Global Youth Migration and Gendered Modalities 9781447340201

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Directly elected mayors are political leaders who are selected directly by citizens and head multi-functional local government authorities. This book examines the contexts, features and debates around this model of leadership, and how in practice political leadership is exercised through it. The book draws on examples from the Europe, the US and Australasia to examine the impacts, practices and debates of mayoral leadership in different cities and countries. Themes that recur throughout include the formal and informal powers that mayors exercise, their relationships with other actors in governance – both inside municipalities and in broader governance networks – and the advantages and disadvantages of the mayoral model. Both qualitative and quantitative approaches are used to build a picture of views of and on directly elected mayors in different contexts from across the globe.

David Sweeting is Senior Lecturer in Urban Studies at the University of Bristol, UK.

www.policypress.co.uk PolicyPress

@policypress

Edited by Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

This book will be a valuable resource for those studying or researching public policy, public management, urban studies, politics, law and planning.

Global perspectives of gendered youth migration

“A timely and important book on a significant development in city governance and regional leadership; everything you need to know about directly elected mayors.” Keith Grint, Professor of Public Leadership, Warwick Business School, UK

Global Youth Migr ation and Gendered Modalities EDITED BY

GLENDA TIBE BONIFACIO

GLOBAL YOUTH MIGRATION AND GENDERED MODALITIES Edited by Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Policy Press North America office: University of Bristol Policy Press 1-9 Old Park Hill c/o The University of Chicago Press Bristol 1427 East 60th Street BS2 8BB Chicago, IL 60637, USA UK t: +1 773 702 7700 t: +44 (0)117 954 5940 f: +1 773-702-9756 [email protected] [email protected] www.policypress.co.uk www.press.uchicago.edu © Policy Press 2019 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested 978-1-4473-4019-5 hardback 978-1-4473-4020-1 ePdf 978-1-4473-4021-8 ePub 978-1-4473-4022-5 Mobi The rights of Glenda Tibe Bonifacio to be identified as editor of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of Policy Press. The statements and opinions contained within this publication are solely those of the editor and contributors and not of the University of Bristol or Policy Press. The University of Bristol and Policy Press disclaim responsibility for any injury to persons or property resulting from any material published in this publication. Policy Press works to counter discrimination on grounds of gender, race, disability, age and sexuality. Cover design by Clifford Hayes Front cover image: www.alamy.com Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY Policy Press uses environmentally responsible print partners

For my five daughters who have faced many odds and pursued their own paths as youth migrants in places we try to call home: Charmaine, Czarina, Charelle, Czyna, and Charithe.

Contents

List of figures, tables, and photos Acknowledgements Notes on contributors one

vii ix xi

Introduction: gender and youth migration Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

1

Part I: Imperial histories two Childhood and imperial training, 1875–1914 Rebecca J. Bates

27

three

Waifs, strays, and foundlings: illegitimacy, gender, and youth migration from Britain, 1870–1930 Ginger Frost

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four

“Child rescue at home, overseas migration within the empire”: the Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39 Mairena Hirschberg

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Part II: Negotiating identities five Senegalese young women in Paris and New York: empowerment and shifting identities through migration Medina Ina Niang

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six

Homophobia, transphobia, and the homonationalist gaze: 101 challenges of young Bangladeshi homosexuals and transgenders in migration Raihan M. Sharif

seven

From “coming out” to “Undocuqueer”: intersections between illegality and queerness and the US undocumented youth movement Ina Batzke

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Syrian youth in Turkey: gender and problems outside the refugee camps Elif Gökçearslan Çifci and Dilek Kurnaz

Part III: Education nine Filipino youth professionals in Alberta, Canada: shaping gender and education landscapes? Maria Veronica G. Caparas

143

165

ten

Life in Cold Lake: childhood, mobility, and social structures 179 Gabriel Asselin

eleven

Gender gap among second-generation students in higher 195 education: the Italian case Alessandro Bozzetti

twelve

Balancing family, aspirations, and higher education: the gendered experiences of second-generation Arab American college women Pamela Aronson and Ivy Forsythe-Brown

thirteen Young, educated, and female: narratives of post-1991 internal Albanian migration Ermira Danaj

Part IV: Work fourteen Characteristics of and gender differences in young Hungarians’ attitudes and intentions on emigration Ibolya Czibere and Andrea Rácz fifteen

Youth perspectives: migration, poverty, and the future of farming in rural Ethiopia Logan Cochrane and Siera Vercillo

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257

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sixteen Intersectional experiences of young migrant women in Istanbul Bayram Ünal

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Conclusion Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

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Index

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List of figures, tables, and photos Figures 11.1

Foreign residents in Italy on 1 January of each year, 2003–15 (absolute values) 11.2 Non-Italian students per level of education, school years 2005/6–2013/14 11.3 Main countries of origin of foreign students enrolled in Italian universities 2015/16 academic year (absolute values) 11.4 Foreign students and second-generation students (foreign students with Italian high school diploma) enrolled in Italian universities from 2006 to 2016 (absolute and percentage values) 11.5 Second-generation students (foreign students with Italian high school diploma) enrolled in Italian universities: the most represented countries 2015/16 academic year (absolute values) 11.6 Type of high school diploma of Italian students and second- generation students (male and female) enrolled in Italian universities, 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) 11.7 Final mark for Italian students and second-generation students (male and female) enrolled in Italian universities, 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) 11.8 Gender distribution for the main countries of origin of second-generation students enrolled in Italian universities, 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) 11.9 Distribution in different study areas, depending on gender, of students enrolled in the 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) 11.10 Italian and second-generation students graduated in 2013/14 academic year (percentage values) 15.1 Factors influencing youth migration

197 199 203 204

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212 281

Tables 6.1 14.1 14.2 14.3 14.4 15.1

Push and pull factors of rural–urban migration in Bangladesh Attitudes to studying or working abroad, by gender Attitudes to studying or working abroad, by age group Ranking of motivation for working abroad Rankings for deterrent causes Proxy measurements of poverty in communities

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Photographs 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5 4.6 4.7 4.8 4.9 4.10

Group of “National Assets” These might have been mine … A street in England Leadership early acquired! Young lambs to sell! … Better than the workhouse! … Older boys take their afternoon tea break … Also from slums to sunshine The Shop. Manual training forms part of the boys’ curriculum Thoroughly domesticated

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59 63 64 66 67 67 69 70 76 77

Acknowledgements With utmost joy and gratitude to the following who made this book a reality: • the contributors, for sharing their work and their cooperation since we started this project; • Policy Press, especially Shannon and other staff, for their patience and support throughout the publication process; • ReadWorld Foundation, especially my co-volunteers—Ivy, Kristy, Aileen, Gemma, Sonya, Rufa, Ate Levy—for the genuine friendship and memorable moments of making a difference to schools affected by disasters and poverty in the Philippines; • Roxanna Epe, my first PhD student, for her invaluable research assistance; • Ike and our five daughters for the love and support always, including Charly and Niro, the loyal pet friends; and the Universal Being in whom I have put my faith for all the moments of uncertainties. To all of you, THANK YOU for the journey. Glenda Tibe Bonifacio Lethbridge, Canada

ix

Notes on contributors Gabriel Asselin is a cultural and linguistic anthropologist who obtained his PhD at Université Laval, Québec. He is an adjunct assistant professor with the Department of Anthropology at the University of Lethbridge, Alberta. His expertise centers on family mobility, childhood, community, qualitative health research, and discursive encounters in institutional settings. Some of his research focuses on agency, community experience, and community building and maintenance. More recent work relates to interdisciplinary collaborations with health sciences and public health researchers, with projects on advance care planning in family medicine and moral distress in nursing. He is currently employed as Policy and Research Coordinator for the Alberta Community Council on HIV where his work focuses on knowledge mobilization and knowledge translation around the topic of harm reduction. Pamela Aronson is Professor of Sociology at the University of Michigan-Dearborn. She has studied the transition to adulthood, with particular emphasis on young women’s experiences of work and family, attitudes toward feminism, and gender differences in career development. Other projects deal with the college experience of disadvantaged students; the challenges of college students who graduated during the Great Recession; and changes in gender and feminist consciousness and internalized misogyny in, and following, the 2016 US presidential election. Her publications have appeared in Gender & Society, Critical Sociology, the International Journal of Psychology, Advances in Life Course Research, and the Journal of Youth Studies. Rebecca J. Bates is Chair of the History Program and an associate professor of history at Berea College, Berea, Kentucky. She holds an MTS from Harvard Divinity School and a PhD in History from the University of Kentucky. Trained as a modern British historian, her publications and conference presentations have addressed issues of citizenship and philanthropy. Her current research project explores the relationships between masculinity, citizenship, and vocational education in England and the southern Appalachian region. Ina Batzke is Lecturer and Research Assistant at Münster University and visiting scholar at the Department of History at UC Santa Barbara,

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California (2016–18). She holds a Master’s degree in transnational American studies and a Bachelor’s degree in communication science. As a member of the Graduate School Practices of Literature, she is currently finishing her PhD thesis about life narratives of undocumented youth in the United States. Her research foci include migrant and migration literatures, refugee and borderlands studies, law and literature, and life writing. Glenda Tibe Bonifacio is Associate Professor in Women and Gender Studies at the University of Lethbridge, Canada. She is a research affiliate of the Prentice Institute for Global Population and Economy. Her major research areas relate to gender and migration, religion, and disaster. She is the author of Pinay on the prairies: Filipino women and transnational identities (2013). Glenda edited Global currents in gender and feminisms (2018), Gender and rural migration: Realities, conflict and change (2014), and Feminism and migration: Cross-cultural engagements (2012). She also co-edited the following books: Canadian perspectives on immigration in small cities (2017), Migrant domestic workers and family life (2015), and Gender, religion and migration: Pathways of integration (2010). Alessandro Bozzetti is Research Fellow at the Department of Political and Social Science at the University of Bologna – Alma Mater, Italy. He holds a PhD in Sociology from the University of Bologna, with a thesis entitled Second generations and university education: Opportunities and challenges. He has conducted several studies related to migration, education and social cohesion, dynamics of discrimination, intolerance and hate speech, some of which have been published in Italian, and he is the author of The educational trajectories of secondgeneration students towards higher education: Motivations, family’s role and “institutional” bias (2018). Maria Veronica G. Caparas specializes in communication, education, and sociology. She has a PhD in Educational Policy Studies (Theoretical, Cultural, and International Studies in Education) at the University of Alberta, and an MA and a BA in speech communication at the University of the Philippines. She received a number of scholarships, notably the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada – Joseph Armand Bombardier, the Presidential Prize for Distinction, the Michael Smith Foreign Study Supplement, the GRA Rice Scholarship in Communications, and the Bacchus Research Prize for International Education. A lifetime member of the Phi Kappa Phi International Honor Society since 1986, Veronica

