in interviews with heterosexual married couples in which, prior to the formalisation of the marital status, one partner was undocumented and the other had formally recognised permanent residence or nationality status. Most couples were aged between 25 and 35, and had undergone controls regarding their conjugal relationship in the context of ‘marriage of convenience’ policies, albeit to varying degrees. Although I collected a total of 36 interviews, of which 24 were with members of transnational couples, this article is mainly based on three of these stories. During the research timespan, I also followed a ‘marriage of convenience’ trial at the Lisbon court, which provided insights into the implementation of criminalisation mechanisms in the juridical system. The empirical focus on transnational conjugalities arose from the observation of the narrow institutional categories used in current institutional discourse and policies based on ‘marriage of convenience’ control paradigms. My analysis seeks

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to unpack the binary and essentialist classifications enacted by institutions in judging the ‘authenticity’ of marriages, as well as the concepts which articulate in such paradigms, namely ‘migrant’, ‘illegality’ and ‘conjugality’ (Bacci Tamburlini, 2013, 2014). Transnational conjugalities involve interacting with more than one national sphere, and represent various aspects of transition, including that of geographic as well as marital, migratory and legal status. Transnational conjugality thus offers a social space through which the gendered character of institutional processes becomes visible, in its articulation with the formal recognition of migration status. The hybridities, and the complexity of the empirical data collected thus inevitably challenge the binary visions emerging from the institutional approach and expose the need for analytical tools, which permit a greater elasticity. My fieldwork led me to problematise naturalised categories, which often hindered the institutional understanding of complex individual trajectories. Unpacking the concept of ‘migrant’ allows us, for instance, to question who is defined as such, for how long, and with what consequences for the rights a human being is entitled to. The case study reveals that these categories are used to create policies and discourses that directly affected both partners, whether they were recognised citizens or not. In national policies, as well as in a great part of the literature, the migrant is by default delineated as an ‘other’, a separate entity as compared to a supposedly homogenous mass of integrated and ‘belonging’ citizens. Conversely, the notion of migrant may be treated as a historical and contingent concept, recognising it as a category based on an imaginary nationstate, conceptualized as a culturally and socially homogeneous entity delimited by fixed borders. As noted by the anthropologist Manuel Ruiz on the basis of his fieldwork in Spain, researchers in this area have a responsibility in acknowledging the ‘migrant’ category as a construct. Ruiz warns that such classification has been naturalised, and represented as an irrevocable and unquestioned social relation that reproduces power hierarchies (Ruiz, 2010:28). By contrast, a transnational perspective (cfr. Wimmer and Glick Schiller, 2002) allows one to encompass social relations beyond national borders, to support the observation of a social field that includes migrants and non-migrants alike. Similarly, contact with the couples exposed the shortcomings of a dichotomist distinction between legal and illegal, leading to the questioning of the mechanisms through which individuals in mobility may be arbitrarily treated and perceived as illegal, and criminalised as such (Sciortino, 2004; Anderson, 2008; Mezzadra, 2008; Dauvergne, 2008; Schrover et al., 2008; Machado, 2011).

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The fluid transitions between ‘legality’ and ‘illegality’ are evident in each of the life histories collected, and challenge the concept of the stereotyped image of the abusive ‘illegal migrant’ as depicted in securitarian public discourses. The lived experiences inevitably reflect processes of transition between the imposed categories of ‘undocumented alien’, ‘migrant’, ‘family member of a European citizen’ and ‘citizen‘. Individuals experience different legal statuses according to a range of factors linked to their life cycle, social positioning, national origin, type of employment and contract, changing laws, and may shift from one status to the other several times in their life-course, often due to reasons beyond their control. Overlooking this fluidity facilitates the naturalisation of criminalising policies which fail to recognise the political and historical nature of the regulations determining what practices are accepted or rejected, contributing to essentialist views on undocumented migrants as law-breakers and outsiders (cfr. De Genova, 2002). Third, the specific focus on the institutional perspectives on marriage allows for the observation of normative and binary interpretations of family, juxtaposing an idealised European nuclear family model, based on romantic love imaginaries with so-called ‘marriages of convenience’, depicted as an instrumental act to gain ‘migratory advantages’. The analytical tools intrinsic to the adoption of a gender perspective additionally facilitated a deeper understanding of the power relations embedded in these regulatory paradigms. Inspired by intersectional approaches (Crenshaw, 1991; Yuval Davies, 2011; Stolke, 2003), my analysis starts from the premise that people live multiple, layered identities derived from social relations, history and the operation of structures of power. This perspective allows us to investigate whether, and how, current institutional discourse and arrangements potentially (re)produce inequalities along the differentiating lines of gender, nationality and socioeconomic status.

The regulation of marriage and migration: control and ‘protection’ In the European context, migration has been increasingly constructed as a problem generated in an external space, which can be solved by increasing surveillance and securitisation (Sciortino, 2004; D’Aoust, 2010). Since the late 1980s, European migration policy has come to be seen as being about controlling migration and preventing unwanted flows. Eleonor Kofman and Albert Kraler (2006:5)

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observe how since the late 1990s the shift from a strict migration control agenda towards a ‘migration management’ approach led to a reappraisal of economic rationales for more open migration policies, although this shift does not signal an end to migration control itself but rather a move from control to ‘selection’. This process gains emphasis in the Portuguese case, where the classification and criminalisation of migrants has developed combining restrictive and flexible migration policies (cfr. Bacci Tamburlini, 2013; Machado, 2011). The Portuguese migration regime is particularly interesting to explore the blurred aspects of a contemporary border regime: its political discourse is illustrative of the double-edged discourse and practice underpinning the restrictive regulation of borders, intersecting ‘benevolent’ and ‘policing’ perspectives. The particular characteristics of the national migration regime, as well as the continuities with the broader European Union context, make it in fact a fertile ground to allow insights into the implications of the current policies, beyond its apparent contradictions. On one hand, regardless of the political complexion of the government in charge, the official discourse consistently refers to incoming flows as crucial for the development of the country. In fact, Portugal is generally regarded as having ‘friendly’ policies towards migration, and as an example of good practice in integration policies regarding international migrants. For instance, the country was ranked in second position in the classification produced by the MIPEX-Migrant Integration Policy Index (MIPEX, 2015), evaluating the policies regarding family, employment, education and citizenship access, amongst others. Another aspect considered a specificity of the country’s ‘humanist’ approach to migration is a relatively reduced recourse to deportation: even though national legislation includes the possibility of expulsion measures for undocumented subjects, these are enforced in few cases, compared to other European countries. Additionally, according to a report by the FRA-Fundamental Rights Agency of the European Union, Portugal is (together with Malta), the only country whose legislation does not impose imprisonment for migrants ‘illegally entering’ its territory (FRA, 2014). Yet, the gap arising from the comparison of formal policies with the actual outcomes of formal provisions suggests caution in considering such classifications at face-value. Although Portugal is positively evaluated internationally as one of the most benevolent receiving countries, it is important to be aware that formal laws may be in place but can be applied unevenly and with variable implementation methods. Most significantly for the argument in this paper, the relatively recent

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‘marriage of convenience’ regulation establishing imprisonment for up to 5 years for ‘fraudulent’ spouses (Law no 23/2007) is relatively harsh compared to the broader mobility regulations such as nationality and job visa regulations, and is in line with similar penalisation processes in other European countries (Wray, 2006; Walsum, 2011; Charsley, 2005; Bonjour and de Hart, 2013; Block, 2012). The following section will propose some annotations on the specific gendered and nationality-based policies which appear to determine the outcomes of apparently neutral legislation on specific groups of women. The initial interrogation, similarly to what Sara Friedman notes in her study on marriage migration in Taiwan, is that ‘simply introducing gender-neutral language into immigration and naturalization laws fails to resolve these tensions since … gender-neutral laws are not necessarily gender egalitarian in practice’ (Chao-Ju Chen quotation, in Friedman, 2012: 224).

Gendered connotations of the EU ‘marriage of convenience’ regulations In the EU institutions ‘marriage of convenience’ is defined as ‘a marriage contracted for the sole purpose of enabling the person concerned to enter or reside in a Member State’ (European Migration Network Glossary, 2012:108; European Council, 1997). One of the latest documents produced as guidelines for member states, the ‘Handbook to address Marriages of convenience’, insists on the adjective ‘genuine’ as opposed to ‘convenience’, stating that authorities should check for ‘factors expressing the effectiveness of a couple’s family life’ (European Commission, 2014:22), based on normative family models. For instance, ‘having a child from the marriage’ is indicated as a strong ‘counter-indication’ of abuse (European Commission, 2014:23). The handbook refers to the need to prevent human trafficking and alleges a link between ‘marriages of convenience’ and organised crime groups as one of the main reasons justifying restrictions and policing (cfr. European Migration Network, 2012). By inference, this links large sectors of the migrant population to trafficking. Europol, the European law-enforcement agency, goes further by suggesting a causal association between transnational conjugality and crime: ‘the focus in these cases is on the third country national as a perpetrator and as a client of an OCG (Organized Crime Group) facilitating illegal immigration. The OCG can be involved in facilitating the irregular migrant’s whole journey,

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including entry into the EU (e.g. using student visa) and legalisation of stay (e.g., via marriage of convenience)’ (Europol, 2014:2, emphasis added). The connections between marriage and trafficking established by policymakers are not gender neutral since women are specifically identified as being involved: ‘women brought to the host EU country and forced to marry someone’ is equated with ‘what is typically considered as trafficking in human beings…’ (European Commission, 2014:13). Moreover, the source quoted to affirm that ‘marriage of convenience’ needs to become a concern of member state governments, the above-mentioned Europol notification, states: ‘Europol has noted an increase in contributions linking marriages of convenience to trafficking in human beings (THB). In this scenario women are trafficked in order to be forced into a marriage of convenience (…). The women targeted are often in vulnerable positions due to economic, societal or even medical reasons (mental health issues). They are lured to the country of destination on false pretences such as the promise of a well-paid job. They are then forced into a marriage with a third country national to enable the groom to obtain residence benefits and leave to stay in the EU. The third country national “buys” a wife from a broker. In some cases, the victims are kidnapped and brought to the country of destination against their will. The traffickers take away the women’s documents and hold them captive. The victims are also often sexually abused by the “husband” or otherwise sexually exploited. It is currently unclear whether these brokers belong to networks involved in THB or act as service providers to OCGs facilitating illegal immigration’ (Europol, 2014:2). This document states that ‘marriages of convenience include in many cases elements of trafficking in human beings’ (European Commission, 2014:8, emphasis added), yet the two-page document fails to support its claims with figures or empirical evidence. Europol’s statements are heavily gendered in their depiction of ‘typical’ agents of ‘marriages of convenience’, and tend to overlap protection and control approaches, warning policy-makers against cases in which ‘the status of the bride shifts from a perpetrator to a victim …’. The authors of the document state: ‘Not all intelligence may be available to have a clear sight on whether the bride is an accomplice (facilitation of illegal immigration) or a

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victim (trafficking in human beings)…. Where possible, investigations should seek to clarify the status of the bride as accomplice or victim. It is however noteworthy that suspicions have been raised about EU nationals making false declarations as victims of trafficking in human beings in order to escape prosecution for the marriages of convenience they originally consented to’ (Europol, 2014: 1–2, emphasis added). These quotations provide insight into the formation of institutional attitudes towards migrants. Systematic suspicion and essentialised binary representations underpin ‘marriage of convenience’ policy implementation in most EU member countries. In Portugal, specific ‘marriage of convenience’ policies started gaining ground in the first decade of 2000. In 2007 a specific law established that whoever marries or establishes a civil partnership ‘with the sole purpose of earning a visa or a residence permit or defrauds the legislation’ is punishable with a prison penalty of from 1 to 5 years, and from 2 to 6 years if it is enacted in a ‘repeated or organized way’. In the case of a suspected ‘marriage of convenience’, the civil register is under the legal obligation to communicate its suspicions to the Public Prosecution Service, as well as to the Immigration and Borders Service, which is requested to conduct an investigation. In this case, the marriage proceedings are suspended until the outcome of the investigation is released. The law further establishes the withdrawal of any residence rights and social benefits acquired thereafter. If the couple is not investigated, after formalising the marriage, the foreign spouse gains the same residency rights as his/her spouse and may gain nationality after 3 years when the partner is a Portuguese national. The policing of intimacy is therefore organised under the logic that it is possible and legitimate to explore the ‘genuine intentions’of the couple, and distinguish between ‘love’ and ‘convenience’, ‘real’ or ‘fake’ marriages (Grassi, 2006; Bacci Tamburlini, 2015).

Victims/abusers and the institutional selection of ‘desirable migrants’ The underpinnings of the institutional reading of genuineness combine with stereotyped imaginaries regarding what type of marriage and family conformations are legitimate, and who are considered ‘trustworthy’ partners. With this perspective, institutional profiles are constructed on a statistical basis to

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determine which types of individuals are more ‘likely’ to engage in such practices. Brazilians in particular are mentioned as the most ‘relevant’ nationality in a section describing the ‘risk-profile’ regarding potential marriages of convenience (EMN, 2012:24). The women who participated in the interviews described the impact of these regulations on their lives, and how they perceived that in particular the dominant representation of Brazilian migrant women was affecting their application processes. As observed by a wide range of scholars, this stereotyped image is built in the Portuguese collective imaginary with an eroticised and tempting character, and is associated with self-interested and concealed intentions (Raposo and Togni, 2009; Gomes, 2013; Piscitelli, 2009; França, 2012). Mariana Gomes argues in particular that ‘Brazilian women are seen as “colonial body”’ in Portugal. They are defined, essentialised and stigmatised through characteristics attributed by colonial history, related to hypersexuality’ (Gomes, 2013:ii). The women undergoing migration controls in Portugal invariably stated that the fact of being Brazilian was a crucial determinant in their interaction with public officers. The perspectives emerged during our interaction appear to suggest that institutions are reducing migrant women to stereotyped representations as ‘victims’ or ‘abusers’. Namely, women are generally categorised as vulnerable subjects easily enticed into a ‘marriage of convenience’ (EMN, 2012:33), specifically those from sectors such as the working poor, or those living on welfare, with a poor education level, or coming from specific geographical areas. Among the themes emerging from the interviews, the participants also underlined the intrusion that the regulations made into family ties, notably through the intensified dependency of women with an undocumented background on their residency ‘sponsors’, notably their spouses and employers. Most women who participated in the research reported that, apart from being troubled by lack of information and the cumbersome bureaucratic processes, they consistently reported that gendered discriminatory evaluations were affecting their residency applications. Participants felt they were facing preconceptions about their ‘morality’, as well as doubts about their genuine commitment to family and work life in Portugal, including insinuations that they might be engaging in sex work. The histories shared here may also be considered useful in individuating in what points the referred policies may contribute to deepening the elements of subordination inside and outside the conjugal context. Their stories illustrate how their derivative legal status hinders women’s autonomy, and potentially lays grounds for the sponsor partner to establish abusive dynamics.

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The following three case studies exemplify the potential impact of the marriage of convenience policies on gender relations and on these women’s autonomy and citizenship rights. Maria Maria, aged 44 years at the time of the interview, recalled how 15 years ago she managed to disengage from her violent husband in Brazil, and travelled to Portugal in search of a job, in order to resolve her economic difficulties as a single mother. Within a few months she found a job and through her work contract managed to gain a temporary right to reside in Portugal, and sent for two of her children through the ‘family reunification’ channel. Two years later, she met a Portuguese man, and after 8 years of cohabitation they married. Maria, although she already had an autonomous entitlement to file for Portuguese citizenship— based on over 10 years of legal residence in Portugal—applied for Portuguese nationality on marriage grounds. This decision was made at her husband’s insistence, as he advised: ‘ask for nationality on marriage grounds, it’s faster!’ She accordingly did so, thinking it would be easier. In her account, Maria explains that everything ran smoothly until conjugal frictions emerged between them. While her nationality is still under evaluation, during an argument with her husband she mentions the possibility of ending their relationship. He decides to take revenge, and denounces her to the Border and Immigration Police (SEF) alleging that she married him with the only aim of gaining residency rights. The authorities initiate a process of investigation, which blocks her citizenship application until the completion of the SEF scrutiny. Her husband then starts a blackmailing offensive in which he cyclically asks for forgiveness, promising that if she stays with him he will renounce his accusation, but then in moments of conflict threatens her that he will have her deported by the authorities. She comments, ‘I don’t know what to do. He threatens me, because he drinks, he drinks a lot and starts loosing control: (he says) ‘I’ll call the SEF, I’ll tell them not to give you nationality!’ …’. She further describes her feeling of economic precariousness and dependency, by adding, ‘he doesn’t let me work. I can’t work Saturdays or Sundays, I can only work from Monday to Friday, and only up to 5pm, and I cannot work in whatever place …. I managed a job taking care of an old lady, and he texts me accusing me that … I am streetwalking’. Maria affirms, ‘I’ve been wanting divorce for a long time, but I’m in his hands! … I’m depending on him …’, and underlines how she considers this a sudden turn in their relationship: ‘We always lived for each other …, I never imagined that

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our fairy-tale could come to an end!’. Yet, she manages to oppose this oppressive situation by leaving her husband: ‘I left home … There was too much pressure … I couldn’t live a façade marriage, because of SEF!’. Her residency papers, still bound to her previous work contract, are about to expire when we meet for the first time, and Maria is anxious about her shaky legal situation. She stresses her feelings of legal and existential precariousness, being exposed to a criminalising process that could prevent her from receiving citizenship. She repeatedly states she feels betrayed by the state, complaining that ‘it’s absurd… after thirteen years living in Portugal!’. She is currently articulating her appeal with the emigration authorities with the backing of an association providing legal support. Joana Joana, 45 years old, travelled to Portugal together with her son, leaving her job and what she describes as a comfortab1e middle-class socio-economic position, to reunite with her husband who had moved to Lisbon six months earlier. At her arrival, she discovers he has lied to her regarding the fact of having a regular work contract, and thus on the ability to obtain legal residence for the rest of the family on such grounds. At the time, she decides to divorce her husband even though she still holds no legal residency as an “over-stayer” of her initial tourist visa, and describes the process of looking for a job ‘as an undocumented woman’, as a ‘process of exploitation and abuse’. Regarding this phase of her trajectory she remarks, ‘I think it’s very tough, this dependency from citizenship, from the papers, of being in the hands of another person’. She also recalls the ‘horrifying fear’ she suffered in thinking she would not even be able to go back to Brazil with her son if her husband did not provide his authorisation, or that the minor could be separated from her by the authorities due to her precarious situation. In that period she remembers feeling isolated, with ‘no support, no social network …, absolutely nothing’. Joana describes the regularisation of her own and her son’s papers as ‘a very difficult path. I managed without having legal support, or an intermediary, because I am a person with a high level of knowledge, and also of boldness, but for a more fragile person… I think it would be hard’. She stresses during her interview the existential difficulties and self-blame she suffered in dealing with such a precarious phase, while having the responsibility for a minor child as well. Joana also describes the shame and pride that prevented her from going back to Brazil to her parent’s family, since they had originally advised her not to follow her husband.

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Subsequently, Joana decides to take a post-graduate course, a choice which she considers ‘a resilient reaction to all of this, which was very harsh for me’. After some years she decides to marry again, this time a Portuguese citizen, and successfully applies to obtain Portuguese nationality. Yet, she describes a wide range of discriminations on the part of institutional representatives, and narrates the systematic suspicion she, and all the Brazilian women she knows, have to endure. The more common refer to the insinuations that they are sex workers, and that they are not worthy of staying in Portugal, being only in search of husbands to obtain comfortable lives and legal papers. After some years of marriage she divorces again, and complains about the consistent stigmatising comments on behalf of friends, family and institutional representatives, insinuating that she could have married only to gain nationality. Nowadays she has become an activist fighting for the rights of women migrants, and against their stigmatisation and exploitation. Commenting on the broader issues regarding gender and migration on which we exchange views, she claims: ‘does the Portuguese society stimulate, or give support to these women? Well, I think it doesn’t’. To exemplify, she speaks about women wanting to denounce gender violence situations, and explains that the officers in police stations, if they hear a foreign accent, ask as the first thing: ‘“Lady, provide your papers!” So, he [the policeman] is authorized by the state to notify an expulsion notification’. Joana explains what this signifies for the woman involved, by commenting that‘if she is undocumented, she goes back home, back to her aggressor, from which she is dependent, and, even more, police will have her address, and she will even receive the expulsion notification! But who would do that?! And even less, if you know the mechanisms!’. Sofia Sofia, 32 years old, reached Europe on a student visa with the help of her family, which provided a financial warranty to satisfy the economic requisites imposed by migration control. She met her future husband and, after completing her studies, she returned to Brazil. They continued meeting twice a year by travelling back and forth between Brazil and Portugal. Regarding these trips, she refers to entry at the airport as invariably a ‘stressful’ situation, since being young and from Brazil she immediately attracted the attention of the immigration officer and appeared to cause suspicion: ‘I have never heard them questioning men as they did with me. They pointedly asked: “and… what are you coming to do?”… I would always dress in a very conservative fashion, I wouldn’t take the plane in shorts! It was summer, but I would go wrapped up so that there would be no kind

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of suspicion …’ and adds: ‘we, Brazilian women, are frowned upon’. To illustrate this climate of stigmatisation, she cites a highly mediatised case regarding a little town in the north of Portugal where in 2003 a movement called ‘Mothers of Bragança’ was created. In her opinion, this expressed the ‘rage of Portuguese women against Brazilian women who migrated to their city … and would steal, so to speak, their husbands. They would go and look for their husband at the door of the brothel and they would find them with Brazilian women’. She adds, ‘this remained very strong in the imaginary, the image of the Brazilian woman who steals other women’s husbands, and who is a prostitute’. After this long-distance relationship, Sofia decides to move to Portugal to reunite with her fiancée and formalise their union, notwithstanding, she comments, the ‘stifling quantity of paperwork to get married’. To obtain the first residency authorisation she needs to ask her husband to act as economic guarantor for her, so as to fulfil the legal requirements, and, amongst other restrictions, she discovers she depends on his registration for access to health services. In the meanwhile, being a freelance, she struggles in obtaining work contracts, but ends up finding assignments and expanding her social networks, meeting a large number of fellow nationals. Through one of her acquaintances, she discovers that, due to a little known bilateral agreement between Brazil and Portugal, she can be entitled to a privileged residency status as a Brazilian national, which she obtains after a cumbersome bureaucratic process. She complains about the inability of her husband to understand all the burden she is carrying and her stress regarding the whole bureaucratic process, criticising ‘the ignorance of Europeans with regards to the difficulties of who is not European’. She argues this ‘has caused many misunderstandings’ and ‘I have always felt in a precarious situation, always! … the status I hold now derives from the fact of me being Brazilian, not of being married, but still I have to renew it every two years, so I still have to go to SEF, but the European doesn’t understand … it’s very difficult, if the person didn’t live through that, understand how it is stressful to go to SEF five times, because there is always an obstacle!’. These brief sketches unfortunately may not reproduce the abundance of interpretations that the interlocutors shared regarding what they perceived as the paradoxes of the migration control system. This presentation does not reflect the resourcefulness which allowed them to determine their life trajectories overcoming the obstacles, the prejudices, and the situations of dependency into which they felt the regulations were pushing them. The excerpts exposed above may nonetheless assist us in perceiving the exclusionary potential of policies such

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as they are currently designed, and provide hints regarding the intersectional functioning of gender, socio-economic status and national origin in mediating these effects. For instance, Sofia’s opportunities in terms of mobility and access to the recognition of citizenship rights appear to stand out: she has a family that can sponsor her studies in a European country, and has had privileged access to information regarding the opportunities to obtain autonomous legal status, thanks to her high education level as well as her professional and personal network. Her contacts provide her with information on a not very well-known legal path to have her residency recognised, which had been omitted by the migration services. Additionally, her partner has the financial ability to fulfil the entry requirements when she first arrives in Portugal. These may be considered factors of relative privilege if we compare her trajectory to Maria’s, who has no support when she arrives in Portugal, and has to adapt to precarious work conditions in order to have her right of residency recognised and her sons brought over. Apparently, the restrictions imposed by the migration services tend in this sense to deepen the pre-existing social inequalities in terms of socio-economic status, rather than level them out through equal citizenship opportunities. As reiterated in a great part of the literature I sifted through, the policing of mobility and intimate lives thus potentially (re)produces inequalities and illegalisation, by intervening in the opportunities and constraints faced by specific sectors of the population, which are in many cases already marginalised and criminalised for their social characteristics (Friedman, 2010; D’Aoust, 2012; Machado, 2011; Raposo and Togni, 2009). This acknowledgment can be part of an investigation of the consequences of different models of intimacy for individuals whose private lives might not conform to dominant societal norms (Friedman, 2010), considerably curtailing their possibilities of self-determination. Sarah Van Walsum additionally points out the selective purpose of marriage and migration restrictions which, as well as limiting entry through national borders, select applicants depending on their institutional profiling (Van Walsum, 2011). As Eleonor Kofman and Albert Kraler point out: ‘Although physical controls at the border or within a country and related practices (detention, expulsion, deportation) remain important, contemporary migration management largely operates through allocating differential rights to different categories of migrants. … In this way, immigration regulations produce new forms of inequality, while frequently

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reinforcing “traditional” ones along the lines of class, gender and ethnicity and “race”’
 (Kofman and Kraler, 2006, 10). In all the stories collected through the broader PhD research, state interventions exposed such gendered and normative conceptualisations of what type of conjugal/professional/reproductive choices are implied in a ‘true’ marriage. The analysis of SEF documentation, as well as the interviews with public officers in charge of migration control, exposed different attitudes and standards when describing women’s and men’s potential as ‘victims’ or ‘criminals’. For instance, there were reported cases in which officers in charge of filing the regularisation through marriage advised women that if they had children with their partner this would be considered positively in terms of the demonstration of a genuine conjugal link. In the discourse and practice of institutions it is often given for granted that women, as compared to men, are dependent on their family or partner for their residency and economic support. On the other hand, when they are economically self-sufficient, they can be suspected of dedicating themselves to ‘illicit’ activities, such as in Joana’s account. Maria’s and Joana’s accounts appear to suggest that in case of situations of gender-based violence in the couple, the institutions are not facilitating exit channels, but rather reinforcing women’s dependency on their partners, exposing them to criminalisation or legal status interruptions, and failing to provide safe complaint channels. In Maria’s trajectory in particular we may observe, as the anthropologist Sara Friedman notes regarding a case-study in the United States, a potential dilemmatic ‘tension between permitting vulnerable immigrant spouses to leave an abusive relationship and requiring them to prove both the abuse and a “good faith” marriage’ (Friedman, 2012:225). Additionally, the existence of specific stigmatising prejudices on Brazilian women appear to influence the above-mentioned processes. The women interviewed faced heavy prejudice and appear to be constantly confronted with a sexualised imaginary, feeling pressure to justify the morality of their behaviour, relationships and professional activities when facing institutions. State evaluations of authenticity appear to identify forms of ‘suspicious’ sexuality, as in the case of the insinuation of sex work as a means of casting doubt on ‘genuine’ intentions of marriage. It is important to note in this respect that, according to the penal code, sex work—as well as recreational drug use—is not an illegal activity in Portugal. The evaluation of whether women engage in this type of activities therefore has no legal grounding as a basis for assessing their eligibility for regularisation. The reference to ‘sex work’ in public officials’ discourse when referring to women in

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mobility exposes how they are subject to a ‘double standard that [makes] them, but not men, liable to sanction for deviations from sexual norms’ (Luibheid 2002:3). These policies may be seen as oppressing Brazilian women living in an undocumented situation in what Eithne Luibheid calls ‘intersecting systems of patriarchy and racialization’ (Luibheid, 2002:13). Such institutional practices may be seen, as observed by Abdelmalek Sayad, as pushing migrants to ‘social hyper-correction’ (Sayad, 1999) so as to conform to institutional prescriptions. These standards appear to conform to the above-referred ‘deservingness’ frames inherent in the institutional selection of migration, filtering migrants symbolically and institutionally (Chauvin and Mascareñas, 2014). Although migration law includes no explicit distinction, the paths to legalisation end up being distorted by intersectional factors and related stereotypes in the institutional discourse and implementation. Igor Machado criticises in this sense the construction of more or less desirable categories of migrants, which the government develops on the basis of their ‘integrability’ in the social fabric of the Portuguese nation-state, as if it were a homogeneous and depoliticised social space (Machado, 2011). Moreover, some authors underline how discourses of protection are often based on misleading assumptions regarding women’s needs (Kofman et al., 2013). Stereotyped profiles deriving from such perspectives lead to patronising public policies that are unable to respond to the risks and obstacles actually experienced by individuals. After filing their applications, women applicants are obliged to maintain a position of dependence on their partner for three years before gaining autonomous citizenship rights. This encases them in various forms of dependency, which affects their position as migrants in a specific territory, as they may face limitations of their legal status and accessibility to services. Applicants must rely on financial guarantees of the partner to satisfy the requirements for filing for residence rights on the basis of family reunification. Consequently, they become dependent on their legal bonds to their spouse to gain access to a series of rights and services including health and education, house-rentals, bank accounts, etc. Scrutinised by authorities with the justification that they may be untruthful about their ‘marital intentions’ (Gonzalez and Bacci Tamburlini, 2015; Bacci Tamburlini, 2016) to gain a migration advantage, the applicants’ intimate social relationships are the object of systematic and intrusive inspections. The stories also underline the possible contradictions (and overlaps) between the institutional aims referring to the ‘protection of vulnerable subjects’ and the atmosphere of distrust regarding women of specific geographic origins and

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socio-economic status. What I observed through the case study in Portugal is a system based on constructions of illegality and social hierarchies as reciprocally strengthening constructions. As the post-colonial theorist Sneja Gunew observes, ‘there is short way from conceptualizing the need to solve the “migrant problem” to seeing the migrant as problem’ (Gunew, 2013:113, emphasis by the author). Bridget Anderson in her analysis also argues that institutions, both in discourse and in practice, tend to build simplifications dividing individuals into ‘good and bad migrants’ (Anderson, 2008), serving selective purposes. Both profiles tend to be associated with problematic categories built on the ‘victims-abusers’ binary, which arguably is not conducive to inclusive policies. A growing number of authors claim that one of the motivations for such policies may lie in the fact that maintaining a sector of the migrant population in a situation of administrative precariousness allows the state to dispose of a large, rentable, and subjugated workforce and maintain the current socio-economic order (Machado, 2011). In this perspective, current policies, by hindering migrants’ regularisation processes are habilitating infringements of human rights and concealing an instrumental selection of migrants behind a façade of safeguard of legality and protection of ‘vulnerable subjects’.

Conclusion Institutionalised discourse on ‘marriage of convenience’ policies in Portugal, framed by a European Union-wide securitarian approach to the classification and management of conjugality and undocumented migration, is based on simplified dichotomies of ‘real’ versus ‘fake’ marriages, and on the criminalisation of what came to be defined as ‘marriage of convenience’. In this context, national migration policy implementation fails to recognise human mobility as a fundamental right, by offering simplistic solutions to complex issues, without challenging the structural and causal factors of inequality. The accounts described above, although not necessarily representative of the general migrant population in Portugal, expose the ways in which mobility constitutes an unequally distributed privilege, interacting with other transversal dimensions in the reproduction of social hierarchies. The observation of stratification processes in the appication of migration regulations may be seen to indicate, as Eithne Luibheid argues, how ‘family migration policies must be understood as technologies of power and

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resistance, which produce not just exclusions but also differentiated inclusions at multiple scales, and affect not just migrants but also citizens’ (Luibheid 2015:1). The institutional approach apparently presents a narrow depiction of marriage ‘authenticity’ by creating standardised risk profiles, legitimising a surveillance procedure that has unequal outcomes. This system tends to produce illegalisation and criminalisation processes, as well as justifying restrictive migration laws that may exacerbate migrants’ living situations. The protocols adopted to determine which couples and individuals are to be considered suspicious and have to undergo specific investigations additionally appear to be based on gender, socioeconomic and national origin factors, determining exclusion of those that do not conform to normative institutional perspectives. The reflections collected in this paper aimed to draw attention to the particular processes of the gendered (re)production of inequalities generated in the regulation and criminalisation of ‘marriage of convenience’. On one hand, the paper intended to provide some critical reflections on the institutional perspective on women migrants, and on what types of public policies are developed on this basis. These included an observation of the potential inclusion and exclusion processes implied, in particular the strongly gendered connotation of such mechanisms. On the other hand, the paper outlined and commented on the stories of three women of Brazilian origin without permanent residence rights in Portugal who got married to European Union citizens. The narratives of how they struggled to have their residence rights recognised in Portugal reveals how the migration regime is restricting their entry, exit and entitlements and how it interfered with their conjugal relationships and life paths. The narratives presented in this contribution demonstrate how institutional policies impact on women’s mobility and citizenship rights. Additionally, their stories highlight the lack of effective institutional responses to women’s actual needs, when they find themselves in abusive and violent situations. Concluding, I argue that the invocation of women’s protection in public discourse regarding migration restrictions is not accompanied by adequate and comprehensive policies addressing their actual needs, failing to respond to specific problems faced by women migrants. Most research participants expressed dissatisfaction regarding what they perceived as a cumbersome institutional path to regularisation and autonomous citizenship rights, which considerably affects their fundamental rights. Namely, the obstacles to an autonomous legal status may be seen as a specific barrier to citizenship, hindering access to rights and services and potentially deepening the situations of social disadvantage as well as

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their dependency on the partner. Additionally, the legal dependency established by marriage and migration controls may facilitate subordination to abusive partners. The data collected indicate that institutional practices, when based on a policing logic, do not provide adequate solutions to the specific situations faced by women in contexts of abuse and violence. Treating women in mobility as an inherently vulnerable or abusive group rather than facilitating their trajectories as autonomous subjects with their own rights is taking attention from the roots of social inequalities and producing a criminalisation of their effects.

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3. Immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious workers: South American migrant women’s and men’s professional trajectories in the care and academic sectors Romina Seminario Luna

Introduction The aim of this article is to investigate the different types of il/legalities that Swiss immigration controls produce and their impact on the professional trajectories of highly skilled migrant men and women from South America. Although I will consider the issue of migrants having to validate their foreign educational credentials and professional experiences, my main interest lies in the valuing of degrees obtained in Swiss higher education (HE) institutions. In fact, reskilling in the sense of achieving post-obligatory education in the host country has been considered as improving the labour market participation of highly skilled migrants. However, I will focus here on the ways in which particular immigration controls such as the creation of categories of entry, the influencing of employment relations, and the institutionalisation of uncertainty (Anderson, 2010) mediate the employment conditions of highly skilled migrants with Swiss degrees. I will thus explore precariousness (Anderson, 2010) among highly skilled South American men and women working in gendered and foreign-based employment sectors such as care and academia. The Swiss migration regime creates il/ legalities according to the independent (student or worker) or dependent (family reunification) way of obtaining a residence permit. Drawing on a lifecourse perspective, immigration controls reduce the value of Swiss degrees by reducing immigrants’ legal opportunities to work to a dependent legal situation or a no-permit situation. A hierarchy of professions, family caregiving norms,

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and nationality stereotypes influences the assessing of their skills. These findings stress the interest of investigating skills as a relational concept that is constructed and valued by key actors in a transnational space in order to fashion highly skilled migrants as precarious workers. This article is based on an on-going qualitative research study of professional and family trajectories of Peruvian men and women living in Switzerland. I will also analyse the results of a previous research study between 2009–2011 on South American women employed as care workers in Switzerland. In both research studies, I used biographical interviews as the main method of data collection. I will focus here exclusively on the experiences of men and women who are skilled care workers and professors/researchers. I have structured this article into five main sections. After briefly presenting the gender and nationality composition of the care and academic sector in the Swiss context (Section 2), I will present a short review of theoretical perspectives for highly skilled migration (Section 3), before presenting my research methods (Section 4) and going on to analyse the impact of legal situations on labour market participation after obtaining of a Swiss degree. The goal of this will be to explain the relationship between de/valuing Swiss degrees and immigration controls (Section 5). In the discussion of the data (Section 6), I will argue that the gendered and racialised1 effects of immigration controls devalue the Swiss degrees of South American citizens and fashion precarious highly qualified workers. In this sense, I can conclude that immigration controls are instruments to mould not only the employment conditions but also the skills of South American men and women. Indeed, the host country’s economy benefits from these migrants’ reskilling practices while devaluing them due to unfavourable legal conditions.

Highly skilled non-European Union migrants in the care sector and academia in Switzerland2 Swiss immigration controls are based on two legal mechanisms: the Agreement of Free Movement of People with the European Union, which entered into force in 2002, and the Federal Act on Foreigners Nationals in 2008. The first legal mechanism regulates the entry and settlement of EU citizens.3 They have rights to study, work and pursue family reunification comparable to those of Swiss citizens.4 The second legal mechanism regulates the entry and settlement of citizens from other parts of the world—for instance, South America. Access

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to work is restricted to highly skilled workers. Furthermore, hiring a non-EU citizen means that the employer has to provide enough evidence that there are no Swiss or EU citizens available to do the job. Rights for family reunification are also more limited.5 Considering this legal context, foreigners’ skill levels and labour market participation show differences compared to those of the Swiss population. The Federal Statistics Office (FSO) showed that 35% of migrants hold a tertiary-level diploma, whereas 30% of the non-migrant population achieved the same level in 2014 (FSO, 2016a). In fact, the Swiss population has one of the highest rates of upper-secondary level graduates of vocational education and training (VET) in Europe (Murdoch et al., 2016), which also means a scarcity of highly skilled domestic workforce that is solved by hiring foreign specialists. However, the percentage of employees with a tertiary level degree working in a job that does not required such qualifications was higher among migrants (18.8%) than for the non-migrant population (11.5%) in 2014 (FSO, 2016a). These results might be explained by the “sandwich” characteristics of foreigners’ labour market participation in Switzerland at the higher and lower positions of the professional hierarchy (Aratnam, 2012). As Table 1 shows EU28/EFTA citizens occupy more managerial positions than Swiss citizens, whereas citizens from other European countries are in more elementary occupations. Interestingly, citizens from other countries of the world, which includes South Americans, are to be found more in the professional and services worker categories than Swiss and EU28/EFTA citizens.  These results suggest not only the presence of foreigners at different levels of qualification in the Swiss labour market according to nationalities, but also the concentration of one group of foreigners that includes South American citizens in professional categories related to the academic and care sectors. Indeed, ‘professionals’7 as a category can be considered as a proxy of the academic sector and ‘technicians and associated professionals’8 as well as ‘service and sale workers’9 as proxies of care workers at different skill levels. Whereas being employed in academia involves achieving a PhD from a university, highly skilled and skilled professionals in the care sector can have different types of degrees such as university degrees9 and VET certificates.10 The former made up the highly skilled workforce in both sectors and the latter the skilled workforce in the care sector. According to Simonazzi, I define the care labour market as composed of multiple types of workers ranging from ‘skilled workers such as licensed nurses; unlicensed low-skilled assistants and other workers providing personal care; domestic

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Table 1  Distribution According to ISCO-08 Professions and Nationality in 2014 Other Other EU28/ European countries of Switzerland EFTA countries the world Managers 8,2 10,8 3,5 7,5 Professionals 25,7 25,7 7,1 26,2 Technicians and associated professionals 20,1 15,4 7,8 11,2 Clerical support workers 10,1 6,1 5 5,6 Services and sales workers 15,1 16,9 21,7 25,3 Skilled agricultural workers 3,8 1,1 0,7 0,5 Craft and related trades workers 11,0 13,7 26,4 8,4 Plant and machine operators 3,0 4,6 9,8 4,1 Elementary occupations 2,5 5,4 17,7 10,7 Not attributable 0,4 0,3 0,3 0,4 Total 100 100 100 100 Source: own elaboration based on (FSO, 2016a)

service workers providing home help with domestic shores’ (Simonazzi, 2008: 9–10). There is an important parallel with health, education and social services. Migrants’ care work as an employment sector has been long debated thanks to Hochschild’s seminal work on Global Care Chains (GCC) (Hochschild, 2001). Commodification of maternal care work between households and NorthSouth geopolitical inequalities are key features. Yet, scholars have advocated for broadening the focus to include immigrant men’s place in GCC as givers and receivers (Sarti and Scrinzi, 2010), other places to perform care work such as public institutions and community-based organisations, highly skilled and skilled care workers such as nurses, social workers and educators (Yeates, 2012; Kofman and Raghuram, 2015), and links to other social reproduction tasks

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where the interpersonal dimension is less central (Kofman and Raghuram, 2015). Considering all the advancements related to care work as a concept, I argue its relevance to assessing the valuing of migrant men’s and women’s skills at different positions of the professional hierarchy. For instance, the emotional and interpersonal knowledge related to care jobs is valued differently from the knowledge necessary to perform academic research and teaching. Academia has also been part of important debates about international migration, particularly student and highly skilled migration. I define the academic sector as men and women who hold advanced research degrees and who are employed as teaching and research staff in HE institutions (Le Feuvre, 2015). Indeed, the main purposes of HE institutions such as knowledge, research and innovation have become key factors for economic growth and the transnational ‘race for talent’. Despite universities’ cosmopolitan environment and the role played in knowledge-economies, experiences in academia show important limitations according to gender: women’s academic careers represent a ‘leaky pipeline’ based on barriers to access the highest positions, predominantly assuming family responsibilities that prevent long-working hours and consecutives stays abroad (Le Feuvre, 2015). Consequently, care and academia are employment sectors where migration and gender are key features to assess the valuing of skills. Switzerland is a particular case for comparing the academia and care sectors. There have been a rapid expansion and internationalisation of academia since 2000 (Le Feuvre, 2015). For instance, there were high percentages of foreigners as post-doctorate (63%), PhD students (43%) and assistant professors (51%) in 2011 (Le Feuvre, 2015). Also there is a strong incentive to be internationally mobile in one’s early career (public funds for post-doctorate mobility) (DuboisShaik and Fusulier, 2016). However, there is a dearth of permanent and stable positions in Swiss HE institutions, which means a multiplication of precarious jobs and of scientists that opt out of academia (Dubois-Shaik and Fusulier, 2016). According to gender, Table 2 shows that “professionals” are still a maledominated employment sector for foreigners (25.8%) and nationals (26.5%). Although gender equality policies since 2000 have been improving women’s share in PhD and post-doctoral funded positions from 20% to 40% between 1998 and 2007, still only 17% of women held a university professorship position in 2010 (Le Feuvre, 2015: 167). Both rates were below those in other EU countries (Le Feuvre, 2015).  