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became active as professor, researcher, administrator, and corporate consultant at the Asian Institute of Management, Ateneo de Manila University, the University of Alberta, and the University of the Philippines. She has published numerous articles for the media, and a book for grade school and university students in the Philippines. Elif Gökçearslan Çifci is Professor at the Social Work Department of the Faculty of Health Sciences of Ankara University, and officiated as Dean of the Faculty of Health Sciences of Ankara University in 2015–17. She graduated from the Social Services Academy of Hacettepe University in 1998. She served as a social worker in various departments of the Prime Ministry Social Services and Child Protection Agency from 1998 to 2001. Her research interests include child welfare, forensic social services, substance abuse and treatment methods, children in need of protection, institutional care, social exclusion, peer violence, juveniles pushed to crime, and children with disabilities. Logan Cochrane is a Banting Fellow at Carleton University (Global and International Studies) and Adjunct Professor at Hawassa University (Institute for Policy and Development Research). His research includes diverse geographic and disciplinary foci, covering broad thematic areas of food security, climate change, social justice, governance and collective action. Logan acts as a consultant for governmental agencies and non-governmental organizations, seeking to create bridges between research and practice. Ibolya Czibere is an associate professor at the Institute of Political and Sociological Sciences, University of Debrecen; the editor in chief of METSZETEK (“Cross-sections” social science journal). She acquired her MSc in sociology and social policy at the University of Debrecen. She holds a PhD in sociology. As a social researcher, she investigates social inequalities with a particular focus on women and poverty. She has four published books and 13 edited volumes so far, which primarily deal with social exclusion, poverty affecting rural women, child poverty, life situations of youth, characteristics of families, and issues of the labor market. Ermira Danaj holds a PhD in Human and Social Sciences from the University of Neuchatel in Switzerland. Since 2002, she has worked as a researcher and lecturer on feminist and gender studies; she has authored and co-authored various research reports, books,

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academic articles and other contributions related to gender issues with a particular focus in Albania and the Balkans. In 2013 she was a Fulbright visiting scholar on gender and sociology at The New School in New York. Currently she is an associate gender policy analyst at the Advanced Studies Centre in Tirana and a guest lecturer and researcher on feminist and gender studies at the ISCTE University in Lisbon. Ivy Forsythe-Brown is an associate professor of sociology at the University of Michigan-Dearborn. Her research focuses on the societal incorporation of racial/ethnic immigrant minority groups in the United States, Britain, and Canada. Specifically, her work addresses the family and gender relations, ethnic identity, and health outcomes associated with the assimilation/acculturation of immigrants. Her most recent research project examines the educational attainment and socioeconomic positioning of young, second-generation South Asian Muslims. She has published articles on extended kinship networks, patterns of emotional social support, and family relations and wellbeing among immigrant families. Her articles have appeared in the Journal of Family Issues, Journal of Social Issues, Journal of African American Studies, and the International Journal of Environment Research and Public Health. Ginger Frost is University Research Professor at Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama. She is the author of four books, including Living in sin: Cohabitation in nineteenth-century England and Illegitimacy in English law and society, 1860–1930, both from Manchester University Press (2008, 2016). She is currently writing a history of mixed marriages in England from 1837 to 1939. Mairena Hirschberg is a PhD researcher at the Department of History and Civilization at the European University Institute in Florence, Italy. During the spring semester 2016 she was a visiting researcher at UC Berkeley. She has completed a Bachelor’s degree in contemporary history and sociology at the University of Sussex (UK), and a Master’s degree in sociology at the University of Oxford (UK). Her thesis looks at child emigration in a comparative perspective, comparing case studies from the UK and the US. Dilek Kurnaz is a social worker based in Turkey. She graduated from the Social Services Department of the Faculty of Health Sciences at Ankara University in 2013. Since then she has studied for her Master’s degree in the same department. She has carried out volunteer work

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on numerous projects about children at odds with the law, seasonal agricultural workers, and supporting disadvantaged children in summer schools. Since 2014, she has worked with Syrian refugees at the international protection department of the Directorate General of Migration Management, Republic of Turkey. Medina Ina Niang holds a PhD in History and Dynamics of Anglophone Studies at the University of Paris Sorbonne. Her doctoral research was a comparative study of Senegalese migration in Paris and New York. To analyze the imaginaries and perceptions of migration in Senegal, France, and North America, she undertook qualitative fieldwork in Dakar, Paris, and New York, with more than 250 informants. She is the author of a book chapter about migration and mutual representations between Senegal and India published in 2011, and of another chapter about the welcoming of Senegalese migrants in France in the 20th century, published in 2017. Her current research interests include the study of migrants’ representations in receiving societies, particularly in Paris, where she works with local associations aiming to provide legal advice and raise general public awareness of migrants’ conditions. Andrea Rácz holds a PhD in Sociology and is an associate professor at the Department of Social Work, University of Eötvös Loránd, Hungary. Her main research field is child protection, and she has published several research articles and books. She was a member of the international research group in the EU 7 Research Frame-program on “Young people from a public care background: pathways to education in Europe” (2007–10) and on “Care work in Europe: Current understanding and future directions international research project” (2002–4); and was the Hungarian researcher in the European Social Network research on “Promoting social inclusion for unaccompanied asylum-seeking children and immigrants—a duty of justice and care” (2004–5). Raihan M. Sharif is an associate professor in English at Jahangirnagar University, Bangladesh. He holds a PhD in American Studies from Washington State University, USA. He specializes on resistance against homo-neoliberal and neo-imperial forces while decolonizing influential academic discourses on sexual citizenship, queer politics, neoliberal diversity, hybridity, and so on. His first book, entitled Spatializing micropolitics is forthcoming. Raihan helped form the Global Center of Advanced Studies (GCAS) in Michigan, USA. He

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is an editor and Fellow at Heathwood. He helps guide and manage the Race, Class, Gender, Ability: Cultural Studies and Critical Intersections research cluster. He also works as a teaching scholar at the Cooperative Institute for Transnational Studies (CITS). Bayram Ünal is a professor at Nigde University, Turkey, where he has been a faculty member since 1993, and research affiliate of Fernand Braudel Center, Binghamton University, NY since 2006. He completed his PhD in sociology at the State University of New York at Binghamton in 2008, and his MA at Old Dominion University. His main research interests lie in the area of historical sociology focusing on labor, migration, inequality, and gender. Siera Vercillo holds a SSHRC Postdoctoral Fellowship at the School of Environment, Enterprise and Development at the University of Waterloo and completed her PhD in Geography at Western University. Her research interests are broadly located in the fields of critical development studies and political ecology with a focus on gender and feminism, agriculture and smallholder farming, food security, dietary transitions in urban food systems and good governance across subSaharan Africa.

xvi

ONE

Introduction: gender and youth migration Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

The global population is generally young. Those under 30  years old accounted for 50.5% of the world’s 7 billion population in 2012 (Euromonitor International, 2012). About 90% of these young people live in economically developing countries with a “youth bulge,” or the peak of youth share in the population (Sen and Kakar, 2017) in the Middle East, Africa, and Asia. Their numbers continue to increase and by 2014, according to the United Nations (UN) Population Fund, those between the ages of 10 to 25 reached a record number, historically, of 1.8 billion (Kedmey, 2014). In 2017, it is estimated that the group aged 15-24 years old will have increased from 1.2 billion to 1.4 billion in 2050 (Population Reference Bureau, 2017). At this crucial moment of possible “demographic dividend” (Momani, 2015), this book calls attention to the plight of young people as they leave their communities and venture to places around the world. “Youth is the hope of the country,” is a phrase often heard from governments, politicians, practitioners, and others worldwide. Growing up in the Philippines, for example, the “youth-hope” dictum was, and still is, produced almost daily in classrooms, pulpits, and other public pronouncements to invigorate positive youth involvement in communities following a popular quote of its national hero, Jose Rizal. In other parts of the world, the same idea resonates and no doubt carries very strong notions of investing in youth development for national progress. Based on the 2016 Global Youth Development Index, Commonwealth Secretary-General Patricia Scotland stated: The index throws down a challenge to policy-makers everywhere: without action to promote young people’s empowerment, boosting opportunities for employment and opening up spaces for political dialogue, countries will be squandering their most precious resource and storing up problems for the future. (The Commonwealth, 2016)

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“Generation Hope,” composed of adolescents and young adults, is now seemingly recognized in plans of action for growth, sustainability, and prosperity in many countries. But recognition is one thing, planning for their future with sustained action is another. In 2017, only 40% of countries in the world have achieved some form of gender parity in enrolment in secondary education, and a measly 4% in universities or higher education (Sen and Kakar, 2017). Promotion of education and their general well-being, including access to health services and better quality of life, are dependent on, for example, available resources from their own families and public agencies. Where they live perhaps defines what they can be in terms of access to opportunities to develop their full potential as members of society. If the majority of young people reside in developing countries with limited capacities to fully cope with social demands and human capital investment, then young people must craft the ways in which they can pursue their own paths of achieving life goals. One of which is migration. Varying sources suggest that young people are highly mobile. Using different data sets, studies point at the significant mobility among the youth today. According to Deotti and Estruch (2016, p. 4), they form the “bulk of migration flows”. The UN Department of Economics and Social Affairs (UN DESA), reported that there were 232 million international migrants in 2013, or 3.2% of the world’s population. Of these number, those youth aged 15 to 24 comprised 28.2 million, and those aged 25-34 reached 47.7 million (Global Migration Group, 2014). Those under 20 years old comprised 14% of all international migrants worldwide in 2017, and 21% of them were in developing countries (UN, 2017). In terms of gender, young women aged 15-24 accounted for 46.5% of all international migrants in 2013, while those aged 25-34 comprised 44.8% of all international migrants (Global Migration Group, 2014). Male migrants, on the other hand, according to the UN International Migration Report in 2017, international migrants in Africa, Asia, Latin America and the Caribbean have lower median age compared to those in Europe, Oceania and Northern America: 30.9 in Africa, 35.1 in Asia and 35.8 in Latin America and the Caribbean (UN, 2017). In this same report, male migrants accounted for 57.6% and 52.9% of all migrants in Asia and Africa, respectively. Clearly, gender is an integral aspect in understanding youth migration. While most reports use the binary categories to identify male and female migration, the existence of trans people among them is not acknowledged. Reference to these people varies between LGBT (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans) or LGBTQI, to include queer

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

and intersex people. They are identified as such when seeking asylum based on sexual orientation or gender identity; for example, there were 100–1,000 LGBT asylum applicants in the Netherlands, 500 in Finland, and 50–100 in Bulgaria (European Union Agency for Fundamental Right, 2017). Migration and applications for refugee status based on discrimination on account of sexual orientation are on the rise since about 72 countries ban such expressions as of 2017 (Simmons, 2017). Gender and youth are thus intrinsically connected to migration. This book is about these connections and aims to emphasize the need to look deeper into the various implications of gendered youth mobility in multidisciplinary perspectives for all of us concerned with the future of an increasingly globalized world. We cannot simply rest on the idea that what goes on in another country is of no concern in another. The intricacies of global connectivity of resources and services, of histories of colonialism and imperialism, for example, impact people’s lives thousands of miles from where we are. Migration is one avenue within which these connections are realized. In this book, we attempt to demonstrate the gendered modalities of youth migration using cases from different parts of the world. These studies enhance current scholarship and literature through understanding the factors, motivations, and saliences of youth migration in key countries that become our window to some of these realities. Youth studies on migration is a burgeoning field (Juárez et al, 2013; Veale and Dona, 2014; Hunner-Kreisel and Bohne, 2016; Ricucci, 2017), and this book collection demonstrates the continuing interest on this subject from scholars across a number of disciplines. Gendered modalities in global youth migration has become a rich area of scholarship over the last decade (Bendit and Hahn-Bleibtreu, 2008; Coe et al, 2011; Kajanus, 2015; Sirriyeh, 2016), and has grown in scope with the emphatic call of gender as integral to achieving sustainable development goals by 2030 (UN Women, nd). Any anthology aims to be diverse and comprehensive regarding its topic, but I can only highlight the four themes of studies that were submitted at the time this book was conceived—Imperial histories, Negotiating identities, Education, and Work. These themes are vital in the experiences of young people and are captured in these studies. Reference to “global” means that the studies selected represent modalities that find similarities elsewhere, and that what occurs in certain countries in Africa, Asia, Europe, the Middle East, and North America around various cases of youth migration provides insights into the phenomenon of youth migration.

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

As a guide, this chapter sets out highlights in defining youth, youth in migration, gender in youth migration, and gendered modalities through which the chapters interrogate the thematic focus of the book and its relevance in the 21st century. The narratives, insights, and interpretations of the past and present trajectories of youth migration make this collection rich in depth and scope, which is perhaps its main value for both western and non-western scholars.

Defining youth Youth is generally known as the phase between childhood and adulthood, and truly varies in its use and meaning across disciplines, governments, countries, and cultures. Most often age becomes the usual metric to define youth as a particular group with defined interests in different contexts and for different purposes. For example, the African Youth Charter endorsed by the African Union in 2006 considers those between 15 and 35  years old as youth. The Government of India recognizes those from 16 to 30 years old as youth in its draft National Youth Policy of 2012 (Anuja, 2013). The Youth Guarantee Programme in some European countries considers those under 30 years old as youth (ILO, 2017). According to UNESCO (nd), the standard reference for statistical consistency among countries for youth is “those persons between the ages of 15 and 24 years, without prejudice to other definitions by Member States.” But UNESCO recognizes youth as a “more fluid category than a fixed age group” that is suggestive of distinct appropriation by those trying to define it. Youth is thus defined differently by the authors in this collection in the context of their own studies. The use of the age range of 15–24 to define youth suggests the period of completing education and entering the labor market, or the “school-to-work transition” (ILO, 2017, p. 30). This range is contested since not all youth undergo the same transition, or are in school, let alone being in school and then looking for employment; perhaps there is no transition at all as youth could be both at school and at work simultaneously. In low- to middle-income countries, over 10% of young men and women over 25 years old are still in school (ILO, 2017). In low-income countries, children may start working earlier than 15 years old; about 1 in 4 children are already in the labor force (UNICEF, 2018). The universalist assumption that all youth in this category are in school or looking for work, as is perceived to be the case in western countries or in high-income countries, falls short in the realities of many young people elsewhere.

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

Cieslik and Simpson (2013, p. 3) trace the development of youth conceptualization in western states as the “interstitial phenomenon” of those “in-between the dependency of childhood and autonomy of adulthood.” A number of developments in modern states create a legal transition to adulthood, with adults enjoying the right to vote, to be employed, and freedom from parental control to travel and be financially self-sufficient among others. Different countries set minimum ages for when youth can begin paid employment. However, there are also cultural practices that facilitate the transition from childhood to adulthood that complicates the factors of age and dependency. One example is child marriage or arranged marriages mainly involving pre-teen or teenaged girls (Ali, 2010); about 1 in 5 girls in the world are married before they reach the age of 18 (Girls Not Brides, 2018). The child’s economic dependency is transferred to another patriarchal unit, in most cases, but is expected to perform adult responsibilities of both productive and reproductive labor. For boys and girls living in impoverished communities or in conflict (Ellis, 2000) the burden of contributing to family income or as main providers starts early. As well, countries have their own histories of youth engagement in public and social life and thus construct what youth means. Common characteristics of young people shape their representation in public and popular discourse, as notable “harbingers of disorder, change and conflict” (Cieslik and Simpson, 2013, p. 4). Youth is typified as in search of freedom and adventure that momentarily excuses so-called “wild” behavior, although they bear responsibility for their actions based on prevailing laws. But what is not well emphasized is that youth is the root “for change and of change.” In the 2010 uprisings in the Middle East called the “Arab Spring,” the youth have scaled political heights as “agents of change” in Egypt and Tunisia (Schwartz, 2011). Youth have been at the forefront of nationalist struggles and liberation, and their achievements are recorded in the histories of their countries. This continues today. Youth represents various facets of transitory life experiences. It is for the most part the stage construed as greatly shaping one’s future that defines life itself. One of the most cited feature of youth is mobility (Veale and Dona, 2014; Cairns, 2010). Their sense of adventure, zest for new experiences, and enthusiasm to do something different make migration, near or far, an attractive endeavor.

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

Youth in migration Young people comprise a significant number of the total migrant population in the world (UN DESA, 2015). According to the World employment social outlook (ILO, 2016), there were 51 million youth between the ages 15 and 29 years old, comprising 21% of 243 million migrants around the world in 2015. More than 52% of international youth migrants live in developed countries (UN DESA, 2015). Why do young people leave? Migration is a complex process infused by combination of personal, familial, institutional, and structural factors. Both internal and international migration are related to economic conditions, employment opportunities, education, marriage, poverty, violence, and the environment among others (UN DESA, 2016). Malamassam (2016), in a study of 15–24-year-olds in Indonesia, observes that the factors involved in youth migration comprise a combination of individual characteristics and the level of development of the places of origin and destination. Economic factors such as a lack of employment opportunities for youth, income potential in rural and urban areas, and decline in agricultural production foster youth migration (White, 2010; France, 2016; Anderson et al, 2017). Youth with lesser economic resources are more likely to migrate in Ethiopia, India, Peru, and Vietnam (Gavonel, 2017). This may be either autonomous or part of a household strategy to survive. Labor migration thus typifies youth migration. Forms of youth labor migration vary in different places, for example: migration to play football in Ghana, boat migration in Senegal, military service migration in Nepal, domestic work in the Philippines, sex work in Thailand (Aoyama, 2009; Ifekwunigwe, 2013; Esson, 2015; Parreñas, 2015; Shrestha and Palaniswamy, 2017), and these, of course, are not exclusive to these countries but occur anywhere. Entry into these types of work involves recruitment agents, networks, and others in formal and informal processes. Because of their vulnerabilities, many youth have fallen prey to unscrupulous agents and traffickers (Pearce et al, 2013). Young women figure prominently in the numbers of those trafficked, both regionally and to western countries (Ford et al, 2012; Yea, 2014). According to the 2016 global report of UNODC (2016), 71% of human trafficking victims worldwide were women and girls. Education is another key factor in youth migration with, for example, increasing numbers of foreign students in colleges and universities outside their home countries, increasing from 2 million in 2000 to 5 million in 2015 according to ICEF Monitor (2015). The top destination countries for international students include the United

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

States (19%), United Kingdom and Northern Ireland (11%), Australia (8%), France (7%), Germany (6%), and Japan (4%) (UN, 2013). In areas where schools of higher learning are located in cities, youth tend to leave rural areas to study (Quisumbing and McNiven, 2006). Educated youth, for example in Thailand, are more likely to migrate than those with lesser qualifications (Amare et al, 2012). According to Kelly (2017), Iranian youth migrants in Sweden have to excel in their studies and later pursue careers in London. Youth encompasses that period in life where education is completed and employment begins. Skills and knowledge acquired through the years boost their decisions to leave when better opportunities arise. Rural–urban migration or urban–urban migration tend to be the first steps toward international migration, in order to find the means and services to support more distant plans (UN, 2013). Marriage is also a noted factor for youth migration, where the bride usually migrates to the residence of the groom. In Asia, marriage migration has become a “distinct feature of international migration” of young women from developing countries to developed countries (UN, 2013, p. 22). This has been exacerbated by the use of information and communication technology (ICT) with, for example, widespread dating sites featuring Asian women. The use of the internet has reproduced particular stereotypes of docile young Asian women in the mail-order bride industry (Lloyd, 2000; So, 2006) particularly targeting men in western countries. Cross-border migrations for marriage continue, but increasingly there are similar patterns and related social issues, for example, in East Asia (Yang and Lu, 2010). Escape from violence caused by war, conflict, persecution, and other harm has forced many youth and their families to migrate (Conticini and Hulme, 2007; Wolseth, 2008; Coutin, 2016). The escalation of conflicts around the world, especially in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA), contributed to the unprecedented global refugee crisis of over 20 million in 2015, of which over 50% of those displaced were youth under 18 years old; 33% were estimated to be between 10 and 24 years old, and youth made up about 35% of the total refugee population in the world (UNHCR, 2015; UNHCR and GPE, 2016). Many of those escaping from conflict are unaccompanied minors (Sedmak et al, 2018). However, the lack of uniform tool to collect data on youth makes it difficult to ascertain the number of displaced youth and refugees in different at-risk areas. Environmental changes foster youth migration due to disasters, land degradation and desertification among others (Baez et al, 2017). Droughts and a consequent food crisis in Burkina Faso, for example,