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Table 2  Distribution According to ISCO-08 Professions, gender and migration in Switzerland for 2014 Population without Population with   migrant background migrant background   Women Men Women Men Managers 6,1 10,7 7,7 10,1 Professionals 25,8 26,5 23,2 24,5 Technicians and associated professionals 22 18,6 18 15 Clerical support workers 15,4 5,2 10,3 4,6 Services and sales workers 20,3 9,2 25 12,5 Skilled agricultural workers 2,4 5,6 0,3 1,3 Craft and related trades workers 3,9 17,4 3,6 20,3 Plant and machine operators 0,9 4,3 2 7,6 Elementary occupations 2,8 1,7 9,6 3,6 Not attributable 0,3 0,6 0,4 0,5 Total 100 100 100 100 Source: own elaboration based on FSO

The gender dimension of the Swiss care sector includes a modified malebreadwinner model of gender relations (Le Feuvre, 2015) or a care regime labelled as neo-maternalism (Giraud and Lucas, 2009). Although 60% of women entered the labour market in 2015, 58.7% of them worked part-time, whereas only 16.4% of men did the same (FSO, 2016c). The presence of small children increases gender inequalities: only 9.6% of couples showed two spouses working full-time, while 29.5% of couples showed men working full-time and women working parttime in 2015 (FSO, 2016b). Given the gender salary gap, it is more probable that women, who earn less than men do, stay at home or reduce their working hours to take care of children. In fact, the variability of women’s activity rates is largely explained by the lack of pre-school childcare services and the absence of afterschool activities for older children. Moreover, women have to organized childcare arrangements privately with other family members (especially grandmothers)

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or using formal services (Baghdadi, 2010). Since most Swiss households cannot find or afford formal childcare services, a common practice is hiring a migrant care worker under precarious conditions (Baghdadi, 2010). In fact, 43% of undocumented foreigners come from Central and South America, and most of them work for families (Morlok et al., 2015). From the supply side, Table 2 shows that the category of service workers is female-dominated for foreigners and nationals. Yet, the former (25%) are more than the latter (20.3%) in this professional category. Furthermore, jobs related to housework, such as cleaning, washing and ironing, show the highest concentration of foreign women, whereas jobs related to health and teaching children show the highest concentration of Swiss women (Charles, 2005).

Skills, migration and controls Skills-based discourses about selectivity and the integration of foreigners in EU countries are important research topics. In particular, literature on highly skilled foreigners evidences the existence of a plurality of legal categories of entry (student, family reunification, asylum, etc.) and employment conditions (male- or female-dominated sectors). Likewise, researchers have pointed out the problems of deskilling due to non-recognition of foreign education credentials and professional experience (Man, 2004; Iredale, 2005; Liversage, 2009). Another topic that has been covered in depth is the gendered consequences of dealing with family caregiving and employment (Creese, Dyck and McLaren, 2008; Riano et al., 2015). Given that the recognition of non-EU educational credentials and professional experience seems to be patchy, reskilling practices in the host country appear to be the most promising solution for improving labour market participation (Riaño and Baghdadi, 2007; Liversage, 2009). In this section, I will rapidly summarise the debates about skills and migration before exploring the analytical potential of a third concept: immigration controls. This topic is less often focused on highly skilled migration but is potentially useful for thinking about ways in which host countries’ actors mould precarious workers (Anderson, 2010). Skills, gender and migration According to Shan, ‘skills are a discursive and relational construct that is implicated in the social, cultural and economic organization of work and

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workers’ (Shan, 2013: 198). In particular, skills are the product of a conflict for the appropriation of work in a context marked by social class, gender and racial hierarchies based on nationality stereotypes (Scrinzi, 2013). While much of the literature has focused on the feminisation and racialisation of migrant workers in low skilled and poorly paid care services, less attention has been given to the gendering and racialisation of skills amongst highly skilled workers in the care sector and academia. Skills are composed of different types of knowledge according to their capacity to be transferred in the course of migration and each employment sector values them differently at a transnational level. According to Kofman and Raghuram, there is a typology of embrained knowledge that has become more valorised and prominent due to its generic nature and supposed better transferability, embodied knowledge that has been traditionally associated and devalued as women’s knowledge and migrants’ work, encultured knowledge also labelled as soft skills, and encoded knowledge that is associated with traditional professions such as law, medicine and education (Kofman and Raghuram, 2015: 102–103). The circulation of embrained skills that are epitomised by science, technology and management professions is highly valued by Northern states as globally competitive. Since women are under-represented in those fields, the global hierarchy of professions has gendered effects (Kofman and Raghuram, 2015: 135). Despite their embrained skills, migrant women in general (Dumitru and Marfouk, 2015) and in those fields (Raghuram, 2004) face more barriers to find adequate employment in the host country. In contrast, the migration of care workers and the valuation of their embodied (and embrained) knowledge have been marginalised by Northern states that orientate this female-dominated group at lower places of the global hierarchy of professions (Kofman and Raghuram, 2015: 136). In fact, skilled migrant care workers in health and teaching institutions have to struggle with stricter conditions of entry into having the right to practise these professions (credentialising through formal education or additional tests) than the male-dominated knowledge professions (Kofman and Raghuram, 2015: 145). Different factors shape the processes of giving value to skills in the host country: the gender and nationality of the worker, the sites where they work, the relationships that regulate the skills, and the geopolitical history of skills formation (Kofman & Raghuram, 2015: 105). There are not only formal valuations of skills (educational attainment and profession) but also informal valuations (national stereotypes of employers and recruitment agencies; (Scrinzi, 2013; van

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious

Riemsdijk, 2013)). Indeed, highly skilled migration is far from being a ‘smooth circulation of skills’ (Varrel, 2011); rather it involves a complex network of actors and struggles for recognition in a transnational space. Much of the literature is concerned with the transferability of already-obtained skills to the host country’s labour market (Raghuram, 2008: 85). Therefore, limitations on and the possibilities of reskilling are central. In fact, the perspective of cultural capital underscores the non-recognition of foreign credentials and professional experiences, and concludes by referring predominantly to one solution: ‘play by the rules and accumulate cultural capital recognized on the host country’ (Shan, 2013: 917). However, the idea is not only to understand ‘which forms of skills are accredited but also to explore how such valuations are being arrived at, by whom, and in whose interests” (Raghuram, 2008: 85). Consequently, the analysis moves from the focus on selectivity at entry in the host countries to the processes of acquisition and valuing of skills and the mechanisms of control across the sending and receiving countries.’ Immigration controls Highly skilled migration is subject to institutional regulation and legislation in the receiving countries. Much literature about immigration controls has focused on the absence of legal status amongst foreign workers. Illegality is a major explanation for labour exploitation. However, the absence of legal status is only one way in which immigration controls produce certain types of labour characterized by precariousness (Anderson, 2010: 313). Legal migrants are also unprotected in their relations to employers and the labour market. As Anderson (2010) stated, immigration controls reinforce ‘temporariness’ in the migratory processes that produce precarious workers by preventing migrants from anticipating the future (306). Legal categories, as part of immigration controls, produce different types of il/legalities. They can be considered ‘communicating vessels’ (Schrover and Moloney, 2013): migrants change from one category to another and authorities show inconsistent forms of labelling. Indeed, immigration controls are not only about conditions of entry across a border but also about conditions of settlement. The legal framework thus influences the employment conditions of immigrants at different moments of their professional trajectory. According to nationalities, there is a combination of temporal and spatial limitations to employment: fixed-term permits, permits dependent on job contracts, conditional renewal of

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permits, limited capacity to change legal status, employers, place of residence, and travelling. A life-course approach helps to explain the role of skills in migration to track the circulation across sending and receiving countries. In other words, professional trajectories are formed by the acquisition and valuing of skills at different moments and places—for example, acquiring a degree or looking for a job abroad. Understanding how and when these situations happen for highly skilled migration sheds light on the complex processes of gendering and racialisation in governing the mobility of skills (Raghuram, 2008: 81). To summarise: first, the acquisition and valuing of skills in a migration context are based on gender and nationality. Secondly, the portability of skills is not evident; rather, a broad process lies behind the skills obtained in the host country and the employment and settlement conditions. Thirdly, highly skilled migrants are subject to immigration controls that foster precariousness. Drawing on this framework, I propose to understand the downward and upward professional trajectories of the highly skilled South American men and women in Switzerland. I do this by hypothesising that immigration controls mediate their reskilling practices in Switzerland, and that the valuing of Swiss degrees is not straightforward but rather based on gender and nationality.

Research methods My research findings are based on interview data collected at two different times: during 2009–2010 and 2014–2015 in various cities in Switzerland. In 2009– 2010, I collected 18 interviews in Spanish with South American female care workers in one big city in a French-speaking region. In 2014–2015, I collected 45 interviews in Spanish with Peruvian men (21) and women (24) living in French- and German-speaking cities. While I carried out the first data collection using a biographical interview protocol, I performed the second moment of data collection with a similar protocol and life-calendars.12 In particular, I analysed the moments of education to employment transition and legal status changes in the host country. I established contact with participants through personal networks and immigrants’ associations; the first participants gave me the names of other possible contacts (‘snowball method’). For this article, I selected 13 (nine women and four men) participants based on one criterion: acquisition of a Swiss degree in the care sector (five women and

Marco Peru  

3    

2008

 

  2007

 

 

34

 

  33

 

 

 

 

Coco Peru  

 

 

2    

2001

Samuel Peru  

1    

 

 

  To obtain

 

2014

 

 

2007

 

Engineering

Architecture +

Field of study

CH Master

PE Bachelor +

FR Master + CH PhD PhD candidate

 

Sciences

  Environmental

Engineering

PE Licence Geophysics + +

 

CH PhD

PE Bachelor +

Date of Date Degrees** arrival of last degree

52

Academic sector

 

Age*

Pseudo

 

Table 3  Male interviewees’ profiles

Engineer

 

 

Architect

Job title

PhD student Not stable job  

Adequate to skills +

Adequate to   skills + Not stable job   Full time + Graduate assistant

Adequate to skills + Permanent job Full time +

Full time +

Employment status

Permit L (looking for a job) Permit B (student)

Permit B (student/ work) Permit L (work)   Permit B (student)

 

Permit B (family reunification) Naturalization

Type of permit***

 

  Unmarried with no children  

Unmarried with no children  

 

Divorced with children  

Family situation

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious 73

 

 

 

 

* Age at moment of interview ** first to last degree *** first to last permit

1991

Pedro Peru  

4    

 

 

2008

 

CH VET certificate

PE tech. certificate

Date of Date Degrees** arrival of last degree

58

Care sector

 

Age*

Pseudo

 

 

officer

Operations

Field of study

 

Adequate to skills

Full time +

Employment status

No permit

Type of permit***

association Permit B (family reunification)   Naturalization

Concierge in a

Job title

 

Married with four children  

Family situation

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1981

 

 

 

 

 

 

54

 

 

Mar Peru  

 

 

 

 

1999

 

 

 

2012

2    

1992

47

Betty Peru    

1      

 

Age* Date Date of of last arrival degree Academic sector

Pseudo

 

Field of study

(Spanish)

Literature

Adequate to skills Permanent job  

 

PhD (Spanish)

Literature

Adequate to skills  

University   Habilitation CH Licence Linguistic & Part-time +

CH Licence + PhD +

 

 

Lecturer

 

 

 

Professor

Employment Job title status

PE Licence + Linguistic & Full-time

Degrees**

Table 4  Female interviewees’ profiles Family situation

 

Permit B (family reunification) Naturalisation

 

 

 

Married with children  

 

 

Naturalisation Unmarried (Swiss father) with no children    

Type of permit***

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious 75

 

Care sector Estrella 41 Colombia    

 

 

  5    

 

 

 

 

 

 

2008

1994

 

 

  2003

  1997

  44

Martha Peru  

4    

 

 

 

Concha Peru  

3    

Date of last degree 2014

Age* Date of arrival 42 2010

Pseudo

 

Medical sciences

Field of study

 

CH master

CO Bachelor +

 

CH PhD

 

Social work

Adversiting

 

 

USA MD/   PhD + CH post-doc   PE Licence + Social work

PE bachelor +

Degrees** Type of permit***

Care worker at home

Permit B (student) No permit

Permit B (invitation)

PermitB/C (family reunification)  

 

 

  Permit B (student)

  Professor

for a disable young men Not adequate   to skills

At home

Full time

Permanent job

Adequate to skills

  Full time

Job searching Unemployment Permit B (family reunification)     Permit C

Employment Job title status

 

Unmarried with no children  

 

  Married with children  

Married with children  

Family situation

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Pseudo

Arena Peru  

Clara Peru

Sandra Peru  

 

6    

7  

8    

1991

 

 

 

 

 

 

40

2004

 

 

28

 

 

 

 

 

2000

 

To obtain

 

Date of last degree 2010

Age* Date of arrival 27 2003 Advertising

Field of study

 

 

CH VET certificate

 

CH VET certificate

 

 

 

Health assistant

 

Nursing

 

CH bachelor Children education

PE VET certificate +

Degrees**

 

Adequate to skills

Full time

Adequate to skills

Adequate to skills Work & training

paid by employers

Work & training

 

Divorced with two children  

Married with no children  

Permit B (family reunification) Naturalisation  

assistant   in a public institution Health assistant No permit

in a public hospital

Married with one small child  

Family situation

Permit B (Family reunification) Naturalization  

No permit

Type of permit***

Night shifts as a No permit nurse Permit B

 

in a private nursery

Children’s educator

Employment Job title status

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious 77

Rocio Peru    

9      

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Date of last degree To obtain

Age* Date of arrival 41 1996

* Age at moment of interview ** first to last degree *** first to last permit

Pseudo

 

Field of study

 

CH VET certificate  

 

Health assistant  

CH bachelor Arts +

Degrees**

 

 

 

Trainee

Type of permit***

 

in a public institution  

Married with two children  

Family situation

Permit B (student) Permit B   (family reunification) Naturalisation  

Health assistant No permit

Employment Job title status

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immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious

one man) or a PhD degree in a Swiss HE institution (four women and three men) (See Tables 3 and 4). Although most of the participants had changed their legal status at one time, all the highly/skilled care workers had experienced a moment of no legal status in Switzerland. Considering the plurality of legal situations, I chose to talk about different types of il/legalities in professional trajectories.

Coping with il/legalities: South American highly skilled men’s and women’s professional trajectories in Switzerland My interest lies in investigating how immigration controls create different types of il/legalities that mediate the valuing of Swiss degrees for South American men and women in the care and academic sectors. In so doing, I analyse the circumstances in which the plurality and dynamic nature of legal situations (categories that affect employment relations and institutionalise uncertainty) influence professional trajectories and the significance of reskilling in the labour market. The findings of this study challenge the idea that reskilling results in more successful labour market participation for highly/skilled migrants. Despite migrants investing financial, social and time resources in reskilling, the analysis of professional trajectories shows limitations based on immigration controls for South American citizens. I have identified that Swiss immigration controls create il/legalities that foster precariousness in both employment sectors according to the independent or dependent nature of permits. Categories of entry: independent and dependent permits Swiss immigration controls encompass a permit hierarchy12 according to the dependant or independent ways of fulfilling the purpose of migration: student, work or family reunification. According to these three ways, the possibilities and limitations of switching types of permits and renewing them as well as access to settlement differ.13 A dependant way, such as family reunification, represents a legal situation in which the foreigner is not the main applicant. Residence in the host country is contingent on the situation of the family member who is the main applicant (Riaño and Baghdadi, 2007). An independent way represents a legal situation in which the foreigner is the main applicant such as a student or work permit. Residence is contingent on the foreigner’s capacity to accomplish the permit’s purpose. Highly skilled South American men and women deal with both ways at different moments of their professional trajectories, a fact which

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influences employment relations and foster uncertainty. Two cases exemplify the extent to which immigration controls mould precarious workers and how the types of il/legalities mediate the valuing of Swiss qualifications for labour market participation. I will thus compare the upward and downward careers in the care sector and academia of highly/skilled women and men with study/work permits with those holding family reunification permits. Independent way to obtain permits: coping with legal impasses to work after obtaining a Swiss degree South American highly skilled men and women who try the independent way to obtain an authorisation to work struggle with transformation from the student to the worker permit,14 Based on migrants’ nationality, immigration controls create legal situations that hinder the valuing of migrants’ Swiss degrees in the care sector and academia. Granting a work permit for South American citizens depends on several conditions: the hiring priority must be given to Swiss and EU citizens; the migrant must be the bearer of ‘specialised’ skills; and limited quotas must be respected each year. Quotas for permit L, which is valid for less than one year, are bigger than for permit B, which is valid for more than one year.15 After South American citizens graduated from Swiss HE institutions, immigration controls produced precarious workers by not granting a residence permit at all or by granting fixed-term work permits. On the one hand, the coming and goings between legality and illegality amongst South American women who hold a Swiss degree in the care sector suggest adaptation of their skills to the Swiss labour market without valuing them correspondingly. On the other hand, the type of legality, which privileges fixed term permits (L) after PhD graduation, increases uncertainty in migrants’ professional trajectories and reinforces employers’ negotiation powers. Il/legalities that create precarious workers and their skills: highly skilled women in the care sector Skills-based discourses about selectivity and integration of migrants promote reskilling in Switzerland. However, the independent way to shift from a student permit to a work permit is difficult to access for South American women in the care sector, which creates a particular type of il/legality: shifting between having and not having a residence permit. Estrella’s downward professional trajectory is an example (See Table 4).

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious

Excerpt of Estrella’s interview in 2010 (home-based care worker, social work degree, aged 41) Estrella is a Colombian advertising professional who came to Switzerland in 1999. She was invited by her sister who is married to a Swiss citizen and was very sick and expecting a second baby. She helped her sister for the first two years and then registered at a university to learn French. She obtained a certificate of language proficiency and decided to study social work in a university of applied sciences. She was supported by two of her sisters who were in the country. She worked several times in student jobs. While she was studying, she also did several internships in public institutions that provided welfare services to the elderly and young people. She struggled to finish her courses due to financial problems and time-strain issues with work/study. While she was writing her final treatise to obtain the bachelor’s degree, she got a job in a childcare centre as an educator. She was already struggling to renew her student permit because she had exceeded the time for submitting her final treatise according to the academic programme. In 2009, she got her diploma with a time extension granted by the university. Convinced that her diploma would create job opportunities, she decided to stay in Switzerland. The childcare centre agreed to request a work permit for her and she hired a lawyer. Immigration officers refused the childcare centre’s petition and she registered for a master’s programme to renew her permit as a student. The officers refused this petition too, saying that ten years was the limit for student permits. She said: ‘immigration officers are afraid that I will ask a settlement permit after ten years of residence.’ She was sad to leave the childcare centre. She had to find a job in the informal care sector to pay for her living expenses. She started taking care of a handicapped man in his home. His mother refused to give her a job certificate for her CV and to pay her social benefits, which is possible without having a residence permit. After two years of working in the informal sector, she is still looking for solutions with her lawyer. She is sending her CV to several employers without positive answers. She says: ‘here, laws are created to make life impossible. If I had wanted to become a Swiss citizen, I would have got married to a Swiss man. It is easier. But I just want to work.’ Estrella’s professional trajectory demonstrates how reskilling practices are mediated by immigration controls that negatively influence employment conditions. These legal mechanisms work on three levels. First, they reinforce

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a nationality-based hierarchy of migrants regardless of their Swiss degrees. Considering the skills-based discourse for selecting migrants and predicting their smooth integration, Estrella’s qualifications are not valued correspondingly. In fact, immigration controls create a legal impasse in the education to employment transition. Trying to obtain a permit independently might produce illegality after accomplishing a reskilling project in the host country. Secondly, this type of il/legality influences the employer-employee relations of South American graduates. Some employers in the institutional care sector might value a Swiss degree positively, offer a job contract to the holder, and apply for a work permit. Employers in the informal and home-based care sector do not value and remunerate the same degree accordingly. Immigration controls hinder access to the first employment situation due to barriers imposed on South American citizens to obtain work permits. Instead, these controls seem to favour access to the second employment situation by creating illegality for the graduate. Estrella’s Swiss qualifications are used under precarious conditions in the Swiss labour market, which should, paradoxically, be the most appropriate place for those skills to be valued. Thirdly, immigration controls mould not only precarious workers but also their skills. Immigration controls that hinder the shift from student permits to worker permits fail to encourage the departure of South American graduates. Instead, this type of il/legality seems to adapt their skills in order to supply the Swiss labour market under precarious conditions. Reskilling appears to be a way to adapt the skills of South American women in the care sector so that there is a source of less expensive skilled workers. Legalities that produce uncertainty: highly skilled men in academia Employers play an important role in valuing reskilling practices and acquiring work permits. Yet, employers have unequal negotiating power to deal with immigration controls. On one hand, there is a global hierarchy of professions where the migration of embrained skills related to science, technology and management professionals is more privileged than skills related to care workers. Given that those employment sectors are male-dominated, there is a gendered effect on migrant women’s access to work permits (Kofman and Raghuram, 2015). The Swiss migration regime follows this global pattern: engineering research (a male-dominated sector) is valued more highly than care services (a femaledominated sector). For instance, Swiss immigration controls consider engineers to be holders of ‘specialised’ skills that might justify receiving a work permit.

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious

On the other hand, employers of knowledge workers have more resources for hiring migrants (for example, human resources specialists/lawyers to deal with applications for immigration officers) than those interested in care workers. For instance, employers of engineers in Switzerland are renowned research institutes and multinational organisations, whereas employers of care workers are small institutions. Yet, immigration controls also mediate the professional trajectories of highly skilled South American men who hold Swiss degrees in engineering. Obtaining a work permit independently might produce a type of legality that creates uncertainty about professional aspirations, interferes with employees’ negotiating powers, and restricts the portability of skills. One example is Coco’s upward professional trajectory (See Table 3). Excerpt of Coco’s interview in 2015 (researcher, PhD in geophysics, aged 34) Coco is a Peruvian physicist who came to Switzerland in 2010. After finishing a master’s degree in geophysics in France, he arrived with a scholarship to do a PhD at a renowned engineering university. He completed his PhD degree in 2014 and received a job offer right away. Coco developed a software program for his PhD dissertation and one of his supervisors in the EEUU asked him to develop it further. He received the job offer by telephone and accepted it. The employer wanted him to start as soon as possible. For his employer, obtaining a work permit for the EEUU seemed difficult, and he asked Coco to work in Switzerland. He said that he already had the permit B and they agreed to renew it. Since Coco’s research position was funded by an enterprise that had its headquarters in Switzerland, he would be able to work there. However, Coco confused his permit B as a student with a permit B for work. His employer had to employ a lawyer from Germany for the work permit application. The lawyer told him that his chances were good because he was a highly skilled engineer and the author of the software program. After several months, he got a permit L because he had signed a one-year job contract. He was supposed to go to the EEUU afterwards. Right now, he is wondering about his career and where to settle. He says: ‘the Swiss system doesn’t want you to stay here… you came to study… and you are a foreigner from Peru… Before I felt protected by the university, but now I have this L permit which is extremely annoying… if they fired you, you have to go… But I have a lot of Latino friends that got married and got also permit B.’

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Coco’s professional trajectory demonstrates how the independent way of obtaining a work permit mediates the role of reskilling in engineering research. Again the education to employment legal impasse for South American citizens, even for PhD graduates, influences the valuing of Swiss degrees in three ways. First, the institutionalisation of uncertainty takes place when one obtains a permit L which represents employment instability. This legal situation mediates the value of a Swiss degree by rendering the portability of skills and professional future ambiguous. The paradoxical nature of Coco’s professional trajectory is that the location where he obtained his PhD degree does not match the location where this degree is best valued. Secondly, despite obtaining legal authorisation to work, this type of legality lessens an employee’s negotiating power: permits are contingent on job contracts. Employers might reinforce the uncertainty by offering fixed-term contracts. South American engineers are subjected to staying with the same employer and accepting given employment conditions in order to keep their work permits. Thirdly, South American men might encounter better valuations of their Swiss degrees than their female counterparts. Yet, the result seems to be more related to the global hierarchy of professions, and hence the unequal employers’ negotiating powers with immigration officers than just the role of reskilling. Still, gendered effects are important due to the low proportion of women in the most valued professions. Even when South American women are knowledge workers such as in academia, they still face more barriers than their male counterparts (See the next case of Concha; for engineers see Raghuram, 2004). In general, reskilling does not seem to be the smoothest way to improve employment conditions for South American women and men looking to earn a work permit independently. South American women holding a Swiss degree struggle to remain in the formal care sector while their male counterparts, as PhD graduates in engineering, struggle with professional uncertainty. These men and women cope with il/legalities according to their financial and social resources. For instance, although hiring a lawyer can be expensive, family networks provided financial aid in the case of Estrella. For Coco, job-hunting can also be difficult, but colleagues’ networks provide valuable information. Dependent way to obtain permits: coping with legal impasses of family reunification A dependent way of obtaining a permit has important gender and nationality dimensions. Despite their Swiss degrees, highly skilled women who earn a permit

immigration controls creating highly skilled precarious

via family reunification struggle to access employment in both sectors. They face gendered norms for family caregiving and racialised stereotypes of their skills based on nationality. In particular, this type of legality seems to frame women’s professional aspirations—such as reskilling—as contradicting their caregiving responsibilities. Indeed, accomplishing the purpose of their legal stay, which is a condition for renewing a permit, implies that women are at home, taking care of their husbands and children principally (Riaño and Baghdadi, 2007; Riaño, 2011). While South American men who earn a permit via family reunification also face legal dependency on the Swiss spouse, they face gendered norms related to family caregiving differently. In Switzerland, these migrant men are confronted with a particular family model: men are seen as full-time employees and women are seen as full-time caregivers/part-time employees (Giraud and Lucas, 2009; Baghdadi, 2010). Men’s labour market participation is favoured. Indeed, fulfilling this breadwinner role might be rewarded legally with faster access to settlement. In particular, South American men might enjoy better legal situations according to professions: faster settlement for holders of a Swiss PhD in engineering than concierges with a VET certificate. Legalities that use a ‘work-life balance’ framework to assess reskilling: highly skilled women in the care sector and academia Despite their reskilling practices, South American women, as spouses of Swiss citizens, encounter gender norms that evoke ‘work-life balance’ problems and nationality-based stereotypes about their skills. Family reunification influences the valuing of Swiss qualifications in three ways. First, immigration controls foster circular arguments between immigration officers and employers when it comes to granting work permits independently. About academia, when I asked Concha, a Peruvian woman married to a Swiss citizen of Peruvian origin and the mother of one young daughter, about her experience in a post-doctoral position in a Swiss university, she answered: The first six months I have to stay at home without working because I had to wait for my permit B. The Canton (immigration officers) didn’t want to give me my permit because they wanted my (post-doctoral) job contract first. But they (the university) won’t give my job contract because I didn’t have the permit. At the end, I got the permit via my husband: the family reunification permit B… with work… even though

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the box didn’t exist (in the application form)... because here women are a little… the country is a little chauvinist and “machista”… So amongst the boxes to fill in for the family reunification permit (application form)… women with work does not exist. There is husband or work. They (immigration officers) asked me: if you are married, why do you have to work? (Concha, Peru, job hunting, medical sciences, aged 42) Misinformation about the Federal Act for Foreign Nationals reinforces the idea of family reunification as a “solution” to hire highly skilled non-EU women instead of their appropriate qualifications. This type of legality demonstrates how immigration controls reinforce the opacity of its content and application and dependent legal situations for these women. Secondly, although family reunification seems to be the only legal path to the Swiss labour market for highly skilled South American women, this type of legality is marked by a gendered model of the family that influences employment conditions. Family reunification permits do not consider women as wives/ mothers and employees simultaneously, and key institutional actors reinforce this discourse. When I asked Rocio—a Peruvian woman married to a Swiss citizen, the mother of two young boys, and the holder of a Swiss degree in Arts—about her reskilling project, she replied: Now that my youngest child is eight years old, I have been looking for jobs. I paid several visits to employment counsellors. I told them to help me find a part-time job. I was very sad when she told me: “you want to work or take care of your children?” They do not understand that I want to work while being also a mother. I am very discouraged. Then a friend told me about a job position as a health auxiliary in the centre where she works. I am interested but I have to obtain the Red Cross certificate. Since I heard that the employment agency paid for those courses, I went to ask. The counsellor told me no. First, I have to prove that I cannot find a job according to my degree; then I have to prove that I cannot find jobs in the cleaning sector, and then they could pay this course for me. (Rocio, Peru, training for health auxiliary, aged 41) Thirdly, besides the gendered effects of family reunification, this type of legality mediates the role of reskilling practices based on racialised perceptions of Latino women’s skills and place in the labour market. Rocio’s answer demonstrates

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that South American women who are looking for a job after obtaining a family reunification permit face problems on two levels. Another project of reskilling still seems to be considered as contradictory to the permit’s purpose. Regardless of their Swiss qualifications, South American women still need to prove that their hunt for cleaning jobs has been unsuccessful in order to access the employment programme’s benefits. This type of legality thus demonstrates that a formal and informal racialisation of skills hinders South American women’s reskilling outcomes. Legalities according to professions: differences between academia and the care sector among South American men Although the gendered effect of family reunification on South American men might give rise to their labour market participation as breadwinners, the conditions and resources to fulfil the permit’s purpose vary according to their profession. For instance, Pedro, who had predominantly worked in low skilled, unstable and informal jobs in construction, agriculture, restaurants and cleaning services since 1990, struggled to fulfil the requirements of family reunification. After marrying a Swiss citizen of Argentinian origin in 1998, he regularised his legal status and decided to bring his three children from Peru. Having a legal status did not improve Pedro’s employment prospects. Indeed, the family reunification application for Pedro meant a type of legality that pushed him and his wife to work under precarious conditions (long hours, weekends, no job contracts) until they obtained the right kind of ‘proofs’ for immigration officers. In fact, the requirements of ‘financial autonomy’ (full-time and stable job) and ‘adequate housing’ were hard to satisfy. He said: ‘I fought a lot for family reunification until they (immigration officials) gave it to me’ (Pedro, Peru, concierge with a VET certificate, aged 58). Obtaining a full-time job as a concierge for an association in 1998 and achieving a VET certificate as a concierge in 2007 finally enabled him to complete the requirements. For men, family reunification gives an important role to reskilling and employment as a way to conform to the breadwinner profile, but Pedro’s Swiss qualifications were less valued by immigration officers than others’. These immigration controls favour the legal settlement and labour market participation in engineering research rather than professional cleaning for South American men. An example is Samuel’s upward professional trajectory: he was married to a Swiss citizen and is the father of two children. He obtained a PhD in engineering from a renowned Swiss HE institution. Besides not having any problem

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obtaining a family reunification permit, he was granted Swiss citizenship after three years of residence via facilitated naturalisation. In his own words, ‘I made all the procedures through the HE institution and I got the passport. When I saw that I had to pay 800 Swiss francs, I felt welcomed to the club’ (Samuel, engineer, aged 52). Indeed, Samuel’s profession, type of Swiss degree and employment prospects can be considered as facilitating the breadwinner role implied in family reunification. In fact, immigration controls seem to offer a ‘speed’ shift from this dependent path (family reunification) to an independent legal status (naturalisation). Family reunification is marked not only by gender and nationality but also professions’ hierarchies and social class. Reskilling to improve labour market participation depends on time and the financial and social resources of couples undergoing family reunification. Embarking on and achieving reskilling was possible for women and men thanks to their spouses’ financial support and engagement in family caregiving.

Conclusions The aim of this article was to investigate the different types of il/legalities that immigration controls produce, and their impact on the reskilling outcomes of South Americans’ professional trajectories in the care and academic sectors. A life-course perspective is particularly suitable to trace the circulation of highly skilled migrants beyond their category of entry—they combine different forms of circulation: irregular, student, work and family migration, and to assess their employment and family trajectories afterwards. Instead of separating those immigration flows in advance, the comparison of life stories sheds light on the circumstances in which migrants navigate different legal situations and experience downward or upward professional trajectories. Immigration controls interfere with the valuing of these immigrants’ Swiss degrees by reducing their options to a dependent legal situation or an illegal situation. Both situations render a professional future uncertain. These findings add to the debates about highly skilled migration and demonstrate how and when immigration controls influence reskilling outcomes. One of the principal implications of this study is to question the common idea that illegality is the only way to create precarious migrant workers and that reskilling at destination is an uncomplicated solution. On the one hand, the conceptualisation of these experiences is subject to theoretical debates to avoid

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the use of state-define categories alone and to transcend simplistic dichotomies of legal vs. illegal. Non-citizenship literature provides an alternative approach. Citizenship and non-citizenship are socially produced heterogeneous categories contingent to gender, social class, age, ethnicity, race, etc. Since non-citizenship is not residual, border crossing between the multiple categories of non-citizens and citizens has to be theorised systematically. Non-citizen categories ‘specify the formal bases regulating how long a person can remain and under what conditions, conditions regarding access to labour markets, and regulations establishing access to social citizenship, particularly social goods and services’ (Landolt and Goldring, 2015: 854). Indeed, non-citizenship intersects with precarious employment and can potentially produce experiences that have cumulative and path-dependant effects (Goldring and Landolt, 2011). It seems that migrant workers are spending more time navigating through various forms of insecure legal status, making them particularly vulnerable to employer exploitation and abuse. My findings expand the analysis of professional trajectories mediated by particular legal situations to highly skilled foreigners. The achievement of a Swiss degree by South American citizens does not seem to automatically ameliorate employment conditions in the host country due to legal restrictions. Noncitizenship as dependent on or the absence of permits seems to be rather ‘sticky’ in migrants’ life-courses regardless of level and provenance of skills. On the other hand, immigration controls create precarious workers not only in terms of employment conditions but also in terms of the skills they acquire in the host country. Thus, when analysing the extent to which reskilling improves employment conditions in the host country, it is important to recognise that skills are not a neutral criterion. Governing the mobility of skills (Raghuram, 2008) encompasses gender, nationality and professional hierarchies. Care and academia are foreign-based employment sectors but at contrasting positions in gendercomposition and the global hierarchy of professions. They show how gender and racism based on nationality work simultaneously at transnational and national levels. Immigration controls devalue the reskilling of South American women by preferring male-dominated professions and reinforcing a male-breadwinner family model. The racialisation of migrants’ skills is reinforced formally by immigration laws directed at non-EU citizens and informally by immigration officers’ stereotypes about Latinos’ employability. In this way, my findings contribute to a burgeoning debate about transnational social stratification based on intersectionality of gender, race, social class and legal status in migration.

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Notes 1 As Francesca Scrinzi  (2013) stated, there is a differentialist or culturalist racism that naturalises cultural difference and xenophobia: migrants’ situations are explained by their different “mentality,” culture, religion, etc., and it is natural for human beings to have a culture and to be hostile towards “allogeneous” individuals. There is also a genealogic conceptualisation of nationality. This means that the integration of a migrant into another culture is doomed to fail (Scrinzi, 2013: 50–51) 2 Switzerland had a foreign population with permanent residence status of 24.3% in 2014, which is one of the highest amongst European countries. 3 This includes the countries in the EU-28 and the European Free Trade Association (EFTA). 4 Having a job contract involves a residence permit for five years, and the right for family reunification of the spouse, children (until 21 years old) and parents. 5 Having a fixed-term job contract involves a residence permit for a specific amount of time, whereas having a permanent job contract means having a residence permit that must be renewed each year for the first ten years. Family reunification is possible for the spouse and children until they reach 18 years old provided they are living together, have adequate housing and are financially autonomous. 6 In this category, there are university and higher education teachers, professions that involve research, medical doctors, and health and nursing professionals. 7 Professions in this category include: social-work-associated professionals, life science technicians and related associate professionals, modern health associate professionals, and nursing and midwifery associate professionals. 8 Professions in this category include: personal care workers in the health services, housekeeping workers, personal care workers, cleaners and housekeepers, supervisors in offices and hotels, health care assistants, and other personal service workers, etc. 9 For example, universities of applied sciences offer degrees for children’s educators, social workers and nurses. 10 For example, there are VET certificates for health assistants at home and in institutions, children’s educator assistants, cleaning supervisors and assistants in private homes and other buildings. 11 A life-calendar is defined as: ‘a two-way grid, with the temporal dimension on the one side, and different life domains on the other. Respondents are asked to report events for each life domain, relating them to what happened across other domains or in references to time landmarks. While filling in this calendar, respondents can visualize their life trajectory, linking what happened to when, where and for how long it happened’ (Morselli et al., 2013: 3).

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12 Civic stratification is a structure of inequalities based on assigning different sets of rights to people with respect to their status (long-term resident, national or EU citizen, family migrant, guest worker etc. (Bonizzoni, 2011: 313). 13 Both ways involve the possibility of obtaining a settlement permit C after ten years (work) or five years (family reunification) if there is ‘successful integration.’ Only family reunification involves a ‘facilitated naturalisation’ that means a faster and cheaper process for obtaining a Swiss passport. 14 A modification of the law for foreigners in 2009 made it possible for non-EU citizens who have achieved a Swiss HE degree to obtain a six-month permit L for the purpose of jobhunting (Canton de Vaud, 2009). 15 Quotas for 2016: 4,000 for permit L and 2,500 for permit B (Confédération Suisse, 2016).

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Murdoch, Jake, Guégnard, Christine, Griga, Dorit, Koomen, Maarten and Cristian Imdorf (2016). “How Do Second-Generation Immigrant Students Access Higher Education? The Importance of Vocational Routes to Higher Education in Switzerland, France, and Germany.” Swiss Journal of Sociology 42(2): 245–265. doi: 10.1515/SJS-2016-0011. Raghuram, Parvati (2004). “Migration, gender, and the it sector: Intersecting debates.” Women’s Studies International Forum 27(2): 163–176. doi: 10.1016/j.wsif.2004.06.006. Raghuram, Parvati (2008). “Governing the mobility of skills.” In: Governing International Labour Migration: Current Issues, Challenges and Dilemmas, edited by Christina Gabriel and Hélène Pellerin. London: Routledge, 81–94. Riaño, Y. (2011) “‘He’s the Swiss citizen, I’m the foreign spouse’: Binational marriages and the impact of family-related migration policies on gender relations.” In: Gender, Generations and the Family in International Migration, edited by A. Kraler, C. Schmoll, E. Kofman and M. Kohli. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 265–282. Riaño, Yvonne and Nadia Baghdadi (2007). “Understanding the Labour Market Participation of Skilled Immigrant Women in Switzerland: The Interplay of Class, Ethnicity, and Gender.” Journal of International Migration and Integration 8(2): 163–183. doi: 10.1007/ s12134-007-0012-1. Riano, Yvonne, Limacher, Katharina, Aschwanden, André, Hirsig Sophie and Doris WastlWalter (2015). “Shaping gender inequalities: critical moments and critical places.” Equality, Diversity and Inclusion: An International Journal 34(2): 155–167. doi: 10.1108/ EDI-12-2013-0112. van Riemsdijk, Micheline (2013). “Everyday Geopolitics, the Valuation of Labour and the Socio-Political Hierarchies of Skill: Polish Nurses in Norway.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 39(3). 373–390. doi: 10.1080/1369183X.2013.733859. Sarti, Raffaella and Francesca Scrinzi (2010). “Introduction to the Special Issue: Men in a Woman’s Job, Male Domestic Workers, International Migration and the Globalization of Care.” Men and Masculinities 13(1): 4–15. doi: 10.1177/1097184X10382878. Schrover, Marlou and Deirdre M. Moloney (2013). “Making a Diference,” in Gender, Migration and Categorisations: Making Distinctions between Migrants in Western Countries, 1945– 2010, edited by Marlou Schrover and Deirdre M. Moloney. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 7–54. Scrinzi, Francesca (2013). Genre, migrations et emplois domestiques en France et en Italie: Construction de la non-qualification et de l’altérité ethnique. Paris: Editions Petra. Shan, Hongxia (2013). “Skill as a relational construct: hiring practices from the standpoint of Chinese immigrant engineers in Canada.” Work, Employment & Society 27(6): 915–931. doi: 10.1177/0950017012474710.

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4. Cyber space: A refuge for hegemonic masculinity among Polish migrants in the UK Kamila Fiałkowska

Abstract This chapter* explores the relationship between masculinity, migration-related issues and super-diversity (Vertovec, 2007), with Polish migrants in the UK as a case study. The research question refers to how being a man shapes the migratory experience of migrants who come from a considerably more conservative and patriarchal society and now live in a super-diverse society, i.e. complex, multiethnic, liberal etc. In this chapter I investigate the content of selected migrationrelated internet forum discussions among Polish migrants in the UK to see what aspects of living in Britain are discussed and how they are viewed, interpreted and constructed in a discursive practice by the male internet users. I am interested in the response of male internet forum users to the challenges of living in a super diverse socio-cultural environment and how this relates to gender construction. I argue that masculinities, understood as configurations of practice realised in social actions, offer a potential angle to understand how Polish men adapt to and appreciate life in Britain. I apply the concept of hegemonic masculinity and hegemonic bargain to understand the process of ‘doing gender’ in a migratory context. Gender norms, importance of the nation, whiteness and sense of patriotism are identified as issues that are strongly connected with the gender identity of some male forum users and the migratory context. It also seems that the internet forums and, more broadly, social media offer a space of considerable significance. The internet enables forum users to strengthen the ethnic bonds

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with those in and out of the country. Cyber space offers the platform to vent their views openly, to discuss and to argue on matters that often cannot be understood by the host society or would not be accepted.

Introduction According to Steven Vertovec, ‘the multi-local life-world presents a wider, even more complex set of conditions that affect the construction, negotiation and reproduction of social identities’ (Vertovec, 2001: 578), which suggests that gender identities, ideologies and practices are formulated and negotiated in diverse ways. When people move across national borders and yet maintain ties with their home countries, they create what have become known in the literature as transnational social spaces (Faist, 2004; Mahler, 1999; Osella and Osella, 2000; Pessar, 2005). This concept points to the fact that migration is not only a process of moving body and some material belongings from one place to another. The social links with the sending community are sustained for a long time, and very often it is the main point of reference for the migrants while abroad, either permanently or circulating. Transnational social spaces are therefore dynamic combinations of sustained social and symbolic ties with their countries of origin and host country, their contents, positions in networks and organisations (Faist, 2004: 199). The relational and contextual nature of gender is particularly interesting to observe in a migratory context, as migrants attempt to fulfil expectations of identity and behaviours that may significantly differ across multiple localities (Donato, Gabaccia, Holdaway, Manalansan, and Pessar, 2006: 6). This chapter is inspired by two sets of academic literature that touch upon the specificities of migration and the experience of adapting to a super-diverse environment among male migrants coming from a more conservative and patriarchal social background. The first area of study points to integration problems resulting from practising a specific model of hegemonic masculinity. (i.e. Datta, 2008, 2009; Garapich, 2011; Siara, 2009, 2011). The latter— transnationalism studies—focus on gender in transnational social space and significant re-negotiations of gender identities and gender relations as a result of migrants’ efforts to meet the different expectations held of them by different social worlds (Donato, et al., 2006; Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994; Mahler and Pessar, 2001). The questions that arise are: does the adaptation to a super-diverse environment cause any disturbances that affect their sense of self or result in a

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renegotiation and/or reconstruction of the masculinity model; and how do these processes affect gender relations and integration strategies? In this chapter, I focus on the views, interpretations and narratives regarding certain aspects of living in Britain expressed by male migrants from Poland on selected internet forum discussions. My goal is further to investigate what these discussions tell us about how the internet forum users respond to the challenges of living in a super-diverse socio-cultural environment, and specifically whether it affects their sense of self, gender relations and integration strategies. Since masculinities can be understood as configurations of practice that are realised in social actions, and as such can differ according to historical, geographical, cultural and social contexts (R. W. Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005; Wojnicka  and Ciaputa, 2011), they offer a potential angle to understand how Polish migrants perceive living in Britain and adapt to it. Thus, the discourse on certain topics may be ascribed to their upbringing in a traditional and more conservative society1 and/or to integration problems and gender-based expectations held of them (related to i.e. work, language, social life). In the following paragraphs, the social constructivist understanding of gender is adopted, which recognises gender as a performative act that is constructed according to social expectations (Butler, 2011). Gender means embodying and believing in certain norms which exemplify gender relations, and acting accordingly. In this chapter I also use the concept of hegemonic masculinity and hegemonic bargain (Chen, 1999) to discuss the masculinities in a migratory context and negotiations in that sphere. As Connell claims (2005), men adopt hegemonic or another form of masculinity when it is desirable. Hegemonic masculinity is therefore not a certain type of man; rather ‘a way that men position themselves through discursive practices’ (R. W. Connell and Messerschmidt, 2005: 841), that reflects cultural values and ideologies and their embodied practices. The hegemonic masculinity, as an ongoing gender project, represents the currently most valued ideal of a man to which men are compelled to somehow relate— i.e. to aspire to, negotiate with or reject—and according to which women are subordinate. The understanding of hegemonic masculinity as a certain pattern of practice means that the dominance of men does not require violence, although it can be supported by force. It achieves ascendancy through culture, institutions and persuasion, hence in this understanding it corresponds with the masculine domination in a Bourdieusian sense (Bourdieu, 2004).