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reveals short-distance migration among young people affecting 17% of adolescent boys and 10% adolescent girls (Ridsdel, 2014; Deotti and Estruch, 2016). Similarly, massive youth migration from the Sahelian population in Mali is directly connected with the decline of natural resources (Sauvain-Dugerdil, 2013). Natural disasters like typhoons and earthquakes destroy infrastructure and homes forcing youth and their families to leave. In the Philippines, based on personal observation, a number of families have not returned to Leyte and Samar after the massive havoc of super-typhoon Haiyan in 2013 as evidenced by abandoned houses today. These factors are neither exclusive nor absolute; that is, each factor independent is from the others. The combination of poor economic opportunities and environmental factors, for instance, may be strong drivers for migration. However, there are other reasons that propel youth migration, such as family reunion, social prestige, and the quest for freedom. Globalization intensified labor migration of parents, and upon grant of permanent residence in host countries they work to bring over the children they left behind (Heidbrink, 2014). Foreign workers seeking family reunification is a common phenomenon in Canada, the US, UK, and other countries with more liberal policies of family sponsorship. Social prestige brought about by migration in the form of increased income potential may influence young people to follow the example of returning migrants (UN, 2013). The “culture of migration” influences the intentions and cycle of youth migration in communities based on an interplay of factors (Karupiah, 2018). Young people, variably defined, migrate for a variety of reasons and from a variety of contexts with particular “challenges and opportunities” (UNICEF, 2014). Despite specific trajectories of youth migration, it is often considered in migration discourse in the context of the family unit (Heckert, 2015; Khan and Hyndman, 2015; Mbah et al, 2016), which ignores the particularities of their experiences and specificities of their challenges and opportunities, particularly gender.

Gender in youth migration In 21st-century migration studies, discourse about gender appears rich in different areas of study, for example: history (Schrover et al, 2008; Donato and Gabaccia, 2015), labor migration (Sharpe, 2001; Boucher, 2016), rural migration (Bonifacio, 2014; Gaetano, 2015) acculturation and psychology (Pope-Davis and Coleman, 2001; Mangone et  al, 2018), settlement and integration ((Bonifacio and Angeles, 2010; Anthias and Pajnik, 2014), income and remittances (King and

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

Vullnetari, 2011; Van Naerssen et al, 2016), transnationalism (Salih, 2003; Oso and Ribas-Mateos, 2013; Jin, 2016), conflict (Behera, 2006; Buckley-Zistel and Krause, 2017), and citizenship (Benhabib and Resnik, 2009; Celeste, 2017). The importance of gender in migration studies using various analytical approaches is such that it continues to capture the interest of emerging and established scholars around the world, and this chapter cannot fully acknowledge the rich diversity of topics in different languages. Gender refers to socially constructed notions of masculinity and femininity; roles, relations, and behavioral expectations for boys and girls, men and women, including non-conforming expressions of identities and sexualities; and, in general, the beliefs and attributes about the social differences, power and privileges of differing genders including trans and intersex (Bradley, 2013; Evans and Williams, 2013; Dea, 2016; Fogg Davis, 2017). Following postmodern views (Heckman, 2005), gender is a non-universal concept about the social signifiers of biological differences and identities. Notions of gender are context-specific; ideas abound yet there is fluidity in interpretations of how relations between genders find meaning in societies. There are complex nuances of gender that vary based on culture, time, and place, with contested meanings based, for example, on the impact of migration. Gender is a factor in youth migration. Boys and girls, according to binary categories, have differing roles, capacities, access to resources, and cultural expectations in society. Gender defines who leaves and who stays behind in the place of origin; a crucial factor in making the decision among families. Heckert (2015) notes that Haitian male youth migrants are more likely to receive financial support from their families compared to females. In Mali, adolescent male migration is “part of family economics” (Hertrich and Lesclingand, 2013, p. 175) to improve the status of the family in the community, although labor migration is common for both genders. Parents and the kin group provide differing support to a migrating male or female, affecting how they negotiate the challenges of migration. Thus, gender is crucially embedded in decisions and practices of migration. Young men invariably have different experiences of migration compared to young women (Hunner-Kreisel and Bohne, 2016). Young men are expected to continue farming which limits their choice to migrate, while girls may be employed as domestic helpers in other communities which enables their migration (Hertrich and Lesclingand, 2012). But male youth in rural Cambodia face stronger pressure to migrate to Thailand compared to females, the latter could

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

find “alternative life-making projects” (Bylander, 2015, p.  1124). In the Philippines, young migrant women outnumber their male counterparts by 80% in urban areas (Anderson et al, 2017). While equal numbers of young men and women migrate from rural areas in China, different patterns emerge in the pursuit of entrepreneurial ventures for young men and personal development and family duties for women (Chiang et al, 2015). Similarly, migration among females in Mali is considered a personal project to gain life skills (Hertrich and Lesclingand, 2013). Young women seek greater autonomy in making decisions about their life and escape from arranged marriages and other parental control through migration. For many, migration leads to empowerment (Bonifacio, 2012). Young persons with gender-variant identities and expressions living in socially repressive environs may seek more accepting communities in urban areas (Birchall, 2016), which may not always be the case as cities offer either liberating or hostile spaces (Smith and Gergan, 2015). Many have applied for asylum based on sexual orientation under the 1951 UN Refugee Convention, but still encounter difficulties such as language barriers and evidentiary requirements (Scroccaro, 2017). More often, young people with non-conforming gender identities migrate for similar reasons to other young people: to improve their economic and personal well-being. Migration as a movement to another place, either temporary or permanent, offers differing possibilities, barriers, and vulnerabilities. Decisions on migration, for example, or outcomes produced, are impacted by gendered processes in the household, communities, and even state policies (Anthias and Lazaridis, 2000; Piper, 2008; Schrover et  al, 2008; Stalford et  al, 2016). In the context of international migration, countries set restrictive policies as to eligible entrants in already gender-segregated occupations. The caregiver program in Canada, for example, is highly gendered and skewed largely to the participation of relatively young Filipino women (Bonifacio, 2013). The Japanese entertainment industry relies heavily on the artistic talents of young migrant Asian women; many find work in establishments operated by criminal syndicates (Human Rights Watch Asia, 2000; Oishi, 2005). Overall, gender is paramount in the distribution of young migrants in developing and developed countries: young women are more numerous in developed countries or 48.9% of all migrants, while young men largely dominate the migration stream in developing countries making up over 50% of all migrants (UN DESA, 2016). As young women and men, their migration presents particular gendered modalities that are discussed in this anthology.

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

Gendered modalities Modalities suggest that there are particular ways in which gender manifests in the experiences and realities of young people on the move, based on time, place, and context that is differentially situated. How females, males, and trans youth experience the journey, in both domestic and international migration, is the focus of this collection of empirically grounded case studies from selected countries. Youth migration is a gendered process (Bylander, 2015) and intersects with other social categories such as age, class, education, religion, origin, health, and security (Heckert, 2015; Eklund, 2015). As noted earlier, those with certain levels of education tend to leave, but this too is a factor of gender. Men are more likely to have higher levels of education compared to women, and the opportunities accorded by differing levels of education affect the realities of migration. This collection is possibly the first to present the intersection of gender and youth migration with encompassing themes related to histories, identities, education, and work as modalities in both western and non-western contexts. These themes are important in the light of growing dynamism of youth migrants in receiving communities, of their contributions and roles in the face of adversities; and for what is at stake for sending and receiving countries. Imperial histories Youth has been on the move since history was first recorded. Alexander the Great of Macedon was in the prime of his youth during his various conquests; Genghis Khan was in his 20s as a leader on the move too. Like men, young women formed part of the slave trade in the Americas (Campbell et al, 2005). Good boys were notably preferred in British child migration to the dominions sponsored by the Boy Scout movement from the 1920s until the 1950s (Scott, 2014). In this collection, Rebecca J. Bates in Chapter Two presents British juvenile emigration from 1875 to 1914 as defined by age and gender. The so-called social welfare practice of sending poor children and youth to the “new world” in turn became a training ground of imperial subjecthood through farm or domestic labor under the mantle of Barnardo’s and the National Children’s Home (NCH). Ginger Frost in Chapter Three focuses on illegitimate British youths who migrated, between 1870 and 1930, to Canada under the auspices of the London Foundling Hospital (FH) and the Church of England’s Waifs and Strays Society (CEWSS). Illegitimacy at this period underpins the lack of

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legal rights for both children and mothers so that migration provided an option for them. The gendered impact of illegitimacy in British society crafted new choices in another place. Mairena Hirschberg in Chapter Four elucidates the farm-school scheme of the Child Emigration Society (CES) as a solution to societal issues in Britain during the interwar period between 1918 and 1939. Such a scheme was strongly grounded in gendered practices, in which the curriculum and managerial practices for boys and girls were based on traditional representations. From a wider perspective, child emigration from impoverished families on this model gained public and private support. These three chapters, while centered in British experiences, provide deep understanding of an often forgotten aspect of imperial history and colonial settlement, for example, in Australia, Canada, and New Zealand. They remind us that immigration continues to be a challenge in these countries, including the United Kingdom, with rising antiimmigration sentiments despite their histories being so intricately tied to migration. Negotiating identities Identities in youth migration continue to ignite much interest in understanding the motivations and aspirations in life, and the prospects for successful integration. These are not merely in the hands of young people but also involve family, community, and their experiences with processes of inclusion or exclusion (Jones, 1999; Poteet and Simmons, 2016). Sexualities in youth migration remain crucial in exploring subjectivities in places of origin and new places (Asencio, 2002; Cantú, 2009). In this collection, Medina Ina Niang in Chapter Five constructs the evolution of identities and empowerment among Senegalese young women in Paris and New York. Migration from Dakar seemingly disrupted traditional notions of masculinity and femininity in the family, and women’s negotiations of negative stereotypes to carve their own identity. Raihan Sharif in Chapter Six examines the challenges facing homosexual and transgender youth in Bangladesh as they migrate from rural districts to urban centers, and eventually abroad. Using intersectional analysis, these challenges bring to light factors that hinder or foster social mobility. Ina Batzke in Chapter Seven finely delineates one of the contentious issues in American immigration politics in 2018, the DREAM Act (Lind, 2018) and the intersections of “coming out” and “Undocuqueer,” or illegality and queerness, in the US youth movement. It juxtaposes social justice in immigration rights and LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans,

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

queer) struggles. Elif Gökçearslan Çifci and Dilek Kurnaz in Chapter Eight provide a much needed study on the problems encountered by young Syrian refugees in Turkey. The recent Syrian conflict created an insurmountable humanitarian crisis of over a million refugees in Turkey which poses immense challenges with regard to social and legal protection. Narratives of young women and men in at-risk areas reveal how governments and non-government organizations must forge collective action to rebuild lives. These four chapters demonstrate that migration is a continuous negotiation of identities, never static but fluid in its dimensions that intersect with other realms of experiences to find meaning. We can only approximate certain experiences through these studies, and build on other cases that may find similarities with them. Education One of the most studied aspects of youth in migration is education (Bekerman and Geisen, 2012; Rao, 2012; Smith and Gergan, 2015). The search for better opportunities starts with education, and many young people move to urban areas or foreign countries, contingent upon their financial resources, to pursue higher levels of education. Education is still considered the great social equalizer in many communities, but recognition of educational achievement is not always guaranteed in another jurisdiction. In this collection, Maria Veronica G. Caparas in Chapter Nine looks into how the internationally acquired education of Filipino young professionals affects their positioning in the Canadian labor market. Following the logics of power and space, the narratives are contextualized through the credentialing process in the oil-rich province of Alberta where foreign workers have been in demand for some time. Gabriel Asselin in Chapter Ten presents a unique French school in Cold Lake largely comprised of children from relocated families of the Canadian military forces. Based on fieldwork, his account explores how the experiences of boys and girls with histories of relocation or coming from a linguistic minority demonstrate their agentic role in the creation and maintenance of a gendered sociocultural environment. Alessandro Bozzetti in Chapter Eleven analyses the multifaceted educational pathways of secondgeneration students born to foreign parents in Italy, particularly those at the university level. The link between education and the labor market affected by gender dynamics provides differing expectations for young people. Pamela Aronson and Ivy Forsyth-Brown in Chapter Twelve examine the experiences of second-generation Arab American

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

women in colleges using the collective-family and individualist gendered cultural ideals to highlight their goals in education and employment. The tensions between cultural expectations and college education, rejection of tradition, and the possibilities of cultural blending provide a nuanced understanding of negotiating college life and family. Ermira Danaj in Chapter Thirteen investigates the desire to pursue higher education among young Albanian women who migrate to the capital city, Tirana, to escape social control and find better opportunities. Female student internal migrants encounter gendered prejudices and precarious employment in urban centers but enjoy anonymity and freedom, creating paradoxical versions of what they left behind—family support yet rigid control. These five chapters mark the centrality of education in youth migration through to the second generation, and demonstrate how this becomes integrated in structural and cultural processes that expand or limit opportunities for growth and personal well-being. The distinct cases show the diversity of experiences of youth migrants as students, professionals, and citizens. Work The eagerness to work and make one’s name in chosen profession resonates in the aspirations of young people who migrate (Liu et al, 2017). At this stage in life course, youth receives training and assistance to contribute to the economy; or they are forced to work because their families are destitute or through other means like trafficking (Howard, 2014). Young people may have different motives for migration for employment or remittance behavior compared to adults (Heckert, 2015). In this collection, Ibolya Czibere and Andrea Rácz in Chapter Fourteen look closely at the employment trends, mobility intentions, attitudes, and characteristics of young Hungarians. The potential for migration differs according to gender, levels of educational attainment, age, labor market status and finances, including the gendered choice of countries of destination. Logan Cochrane and Siera Vercillo in Chapter Fifteen discuss the opportunities, constraints, and choices of youth in rural Ethiopia in relation to agricultural life, food insecurity, and migration. While both young men and young women migrate to meet basic needs, gender discrimination and abilities shape their experiences of migration. Bayram Ünal in Chapter Sixteen traces the shifts in gendered migration to Istanbul of young women— mainly from Russia, Ukraine, and Moldova—from the tourism and entertainment industry to domestic service. The ideological negative

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Introduction: gender and youth migration

representations of women based on age and ethnicity in certain types of industry further marginalize and exclude young migrant workers in Turkish society. These three chapters point to the ways in which youth migrants engage with the economy, constructed as workers in particular industries, and aspire to carve out their future using their skills and potentials. Whether these young people are found in rural areas or in the cities, they find ways to change their conditions for the better despite the challenges they face. While the chapters in this collection are organized according to particular themes, they overlap and intersect in some areas of discussion; arranging them into four themes, however, does not preclude such connections.

Towards a synthesis This collection on gendered modalities and youth migration enhances past and current scholarly studies with 15 chapters involving the following countries from western and non-western geographic regions: Albania, Bangladesh, Canada, Ethiopia, France, Hungary, Italy, Philippines, Senegal, Syria, Turkey, the United Kingdom, and the United States. While not exhaustive, these chapters are profoundly situated at the crossroads of modernity, conflict, and globalization in which young lives are shaped by gender and migration. We glean some realities in the selected cases and perhaps ask ourselves: What about in our communities? Why do young people leave? Is migration intrinsic to youth’s transition to adulthood? Do young women and men, boys and girls, including trans, still have different pathways, like a “gender flight”, or is it now a “youth flight” (Seyfrit et al, 2010, p. 1201). Youth is a crucial component in development and attaining a sustainable future at a time in world population history where young people have become a majority in most economically developing countries, and their challenges and opportunities are increasingly recognized in government policies. But the “demographic dividend” may not prove beneficial unless there are concerted efforts by governments and states to ameliorate the current status of global youth. This collection provides cases that help in understanding the differing modalities and intersections of youth and gender in migration, with themes that connect with similar patterns elsewhere in the world. The interdisciplinary nature of scholarship offered by this book contributes to our understanding of the complexities of the migration experiences of young people, and such an approach will continue to inspire initiatives in the future.

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

As western societies or developed regions face fertility decline and, on the other hand, developing areas in Africa or Asia, for example, project higher population growth rates, youth migration near and far seems inevitable. Some of the important dimensions for future discussions on gendered youth migration include, but are not limited to, human rights, media and ICTs, transnational generational differences, class dynamics, politics, and religion. These forces have a differing impact on the experiences of diverse youth groups across geographic regions. And, in this book, critical engagement, aspirations, and selected cases of gender and youth migration are given value for others to continually pursue the same path. References Ali, N. (2010) I am Nujood, age 10 and divorced (with D. Minoui), New York: Three Rivers Press. Amare, M., Hohfeld, L., Jitsuchon, S. and Waibel, H. (2012) Rural– urban migration and employment quality: A case study from Thailand. ADB Economics Working Paper Series No. 309, www.adb.org/sites/ default/files/publication/29829/economics-wp-309.pdf Anderson, K., Apland, K., Dunaiski, M. and Yarrow, E. (2017) Women in the wind: Analysis of migration, youth economic empowerment and gender in Vietnam and in the Philippines. Plan International, https://planinternational.org/publications/women-in-the-wind Anthias, F. and Lazaridis, G. (2000) Gender and migration in southern Europe: Women on the move, London: Bloomsbury Academic. Anthias, F. and Pajnik, M. (2014) Contesting migration, engendering migration: Theory and practice, Hampshire, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Anuja, J. (2013) Demographic overview, in P. Prakash (ed) State of the urban youth, India 2012: Employment, livelihoods, skills, India: IRIS Knowledge Foundation, UN-HABITAT Urban Youth Research Network, pp. 7–14. Aoyama, K. (2009) Thai migrant sex workers: From modernization to globalization, Basingstoke, UK: Palgrave Macmillan. Asencio, M. (2002) Sex and sexuality among New York’s Puerto Rican youth, Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Baez, J., Caruso, G., Mueller, V. and Niu, C. (2017) Droughts augment youth migration in Northern Latin America and the Caribbean, Climatic Change, 150(3–4): 423–35. Behera, N.C. (ed) (2006) Gender, conflict, and migration, London: Sage. Bekerman, Z. and Geisen, T. (eds) (2012) International handbook of migration, minorities and education: Understanding culture and social differences in processes of learning, London: Springer.

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Bendit, R. and Hahn-Belibtreu, M. (eds) (2008) Youth transitions: Processes of social inclusion and patterns of vulnerability in a globalized world, Germany: Barbara Budrich Publishers. Benhabib, S. and Resnik, J. (ed) (2009) Migration and mobilities: Citizenship, borders, and gender, New York: New York University Press. Birchall, J. (2016) Gender, age and migration: An extended briefing, Bridge, UK: Institute of Development Studies. Bonifacio, G. (ed) (2012) Feminism and migration: Cross-cultural engagements, New York: Springer. ———. (2013) Pinay on the prairies: Filipino women and transnational identities, Vancouver: University of British Columbia Press. ———. (ed) (2014) Gender and rural migration: Realities, conflict and change, New York; Routledge. Bonifacio, G., and Angeles, V. (ed) (2010) Gender, religion and migration: Pathways of integration, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Boucher, A. (2016) Gender, migration and the global race for talent, Manchester, MI: Manchester University Press. Bradley, H. (2013) Gender: Key concepts, Cambridge, UK: Polity Press. Buckley-Zistel, S. and Krause, U. (eds) (2017) Gender, violence and refugees, New York: Berghahn. Bylander, M. (2015) Contested mobilities: Gendered migration pressures among Cambodian youth, Gender, Place, & Culture, 22(8): 1124–40. Cairns, D. (ed) (2010) Youth on the move: European youth and geographical mobility, Germany: VS Verlag. Campbell, G., Miers, S. and Miller, J.C. (2005) Women in Western systems of slavery: Introduction, Slavery and Abolition: A Journal of Slave and Post-Slave Studies, 26(2): 161–79. Cantú, L., Jr. (2009) The sexuality of migration: Border crossings and Mexican immigrant men, ed. N. Naples and S. Vidal-Ortiz, New York: New York University Press. Celeste, M. (2017) Race, gender, and citizenship in the African diaspora: Travelling blackness, London and New York: Routledge. Chiang, Y., Hannum, E. and Kao, G. (2015) It’s not just about the money: Gender and youth migration from rural China, Chinese Sociological Review, 47(2): 177–201. Cieslik, M. and Simpson, D. (2013) Key concepts in youth studies, London: Sage. Coe, C., Reynolds, R.R., Boehm, D.A., Hess, J.M. and Rae-Espinoza, H. (eds) (2011) Everyday ruptures: Children, youth, and migration in global perspective, Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press.