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As I will attempt to show, when migration comes into play bringing about new challenges, other strategies are implemented for which Chen coined the term of hegemonic bargain (Chen, 1999). His analysis is built on gender strategies of Chinese American men who were “‘achieving manhood’ by consciously trading on, or subconsciously benefiting from, privileges afforded by his race, gender, class, generation and/or sexuality” (Chen, 1999: 585). He argues that the intersection of race, class and gender reinforces a worldview in which some masculinities are regarded as inferior and subordinate to the masculine ideal. In the same vein and advancing the discussion on the hegemonic bargain, Morris (2006), after his study of school environment and in Texas, notes that the system of racial hierarchy places whiteness higher than non-whiteness, thus bolstering and supporting a hegemonic formation of whiteness that is based on maintaining advantages over non-whites.

Masculinity in the Polish context The role of a man, still dominant in the Polish context, as the economic provider, breadwinner, head of a household (Arcimowicz, 2011), corresponds with the cultural definition of hegemonic masculinity (R. Connell, 2005). It is generally acknowledged that research on gender, especially on masculinities in postsocialist countries, is still under-developed (Wojnicka and Ciaputa, 2011), despite ongoing changes to gender relations, to which migration also partly contributes. Whereas the socialist state put women to work while maintaining their role as mothers, men were offered very few versions of masculinity—within family life they were still assigned their traditional role. Within the workplace, physically strong men-workers were encouraged to identify with economically productive roles (Fidelis, 2004). Thus, contrary to popular opinion, the socialist state did not attempt to change traditional gender roles in society as it did not transform power dynamics within families (Novikowa, 2012: 97) and work relations, but rather sustained traditional views on gender roles, especially in the private sphere. The transition to democracy and a free market economy, accompanied by the demolition of the communist welfare state, changed the position of families and put them in direct confrontation with the instabilities inherent in radically changing labour markets. Men reinforced their traditional roles as breadwinners and protectors of families from the unpredictable outside world. This rise of masculism was the primary characteristic of gender relations after the transition

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as identified by e.g. Watson (1993). Watson argues that social policies essentialised gender differences and promoted men in public spaces at the expense of women through the traditional discourse of gender roles in society. Patriotism (or even mesianism, after Janion, 2006) and the Polish nation were the principal points of reference of public discourse, in which women’s role as guardians of the family nest or, as Titkow writes, as managers of family life is reinforced (Titkow, 1993; Titkow, Duch-Krzystoszek, and Budrowska, 2004). Gender relations have been at the heart of the discourse on nations and nationalism according to Yuval-Davis (1993), who rightly notices that the systematic attempt to relate gender to different dimensions of the nationalist project does not have a long tradition. As she argues, femininities and masculinities are important as they reproduce the nation biologically, culturally and symbolically. Agnieszka Graff, building on work by Yuval-Davis, discusses how national ideologies create certain types of masculinities and femininities (2013) for which certain roles are ascribed—the female figure as the allegory of the nation and natural, predestined bearer of the culture, which is actively created and defended by the men. This re-traditionalisation of Polish society is also attributed to the power of the Roman Catholic Church. Thus we find that masculinity as defined by working outside the household and in reproductive capacities is supported by a patriarchal social system (Dąbrowska, 2011: 242; Marody and Giza-Poleszczuk, 2004). The downsizing of state-owned heavy industries and the rise of unemployment challenged the dominant image of masculinity in the Polish context. As Mazierska (2008) noted, the post-socialist transformation and growing unemployment led many men to think about this time as the worst in their lives—they could not fulfil the traditional roles of bread winners, husbands and fathers. Similarly, in other post-socialist contexts, e.g. Latvia and Lithuania, it has also been found that not fulfilling the role ascribed to a man is the cause of distress and humiliation (see Tereškinas, 2010: 29). This was exacerbated by the movement of women into the labour force, leaving behind reproduction sphere and domestic realm attributed to the female and moving into production, previously attributed to men (Dzwonkowska-Godula, 2011). Wall and Arnold (2007: 509), continuing this discussion, point to a plethora of research about shifting gender roles and higher expectations on men-fathers which can partly be attributed to the movement of mothers into the labour force. Observing the Polish context, the greater number of women participating in migration caused “moral panic” about the absence of the guardian of the family

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nest (see e.g. Urbańska, 2008, 2015). Inevitably, however, the focus started shifting towards the role of a man in such families and forms of fatherhood. While the most widespread notion of a man in most European societies was and still is white, heterosexual, having a career and a family (Dąbrowska and Radomski, 2010), there is a continuing pressure not only on work-based gender identity construction, but also on caring masculinity. The ‘gender project’ of building hegemonic masculinity can vary according to time and place, incorporating new elements and multiple intersecting dimensions—hence the presence of discourses on e.g. involved fatherhood, or emotional care, also in Poland. Despite the growing diversity of masculinity models, the model that refers to power, economy, sexuality (heteronormativity) and aggression/defence is still firmly present in the political and public spheres in Poland (Dąbrowska, 2010).

Methodology The Internet and its usage have become an intrinsic element of everyday life, so it would be difficult to ignore it in social research. Despite the multitude of studies on Polish migrants that emerged in the immediate post-EU accession period (2004), the analysis carried out by Siara (2009, 2011) was the first to address Internet forum usage as part of the migratory experience of recent post-accession Polish migrants. In the migratory context, Internet usage is not just a means of instant communication with close ones spread across space. Through reading some of the internet forum discussions on migrants’ life and experiences in the UK, I decided to expand the scope of my research to include an analysis of some of these discussions, as they reveal the sometimes very peculiar views and opinions on the state of affairs in the UK. What interests me most is how participation in the internet forums affords migrants an opportunity not only to discuss practicalities related to life in the UK, but also to share their varied experiences and exchange views related to work, social life, contacts with locals and with fellow nationals. Spontaneous creation of discourse around certain topics related to life in Britain, uninterrupted by the presence of the researcher, allows for an observation of what bothers migrants, besides everyday issues. In the analysis of internet forum discussions, it is difficult to say who exactly are the people engaged in the discussions. The representative study of the Centre for Public Opinion Research (CBOS, 2015) shows that everyday Internet usage

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is most widespread in the group of adults between 18-34 years of age, with the second most prominent group aged 35-44. The relatively younger internet users prevail when it comes to engaging in activities that require interaction with other forum users—this includes social media, communicator apps, forum discussions and online games (gender is only a significantly visible marker of difference when it comes to online games). In the national census of 2011, the National Office for Statistics (GUS, 2012) established that the majority of migrants (83%) who spend at least 3 months abroad are in the productive age. This emerged in migration research during the first years after accession: the typical emigrant to the UK is fairly young—up to 35 years old—with limited work experience in Poland, without children, is relatively well educated (though the majority does not have a tertiary education), comes from medium-sized towns or rural areas, and his/her job does not require high qualifications (see i.e. Duszczyk and Wiśniewski, 2007; White, 2011). These characteristics, combined, offer a glimpse of the average migrant internet user. I choose to present the early analysis of three selected forum discussions on three internet portals, as they offer interesting insights into relations between Poles abroad and their co-ethnics, as well as their views on life in Britain. All the discussions were carried out in Polish, and so was the analysis. The quotations used in this article were later translated. In Polish, identifying a speaker’s gender is not a problem as the verb agrees with the gender of the speaker (the verb’s ending differs for male and female). The research on the internet raises ethical concerns; however they are discussed to a lesser extent in the literature so far (cf. Flicker, Haans, and Skinner, 2004; Siuda, 2010). The general guidelines which guide the standard, not on-line research procedures, are a good starting point; however, the subject itself is challenging enough and calls for more elaborate codification of ethical guidelines. Here, the major problem is related to lack of consent, which researchers experience also by conducting covert participant observation (cf. Hammersley and Atkinson, 2000). Since the forum users were not aware that they were being observed (or, more precisely, their opinions were being analysed), I was guided by the principles of protecting anonymity and respect for the privacy of forum users. The opinions were expressed anonymously or, in some cases, under the real names of the forum users. Therefore, since the forum users could with some effort be identified, for ethical reasons the names of the internet portals as well as their nicknames and real names are kept confidential to preserve the users’ full anonymity. For the privacy concerns, I used only the discussions which were carried out in public

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forums, which are therefore considered publicly available to any internet user. Following the discussion of private vs. public on the Internet (see e.g. Denzin, 1999; Flicker, et al., 2004), I decided that, from an ethical standpoint, the usage of such quotations did not violate the privacy of their user. I also did not benefit from any other knowledge about the forum users, provided on the Internet social media, especially in those instances where I could identify a person by their real name. Hence, the selection of quotations for the purpose of this chapter does not violate the terms and conditions of given internet portals or the privacy of its users. The internet forum discussions used for the sake of this analysis focused directly on issues relating to life in Britain (forum 1) and to multiculturalism and immigration (forum 2 and 3). The latter came up after a thematic analysis identified the main issues that are shared among and show high importance for the first forum users—gender norms, ethnicity, nationality and migration. In all cases, participants in the internet forum were living either in Poland or elsewhere. I therefore made a specific effort to identify those living Britain—in most cases this was evident from the narratives of the users, who at some point of the discussion would reveal their place of residence. In other cases the IP address indicated possible UK residents. If I could not verify whether forum users had experience of living in Britain, I did not quote them, although they did take an equal part in creating a certain discourse surrounding certain topics. The chosen internet forums offer a certain kind of transnational social space, which brings together people with migratory experience (although not only) to discuss issues they find relevant, and where they share their ideas and give meaning to different practices. As Siara (2009) already noticed, the internet forums can be used as data, as they are rich and detailed. What’s more, they provide a natural scene for observation, without researcher interference and without many of the frequently discussed and criticised aspects of such interference. Also, bearing in mind that I wished to pursue interviews with the male migrants in the UK further, I needed to acknowledge my position while researching this topic (being Polish and a female, which may result in some gender interference, e.g. when discussing issues related to lifestyles, differences in terms of religion, ethnicities, national consciousness, migration, etc.) and to be prepared for the fact that the interviewees might not want to openly discuss some sensitive issues. Therefore, by identifying the main concerns among males through the internet analysis, this would enable me later to relate the latter research findings to the views expressed on the internet

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forums. The forum users independently choose or create topics of discussion and often fiercely engage in discussions of particular importance to them. Therefore, the spontaneity of their views and no or limited moderation can be considered an asset of such data. Of course, one has to be careful when trusting in the authenticity of views as the forum users create a certain atmosphere and, being more blatant, or even provoking others to engage in the argument, does not necessarily lead to a proper debate on any issue discussed. For this reason I consider the views expressed anonymously on internet forums as a form of emotional outburst rather than as expressions of well-considered thoughts and opinions. As such, the internet forums offer spaces of definitive importance to their users: they are spaces to interact, connect and discuss aspects of importance with like-minded people. They also enable them symbolically to strengthen their ethnic bonds with those in and out of the country. The internet moreover offers a platform for the expression of opinions which cannot be vented and/or are not accepted otherwise. I apply a critical discourse analysis approach, as it touches upon relations of power and subordination. It also shows how these power relations are embodied in the language people use in communication—therefore, I present quotations expressed by male forum users only to identify their language of power and domination in the construction of their gender identity and to determine with what other aspects it is intertwined. This enables researchers to show and elaborate on the processes of social and cultural change, which is particularly useful for the focus of this analysis (Byrne, 2001).

Polish men abroad and in cyber space In the light of discussed literature, emigration to the West, which increased steeply after Poland’s accession to the EU, can be viewed not just as an economic strategy to provide for their families and themselves, but also as a strategy to cope with the social burdens of masculinity and its ascribed role in the Polish patriarchal social context. Thus, it can serve as a departure point for researching male migrants in the super-diverse environment. How do physical and spatial issues, as well as the associated social processes, affect the reformulation and renegotiation of gender roles and identities? What male migrants undergo and how the migratory experience affects them has yet to be investigated. This is particularly evident

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among the men who move to the UK where they are confronted with new sociocultural structures embedded within public and private realms of home and workplace. British society is often referred to as super-diverse (Vertovec, 2007), due to its ethnic and religious heterogeneity, resulting from a long history of colonisation and immigration (see e.g. Hampshire, 2005; Joppke, 1996). Polish society, by contrast, is rather homogenous, resulting from the post-World War II order and non-democratic governance until 1989, with a restrictive stance on migration (Stola, 2010; Wallace and Stola, 2001). According to Datta (2009), after the new Polish migrants to the UK arrive their ideas of masculinity, nationhood, work and sense of self are continually reshaped in their new social, political, economic and spatial contexts. Siara’s research (2009, 2011) reveals that in the migratory situation, the agency of Polish women—a traditionally subordinated group—changes. Female migrants more often adjust easily to liberal norms and to changes in their social status, and hence are quicker to abandon the strict confines of gender norms and social control of the community of origin, for instance by entering into interethnic relationships. This corresponds with the notion that migrants become particularly aware of the relational and contextual nature of gender when they find themselves in other localities where different gender norms apply (Donato, et al., 2006), which some adopt more easily than others. As noted by Siara (2009, 2011), in the new social setting the gender norms are discussed and contested, especially when male migrants observe that the more liberal values are more easily accepted by their female fellow nationals. In my analysis I, too, noticed that gender relations and inter-ethnic relationships are a perpetually hot topic, mostly for male forum users. In the forum discussions analysed, many opinions are expressed rather harshly, with some seeking to explain this behaviour by ascribing it to the provincial origin and limited life experience of Polish women prior to emigration: ‘Well, I think these are women with some issues, most probably because they come from little towns and want to prove how well are they doing abroad, how progressive they are, how modern. Then they work two shifts—one at home, one at work because their habibis value themselves too much to do anything around the house. I am not even sorry for them.’

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Social control over women diminishes when they are abroad, which can be linked to reduced social networks. In some of the literature, a lack of social bonds and support networks has been related to women’s vulnerability to traffickers and the sex industry (see e.g. Anderson, 1991). The view that women are more prone to deception and exploitation especially when abroad has historically led to restrictions on the migration of women (see e.g. Bukraba-Rylska, 2007). Entering into interethnic relations seems to be interpreted as a sign of lesser social control. As such it provokes certain negative reactions towards them, such as those expressed anonymously on the internet forum discussions. The quotation below also suggests that the relative freedom that some women find abroad makes them behave differently from when they are in their local community, where, as this forum user explains, they would be faced with direct criticism. ‘In Poland they would never behave like this, because their family, friends bring them down to earth. When abroad they behave as if they forgot where they come from, as if they broke their chains. I personally do not want to get in touch with a girl who spent some time abroad.’ Women often symbolise the national collective and national honour, as YuvalDavis notes (1993), while referring to the shaving of the heads of women who fraternised with the enemy during the Second World War. For the national project, seen as ‘range of collective strategies oriented towards the perceived needs of a nation’ (Delanty and Kumar, 2006: 119), the question of what is culturally appropriate behaviour for a woman gains a lot of significance in the multicultural context. Social control over women is stronger in the community of origin, where neighbours and family enforce certain norms of behaviour. Emigration changes this, as contacts with the sending local community are rather scarce. The male forum users taking part in this discussion tend to agree that emigration spoils women, in the sense that they do not behave as they are supposed to back home. They rarely note the positive aspects of liberation from oppressive gender norms and the emancipatory potential of emigration. This is however noted by other forum users, both male and female, who point to women’s independent agenda of having a partner of their choosing, not necessarily limited by ethnic boundaries, and to their economic independence or the state support that enables women smoothly to return to work after childbirth, etc. Rather they— male forum users—hold onto views that express their general dissatisfaction with

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the fact that Polish women enter into inter-ethnic relationships, a criticism that derives from the white, heterosexual hegemonic male narrative: ‘Is that a new model of Polish women abroad, hanging out with Arabs, ciapaks,2 blacks.3 Does nobody care?’ Criticism of women entering inter-ethnic relationships with ‘men of color’ (Glenn, 2002: 6) is nothing new and comes from the perceived need to maintain the racial purity and integrity of the white population. In this context, Glenn (2002) refers to 19th-century America to elaborate on the special responsibility placed on white women, whose purity was crucial for maintaining distinction, superiority and the hegemony of whites over non-whites. Control over female sexuality according to accepted and widely shared standards of sexual behaviour in one’s society of origin is also extended when abroad. As such, it serves as an ‘opportunity to reinforce and re-establish sexual and nationalist hegemony’ (Nagel, 2003: 142). Siara (2009) also links the frustration to traditional perceptions of gender roles and the high value placed on ethnicity, that is on being Polish and preserving Polishness when abroad. This is evident in further discussions, where traditional views on gender norms mingle with ethnicity and a lack of sympathy towards the multicultural environment. While these views are often contestable, it seems that the holders of such opinions do not engage in discussion with opponents (of either gender), but rather communicate only with those who share their ideas and are eager to elaborate on the position and lack of moral values of Polish women abroad. As the discussion develops, it becomes vividly clear how nationalistic values are incorporated into the idea of a proper Polish woman—one who deserves to become the wife, the mother, the supporting partner: ‘Decent women would stay in Poland and live with Poles!’ How the ideology of nationalism links morality with the nation (B. Anderson, 2006) is shown clearly in the quotation above: the decency of a woman depends on her devotion to a nation. Being part of the nation imposes obligations, and the responsibility for its purity is even more important when abroad (YuvalDavis, 1993) as women carry Polishness and transmit the national values to future generations. The focus is on purity and on not being sexually used by other men (i.e. not Polish), especially ‘men of color’ (cf. Glenn, 2002). Interethnic

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relationships of women with Englishmen (besides sparking comments on the supposedly financial reasons for entering into such a relationship) do not cause much controversy. Polish women’s relationships with other ethnic minorities that live in Britain arouse such strong indignation partly because they are viewed as being humiliating for Poles who might later have relationships with these women. This can be interpreted as positioning oneself higher among the migrant community in the UK and hence distancing oneself from male migrants from e.g. the Middle East, Africa or the Indian subcontinent. For the forum users studied, whiteness places them higher in the social hierarchy compared to other migrants in the UK. Archer (2001) points to the reproduction of white hegemonic masculinities through the denigration of sexual and racial ‘others’. Her work on ‘achieving manhood’ by young Muslim men shows that masculine identities are constructed by the positioning and negotiation of power relations with regard to other (white and/or black) men and Muslim women. ‘[M]asculinities may be simultaneously an assertion of a particular social location … and a form of resistance of one social division to another’ (Hearn and Collinson, 1994: 110 in Archer, 2001: 82). This negotiation, positioning and bargaining in ‘achieving manhood’ are also noticeable among Polish male migrants to the UK when faced with other masculinities, for example by looking down on women who supposedly bring disgrace to the nation: ‘I am already abroad for 3 years, mostly in the UK, Germany and France. What Polish women do abroad is beyond belief. In the eyes of coloured men they are the easiest to sleep with. I congratulate you on all those “experiences”. The worst thing is that you sooner or later you come back to those Poles, whom you despised before. I am sorry for them because it is the worst thing to find out that your wife slept with a Muslim, or with a black.’ With the notion of hegemonic bargain, men embodying marginalised masculinities may emphasise aspects of their manhood that come closest to the hegemonic ideal (Chen, 1999)—here whiteness comes in handy as it supports the system of racial hierarchy which is favourable for them. Being abroad they compete with men of other ethnicities for the attention of women and, as noted by other researchers, this is often a lost battle. Wojnicka and Młodawska (2011) llustrate it by presenting a perspective of women on the ‘Polish boyfriend’, a figure that is often not ready for a truly egalitarian relationship, who sticks to patriarchal

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values and thus is far less socially attractive than other men from the West. When their male supremacy is put into question, male migrants, by denigrating men of other ethnicities (Archer, 2001), stick to the discourse related to patriotism and the importance of Polishness and Polish values: ‘I seriously hate those women who are with those guys, either from Europe, or ciapaks. Ok it is your thing but I will not forgive that you are so disgraceful about Polish men and complain about us. Polish men, who are brave, who always fought for their land, intelligent, resourceful, creative…our own women spoil our nation abroad. I am ashamed of them.’ All analysed discussions at some point touch on the importance of the nation, homeland and the high value placed on the sense of national identity. Moreover, despite the fact that they are immigrants and thus part of a multi-ethnic society, issues such as immigration and multiculturalism are often viewed rather negatively (Garapich, 2011) and often tightly intertwined with patriotism and nationalist (or in many cases observed in cyber space, openly racist) views. On this issue, Gawlewicz notes that the response of Polish migrants to the super-diverse UK and their encounter with difference (in terms of ethnicity, religion, class, social status, sexuality and gender) is ‘complicated’ (Gawlewicz, 2016). Although the relationship of migrants with their country of origin is similarly complicated, the attachment does not always decrease, as has been discussed in the literature on long-distance nationalism (Fouron and Schiller, 2001). In her other work, the author discusses the reproduction of orientalist binary opposition: Poland as backward versus the UK (and the West generally) as developed, and explores discourses of ‘inferiority’ and ‘superiority’ when encountering the difference. As she notes, discourses of ‘inferiority’ are related to tolerance and diversity, which her study participants see as core elements of Britishness, whereas ‘superiority’ refers to Polish family values and the assumed shallowness of the British people (Gawlewicz, 2014: 201–205). Following the forum discussion it became evident, however, that some of its users negotiate with the presumed ‘inferiority’ and instead value homogeneity more highly than diversity. Some forum users refer to British people who share similar opinions, arguing that such views are legitimate and more widespread, not only among Polish migrants. By doing so they construct a discourse of ‘superiority’ around whiteness: our country is poor but white and that’s what matters.

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‘I talked with my British colleagues from work, they went to Poland for a weekend, when they came back they said how they envy us that our country is white.’ Eade, Drinkwater and Garapich (2007) claim that some UK-based Poles express hostile attitudes towards the multicultural environment and value whiteness, as it presumably places them higher on the social strata in Britain. This is indeed evident when observing the internet discussions of Poles abroad, especially during the ongoing so-called migration crisis. This would also explain their negative attitude towards women who enter into interethnic relationships. The forum users enthusiastically shared their appreciation of the lack of other minorities4 in Poland and openly expressed anti-immigration views with mostly negative comments on multiculturalism as such. Some forum users also voice the opinion that, due to their mostly negative experience with multiculturalism, they have the right to say that this is the least good thing for Poland: ‘I live in the UK and I am in daily touch with Muslims. I do not want them in Poland, they are religious fanatics, they do not respect women at all.’ Interestingly, this line of argument also touches on the unfair treatment of Polish immigrants by the UK authorities. In their eyes British political elites make intra-EU and specifically Polish migration the biggest problem for the UK. The anti-EU mobility stance was one of the main arguments of the EU sceptics in the Brexit debate prior to the referendum, but the concerns of migrants were raised in cyberspace long before the referendum debates. In the British public’s discussion on purported job theft, benefit tourism, poverty migration and so on these terms were mostly aimed at post-EU accession immigrants, which is perceived as an injustice. ‘And then Cameron will say again that most of the benefits are going to Poles, but he does not see what those Muslims are [sic] doing. Who pays for their living?’

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As this quotation shows, those forum users believe instead that the biggest threat lies in the immigration of people from majority Muslim countries, and that it is due to political correctness that Britons do not speak out against it. This narrative is backed up by a similar discourse on migration issues, especially relating to the recent refugee crisis in Poland and the Polish position on the solution proposed within the EU arena.5 Poland here is perceived as one of the few countries (together with Slovakia, Hungary, Czech Republic. the Visegrad Group) able to form a real opposition to the perceived islamisation of Europe. The perceived clash of civilisations and, again, the need to protect families, homeland and religion correspond with the iconic heroic Polish fight for independence and with the myth of Christianity as a bulwark (Antemurale christianitatis). The argument is built on belonging to Europe, being white, a Pole, a Christian, an EU member, which is a bargaining strategy for achieving manhood in accordance with the masculine hegemonic ideal (Archer, 2001; Chen, 1999; Morris, 2006). ‘They will not make it in Poland. The 16836 will repeat. We will save Europe against Muslim hordes.’ ‘They should be kicked out immediately. Poles who live in England should do something about it. They will save England again just like they did during the second world war.’7 Among many such views, those above stand out for the way in which they connect contemporary migration issues in the UK to historical events, placing the situation in a perceived ongoing clash of civilisations—white and Christian vs. non-white and Muslim, and the aforementioned Antemurale myth and the heroic fights for independence and freedom. Again the argument of white, brave, courageous Polish men, ready to stand up and protect their nation (and others besides), is brought up in the discussion. Gender intertwines interestingly in discussions regarding nationality and history, as mentioned before. The collective myth (here of national heroism and romanticised fights for independence) has been recognised (see e.g. Anthias and Yuval-Davis, 2005; Janion, 2006) as playing an important role in building national identity and pride, and frequent references to this by male forum users helps to ‘achieve manhood’ in a situation of relative deprivation, which emigration can be considered to be.

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Conclusions – gender, ethnicity and national consciousness in flux McIlwaine et al. (2006) claim that gender practices may be negotiated when people migrate and encounter different socio-cultural influences. It firmly appears in the discussions, and also touches upon the current refugee crisis issue and perceived need to protect Europe against Islamisation. Bator (1999) claimed that there were two prevalent discourses on gender in Poland in the 1990s: a nationalist, conservative and patriarchal discourse based on the ideology of the Roman Catholic Church, and a liberal discourse treating women as equal citizens aware of their rights and who should fully participate in public life. McClintock (1997) suggests that all nationalisms are gendered and that the needs of a nation are typically defined by men and so are often connected to their aspirations. Within a nationalist project, women are perceived as ‘mothers of the nation’ and reproducers of national and ethnic group identities and boundaries (Dąbrowska, 2011; Titkow, et al., 2004). Furthermore, attitudes to gender and sexuality in Polish culture are still influenced by patriarchy (see i.e. Marody and Giza-Poleszczuk, 2004). As Liu (1994) argues, patriarchal ideology constructs the meaning of sexuality in such a way that it serves the interests of men. They are allowed to have sexual desires and sexual freedom, but not the women—this is evident in the views expressed by the forum users on women and their inter-ethnic relationships. Almost two decades after Bator (1999) made her remarks, one can observe a revival of nationalism. This observation is supported by an analysis of the political views popular in the Polish diaspora in the UK. Political sympathies among migrants have changed significantly over the last decade—from the majority supporting the liberal Civic Platform in previous parliamentary elections (see Lesińska, 2014) to the rising popularity in the recent presidential election of 2015 of the right-wing presidential candidate, Paweł Kukiz, who formed an alliance with the nationalist politicians (Lesińska, 2015). Dwelling on people’s frustration and sentiments and building on the historical and national mythology when referring to the Polish nation in his public appearances, he was supported by young voters especially, many of whom were voting from abroad. Based on the works of e.g. Sowa (2011) and Janion (2006) and building on the literature on masculinity in post-communist countries, in a situation of radical change (socio-political transformation, emigration) we can observe how those who feel deprived, betrayed by the elites and marginalised in the new society

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compensate for their difficulties by taking pride in tradition and reaching out to history and national mythology. As the hegemonic bargain concept suggests (Chen, 1999), strategies of taking pride and building masculinity around certain myths, history, national identity and race take hold when other masculine ideals are hard to reach. The experience of living in a super-diverse society challenges the traditionally dominant position of men in the Polish context and contributes to the feeling of deprivation when abroad. Thus, the revival of patriotism and nationalism can be interpreted as a hegemonic bargain by male Polish migrants. Migration to the UK provides an opportunity to interact intensively with a liberal context, outside the Catholic Church’s influence and the conservative government’s policies. Yet despite, or precisely because of, their exposure to a super-diverse social environment, migrant men express nationalist, patriarchal and conservative views in forum discussions. Evidently, what the host society will generally not understand or not accept is vented freely in cyber space. This chapter results from work on the research project entitled ‘Polish migrants in the United Kingdom: (re)negotiation and (re)construction of masculinity in the super-diverse environment’, undertaken at the Centre for Migration Research, University of Warsaw. The project is funded under the National Science Centre’s (Poland) PRELUDIUM grant number 2015/17/N/HS6/01176.

Notes 1 Due to the limited space in this paper, I will refer only to the Eurobarometer 2015 survey related to gender equality, in which 68% of researched Poles agreed with the statement that women’s labour market activity is harmful for the family life. In the UK 47% of respondents agreed with this statement. This could, with further analysis of other measures, indicate the prevalence of conservative values in Polish society. 2 In Polish slang “ciapak” or “ciapaty” (plural: ciapaki/ciapaci) would be an equivalent to what “paki” means in British slang. In both cases it is a derogative term to describe members of ethnic minorities living in the UK, mostly originating from Afghanistan, Bangladesh, India, Pakistan. 3 Here, as in other cases in this article, the forum users did not use capital letters when referring to e.g. Black British or Muslims. Probably it is due to the fact that religious denominations are not capitalised in Polish, in contrast to the names of ethnic minorities, which are capitalised.

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4 It should be pointed out here that Polish society also comprises German, Czech, Slovakian, Ukrainian, Belarussian, Lithuanian, Jewish, Russian, Roma, Lemko and Tatar minorities. It would be difficult to assume that speakers are not aware of that, therefore we may assume that they mean a lack of non-European ethnic minorities (although again there are smallsized ethnic minorities of e.g. Vietnamese or Arabs, although mostly in the main Polish cities). 5 Public opinion polls show a significant decrease in support for accepting refugees in Poland, from a survey carried out in the early summer of 2015 to a survey carried out in September 2015 at the peak of the refugee crisis and on the eve of parliamentary elections in Poland, in which migration featured as a highly politicised topic. In September 2015, only 5% (previously 22%) of Poles surveyed agreed that refugees should have help and be allowed to settle in Poland, 37% agreed that they should be offered temporary protection and be required to return when the situation in their countries stabilised (previously 54%). The most significant change is from 15% to 55% of respondents saying that Poland should not host any refugees from countries that are in a state of war/conflict (CBOS, no. 81/2015 and CBOS, no. 122/2015). 6 The forum user is referring to the siege of Vienna in 1683, where John III Sobieski, the king of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, became famous for his victory over the Ottoman Empire. 7 The speaker here is referring to the battle of Britain in 1940 during the Second World War, in which 303 Squadron of Polish pilots made a significant contribution to winning the battle.

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Bator, Joanna (1999). Wizerunek kobiety w polskiej debacie politycznej: perspektywa feministyczna. Warszawa: Instytut Spraw Publicznych. Bourdieu, Pierre (2004). Męska dominacja (L. Kopciewicz, Trans.). Warszawa: Oficyna Naukowa. Bukraba-Rylska, Izabella (2007). “W kręgu przeszłości. Tradycje migracji ludności wiejskiej: rozmiary – kierunki – efekty.” In: Tu i tam: Migracje z polskich wsi za granicę, edited by Maria Wieruszewska. Warszawa: Instytut Rozwoju Wsi i Rolnictwa Polskiej Akademii Nauk. Butler, Judith (2011). Gender trouble: Feminism and the subversion of identity. London: Routledge. Byrne, Michelle (2001). “Data analysis strategies for qualitative research.” AORN Journal, 74(6): 904–905. CBOS (2015). Internauci. Komunikat z badań (Vol. 90/2015). Warszawa: CBOS. Chen, Anthony S. (1999). “Lives at the Center of the Periphery, Lives at the Periphery of the Center: Chinese American Masculinities and Bargaining with Hegemony.” Gender & Society 13(5): 584–607. Connell, Raewyn (2005). Masculinities (2 ed.). Cambridge: Polity Press; Sydney: Allen & Unwin; Berkeley: University of California Press. Connell, R. W. and James W. Messerschmidt (2005). “Hegemonic masculinity: Rethinking the concept.” Gender & Society 19(6): 829–859. Datta, Ayona (2008). “Building differences: material geographies of home(s) among Polish builders in London.” Transactions of the Institute of British Geographers 33(4), 518–531. Datta, Ayona (2009). “Places of everyday cosmopolitanisms: East European construction workers in London.” Environment and planning A, 41(2): 353–370. Dąbrowska, Magdalena (2010). “Męskość w okresie transformacji: zmiana ekonomicznospołeczna a polityka płci na przykładzie debat aborcyjnych w Polsce.” In: Męskość jako kategoria kulturowa. Praktyki męskości, edited by Andrzej Radomski and Magdalena Dąbrowska. Lublin: Książki Books. Dąbrowska, Magdalena (2011). “Męskość, aborcja i ekonomiczne przemiany okresu transformacji.” In: Karuzela z mężczyznami. Problematyka męskości w polskich badaniach społecznych, edited by Katarzyna Wojnicka and Ewelina Ciaputa. Kraków: Oficyna Wydawnicza Impuls. Dąbrowska, Magdalena and Andrzej Radomski, eds. (2010). Męskość jako kategoria kulturowa. Praktyki męskości. Lublin: Książki Books. Delanty, Gerard and Krishan Kumar (2006). The SAGE handbook of nations and nationalism. London: Sage Publications.

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Denzin, Norman K. (1999). “Cybertalk and the method of instances.” In: Doing Internet research: Critical issues and methods for examining the Net, edited by Steve Jones. London: Sage Publications, 107–125. Donato, Katharine M., Gabaccia, Donna, Holdaway, Jennifer, Manalansan, Martin and Patricia R. Pessar (2006). “A glass half full? Gender in migration studies1.” International Migration Review 40(1): 3–26. Duszczyk, Maciej and JakubWiśniewski (2007). Analiza społeczno-demograficzna migracji zarobkowej Polaków do państw EOG po 1 maja 2004 roku. Warszawa: Instytut Spraw Publicznych. Dzwonkowska-Godula, Krystyna (2011). “Publiczny dyskurs o współczesnym ojcostwie w Polsce.” In: Karuzela z mężczyznami. Problematyka męskości w polskich badaniach społecznych, edited by Katarzyna Wojnicka and Ewelina Ciaputa. Kraków: Oficyna Wydawnicza Impuls, 113–139. Eade, John, Drinkwater, Stephen and Michał P. Garapich (2007). Class and ethnicity: Polish migrant workers in London. Full research report. ESRC End of Award Report: RES-00022-1294. Swindon: ESRC. Faist, Thomas (2004). The volume and dynamics of international migration and transnational social spaces. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Fidelis, Malgorzata (2004). “Equality through Protection: The Politics of Women’s Employment in Postwar Poland, 1945–1956.” Slavic Review 63(2): 301–324. Flicker, Sarah, Haans, Dave and Harvey Skinner (2004). “Ethical dilemmas in research on Internet communities.” Qualitative Health Research 14(1), 124–134. Fouron, Georges and Nina Glick Schiller (2001). “All in the family: gender, transnational migration, and the nation-state.” Identities Global Studies in Culture and Power 7(4), 539– 582. Garapich, Michał (2011). “‘It’s a jungle out there. You need to stick together’: Antiinstitutionalism, alcohol and performed masculinities among Polish homeless men in London.” Liminalities: A Journal of Performance Studies 7(3): 1–23. Gawlewicz, Anna (2014). “Beyond ‘us’ and ‘them’: Migrant encounters with difference and reimagining the national.” Fennia: International Journal of Geography 193(2): 198–211. Gawlewicz, Anna (2016). “Beyond openness and prejudice: The consequences of migrant encounters with difference.” Environment and planning A, 48(2), 256–272. Glenn, Evelyn Nakano (2002). Unequal freedom: How Race and Gender Shaped American Citizenship and Labor. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Graff, Agnieszka (2013). “Nacjonalizm”. In: Encyklopedia Gender, edited by Monika RudasGrodzka et al. Warszawa: Wydawnictwo Czarna Owca.

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GUS (2012). Narodowy Spis Powszechny Ludności i Mieszkań 2011. Raport z wyników. Warszawa: Główny Urząd Statystyczny. Hammersley, Martyn and Paul Atkinson (2000). Metody badań terenowych. Poznań: Zysk i S-ka Wydawnictwo. Hampshire, James (2005). Citizenship and belonging: Immigration and the politics of demographic governance in postwar Britain. London: Palgrave MacMillan Hondagneu-Sotelo, Pierrette (1994). Gendered transitions: Mexican experiences of immigration. Oakland: University of California Press. Janion, Maria (2006). Niesamowita słowiańszczyzna. Fantazmaty literatury. Kraków: Wydawnictwo Literackie. Joppke, Christian (1996). “Multiculturalism and immigration: A comparison of the United States, Germany, and Great Britain.” Theory and society 25(4): 449–500. Lesińska, Magdalena (2014). Partycypacja Polaków głosujących za granicą w wyborach krajowych: analiza wyników wyborów parlamentarnych i prezydenckich w Polsce w latach 1990–2011. CMR working Paper 79(137). Lesińska, Magdalena (2015). “Wybory prezydenckie 2015 – jak głosowali Polacy za granicą.” Biuletyn Migracyjny 52 (wrzesień): 3–4. Liu, Lydia (1994). “The Female Body and Nationalist Discourse: the ‘Field of Life and Death’ Revisited.” In: Scattered hegemonies: Postmodernity and transnational feminist practices, edited by Inderpal Grewal & Caren Kaplan. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Mahler, Sarah J. (1999). “Engendering transnational migration A case study of Salvadorans.” American Behavioral Scientist, 42(4): 690–719. Mahler, Sarah J. and Patricia R. Pessar (2001). “Gendered geographies of power: Analyzing gender across transnational spaces.” Identities: Global Studies in Culture and Power 7(4): 441–459. Marody, Mirlosława and Anna Giza-Poleszczuk (2004). Przemiany więzi społecznych: zarys teorii zmiany społecznej. Warszawa: Nauk. Scholar. Mazierska, Ewa (2008). Masculinities in Polish, Czech and Slovak Cinema: Black Peters and Men of Marble. New York: Berghahn Books. McClintock, Anne (1997). “‘No Longer in a Future Heaven’: Gender, Race, and Nationalism.” In: Dangerous Liaisons: Gender, Nation, and Postcolonial Perspectives, edited by Anne McClintock, Aamir Mufti and Ella Shohat. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press. McIlwaine, Cathy, Datta, Kavita, Evans, Yara, Herbert, Joanna, May, Jon and Jane Wills (2006). Gender and ethnic identities among low-paid migrant workers in London. London: Queen Mary, University of London. Morris, Edward W. (2006). An unexpected minority: White kids in an urban school. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.

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Nagel, Joane (2003). Race, ethnicity, and sexuality: Intimate intersections, forbidden frontiers. New York: Oxford University Press. Novikowa, Irina (2012). “Fatherhood and masculinity in postsocialist contexts – lost in translations?” In: Fatherhood in Late Modernity: Cultural Images, Social Practices, Structural Frames, edited by Mechtild Oechsle, Ursula Müller and Sabine Hess. Leverkusen: Barbara Budrich. Osella, Filippo and Caroline Osella (2000). “Migration, money and masculinity in Kerala.” Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute 6(1), 117–133. Pessar, Patricia R. (2005). “Women, gender, and international migration across and beyond the Americas: inequalities and limited empowerment.” Paper presented at the Expert Group Meeting on International Migration and Development in Latin America and the Caribbean, Mexico City. Siara, Bernadetta (2009). “UK Poles and the negotiation of gender and ethnic identity in cyberspace.” In: Polish migration to the UK in the “new” European Union: After 2004, edited by Kathy Burrell. Aldershot: Ashgate. Siara, Bernadetta (2011). “Construction around body within recent Polish migration to the United Kingdom.” Studia Migracyjne-Przeglad Polonijny 37(1(139)): 111–128. Siuda, Piotr (2010). “Prowadzenie badań w Internecie–podstawowe problemy etyczne. ” Ruch prawniczy, ekonomiczny i socjologiczny, 72(4): 187–202. Sowa, Jan (2011). Fantomowe ciało króla: peryferyjne zmagania z nowoczesną formą. Kraków: Universitas. Stola, Dariusz (2010). Kraj bez wyjścia?: migracje z Polski 1949–1989. Warszawa: Instytut Pamie˛ci Narodowej, Komisja Ścigania Zbrodni przeciwko Narodowi Polskiemu. Tereškinas, Artūras (2010). “Men and Social Suffering in Contemporary Lithuania.” Anthropology of East Europe Review 28(1): 23–39. Titkow, Anna (1993). “Political Change in Poland: Cause, Modifier, or Barrier to Gender Equality?” In: Gender politics and post-communism. Reflections from Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union, edited by Nanette Funk and Magda Mueller. New York: Routledge. Titkow, Anna, Duch-Krzystoszek, Danuta and Bogusława Budrowska (2004). Nieodpłatna Praca Kobiet: Mity, Realia, Perspektywy. Warszawa Wydawn: Institutu Filozofii i Socjologii PAN. Urbańska, Sylwia (2008). “Transnarodowość jako perspektywa ujęcia macierzyństwa w warunkach migracji.” In: Migracje kobiet. Perspektywa wielowymiarowa, edited by Krystina Slany. Kraków: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Jagiellońskiego. Urbańska, Sylwia (2015). Matka Polka na odleglosc. Z doświadczeń migracyjnych robotnic 1989– 2010. Wydawnictwo Naukowe UMK.

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5. Future: Nowhere? – Stories of young Roma girls from Neapolitan peripheries1 Kitti Baracsi

Abstract The chapter is based on the stories of young girls living in the informal camps of Neapolitan peripheries and it seeks to explore how the (mis)governance of the ‘Roma migration’ reproduces and gives place to gender inequalities. It also intends to examine how these young girls cope with their situation. A range of issues that are usually mentioned when talking about Roma adolescents, especially girls (e.g. early school leaving, early marriage, exploitation, trafficking, etc.), are addressed and analysed in the chapter mostly through the lens of education. The main thesis of this chapter is that these ‘gender-related’ problems are the outcomes of how the politically created image of Roma and the implementation of Roma policies intersect with the actual adaptation and resistance practices of these communities. Along these lines, it also addresses the responsibility of governance and the limits of those interventions that approach the ‘problems’ of Roma girls as something inherent in their communities’ social and cultural characteristics. On the other hand, it also questions those approaches that, through the appropriation and depoliticisation of the term ‘intersectionality’ and the womanisation of the ‘Roma issue’, tend to reproduce the described dynamics.