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Commonwealth, The (2016) State of the world’s youth population: New index underscores urgent need to invest in young, October 21, populationhttp://thecommonwealth.org/media/news/state-worldsyouth-population-new-index-underscores-urgent-need-investyoung Conticini, A. and Hulme, D. (2007) Escaping violence, seeking freedom: Why children in Bangladesh migrate to the street, Development and Change, 38(2): 201–27. Coutin, S.B. (2016) Exiled home: Salvadoran transnational youth in the aftermath of violence, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Dea, S. (2016) Beyond the binary: Sex and gender, Peterborough, ON: Broadview Press. Deotti, L. and Estruch, E. (2016) Addressing rural youth migration at its root causes: A conceptual framework, Rome: Food and Agriculture Organization of the UN, http://www.fao.org/3/a-i5718e.pdf Donato, K.M. and Gabaccia, D. (2015) Gender and international migration: From the slavery era to the global age, New York: Russell Sage Foundation. Eklund, L. (2015) Son preference reconfigured? A qualitative study of migration and social change in four Chinese villages, China Quarterly, 224: 1026–47. Ellis, D. (2000) The breadwinner, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Esson, J. (2015) Escape to victory: development, youth entrepreneurship and the migration of Ghanaian footballers, Geoforum, 64: 47–55. Euromonitor International (2012) Special report: The world’s youngest populations, February13, https://blog.euromonitor.com/2012/02/ special-report-the-worlds-youngest-populations-.html European Union Agency for Fundamental Rights (2017) Current migration situation in the EU: Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and intersex asylum seekers, March, http://fra.europa.eu/en/ publication/2017/march-monthly-migration-focus-lgbti Evans, M. and Williams, C.H. (eds) (2013) Gender: The key concepts, London and New York: Routledge. Fogg Davis, H. (2017) Beyond trans: Does gender matter? New York: New York University Press. Ford, M., Lyons, L. and Van Schendel, W. (eds) (2012) Labour migration and human trafficking in Southeast Asia: Critical perspectives, London and New York: Routledge. France, A. (2016) Understanding youth in the global economic crisis, Bristol: Policy Press.

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Gaetano, A. (2015) Out to work: Migration, gender and the changing lives of rural women in contemporary China, Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Gavonel, M.F. (2017) Patterns and drivers of internal migration among youth in Ethiopia, India, Peru, and Vietnam. Working paper 169 (March), London: Young Lives, https://www.younglives.org.uk/ sites/www.younglives.org.uk/files/YL-WP169-Gavonel.pdf Girls Not Brides (2018) Child marriage around the world, https:// www.girlsnotbrides.org/where-does-it-happen/ Global Migration Group (2014) Chapter 1. Youth migration: Facts and figures, http://www.globalmigrationgroup.org/system/files/ uploads/MigrationandYouth/Chapter-1.pdf Heckert, J. (2015) New perspectives on youth migration: Motives and family investment patterns, Demographic Research, 33(27): 765–800. Heckman, S.J. (2005) Gender and knowledge: Elements of a postmodern feminism, Cambridge: Polity Press. Heidbrink, L. (2014) Migrant youth, transnational families and the state: Care and contested interests, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Hertrich, V. and Lesclingand, M. (2012) Adolescent migration and the 1990s nuptiality transition in Mali, Population Studies, 66(2): 147–66. Hertrich, V. and Lesclingand, M. (2013) Adolescent migration in rural Africa as a challenge to gender and intergenerational relationships: Evidence from Mali, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 648(1): 175–88. Howard, N. (2014) Teenage labor migration and anti-trafficking policy in West Africa, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 653(1): 124–40. Human Rights Watch Asia (2000) Owed justice: Thai women trafficked into debt bondage in Japan, New York: Human Rights Watch. Hunner-Kreisel, C. and Bohne, S. (eds) (2016) Childhood, youth and migration: Connecting global and local perspectives, Switzerland: Springer. ICEF Monitor (2015) The state of international student mobility in 2015, http://monitor.icef.com/2015/11/the-state-of-internationalstudent-mobility-in-2015/ Ifekwunigwe, J.O. (2013) “Voting with their feet”: Senegalese youth, clandestine boat migration, and the gendered politics of protest, African and Black Diaspora, 6(2): 218–35. ILO (International Labor Organization) (2017) Global youth employment trends for youth in 2017: Paths to a better working future, Geneva: ILO. ———. (2016) World employment social outlook: Trends for youth 2016, Geneva: ILO.

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Jin, X. (2016) Gender and diasporic identities in transnational migration, Zurich: LIT Verlag. Jones, G. (1999) “The same people in the same places?” Socio-spatial identities and migration in youth, Sociology, 33(1): 1–22. Juárez, F., LeGrand, T., Lloyd, C.B., Singh, S. and Hertrich V. (eds) (2013) Youth migration and transitions to adulthood in developing countries, Los Angeles, CA: Sage. Kajanus, A. (2015) Chinese student migration, gender and family, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Karupiah, P. (2018) International migration and gendered dreams of youths in Chennai, TamilNadu, India, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal, June, http://jour nals.sagepub.com/doi/ abs/10.1177/0117196818781593 Kedmey, D. (2014) Global youth population swells to record 1.8 billion, Time, November  18, http://time.com/3591947/young-peopleunited-nations/ Kelly, M. (2017) Searching for “success”: Generation, gender and onward migration in the Iranian diaspora, Migration Letters, 14(1): 101–12. Khan, A.A. and Hyndman, J. (2015) Navigating civil war through youth migration, education, and family separation, Refuge, 31(2): 75–84. King, R. and Vullnetari, J. (2011) Remittances, gender and development: Albania’s society and economy in transition, New York: I.B. Tauris. Lind, D. (2018) The president pulled an “All lives matter” on DREAMers, Vox, January 31, www.vox.com/2018/1/30/16953714/ trump-state-union-immigration-dream-daca Liu, Y., Shen, J., Xu, W. and Wang, G. (2017) From school to university work: Migration of highly educated youths in China, Annals of Regional Science, 59(3): 651–76. Lloyd, K.A. (2000) Wives for sale: The modern international mailorder bride industry, Northwestern Journal of International Law & Business, 20(2): 341–67. Malamassam, M. (2016) Youth migration in Indonesia: Decision to move and choice of destination areas, Indonesian Journal of Geography, 48(1): 62–72. Mangone, E., Masullo, G. and Gallego, M. (2018) Gender and sexuality in the migration trajectories, US: Information Age Publishing. Mbah, E., Ezeano, C. and Agada, M. (2016) Effects of rural–urban youth migration on farmfamilies in Benue state, Nigeria, International Journal of Agricultural Research, Innovation and Technology, 6(1): 14–20. Momani, B. (2015) Arab dawn: Arab youth and the demographic dividend they will bring, Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

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Oishi, N. (2005) Women in motion: Globalization, state policies and labor migration in Asia, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Oso, L. and Ribas-Mateos, N. (eds) (2013) The international handbook on gender, migration and transnationalism: Global and development perspectives, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Parreñas, R.S. (2015) Servants of globalization: Migration and domestic work, 2nd edn, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Pearce, J.J., Hynes, P. and Bovarnick, S. (2013) Trafficked young people: Breaking the silence, London: Routledge. Piper, N. (ed) (2008) New perspectives on gender and migration: Livelihood, rights and entitlements, New York: Routledge. Pope-Davis, D.B. and Coleman, H.L.K. (eds) (2001) The intersection of race, class, gender in multicultural counselling, London: Sage. Population Reference Bureau (2017) 2017 World population data sheet: youth, http://www.prb.org/Publications/Datasheets/2017/2017world-population-data-sheet.aspx Poteet, M. and Simmons, A. (2016) Not boxed in: Acculturation and ethno-social identities of Central American male youth in Toronto, Journal of International Migration and Integration, 17(3): 867–85. Quisumbing, A. and McNiven, S. (2006) Migration and the rural– urban continuum: Evidence from Bukidnon, Philippines, Philippine Journal of Development, 33(1–2): 1–42. Rao, N. (ed) (2012) Migration, education and socio-economic mobility, New York: Routledge. Ricucci, R. (2017) The new southern European diaspora: Youth, unemployment and migration, Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Ridsdel, J. (2014) Adolescence, food crisis and migration, Forced Migration Review, 45: 26–28. Salih, R. (2003) Gender in transnationalism, London; Routledge. Sauvain-Dugerdil, C. (2013) Youth mobility in an isolated Sahelian population of Malia, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 648(1): 160–74. Schrover, M., Van Deer Leun, J., Lucassen, L. and Quispel, C. (eds) (2008) Illegal migration and gender in a global and historical perspective, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Schwartz, S. (2011) Youth and the Arab spring, United States Institute of Peace, April  28, https://www.usip.org/publications/2011/04/ youth-and-arab-spring Scott, J. (2014) “Only send boys of the good type”: Child migration and the Boy Scout movement, 1921–1959, Journal of the History of Childhood and Youth, 7(3): 377–97.

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Scroccaro, N. (2017) Homosexuality and migration: About a case study, Sexologies, 26(4): e53–4. Sedmak, M., Sauer, B. and Gornik, B. (2018) Unaccompanied children in European migration and asylum practices: In whose best interests? London: Routledge. Sen, A. and Kakar, R. (2017) Why are we failing 75% of the world’s youth at a time of unique opportunity? The Guardian, February 20, https://www.theguardian.com/global-development/2017/feb/20/ failing-75-per-cent-of-world-youth-unique-opportunity-globalyouth-index Seyfrit, C., Bjarnason, T. and Ólafsson, K. (2010) Migration intentions of rural youth inIceland: Can a large-scale development project stem the tide of out-migration? Society of Natural Resources, 23(12): 1201–15. Sharpe, P. (ed) (2001) Women, gender and labor migration: Historical and global perspectives, London: Routledge. Shrestha, S. and Palaniswamy, N. (2017) Sibling rivalry and gender gap: Intrahousehold substitution of male and female educational investments for male migration prospects, Journal of Population Economics, 30(4): 1355–80. Simmons, A.M. (2017) Seven striking statistics on the status of gay rights and homophobia across the globe, Los Angeles Times, May 15, http://www.latimes.com/world/la-fg-global-gays-rights-report20170515-htmlstory.html Sirriyeh, A. (2016) Inhabiting borders, routes home: Youth, gender, asylum, New York: Routledge. Smith, S.H. and Gergan, M. (2015) The diaspora within: Himalayan youth, education-driven-migration and future aspirations in India, Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 33(1): 119–35. So, C. (2006) Asian mail-order brides, the threat of global capitalism, and the rescue of the U.S. nation-state, Feminist Studies, 32(2): 395–419. Stalford, H., Currie, S. and Velluti, S. (eds) (2016) Gender and migration in 21st-century Europe, London: Routledge. UN (United Nations) (2013) World youth report, New York: United Nations, http://www.un.org/esa/socdev/unyin/wyr/2013/report. pdf ———. (2017) International migration report 2017, Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division, December, http://www.un.org/en/development/desa/population/migration/ publications/migrationreport/docs/MigrationReport2017.pdf

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UN DESA (United Nations Department of Economic and Social Affairs) (2015) Population Facts: Trends in international migration, No. 2015/4, http://www.un.org/en/development/desa/population/migration/ publications/populationfacts/docs/MigrationPopFacts20154.pdf ———. (2016) Youth Issue Briefs 2016: Youth and migration, http:// www.un.org/esa/socdev/documents/youth/fact-sheets/youthmigration.pdf UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization) (nd) What do we mean by youth? http://www. unesco.org/new/en/social-and-human-sciences/themes/youth/ youth-definition/ UNHCR (UN High Commissioner for Refugees) (2015) Likely to break records for forced displacement: study, http://www.unhcr. org/5672c2576.html UNHCR (UN High Commissioner for Refugees) and GPE (Global Partnership for Education) (2016) UNHCR and GPE agree on closer collaboration to ensure children’s education during crisis, http:// www.unhcr.org/cgibin/texis/vtx/home/opendocPDFViewer.html ?docid=5710da576&query=refugee%20youth UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund) (2014) Migration and youth: Challenges and opportunities, http://unesdoc.unesco.org/ images/0022/002277/227720e.pdf ———. (2018) UNICEF data: Monitoring the situation of children and women, January, https://data.unicef.org/topic/child-protection/ child-labour/# UNODC (United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime) (2016) 2016 global report on trafficking in persons, Vienna: UNODC. UN Women (United Nations Women) (nd) http://www.unwomen. org/en/news/in-focus/women-and-the-sdgs/sdg-5-gender-equality van Naerssen, T., Smith, L., Davids, T. and Marchand, M.H. (eds) (2016) Women, gender, remittances and development in the global South, London: Routledge. Veale, A. and Dona, G. (eds) (2014) Child and youth migration: Mobility-in-migration in an era of globalization, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. White, A. (2010) Young people and migration from contemporary Poland, Journal of Youth Studies, 13(5): 565–580. Wolseth, J. (2008) Everyday violence and the persistence of grief: Wandering and loss among Honduran youths, Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology, 13(2): 311–35.

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Yang, W. and Lu, M.C. (2010) Asian cross-border marriage migration: Demographic patterns and social issues, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Yea, S. (2014) Human trafficking in Asia: Forcing issues, London and New York: Routledge.

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PART I:

Imperial histories

TWO

Childhood and imperial training, 1875–1914 Rebecca J. Bates

Take them away! Take them away! Out of the gutter, the ooze, the slime, Where the little vermin paddle and crawl, Till they grow and ripen into crime. Take them away from the jaws of death, And the coils of evil that swaddle them round, And stifle their souls in every breath They draw on the foul and fetid ground. Take them away! Away! Away! The bountiful earth is wide and free, The New shall repair the wrongs of the Old Take them away o’er the rolling sea. (Horsley qtd. in Wagner, 1982, p. 100) When Reverend John Horsley, the first secretary of the Church of England’s Waifs and Strays Society, penned this poem in 1887, he framed it with the title “The Departure of the Innocents.” Yet, historians of assisted juvenile emigration have often emphasized the Victorian characterization of the rescued children as “little vermin,” rather than accepting Horsley’s portrayal of the children as “innocents.” Certainly, an explanation for the increase in the number of children assisted by voluntary societies to the British dominions and crown between 1880 and 1914 remains necessary. During these years, the number of children sent to Canada from Great Britain quickly and dramatically swelled, from approximately 500 to 1,500 per year, while smaller emigration programs resumed to New Zealand, South Africa, and Australia (Parr, 1980, p. 33). This increase in assisted emigration has been understood as a response to the declining economic conditions in England. As the late 19thcentury industrial slump deepened, poor children were increasingly perceived to be the “raw materials from which the ‘dangerous

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classes’ were formed” (Parr, 1980, p. 33). By physically removing the children from England, it is argued that emigration enthusiasts sought to prevent the children from sabotaging the nation. By 1888, when 2,104 children were removed to Canada in a single year, the rationale that emigration would save both the children and England from future corruption was firmly in place. Yet while this anxiety about increased criminality in the face of a faltering economy was a critical factor leading to the substantial growth of juvenile emigration in the 1880s, it does not adequately explain why juvenile emigration continued to escalate when the economy improved after 1895. This chapter looks at the changing rationale for juvenile emigration between 1875 and 1914—a social welfare practice that was shaped by paternalistic responsibility rather than an understanding of natural or civic rights. After recognizing how juvenile emigration rebranded itself at the end of the 19th century, the chapter briefly examines the social benefits associated with childhood in the late Victorian period that underpinned this welfare practice. I then turn to explore how emigrants were increasingly defined by age and gender. Rather than offering a single discourse for emigrants, two different categories of juvenile emigrants emerged. For children who were under the age of seven or eight, emigration provided healthy domestic environments in which innocent “little ones” would be nurtured, for these children work ceased to be associated with emigration. For the older children, work experience continued to be a rationale for assisted emigration. Furthermore, by the 1890s there was a significant change in the representation of the emigrant’s work, as the labor was increasingly designed to be an amalgam of civic training and direct service to England. Juvenile employment at this time shifted from tasks designed to discipline children to work that was perceived to be directly contributing to the empire. In this regard, “the new world” became an ideal environment to transition adolescents into productive imperial citizens.

No destitute child refused admission: social benefits of childhood Between the 1830s and the 1880s, juvenile emigration was a contested welfare practice, closely associated with penal transportation and punishment. In 1882, Samuel Smith, MP (Member of Parliament) for Liverpool, still expressed his frustration that this practice had not been widely adopted: “It is to me a matter of great surprise that, though we have tested this emigration work for many years with such

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admirable results … still there should be such great repugnance on the part of the British public to the idea of emigrating poor destitute children” (Sheltering Home for Destitute Children, 1882, p. 23). But by the last decades of the century, juvenile emigration ceased to be framed in a punitive light; any questions raised about the practice generally focused on claims of abuse or transporting children without parental permission. Indeed, from 1883 until 1910, there were no local initiatives to curb juvenile emigration. Historians who have examined the growth in emigration have offered two explanations. First, philanthropists began to change their approach as they made concerted efforts to distance their wards from criminalized children. Not only were the juvenile emigrants now presented as “Only the Flower of the Flock,” but the philanthropic organizations also increased their responsibilities and transparency by providing statistics regarding the children’s economic contributions, marital status, and low rates of recidivism, as well as guaranteeing to pay in full the costs of returning a miscreant child back to England. Second, within England emigration was increasingly associated with improving the health of the laboring class, a need that became all too apparent to the government from the poor physical condition of the working-class men who enlisted to fight in South Africa in 1899. Between 1899 and 1914, the government increasingly understood emigration to be a means of strengthening the economy of the dominions and raising the standard of living in England. As a result, by the eve of the Great War, juvenile emigration enthusiasts found new supporters among those who were interested in increasing national efficiency and imperial unity. These explanations are central to understanding the popularity of juvenile emigration, but have not adequately explored the complexity of this new aggressive imperialism in relationship to the juvenile emigrants, who ranged in age from 3 to 19 or even 21. By 1890, there were over a dozen charitable institutions in England that had well-developed emigration programs, while at least fifty more institutions continued to depend upon larger umbrella organizations for assistance in relocating children. This chapter focuses primarily on the philanthropic programs of the National Children’s Home (NCH) and Dr. Barnardo’s Homes. Dr. Barnardo’s was the largest voluntary organization dedicated to the welfare of children in England, and responsible for the emigration of over 25,000 minors between 1882 and 1928 (Wagner, 1982, p.  259). The NCH, affiliated with the Methodist Church, was a more modest operation that relocated over 3,000 children between 1873 and 1928.