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Introduction On an afternoon during the autumn of 2015, we were sitting with the girls on the grass in the Scampia park. Several months had passed since I had first proposed to my colleagues that we hold regular meetings with adolescent girls in the context of a project.2 I was working as an educator in the project, and my role was to implement cooperative learning techniques and other inclusive methods in selected classes of the neighbourhood schools.3 I carried out several activities within the project both in the school and other contexts with the aim of including them in my PhD research project. Although it presented a series of challenges, the group of adolescent4 girls was included in these activities. The main objective of the aforementioned public project was to reduce school absenteeism among Roma students by mediating with families, which in practice meant that a special focus was put on female caretakers within the family. A large number of girls made up the list of absences. Still, there was no clear mandatory element in the project to address the situation of Roma adolescent girls in a particular way. Eventually, the first meeting was held almost at the end of the project. Two social workers of the association held a couple of meetings after I had left the field. I arrived at the meeting inspired by an earlier one that had been carried out in Barra, another peripheral area of Naples, where I developed a research workshop with a small group of Roma girls from Romania who used to attend the school where I carried out collaborative research with the pupils. I followed their pathways to the ‘scuola media’5 and organised some after-school meetings so that they could be further involved in the research. In Scampia I developed the same activity that I had carried out in Barra: ‘imagine yourself ten years from now, what do you see?.’ This game about future expectations usually brings out emotions, revealing struggles and encouraging the ‘players’ to speak out. We were impressed by the sincerity of the girls and their emotional engagement when talking about themselves. A young mother whose baby was in state care and a young girl whose father and brothers were in prison did not expect much from the future. The subject of education was completely omitted during the discussion with the group in Scampia, whereas in the other group mention was made of moving to Rome or becoming a teacher. However, one of the girls in this group also mentioned that she preferred to stay in the camp because she felt more comfortable there. Although we did find girls in the Scampia camp who saw themselves studying in the future, the impression we got from these two different groups was not accidental: at the Scampia camp, we can see how

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problems have accumulated across several generations. Through the stories of these young girls, this chapter looks at how their situation of in-betweenness is reproduced in everyday situations which are marked by the governance of Roma migration and their own strategies of adapting and resisting. Therefore, in it, some challenges of this governance are described and confronted with stories that touch upon questions like school absenteeism, early marriage and exploitation. It offers a critical view on the responsibility of governance and the limits of actual interventions, aiming to contribute to the wider understanding of gender and migration in the case of adolescents in marginalised groups.

The misgovernance of Roma migration and the situation of minors The title of this chapter evokes an article we published a few years ago with two local professionals from Naples under the title of ‘Residence: Nowhere’ (Pierro, Ferulano, Baracsi, 2014). The article analyses a case of statelessness: a boy born in Italy whose parents came from the former Yugoslavia and the difficult process he faced in order to obtain official recognition and eventually seek Italian citizenship. The shift from ius sanguinis to ius soli is an important struggle in the Italian context right now.6 Based on the current legislation, for those who are de facto stateless or have been living in an ‘irregular’ situation (like an informal camp), it is hard to prove their residence and enrolment in the education system. But not only are the children born in the camp confronted with a seemingly hopeless situation, a middle-aged woman from the camp once told me: ‘My dog is more regular than me.’ 7 She had been living in the camp without documents for many decades.8 The so-called ‘old camp’ in Scampia can be considered a laboratory to analyse the impact of ‘nomad’ policies and ‘denied’ human rights in the case of asylum-seekers and migrant Roma from the former SFRY, who arrived during and following the war in Yugoslavia. The informality in the city of Naples and the problems that characterise the Italian situation regarding refugees, migrants and Roma draw a complex picture. There are several stories of young people with an ‘irregular’ background: these either derive from unsolved problems in the West Balkan region and with the EU, the discrepancies of the Italian system or both. The difficulties in accessing the labour market are combined with inadequate living conditions and strong discrimination in various fields.

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The specific policies towards Roma in Italy create a policy trap not only for third-country nationals but also for EU Roma citizens. Naples was (SchmollSemi, 2014) and still is a transit point for undocumented migrants and has, therefore, become ‘safe space’ for them while they regularise their situation. However, for Roma migrants, it is more like a trap: informality enables them to access Italy and make their living, but in many cases, they cannot move forwards towards a (permanent) regular status. On the other hand, many have left the camps and have either gone to other countries, returned to their country of origin or taken advantage of commuting, while becoming ‘regularised’ is a rare event. The lack of opportunities for regular employment makes regularisation attempts more difficult. Visa requirements and the worker visa quota keep several Roma and non-Roma migrants in legal limbo.32 Difficulties with regularisation (derived from migration law issues33) intersect with the realisation of the nomadisation and securitisation policies towards Roma on a regional/local level that affect housing and education, in addition to commercial activities and labour market integration.11 The policies that keep people in a legal void or limbo often force them to commute and these cases are later labelled examples of ‘nomad culture’. By ‘being governed’ as Roma, regardless of their actual legal status, campzenship is established instead of citizenship (Sigona, 2015) in the Italian context. Romanian Roma migrants are somehow in a pseudo-irregular situation: authorities often treat them as if they were non-EU citizens and ‘irregular’ third country immigrants (in Naples, one of the ‘best practices’ often promoted by the city is a ‘refugee centre’ for Romanian Roma migrants). If they are living in an informal camp, it is virtually impossible to obtain an official permanent residence permit, given that they do not have a regular employment status and officially recognised address. Differences between the experiences of Roma from Romania and ex-Yugoslavia mentioned in this chapter are not simply the results of different legal circumstances: they are rather linked to the permanent temporariness that characterises the Roma camp (Picker and Pasquetti, 2015). What counts is how long they have been in this situation, i.e. to what extent it has become the default possibility in their horizon.

About the research The findings of the research are based on ethnographic data collected in Naples during different research projects between 2011 and 2016. First and foremost,

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the data come from my PhD research and from other research into economic strategies.12 The outcomes of the collaboration carried out with local professionals, including an analysis of young people’s legal situation in the camp and an inquiry on the experiences of a social project,13 represent an important contribution to my work. Ethnographic data come from multi-sited fieldwork in schools and camps in Scampia and Barra.14 Regarding research at Barra schools, I followed a group of girls, some of who were in the last grade of elementary school and some the first grade of secondary school. I also attended meetings with families and educational events both in Scampia and Barra. I used collaborative research methods in classrooms and mental maps drawn by the students about their neighbourhood and the city. In addition to this, I organised group discussions with young girls focusing on the question of future and everyday racism. In my paper, emphasis is put on the situation of young girls in this context, both on those who were born in the camp and those who followed their families to it. I also visited families and students in both camps. The research context Before describing the locations of my fieldwork, I would like to highlight that the peripheral position of the neighbourhoods and their representation in public and scientific discourses as problematic are issues that should be analysed, as they result from the spatial politics involved in the construction of these places as research sites. The concept of going to the periphery, to the ‘ghetto’ or Roma camp to carry out research is based on such spatial politics that turn those places into peripheral ones. An ethnography does not simply take place somewhere, it actively participates in the making of that place, and such a reflection is a crucial part of our analysis (Cairns, 2013: 335). In the case of Naples, it is even more important to highlight not only the stigmatising media coverage it tends to receive, but also the importance it has gained in social scientific research, including anthropology. Dines argues for the critical ethnography of Naples: ‘Naples is comprised by an overlapping web of imaginary and real urbanisms that respond to divergent and often incompatible needs and desires. Fathoming how and why these are differentiated, and the circumstances in which they interconnect tells us far more about the nature of urban change than reconceiving the city on a new epistemological map of the Italian South’ (Dines, 2012:6). On the other hand, I learned about the city from its margins, getting my first experiences at places seen as ‘no-go’ zones in the mainstream imagination, especially for a foreign white

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woman. Therefore, my experience of Naples was based, first and foremost, on the knowledge of the peripheries. Scampia faces many problems that derive from urban planning issues, along with the evolution of the neighbourhood,15 which largely expanded during the 1980s due to the need for housing after the earthquake. The internal migration of Neapolitans and the first arrivals of Roma from former Yugoslavia took place in the same period according to local testimonies.16 Based on this narrative, the inflow of Roma during the war in the 1990s was directed to a place that was already known to many members of the community. The Roma camp literally crosses a road that leads out of the city, and right now its closest neighbour is a recycling depot, while waste removal from the camp is an issue that has not been solved for decades.17 Barra is another Neapolitan periphery—though less famous—with some similar characteristics: among those are the high level of unemployment and the strong presence of criminality. The camp18 has been there for over a decade and a half and its inhabitants, who come from Romania (mainly from Călărași), identify themselves as spoitori. They often also reject the name ‘Roma’ when talking about their precise ethnic identification and emphasise the difference between them and Roma from the former Yugoslavia.19 The old camp in Scampia is an informal camp half-way between a shantytown and a formal camp: it has been somehow officially acknowledged through various administrative acts and implemented public projects. The camp of S. Maria del Pozzo is also an informal camp, with the significant difference that its inhabitants are EU citizens, even if in practice this fact does not seem to make much of a difference, as I mentioned earlier. It is close to the railway line and it is visible from the train, but the local population of Barra hardly ever goes there. The camps are made up of heterogeneous communities in terms of their ethnic belonging, socio-economic status and actual legal status.20 During their interventions, public authorities often overlook the stratification within (segregated) Roma ‘communities’, although the complex hierarchies and gender roles within the former21 should not be neglected. Problems can be better explored considering age, gender, race, nationality and socio-economic status, therefore extending the analysis to the actual context of the camps: the neighbourhood level. This focus can help us avoid taking a simplistic ethnic approach. While in the same camp some are living in poverty, those in a better economic situation might have a substantially different experience. At the same time, families from the camp and Neapolitan families living in the blocks of flats of Scampia have common experiences. Similarly, although the Romanian Roma

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of Barra are inhabitants of Barra, as long as they are governed as nomads these EU Roma citizens will end up having experiences similar to those of asylumseekers from the former Yugoslavia. Intersectionality is an important approach to analysing multiple positions within Roma communities (Kóczé, Raluca, 2009 and Jovanovic, Daróczi, 2015), while it is fundamental to preserve its critical and political character, as I will explain later. But why adolescent girls? Regarding irregular situations, especially in the case of minors, it is difficult to find a way out of camouflaged lives in society (Chauvin and Garcés-Mascareñas, 2014). Lind argues about the importance of including children in political research, due to their general invisibility and, moreover, the specificities of how the political agency is lived and experienced by children (Lind 2016:3). In the case of children in an irregular situation, ‘their liminal position of being deportable and at the same time “citizens in the making”’ makes these children’s actions and perceptions a fruitful case for understanding how the political agency of children arises’ (Lind 2016: 11.). The situation of minors is, therefore, a good angle from which to analyse problems in their continuity: how they are affected by their parents’/grandparents’ situation and what future they can imagine for themselves. International organisations like the UN are more and more concerned about the role women and girls have in development and migration. Moreover, there is also a growing interest about women and girls within the Roma issue, as I will discuss later. The fact that I chose to write about adolescent girls does not mean that girls are the most or the only ones affected by structural inequalities. As a matter of fact, in the city of Naples, for instance, we know about cases of sexual exploitation involving male Roma minors. I decided to address the question of Roma girls because of the narratives of public projects and actual practices in the social and educational field that I have come across during my research. These narratives often render underlying mechanisms that create or reproduce inequalities invisible. Romanticised, stereotypical images of Roma women, as well as those that represent them as pure victims that have been deprived of their rights, are all part of this reflection. While there is a common element in the situation of girls—in some cases poverty—in other cases, the economic power of the family is actually the element that reproduces similar patterns. As they are more influenced by hierarchies related to their economic situation, as a result of the role (and value) of their work and reproduction, their possibilities of coming

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out from this permanent temporariness are much more limited compared to those of their male peers.22 As I was preparing for the first presentation of this paper at a workshop and looking for images of the camp on the web to illustrate my speech, I suddenly came across pictures of the women and children I had met during my fieldwork. I was quite surprised to see that these very stereotypical photos were the first ones to show up during my online search. They provide a stigmatised image of the camp and its inhabitants, portraying some sort of human poverty zoo where third parties keep on arriving with projects and promises (usually with the help of gatekeepers who are mainly NGO members), but in the end, the situation stays the same. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that people in the camp do not trust the promise of ‘giving voice to them and their problems’ and usually try to receive some compensation for the activities that involve them (interview, photo, etc.). I once witnessed how a model/stylist wanted to carry out a project with a young Roma girl: ‘a real fashion photo, inspired by the Roma culture’. She was looking for a beautiful Roma girl, but I remember she was very disappointed because, although the association she had contacted introduced several girls to her, none of them matched the image of young Roma women she had in mind. This is a perfect illustration of the prevailing polarised image of Roma women.23 Research positionality The research upon which this chapter is built consists of a critical and engaged ethnography.24 As I wrote elsewhere, ‘Tension comes to the surface when trying to be both critical and engaged, i.e. when attempting to collaborate with many different actors in order to produce research knowledge that can be applied in the local context in some forms, while being committed to the criticism of categories widely used by the different actors with the purpose of revealing discriminative practices. On the other hand, this is exactly what made the research experience complex. First of all, when it is positioned according to its local ‘utility’, it has the potential to enable dialogue and the emergence of certain issues, and it implies very different ethical and epistemological standpoints that must always be analysed according to the existing power relations’ (Baracsi, 2016:86). While in the research activities I opted for collaborative research, in an attempt to involve different actors (students, Roma and non-Roma, teachers, educators, etc.), in this paper, I focus on young Roma girls who actively produced ethnographic data for the research. When talking about collaborative research methods or participatory research, the goal often seems to be to restore the authority of those

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who are considered to be powerless or voiceless in the research. In my approach, I do not consider collaborative methods as a sufficient way to restore authority, but instead, I interpret them as a way to problematise it. Thapar-Björkert and Henry, in their positions of non-white, but ‘Western’ women, provide fieldwork examples in their study that question the polarisation of the researcher and researched into powerful/powerless or oppressor/victim categories. They found themselves in a complex and changing positionality during their research project, in which they were not always the powerful actors. They contrast those approaches that for the sake of reflecting on power relations describe researched persons as the ones without agency (Thapar-Björkert and Henry, 2004). The question of agency is not only a matter of research positionality but also a central point in the analysis, which is why I will address this matter below. In the spirit of full disclosure, I would like to state what the research participants knew about my life: they were aware that I am the mother of a Roma child and that I come from a CEE country. Issues of maternity or housing related to my own life were part of these dialogues, while my actual perceived role—which changed during the research—of being a young student/researcher with a fixed contract/ educator working at an NGO, made a substantial impact on the research itself, as I will explain further on through a conflictive case.

Stories from the field The list of dead souls One afternoon in April 2016 I accompanied Lorena to her house from school. At the time she was in the first grade of the scuola media. I asked her about the other Roma students and how many of them went to the same school, why they had opted for that institute and how she felt in her class. While she did not have any particular problems at school, she told me that she did not want to go. When I asked her why, she answered: ‘because I get bored’. Based on my classroom observations, this feeling of boredom was quite widespread. Getting annoyed is just a symptom of deeper problems: the students—regardless of their country of origin—tend to drop out from these schools, as was confirmed by the teachers and directors themselves and as the official statistics show.25 Therefore, instead of focusing on the role of Roma children in their communities, I emphasise the discrepancies that exist between the necessary skills for everyday survival and the knowledge provided by the school: this problem affects almost everyone in these

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neighbourhoods. More importantly, in the case of Roma students, the school becomes even less of a channel of mobility due to the (legal) limbo which they live in. Hence, one of the key problems is the opportunities on the horizon, not only from their point of view but from what other people expect from them. Even the most supportive teachers or mediators are so concerned about the ‘matter of facts’—as they call it—that they will not study further and they will not ‘change their lives’, i.e. get out of the camp, find a job, marry later—as it was a simple decision to take. When I interviewed the leader of an association who works with the students living in the ‘Vele’,26 the problems regarding schooling that the former listed were the same that usually came up when talking about Roma students. Those from the ‘Vele’ carry a stigma that works like the ‘ethnic’ one. What establishes a difference between the Roma and Neapolitans living in poverty—even in the cases of Roma students that are doing well at school—is that there is a tendency to explain their situation based on the fact that they are Roma: i.e. they are described under the predetermination of their ‘nomad tradition’. As I explained above, underlying legal problems in addition to housing issues and a bad economic situation in many cases, reproduce what is seen as the ‘nomadic lifestyle’.27 Therefore, it becomes a rule that is also supported by a cultural explanation: they ‘will have the same life, carrying around the collected metal’ (as the secretary and teachers of different schools told me during the research). Though early school leaving is not a problem exclusively related to Roma girls, it seems as if less is expected of them because of an imagined destiny in which they will get married soon. ‘The list of dead souls’ is how the social workers of an NGO referred to the list of enrolled students that did not attend school.28 It is also the title we gave to a paper co-authored with an NGO social worker.29 In our publication we included an excerpt written by her that describes the almost ridiculous, yet desperate search for a girl who was on the aforementioned list: “We had been looking for Jasmina M. for almost a year, scouring every inch of the non-authorized Roma camp of Scampia … we found Jasmina almost by chance; when we were already convinced that it was a false name. …We were not really going to go on with the list, but just for fun, we asked the boys on the street if they perhaps knew Jasmina. They said yes and brought us to the last barrack at the end of the camp, where the ‘Asse Mediano30’ ends. In disbelief, we stopped in front of

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the ruined structure and almost whispering we asked for Jasmina: five women of different ages came to the window to see us. They were roundish, smiling, dishevelled and jostling while looking at us, and then they happily asked us what we wanted as they continued to cook. We made an effort to understand the language, ‘but the school—they understood, the school, Jasmina cannot go, his father died 6 months ago, life must go on, how we make it, Jasmina is big, you could cancel from the list, how could I manage to go, I cannot.’ We started to laugh with them mostly we were tired, and because at some point a hen came out of nowhere in the middle of the barrack, walked around and then disappeared. What else could we say?”31 The ‘social workers’ were employed by an NGO in a publicly funded project aimed at reducing the school dropout rate and ‘improving the socio-hygienic situation’ through mediation and consultation. The idea of them going around the camp desperately seeking the students on the list seems almost ridiculous, but until recently it was, in fact, the most widespread method of intervention and these professionals are still expected to carry out such activities.32 As a dispositive, the camp has its effects not only on the Roma, but on social workers as well (Daniele and Persico, 2013). It seems that in the policies addressing the education of Roma students (which are usually embedded in social policies and their centric element is still mediation with families) the problem is seen as one of quantity not of quality, and of control. I met Stefania several times in the camp while performing my role as an ‘educator’ in the abovementioned project, as I was working with her brothers, first grader twins. In line with my role, when I was talking to her, the issue of her school status came up. The NGO social workers tried to find the girl’s name, but it was not on the lists. Finally, it turned out that the mother had already taken her out of school because they ‘were about to leave the country’. Whether this was true or not—in this case, one year after cancelling her school enrolment they were still in the camp—these dynamics are familiar to those who work in these projects. Some families tend not to enrol their children in school to avoid problems derived from school absenteeism. This is often the result of ‘mobility’: they go back and forth because they do not have a regular status, or in other cases for family or economic reasons. These movements, that seem to be an essential part of the ‘nomadic’ lifestyle from the cultural or ethnic lenses criticised above, should be interpreted as forced elements caused by system failures.33

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Gender comes into the picture, not only in relation to early marriage and begging—I will discuss these two elements later on—but based on inequalities embedded in the whole context. These are reinforced by the permanent temporariness in which they live that places them in a strange, in-between position also when it comes to accessing services. ‘There was a case when going around the camp we met two girls and one of the girls’ mother. The mother’s answer to the question of why they were not in school was that they do not want to go. The two girls were smiling and seemed to be excited about the question of going or not going to school. It did not seem like they had decided not to go to school and they did not give a clear answer. The mother continued to explain: “it is dangerous because of the drug consumers and what can I do if she does not help at home? She is too old to go to the fifth grade, but she cannot go to the scuola media’.34 This kind of answer usually became part of the widely accepted narratives that explain these stories through the burdens these girls have at home. At the same time, hardly anyone ever questions why the nursery operates only until midday or what happens to those who cannot rely on the support of family members. These two problematic issues came up during the meetings held in the context of the same project with Roma mothers.35 The image of the Roma community with its cultural habits, including a certain idealisation of solidarity within the community and an approach to reproduction, makes it harder to take a closer look at the problems. Not only do the public administration, school and social services take this approach, but sometimes also NGO employees. These issues are not Roma-specific at all, but rather mirrors of the whole context. However, the situation in the camps and the duties of these mothers (including begging or going to collect iron) means extra burden in an already complicated context regarding gender equity. The script of arranged marriages36 In 2013, I was working on a research project about the economic strategies of Roma communities in Naples and the province of Caserta. One day, I went to an association’s office to conduct an interview on this matter. There was a man in the office who used to live in an informal camp in Naples, but was doing his civil service because he had been convicted of a minor crime. Among several other topics, he also talked about a bus full of Bulgarian girls which from time to time arrived at the camp where I carried out my research. They came to the camp to get married, he told me. I knew from other cases that marriage arrangements are often supported by contacts provided both by relatives and modern technologies,

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like social media websites. However, this story was new to me. I was not able to collect evidence about it, but knowing the local context, I would not have been surprised if it had indeed been true. The explanations that address this phenomenon exclusively as an element of Roma culture and its strong patriarchy run the risk of overlooking wider problems. When talking about the cultural roots of early marriage, families often mention their intention of keeping sexually mature girls isolated in order to preserve their virginity, which is the key to ensuring a ‘good’ marriage agreement. While on the one hand we acknowledge the existence of such customs, on the other we have to question whether retaining these practices in contemporary Italy is the result of strong ties to traditions or of the complex processes of exclusion in which the Roma policies, the camp, the informality, the un- or semi-documented migration and the lack of perspectives maintain these practices going. If a family’s high position counts only within the camp and the kinship network, and can be maintained through a good marriage, or if a poor family marries its daughter for economic survival reasons, we must reflect critically upon these issues. I wrote the following about my first fieldwork back in 2011: ‘One afternoon we took a walk in the camp with a member of the association … and he informed the girls about a theatre project for children and adolescents in Scampia that had started that week. A girl that was a bit older (14 years old) was coming, and the girls and the colleague asked her: “Do you come to the theatre project this year again?” “No, I am already married” she said proudly and walked away with a barrow full of garbage’.37 Most narrations set marriage at the top of the priorities and obligations of the camp inhabitants. What is more interesting, though, is that despite the fact that school absenteeism is usually blamed on marriage by the school, social services and NGOs, it is also accepted as a cultural trait and therefore becomes a good enough explanation, like in the case of ‘keeping virginity’. There is a probably more important ‘cultural’ trait that seems to be overlooked: Kovai’s findings based on her anthropological research implemented in a Hungarian settlement highlight the importance of controlling the speech in the community, where statements are only valid in certain present contexts and are always changing, and where having a child means ensuring that the speech does not question the existence of the relationships, therefore guaranteeing a kind of recognition ‘safety’. ‘The “who am I” question is identical with the position from which I speak, whether I am a sibling or an in-law, someone’s daughter or son-in-law. But all of these relations originate from marriage. Someone always

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belongs to someone. If a Gypsy speaks well, he/she always recognises the position within the web of relations from which his/her words have power, from where he/she can give direction to the speech of others. The security created by such a position is thus what empowers them’ (Kovai, 2010). This power of speech based on a context and situation is what in several cases drives family decisions. And not only do the families take part in this game in which being told by whom is more important than what happens, but also the NGOs that work with them. Those who give support to families, try to convince mothers that have ‘lost trust in their daughters’ to send them to school, help women with issues around their reproductive health, enter into these negotiations where their power of influencing the questions also depends on the position they speak from. The school, the social services and the NGOs are not external to these dynamics; they are part of them, as they are an essential element of the seemingly prewritten scripts. They ‘respect the customs’ and adjust expectations and the alternative solutions they offer to them. With all this in mind, not only do they participate but also produce, reproduce and modify such cultural traits.38 The stories of transgressions and endeavours to escape usually end up with the very same results in each case, often perceived by the social workers as ‘rituals’, or prewritten screenplays. I remember Mirjana’s face as she was sitting on the grass: it seemed to me that all she could think about was how to escape from the camp. In the past she had stayed out for a few nights and it was believed that she had been with a guy, so the usual ‘script’ was set in motion: the mother would try to convince everybody that she was still a virgin, trying to get her married as soon as possible, never letting her go to school again, even if the school year was about to finish. The social workers tried to convince the mother to let her go to school. The mother desperately tried to keep control over the narration of this story, while the others took for granted whatever was said. The mother wanted to send her to another Italian city in the North, to a possible spouse they had found through their networks, but finally, she did not go. It seemed that she had a boyfriend in the camp for a while, which covered the situation, but she ran away with the other boy later on and came back to the camp with him, this time as a couple. Now they have a child.39 Those familiar with the topic can say that this is the most typical story that can happen. While runaway stories are often a way to get non-arranged marriages recognised, and cannot be taken as real endeavours to escape, this case shows that the clashes between different expectations can contribute to the reproduction of these problems.

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The question of marriage cannot be understood exclusively along a cultural or a human rights approach. The arranged marriage is an important economic activity between families across countries and groups with different economic backgrounds, which in the best cases ensures pride (and money) for the girl’s family and an important value in the boy’s family because of her skills (either at home or work). Moreover, it is an institution that strengthens the relations between families. More importantly, an arranged marriage in which everything works out well is insurance for the girl’s future in a context where the ‘successful’ mobility strategies are limited, especially for girls. The price paid for the girl often serves as a guarantee (or at least a deterrent factor) in the cases of ‘divorce’. This is not Roma-specific; it rather reflects the problematic position of women in economic inequalities on the margins of society. Besides this, the will and the rights of the spouses, including those of the boys, are clearly missing from this picture. I remember Marco telling me about his marriages, all arranged by his family against his will, and that in two of them the girls ended up being sent away. This story shows the ultimate vulnerability of girls who marry boys in a foreign country, in an informal camp and can find themselves on the streets from one day to the next, but also the way boys (often at a very young age) are affected by these arrangements. The vulnerability of girls married in a foreign country without the protection of their family and the institutions opens a whole new chapter within this issue. Complex hierarchies I met Anna more times in the metro than at the camp, as she was working exactly on the line that I used to go to Scampia. We also met in the camp, and I knew her story because I had conducted an interview for the research on economic strategies with her mother and father-in-law. The workers of the NGOs knew her very well because she was involved in different programmes (including a theatre project). She was married to a boy against his parents’ will. Her motherin-law has a different position compared to other mothers in the camp, she works together with her husband, and also seems to be more permissive regarding her daughter. Still, Anna had a very low position in this hierarchy where her only value appeared to be the few euros she managed to bring home. I saw Anna getting worse and worse physically and mentally while giving birth to her second child (one of her children is sick) and being forced to beg for money every day with the first one while her husband was in prison. This story shows the complexity of patriarchal power relations, where older women can have ultimate power over

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the daughter-in-law. While she decided to follow her will about her marriage, she was forced into a hierarchical system within the family that can be considered exploitation, while from the family’s point of view she just took the position she deserved: she was in a marriage that the family did not want. She took with her the small child and begged for money, which from a legal point of view could be considered exploitation, while we see that this is only the last part of a complex hierarchic chain. Power relations constructed through marriage often give an oppressed role to the daughter-in-law, which continues after her children are born. In most of the cases, the role of the grandmother is to make decisions about the grandchildren, including in relation to their schooling. Furthermore, the girl runs the risk of being dispatched by the family, as I mentioned above. One day I met Anna at the central station, and she asked me for money. When I refused to give it to her, she got angry with me and told me that I was like the rest of the NGO workers, which was something that I had never been told before. I tried to persuade her to ask for a job in the association’s restaurant but that just made her angrier. This scene not only shows how my position drastically changed by being perceived as one of those who work at NGOs but also reveals tensions and the lack of appropriate interventions. When the girls of the school in Barra were drawing mental maps of the city, one of them drew on both pages: on one side, she sketched the camp and the school, and on the other one the square next to the railway station. This is a metaphor of her double life: the one she has in the camp and the school and the one she lives over the weekends in the city centre, probably begging (and as she said, ‘eating kebab’). As several reports have highlighted, child begging in Italy40 is hardly ever investigated as a form of trafficking by the Italian police, partly because it is considered to be a cultural phenomenon. Not only is trafficking excluded from this picture, but the concept of exploitation in general (within the family) becomes compromised by a ‘cultural’ approach. There was a judgment of the Supreme Court that overruled another judgment of a mother who was begging with her child. The court declared that it was not exploitation of minors for enslavement (according to the Italian terminology ‘riduzione in schiavitù’) as it was limited in time and also because ‘begging constitutes a condition of traditional life rooted in the culture and mentality of some populations’. 41 The court highlights that it is important not to criminalise activities that are part of the traditional culture (in this case the ‘nomadic culture’). As I learned from the research on economic strategies, on the one hand, begging is work that requires special skills, contacts and strategies and, therefore, it should be interpreted in

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terms of work and agency (Tesăr, 2015). Also, in some cases, begging among the women of the camp in Scampia became that kind of income that ensures ‘stability’ while their husband is in prison, or when he is ‘not a reliable’ provider. Therefore, begging can also open the door to certain independence. The other side of the question is—and it is especially important in the case of minors or young female adults—that it operates in a social context in which a certain tolerance towards beggars exists in line with the idea that they should not enter the social system and stay visibly distinct and isolated. Begging is seen as a mere cultural trait, notwithstanding the multiple hierarchies and complex power relations embedded in a context, which in turn leads to a false tolerance that preserves the status quo. On the one hand, when analysing exploitation and who is forced by what, as was portrayed in Anna’s story, we must take into consideration the complex underlying processes and the forcing potential of the context, which in many cases recalls the question of ‘permanent temporariness’. On the other hand, when thinking about interventions in the case of begging, the logic of victimisation works along the logic of exclusion, without offering any structural changes.

Intersectionality or the womanisation of the Roma issue? A fragile balance Talking about ‘other women’ seems to locate sexism in the other culture, in the other group, thus failing to look at the complex underlying structural problems. This process often contributes—even if unintentionally—to the view that criticisms of racism and sexism mutually exclude each other. Also, this approach often promotes a ‘white middle-class’ type of feminism when defining and struggling against sexism within this group, instead of encouraging the actors themselves to find their own objectives and means of resistance.42 Volpp expresses similar concerns: ‘We will not reach new possibilities through simplistic and binary freezing of difference and sameness, of women vis-a-vis men, and of “us” vis-a-vis minority and Third World communities. We need to learn to see and challenge the multiple, overlapping, and discrete oppressions that occur both within and across white/Western and Third World/nonwhite communities. Otherwise, we remain mired in the battle of feminism versus multiculturalism’ (Volpp, 2001: 1218). Although intersectionality is a central concept in feminist research debates (Christensena and Qvotrup Jensen, 2012), we must be careful not

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to depoliticise it. Bilge criticises the appropriation of the term ‘intersectionality’ and its abuse by both politics and academia: ‘Similar to routine declarations of commitment to equity and diversity, ornamental intersectionality allows institutions and individuals to accumulate value through good public relations and “rebranding” without the need to actually address the underlying structures that produce and sustain injustice’ (Bilge 2013: 408). Likewise, the focus on Roma women both as ‘victims’ and as ‘the keys’ to community empowerment in my research field came without reflection on either wider gender inequality problems or other structural problems (which reproduce and reinforce the former). This shows how such an approach can be transformed and inserted into the already existing cultural essentialist practice. The number of privately and EU funded Roma women-focused projects has grown in recent years both on a national and international level, and they usually seem to involve a women’s rights or an empowerment approach. All this though in the contexts where I work in practice often creates a vicious circle: the questions of schooling and health are delegated completely to women as the ‘key access points to the community’, which in turn often reinforces very traditional role divisions and puts further burdens on them, even in terms of meeting the expectations of teachers and social workers, among other actors. This womanisation of ethnicity on local level mirrors higher-level policy discourses about which Kóczé writes: ‘the CoE treated minority and diversity issues solely as issues of culture and tradition. The shortfall of this conceptualisation is that it does not emphasise the deep-rooted, social-structural causes of inequality. Romani women are seen as “mediators” between their communities and society. This view puts women in the gendered role of “peacemakers” who seek reconciliation, rather than justice’ (Kóczé and Raluca, 2009: 54). The image of Roma girls as it appears in policy documents creates a sharp division among academics themselves: this can be well exemplified in the debate about the CoE Thematic Action Plan on the Inclusion of Roma and Travellers, which took place on the mailing list of the Academic Network on Romani Studies. A statement published on the website of the CoE under the title of ”Women’s rights, entrepreneurship among highlights in the new Roma inclusion action plan” triggered the debate. Some of the network members criticised that in its expressions the stereotypical image of Roma girls and women was reinforced, attributing to them problems such as early marriage and begging. Roma female activists have been fighting for a long time to put the problems of Roma women on the human rights agenda. At the same time, connecting

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Roma women to early marriage and trafficking in a CoE statement can reinforce the already existing stereotypical image. Gheorghe in the introduction to a recent special issue on Roma feminism asks: ‘what do we need to reframe Roma women from a social issue to a political subject?’ and highlights the lack of attention to reproductive rights and structural violence, while ‘reducing them to their ethnic and/or social issue, hindering their gender identity or pinpointing it through their bodies and biological grounds’ (Gheorghe, 2016: 15). In a previous article, Vincze looks at the racialisation of Roma women in Europe. Based on the Romanian case, she describes the silencing of Roma women’s voices under the cover of identity politics and social inclusion policies. She also speaks of the introduction of a ‘false feminist tone, which was seemingly deeply concerned about their subordination to community norms regarding early marriage and childbirth’. The article highlights the double challenge that Roma feminists face while working on the protection of the rights of women and children within their communities and combating the mainstream imaginary that actually reproduces convictions ‘according to which Roma are an “inferior race” performing pre-modern/primitive practices of life’ (Vincze, 2016: 164.) and that relates to the stories described above. However, this is not unidirectional. As Piasere underlines, Roma people always react and adapt to non-Roma policies but ‘what we see are Romani systems which are flexible, open, never definitive, always highly localized and changing: always influenced by gadjé policies in their making and remaking, but never completely dependent on these policies, to which Romani families respond with modalities absolutely unanticipated by the gadjé’ (Piasere, 2004: 88, translation from the review of Sigona, 2005). Recent studies on Roma camps (see, for example, Picker, 2012 and Picker et al., 2015) show the relevance of rethinking Roma camps along bipolitical accounts. As Scheperd-Hughes writes in her book about the violence of everyday life in Brazil: ‘In writing against cultures and institutions of fear and domination, the critical thinker falls into a classic double bind. Either one attributes great explanatory power to the fact of oppression … or one can try to locate the everyday forms of resistance in the mundane tactics and practices of the oppressed, the weapons of the weak, described by Michel de Certeau (1980), James Scott (1985), and others. Here one runs the risk of romanticising human suffering or trivialising its effects on the human spirit, consciousness, and will’. (Scheperd-Hughes: 1992: 533) She argues for a middle ground that recognises both the power of poverty and oppression and the creativity that people use to ensure their existence by stating that we can say that their existence (and not

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resistance) is a tentative resilience. The young girls whose stories were told in this chapter use their creativity to cope with their situation within a limited space.

Conclusion This chapter has sought to provide an insight into the stories of young Roma girls in the Neapolitan peripheries. The chapter shows a few cases in which the complex interrelatedness of migration, the ‘making of Roma’ and gender appears to be important in relation to migration governance. More precisely it shows simple everyday cases in which being governed as Roma plays out as genderrelated problems and makes it impossible for them to go from camouflaged to regular situations while being born or settled in this territory. The stories clearly show how, at a local level, even the most positive goals can be transformed and how they can end up reproducing a stigmatised image of Roma girls. Therefore, it is important to look at the way in which institutions contribute to the establishment of factors that reproduce pre-existing problems. Essentialist approaches redirect our attention to the problems of certain groups. In doing so, patriarchal logic in the mainstream society that create multiple disadvantages for determined groups, including Roma girls, and the politics that produce and reproduce the socioeconomic context in which this happens are not addressed. We can see the vulnerability of girls reinforced by the cultural lens of institutions that, at the same time, seem to abandon them. Defining them above all as Roma seems to strengthen processes that further contribute to exclusion. Many of the problems described in this chapter could have been resolved better if Roma were not treated as a special ‘cultural’ group within the issue of migration because attention would be paid to the actual legal situation and the racism and structural inequalities they face.43 Consequently, the interventions that aim to empower Roma women and girls and challenge patriarchy in these communities should always come from a wider context and focus on the legal status, as well as on their access to services and the labour market. Otherwise, they run the risk of having even more burdens and responsibilities without changing any of the causal circumstances that the actual governance of Roma migration is largely responsible for.

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Notes 1 The research leading to these results has received funding from the European Union’s Seventh Framework Programme (FP7/2007–2013) under grant agreement n° 316796. INTEGRIM: Integration and international migration: pathways and integration policies. This paper was first submitted and presented at the workshop entitled ‘Gender and Migration: a dynamic and reciprocal relationship’ at the IGOT in Lisbon on 10 March 2016. 2 Progetto per l’inclusione di bambini e adolescenti rom, sinti e caminanti. For more information see: http://www.lavoro.gov.it/temi-e-priorita/infanzia-e-adolescenza/focus -on/integrazione-rom-sinti-e-caminanti/Pagine/default.aspx. 3 I chose to take part in the project and integrate the research activities into it because my initial plan to carry out ethnographic research as an individual researcher at the schools of this neighbourhood in Scampia—as I had done in Barra—did not seem to be very feasible based on a series of reasons. Also, I opted to collaborate with a wide range of local actors. Nevertheless, the public project and my dual role are the subject of analysis in my dissertation. Regarding the problems of public projects for Roma within the Italian context see Berenice, Compare, Lunaria, Osservazione, 2013 and Daniele and Persico, 2013. 4 The concept of adolescence is a rather problematic one, especially in the context of this research. Regarding adolescence in an Italian Roma camp see Daniele, 2013. 5 The first grade of secondary school in Italy. 6 The campaign called ‘Italiani senza cittadinanza’advocates for a change in the legislation. 7 See more about the question of statelessness in Sigona, 2016, or for concrete examples from the old camp see Pierro, Barbara, Ferulano, Emma and Kitti Baracsi: Residence: Nowhere. Roma Rights Journal 2014/1. 8 This camp is included in the new pilot programme of the CoE, called Justrom, which is about to be launched, provides legal support and has a special focus on women’s access to justice. 9 However, there is a so-called sanatoria, for example, for the colf e badanti workers (domestic workers and caregivers). This exception obviously favours the regularisation of certain immigrant groups, instead of the reform of a law that includes several discriminative elements. 10 See the Bossi-Fini law (189/2002) and its later amendments and additions. 11 The Roma are not recognised as a minority in Italy, though in many regions legislations about the tutelation of ‘nomad culture’. have been around for decades. The most influentional regulations were the ones introduced because of the “nomad emergency” that took place from 2008 onwards. Currently, the Roma issue in Italy seems to be stuck between these old practices and the objectives of the National Roma Inclusion Strategy.

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There is also a proposal (and debate) about the recognition of the Roma minority. Still, local practices correspond more to the nomad emergency approach. 12 The Labour Market of the Others: Economic strategies in Four Eastern European Roma (?) communities in Campania, Italy, 2014 (manuscript) This research project was developed within the ERSTE Foundation Fellowship for Social Research 2013. 13 Pierro, Barbara, Ferulano, Emma and Kitti Baracsi: Residence: Nowhere. Roma Rights Journal 2014/1. http://www.errc.org/article/roma-rights-1-2014-going-nowherewestern-balkan-roma-and-eu-visa-liberalisation/4325 and The List of Dead Souls: The Dilemmas of Ethnographic Research and Intervention in a Public Project for Roma Students in Scampia, Naples (Italy). Oxford Education and Ethnography Conference 2013 (manuscript). 14 The camp the neigbourhood’s Roma students come from is often referred to as the S. Maria del Pozzo camp. 15 About Scampia in English see Laino, 2004. It is also worth looking into some accounts (e.g. interviews) of Felice Pignataro, artist and activist about the topic. Documentary: ‘Felice!’ http://www.felicepignataro.org/felice/. 16 Based on oral stories collected by the Chi rom e... chi no Association. 17 The first official data about the camp’s population were those collected in 2008 when the state of emergency was declared. The newest data (a mapping survey made in the Roma settlement of via Cupa Perillo in Scampia, a Romact and Welfare Depertmant Joint Action) that was publicly unveiled at the Faculty of Architecture by Giovanni Laino on 9 November 2015 shows a decline in the population compared to previous data. According to this information, there are 681 persons living within this territory and half of them were born in Italy. There are several methodological and ethical concerns around these surveys, therefore the data must be treated with some caution. However, the interest of the city in having a more complex picture about the background and needs of this community can be regarded as progress. 18 Based on different estimates of NGOs, 200-350 persons live in this territory (Zoppoli, Saudino, 2012), but these numbers are not completely reliable. 19 There is struggle between the “we are the good Roma” narrative and that of “ the ones who arrived first”.. 20 The camps, i.e. the smaller communities inside the camp have even physical borders that separate them from each other, however there has been some mix-up between different groups, also between a group of rom musulmani and rom ortodossi. Others maintain and reproduce their borders much more intensively, well exemplified by a small community that is in the best economic situation within the camp. Some less integrated families are simply called ‘sporchi’, i.e. dirties by the others.

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21 Women’s powerful position becomes recognised when they reach mother-in-law and grandmother status, in which we can trace the importance of age, but also how women themselves are an integrant part of the reproduction of such power structures. 22 From my point of view, the identity (as both narrative and performative) of young people is characterised by the same ‘suspension’ that I was talking about in relation to the camp. The idea of being in a permanent temporariness either legally or socially (i.e. educated to be able to integrate only in an imagined future) often reproduced by social programmes draws a limited spacefor self-identification. 23 ‘Romani women epitomise two media portrayals. First, they are presented as unwanted, dirty and threatening, for example, as ‘benefit tourists’ exploiting more generous welfare systems in the European Union or as street beggars. Secondly, they are also represented as wild, free-spirited, serendipitous, magical women who still threaten the emasculation of patriarchy. Despite the aesthetic difference, in both cases, they are depicted as mysterious and dangerous women who use their power to ‘exploit’ the patriarchy.’ (Kóczé-Sardelic, 2016) 24 For an engaged position in educational anthropology see also Setti, 2017. 25 See more: Lenti a contatto. Quaderno di ricerca su dispersione scolastica, pedagogia, società e inclusione. I quaderni di frequenza 200, numero 1, estate 2013. According to the “Istat, Rapporto Noi Italia 2013, 100 statistiche per capire il Paese in cui viviamo” the percentage of NEET in South Italy was 31,9 (compared to 16,4 % in the North). 26 A ‘failed’ architectural project of Scampia consisting of buildings that became symbols of deprivation and criminality. In the meantime, due to interventions, the drug market had already relocated to other places, and as the buildings do not offer adequate housing conditions, a significant proportion of the inhabitants are squatters currently under eviction and relocation in the context of a rehousing project. 27 Here I am not denying that some Roma families opt for in-betweenness in order to make their living, but in several cases situations are interpreted using a mistaken ‘culturalistic logic’. 28 It is part of the mechanism used to monitor school attendance. Public projects for Roma education include this element of reducing school absenteism, and the activity is outsourced to NGOs, which are expected to collaborate with the social services and take over the direct work with families. 29 “The list of dead souls” – “La lista delle anime morte” (recalling the Gogol novel) is also the title of an article published in Italian in the Napoli Monitor by Emma Ferulano. In 2013, we wrote a draft paper for the Oxford Education and Ethnography Conference under the same title. It was an experiment in which a project experience was analysed as ethnographic data.

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30 Road. 31 Emma Ferulano: La lista delle anime morte. A proposito di dispersione scolastica, Napoli Monitor, 14 April 2013, http://napolimonitor.it/old/2013/04/14/21283/la-lista-delleanime-morte-evasori-scolastici-e-campi-rom.html. 32 As part of a recent development regarding Roma education in Italy thanks to an experimental project that started in 2014 at the national level, the local interventions of the city of Naples apparently changed their scope. Following this ministerial project, in 2015 the city of Naples allocated all the funds that had previously been allocated to the issue of the school drop out rate of Roma children to this new approach and extended the experimental project’s intervention to a greater number of schools and classes. The former projects had three main areas of intervention: mediation with families in the camp, ‘accompagnamento’, that is a combination of transport to school and ‘mediation’, support for Roma students in the classroom and social-health interventions. The ministerial project has its emphasis on inclusion, which among other things includes interventions for the whole class and training activities for the children. Still, it imports external figures into the school and keeps the mediator role to address the ‘housing contexts’. 33 There was the case of a child who had an Italian mother and a father from the camp with Serbian citizenship. The mother left the child with the grandparents in the camp, the father was in prison, the child was attending school, but became ill and after a longer period of absence he needed a medical certificate in order to return to school. He could not get it though, as he could not access the health service for the camp inhabitants, having an Italian citizenship and residence somewhere else. Moreover, the family did not have any authorisation to resolve the situation. 34 This report was presented at the Oxford Education and Ethnography Conference in 2012 and was then published as: “School Narratives of a Camp’s and a Quarter’s Roma Students in Italy and Hungary.” In Gypsy Studies-Cigány Tanulmányok 29. (ed.:Katalin Forray R. and Tibor Cserti Csapó) Education and research of Roma in the Countries of Central and Eastern Europe. University of Pécs, Faculty of Humanities Department of Gypsy Studies Education and Society Doctoral School of Education, Pécs, 2013: 47–69. 35 NGOs try to work on strengthening the ties within the community, which seems a hard task due to the fragmentation and internal ethnic and economic conflicts. On the other hand, while the basic problems are not solved: i.e. the legal and housing questions, working on the ties seems to be an out-of-place effort. 36 Though there is a thin line between forced marriage and arranged marriage, when describing some cases below I use the expression of arranged marriage more frequently as I consider it to be more appropriate. I do not do this with the aim of minimising its problematic nature, but to underline its complexity and refer to a wider phenomenon.

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37 Baracsi, 2013. 38 Therefore, if an analysis tries to understand the cultural in the family-school relations, the NGOs should be considered as active in the making of it. 39 Here I do not analyse in detail the question of having children at a young age, but being married does not mean the same to everybody. Institutions can support those who are married or have children to go on with their studies. At the same time, second chance schools for Roma only (there is one operated by a priest in the old camp) might reproduce isolation, especially in the case of girls. 40 Report for the Study on Typology and Policy Responses to Child Begging in the EU, Save the Children, 2012 and Indagine esplorativa sul traffic di minori Rom. CONFRONT. Countering New Forms of Roma Children Trafficking. CENSIS, 2015. 41 See some information about the case: Avv. Anna Galizia Danovi - Presidente Centro per la Riforma del Diritto di Famiglia - CASSAZIONE, V sez. pen., SENT. N. 44516/2008 - BABY ACCATTONAGGIO PART-TIME NON È SCHIAVITÙ 11.12.2008 http:// www.crdf.it/approfondimenti/infanzia_adolescenza.htm. 42 Regarding the issues of feminism and racism see more in Delphy, 2015. 43 ‘The interplay of capitalism and racism materially produces the dispossessed by pushing some people into structurally disadvantaged conditions, and it also racializes them discursively by asserting that they are sub-human or non-persons since they cannot fit into the ideal-type subject position prescribed by the neoliberal order’ (Vincze, 2016: 165).

References Baracsi, Kitti (2016). “The Unmaking of Roma Students. Contributing from a Critical and Engaged Ethnography.” The Age of Human Rights Journal 7: 77–95. Baracsi, Kitti (2013): “School Narratives of a Camp’s and a Quarter’s Roma Students in Italy and Hungary.” In Gypsy Studies-Cigány Tanulmányok 29. (eds: Katalin Forray R. and Tibor Cserti Csapó) Education and research of Roma in the Countries of Central and Eastern Europe. University of Pécs, Faculty of Humanities Department of Gypsy Studies Education and Society Doctoral School of Education, Pécs, 2013: 47–69. Baracsi Kitti, (2014). The Labour Market of the Others: Economic Strategies in Four Eastern European Roma (?) communities in Campania, Italy. (manuscript) Berenice, Compare and Lunaria e OsservAzione (2013), “Segregare costa. La spesa per i ‘campi nomadi’ a Napoli, Roma e Milano.”, 25 September. Bilge, Sirma (2013). “Intersectionality Undone. Saving Intersectionality from Feminist Intersectionality Studies 1.” Du Bois Review 10(2): 405–424.

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Cairns, Kate (2013). “Ethnographic locations: The geographies of feminist post-structural ethnography.” Ethnography and Education 8(3): 323–337. Chauvin Sébastien and Blanca Garcés-Mascareñas (2014). “Becoming less illegal: Deservingness frames and undocumented migrant incorporation.” Sociology Compass 8(4): 422–432. Christensen, Ann-Dorte and Sune Qvotrup Jensen (2012). “Doing Intersectional Analysis: Methodological Implications for Qualitative Research.” NORA - Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender Research 20(2): 109–125. Daniele, Ulderico (2013). Questo campo fa schifo. Etnografia dell’adolescenza rom fra peripherie e scenari globali. Roma: Meti Edizioni, 382. Daniele, Ulderico and Greta Persico (2013). “Per una critica dell’intervento sociale nei campinomadi: politiche, progetti, biografie.” MeTis 3(2), 12 Le periferie dell’educazione. Delphy, Christine (2015). Separate and dominate: Feminism and Racism after the War on Terror. London: Verso. Dines, Nick (2012). Tuff City: Urban Change and Contested Space in Central Naples.” New York: Berghan Books. Gheorghe, Carmen (2016). “Editorial: Envisioning Roma Feminism.” Analize – Journal of Gender and Feminist Studies 7: 15–18. Jovanovic, Jelena and Anna Csilla Daróczi (2015). “Still Missing Intersectionality: The relevance of feminist methodologies in the struggle for the rights of Roma”. Roma Rights. Journal of the European Roma Rights Centre 2: 79–82. http://www.errc.org/article/ roma-rights-2-2015-nothing-about-us-without-us-roma-participation-in-policy-makingand-knowledge-production/4433/12. Kóczé, Angela and Raluca Maria Popa (2009). Missing Intersectionality: Race/Ethnicity, Gender, and Class in Current Research and Policies on Romani Women in Europe. Working Paper. Budapest: CEU University Press, 76. Kóczé, Angéla and Julija Sardelic (2016). “Romani Women – Dangerous Women? Contesting Myths and Struggling Realities.” DangerousWomenProject.org 05.06.2016. http:// dangerouswomenproject.org/2016/06/05/romani-women/. Kovai, Cecília, 2010. “Marriage and the Role of the Child amongst Hungarian Gypsies.” In: Multidisciplinary Approaches to Romany Studies, edited by Michael Stewart and Marton Rövid. Budapest: Central European University Press, 108–122. Laino, Giovanni (2005). “Italy: the Scampia district in Naples.” In: Neighbourhood housing debate, edited by Daniela Ciaffi. Milano: FrancoAngeli, 180–200. Lind, Jacob (2016). “The duality of children’s political agency in deportability”. Politics 37(3): 288–301. Piasere, Leonardo (2004). I rom d’Europa. Roma-Bari: Laterza.

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Picker, Giovanni. 2012, “Territori postcoloniali ai limiti. I campi per rom in Italia e Francia tra doxa e storia.” In: Lo spazio del rispetto, edited by Emanuela Ceva and Maria Elena Galeotti. Milan: Bruno Mondadori, 96 –121. Picker, Giovanni and Silvia Pasquetti (2015). “Durable camps: the state, the urban, the everyday.” City 19(5): 681–688. Picker, Giovanni, Greenfields, Margaret and David Smith (2015). “Colonial refractions: The ‘Gypsy camp’ as a spatio-racial political technology.” City 19(5): 741–752. Pierro, Barbara, Ferulano, Emma and Kitti Baracsi (2014). “Residence: Nowhere.” Roma Rights Journal of the European Roma Rights Centre 1: 35–42. Scheper-Hughes, Nancy (1993). Death without weeping: The violence of everyday life in Brazil. Oakland: University of California Press. Schmoll, Camille and Giovanni Semi (2014). “Shadow circuits: urban spaces and mobilities across the Mediterranean.” In: Ethnography, Diversity and Urban Space, edited by Mette Louise Berg, Ben Gidley and Nando Sigona. New York: Routledge, 30–45. Setti, Federica (2017). “Long-lasting fieldwork, ethnographic restitution and ‘engaged anthropology’in Romani studies.” The Urban Review 49(3): 372–381. Sigona, Nando (2015). “Campzenship: reimagining the camp as a social and political space.” Citizenship Studies 19(1): 1–15. Sigona, Nando (2016). “Everyday statelessness in Italy: status, rights, and camps.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 39(2): 263–279. Sigona, Nando (2005). “I rom d’Europa. Una storia moderna.” Romani Studies 15(1) ProQuest Central: 8. Tesăr, Catalina (2015). “Begging-Between Charity and Profession: Reflections on Romanian Roma’s Begging Activities in Italy.” In: The Public Value of Anthropology: Engaging Critical Social Issues through Ethnography, edited by Elisabeth Tauber & Dorothy Zinn. Bolzano: Bolzano University Press, 83–111. Thapar-Björkert, Suruchi and Marsha Henry (2004). “Reassessing the research relationship: location, position and power in fieldwork accounts.” International Journal of Social Research Methodology 7(5): 363–381. Vincze, Enikő (2016). “The racialization of Roma in the ‘new’ Europe and the political potential of Romani women.” Analize – Journal of Gender and Feminist Studies 7: 160– 166. (First published 2014: European Journal of Women’s Studies 21(4): 435–442). Volpp, Leti (2001). “Feminism versus Multiculturalism.” Columbia Law Review 101(5): 1181– 1218. Zoppoli, Giovanni and Francesca Saudino, eds (2012). I rom in comune. Studio sul Comune di Napoli ed i rom che ci vivono. Napoli: I Quaderni del Barrito.

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Part II: Migration trajectories: origins and destinations

6. Gender discrimination as a driver of female migration Ilse Ruyssen and Sara Salomone

Introduction According to the International Migration Report (United Nations, 2015) the number of international migrants worldwide has grown rapidly over the past fifteen years, reaching 247 million in 2015, up from 173 million in 2000 and 222 million in 2010. The share of female migrants slightly decreased from 49 to 48 per cent between 2000 and 2015, which can be attributed mainly to the recent rise in male migration to high income non-OECD countries. Without taking into consideration short-term and seasonal movements, women thus comprise slightly less than half of all international migrants, though with huge differences across geographical regions. While in Africa and Asia—and particularly in Western Asia—migrants are predominantly male; female migrants outnumber male migrants in Europe and Northern America. This is mostly due to the large number of tertiary educated women in these parts of the world (Dumitru and Marfouk, 2015). Gendered assessments of international migration processes are nonetheless quite recent in the economic literature for two reasons. First, the absence of high quality and comparable statistics on female migration has prevented a proper quantification of the extent of female mobility across the world. Only recently, international organisations and migration scholars made an effort to construct comprehensive statistical datasets explicitly including the gender dimension as described in Section 2. The second reason is related to the changing nature

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of female migration. Whereas before, women were migrating primarily as the wives, mothers or daughters of male migrants, they now move more and more as independent or single migrants (Oishi, 2002; Pedraza, 1991). This phenomenon is often referred to in the literature as the feminisation of migration (Dumitru and Marfouk, 2015; Jolly and Reeves, 2005). Or, to put it in the words of Babatunde Osotimehin, executive director of the UN Population Fund, “Migration is a human face, and that’s a woman.” Similarly, in a 2013 article in Le Monde, a UN correspondent stated that the “feminisation of migration is no longer a simple trend. Appeared in the early 1990s, it has become a growing and inescapable reality”.1 These issues prevented the economic literature from exploring the main drivers of global female migration and its implications for economic development on a cross-country basis (United Nations, 2004). The available empirical analyses primarily consist of case studies for specific countries. As far as the driving forces behind female migration are concerned, it has been shown that the feminisation of migration has had an effect on the relative importance of economic and noneconomic determinants. With women being more and more part of worker flows, moving on their own to become the principal wage earners for their families (United Nations, 2004), their cross-border movements are to an increasing extent determined by economic factors (Sassen, 2003). Nonetheless, also non-economic factors such as conflict, political unrest, climatological change and natural disaster continue to play an important role in driving female migration across the globe (United Nations, 2004). One non-economic determinant of female migration that has recently proved to be of particular importance in the light of the feminisation of migration is gender discrimination (Ferrant and Tuccio, 2015; Baudassé and Baziller, 2014; Nejad and Young, 2014; Nejad, 2013; Bang and Mitra, 2011). Despite worldwide efforts to reduce gender disparities, women in general continue to lag behind in terms of basic freedoms and opportunities. The expected impact of gender discrimination on the migration decision is, however, ambiguous (Hugo, 2000). On the one hand, female discrimination may act as an incentive encouraging women to move abroad (Black et al., 2004). On the other hand, it might form an obstacle preventing them from actually leaving (Zachariah et al., 2001). Economic studies on this issue are scarce and provide mixed evidence on the relationship between gender discrimination and women’s migration behaviour. These studies, however, typically look into this issue from a macro perspective, often focusing on a single country.

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The aim of this chapter is to improve our understanding of the relationship between gender discrimination and female migration by exploiting the largely unexplored micro-level and cross-country Gallup World Polls. This dataset provides individual level data on migration behaviour as well as economic and non-economic conditions characterising each respondent for 148 countries in the world. In particular, we will look into how perceptions of gender discrimination in the respondent’s country of residence can act as an additional non-economic factor potentially driving female migration. We will contribute to existing macro studies showing first how micro level data better fit such an issue, and secondly by demonstrating that women indicating that they do not feel treated with respect and dignity in their country are indeed more likely to reply that they intend to leave their country and move abroad. The remainder of this chapter is organised as follows. Section 2 provides an overview of comprehensive datasets on international migration including a gender dimension. Section 3 outlines existing empirical analyses of migration with a particular gender focus. Section 4 briefly discusses the economic and non-economic determinants of female migration patterns. Section 5 describes various aspects of gender discrimination and where we stand today in closing the gender gap. Section 6 elaborates on the link between gender discrimination and female migration. Section 7 concludes and suggests possible pathways for future research.

Gendered migration statistics As outlined in the introduction, comprehensive gendered datasets on international migration needed to conduct thorough cross-country analyses are fairly recent. This section provides an overview of the major efforts that allow bilateral migration patterns by gender to be explored. First of all, the Eurostat database provides annual data on the size of migration flows by age, gender and country of citizenship (since 1998) or country of birth (since 2006) but solely to EU member states, and with numerous missing observations.2 Second, the OECD’s International Migration Database (2007) provides annual bilateral migration statistics as of the year 2000 for 28 OECD destinations and more than 200 countries or regions of birth. Specifically, the database breaks down the data by gender, educational attainment, age, duration of stay, labour market status, occupation, sector of activity and field of study.

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The OECD International Migration Database has been computed mainly from population censuses and population registers which have then been complemented by labour force surveys for some countries and variables. It is however also characterised by numerous missing observations. A third and much more comprehensive gendered picture of global bilateral gendered migrant stocks was developed by Özden et al. (2011). Combining more than 1,000 census and population register records, the authors constructed full bilateral decennial matrices corresponding to the five census rounds between 1960 and 2000 comprising every country and major territory around the world, thereby extending the work of Parsons et al. (2007). The primary source of the raw data is the United Nations Population Division’s Global Migration Database, created through the collaboration of the United Nations Population Division, the United Nations Statistics Division, the World Bank and the University of Sussex (United Nations 2008). This unique data repository comprises 3,500 individual census and population register records for more than 230 destination countries and territories over the last five decades. The database provides information on international bilateral migrant stocks by citizenship or place of birth, sex and age. A few years later, Docquier et al. (2009) took the bilateral migration databases one step further by breaking down the data also by educational attainment. Their dataset characterises the gender composition of skilled and unskilled migration from all countries in the world to the OECD in 1990 and 2000. It is based on the aggregation of harmonised immigration data collected in host countries, where information about the birth country, gender, age and educational attainment of immigrants is available. This information is found in national population censuses and registers (or samples of them). More precisely, Docquier et al. (2009) collected gender-disaggregated data from the 30 members of the OECD, with the highest level of detail on birth countries and three levels of educational attainment (i.e. having finished less than upper-secondary education, at least upper-secondary education or at least post-secondary education). This database was later updated and extended by Artuç et al. (2015). Specifically, the authors add a whole series of destination countries (including both OECD members and non-OECD countries) for both 1990 and 2000. The data are disaggregated by gender and two separate education levels (distinguishing individuals with post-secondary or college education from those with less education). This dataset is the first to facilitate a global analysis of human capital mobility over time, thereby distinguishing between high-skilled males, highskilled females, low-skilled males and low-skilled females.

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Besides these macro-level databases, the micro-level Gallup World Polls (henceforth GWP) offer individual data on migration attitudes all over the world as of 2005, as well as information on respondents’ personal and household characteristics and opinions on a wide variety of topics. Specifically, they document both individuals’ intention to migrate and subsequent migration plans by both gender and educational level. A typical Gallup survey interviews about 1,000 randomly selected individuals within each country.3 The data are collected through telephone surveys in countries where the telephone coverage represents at least 80 per cent of the population. In Central and Eastern Europe, as well as in developing regions, including much of Latin America, the former Soviet Union countries, nearly all of Asia, the Middle East and Africa, on the other hand, an area frame design is used for face-to-face interviewing. The sampling frame represents the entire civilian, non-institutionalised population aged 15 and over covering the entire country including rural areas.4 Relying on data on both migration intentions and plans, the GWP reveal that while hundreds of millions of women worldwide would be willing to leave their homelands and start a new life somewhere else, many of them may never actually set off. Specifically, the data indicate that 14 per cent of the world’s adults—corresponding to about 630 million people—say they would like to move, 8 per cent of them are planning to do so in the next year, and less than half of those planning to move say they have already started making preparations, such as applying for a visa or purchasing tickets. An important obstacle preventing migrants from actually leaving their countries of origin might be a lack of economic resources, though also personal circumstances might play a role (Esipova et al., 2011).

Empirical analyses of female migration Several studies have explored female migration and its impact on development, primarily on the basis of case studies for specific countries. Cobb-Clark (1993), for instance, explicitly considers the experience of female immigrants on the United States labour market in 1983 and shows that women from countries of origin where GDP is high and the return to education and income inequality are low do relatively better in the United States labour market. Özden and Neagu (in Morrison et al. 2007) also explore the labour market participation and performance of female migrants in the United States, using census data

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from 1990 and 2000. They use two measures of performance: wage income and average educational requirement in the occupation in which the migrant is employed. The latter measures whether the migrant is in a higher- or lowerskilled profession relative to her education level, particularly compared to migrants from other countries with similar educational backgrounds. Overall, the authors find that there is significant variation in labour market participation and performance of female migrants according to their country of origin and their level of education. In fact, regardless of country of origin, women’s labour force participation is found to (i) rise with the level of education and the number of residence years in the United States; (ii) decrease with the number of children in the household; and (iii) depend on marital status (single women and women married to American men are the most likely to work). Controlling for these and other personal characteristics, the authors conclude that labour market participation is lower among female migrants from South Asia (India, Pakistan and Bangladesh) and the Middle East and North Africa, while it is higher among migrants from Europe, Sub-Saharan Africa, the Caribbean and East Asia. Wage levels are higher for migrants from Europe, followed by East and South Asia and Africa; female migrants from Latin America have the lowest wages. After controlling for the probability of employment, the most important determinants of wage rates and placement levels are education and the number of years the migrant has been residing in the United States. In terms of placement in higherskilled jobs, European migrants and migrants from English-speaking developing countries (such as India, Pakistan, South Africa and Ghana) perform the best. For identical education levels, Latin American and Eastern European migrants are placed in the lower-skilled job categories. Cortes and Pan (2014a) have also considered female immigration to the United States but focused on the experience of foreign nurses. Using the 1980, 1990 and 2000 US Censuses and the 2010 American Community Survey three-year aggregate (2008–2010) as main data sources, they examine how the immigration of foreign-born registered nurses affects the occupational choice and long-run employment decisions of native nurses. They find large displacement effects at both national and state level. Restricting the analysis to Philippine-educated nurses, Cortes and Pan (2014b) also find a remarkable wage premium on the United States labour market explained by a strong positive selection exerted by active government support for nurse migration in the country of origin. Cortes (2015) then extends the analysis of the effects of Filipino female migration to the United States by analysing the effects of female migration between 1990 and

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2007 on children left behind. She concludes that the mother’s absence matters more than the father’s for children’s well-being. Morisson et al. (2007) highlight the development impact of international migration, paying particular attention to gender differences in migration patterns and motivations. The authors survey the state of our knowledge and provide new research on the gendered determinants (in rural Mexico) and impact of migration and remittances (in Ghana and Mexico respectively) as well as on the patterns of labour market participation of women migrants (in the United States). Pfeiffer and Taylor (in Morrison et al., 2007), for instance, explore the impact of female migration and gendered remitting behaviour on the economic activities of members left behind in Mexico. More specifically, they investigate the impact of migration and remittances on households’ crop production, staple production, non-staple crop production, livestock production and local wage work. They also study the impact of female and male migration on household investments in education and health. Overwhelmingly, the impact of female migration on household production is either positive or insignificant. Specifically, the authors find that female migration does not have any effect on the propensity to produce staple crops, whereas non-staple crop production responds positively to female migration. The fact that positive production effects are observed only for female migration may be because females participate less than males in production activities prior to migrating, or because they work only in a subset of activities, such as the cultivation of maize and beans. Thus, the positive remittance and insurance effects of female migration seem to counterbalance the smaller negative effects of lost labour. With respect to household expenditure patterns, the evidence suggests that households with female migrants spend significantly less on education than otherwise similar households without female migrants. These findings may result from female migrants in low-skilled service jobs abroad sending home a signal that there are low returns to schooling in international migration work. Alternatively, it is possible that females who have migrated lose the ability to monitor their household’s schooling investments. Cross-country investigations of female migration in the economics literature, on the other hand, remain fairly rare. Only recently, a few scholars have started to fill this striking gap in the literature. The first contribution comparing female migration around the world was the one by Ehrenreich and Hochschild (2004) who denounce the unnoticed drain of women from developing countries working as nannies, maids and sex workers in the destination countries. Docquier et al. (2012) focus on emigration patterns of skilled males and females and account for

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interdependencies between women’s and men’s decisions. Their empirical analysis suggests that females and males do not respond with the same intensity to the traditional determinants of labour mobility and gender-specific characteristics of the population at origin. In addition, keeping other factors equal, female willingness to follow their spouses in migrating abroad is more pronounced compared to male. The authors show that once such interdependencies are accounted for, skilled women are no more internationally migratory than skilled men. Hence, they reject the existence of a genetic or social gender gap in international skilled migration previously put forward by Seielstad et al. (1998) and Dumont et al. (2007).

Determinants of female migration As argued above, women increasingly move independently of men as the principal wage earners for their families (United Nations, 2004). The changing nature of female migration indicates that women’s cross-border movements are to an increasing extent determined by economic factors (Sassen, 2003). Yet, also non-economic factors such as conflict, famine, persecution, epidemics, soil degradation, natural disasters and other situations that affect their habitat, livelihood and security continue to act as root causes of migration (United Nations, 2004). Berhanu and White (2000), for instance, investigate the social response to civil strife and the disruption in food security in Ethiopia using the post-crisis demographic data. Making use of discrete-time hazard models for retrospective data they are able to quantitatively link increases and decreases in urban migration to policies of political regimes. Whereas rural-urban migration usually increases with people seeking safety during periods of armed conflict, the authors find that migration in Ethiopia significantly declined during the violent political campaign against competing left-wing activists called ‘Red Terror’. Moreover, although theories of urban development typically predict that famine generates a net permanent relocation to well-supplied urban areas, it is shown that Ethiopia’s capital city became a less attractive destination over time. Among the quantitative studies looking at the impact of climate change on the mobility of men and women, Gray and Mueller (2012) also focus on Ethiopia. Specifically, they use event history methods and a unique longitudinal dataset from the rural Ethiopian highlands to investigate the effects of drought on urban

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in-migration over a 10-year period (1999–2009). Their results indicate that longdistance labour-related migration by men in Ethiopia increases with drought, especially for men from land-poor households. This confirms the common observation that mobility serves as a key strategy to cope with drought, as well as the hypothesis that the poor are most vulnerable to these effects. The results for women, on the other hand, significantly complicate this story. The authors find that women’s short-distance marriage-related mobility was reduced by half under moderate drought, reflecting a decreased ability to finance wedding expenses and new household formation. Other gendered analyses of environmentally-induced migration focused on the impact of soil degradation, which is known to be a key factor undermining agricultural livelihoods in the developing world. Laurian et al. (1998), for instance, use survey data collected in 1990 from 418 household heads of recent settlements in the Ecuadorian Amazon to study the extent of and reasons for out-migration of the settlers’ children. The authors document important gender differences in both the levels and patterns of migration and in the factors affecting migration decisions. The results indicate that men’s out-migration declined with selfreported high soil quality in the Ecuadorian Amazon while women’s migration was not affected. Also focusing on Ecuador, Gray (2010) investigates the roles of gender and natural capital (defined as land and associated environmental services) in outmigration from a rural study area in the southern Ecuadorian Andes. Drawing on original household survey data, the author constructs and compares multivariate event history models of individual-level, household-level and community-level influences on the migration of women and men. The results undermine common assumptions that landlessness and environmental degradation universally contribute to out-migration. Instead, men access land resources to facilitate international migration and women are less likely to depart from environmentally marginal communities relative to other areas. These results reflect an undisputed gendered migration system in which natural capital plays an important but unexpected role. Gray (2011) demonstrates that internal migration can also be positively affected by soil degradation. Specifically, this study uses a unique longitudinal survey dataset from Kenya and Uganda containing information on householdlevel soil properties to investigate the effects of soil quality on both temporary and permanent migration. Women were more likely to become non-labour migrants for both temporary and permanent moves, reflecting the role of

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women as the most frequent family-related movers and the ties of married individuals to multiple households. Furthermore, the analysis reveals that soil quality significantly reduces migration in Kenya, particularly for temporary labour migration, but marginally increases migration in Uganda. These findings again confirm that adverse environmental conditions tend to increase migration but not universally, contrary to common assumptions about environmentallyinduced migration. Furthermore, among the non-economic determinants of female migration, gender discrimination has also recently proven to be of particular importance (Ferrant and Tuccio, 2015; Baudassé and Baziller, 2014; Nejad and Young, 2014; Nejad, 2013; Bang and Mitra, 2011). In the next two sections, we will elaborate on the stance of gender disparities in the world and their impact on female migration behaviour.

Gender discrimination: where we stand The impact of gender discrimination on female migration undoubtedly hinges on the definition being used (Morrison et al., 2007). Bertrand and Duflo (2016) have recently defined gender discrimination as ‘the condition of women being treated differently (less favorably) than members of a majority group with otherwise identical characteristics in similar circumstances’. The OECD Development Centre’s Social Institutions and Gender Index (SIGI) provide a wide-ranging cross-country measure of discrimination against women in social institutions (formal and informal laws, social norms and practices) across 160 countries by taking into account different stages of girls’ and women’s lives. Indeed, discriminatory social institutions may restrict their access to justice, rights and empowerment opportunities and undermine their agency and decision-making authority over their life choices. The SIGI covers five dimensions of discriminatory social institutions, spanning major socioeconomic areas that affect women’s lives: discriminatory family code, restricted physical integrity, son bias, restricted resources and assets, and restricted civil liberties. In what follows, we present more details on each of these dimensions. First, discriminatory family code captures social institutions that limit women’s decision-making power and undervalue their status in the household and the family, which determine both their ability to choose their own development pathways and the well-being of their families. Second, restricted physical integrity reflects social institutions that limit women’s and girls’ control over their bodies,

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that increase women’s vulnerability, and that normalise attitudes towards genderbased violence. Restricted physical integrity due to gender-based violence and to a lack of reproductive autonomy, for instance, has serious impacts on health outcomes for women and their children and on economic and social development indicators by increasing women’s vulnerability to poverty. Third, son bias refers to unequal intra-household investments in caring for, nurturing and allocating resources to sons and daughters reflecting the lower value given to girls. A family preference for sons over daughters can manifest itself in different ways, including higher mortality, worse health status or lower educational attainment among girls. Consequences of social norms and practices that devalue daughters are various: missing women, under-investment in the health and nutrition of girls leading to infant mortality, under-investment in girls’ education, etc. Fourth, restricted resources and assets measure discrimination in women’s rights to access and make decisions over natural and economic resources. Insecure or weak rights to land, non-land assets and financial services, for instance, reduce incomegenerating opportunities for women, lower decision-making power for women within the household, increase food insecurity for women and their families, and make women and families more vulnerable to poverty. Finally, restricted civil liberties capture discriminatory laws and practices that restrict women’s access to public space, their political voice and their participation in all aspects of public life. This includes a lack of freedom of movement, the inability to vote or run for election, and negative attitudes towards women as public figures or as leaders. This sub-index highlights the importance of women’s participation in community actions and public decision making for a range of development outcomes such as governance, health and education. Through its 160 country profiles, country classifications and unique database, the SIGI provides a strong evidence base to effectively address the discriminatory social institutions that hold bawek progress on gender equality and women’s empowerment. The index shows that countries have made great strides in reducing discrimination through ambitious target setting and promising initiatives in transforming discriminatory social norms. However, gaps and challenges remain across some key areas affecting women’s socio-economic and political rights and freedom from violence. In 2014, the best performers were Argentina, Belarus, Belgium and Bosnia and Herzegovina while the worst ones were Somalia, Sudan, Syrian Arab Republic, Yemen and Zambia. By looking separately at the educational, political and economic spheres, cross-country comparisons show that despite worldwide efforts to reduce gender

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disparities, in general women still continue to lag behind in terms of basic freedoms and opportunities. First, regarding access to education, for instance, gender gaps have narrowed but still exist at all levels of education and developing regions, particularly for the most excluded and marginalised (World Bank, 2015). There has been major progress across all developing regions in reducing gender gaps in primary school attendance. Nonetheless, girls continue to face barriers to schooling, particularly in Northern Africa, sub-Saharan Africa and Western Asia. Although more girls are now in school in sub-Saharan Africa, only 93 girls are enrolled in primary school for every 100 boys. Also access to secondary education remains highly unequal. Substantial gains have been made towards closing the gender gap in Western and Southern Asia, though girls continue to be at a disadvantage in those regions. The greatest disparities are, however, observed at the university level. In Southern Asia, only 77 girls per 100 boys are enrolled in tertiary education. The situation is most extreme in sub-Saharan Africa, where the gender gap in university enrolment has actually widened from 66 girls per 100 boys in 2000 to 61 girls per 100 boys enrolled in 2011. The main cause of unequal access to education is poverty, particularly for girls of secondary-school age. Women and girls in many parts of the world are forced to spend many hours per day fetching water, and girls often do not attend school because of a lack of decent sanitation facilities. Also child marriage and violence against girls form significant barriers to education. Girls with disabilities are less likely to go to school and those who become pregnant often drop out (World Bank, 2015). Second, with respect to political empowerment, women are gaining more influence in the world’s parliaments, boosted by quota systems. The number of female members of parliament globally jumped from 19.6 per cent at the beginning of 2012 to 20.4 per cent at the end of the same year. Although this share is still far removed from gender parity, it does represent a rare annual increase of nearly one percentage point. Affirmative action continues to be the key driver of progress for women. Among 22 of the 48 countries where elections were held in 2012, the use of either legislated or voluntary quotas was largely responsible for the above-average increase. Where quotas have been legislated, women took 24 per cent of parliamentary seats; with voluntary quotas, they occupied 22 per cent of seats. Where no quotas were used, women took just 12 per cent of seats, well below the global average (World Bank, 2015). Third, women are gaining ground also in the labour market, but still tend to hold less secure jobs in every developing region. Women’s share of paid

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employment outside the agricultural sector has increased slowly from 35 to 40 per cent between 1990 and 2010, though it remains under 20 per cent in Western Asia, Northern Africa and Southern Asia. Women still enter the labour market on an unequal basis compared to men, even after accounting for educational background and skills. They are often relegated to vulnerable forms of employment, with little or no financial security or social benefits, particularly in Western Asia and Northern Africa, where paid opportunities for women are limited. Globally, women occupy, for instance, only 25 per cent of senior management positions (World Bank, 2015).

The impact of gender discrimination on female migration As mentioned above, gender discrimination might be one of the non-economic determinants influencing female migration behaviour. The expected direction of the effect is however unknown (Hugo, 2000). On the one hand, restrictions on the role assigned to women may act as a push factor encouraging them to leave their home country (Black et al., 2004). On the other hand, it might be exactly those restrictions that prevent them from leaving (Zachariah et al., 2001). Previous economic studies using macro data are scarce and provide mixed evidence on the relationship between gender discrimination and women’s migration behaviour. Nejad (2013) and Nejad and Young (2014) investigate the effect of institutionalised gender inequality, proxied by the CIRI (CingranelliRichards) Human Rights Database (2014) women’s rights index, on the highskilled female migration rate across OECD and non-OECD countries between 1990 and 2000. The CIRI index captures the extent of economic and political rights attributed to women based primarily on the annual country reports from the US State Department and Amnesty International. Their model predicts a non-linear impact of gender inequality on the female brain drain ratio because of the adverse effect of gender inequality on the costs and benefits of migration, respectively. In the same vein, Baudassé and Bazillier (2014) implement a gravity model to test whether labour market discrimination should be considered either a push factor or a selection device for female migration. They reject the former hypothesis and conclude that—all else held constant—gender discrimination has a positive influence on the female brain drain. Bang and Mitra (2010) analyse the brain drain gap considering traditional controls as well as the quality of institutions and proxies for gender equality such

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as women’s share of income, the fraction of women in parliament, the male-female literacy rate gap, the male-female secondary enrolment gap, the fertility rate and the female labour force participation rate. They find that a significant part of the brain drain gap can be explained by the disequilibrium in access to economic opportunities, captured by the fertility rate and differences in schooling and literacy. Ferrant and Tuccio (2015), on the other hand, make use of the OECD’s SIGI described above to provide empirical evidence on the relationship between gender inequality in social institutions and female South-South migration. Instead of measuring inequality outcomes like most conventional indicators of gender equality, the SIGI focuses on the root causes behind these inequalities, grouped into five categories. Ferrant and Tuccio (2015) show that discriminatory social institutions in both origin and destination countries form an important determinant of female South-South migration. For male migration, however, they find no significant impact, suggesting that male and female incentives to emigrate differ. Chort (2014), on the other hand, does not rely on macro indicators but uses micro data obtained from the two waves of the Mexican Family Life Survey panel (2002 and 2005–06) to study discrepancies between Mexicans’ intention to migrate and their subsequent migration behaviour. After having controlled for various macro shocks and personal characteristics likely to affect the migration decision, she finds that women’s probability to carry out their migration plans is systematically lower than men’s and concludes that women’s unrealised migration plans are due to gender-specific costs and constraints which can be associated with gender discrimination. A closer examination of this hypothesis is, however, left for further future research. In what follows we explore this relationship further, making use of the recent GWP which provide more detailed micro data on gender discrimination in the world. Specifically, the GWP provides information on both individual perceptions of and individual attitudes towards gender discrimination. Three questions in the GWP deal with perceptions of gender discrimination: (i) ‘Do you believe that women in this country are treated with respect and dignity, or not?’’; (ii) ‘In this country are men and women treated fairly at work, or not?’’; and (iii) ‘In your opinion, is domestic violence a serious problem for our country or not?’. A negative reply signals that a woman feels that females are being discriminated against in the country where she lives. The first question is available for 148 countries in the world as of 2009, while the measures of economic and

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household gender discrimination are available only for a smaller geographical subsample, i.e. for Australia, New Zealand, Southeast Asia, South Asia and East Asia in 2011 only; and for the European Union and the Commonwealth of Independent States in 2009, respectively. The GWP also provides information on individual attitudes towards gender discrimination, available for the period 2006-2011, asking whether or not the respondent agrees with the following statements: (i) ‘Women and men should have equal legal rights’; (ii) ‘Women should be allowed to hold any job for which they are qualified outside the home’; (iii) ‘Women should be able to hold leadership positions in the cabinet and the national council’; and (iv) ‘Women should have the right to initiate a divorce’’. Yet, these questions are available only for a limited number of countries (i.e. the Balkans, the Commonwealth of Independent States, Southeast Asia, South Asia, the Middle East and Africa), they refer to an ideal environment rather than true living conditions and, even if they were suitable for the context of this chapter, they would require the calculation of country or subsample aggregates.5 Throughout the analysis, we will focus on the first measure of perceived gender discrimination, given that it is the most comprehensive in terms of both availability (across countries and time) and perspective. To explore in more detail what the measure of perceived gender discrimination based on respect and dignity (i.e. the most comprehensive measure) is actually capturing, we correlate it with the ones related to labour market conditions and domestic violence. As illustrated in the upper panel of Table 1, perceived gender discrimination appears negatively and significantly correlated with economic equality at work and significantly but positively correlated with the severity of domestic violence, in line with expectations.  Additionally, we evaluate how the Gallup indicator aggregated at country level correlates with other macro indicators of gender discrimination frequently used in the literature. In other words, we explore to what extent the Gallup individual perception of gender discrimination based on the lack of `respect and dignity’ is in line with existing (aggregate) measures, i.e. the Cingranelli-Richards (CIRI) Human Rights Dataset (2014) indicator of women’s economic (Wecon) and political rights (Wopol), the OECD Social Institutions and Gender Index (SIGI) and the Country Policy and Institutional Assessments (CPIA) equality index from the World Bank.6 To be more precise, the Wecon and Wopol indicators capture the extent of economic and political rights attributed to women (available for all countries

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Table 1  Correlation between aggregate perceived gender discrimination and other indicators Available indicators (micro and macro Correlation with the GWP’s ones) on gender discrimination most comprehensive measure Micro indicators Economic equality at work -0,418*** Domestic violence 0,116*** Macro indicators Wecon (CIRI) -0,134*** Wopol (CIRI) 0,016*** CPIA (WB) -0,081*** SIGI (OECD): 0,135*** Percentage of female employees -0,224*** Percentage of females in tertiary education -0,285*** Adolescent fertility 0,478*** Unequal access to credit 0,347*** Notes: Author’s calculations based on Gallup data, CIRI Indicators, SIGI (OECD) and CPIA (World Bank). *** denotes significance at the 1% level.

and years in our sample). The indicators measure the degree of respect for the specific human right on a scale of 0 to 2 (a higher score indicates more human rights). The CIRI database uses the annual country reports from the US State Department and Amnesty International as its primary sources. The World Bank’s CPIA indicator, on the other hand, assesses the extent to which the country has installed institutions and programmes to enforce laws and policies that promote equal access for men and women to education, health, the economy and protection under law. This measure of gender equality takes a value between 1 (low) and 6 (high) but is available only for 2012. The SIGI indicator compiled by the OECD, finally, is a composite measure of gender equality, based on the OECD’s Gender, Institutions and Development Database. Instead of measuring inequality outcomes like most conventional indicators of gender equality, the SIGI focuses on the root causes behind these inequalities, grouped into five categories: family code, physical integrity, son preference, civil liberties and ownership rights. Each of the SIGI components is coded between 0 (no or very low inequality) and 1 (very high inequality). They are available for around 80 non-OECD countries (excluding Arab countries) for 2009, 2012 and 2014.

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The lower panel of Table 1 illustrates pairwise correlations between these macro indicators and our aggregate measure of perceived gender discrimination obtained using the GWP micro data. We find that the more economic rights women are entitled to, the more women say that they are treated with respect and dignity. The correlation is always positive and even higher for skilled females.7 For political rights, on the other hand, the issue is more complicated: the more political rights women can claim, the less they say they are treated with dignity. Yet, for skilled females the correlation is again significantly positive. A possible explanation might be that the latter are more aware of the fact that more rights imply more dignity. Correlations with the SIGI and CPIA indicators, finally, are highly significant with the expected sign. To further disentangle which type of gender discrimination is actually being measured, we calculate pairwise correlations between our country level measure of perceived gender discrimination and specific components of the SIGI indicator. The most significant correlations are reported at the bottom of Table 1. Confirming earlier findings, women perceive themselves to be more discriminated against (not treated with respect and dignity) when they have less access to employment and to higher education than men, when access to credit is less straightforward and when adolescent fertility and early marriage are more widespread.8 Overall, we find that the GWP measure of perceived gender discrimination refers to an unfair difference in treatment mainly related to economic issues and family heritages. These correlations confirm that the GWP micro indicator of perceived gender discrimination measures similar aspects of gender imbalances to some of the macro indicators used in the literature. Yet, the fact that they do not perfectly correspond seems to confirm the idea that individual perceptions capture more than mere gendered outcomes. Bringing together aggregate migration intentions or preparations and the aggregate degree of gender discrimination in a country perceived by its female inhabitants, we observe that perceived gender discrimination is significantly and positively correlated with migration intentions with a correlation coefficient of 0.22, while the correlation with the share of those who already started preparing their move is insignificant. Similar findings are obtained based on the country rankings for aggregate gender discrimination and migration behaviour presented in Table 2. First of all, no fewer than 5 countries (Dominican Republic, Haiti, El Salvador, Honduras and Jamaica) which appear in the top 10 based on aggregated perceived gender discrimination are also in the list of countries with the highest shares of people

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desiring to move abroad. In the bottom 10, we find Rwanda and United Arab Emirates for both gender discrimination9 and migration intentions. Yet, there seems to be no overlap between countries as far as concerns the preparation to migrate, either in the top 10 or in the bottom 10. Turkmenistan, which appears as the fifth best country in terms of aggregated perceived gender discrimination, even shows up as the country with the fourth highest share of people having started to make preparations for their move. These preliminary results hint towards a significant link between gender discrimination and female migration but need to be confirmed through the use of more accurate and advanced econometric techniques. These would allow one to explore further whether gender discrimination can be considered as an obstacle preventing intending female migrants from actually leaving their countries of origin (see Ruyssen and Salomone, 2018). 

Conclusion and future research Despite the rise in international migration in recent decades and the accompanying increase in scholarly attention in the economics literature to its driving forces and implications, the gender dimension has mainly been neglected so far. This gap in the literature is especially striking, given that women today represent nearly half of the global migrant stock and have been moving more and more on their own rather than accompanying men. The recent availability of gendered bilateral migration statistics, however, offers new opportunities for empirical analyses of women’s migration patterns and their implications for development. Several studies have looked into the economic and non-economic determinants of female migration, among which gender discrimination has recently proven to be of particular importance. It is in fact shown to have an ambiguous impact on women’s migration behaviour: gender discrimination can both form an incentive to leave a country and function as a selection device preventing women who want to move abroad from actually doing so. The existing analyses assessing the impact of gender imbalances on migration behaviour, however, typically rely on aggregate country-level data. Macro indicators of gender discrimination like the ones described above merely capture gendered outcomes such as access to jobs, education, fertility and credit. They do not, however, account for women’s actual experience with gender discrimination which is likely to be more relevant.

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Table 2  Country ranking for aggregate gender migration behaviour Migration Gender discrimination Intentions Dominican Republic Liberia Colombia Sierra Leone Peru Dominican Republic Haiti Guyana El Salvador Haiti Brazil Ghana Guatemala Nigeria Honduras Honduras Jamaica El Salvador Bolivia Jamaica Denmark Kuwait Luxembourg Switzerland China Malaysia Uzbekistan Thailand Oman Rwanda Turkmenistan Bahrain Cambodia Indonesia Qatar United Arab Emirates Rwanda India United Arab Emirates Myanmar

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Preparations Australia Israel Mozambique Turkmenistan Vietnam Belgium Algeria Croatia Bosnia Herzegovina Sri Lanka Spain Togo Syria Benin Guinea Japan Madagascar Rwanda Suriname Taiwan

Note: Countries are ordered from high to low gender discrimination perceptions (share of respondents who indicate women in their country are not treated with respect and dignity) and migration intentions and preparations based on aggregated Gallup data.

This chapter provides a critical survey of the existing cross-country datasets including a gender dimension as well as empirical analyses of the implications and determinants of female migration. Subsequently, we made use of a novel micro level database, i.e. the Gallup World Polls, to explore the role played by gender discrimination as a non-economic driver of female migration. Unlike the macro indicators of gender discrimination, the GWP collects individual perceptions on gender discrimination by asking women if they feel treated with respect and dignity in their country. Preliminary statistical correlations based on the GWP presented in this chapter have shown how the literature would gain from empirical analyses making use of this type of subjective measure of gender

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discrimination. By relying on individual perceptions rather than aggregate macro indicators on gender discrimination, one can capture more than women’s mere access to resources. Our analysis suggests that perceived gender discrimination is significantly and positively correlated with intentions to move abroad, while we find no evidence for a relationship between perceived gender discrimination and subsequent migration behaviour. This could be seen as a first indication that women feeling discriminated against are more willing to move abroad but that this very discrimination is what keeps them from undertaking further steps to actually do so. Of course, in order to provide more reliable results, more advanced econometric techniques are required. A micro-economic multivariate analysis is beyond the scope of the present study but forms an interesting pathway to further assess and advance the existing evidence on the relationship between gender imbalances and female migration. Ruyssen and Salomone (2018) form a first attempt to explore this issue in more depth. Accounting for a series of traditional individual controls and country of origin fixed effects, perceived gender discrimination is shown to form a strong and highly robust incentive to emigrate. Yet, whether those migration aspirations are turned into actual preparations is determined by more traditional push factors such as household income or network effects and constraints such as family obligations. In very poor (sub-Saharan African) countries, however, perceived gender discrimination acts as an obstacle, preventing women from actually moving abroad.

Notes 1 See http://www.lemonde.fr/ameriques/article/2013/05/08/le-nouveau-visage-femininde-la-migration\_3173506\_3222.html. 2 Downloadable respectively at http://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/en/web/products-datasets/-/ MIGR_IMM1CTZ and http://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/en/web/products-datasets/-/ MIGR_IMM3CTB. 3 In some large countries such as China, India and Russia as well as in major cities or areas of special interest, over-samples are collected resulting in larger total numbers of respondents. 4 That is with the exception of areas where the safety of the interviewing staff is threatened, scarcely populated islands in some countries, and areas that interviewers can reach only by foot, animal, or small boat. 5 For the same reasons we neither consider individual’s attitudes towards gender discrimination contained in the World Value Survey database. These are available for the

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period 2010–2014 and provide respondents’ opinion on: (i) “When jobs are scarce men should have more right to a job than women’’; (ii) “If a woman earns more money than her husband, it’s almost certain to cause problems’’; (iii) “Having a job is the best way for a woman to be an independent person’’; (iv) “It is justifiable for a man to beat his wife’’; (v) “On the whole, men make better political leaders than women do’’; and (vi) “On the whole, men make better business executives than women do’’. Note that we do not expect perfect correlations between individual perceptions and objective evaluations of the extent of gender discrimination given that the former are influenced by individual characteristics such as the respondent’s education level, religion, residence location (rural/urban) or the respondent’s social environment (see e.g. Verloo, 2007). Yet, we believe that the individual perspective is exactly the strength of the GWP dataset which allows for a detailed analysis of the impact of gender discrimination on the individual decision to emigrate. Table 1 provides correlations for the whole sample. Correlations obtained from restricting the sample to skilled women only are available upon request. The whole list of pairwise correlations between the GWP gender discrimination variable and the SIGI components is available upon request. Rwanda is a global pioneer in the promotion of gender equality: it was the first country in the world with more than 50 percent female members of Parliament; it has a gender monitoring office, a Ministry for Gender and Family Promotion and a commitment to gender-based budgeting. See e.g. http://www.rw.one.un.org/mdg/mdg3 or http:// www.theguardian.com/society/2015/mar/24/uk-gender-equality-rwanda-women-inparliament. Also in the United Arab Emirates, equal rights for men and women are part of the Constitution. It guarantees, for instance, the same legal status, access to education and employment and property rights for women as for men (see http://www.uae-embassy.org/ uae/women-uae).

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Jolly, Susie and Hazel Reeves (2005). Gender and migration: Overview report. Brighton: Institute of Development Studies. Morrison, Andrew R., Schiff, Maurice and Mirja Sjoblom (2007). The international migration of women. Washington: World Bank and Palgrave McMillan. Nejad, Maryam Naghsh (2013). Institutionalized inequality and brain drain: an Empirical study of the effects of women’s rights on the gender gap in high-skilled migration. IZA Discussion Papers 7864. Nejad, Maryam Naghsh and Andrew T. Young (2014). Female brain drains and women’s rights gaps: a Gravity model analysis of bilateral migration flows. IZA Discussion Papers 8067. Oishi, Nana (2002). Gender and migration: an Integrative approach. Working Paper No. 49, The Center for Comparative Immigration Studies, University of California, San Diego. Özden, Çaglar, Christopher R. Parsons, Schiff, Maurice and Terrie L. Walmsley (2011). “Where on earth is everybody? The evolution of global bilateral migration 1960–2000.” World Bank Economic Review 25(1): 12–56. Parsons, Christopher R., Skeldon, Ronald, Walmsley, Terrie L. and L. Alan Winters (2007). Quantifying international migration: a database of bilateral migrant stocks. Policy Research Working Paper No. 4165. Washington, DC: World Bank. Pedraza, Silvia (1991). “Women and migration: the Social consequences of gender.” Annual Review of Sociology 17: 303–325. Pfeiffer, Lisa and J. Edward Taylor (2007). “Gender and the Impacts of International Migration: Evidence from Rural Mexico.” In: The international migration of women, edited by Andrew R. Morrison, Maurice Schiff, and Mirja M. (eds). Washington: World Bank and Palgrave McMillan. Ruyssen, Ilse and Sara Salomone (2018). Female migration: a way out of discrimination? Journal of Development Economics 130: 224–241. Sassen, Saskia (2003). Globalization and its discontent. Essays on the new mobility of people and money. New York: The New York Press. Seielstad Mark T., Minch, Eric and L. Luca Cavalli-Sforza (1998). “Genetic evidence for a higher female migration rate in humans.” Nature Genetics 20: 278–280. Tuccio, Michele and Jackline Wahba (2015). Can I have permission to leave the house? Return migration and the transfer of gender norms. IZA Discussion Paper No. 9216. United Nations (2004). Women and migration. Prepared by Susan F. Martin. Consultative Meeting on Migration and Mobility and How This Movement Affects Women. United Nations (2013). Trends in international migrant stock: Migrants by destination and origin (United Nations database, POP/DB/MIG/Stock/Rev.2013).

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Zachariah, K.C., Mathew, E.T. and S. Irudaya Rajan (2001). “Social, economic and demographic consequences of migration on Kerala.” International Migration 39(2), 43–71. Zlotnik, Hania (2003). The global dimensions of female migration. Migration Information. http://www.migrationinformation.org.

7. Foreign domestic servants in Antwerp: A comparative regional approach on female migration trajectories to nineteenth-century European cities Thomas Verbruggen and Hilde Greefs

Abstract This chapter focuses on the importance of female migration during the nineteenth century and highlights the impact of the socio-economic conditions in the regions of origin on the profiles and trajectories of female migrants moving to the city of Antwerp. This specific focus allows us to understand the functioning of the push and pull mechanisms that explain to a certain extent why people left their region of origin and migrated to another place. Moreover, the results show that the importance of interurban migration of female domestic servants is underestimated by previous studies. The industrialisation of the continent not only provided jobs, but also created a decline in female employment opportunities in certain regions which might have stimulated women to migrate over increasing distances to find a job in a foreign household. The establishment of an extensive railway system between Antwerp and several Dutch and German cities facilitated their movements and thus also stimulated the migration of women from the latter cities towards the Belgian port city.

Introduction After a steep decline in the number of domestic workers in the period following the Second World War, domestic service has experienced a major revival since the

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1980s. Several social scientists have linked this revival with a parallel feminisation of international migration (Guttierrez-Rodrigues, 2010; Lutz ed., 2008; LabadieJackson, 2008). The current debates on feminisation and domestic workers often assume this to be a recent phenomenon. However, as Dirk Hoerder and Jose Moya point out, domestic service is one of the oldest occupations and has always been strongly correlated to female migration (Hoerder, 2015; Moya, 2007). There are numerous historical examples of women who migrated to obtain a position as a domestic worker or servant in a foreign environment. Before the nineteenth century, female migration in general was, to a great extent, connected to shortdistance migration from rural areas or small villages and to regional circuits of labour mobility (in line with the laws of E.G. Ravenstein, see Ravenstein, 1885 and 1889; see also: Poussou, 1994). A large proportion of these female migrants were domestic servants, described by most historians as life-cycle servants, young rural women who went into service in a nearby village or town at the end of childhood and who worked as domestics until their marriage (the concept of life-cycle service was introduced by John Hajnal and Peter Laslett. Hajnal, 1965; Laslett, 1977). The nineteenth century was, in this respect, a transitional period characterised by two important shifts: an urbanisation of domestic service, and a feminisation of international migration. Until now, most historians have maintained the view that in this transitional period too, most domestic servants in European cities were rural-born young women who moved over relatively short distances. As a consequence, few studies exist that really analyze the movements and profiles of domestics who moved from outside the regional hinterland towards the city, and compare foreign servants from different regions of origin (for emigration of European women to the United States, see: Harzig, 1997). This chapter aims at filling this gap in the literature by studying the profiles and migration trajectories of single foreign women who moved from three different foreign regions to the Belgian city of Antwerp to work as domestic servants in the households of the middleand upper-classes of the city. The results challenge the present consensus within the literature and shows that there was a general increase in the number of servants from more distant regions and that the profiles of these women differed significantly from servants from places nearby Antwerp. Many German servants, for example, were born in cities and entered service in Antwerp at a relatively late age. In the following pages, this article first discusses some of the insightful findings of changes in migration to cities and the sexual division of labour in both rural

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regions and cities in general. In the second section, migration of female domestic servants towards Antwerp, the sources used and the specific socio-economic conditions in the three regions of origin under study will be addressed. In the third section it is highlighted that the specific evolution of the socio-economic conditions in these three regions had an important impact on the migration trajectories of the female domestics coming to Antwerp. Thereafter, we compare the age of foreign domestics of these three regions at the time of arrival in Antwerp and as such discuss the concept of life-cycle service and earlier research on the age of domestic servants.

Migration to cities and domestic service The process of urbanisation in nineteenth-century Europe has often been described as a result of a rural exodus towards the city. According to Wilbur Zelinsky and others, this period was characterised by a mobility transition in which mobility levels went up and people increasingly migrated over longer distances (Zelinsky, 1971). In recent decades, however, various historians have criticised this model and have demonstrated that Europeans had been moving over short and long distances already for centuries and that many people in the nineteenth century continued to follow the same trajectories as their early modern ancestors (Moch, 2003). Still, as Lucassen and Lucassen argue in a recent article, the rise in mobility levels, especially towards cities, in nineteenth-century Europe is remarkable (Lucassen and Lucassen, 2009). However, many of the urban dwellers returned to their home villages after a few years and as such, their trajectories should rather be described as circular than as one-directional moves from the countryside to the city. At the same time, many people also moved between cities, often from a smaller town to a larger city in search for more or better job opportunities. In summary, there was a general increase in city-ward and long distance migration in nineteenth-century Europe but at the same time many people were involved in patterns of stepwise and circular migration and continued to move over shorter distances. Finally, the levels of return or interurban migration should not be underestimated. If we focus on the position of female domestic servants in nineteenthcentury migration history, the general consensus amongst historians is that the recruitment area for urban domestic servants was the surrounding countryside. The mobility levels of servants were high but they often moved over shorter

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distances. Most of them left their home village at about the age of eighteen and after several years working as servants, many returned to their home region. Because domestic servants often resided in the houses of their urban employers, these women are often identified as important intermediaries between the rural popular culture and the high culture of the urban bourgeoisie (McBride, 1976; Fauve-Chamaux ed., 2004). This view has stimulated historians to focus on domestic servants who moved from the countryside to the city. To explain their move, most refer to the limited job opportunities for single women in the nineteenth-century European countryside and the lure of the metropolis. In the next part, attention will be paid to the historiography on the sexual division of the nineteenth-century labour market and how this affected the migration decisions of men and women.

Migration and gender divisions in the labour market Around 1850, the European countryside was characterised by strong population growth and increasing levels of male and female unemployment. Many rural households lost a significant part of their income opportunities and became solely dependent on wage labour. Firstly, many peasants lost their own piece of land because they could no longer compete against the big farms. Secondly, the household industries gradually became pushed out by the upcoming urban factories. Finally, the specialisation of agriculture in certain regions made rural labour a seasonal affair. At the same time, several cities started to grow and transformed into large industrial or commercial centres that would flourish during the second half of the nineteenth century. These socio-economic transformations, together with innovations in the transport and communication infrastructure, created higher levels of mobility in various directions. Often these movements were seasonal, as for example in the case of rural men who worked in the construction industry in the winter, and returned home before harvest. In the past decades, various researchers have stressed that this period of rising capitalism and mobility affected women in a different way from men. Keith Snell, Joyce Burnette, Bridget Hill, and others show how women lost most of their income opportunities in the countryside due to the agrarian revolution (Snell, 1987; Burnette, 1999; Hill, 2001). Early modern women often received their income through proto-industrial activities, working on family-owned land, making use of commons, or working as maid servants in another farm.

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As a consequence of the above-sketched evolutions, most of these income opportunities disappeared, making rural women economically more dependent on their husbands or other male family members (Pinchbeck, 1981). Working as a rural maid servant also became more difficult as farmers increasingly replaced servants—with a one-year contract—with day labourers (De Lange, 2013). Pamela Sharpe (1996) and Bridget Hill (2001) demonstrate how big farmers, while relying mostly on male day labourers, hired the wives of these male labourers only when extra work needed to be done. Unmarried women were, according to Hill (2001) and Sharpe (1996), ruled out of these jobs by men who wanted to get jobs for their own wives. Many unmarried women were, as such, left with no other opportunity than to migrate to a nearby or distant city to find a job, mostly as maid servants in bourgeois households. Keith Snell (1998) even claims that the great numbers of maid servants in nineteenth-century large cities was a disguised form of female underemployment at the time. However, important regional differences occurred (De Lange, 2013). The gendered division of labour in the countryside granted women more income opportunities in, for example, regions that specialised in cattle because certain tasks, such as the milking of cows or the production of butter and cheese, were traditionally done by women. At the same time, in various regions protoindustrial activities remained important during the nineteenth century, implying that different members of the household, including women, produced goods by order to supplement their farming income. As such, female unemployment rates were the highest in regions without proto-industrial activities which specialised in grain production like, for example, Dutch Flanders (Van Cruyningen, 2005). At the same time, women did not have the same employment opportunities in every type of city. Cities of heavy industry, such as Düsseldorf for example, lacked female job opportunities and, consequently, had a high sex ratio. Previous research has demonstrated that migration to these cities was to a large extent a male affair ( Jackson, 1997; Moch, 2003; Hochstadt, 1999). In textile cities, such as Roubaix or Ghent, women were able to work as spinsters in textile factories (Moch, 2003). However, according to Moch, commercial and service cities offered most female employment opportunities and consequently had the lowest sex ratio (Moch, 1983). During the nineteenth century, the economy of Antwerp was in a transitional stage. While work in textile industries in the city dwindled in the first half of the nineteenth century, restricting employment opportunities for women, the strong maritime and commercial expansion during the second half of the nineteenth century again, offered more employment opportunities

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for women. The increase in female employment opportunities in middle class households, in leisure industries or in shops, hotels and brothels in the city is also reflected in higher levels of female immigration (Greefs and Winter, 2016). However, during periods of crisis, a mismatch between push and pull factors play an important role, as Clark (1972) argued. At such a time, employment opportunities to accommodate the increasing number of so-called ‘subsistence migrants’ might have been insufficient in the city, which leaves a relatively large group of people with no other option than to move elsewhere to find jobs. Again, it is to be expected that gender played an important role in deciding if women or men moved. We have tried to summarise the most important findings in historiography on female migration during the nineteenth century in Table 1. Table 1  Characteristics of female migration to nineteenth century cities Characteristics Original View Revision distance moved short/hinterland migration extra-regional migration mobility high/often return migration high/complex migration trajectories sending context rural also urban strong rural push-factors important regional differences life cyle (age) young also older receiving context more or better employment potential mismatch In the next paragraphs, we will contribute to the existing debates by comparing the profiles and migration trajectories of female domestic servants moving to Antwerp from three foreign regions with different economic and demographic characteristics during the second half of the nineteenth century. The results show that there was a wide variety in both the profiles and migration trajectories of these women moving from three different regions, and highlights the importance of taking differences in the sending context into account to understand migration to nineteenth century cities.

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Feminisation of foreign migration to Antwerp In the period under study, Antwerp transformed from a small regional centre of approximately 50,000 inhabitants at the turn of the eighteenth century into a flourishing international port city with some 270,000 inhabitants around 1900. The demographic expansion was accompanied by a growing pull of immigrants from inside the country and from abroad (for the economic development, see Veraghtert, 1986; for migration and social change: Lis, 1986; Winter, 2009; Greefs and Winter, 2016). The expansion of the commercial and service sectors led to an improvement in the economic and social position of the commercial bourgeoisie and the middle classes, thus increasing the demand for domestic servants to work in their households. These urban domestic servants generally worked in private households where they performed several household tasks, such as cleaning, taking care of the children or cooking (De Maeyer and Van Rompaey ed., 1996). The growing employment opportunities in private households also attracted migrants from outside the city and as such increased the feminisation of the Antwerp migration field. Whereas in 1850 only one third of the 600 single foreigners moving to Antwerp were female, in 1880 the total number of single foreigners more than doubled (to 1,364) and almost half of them were women. This reveals an expansion and feminisation of the Antwerp migration field. On arrival in Antwerp, the vast majority of these women worked as domestic servants. These women moved over longer distances and were recruited beyond the direct regional hinterland of the port city. In 1850 most foreign born women were moving over relatively short distances and were to a great extent cross-border regional migrants from North Brabant. In 1880 migration from these bordering regions declined and women migrated to Antwerp from more distant places in Germany and, to a lesser extent, France (Greefs and Winter, 2016). Compared to their male counterparts, the occupational profiles of foreign women were more unspecialised and less diverse (Greefs and Winter, 2014). Not only the job opportunities in Antwerp, but also the social and economic crisis in the countryside, which pushed many single women towards the booming cities to work in the households of the growing urban middle classes, explain their migration according to existing research (Piette, 2001; Van Goethem, 2016). However, in the following pages, it will become clear that this hypothesis does not sufficiently explain the migration trajectories of all single female migrants. To gain more insights into their decision making process, it is necessary to

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compare the profiles and migration trajectories of the domestic servants involved according to their regional background. We use an existing database on foreign migration to Antwerp which contains detailed nominal data on non-national newcomers recorded in the so-called foreigners’ files (see for more information about the database: Greefs and Winter, 2016). For each foreigner who came to Antwerp and ‘was likely to stay for a while’ a file was compiled which contains a ‘bulletin de renseignement’ with standard information on the migrant and his or her family (Caestecker, 2000; Coppens and Debackere, 2015). The ‘bulletin’ provides information about, amongst other things, the names, place and date of birth, current and former residence, date of arrival, profession and marital status of the foreigner and some basic information about his or her parents, children and partner. From the database, we selected the records regarding single female domestic servants who arrived in Antwerp in the sample years 1850 and 1880, which contained 143 and 337 female domestic servants respectively. When we compare the distance between Antwerp and their birth place in 1850 and 1880, we notice a remarkable increase in the distance travelled (Figure 1). This is in line with what is to be expected from a booming commercial and port city which became more accessible by road and by rail. A direct railway connection between Antwerp and Cologne was opened in 1843; in the second half of the nineteenth century the miles of railways in Belgium and its neighbouring countries increased more than six fold (Fremdling, 2001). The improvement in transport facilities, which also led to a decrease in travel time and transport costs, facilitated migration to 120 100 80 1850 1880

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Figure 1: Distance travelled from birth place to Antwerp for foreign female domestic servants arriving in Antwerp, in kilometres (1850 and 1880) Source: Database Antwerp foreigners’ files, 1850–1880.

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Antwerp. Female migrants also took advantage of this opportunity and moved to Antwerp from more distant places in 1880.  When we look at the regions of origin of the female domestic servants, there are remarkable differences in the recruitment areas. While in 1850 more than half of the domestic servants arriving in Antwerp was born in the Dutch province of Noord Brabant (North Brabant), in 1880 many female migrants were migrating from German regions, of which the region around Cologne was the most important. There is also a remarkable increase in migration from the Dutch Province of Limburg in 1880. Table 2  Regions of origin of the foreign female domestic servants who arrived in Antwerp in 1850 and 1880, in absolute numbers1 Regions of origin 1850 1880 Provincie Limburg (NL) 17 68 Provincie Noord Brabant (NL) 73 50 Regierungsbezirk Köln (DE) 8 39 Provincie Zeeland (NL) 16 29 Regierungsbezirk Düsseldorf (DE) 2 18 Regierungsbezirk Koblenz (DE) 1 11 Regierungsbezirk Münster (DE) 1 8 Provincie Zuid-Holland (NL) 6 5 Other German regions 7 53 Belgian regions 1 14 Other Dutch regions 7 11 French regions 3 7 Grand Duchy Luxemburg 0 5 Other regions/countries 1 18 Unknown 0 1 Total 143 337 Source: Database Antwerp foreigners’ files, 1850–1880.

For our in-depth-study on regional patterns the present-day Dutch provinces North Brabant and Limburg and the present-day German Regierungsbezirk Köln are chosen as case studies. We will focus on the year 1880, when female migration has considerably increased and most foreign domestic servants (157 or 46%) originated from these three regions (Table 2). In 1880, domestics from these

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regions moved, on average, over a distance of respectively fifty, one-hundred, and one-hundred and fifty kilometres.

Female domestic servants from abroad: a regional perspective Dutch Limburg and the neighbouring northern part of the Regierungsbezirk Köln (the Kölner Bucht) had a similar agrosystem in the nineteenth century with a focus on grain production (For Dutch Limburg see: Bieleman, 2008; Philips et al., 1965; Jansen and Rutten, 1992; for the Regieuringsbezirk Köln see: Mangold, 1992, and https://www.landwirtschaftskammer.de/landwirt schaft/landentwicklung/regionalentwicklung/pdf/landwirtschaft-koeln.pdf, last  consulted on  29/09/2016). As explained above, this implied diminishing job opportunities for women in the countryside. During the agricultural crisis between 1875 and 1890, decreasing revenues—caused by the increasing import of cheap grain from the United States—forced farmers to cut down on labour costs (Tipton, 2003). Unemployment rates rose and increasingly people started to emigrate. Several authors have shown that during such a period of low employment rates women were hit the hardest (Snell, 1998). The most important alternative to rural labour in Limburg and the Regierungsbezirk Köln was the mining industry. In Limburg, this sector only became important from 1899 onwards with the opening of the Oranje-Nassau mine in Heerlen (Langeweg, 2011). Until the beginning of the twentieth century, agriculture remained the dominant employment sector in this region (Langeweg, 2011). It was probably in this region that the agricultural crisis had its greatest impact. The urban centres of Limburg itself were not large enough to accommodate the people from the countryside who searched for a new job during the crisis of 1875–90 and therefore many migrated to the neighbouring German industrial cities that did offer job opportunities for male labourers, but less so for women (Langeweg, 2011). The urban centres of the German border region around Cologne developed earlier. Between 1850 and 1880, it followed the rest of Western Germany and industrialised at a rapid pace (Klank, 2008; Pierenkemper and Tilly, 2004). While Cologne was the most important commercial and industrial centre of the region, cities like Aachen and Eschweiler developped themselves into important centres of the mining industry. As a consequence, the population of these cities grew significantly. However, our research results

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indicate that they not only attracted migrants but also pushed a growing group of women towards other cities, in this case, Antwerp. The socio-economic conditions in North Brabant were significantly different from those in the two other regions. Many farmers continued to rely on mixed agriculture, while others specialised, but in different segments of agriculture. Rye, buckwheat, and butter were all important export products of the region, while some farmers also started to specialise in chickens or pigs (Schrover, 1997; Crijns and Kriellaars, 1987; 1996). The impact of the agricultural crisis of 1875– 1890, as a consequence, was less severe in this region because it mostly involved a decrease in the revenues for grain production (Schrover, 1997 and Crijns and Kriellaars, 1987). The region had just recovered from the potatoe failure in 1845. After this crisis, farmers started to specialise in other crops than potatoes and grain alone, and also started to raise cattle (Schrover, 1997). The fact that the potato crisis ended in this region in 1860 probably explains why the number of female domestic servants moving from North Brabant to Antwerp was lower in 1880 than in 1850. Next to agricultural labour, many women in North Brabant earned an extra income by working in a putting-out system for the urban textile centres of the region. As such, female income opportunities might have been more diversified than in the other regions under study here. By comparing the birth places of domestics born in these three regions and looking whether they were born in an urban or rural environment, it becomes clear that both the differences in the socio-economic conditions of these regions and the establishment of the railway system had an important impact on female migration towards Antwerp. 59 per cent of the domestics from the German border region around Cologne were not born in the countryside but in a city. The majority of this group originated from either Eschweiler, Aachen, or Cologne itself, of which the former two transformed in the period between 1850 and 1880 into centres of heavy industry. All of these cities were connected to Antwerp by the Iron Rhine. In 1880, within half a day, Antwerp could be reached by train from almost every city in this region (Broos, 1984). In a similar vein, a significant number of the domestics from Limburg originated from urban centres like Roermond and Maastricht. The latter was an important stop on the railway connecting Cologne and Antwerp.   The research results reveal that the popular image of a general rural exodus does not fully correspond to reality. Servant migration from the Regierungsbezirk Köln towards Antwerp, was to an important degree, an interurban phenomenon. From the neighbouring Dutch region of Limburg, the absolute numbers of urban-

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Table 3  Female domestic servants born in the countryside or in a city per region (1880), in number and percentage2 Provincie % Provincie % Regierungs% Noord Brabant Limburg bezirk Köln (NL) (NL) (DE) Rural 38 76 46 68 16 41 Urban 12 24 22 32 23 59 Total 50 100 68 100 39 100 Source: Database Antwerp foreigners’ files, 1850–1880.

born domestics were comparable, although they represented only 32 per cent of the female domestics who moved from this region to Antwerp. The high number of domestics from the Limburg countryside was most likely caused by the impact of the agricultural crisis of 1875–1890. Many rural men and women left the region either for industrial cities in Germany or, in this case, for commercial cities like Antwerp (Langeweg, 2011). The percentage of rural-born domestics from this region was thus, much higher (68 per cent). The migration of domestics from North Brabant corresponds to the popular image of a rural exodus. As explained above, it belonged to the regional hinterland of Antwerp and as such, there was a tradition of migrating from the Brabantine countryside to this port city (Winter, 2009). But still, 24 per cent of Brabantine domestics were born in a city. In 1850, this was even 35 per cent and thus comparable to the percentage of urban-born domestics from Limburg in 1880. In summary, next to the rural-born domestics who were responding to the economic circumstances in their birth region, and thus were pushed away by some severe agricultural crises, such as the crisis in Limburg between 1875 and 1895, or decided to stay put, when the crisis had ended, such as was the case for the North Brabantine women in 1880, urban-born women also left their home town to work in another city. During the crisis of 1875–1895, German cities offered fewer labour possibilities for women and, as a consequence, an increasing number started to emigrate to other cities to find jobs. The presence of an important ‘German Colony’ in Antwerp and the ability to travel cheaply to the Belgian port city by train, might have encouraged many German women to choose Antwerp as their place of destination (Devos and Greefs, 2000; Pelckmans and Van Doorslaer, 2000). This observation indicates that urban domestic service was not only the most important employment opportunity for rural-born women but also provided job opportunities to urban-born women in

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times of socio-economic distress. In a similar vein, a significant number of male foreigners from the Regierungsbezirk Köln also moved to Antwerp in 1880. But, many of these men were either white-collar workers, artisans, or merchants and as such, do not correspond to the category of ‘subsistence migrants’ (Greefs and Winter, 2016). As such, the same logic probably goes for urban-born men and women as for those who were born in the countryside. They were affected by the crisis in a different manner and moved to different types of cities. While men probably moved to nearby German industrial towns, women moved over larger distances to commercial cities such as Antwerp, Brussels, and Paris where they could find jobs as domestic servants (on Brussels: Piette, 2000; on Paris: König, 2012). There is also significant variation in the migration trajectories of domestics to Antwerp from the three different regions of origin. The foreigners’ files provide information about the birth place, the last residence abroad, and the last residence in Belgium, other than Antwerp. Unfortunately, the data in the foreigners’ files do not reveal if the migrants’ move to Antwerp was their first migration experience. It is also possible that many of these servants had moved several times between their home villages or towns and other places of residence and eventually moved to Antwerp from their birth place. By using the available data in the foreigners’ files, we reconstructed the migration trajectories. A distinction is made between those domestics who were born in the countryside and migrated directly to Antwerp (rural-Antwerp),born in a city and migrated directly to Antwerp (urban-Antwerp), born in the countryside and migrated indirectly via a rural village to Antwerp (rural-rural-Antwerp); born in the countryside and migrated indirectly via a city to Antwerp (rural-urban-Antwerp); born in a city and migrated indirectly via a rural village to Antwerp (urban-rural-Antwerp); and those who were born in a city and migrated indirectly via another city to Antwerp (urban-urban-Antwerp).   From the German border region around Cologne, most urban-born domestics migrated directly to Antwerp. Only 9 per cent of them moved indirectly via another city. Again, the establishment of the railway system was important. In contrast, most rural-born domestics from this region only moved to Antwerp, after they had resided in another city, mostly within their birth region and heard there about employment opportunities in Antwerp. The migration trajectories of most rural-born domestics from Limburg differed significantly from those from the German border region. 47 per cent of them moved directly to Antwerp. The proximity of the Belgian border and of Belgian

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25 20 15 10 5 0 Prov. North‐Brabant

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Figure 2: Migration trajectories of female domestic servants to Antwerp per region (1880), in absolute numbers Source: Database Antwerp foreigners’ files, 1850–1880.

cities like Liège, probably created information channels that enabled these rural women to move directly to Antwerp. Interestingly enough, in general, domestics from North Brabant, which was located much more closely to Antwerp, migrated more often indirectly to the Belgian port city than those from Limburg. This difference will be explained partly by the age profile of the domestic servants from these regions.

Life-cycle service and age difference between domestic servants The concept of life-cycle service was introduced in the works of John Hajnal, Peter Laslett and the Cambridge Group for the History of Population and Social Structure in the 1970s (Laslett, 1977). These scholars claimed that men and women in Western Europe worked as farm or domestic servants between the end of their childhood and their marriage. Going into service meant working in another household, and receiving shelter, food, drinks and a wage for this labour. Generally there were two types of servants: domestic (mostly female) and farm (mostly male) servants. According to the above-mentioned authors, this type of labour organisation partly explains the western European marriage pattern with marriages at relatively late ages and the dominance of the nuclear household as the main production unit. In such small-scale households, the supply of family labour depended on the family life cycle. When a family had many young children

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or no live-in children, they could contract a servant from another family that had too many adult live-in children. The advantage for the servants themselves was that they could save some money for their marriage. Hilde Bras has calculated the median age at which women born in the Dutch province of Zeeland, near Antwerp, went into service and the median age at which they married. Between 1873 and 1882, the median age at which women from Zeeland went into service was seventeen and a half. For the total period between 1835 and 1927, it was eighteen (Bras, 2002). The median age at marriage of those women who had been in service was 25.7 in the period between 1873 and 1882 and 24.9 for the total period. For those women who had never been in service this was respectively 23.7 and 24.3 (Bras, 2002). As such, most researchers tend to assume that, in this case, women mostly worked as domestic servants between the ages of 18 and 25. In the case of urban domestic servants, Frank Daelemans and Karin Van Honacker (1988) observed that 30 per cent of the female domestic servants in Brussels were older than 24 when they arrived in the city and 16 per cent were even 30 years old or older. Robert Lee (Lee, 2005) has found for Liverpool that there was also an important variation between different types of domestic servants: while the average age of kitchen maids was 18 in 1881, that of cooks was 27.3. The average age of domestic servants in Liverpool was 27.8. Finally, Sophie de Lange (2016) has observed that there were also variations between servants from different regions of origin. In nineteenth-century Bruges and Ghent, female migrants from inland Flanders tended to be older than those from coastal Flanders. De Langhe (2016) explains this by referring to differences in the socioagrosystems of the two regions. Inland Flanders offered more income opportunities to young women via proto-industrial activities, but when a woman reached a certain age and was not yet married, she increasingly “had trouble making ends meet in the countryside, even with its more “female-friendly” agrosystem” (De Langhe, 2016: 49). Only at that moment in her life time, was she “forced” to leave her home village and search for employment in a nearby or distant city. All these research results do not fully correspond to the lifecycle service paradigm and demonstrate important age variations according to regional background, job specialisation or city of destination. This chapter contributes to this literature by shifting the perspective from intraregional towards extra-regional migrants from abroad. As opposed to Bruges and Ghent, Antwerp became a commercial port city of international importance. Hilde Greefs and Anne Winter have already observed that, as a consequence,

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it started to attract more female migrants from more distant regions, mostly domestic servants. Hitherto, we know next to nothing about the profiles of this “new group” of immigrants. A distinction will be made between five different age groups: servants younger than 18 years old; aged between 18 and 24; between 25 and 29; and those that were older than 29. This differentiation makes it easy to compare our results with the above-mentioned studies that use similar age groups. Table 4  Age of foreign female domestics at time of arrival in Antwerp per region of origin (1880), in absolute numbers Provincie % Provincie % Regierungsbezirk % Noord Limburg Köln (DE) Brabant (NL) (NL) 29 7 14 3 4 3 8 Unknown 1 2 0 0 0 0 Total 50 100 68 100 39 100 Source: Database Antwerp foreigners’ files, 1850–1880.

In general, most female domestics under study here, entered Antwerp between the age of 18 and 24, as would be expected following the life-cycle service paradigm. However, there was an important degree of variation between the three different regions. In contrast to those from North Brabant and Limburg, only 43 per cent of the servants from the Regierungsbezirk Köln were between 18 and 24 years old. While 23 per cent were younger than 18, 34 per cent were older than 24 and thus exceeded the average age at marriage of most women. At the same time, there is also an important degree of variation in the age profile between the domestics from North Brabant and Limburg. While 19 per cent of the domestics from the latter region were younger than 18, this was the case only for 6 per cent of those from North Brabant. We have checked for age differences between rural- and urban-born women but these results did not explain the difference between these three regions.

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It is likely that the agricultural crisis of 1875–1890 left women from Limburg and, to a lesser extent, Regierungsbezirk Köln with no option but to emigrate from their home village at a very young age. The limited impact of the crisis on North Brabant explains why this was not the case in this region. Moreover, the proto-industrial activities in North Brabant offered extra income opportunities for these women and their families. As Sophie de Lange has suggested, the employment opportunities of unmarried women within their region of origin only diminished once they reached a certain age in the type of agrosystem of North Brabant, which explains why the percentage of servants from this region older than 29 is somewhat higher. At the other hand, these relatively old domestics probably had already served in other households before moving to Antwerp and as such, were experienced migrants who hoped to gain better wages in the city. This explains why, in general, they migrated more often indirectly towards Antwerp.

Conclusion This research has challenged the existing image of urban domestics as young women moving from the surrounding countryside and has demonstrated the significant variations in the migration trajectories and profiles of single female domestics from different regions of origin. Those from the German border region around Cologne were mostly urban-born women who migrated directly to Antwerp. The establishment of the Iron Rhine and the presence of the ‘German Colony’ in the Belgian port city clearly had an important impact, providing respectively the infrastructure and networks via which information about Antwerp reached Germany and offering fast and cheap possibilities for young women to move. Compared to men, German women were from a lower social background in 1880. This observation confirms that men and women took different migration decisions in times of societal disruption or economic crises in nineteenth-century Europe and that women were not simply following the paths of male pioneers but were agents of change as well. The presence of relatively old domestics from North Brabant and the Regierungsbezirk Köln reveals that domestic service did not just offer job opportunities to very young women. It is unclear, however, if these relatively older women were either subsistence migrants whose job opportunities in their region of origin had diminished during their life time, or betterment migrants

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who hoped to gain higher wages in this commercial port city and could use their experience to obtain profitable positions in upper-class households. The agricultural region of Limburg was hit most severely by the agricultural crisis of 1875–1890. As a consequence, it also pushed many young men and women from its countryside to nearby and distant cities. While men could move to nearby German industrial cities, Antwerp attracted many female migrants from this region, even at a very young age. Further research is necessary to fully understand the migration choices of these women. More information is needed about their migration trajectories before, but also after their move to Antwerp. Moreover, to fully understand their migration behaviour, not only push and pull factors were important, but we have to know more about the social networks and connections they had at their disposal, providing information or support. In-depth research on the employers and colleagues of these foreign domestics is needed, but also on the use of less personal information channels, such as recruitment offices or other formal institutions. For example, a comparative study between rural- and urban-born foreign domestics would be very interesting. This would provide better insights into the migration choices of female migrants from abroad and into variations in profiles and trajectories according to their regional background.

Notes 1 We opted to use current administrative boundaries to classify birthplaces in regions (for the Netherlands’ provinces and for Germany the Regierungsbezirke). As a consequence, some present-day Belgian regions are also included in Table 2. 2 The definition of Paul Bairoch, Jean Batou and Pierre Chèvre is used to distinguish between urban and rural places. They claim that a place can be defined as urban once it has more than 5000 inhabitants. This definition is, of course, open to discussion but it provides an efficient method for this research: P. BAIROCH et al., La population des villes européennes de 800 à 1850: banque de données et analyse sommaire des résultats, Genève, Librairie Droz, 1988.

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8. The vulnerable refugee woman, from Damascus to Brussels Alexandra Parrs

Introduction In the past thirty years, women have gone from being ignored to taking a central place in the humanitarian discourse on refugees and becoming the main focus point of refugee policies. The violence perpetrated against women fleeing and seeking asylum was officially revealed for the first time by the ‘First World Survey on the Role of Women in Development’ at the first United Nations World Conference on Women held in Mexico in 1975 (Hajdukowski-Ahmed, Khanlou, and Moussa, 2008: 2). In 1990, the United Nations High Commission for Refugees (UNHCR) adopted its first Policy on Refugee Women (UNHCR 1990), and 20 years later all UN actors, many government donors and many larger humanitarian NGOs had developed their own gender policies (Buscher, 2010; Edward, 2010). The 1995 Fourth World Conference on Women, the Beijing Platform for Action and UN Security Council Resolution 1325 (2000) are just some UN sources that express concern for women’s vulnerability and suffering in conflict zones and in post-conflict rehabilitation. Gender’s intrusion in the discourse of humanitarian work seems to reflect the universal interest in the fate of female refugees. Humanitarian aid in general, and international refugee protection in particular, have left gender-blindness behind. A considerable collection of policy documents, field handbooks and programmatic responses have been developed. Their aim is

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to take gender into account by outlining practices, goals and benchmarks that encourage the implementation of programmes that explicitly address women’s protection and needs in post-conflict humanitarian and refugee resettlement efforts. In those documents, refugee women are represented as requiring specific protection, or they are targeted as crucial actors in the establishment of refugee support programmes, particularly those that involve food and education, and comport some nurturing elements. Other approaches seek to empower women and challenge the patriarchal structures they have often been socialised in (Olivius, 2014). Overall however, one word appears to be overwhelmingly associated with refugee women in the humanitarian discourse and policy documents. That word is vulnerability. In this chapter, I first review what vulnerability means and how its intimate association with refugee women led to the creation of the ‘vulnerable female refugee’ category—which may be yet another label (Zetter, 1991) applied to forced migrants. I reflect on how that construct may impact on the way refugees are perceived in receiving societies. I also try to identify whether their ascribed vulnerability is appropriated by refugees. The concept of vulnerability is ambiguous and can lead to unexpected outcomes: it can both protect and disempower women, as well as contribute to erasing the potential vulnerability of refugee men by stigmatising them as aggressive. It is also a concept that requires contextualisation as its uses and interpretations vary in different environments. I have specifically chosen to look at vulnerability applied to Syrian refugees and how their vulnerability is constructed and interpreted differently along their journey, from Syria to Jordan, Egypt and finally, Belgium. Syria is a country of exile, Jordan and Egypt are perceived as transit countries and Belgium is typically a final destination. Jordan has both refugee camps and urban refugees and Egypt currently does not have an encampment policy, which means that refugees and asylum seekers roam more or less freely, particularly in the urban environment of Cairo.1 Jordan is not a signatory to the 1951 refugee convention, while Egypt and Belgium are. In Jordan and Egypt, refugee management is operated by the UNHCR, while in Belgium it is in the hands of the local government. As a result, in Jordan and Egypt the humanitarian discourse on refugees is largely anchored in international, governmental and the perspectives and strategies of non-governmental humanitarian organisations, such as as UNHCR, while in Belgium it strongly reflects national priorities. Drawing on examples from those different places, I look at different dimensions that have come to be associated with the notion of vulnerability: victimisation,

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categorisation, creation of the ‘perfect refugee’, and appropriation of their discursive vulnerability by refugees themselves. I focus on three specific aspects of vulnerability that are more or less conspicuous in these different environments. First, I look at the creation of the vulnerable refugee woman category with what it implies: vulnerability is reified and becomes an essence instead of process, and boundaries are created around it. The creation of the vulnerable refugee woman category also triggers the creation of the refugee male category which is situated on the polar opposite of vulnerability, embodying threat, aggression and oppression. Second, the creation of those two categories actually leads to the establishment of a more general ‘refugee category’, encompassing a dichotomy between vulnerable woman and brutal males that reminds one of the mechanisms of Orientalisation of the other (Said, 1978). In this case, the Orientalised others are the refugees and their sexuality is central to their creation. Lastly, in cases where refugees seem to appropriate the vulnerable category to their own benefit (practising what we can call ‘self-vulnerabilisation’), they are nonetheless subjugated to that notion and forced into a role modelled along the subjective criteria defining vulnerability designed by international organisations, such as UNHCR.

Vulnerability and refugee women Short-term and superficial response While the recognition of the suffering of women in refuge has been praised and is an important step towards enabling appropriate protection for women, it has also been criticised for not addressing gender issues in-depth, creating categories, occulting oppression processes and victimising women. In practice, addressing female refugees’ vulnerability is often understood as promoting gender equality by enabling equal access to protection and resources (health, food and shelter) during refuge. This ‘basic need approach’ is motivated by the classic urgent humanitarian imperative of saving lives and reducing the suffering of people in forced displacement (Olivius, 2014). Most programmes are therefore pragmatic, and often superficial, responses that display little understanding of why gender inequality happens (El-Bushra, 2000, Hyndman and de Alwis, 2008). The specific vulnerability of women is also primarily associated with sexual and gender-based violence (SGBV). As a result, programmes focus on immediate response to SGBV, without addressing its roots.

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While oppressive gender mechanisms are not directly addressed, the seemingly gender-neutral approaches nonetheless create ambiguous gendered meanings, perhaps unplanned, by instilling the perceptions that women are passive victims to be protected, which brings ‘unintended gendered effects’ (Olivius, 2014: 9). Victimisation and categorisation Ambiguities associated with the programmes that incorporate women’s vulnerability reflect the very meaning of the term vulnerability, a term in itself multidimensional (Misztal, 2011). In its general use, it can indicate both being in an undesirable state or in touch with one’s feelings, which is something positive (Misztal, 2011; Levine, 2004). In its gendered meaning, vulnerability can be essentialised as being inherently feminine (and women are represented as being inherently weak, requiring protection) but it also serves as a tool for identifying gendered power relations and oppression mechanisms (Gilson, 2016). In the humanitarian discourse, however, it seems to indicate an inherent weakness and powerlessness and it is often applied to groups whose vulnerability stems from a sole characteristic: gender, class, ethnicity, disability. Vulnerability then becomes a ‘rhetoric idiom’ (Misztal, 2011: 2) characterising a group of people as incapable in one respect or another, which contains clear disempowering connotations. The disempowering aspect of vulnerability is one that is put forward by scholars who deplore the passivity and powerlessness brought by vulnerability onto refugee women. Much of the critique of the term points to the fact that representing women as vulnerable victimises them: it limits their experience to one type of experience, as passive and depoliticised victims (Baines, 2004); they are turned into a group without voice or agency (Malkki, 1995). It also portrays them as an additional burden with many special needs, which contributes to reinforcing their marginalisation (Kneedbone, 2005; Manderson et al, 1998; Szczepanikova, 2010). The women and children cluster The notion of vulnerability has thus become essentially attached to the situation of female refugees, embodying their whole identity, creating the inescapable category of the ‘vulnerable refugee woman’. The category is related to what Cynthia Enloe (1990) called the ‘womenandchildren’ cluster. She coined the term in order to think about the operationalisation of gendered discourses to justify the first Gulf War: ‘[i]n the torrents of media images that accompany an international crisis, women are typically made visible as symbols, victims, or dependents, presumed

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to be almost childlike in their innocence about international realpolitik’ (Enloe, 1993: 166). Women, quintessential passive mute victims, are not perceived as relevant to an understanding of the causes and structures of a conflict (Rajaram, 2002; Malkki, 1995). Women and children are not only constituted as the eternal refugee figures, they are also constructed as ‘third world refugees’ (Phillips, 2013:128), a racialisation (on top of their genderisation) that implies that the third-world-women-and-children assemblage is different from white women who are more likely to be treated as subjects with an individuality, and not just as representative of a collective suffering. The creation of women as victims of domestic violence, as well as associated to children, amplifies the family as a main construct in which female refugees evolve, as the natural and fundamental group in society. Women are confined to their reproductive roles as mothers. Additionally, the assumption is that while women and children cannot possibly be politicised or fighters, then fighters cannot be refugees, and thus men cannot be innocent refugees (Philips, 2013:130). Women’s and children’s vulnerability then serves to separate refugees into two categories: those who are innocent and passive and those who are not. Women and children are never seen as combatants (Carpenter, 2006:2). But then, it also means that men are neither vulnerable, nor innocent, whether or not they are combatants ( Jones, 2000; Carpenter, 2006; Mikdashi, 2014). The categorisation informs us who should be protected by international organisations and receiving states, and who should not. Mikdashi noted the dichotomy between the massifying of women and children into an indistinguishable group brought together by the ‘sameness’ of gender and sex, and the reproduction of the male Palestinian body (and the male Arab body more generally) as always already dangerous (Mikdashi, 2014). Powerful representations Enloe (1993) also remarked that the term womenandchildren creates a gendered representation that can be used to legitimate war, as she notes that the suffering of womenandchildren was an efficient call for military intervention, using a saving narrative. According to this narrative, women are passive, dependent on male protection in war situations, if not their husbands, then their saviours, which reminds us of Spivak’s masculine-imperialist ideological formulation as ‘white men saving brown women from brown men’ (Spivak, 1999:284). Women (and children) become symbols of suffering and attract pity while males, portrayed as fighters, do not. The images of refugee women (and children) are important

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as mothers are resented as protecting their children in a madonna fashion, their voice is ignored but their image is commodified (Moussa et al, 2015). Visual representations are associated with power, and so are categories, so both the face of a female refugee on a glossy magazine and her categorising ‘vulnerable refugee women’ objectify her and dehistoricise her (Moussa et al, 2008). More cynically, that image also brings pity, support and money from donors (Malkki, 1996). Psychology and policy: process or condition? Another ambiguity associated with the term vulnerability is that it can be seen as a rigid condition or as the result of social processes. Different disciplines approach vulnerability differently. While psychology tends to identify vulnerable people through their beliefs or actions, or even just their appearance (Frankenber et al., 2000; Misztal, 2011), political economy emphasises the role of politic and economic powers in determining and creating groups’ vulnerability. Scholars have noted that in the humanitarian discourse, vulnerability tends to be understood more like a condition than the result of political processes, which results not only in the essentialisation of vulnerability as an intrinsic characteristic of refugee women, but also in the occulting of the political, economic and historical factors that have resulted in vulnerability. Vulnerability however is not an unchangeable biological condition, but the result of social processes (Gozdziak, 2015). Women are vulnerable during forced migration because human traffickers and smugglers prey on the physical and financial insecurity of those affected by conflict, deceiving or coercing them into different schemes (Martin and Callaway, 2009). Migration and conflict confer unique vulnerabilities for trafficking and forced prostitution, mostly because of conflict-induced poverty, changes in familial structures and displacement itself (Decker et al., 2010). But the reification of vulnerability makes it an essential condition of women, who are represented as weak and in need of protection, almost biologically. It depicts women as unable to protect themselves from violence, particularly the violence of men (Tastsoglou, Abidi, Brigham and Lange, 2014: 69). Not only does this lead to their victimisation, but it also occults the processes behind the vulnerability of women during conflict and forced migration. This reification also masks the real structures that are at stake in terms of power and somehow closes the conversation about male and female relations. Based on these reflections, the rest of this chapter will examine how vulnerability and its association with female refugees takes different forms and meanings in the environments of Syria, Jordan, Belgium and Egypt.

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Reification of a process and categorisation: Syria and Jordan Reification of a process When we look at Syria, the notion that vulnerability is a process and not a rigid, unchangeable condition is useful. In other words, we need to understand the political, economic and social structures that created gender roles and meanings before the conflict, and how those evolved during the conflict. It is all too simple to use either the blanket statements of the intrinsic vulnerability of the female refugee or the unalterable patriarchy of Arab societies as explanations, without understanding the historical changes that occurred regarding gender in Syria. Alsaba and Kapilashrami (2016) show that women’s roles in Syria evolved from a central role—at the articulation between a new modern national identity and the old patriarchal and kin-based order when the country started to build itself as a modern nation in the middle of last century—to a more marginalised role when, in the 1990s, the liberalisation of its economy allowed for a return of patriarchal structures, or what Sharabi (1988) called neo-patriarchy. The state became less able to protect women, and rampant kinship structures came back with a seizure of power by more conservative financial elites and the military. These shifts contributed to make women already more vulnerable because of their subordinate position based on their political and economic exclusion, and their high dependency on families and kin. The environment of a conflict is favourable for the development of hypermasculinity, a compensatory function for the social and economic losses of men that intensifies women’s insecurity (Tastsoglou, et al., 2014:69). The militarisation of the Syrian environment and the proliferation of violent groups and factions reduced the (already constrained) space for women to play a meaningful role (Alsaba and Kapilashrami, 2016). The state, market and military structures have all been implicated in creating new forms of marginalisation and exclusion and in reinforcing gender inequalities. And, of course, women are also persecuted as a way to get to their husbands, fathers and brothers, which is particularly salient in an environment where kinship has come back into force: attacking the females of a group is an efficient strategy for persecuting and humiliating the whole group, since so much of the community honour is symbolically situated in women and their bodies. Rape is a powerful weapon of war, contributing to the humiliation of whole communities. These historical explanations of the role of gender in recent Syrian history show that the vulnerability of Syrian women is more the result of political,

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economic and social structures of the country than an essential characteristic of women stuck in a static, patriarchal culture. This also shows that essentialising vulnerability occults gendering processes that are important for understanding a society in conflict. Essentialising vulnerability ignores its historical changes and also leads to essentialising a culture as patriarchal, oppressive. Patriarchy, no matter how deeply ingrained in society it seems to be, is not static. It comes and goes and changes forms (see neo-patriarchy, Sharabi, 1988), and it is as political as it is cultural. Male categories Jordan is not a signatory to the 1951 refugee convention; however because of its geographical location it receives the second largest number of refugees per capita in the world (UNHCR Jordan, 2017). While the common representation of refuge in Jordan may be one of encampment, only 20 per cent of Syrian refugees are actually in camps (UNHCR). For the purpose of this chapter, I only look at camps, and specifically the Zaatari camp in Jordan, a place that reflects rather adequately the UNHCR humanitarian discourse. It is interesting to compare the content of the UNHCR and other UN agencies’ reports and policy documents on vulnerability and academic analysis. Many policy documents and reports focusing on Syrians in Zaatari highlight the need for increased protection of women, by fighting SGBV and by promoting equal access to education, food and health. Typically, the data used is that ‘70% of refugees are women and children’2 which, as Smith noted, is mostly reflecting a reality as ‘womenandchildren’ (Enloe, 1990; Smith, 2016) also represent about 70 to 80 per cent of the population in general, ‘regardless of whether they are refugees or not, this representation problematically chooses to represent refugee women as maternal figures consigned to a particular narrow gendered role’ (Smith, 2016:65). The term ‘gender’ seems largely associated with women’s issues and gender-sensitive programmes focused on tailoring the needs of females. UNHCR and inter-agency reports focus on protecting females from gender-based violence, including domestic violence, rape, transactional sex, early marriage.3 There is also a focus on the increase in protection marriages,4 which is a real issue in camps in Jordan. Women and girls in camp settings are also portrayed as having less access to food and water, as well as healthcare. Anecdotal evidence found in many reports describes problematic access to bathrooms, toilets that are not separated according to gender, or the lack of light in camps and advocated for the use of LED light in camps. Generally, women and girls are understood as

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the sole victims of SGBV (see for example inter-agency assessment on genderbased violence and child protection among Syrian refugees in Jordan, 2013). The philosophy is very much what Olivius (2014) called the basics needs approach, one that focuses on immediate response to challenges faced by refugees and, in particular, female refugees. UNHCR and other UN agencies’ documents insist on the importance of developing programmes that take into account women’s vulnerability and ensuring camp workers have received adequate training. There is a focus on the lack of training of humanitarian workers, the inadequate responses to domestic violence or attack by other members of the community, and the UNHCR Handbook for the Protection of Women and Girls (2008) states the need for the implementation of codes of conduct by humanitarian and authority personnel that eliminate SGBV. Other analyses are more critical. In a recent article on the Zataari camp in Jordan, Lewis Turner (2016) asked if Syrian men were vulnerable, too. While recognising the vulnerability of women and children, he nonetheless challenged the humanitarian quest for ‘the most vulnerable’, arguing that such hierarchy could be blinding and one-sided, ignoring the reality of male vulnerability to sexual violence, as well as the relevance of male participation in programmes combatting SBGV. He showed that women and children had become the priority in humanitarian philosophy, and many organisations devoted important portions of their work specifically to women, in terms of psychosocial support, counselling, and the provision of community space. He also noted that in Jordan the inclusion of men in SGBV prevention and response work has been a source of contention, as several agencies in Jordan claim that men could not, by definition, be victims of gender-based violence. The genderisation of vulnerability may not only overlook men as weak and susceptible to vulnerability, eliminating them from potentially beneficial programmes on SGBV, but it also creates a hierarchy in vulnerability that tends to essentialise and victimise women, which leads to a paternalistic notion of ‘saving’ women and children. Further, women appear to be in need of protection because they do not appear as threatening as males do. Males are threatening because they are associated with violence, politics, ‘making a point’, while women are associated with more passive roles, ‘depoliticized, mere victims of an oppressive culture’ (Smith, 2016:66). This leads to a silencing of their agency as political and social actors, as they are reduced to an identity as a nurturing mother or a victim. This representation builds on the initial figure of the refugee constructed as masculine, and its feminisation in the humanitarian

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imaginary happens only in the light of protection and vulnerability. The creation of women as victims in domestic violence, as well as associated to children, amplifies the family as a main construct in which female refugees evolve as the natural and fundamental group in society. As international organisations have seized on the concept, which is positive in terms of addressing challenges faced by women, the concept is also stripped of its ability to be reassessed and critiqued when it becomes the basis for policy and a manual of practice. As refugee management in Jordan is largely under the mandate of UNHCR these strategies are particularly salient. Creation of gendered categories Boundaries are erected around a new category, that of the vulnerable female refugee. Not only is this construct limiting, as it incorporates all women refugees in a single description, but it also imposes a qualification of passive victim. Further, despite its lack of accuracy, it possesses the legitimacy brought to it by international organisations such as the UNHCR. By constructing this boundary around vulnerability, discourse actively includes certain groups by legitimating and voicing their experiences, while excluding others. Therefore, the opinion, narrative or experience of an individual that diverges from this dominant discourse subsequently finds his voice, dignity, and integrity discredited, minimised, and silenced.

Control: Belgium Orientalisation Under the humanitarian discourse of the UNHCR, women are essentialised as vulnerable and males as intrinsically improbable victims of sexual abuses or the embodiment of a threat. These representations may be exacerbated in Europe, perhaps because the walls (both real and symbolic) of the refugee camps are not there to serve as protection from refugees, what Agier calls the management of the undesirables (1999, 2014). Without camps, in Belgium, other symbolic barriers are constructed, and I argue that vulnerability has a role to play there, too. The dichotomy mentioned earlier between vulnerable females and dangerous (aggressive, threatening) males is present and specifically embodied in the relation of refugees to their sexuality, which is built as an embodiment of their barbarity and backwardness in direct opposition to Europeans’ liberal and tolerant values.

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Identity via sexuality Sexuality has always been an obsession in the other, and here again it plays a crucial role. In typical Orientalist fashion (Said, 1978), the sexuality of Orientals and others in general was often scrutinised and represented as dichotomous. Males were identified as brutal and violent, and women were either portrayed as beautiful temptresses, or subordinated victims, to be saved. The categorisation of refugees in two opposite gendered groups followed the same model: predator males and victimised females. Much of the victimisation of females is associated with sexual violence, which is indeed a representation of the reality, as in the process of conflict and refuge women often fall victim to sexual violence and sex trafficking. However, the sexuality under scrutiny also contributes to constructing those roles. In Europe, since the attacks in Cologne in January 2016, all male refugees have tended to be perceived as being sexual predators. Recently, a project was initiated by the Belgian government to provide asylum seekers with classes on ‘Relations et Sante Sexuelle’, in which they would be educated on the right norms and values in terms of sexuality. The training material includes teaching how to greet someone (shake hands with a man and a woman), and informs one that it is not acceptable ‘to stare at a woman’ (regarder fixement des femmes). A similar initiative was the creation of a platform called ‘zanzu’,5 a German-Flemish initiative developed by the Flemish Expertise Centre for Sexual Health Sensoa and the German Federal Centre for Health Education which aims to teach asylum seekers and refugees about their bodies and their sexuality. The website explicitly teaches the ‘right’ way to engage in sexual relations. It counsels respecting women, not raping them, and trying different sexual positions. In an ‘us’ versus ‘them’ model, Europe is constructed as sexually free (and knowledgeable) and a site of gender equality, while migrants are constructed as sexually ignorant and brutal. It displays more of the saving and educating narratives that primarily serve to establish moral hierarchies, and constructs Europe as embodying sexual tolerance and gender equality. This is reminiscent of de Leeuw and van Wichelin’s analysis of the culturalisation of citizenship in the Netherlands (2012), in which they showed that the citizenship tests and training by employing cultural tropes of sexual freedom, gender equality, freedom of speech and individuality as emblems of Dutchness, integration is identified as the successful adaptation to hegemonic liberal and secular virtues, leaving little room for cultural or religious variations. The state is ‘institutionalizing and sharing the “new migrant” via citizenship tests’ (de Leeuw and van Wichelen, 2012:195). Looking at the Naar Nederland movie,

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they note a dichotomy between the movie presenter, a modern Dutchwoman who embodies Dutchness and the State, and the immigrant character naive: ‘the tone of the film is somewhat infantilizing, as if it was crafted for elementary school children.’ (de Leeuw and van Wichelen, 2012:197). The film suggest that the Netherlands is giving migrants a gift, the gift of freedom… where there is a common humanity in which people mutually respect, accept and value each other (de Leeuw and van Wichelen, 2012:198). Expectation of passivity in the refugee The gendered (females as venerable and males as threatening) and sexualised (we Europeans are knowledgable and free and they are ignorant and brutal) constructs lead to a contradiction around the notion of a refugee. Along the road to refuge, the meaning of refugee becomes gendered and its essence changes: while refugees are first understood as political actors who need to flee a country, along the road to refuge, they become more and more passive and need to present almost feminine characteristics, or passivity, in order to be protected by the states where they seek refuge. There is a contradiction between who they were when they left and who they need to become when they arrive. There is a shift from (perceived) masculine characteristics of resistance and fight to feminine characteristics of vulnerability and passivity. A refugee should not be a fighter, even if they had to leave because they were fighters, which is why they are, according to the international system, granted the status of refugee. There is an expectation that the refugee will be ‘suffering bodies’ rather than political agents, with protection framed accordingly as a matter of sympathy and humanitarianism, rather than rights (Griffith, 2015; Fassin 2001). This feminisation is also part of the road of refuge is akin to an emasculation. Refugees must answer to a feminised image that makes them more associated with vulnerability, and therefore the need for receiving state protection (Griffith, 2015). The contradiction lies in the notion that the refugee is, at different stages, an active political actor—as his departure is based on his political activity— and a passive, suffering victim that will be given refugee status if he can prove that he is ‘under well-founded fear of persecution’. The ideal refugee—political at departure, passive at arrival—is therefore almost impossible to find, as it is ‘so stylized and a pure figure that it is almost impossible for people to meet the constructed ideal’ (Griffith, 2015: 472).

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Appropriation of a category: Subjective categories and objective realities in Egypt Key for resettlement The last country I use as an example, Egypt, is often imagined as a ‘gateway for resettlement’ (El Shaawari, 2012: 281) because of the presence of UNHCR offices with a sizable resettlement programme and the existence of private sponsorship programmes from other resettlement countries (Grabska, 2006). As a result, asylum is often understood as something temporary, that will hopefully transform into resettlement (or repatriation/return). Many asylum seekers do not seek to obtain refugee status unless they hope to be resettled by UNHCR. To be considered for resettlement, refugees need to demonstrate that they are among the ‘most vulnerable’ (UNHCR), which implies: legal and physical protection needs, medical needs that cannot be addressed in Egypt, women at risk, survivors of torture, unaccompanied minors, family reunification, elderly refugees (UNHCR). In the Egyptian context, vulnerability appears to have taken on a new meaning: the key to resettlement. It could then be a place where refugees appropriate the concept of vulnerability to use it to their own benefit, that is to exert agency in using an otherwise disempowering concept. Or is it? Only reason to be officially recognised? The agency that refugees display in their use of the notion of vulnerability has been examined by scholars. Currently, Syrians in Cairo do not need to go through a Refugee Status Determination (RSD), since all Syrians are given the yellow card of asylum seeking upon arrival without the requirement to obtain anything else to enable them to stay in Egypt. The ‘most vulnerable’ of them, who are identified as such by UNHCR and thus entitled to possible resettlement, are the only ones who undergo RSD interviews because RSD is obviously a requirement for resettlement (Ayoub and Khallaf, 2014; Ayoub, 2016). So Syrians’ strategy on whether or not to become refugees is potentially influenced by how they want to use their vulnerability. Currie (2007) documented how desire to be resettled and engagement in refugee status determination (RSD) and resettlement procedures influenced marriage and reproductive practices among Sudanese refugees in Egypt. Vulnerability therefore means the possibility to be resettled and the necessity to go through the process of RSD: it becomes both an administrative and a strategic element. Vulnerability is indeed a strategic choice because asylum seekers can decide to use it to be resettled. It is, however, also

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a bureaucratic construction (El Shaawari, 2012: 223), because the hierarchy of vulnerability has been developed by the UNHCR in its criteria of what makes an individual ‘very vulnerable’ or not. Vulnerability is above all a condition approved by the UNHCR, something therefore very subjective, but paradoxically built on seemingly objective criteria. Subjective hierarchy of suffering As a result, the candidate for resettlement needs to navigate a system of subjective hierarchy of vulnerability and prove she or he is vulnerable enough. Subjectivity and objectivity are mixed, as vulnerability, just like the ‘well-founded fear of persecution’, is a very subjective notion that has been rendered objective by bureaucratic criteria. The person trying to defend their case needs to play by those rules and present symptoms of UNHCR-approved vulnerability in order to qualify for resettlement. They also need to work on their newly contextualised identity not only as refugees, but specifically as ‘the most vulnerable’ refugees. They need to be able to prove objectively that their vulnerability impacts on their life, and they sometimes voluntarily prevent any type of social integration to prove their vulnerability. For example, Grabska (2006) showed that to prove they can be resettled, Sudanese refugees voluntarily refuse to create any kind of ties with Egypt. They do not send their children to school and create strong boundaries around themselves to ensure they maintain a necessary distance from the host society that will prevent their integration. That process of self-vulnerabilisation displays similarities with selfOrientalisation, meaning an appropriation of a definition of the selfmade by someone else for one’s benefit. Just like with self-Orientalisation, self-vulnerabilisation gives an impression of agency, but it is mostly based on complying with subjective definitions without having a chance to control the process, as it has been constructed and imposed by a bureaucracy. There are countless stories of candidates for resettlement with seemingly apparent vulnerabilities (such as serious disabilities) who were not approved, most likely because they were not able to present themselves in the appropriate light of suffering. Using vulnerability, therefore, means understanding how the policy and practice work and learning the ‘language of the refugee system’ (El Shaarawi, 2012: 294). Candidates instrumentalise their lives so that they fit the subjectively developed criteria of resettlement. Refugees are able to decide whether or not to engage in the process of ‘vulnerability’ (self-vulnerabilisation) and decide if it is worth it, but the space

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for their agency and decision making is limited by the objective criteria, the evaluation of their case and, of course, by the loss that self-vulnerabilisation can bring. Complying with vulnerability criteria then strongly impacts their concrete integration (or lack of ), and also their imagined position in the country. The vulnerability criterion is also complex, because most refugees in Cairo are in limbo: they are unable to return home and unable to integrate in Cairo (El Shaawari, Ayoub) for a variety of reasons, such as lack of economic and social integration, rejection by the local population, etc. In that sense, they are vulnerable, in that they fit a dictionary definition: ‘the quality or state of being exposed to the possibility of being attacked or harmed, either physically or emotionally’, but not according to the definition of the UNHCR that establishes a hierarchy in the suffering of people. Relationship between CBOs and UNHCR The concept of vulnerability also impacts indirectly on the relationships between the UNHCR and Community Based Organisations (CBOs), the refugee community-based organisations that are numerous in Cairo. CBOs are associations that promote the rights of refugees and give them protection, teach them language, etc. They are usually run by refugees themselves or individuals from the country, for instance Syrian CBOs are run by Syrians who are not refugees. They receive funding from UNHCR mostly because UNHCR is trying to engage members of the community and particularly reach vulnerable individuals via the CBOs. So there again, the notion of vulnerability somehow leads to strategies of cooperation between UNHCR and CBOs (Rosenberg, 2016). Refugees are not in camps and they can roam freely in Cairo. The UNHCR has nonetheless an important role to play in Egypt. Entering into partnership with the UNHCR gives the organisation the responsibility to perform certain tasks and, in return, part or full funding to implement programmes. Many small community-based organisations partner with UNHCR. The cooperation ideally works this way: Syrian organisations get information, funding and access to UNHCR staff, while contributing with their easy access to the communities and their network. For UNHCR, their goal is to be able to locate the most vulnerable persons in the area and advocate for them, which is a priority. UNHCR seeks to register as many refugees as possible and many refugees are trying to decide if it is worth getting registered. The majority do it in order to be resettled, which is possible if they can show that they are particularly vulnerable.

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Conclusion

This chapter has looked at how gender is constructed along the road to refuge. It has focused specifically on the notion of vulnerability and how it emerges, disappears, and has different meanings in different political contexts. It has also looked at how politicised gender is, before and during a conflict, and in refuge. Many elements need to be taken into account, not only the gendered approaches that are used by humanitarian organisations, but also what they mean in specific contexts and how they evolve. Identifying vulnerability can be seen as a pragmatic humanitarian approach, which is initially what it was. It started as something crucial to erase gender-blindness or perhaps challenge the ignorance of women’s specific issues, such as SGBV, unfair access to resources, and genderbased, gender-related and gender-specific violence. However, the meaning of vulnerability evolved and it slipped into a much more naturalist and pragmatic environment. It also misleadingly gave the reassuring, albeit false, impression that women’s issues were addressed. In other words, the gender-box was checked, vulnerability became appropriated by humanitarian philosophies and created an easy answer to taking care of gender. It started to victimise women, infantilising them and perhaps ignoring the fact that males could also be vulnerable, or instrumental in fighting SGBV. This representation strips females of their agency and of their ‘right’ to be true players in the conflict. Women are constructed as being persecuted as wives, mothers or daughters, but not as political agents. But vulnerability also took a different meaning as somehow empowering, as we saw in the example of Cairo, where that vulnerability paradoxically became a strategy to facilitate resettlement, not only for women and children, precisely perhaps because the Egyptian environment itself does address vulnerability. This pseudo-empowerment is nonetheless limited by the nature of the subjective categories of what defines vulnerability, created by UNHCR. What this shows is that concepts and their utilisation keep changing and we should not ever consider them as stable. Gender on the road of refuge is not stable either. It is being done, and negotiated, and we cannot focus on one element as a trigger of how it is being done. Clearly, the humanitarian approaches are not the only element that we need to consider to understand how gender is being done, but doing gender needs to be understood as emerging from the intersections of many elements, tangible and intangible. Women represent a political project either as vulnerable or as to be saved. National identities are also reinvented, as in Europe when often local norms and

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values of tolerance are reinvented in opposition to perceived non-equalitarian and archaic ones. What Olivius (2014) called the developmental approach is not discernible only at the humanitarian micro-level, but also as a national project, and women come to represent a different national project, by being ignored or victimised or saved from their own culture or emancipated. In Egypt and in Jordan, refugee women are a different project from in Belgium where their emancipation becomes crucial, as we examined in the different ‘educational’ programmes that have been put in place. Those programmes aim to challenge patriarchy, but also to illustrate the superiority of one culture as the moral standard of gender equality and tolerance. All in all, this gendered road to refuge has shown how gender in movement, and particularly a forced movement, crystalises collective imaginations, fears, desires and struggles of women’s bodies, travelling from one place to another.

Notes 1 Belgium does not have camps either. 2 https://i.unu.edu/media/gcm.unu.edu/publication/2336/ProtectionagainstSGBVincam psMOFINAL.pdf. 3 see: The Gender Based Violence Sub-Working Group. Interagency Strategy for the Prevention of and Response to Gender-based Violence, Jordan, 2013: 1. 4 Due to the cultural weight placed on a woman to protect her honor, many mothers are forced to do the only thing that will protect their daughters from the groping hands of random male camp-dwellers: marriage (eurphrates.org 2015). 5 http://www.zanzu.be/fr.

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Mikdashi, Maya (2014). “Can Palestinian Men be Victims? Gendering Israel’s War on Gaza.” Jadaliyya, 23 July 2014. http://www.jadaliyya.com/http://www.jadaliyya.com/ Details/30991. Misztal, Barbara (2011). The Challenges of Vulnerability: In Search of Strategies for a Less Vulnerable Social Life. London: Palgrave-Macmillan. Olivius, Elisabeth (2011). “Humanitarian Assistance and the Politics of Gender Equality. A Study of Refugee Camps on the Thai–Burma Border.” In: Building peace, creating conflict? Conflictual dimensions of local and international peace-building, edited by Hanne Fjelde and Kristine Höglund. Lund: Nordic Academic Press. Olivius, Elisabeth (2014). Three Approaches to Gender in Humanitarian Aid. http://www. diva-portal.org/smash/get/diva2:724367/fulltext01.pdf. Olivius, Elisabeth (2016). “Constructing Humanitarian Selves and Refugee Others: Gender Equality and the Global Governance of Refugees.” International Feminist Journal of Politics 18(2): 270–290. doi: 10.1080/14616742.2015.1094245. Phillips, Kristen (2013). “Interventions, Interceptions, Separations: Australia’s biopolitical War at the Borders and the Gendering of Bare Life.” In: Living Through Terror. (Post) Trauma, (Post)Conflict and the South, edited by Suvendrini Perera and Antonio Traverse. New York: Routledge, 125–140. Pupavac, Vanessa (2008). “Refugee Advocacy, Traumatic Representations and Political Disenchantment.” Government and Opposition 43(2): 270–92. Rajaram, Prem Kumar (2002). “Humanitarianism and Representation of the Refugee.” Journal of Refugee Studies 15(3): 247–264. Rosenberg, Dina (2016). A study of Syrian refugee organizations in Cairo. Master’s thesis at the Department of Culture Studies and Oriental Languages, University of Oslo. https:// www.duo.uio.no/bitstream/handle/10852/51996/Master-thesis-Dina-Rosenberg. pdf ?sequence=1 Said, Edward W. (1978). Orientalism. New York: Pantheon. Sharabi, Hisham (1988). Neopatriarchy: A Theory of Distorted Change in Arab Society. New York: Oxford University Press. Smith, Megan Denise (2016). “Rethinking Gender in International Refugee Regime.” Forced Migration Review, 53: 65–66. http://www.fmreview.org/sites/fmr/files/FMRdownloads/ en/community-protection/smith.pdf. Spivak, Gayatri Chakravorty (1999). A Critique of Postcolonial Reason. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Szczepanikova, Alice (2010). “Performing Refugeeness in the Czech Republic: Gendered Depoliticisation through NGO Assistance.” Gender, Place & Culture 17(4): 461–477.

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Tastsoglou, Evangelia, Baillie Abidi, Catherine, Brigham, Susan M. and Elizabeth A. Lange (2014). “(En)Gendering Vulnerability: Immigrant Service Providers’ Perceptions of Needs, Policies, and Practices Related to Gender and Women Refugee Claimants in Atlantic Canada.” Refuge 30(2): 67–78. Turner, Lewis (2016). “Are Syrian Men Vulnerable too? Gendering the Syria Refuge Response.” Middle East Institute. http://www.mei.edu/content/map/are-syrian-men-vulnerabletoo-gendering-syria-refugee-response. UNHCR Resettlement Program in Egypt. http://www.unhcr.org/4df0d2c76.pdf UNHCR Policy on Refugee Women. (1990). http://www.unhcr.org/protection/ women/3ba6186810/unhcr-policy-on-refugee-women-1990.html UNHCR The Gender Based Violence Sub-Working Group. Interagency Strategy for the Prevention of and Response to Gender-based Violence, Jordan (2013). https://data.unhcr. org/syrianrefugees/download.php?id=5165 UNHCR Jordan (2017). http://reporting.unhcr.org/sites/default/files/UNHCR%20 Jordan%20Operational%20Update%20-%20January%202017.pdf UNHCR Handbook for the Protection of Women and Girls. (2008). http://www.unhcr. org/protection/women/47cfa9fe2/unhcr-handbook-protection-women-girls-firstedition-complete-publication.html UN Fourth Conference on Women. (1995). http://www.un.org/womenwatch/daw/beijing/ fwcwn.html UN Security Council Resolution 1325. (2000). http://www.un.org/womenwatch/osagi/ wps/ UN Women inter-agency assessment on gender-based violence and child protection among Syrian refugees in Jordan (2013). https://data.unhcr.org/syrianrefugees/download. php?id=4351 Zetter, Roger (1991). “Labelling refugees: Forming and transforming a bureaucratic identity.” Journal of Refugee Studies 4(1): 39–62.

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9. Women in Mediterranean asylum flows: Current scenario and ways forward Milena Belloni, Ferruccio Pastore and Christiane Timmerman

Abstract Cross-Mediterranean mixed migration flows to Europe have gained huge media visibility and political salience, in particular since their steep surge started in 2015. In spite of (or maybe in part due to) their intensity and size, not only the collective perceptions but also the actual public knowledge of these flows is still patchy and too undifferentiated. In particular, our awareness and empirical understanding of their gender dimension is lacking, both in statistical and in more fine-grained qualitative terms. The female component of these flows tends to be seen through stereotyped categories, which depict women as necessarily dependent on male ‘pioneer migrants’, often lumping them with children as just the weakest and most vulnerable segment within a population already described in too indiscriminately victimising terms. Without denying the specific policy obstacles, risks en route and suffering encountered by female migrants, this chapter intends to challenge the above representations. While examining the statistical evidence available on the gender balance of Mediterranean asylum flows, the chapter provides a more nuanced understanding of women’s migration by looking into the mobility strategies. Then, it shows how the most basic gender imbalance and protection deficits emerge from an asylum regime that promotes migrants’ self-selection, and thus structurally undermines the possibility of many women to have access to safety and rights.

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Introduction Gender has been one of the most debated concepts of social sciences in recent decades. While trying to define its theoretical aspects, scholars have also progressively highlighted the importance of using a gender-sensitive approach in policy-making. Some, for instance, have considered how social welfare programmes may play an emancipatory or regulatory role for women (Sainsbury, 1999); other have argued since the 1970s for the inclusion of the gender paradigm in development institutions (Boserup, 1989; Razavi, 1997). Specifically looking at migration, a gender-sensitive approach has been shown to be relevant when looking at entry regulations, migrants’ social rights and asylum rules, to cite just a few key issues. This is essentially because root causes of migration, mobility dynamics and experiences of integration in receiving society may strongly differ for men and women (e.g. Pessar, 1991; Boyd and Grieco, 2003; Kofman, 2000; Timmerman et al., 2015). These preliminary remarks are meant to highlight the importance of analysing the current Mediterranean asylum context from a gender-specific perspective. This point of view is surprisingly lacking in the current scholarly and policy debate, as illustrated by the limited amount of publicly available statistical information concerning the gender of those who arrive at European shores (Kofman, 2018). Although it is clear and undisputed that those who reach Europe by crossing the Mediterranean are mostly men, it remains to be understood who the female migrants (we use the term in a broad sense here, to include both economic migrants and refugees) are and why they are so few. Although these questions have played a central role in the literature on gender and migration in recent decades, they still need to be asked with specific reference to the contemporary Mediterranean asylum scenario. In fact, answers are likely not to be obvious, given the variety of nationalities among arrivals, their specific migration patterns and the different recognition attributed to their claims for protection, but to have deep implications for policy and protection purposes. While recognising the need for more empirically grounded and comparative research on this topic, this chapter aims at providing a deeper understanding of the Mediterranean migration crisis from a gender-specific perspective. After reviewing the literature on gender and migration, with specific focus on refugees, we examine the available data for the migrant population which arrived in Italy and Greece in 2015 and 2016. Then, we investigate the intersections between gender, mobility and nationalities to highlight specific difficulties and opportunities which women may face in displacement. Finally, based on this

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analysis we discuss the implications in terms of relevant protection needs and evidence-based migration and asylum policies. We conclude by highlighting some persisting knowledge gaps and by examining some implications of the previous analysis and discussion for future research and for policy-making.

Gender and international protection: Highlights from the literature In the last three decades, scholars have shown that the experience of migration, the trajectories as well as the circumstances leading to it are profoundly gendered. Women and men often leave their home countries for different reasons, they pursue different mobility strategies, the obstacles and opportunities they encounter while living abroad are not the same. Moreover, their transnational commitments often prove to be different (Timmerman et al, 2015). Acknowledging the importance of the gender dimension in migration has also become crucial in debates concerning refugees since the 1980s. Scholars such as Indra (1987), Greatbatch (1989) and Boyd (1999) have argued from different disciplines and perspectives that gender needs to be a central category of analysis, policy-making and claim-recognition if refugee women are not to be discriminated against. Boyd (1999), for example, showed how women tended to be less represented in the quotas of resettled refugees to Canada. This was mainly due to the criterion of self-sufficiency as a decisive one for refugees to be admitted to industrialised countries. As women were usually less educated and less experienced they were less likely to be accepted for resettlement unless as dependent partners. Greatbatch (1989), and more recently Freedman (2010), instead, illustrated how asylum claims filed by women are often dismissed on the basis that they are not grounded in a personal history of political persecution. Since women are less likely to be public figures or to play active roles in political oppositions, their fear of persecution is often judged unfounded along the lines of the Geneva convention, the cornerstone on international protection law since 1951. Violence against women, which is more often experienced in private spheres and by family members, has then, as a result, been underestimated. While some authors have argued for considering gender as the sixth refugee category along with the five (i.e. race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, political opinion) explicitly mentioned in the Geneva convention (Stevens, 1993; Schenk, 1994), others have discussed how

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to accommodate gender in the existing international legal framework and consequently inform national and local policies. No matter what specific legal or analytical position scholars and practitioners have taken, through the last decades of the past century, a consensus was built around the need for a gender-sensitive approach throughout the different phases of the asylum cycle and across its different spheres (humanitarian assistance, legal recognition and scholarly analysis). Starting from the Beijing Conference in 1995 the UNHCR has mainstreamed gender in humanitarian response (UNCHR Gender Equality Unit, 2013) and several governments have progressively included gender guidelines in their national legislation.1 Although the specificity of female asylum claims and the gender-sensitive paradigm have progressively gained momentum on the international scene and in international agreements, several scholars argue that there is still a long way to go before achieving full recognition of gender-related forms of persecution and ad hoc protection needs at national and local level. Freedman (2010), for example, reports that in Germany asylum claims have been refused on the ground that rape against women is normalised in war zones and cannot be considered as individual persecution. Similarly other reports on the UK asylum system (Bwrap and War, 2006) have described cases of courts rejecting raped women’s asylum claims as the violence in itself was not perceived as a form of persecution justifying and requiring international protection. These instances have led many to argue for the systematic introduction of specific gender guidelines in assessing asylum in all European countries (Freedman, 2010).

Women as ultimate vulnerable refugees? Within the large amount of work done to improve asylum procedures and policies, however, there has been a tendency to picture women as ultimate victims and to lump them together with children in statistics and commentaries. A case in point for this kind of discourse is the recent speech of the US President Barack Obama at the Leaders’ summit on refugees (New York City, 20 September 2016). He defined young girls as ‘the most vulnerable to abuse’ and then directly associated this vulnerability with sexual violence and forced marriage.2 A similar approach to women as vulnerable subjects characterises the recent European report on the situation of women refugees and asylum seekers in the EU by Mary Honeyball (2016). There, ‘unaccompanied women and girls’ are lumped together

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with ‘pregnant women, elderly and people with disabilities’ as people who are ‘particularly vulnerable’. Without underplaying the importance of addressing women’s specific protection needs and their relevance at political and policy levels, it is nevertheless crucial to make a few caveats. First of all, women are not like children and should not be systematically considered as part of the same vulnerable population (Manchada, 2004). Although they may suffer from several circumstances related to displacement, they are not always dependent or helpless. Migration studies have for a long time reproduced the stereotype of women involved in migration simply as followers of bread-winning male migrants (Morokvasic, 1984). However, this has been proven to be wrong in many cases, and it has been criticised for conveying an image of women as economically and politically passive actors of migration (Pedraza, 1991). Rather a lot of recent literature illustrates how women show resilience in displacement and autonomous initiative in migration strategies (Grabska, 2015; Donato and Gabaccia, 2016). For instance, Seeley (2013) describes how Jordanian Bedouin women took on the role of Nabati poets2 after displacement and, thanks to that, started accessing more geographical mobility, economic benefits and opportunity to voice political dissent. As a second caveat it has to be stressed that refugee women are indeed vulnerable to sexual violence (as we will see later when discussing the cases of some specific national groups of forced migrants), but it is key to link this violence, as the other forms of abuse and deprivation, to wider political and social circumstances (Crawley, 2000). As argued by several scholars the emphasis on sexual violence on women has brought, on the one hand, one to downplay the political dimension of the abuses suffered by women and, on the other hand, to neglect the fact that men can be victims too.4 Likewise, a narrow-minded focus on cultural harmful practices, such as female genital mutilation and forced marriages can become a way to essentialise women as the victims of backward patriarchal societies (Razack, 2004) and to dismiss and underestimate their agency. Finally, as acknowledged by a wide range of scholars, refugee women should not be pictured as a uniform category. Not only should a gender focus not be limited to women and instead also include men and masculinity, but this expanded and more sophisticated focus should also imply a deeper investigation into how gender intersects with other important dimensions, such as ethnicity, age, socio-economic background and educational level in the experience of refugee, displaced and migrant populations (cf. Chant, 2000; Carling, 2005).

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Women as refugees and IDPs: An overview of global trends It is surprising to notice how limited and controversial is the statistical evidence concerning the gender dimension of forced migration. According to many commentators in the past, women represented the majority of refugees worldwide (Forbes Martin, 2004; Bhahba and Shutters, 1994). Some went as far as saying that women made up 80 per cent of the total refugee population (Spijkerboer, 2000). However these estimates have been widely contested as being based on loose data. In fact, as the UNHCR stated in 2016(a), disaggregated data by sex are available for only 46 per cent of the total UNHCR population of concern (a broad category including refugees, asylum seekers and IDPs, i.e. Internally Displaced Persons). Dakkak et al. (2007: 43), moreover, write that only 20 out of 50 countries with problems of internal displacement report on the numbers of IDPs, and among these 20 only 2 disaggregate the data by sex and age cohort. This leaves us with an extremely vague picture of the global asylum scenario in terms of gender. This paucity of statistical information is partly due to the fact that states do not record these data and, when they do, data are often not disaggregated for sex and age. Moreover, sometimes those states which have the information do not wish to share it with international organisations for political or security reasons. Partly, this lack of information is due to the difficulties in counting an extremely mobile population in emergency settings. Let us think of the serious practical challenges associated with keeping constant track of the actual number of inhabitants in camps characterised by a high rate of secondary mobility.5 It anyway remains crucial to gather more evidence on the gender and age of displaced populations in order to provide better assistance to those in need and, from a scientific point of view, to understand the stratification of mobility patterns according to national and socio-demographic indicators. Based on the available figures, we know that there are 14.3 million females and 15 million males that account for the 46 per cent of the total population of concern of the UNHCR (2016). The sex ratio is thus roughly balanced at a global level (Table 1). However, when we look at the sex ratio of asylum applicants to Europe since 2013, we notice that men are at least double women every year (Table 2). What is also known is that women tend to outnumber men in refugee camps, usually located in rural areas (UNHCR, 2016a, 2017).

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Table 1  Demographic characteristics of UNHCR population of concern (2003–2016)6 Year Women 60 years 2003 48% 49% 46% 5% 2004 48% 50% 45% 5% 2005 48% 46% 49% 5% 2006 47% 47% 49% 4% 2007 47% 46% 49% 5% 2008 48% 44% 51% 5% 2009 47% 41% 54% 5% 2010 47% 44% 51% 5% 2011 48% 46% 49% 5% 2012 48% 46% 49% 5% 2013 49% 50% 46% 4% 2014 49% 51% 46% 3% 2015 47% 51% 46% 3% 2016 49% 51% 45% 4% Table 2  Asylum seekers in the European Union (by sex and year of application) YEAR Female applicants Male applicants Percentage of women 2008 72.745 183.331 28% 2009 93.950 203.075 32% 2010 97.170 187.650 34% 2011 106.355 235.315 31% 2012 126.240 247.205 34% 2013 150.760 307.710 33% 2014 195.885 466.100 30% 2015 384.995 1.006.160 28% Source: Elaboration on EUROSTAT online database

As highlighted by scholars such as Boyd (1999) and Freedman (2008), the gap between refugee women worldwide and those who manage to apply for asylum in Europe or in other developed countries is telling of the gender-specific obstacles which displaced women have to face to gain access to the European continent. These may be geographic, social and economic obstacles. Some journeys to

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Europe, for example, are extremely long and dangerous and many women may not feel ready to face the related risks. In other cases, their lack of mobility may be the result of a specific family strategy, according to which women stay back in camps taking care of children while men try to move to the city looking for jobs or try to migrate to other countries (Belloni, 2015a). Finally, their limited mobility may be due to the fact that families are more likely to support male mobility rather than female. Although women’s limited cross-border mobility may be considered positive as it prevents them from being exposed to a wide range of risks, their protracted stay in camps or in other precarious accommodation implies other dangers, such as deprivation, violence and abuse (Women’s Refugee Commission, 2009). In the next section, we elaborate further on these different patterns of mobility and immobility by focusing on the Mediterranean migration scenario.

The gender dimension of the Mediterranean crisis: A comparative assessment of the situation along the main routes There are three main irregular migration routes through the Mediterranean: the Western, the Central and the Eastern Mediterranean routes.7 The Western African route linking Senegal, Mauritania and Morocco and the Spanish Canary Islands was once the busiest irregular entry point for the whole of Europe, peaking at 32,000 migrants arriving on the islands in 2006. However, following a series of bilateral agreements on border controls and repatriation between Spain and Western African governments, the numbers dropped to only a few hundred in the last 10 years.8 Thus, we decided to focus on the Central and Eastern Mediterranean routes which represent the entry points for the overwhelming majority (over 97 per cent) of total arrivals in Europe in 2015.9 Here too, some methodological caveats are to be made before moving on to the available data. First of all, there are two main kinds of data when we look at the current migration crisis: the first refers to the asylum applications officially filed before the national authorities in European states. These figures are fairly precise and provided in aggregated form by the EU’s statistical agency, Eurostat. The second kind of data concerns arrivals on European shores—mainly Greece and Italy, but not them alone. These data suffer from significant limitations in terms of precision, consistency and lack of disaggregated information. This is mainly due to the limited capacity to register sea arrivals. Let us take the cases of Italy and Greece in the last few years.

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Prior to the ‘Mare Nostrum’ Search and Rescue operation launched in October 2013, publicly available Italian figures on unauthorised migration were less detailed and systematic than today. Although all arrived migrants—in order to avoid the risk of immediate expulsion—should file an asylum request in the first European country of arrival, this has not always been the case. During the 1990s and early 2000s, many cross-Mediterranean migrants used to arrive unnoticed by the authorities and a significant (although impossible to quantify precisely) share proceeded on their clandestine journey to other European countries. Even those who were rescued and assisted in reception centres were likely to flee before being recorded and identified. While secondary movements to other northern European countries are still characterising a certain number of asylum flows to Italy, the fact that since 2013 cross-Mediterranean mixed flows are systematically recorded even before reaching the shores on the ships of the Italian Navy has made it possible to account more accurately for the demographic characteristics and nationalities of arriving migrants. The Greek case is even more problematic and, until 2015, figures on arrivals are mainly available only in aggregated form, at least in English. As highlighted in several reports, arrived migrants in Greece were likely not to be registered (AIDA, 2014; UNHCR, 2013). Even those who were seeking to file an asylum claim in Greece found it hard to register themselves. See for example this declaration by UNHCR in July 2013: ‘To date, … all other relevant border locations, particularly the islands of Eastern Aegean, facing new arrivals by sea, lack the necessary first reception mechanisms to ensure that basic needs of newly arriving refugees and migrants are addressed, that they are screened, that persons with special needs as well as those who need international protection are identified and that referral to appropriate structures for follow-up according to their profile and needs are undertaken.’ (UNHCR, 2013: 4) Although since the implementation of a new procedure in June 2013 several improvements have been made, the identification of arrived migrants can still certainly be improved.10 Based on the available data, mainly provided by UNHCR and the Italian Ministry of the Interior, we are able to sketch the following comparisons between arrivals in Greece and Italy in terms of gender and, when possible, of age and

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nationality. However, another crucial point to be underlined is that often the data are divided between women, men and minors: the sex of this last category of migrants remains neutral in most UNHCR statistics. More confusion emerges while trying to compare Greek figures dividing the refugee population into men, women and children and Italian ones, which distinguish children in general from unaccompanied minors. However, based on data drawn from pre-registration procedures, Kofman (2018) reports that the gender balance of minors is fairly even until the age of 14. Boys instead outnumber girls among those between 15 and 17. This is in line with national statistics about current stocks which characterise unaccompanied minors’ migration as an overwhelmingly male phenomenon (around 90-95 per cent according to available EUROSTAT data for 2016) and mostly from Afghanistan (51%), Syria (16%) and Eritrea (6%). 2015

2016 (Jan.-Sept.)

Gender of migrants arrived in Greece Tot. 856,723

Gender of migrants arrived in Greece Tot. 167,015

Men

28% 55%

Women

Gender of migrants arrived in Italy Tot. 153,842 11%

Gender of migrants arrived in Italy Tot. 131,860

Women 75%

Children

21%

Men

14%

Men Women

Children

17%

41%

38%

Children

Men

13% 14% 12%

Women 61%

Children Unaccompanied minors

Figure 1: Comparison between arrivals in Greece and Italy per gender for 2015 and 2016 (January-September)

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As we can see from the above graphs, women are underrepresented on both the Eastern and the Central Mediterranean routes. This is in line with previous analyses which highlighted how women are less likely to have access to asylum in industrialised countries (Freedman, 2010; Boyd, 1999). However, as Kofman (2018) argues, these yearly averages can hide much of the gender fluctuations in the flows and their interaction with the implementation of policy measures. Based on preliminary data from the UNHCR periodic assessments in Greece before and after the EU-Turkey deal, it can be noticed that the gender composition of the flow through the Eastern Mediterranean route shifted after the deal. While women, children and families once made up the majority of those arriving in Greece, a more male adult profile emerged after March 2016 (Kofman, 2018). The analysis of these fluctuations is thus crucial to understanding the impact of migration policies on the ability of women to access asylum in Europe. Notwithstanding, it can be noticed that women are more represented among those who arrive in Greece. This is probably due to fewer physical obstacles entailed in travelling to Greece from Turkey than from Libya to Italy. Moreover, it should be considered that while Turkey is a neighbour to Syria (by far the main source country for refugees in Turkey), Libya is a long way from the countries of origin of most migrants arriving in Italy (i.e. Eritrea, Somalia, Nigeria etc.). This implies more dangers en route and higher economic investment needed to reach Europe. Although prices are quickly changing and highly dependent upon several contingent factors, it can be estimated that Syrians pay on average 1,500-2,000 euros to reach Europe, while Eritreans can spend up to 10,000 euros to leave the home country, reach Libya and cross the Mediterranean (RMMS, 2014). Still it is interesting to see the difference between the sex ratio among Syrian refugees in Turkey and those arriving in Europe. While women make up 46 per cent of the Syrian refugee population in Turkey (UNHCR Portal-2016), they account for only 21 per cent among those arrived in Greece. This shows how mobility is stratified along gender lines.11 These data may also suggest a family strategy of risk diversification, by which male partners tend to migrate to Europe and women stay back with the children hoping to be later reunited through subsequent family reunion procedures. This is also supported by the fact that more than 58 per cent of the Syrian refugees interviewed in 2015 by UNCHR as part of a pilot research on the profile of Syrians in Greece (2015) stated they intended to take their family members to their final country of asylum. Similar gendered patterns in which men are the pioneers and women and children follow once circumstances have become more certain are also observed in migration

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strategies motivated by socio-economic reasons, often in the context of family migration (Timmerman, 2009; De Haas, 2010). An analogous process of stratification by gender during migration is probably taking place also among other nationalities, such as Eritreans and Somalis, who tend to leave their spouses and children in refugee camps or urban areas in transit countries and plan on bringing them to Europe at a later stage. This is suggested by anecdotal evidence gathered in qualitative research and small sample surveys (Grabska, 2016; RMMS, 2014). However, this does not mean that women are exclusively followers. On the contrary, as illustrated in the next section, they can often be pioneers.

Who are the women arriving in Europe? Based on the available 2015 data, we know that, among the most numerous nationalities upon arrival in Italy, Nigerians are the ones with the highest rate of women (25%) followed by Eritreans (22%) and Somalis (21%). Syrian women, instead, represented only 17 per cent of the total number of the relatively few Syrian refugees who reached Italy. On the Greek side, at the end of 2015 the nationalities with highest shares of women were Syrians (43%), Afghanis (29%) and Iraqis (12%). Although more finely disaggregated and diachronic data on these flows are not available, it is more generally known from the relevant literature (Monsutti, 2007; Faquiri, 2002) that Afghan migration is primarily a male enterprise, while Iraqis and Syrians tend to have a higher proportion of women. It remains to be better understood which are the characteristics of the female migrants who make it to Europe and what kind of both physical and socioeconomic obstacles they encounter. Also in this field, only a few exploratory studies exist. We are thus going to focus on three main migrant nationalities— Nigerians, Eritreans and Syrians—in order to try to advance our understanding of their specific patterns of step-wise migration, intersecting gender with other relevant categories of analysis, such as socio-economic background, age and ethnicity. Pioneers or dependents? Although in public perceptions migrant women have usually been conventionally represented as followers of their male partners, research has shown that women

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can also be pioneers in migration. Data provided by the Regional Mixed Migration Secretariat for the ‘4mi Project’ on migration from the Horn of Africa highlights that 58 per cent of the interviewed Eritrean women on the move were single.12 Mostly from urban backgrounds and with secondary education level, these women professed not to have direct dependants. Although this population does not necessarily reflect the characteristics of those who manage to arrive in Europe, it gives us an idea of their profile. It suggests that these women are not followers, but rather ‘pioneers’ who are likely to acquire a crucial economic and social role for their families back home. This exploratory evidence is also supported by qualitative research on Eritrean migration to Europe (Grabska, 2016; Belloni, 2015b). Similar patterns are also observed in the context of other migration regimes, e.g. in the context of labour or student migration, in which single women migrate for emancipatory reasons (Heyse et al., 2015; Godin et al., 2015). Nigerian women arriving in Italy are also most likely to be single and young. This may also be due to their prevalent involvement in the prostitution business (Monzini, 2005). Although trafficked, they can, to a certain extent, be considered pioneers in their migration, sending money back home and sustaining their families’ livelihoods, as shown in previous research on the topic (Carling, 2005; Zibouh and Martiniello, 2015). Not much is known about Syrian women who reach Europe, but UNHCR exploratory results (2016b), seem to suggest that one-shot whole-family migration is often not an option even for Syrians crossing into Greece. The data show that 62 per cent of respondents say that they were separated from close family members at a certain point in the journey mainly due to lack of financial resources; 36 per cent of the interviewees were planning to reunite with their relatives after arriving in their desired country of asylum. Although some families are present among those arriving by boat at the Greek islands in the Aegean sea, 61 per cent of UNCHR female respondents were either single women or widows. The data collected through the EVI-MED project between March and July 2016 in mainland Greece seem to confirm that many Syrian women travelled without their husbands, but with their children and planned to reunite with their spouses who had already reached other European countries. Migration as a self-selective process Given the high social, physical and economic costs of the journey, it can be assumed that those who make it to Europe are a self-selected sample of migrants,

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likely to be on average more resourceful than those who stay put in camps or in transit countries. As mentioned earlier, they can be seen as pioneers who are paving the way for those who want to follow. If successful, this can mean the start of a new ‘migration system’ (De Haas, 2011). As illustrated by several scholars (Van Hear, 2006; Carling, 2002), international forced migrants are often stronger and more determined, and they often have more money and wider social networks to support their cross-border mobility than immobile refugees or internally displaced people in developing and war-torn countries. Thus, although their vulnerability is likely to increase along the journey due to the many traumatic experiences faced by those who arrive in Europe by sea, it can be argued that, at the start, they are not among the most vulnerable (Belloni, 2015a). Those who remain immobile in countries of origin or in transit areas are instead those who probably are most in need of protectioern. This is usually true for both men and women. The fact that most Syrians interviewed by the UNHCR in Greece (2015) reported that they were students before fleeing is telling. As a matter of fact, being university students implies being young, educated and most probably—especially in a low-income country—from a middle- or lower middle-class family which has more opportunities to support family members when they opt for migration. However, this argument is obviously not valid for victims of trafficking who have by definition no (or extremely limited) say in their mobility patterns. With more specific reference to women’s migration, it is crucial to analyse the intersection of social class, gender and migration. As feminist scholars in the last decade have widely shown, women per se are not excluded from mobility due to family decisions or patriarchal cultures (Lauby and Stark, 1988). In fact, in some specific contexts, they may even be favoured (Pedraza, 1991). However, the overlapping of socio-economic deprivation, lower educational levels and patriarchal values can limit women’s access to geographic mobility. This may especially be the case of women from a rural background in war-torn countries, as illustrated by Lubkemann (2008; 2001) in the case of Mozambican women during the civil war (1977–1992). In the case of Eritrean women, it was remarked that especially urban dwellers tended to be generally more active in international migration than those from rural backgrounds (Kibreab, 1995). Notwithstanding these studies, more research on the intersection between socio-economic, gender, cultural, historical and structural factors is needed in order to improve our understanding of the limited number of women reaching Europe across the Mediterranean in recent years.

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Here it is also important to address the issue of involuntary female migration. Following a widespread perception of refugee women as victims, the forced dimension of women’s mobility is often emphasised, sometimes one could say even over-emphasised. Although phenomena such as trafficking for purposes of sexual exploitation and forced marriages are obviously worrying and need to be duly addressed (e.g. Save the children, 2014), it is also important not to underestimate women’s agency in recent migration flows to Europe. This is not only for the sake of critical analysis, but for concrete policy purpose. For example, the stress on forced marriages may, in some instances, be confused in public understanding with the practice of arranged marriages, which are traditionally practised and widely accepted by men and women in many Asian and African societies. At a practical level, this may hinder family reunification processes of couples who have both agreed to get married without having a previous intimate romantic relationship (cf. Eggebo, 2013; Infantino, 2014; Longman et al. 2015). In fact, it has been shown how in these cases consular officers, underestimating women’s agency, often reject visa applications, and thereby further limit women’s possibilities to access mobility and protection in industrialised countries (cf. Bloch et al., 2000). This phenomenon is for example also seen in the context of Turkish and Moroccan marriage migration towards Belgium (Timmerman, 2008). Likewise, the trafficking of West African (especially Nigerian) women needs to be understood outside a rigidly dualistic framework of victims and perpetrators. As mentioned before, it is estimated that around 70 per cent of Nigerian women arriving in Europe are destined to work in the prostitution industry to pay the debt they have accumulated in order to finance their assisted migration (Ministero dell’Interno, 2016). This phenomenon is extremely complex and cannot be fully addressed here (Carling, 2006). However, what is important to stress is that this business flourishes at the intersection between widespread migration aspirations in the context of departure, limited avenues for legal international mobility as well as self-reinforcing mechanisms by which victims’ interests converge with those of their exploiters. This is the case when trafficked prostitutes become ‘madamas’ themselves or when the prospect of having their debt paid without breaking the religiously sealed pact keeps them loyal to their offenders after their arrival in Europe (Carling, 2006; Monzini, 2005, 2007). Any policy aiming at addressing this phenomenon cannot avoid acknowledging its multi-faceted nature.

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Structural weaknesses in the international protection system and its impact on women: Concluding remarks As the current crisis has made manifest, the current asylum system suffers from several fundamental limitations, which impact on the gender dimension of current Mediterranean flows. First of all, the current refugee regime is based on the idea that conflicts are short-term and that refugees will go back to their countries once the conditions have changed. However, most refugee-producing countries, as UNHCR lists them (Afghanistan, Iraq, Eritrea, Myanmar etc.), have in fact experienced decades of war, instability and livelihood disruption so that there are millions of people living in protracted displacement. From this derives the second most crucial limit. Secondly, refugee camps and humanitarian response in neighbouring countries have been created as temporary mechanisms of assistance, but in many cases they have de facto become permanent. This leads to encampment of large portions of the refugee population as well as their structural separation from local hosting societies. Little political capital has been invested to create alternatives to camps so that, as of today, large refugee populations have limited possibilities of integrating in the first country of arrival and minimal chance to be resettled to industrialised countries. Less than 1 per cent of refugees worldwide, in fact, access resettlement programmes. High-income countries are generally reticent to set higher quotas to resettle refugees from first areas of arrivals, but they tend to be even more worried and reception-averse when large-scale flows of irregular migrants (among which many potentially entitled to international protection) arrive to Europe or other safe regions of destination (Pastore and Henry, 2016; Pastore, 2017). The above-mentioned characteristics of the global asylum regime produce a stratification among the refugee population based on individuals’ and families’ possibilities to look for alternatives on their own. As decades of refugee studies have taught us there is a wide range of socio-economic, educational and, last but not least, demographic (sex in primis) characteristics which are usually associated with refugees living in camps, in urban areas and those who manage to reach developed countries. This means that a system that does not prioritise resettlement or other long-term solutions is destined to be gender-biased. Considering the specific challenges that female migrants have to face en route (Abdel Aziz, Monzini and Pastore, 2015), it is understandable that many women do not want or are not allowed to embark on the risky journeys through the

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Mediterranean. For these reasons, they may be the ones that mostly remain in neighbouring developing countries. As local integration in these countries is often limited, refugees suffer from a variety of difficulties. These range from socio-economic deprivation derived from the limited possibilities to integrate in local labour markets to risks of harassment by authorities due to their lack of legal permission to live outside camps in many developing countries (i.e. Lischer, 2006; Buscher, 2013; Tyler and Schmeidl, 2014). Female and male refugees both face limitations on their mobility, in their ability to find a viable livelihood in their new place of residence and in their access to education. Moreover, scholars have shown that disruption of previous gender roles due to humanitarian assistance and men’s troubles in finding paid employment in the first country of asylum frequently lead to tensions and potentially increased domestic violence towards women or strengthened control of men over women (i.e. Forbes Martin, 2004).95 While these structural limits of the current international asylum regime and its intrinsic gender bias can be clearly seen from the available figures and research, this chapter has also shown that detailed and disaggregated data on newly arrived migrants and asylum seekers are dramatically lacking. These, however, are crucial to produce the necessary knowledge for evidence-based and gender-sensitive policies. Micro-data, in fact, would allow for an analysis of gender which does not essentialise women as a category, but unpack it along age, nationality and socio-economic lines. Only the analyses of how these characteristics intersect could provide a sound basis to understand the profile of those who are most likely to be vulnerable in transit countries or upon reception. The generalisation of women as essentially vulnerable can also have adverse effects. For instance, refugee women are often a priori seen as ‘victims of their cultural origin’. This perspective on the situation of refugee women has often led to reinforce stigmatisation of other cultures, defined in an undifferentiated way as patriarchal and backward. This strengthens the idea of women as passive actors, inevitably in need of special assistance. The overemphasis on sexual abuses and domestic violence has, in our opinion, hampered a more open debate on the basic structural limitations of an asylum regime which promotes migration as a self-selective process, undermining the possibilities of those who are vulnerable to access safety and long-term prospects of integration.

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Notes 1 It is here important to clarify that implementing a gender-sensitive approach to asylum does not mean that only women can bring a claim of gender-related persecution. In fact, although women are more often the victims of sexual violence, family/domestic violence, coerced family planning, genital mutilation, punishment for transgression of social mores, these forms of violence can also be experienced by men. 2 We quote: “And in all of this work, we cannot forget those who are often the most vulnerable to abuse—young girls and women. So a key part of our efforts must be a renewed commitment to stopping sexual violence and forced marriage. And we need to do more to truly empower women and girls—because every girl deserves the chance to grow and be safe, and every woman should have her human rights and dignity upheld.” (New York City, 20 September 2016) 3 Nabati is a traditional form of oral poetry practiced throughout the Arab Peninsula. 4 Although this paper is focused on the specific threats and obstacles faced by refugee women and female asylum seekers, it is not useless to remember that male asylum seekers and refugees may well experience sexual violence and also persecution based on their masculinity. This can happen not only in the country of origin, but also in the country of asylum where male refugees are often represented as public threats for gender-related reasons which may trigger specific stereotyping processes and even forms of targeted violence (Haggis&Schech, 2009; De Vargas&Donzelli, 2014). 5 Secondary mobility refers to refugees’ movements subsequent to the initial flight from their home country to their first country of asylum. 6 Source UNHCR (2017: 55). About the above data, the UNHCR (2017: 55) reports “these percentages are based on available data and exclude countries where no demographic information is available. This is particularly the case for high-income countries” 7 ‘Routes’ are understood here as geographical trajectories typically used by migrants and smugglers for the irregular access to the territory of the EU. For an overview of the main routes as identified by the EU’s border agency Frontex, see http://frontex.europa.eu/ trends-and-routes/migratory-routes-map/. 8 http://frontex.europa.eu/trends-and-routes/western-african-route/. 9 http://www.iom.int/news/irregular-migrant-refugee-arrivals-europe-top-one-million2015-iom. 10 For more details, see the European Commission’s periodical reports ‘on relocation and resettlement’, the most recent of which COM(2017) 202 final was released on 2 March 2017. 11 Similar considerations can be done by looking at the sex ratio of the refugee population in Jordan and Lebanon where women even outnumber men (52% women and 48% men).

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12 http://4mi.regionalmms.org/4mi.html. 13 For these reasons, UNHCR and other agencies, such as the International Rescue Committee and the Danish Refugee Council have been implementing over the years several programmes aimed at combating these practices among refugee populations. The key in this domain seems to be not only to raise awareness among women about the possibility to seek assistance after having experienced such a violence, but also to be able to involve men so as to change their perceptions about women’s sexuality (Hough, 2013).

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10. Gendered Migration Aspirations in Turkey: The importance of the ‘Culture of Migration’ Christiane Timmerman, Zeynep Zümer Batur and Lore Van Praag

Abstract To fully understand migration processes and dynamics, it is important to consider decision-making processes with regard to migration in emigration regions. In emigration regions, women often show fewer migration aspirations than men. However, region-specific characteristics may also play an important role in the shaping of migration aspirations and the actual decision-making process to actually achieve the moving from one country to another. An important factor in understanding people’s migration aspirations is the popularity of emigration within the region, often referred to as a ‘culture of migration’. In this chapter, we aim to understand whether women hold different migration aspirations from men. Moreover, we will study whether a culture of migration affects the formation of migration aspirations for women. To study this, we use data collected in two regions in Turkey, namely the districts of Dinar and Emirdağ, both of which are in the province of Afyon, but each has a distinct history of migration towards Europe. While Emirdağ has for several decades already been characterised as a region of high emigration, the emigration in Dinar has remained comparatively low. Our empirical data are collected from the representative survey conducted in these two districts in the context of the FP7 project ‘EUMAGINE: Imagining Europe from the outside’. Our analyses indicated that both gender and belonging to a ‘culture of migration’ proved to be important in understanding migration aspirations.

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Introduction In recent decades, significant migration flows have been established between specific emigration areas in Turkey and cities/neighbourhoods in Europe. This sometimes even resulted in the formation of transplanted communities that exist out of an extended, geographically highly concentrated Turkish community, often characterised by a considerable amount of social control and local ethnic economy (e.g., Verhaeghe, Van der Bracht and Van de Putte, 2012). One of the main reasons to migrate was the increased need for labour workers in Europe in the 1960s and 1970s (Avci and Kirişci, 2006; Martin, 2012). After this intense period of emigration from Turkey to Europe between the 1960s and the 1970s, the demand for labour declined. Since the 1980s, family reunification or marriage migration has become an important reason for migrating to Europe (Timmerman et al., 2009). Currently, given that relations between Europe and Turkey are changing, this may influence migration dynamics from Turkey to Europe. Since 2008, Europe has been affected by a severe economic crisis which probably affects its attraction for potential migrants who aspire to improve their economic situation (Timmerman, Hemmerechts and DeClerck, 2014). Although from an immigration perspective, there are mainly pull-factors that caused people to emigrate from Turkey to Europe over the last decades, less is known about the factors that influence why some people decided to emigrate and others have stayed in Turkey. Therefore, it is important to focus explicitly on the international migration aspirations of people in Turkey. In general, emigration theories have distinguished factors at three levels of analysis (macro-, meso- and micro-level) to explain processes of international migration. First, theories situated at the macro level focus on features on national and international levels and stress characteristics of the country of origin and the country of destination such as economic indicators (e.g., income and employment differences in a country), political variables (e.g., existence of a civil war) and demographic changes (e.g., population growth). Second, on a meso perspective, the role of institutions, organisations and features of (ethnic) networks is emphasised. Finally, micro-level theories of international migration have focused attention on the features and decision-making processes of the (future) migrant or individual him- or herself. This may include the study of immigrants’ expectations, ideas, aspirations and their characteristics (Faist, 2000). Although it is interesting to study each of these processes, few studies have actually integrated these levels with each other (De Haas, 2011). For instance, De Haas (2011)

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argues that, abstract emigration motivations, such as declining fertility, ageing, population density, environmental degradation or factor productivity, may play a role to explain international migration processes but are not necessarily people’s incentives to start thinking about emigration. Hence, scholars should pay more attention to the link between macro- and micro-level processes of international migration (see also Timmerman, Heyse and Van Mol, 2010). While migration should be seen as a dynamic and non-linear process, existing out of distinct migration phases (De Haas, 2010; see also Zelinsky, 1971), current theories often do not take these dynamics into consideration. When studying migration dynamics, little attention has been paid to the possibility of migrationundermining and migration-facilitating feedback mechanisms which are part and parcel of internal migration dynamics (De Haas, 2010; see also Portes, 2010). Migration-undermining feedback mechanisms could be receiving negative information about the country of destination coming from family members that have migrated earlier. Migration-facilitating feedback mechanisms could for example be the existence of migrant networks in a city/neighbourhood in another country. These feedback mechanisms may influence migration flows and may be important ways in which distinct levels of analysis interact and have an impact on migration-related decision-making processes. Such feedback mechanisms may be crucial to consider as people who have access to first-hand information on what is going on in Europe might develop different migration aspirations from those who do not (Timmerman, Hemmerechts and De Clerck, 2014). Previously, scholars focusing on international migration have often left aside the role gender plays in these international migratory flows (Kofman et al., 2000; Carling, 2005; Piper, 2005; Timmerman et al., 2014). Gender relations influence migration dynamics at macro-, meso- and micro-level and are therefore crucial to consider when studying such dynamics (Grieco and Boyd, 1998). The complete migration experience should also be seen as a ‘gender phenomenon’ (Donato et al., 2006). In this contribution, we aim to contribute to the existing literature in the following ways. First, we aim to understand migration dynamics mainly from an emigration perspective. In doing so, we will collect data in two regions in Turkey with a distinct emigration history (i.c., Emirdağ and Dinar) in order to understand the impact of feedback mechanisms on migration processes and the relevance of a culture of migration. Second, we will introduce a gendered perspective in the research field on migration dynamics; more concretely, we want to focus on the relevance of gender in understanding migration dynamics in the regions that are (or are not) affected by migration, making use of survey

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data collected in the FP7 project: ‘EUMAGINE: imagining Europe from the outside’”. More explicitly, we will first investigate if gender matters in explaining migration aspirations, and secondly the significance of living in a migration impacted region or not on women’s migration aspiration. In the following sections, we will build further on the existing theories and literature to formulate hypotheses that allow us to gain more insight into this topic of study.

Gendered opportunities, ideologies and networks While gender has been largely ignored in migration studies over the years, migration patterns vary considerably across gender (Kofman et al., 2000; Carling, 2005; Kraler et al., 2011; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Timmerman et al., 2015). Gender relations seem to affect migration patterns at all levels (Grieco and Boyd, 1998). Men and women have distinct opportunities to migrate (Morokvasic, 1991; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Timmerman, 2008; Timmerman et al., 2015), migrant networks (Curran and Saguy, 2001; Dannecker, 2005) are affected differently by existing gender ideologies (Donato et al., 2006). This gender effect also applies to gender aspirations (Morokvasic, 1991; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Timmerman, 2008; Timmerman et al., 2015). The focus of the present study will start at the first phases of the migration process, namely the intentions and aspirations of men and women to emigrate, in order to understand gendered migration outcomes and dynamics. Men and women have distinct priorities to consider migration, which are distinctively influenced by the combined effects of factors at the meso and macro levels. At the macro level, perceptions of job opportunities in the home country and Europe play an important role in shaping migration aspirations. Several studies have already shown the importance of perceived job opportunities to migrating in the home country and in the country of origin (Timmerman et al., 2012; 2014). More specifically, having a negative perception of job opportunities in the home country, positive ideas concerning the job opportunities in the immigrant country were found to have a positive effect on international migration aspirations ( Jolivet and De Haas, 2012). Men living in a patriarchal society, such as Turkey, are more frequently expected to be the breadwinners of the family, compared to women (Delaney, 1991). This burden of taking up economic responsibilities vis-à-vis their families is high, especially in rural, more conservative areas like Dinar and Emirdağ. Hence, they attach more importance to the existence of job opportunities in the countries of

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origin and destination. When there is a lack of job opportunities in the regions in which they live, which is the case for both regions (Korfali, Üstübici and De Clerck, 2010), men will be more prone to migrate compared to women. This was for instance already visible in the, mainly male, emigration in the 1960s and 1970s out of Emirdağ to secure their families’ economic situation (Timmerman, 2001; 2006). Building further on insights of the existing literature, in this study we aim to test the following hypothesis: ‘men compared to women are more likely to have migration aspirations’. While economic reasons act as a greater migration motivation for men than for women (Timmerman and Wets, 2011), women may have additional motives for migrating or staying in the country ( Jolivet and De Haas, 2012). Women in general are more likely to migrate for quality of life-oriented reasons such as access to good education, health care, self-development and gender equality (Timmerman et al, 2015). Also family related dynamics, for example the approval of the family prove to be important for women when considering migration. At the meso level, migration aspirations were found to be affected by the role of social networks or belonging to transnational families (Boyd, 1989; Gurak and Caces, 1992). This may in some regions result in the existence of a (local) ‘culture of migration’, which is characterised by a high density of transnational family ties (Theo, 2003; Pang, 1993; 1998; 2000; Timmerman, Hemmerechts and DeClerck, 2014). The presence of such a ‘culture of migration’ was found to both have a positive effect on migration aspirations and decisions (Theo, 2003; Pang, 1993; 1998; 2000) and also a possible dissuading effect on potential migrants living in regions where a ‘culture of migration’ exists (de Haas, 2010b; Timmerman et al., 2003; 2006; 2008; Riccio, 2005; Mai, 2004; Van Mol et al., 2016). More specifically, in one of our previous studies (Timmerman, Hemmerechts and De Clerck, 2014), we found that individual level migration aspirations in a region of Turkey characterised by an omnipresent ‘culture of migration’ (Emirdağ), were significantly lower than in a socio-economically similar region that lacks such a ‘culture of migration’ (Dinar). Similarly, the perceptions of the economic opportunities and working and living conditions in Europe were more negative for people living in the migration-impacted region of Emirdağ than in Dinar. As a result of the decades of dense chain migration, Emirdağ became closely connected with several Turkish communities in Europe. From this perspective, it is evident that people in Emirdağ are better informed about the economic hardship Europe is currently going through, compared to the people in Dinar. Consequently, the importance of the ideas concerning the economic crisis in

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Europe was greater for people living in migration-impacted regions through their privileged relation with the Turkish immigrant communities in Europe, compared to similar regions without a significant history of emigration. Regardless of the distinct perceptions on the economic situation and opportunities in Europe, it is interesting to note that there was a similar (positive) vision of the democratic and human rights capital in both regions (Timmerman et al., 2014). To conclude, it seems that the culture of migration may matter considerably for the development of people’s migration aspirations. Knowing that men and women value other aspects when aspiring to migrate it would be relevant to find out if living in a culture of migration or not affects women’s migration aspirations. We will test the hypothesis: ‘gender differences in migration aspirations are different in emigration regions with or without a culture of migration.’

Methodology In order to test our postulated hypotheses, we make use of the cross-sectional quantitative dataset, collected as part of the EUMAGINE project. In the EUMAGINE project, non-EU citizens in the age band of 18-39 years in four countries (Morocco, Turkey, Senegal and Ukraine) were questioned in the same period (the first half of 2011) using the same questionnaire (Ersanilli, 2012: 3). The research population was delimited to the population aged between 18 and 39 years as this population has the highest probability of perceiving emigration as a possibility. The goal of the survey was to obtain information on theoretically informed research questions using a representative random sample of 2,000 respondents in the four countries just mentioned. The sampling technique was the stratified clustering method with random walks (for more information see Ersanilli, Carling and De Haas, 2011 et. al; Ersanilli, 2012). In each country, four regions (each containing 500 respondents) were selected for data collection: a known high emigration area, low emigration area, an immigration area and an area with human rights issues. For Turkey, the following regions were selected: Emirdağ (high emigration area), Dinar (low emigration area), Fatih (immigration area) and Van Merkez (an area with human rights issues) (Ersanilli, Carling and De Haas 2011: 36). In this chapter, we focus on only Dinar and Emirdağ in Afyon for the reason that they are socio-economically similar but differ in one important aspect: their emigration rates (Timmerman, Heyse and Van Mol, 2010: 18;

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Korfali, Üstübici and De Clerck, 2010: 45–48). Emirdağ has a significantly higher emigration rate compared to Dinar. Additionally, based on earlier studies, we can discern an omnipresent ‘culture of migration’ in Emirdağ (Timmerman et al, 2011; 2006) that is absent in Dinar (Korfali, Üstübici and De Clerck, 2010). The two research areas were first stratified according to a rural-urban dimension and sub-counties. Interviews were distributed according to the size of the strata in each region. More specifically, 50 batches of ten interviews in each research area were distributed according to the relative size of strata. A list of clusters (neighborhoods and villages) was made for each stratum. After deciding on the number of clusters in each stratum, batches of ten interviews were sampled at fixed intervals. A random walk was executed to select households. Within selected households (defined as ‘all persons who live under the same roof, normally eat together and have communal arrangements concerning subsistence and other necessities of life’) respondents were randomly chosen. The selected respondents were questioned face to face in the first half of 2011 with structured paper-and-pencil questionnaires (Ersanilli, Carling and De Haas, 2011). The selection of respondents in the research areas continued until 500 interviews were completed. Respectively 2,495 and 1,751 households in Emirdağ and Dinar were contacted in order to meet this criterion (Project Paper 7 Eumagine, Survey Report: 19). Respectively 34.23 per cent and 19.87 per cent of the contacted households in Emirdağ and Dinar were assessed as households with no eligible respondents. Of the households contacted, respectively, 5.37 per cent and 11.71 per cent in Emirdağ and Dinar refused to cooperate. In Emirdağ, a lot of addresses were assessed as ‘vacated/nobody was at home’ (39.12 per cent of contacted households). This was relatively higher than the percentage in Dinar (13.59 per cent). This indicates high emigration in this area (Project Paper 7 Eumagine, Survey Report, 8, 20).

Operationalisation Outcome The dependent variable measures migration aspirations to Europe. In the survey conducted for the EUMAGINE project, respondents were asked whether they wanted to migrate to another country: ‘Ideally, if you had the opportunity, would

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you like to go abroad to live or work?’. In a follow-up question, respondents who said they had aspirations to migrate to another country were also asked to which country they would prefer to go. The combination of these two questions resulted in a variable that measured the aspirations to migrate to Europe.1 Out of 1,000 respondents in the two Turkish regions (Emirdağ and Dinar), 358 had aspirations to migrate to Europe (weighted data, 45 missing). In Emirdağ, 187 of 500 respondents had migration aspirations to Europe (12 missing). In Dinar, 171 of 500 had migration aspirations to Europe (33 missing). Independent variables The following independent variables were used in this article: age, marital status, having children, family migration experience, gender, years of education, material wealth, family approval and regions (Dinar and Emirdağ). Age is a continuous variable measuring the age of respondents. Age was operationalised by asking for the respondents’ year of birth. We calculated the age of the respondents by deducting 2011 from the year of birth of the respondents. 2011 was the year when the survey was taken. Marital status, renamed ‘married’, is coded 1 when individuals are ‘married/ monogamous’, ‘married/polygamous’ or ‘living with a partner/not married’. It is coded 0 when individuals are ‘unmarried’, ‘divorced’, ‘widowed’ or ‘separated’. The variable having children is operationalised as ‘0’, and having no children as ‘1’. The EUMAGINE survey included two questions on childhood that gauged whether the respondents had children who lived in- or outside their household. These two questions were combined into one variable. In order to measure family migration experience, respondents were asked to indicate whether they ‘have any family members above 16 years old who are currently living in another country’. This variable was coded dichotomously, with ‘1’ as yes and ‘0’ as no. Gender, renamed ‘female’, is a binary variable and has ‘female’ as category 1 and ‘male’ as category 0. The education variable is measured by asking for the years of education one has completed. Answer categories range from no education (‘0’), pre-school (‘1’), primary school-old system (‘1-5’), primary school (‘2-9’), lower secondary schoolold system (‘6-8’), higher vocational school (‘9-11’), upper secondary schoolold system (‘10-12’), upper secondary school-old system (‘10-13’), university or polytechnic (‘14-17’) to doctorate (‘18-21’).

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Material wealth was measured by asking whether respondents had electricity, a modern flush toilet connected to sewerage in their residence, running hot water, a shower in their residence, radio, television, a satellite dish and receiver, a video/vcr/dvd player, telephone (landline or mobile phone), a computer at home, internet connection at home, a refrigerator, a gas/electric stove, a washing machine, a bicycle, a moped/motorcycle, or a car/truck/van. The different principal components above eigenvalue one were combined into one index by weighting and summating each principal component with its explained variation. The index was eventually reduced to a four-point scale measuring increasing material wealth (see Timmerman et al., 2013). Family approval indicates whether the family of the respondent would approve/disapprove of the participant’s wish to work or live abroad. The question has 5 answer options. It is marked 1 when the participant thinks ‘his/ her family strongly disapproves’ and is denoted 5 when he/she thinks ‘his/her family strongly approves of working or living abroad’. Region was measured by a binary variable, consisting of Dinar and Emirdağ (reference category). Data analyses Data analyses were carried out, making use of binary logistic regression. The data had to be weighted to account for differences in the selection probability of respondents (see Ersanilli 2012, 26). Two models were analysed with STATA 14. In the first model, we investigated the role of gender in migration aspirations. In the second model, we focused on regional differences in migration aspiration. In the section below, the results of the two models are represented.

Results The results of the binary logistic regression are shown in Table 1. In this model, we apply a stepwise approach. In the first step, we include only the following variables: marital status, gender (being female), age, having children, education and materialistic wealth. According to the results, there is a significant negative relationship between gender and migration aspirations, and between materialistic wealth and migration aspirations. In other words, women in Emirdağ and Dinar have a lesser tendency to migrate than men in these regions. Also, people with

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low material wealth have a higher tendency to migrate than people with high material wealth. In the second part of the first model, we add Dinar to see the regional differences. Only gender (being female) and material wealth are significant. Both variables have a negative effect on migration aspirations. Women in Dinar have a lower tendency to migrate than women in Emirdağ. In addition, we find that people in Dinar with high material wealth have lower migration aspirations than people in Emirdağ. In the third part of the first model, we include migration experience and family approval. After adding these variables, we find the following results: gender (being female) loses its significance. Material wealth still has a significant negative effect on migration aspirations. Having a family member abroad (family migration experience) has a significant positive effect on migration aspirations. Family approval also has a significant positive effect on aspirations to migrate. This means that in Dinar, people who have family members living abroad and people who have the support of their family to move abroad, have a higher tendency to migrate (in comparison to Emirdağ). The last conclusion we can draw from this model is that people living in Dinar, in comparison to Emirdağ, have a higher tendency to migrate. The results have a positive significant effect on migration aspiration.  In our second model, we examine Dinar and Emirdağ separately. Estimation results are shown in Table 2. Variables included in this model are: having children, marital status, gender, education, age, material wealth, family migration experience, family approval. In this model we first look at the Emirdağ region. We find that high materialistic wealth negatively affects migration aspirations, meaning that those people have a lower tendency to migrate. For Emirdağ, people who have family approval to move abroad are more likely to migrate than those who do not have an approval from their family. The other variables remained insignificant. After Emirdağ, we tested our variables for the Dinar region. We, again, found a negative significant relationship between material wealth and migration aspirations, and a positive significant relationship between family approval and migration aspirations. Additionally, for people from Dinar, having a family migration experience is an important indication of having an aspiration to migrate. We found that family migration experience positively affects migration aspirations. We also fioud a significant negative relationship between being

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Table 1  Binary logistic regression (Model 1) VARIABLES Migration aspirations Marital status (being married) -0.16 -0.18 -0.02 (0.24) (0.24) (0.26) Gender (being female) -0.43*** -0.41*** -0.15 (0.14) (0.14) (0.15) Age 0.01 0.01 0.01 (0.01) (0.01) (0.01) Having children -0.30 -0.30 -0.34 (0.25) (0.25) (0.27) Education -0.03 -0.03 -0.03 (0.02) (0.02) (0.02) Materialistic wealth -0.09*** -0.09*** -0.12*** (0.02) (0.02) (0.03) Dinar 0.18 0.54*** (0.14) (0.17) Family migration experience 0.46*** (0.17) Family approval 0.56*** (0.07) Constant -23.51 -24.16 -18.26 (27.96) (27.97) (29.33) Observations 976 976 976 r2 . . . r2_a . . . Standard errors in parentheses *** p