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It has long been recognized that the majority of children in public and private welfare institutions in these years were not rescued outcasts or orphans; children were generally brought into institutional care in response to a short-term economic crisis within the family. Rather, in the late Victorian and Edwardian period a more expansive definition of rescue developed. When Barnardo’s was founded in 1867, it was originally oriented to educating children. By 1871, Barnardo’s began to earmark emigration funds “for sending poor Boys and Girls to Christian homes in Canada” (Barnardo’s, 1872, p. 7). Over the next ten years, Barnardo’s dramatically expanded to include 13 major divisions, with an increasing number of activities outside of London, including its extensive juvenile emigration program, a training ship for boys, and a model village for girls in Ilford. This specialization reflected a growing belief that welfare practices needed to be shaped toward the children’s needs—rather than using a one-size-fits-all package. Central to both Barnardo’s and NCH was an emphasis on rescuing destitute children, as it had been for Christian philanthropists at mid-century. However, in contrast to earlier philanthropists, neither Barnardo’s nor the NCH promoted the idea that poor children were criminals. Instead, the Christian reformer needed to get to the children before “the jaws of death, /And the coils of evil that swaddle them round, / … stifle[d] their souls” (Horsley, qtd. in Wagner, p. 100). Or, as T. Bowman Stephenson advised the readers of The Children’s Advocate, snatching children directly from the streets was necessary for “the ragged and friendless children of the streets are not all altogether bad. They are in danger of falling into criminal ways, but they are not yet lost. The great need is an increase of the means by which they are seized and rescued, before the life of the streets has utterly ruined them” (The Children’s Advocate, 1871, p. 2). This new understanding of poverty, which stressed victimization rather than moral degeneracy, undoubtedly gave philanthropists greater authority to displace parents as the rightful guardians of the children. However, it did not authorize philanthropists to help all the poor. Rescuing souls was not enough to justify the provision of lodging, clothing, and food. Instead, philanthropists were under pressure to offer their services only to individuals who were classified as fitting into a specific category deserving of charity. As a result, philanthropists and social reformers proclaimed that they only provided charity to those who were deserving of aid, that is, individuals physically incapable of labor or at a life-stage that excused them from labor: the ill, the old, and the young. Children, in particular, were legitimate recipients of charity because their poverty was “not of their own making” and

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they were not held responsible for their own livelihood (Himmelfarb, 1991, p. 12). In this context, by classifying those who received the aid as children more philanthropic projects were legitimized. As philanthropists worked to extend their services to the needy, childhood became a more flexible category that extended from babies to “Older Youths,” as old as 21. Until the 20th century over 50% of the “children” aided by Barnardo’s were over the age of 14, the age at which poor-law assistance for children was terminated. And, despite Barnardo’s claim that it was the only institution serving this classification of children, the records of the NCH indicate that it too served these older teens and increasingly classified them as children (National Children’s Home, 1906, p. 3). There appears to have been a growing acceptance that even if a child was not demonstrably “destitute,” the social fact of being classified as a child entitled one to certain social benefits.

Nurturing “little ones” The new classification of children which emerged within Barnardo’s and the NCH during the 1870s and 1880s may be understood both as a response to the increase in social services by the state and the success of their own philanthropic efforts, which led to expansions within the organizations that increased both the numbers and ages of children who were under their care. For as Barnardo’s and the NCH began to bring in younger children, and develop a core of professionals to train and care for these new charges, divisions between the children began to appear. At Barnardo’s, the first division came in 1873, when it officially expanded its efforts to address the needs of girls as well as boys. By 1874, there was a fundraising effort for the Girls’ Cottage Village to be located in Ilford. The annual report drew readers’ attention to the new work at Barnardo’s through the claim, “Work for Christ amongst the Little Ones” (Barnardo’s, 1875, p. 1). Unlike the more comprehensive term children, little ones was defined as those under mandatory school age, who were not held to the task of laboring (Barnardo’s, 1884b). Significantly, these “little ones,” in notable contrast to older children, were not identified by their gender. In 1874, the NCH as it developed a more systematic approach to emigration, specifically isolated “little ones” from other juvenile emigrants. Rather than placing these children in foster homes, the NCH stated that “little children, not more than five or six years old” (The Children’s Advocate, 1871, pp. 30–9) would be distributed only through “bonâ fide adoption” (1871, p. 84).

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One of the most articulate defenses of child emigration that employed the category of “little ones” was H.M. Blair’s The Dominion of Canada in relation to the mother country, and the special advantages it presents for emigration of orphan and other destitute children. All destitute children, Blair believed, could gain morally and physically by being transported to Canada. But they needed to have different experiences. Little ones were to be sheltered, while other children should labor. And from the perspective of Canada, Blair went on to quote the testimony of Earl Cavan, who reported on his observations of emigrant children between the ages of 2 and 12. There is a great demand for young children in this country, where domestic and farming servants are so few, and numbers of these children are adopted into families, the greatest care being taken to place them with kind and good people. They are either trained for the place which they will occupy, or, for the most part, are loved and treated as children of the house.… It needs but to see for oneself the happy, bright faces of the children to be satisfied of the value and importance of this transplanting institution for the rescuing of children from their degraded position, for which they are in nowise responsible. (Blair, 1875, p. 14) Given the variations between institutions, it is not possible to state precisely the age range reflected by the term “little one.” However, between 1874 and 1875, many of the major institutions that embraced the practice began to deploy the rhetoric for children under the age of five or six as a recognition that these children needed a particular form of care: a domestic environment. For the philanthropists, these children were not economic units. Instead, “the wee ones,” stated Louisa Birt, who managed the Sheltering House in Liverpool, needed simply a family influence, “in which they are loved and trained” (Sheltering Home for Destitute Children, 1874, p. 7). And, as adopted children, their very dependency satiated a social need, for these little ones could bring love to their new Canadian parents. “The aching void in the mother’s breast,” Birt claimed, would disappear as she found “great solace in watching tenderly over the little adopted child, [and] having in return the whole heart’s love of the little one” (1874, p. 7). An important conclusion about juvenile emigration can be drawn from the emergence of “little ones” in the last quarter of the 19th century. Increasingly, the emigration rhetoric applied to the “little ones” isolated these children from the emigrant rationale used for other

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children. The overseas placement of the youngest children was justified by the presence of a Christian home.

Youth and lads Understanding the rationale, as it developed at the end of the 19th century, for emigrating older children is more complicated. At first glance, the more expansive definition of childhood that emerged in these years would have encouraged the philanthropies to assist in the emigration of the oldest children—those over the age of 16. Yet, an examination of the practices by NCH and Barnardo’s indicate that while social welfare directed to older children increased in these decades, the oldest children were not specifically targeted for assisted emigration. Rather, a comparison of welfare programs designed for “youth” over the age of 16 with the programs arranged for “lads” ranging from 8 to 16 reveals two things. First, the welfare programs designed for “youth” were intended to teach them to work within England. And, second, assisted emigration was not employed as a “safety valve” to secure easy jobs for these unemployed young men. While both the NCH and Barnardo’s began their work with “rough lads” from the street in the 1870s, it was not until the 1880s that the philanthropies developed a vocabulary and unique welfare practices for these individuals. In 1879 these organizations began to classify boys over 16 as “youth.” In its annual report, for example, Barnardo’s reported donations of approximately £550 specifically earmarked to support the “contemplated Labour House for Destitute Youths, Limehouse.” These funds were explicitly distinguished from the contributions of £2,850 for the Stepney Home for Working and Destitute Lads or the £3,210 in support of the Home for Orphan, Neglected or Destitute Girls (Barnardo’s, 1881, p. 5). From the beginning, the Labour House was administered as part of the “Preventative Department,” aimed at the “rescue and reclamation of Orphan, Destitute, or Neglected Children” (Barnardo’s, 1881, p. 5). In explaining the addition of this program, the right honorable Earl Cairns, as Chairman of Barnardo’s, felt it necessary to reiterate that all of Barnardo’s work focused on children (Barnardo’s, 1884a, p. 7). The uniqueness of the Labour House for Destitute Youths, Cairns continued was that it took “from the streets young fellows between 17 and 20 years of age, in the hope that a brief training of a few months shall altogether counteract the harmful influence which a street life, or association with evil people for months and years, may have effected” (1884a, p. 20). In short, it was the fellows’ presence on the street and

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

lack of employment that qualified them for boyhood. Theirs was a life depicted as follows: “these big fellows … have practically never before had a chance of doing well … having begun their boyhood on the streets; they have almost reached early manhood without any incentives to morality or goodness” (1884a, p. 20). The emphasis that the philanthropists placed on the youths’ lack of employment is also found in the Labour House’s “Note Book of the Year.” There the staff of Barnardo’s methodically recorded the following information: parental status, physical condition, moral condition, penal record, and previous work experience. One lad, identified by his initials “C.C.,” aged 17, was characterized in the following way: Had no friend or relative living. Both parents died six years ago. Was taken into custody charged with wandering. Destitute of home and friends. By suggestion of the magistrate at Police Court applied here. Appears honest and truthful. For several nights recently has slept undisturbed on Blackfriars Bridge, but venturing on one occasion to London Bridge, he was arrested. Applied to enlist in the army. Rejected as not big enough. The navy also rejected him because of some malformation of the chest. (Barnardo’s, 1884a, p. 21) Likewise, another youth, also identified as “C.C.”, aged 18, was portrayed as “a fine, well-grown lad, but having that hungry look about him.… Father and mother dead. Had work; thrown out by illness; after which applied for fresh situation in vain” (1884a, p. 22). In both cases, the descriptions sought to demonstrate that the lads had the ability to work, but the limited job market in London prevented them from obtaining work. In notable contrast to these reports, testimonies of the Boys’ Home at Stepney, which served younger boys, made few if any references to labor, although the parents’ ability to work was extensively commented upon. The report on G.K. may serve as an example: G.K. — (13). Of poor, but respectable parents. Father, after twelve years’ suffering, now in consumption. Able only to do a little light work. Eight children in all, eldest of whom is in Cancer Hospital, not expected to recover. The mother, the mainstay of the family, is at present an out-door patient of a hospital. Independent inquiries confirmed the

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statements made by the mother. The child bore evidence of traces of privation and poverty. (Barnardo’s, 1886, p. 21) G.K. shared with the C.C.s a dependent status of childhood, but unlike the older “youth”, G.K. as a lad was not expected to labor. Proud of the new Labour House, in 1884 Barnardo’s claimed that it had established “the only Institutions in the kingdom which profess and are able to give shelter to lads of this age, as well as to boys and girls of the tenderest years” (Barnardo’s, 1884a, p. 21). As with so many other programs designed by philanthropists in the 19th century, the efficacy of the program was pronounced through claiming the youths’ economic independence. Or as Barnardo’s 1884 report stated, these boys were deemed reformed if they either “plod[ded] on quietly at the hard work given them in the Home,” or “after serving for some months in the Institution,” filled to their employers’ satisfaction in a variety of new labor situations outside of the shelter (1884a, p. 20). For all of Barnardo’s claims, however, there is little evidence many of these youths found jobs. Most significant, for this study of juvenile emigration, is that the young men from the Labour House for Destitute Youth were not targeted for emigration. In 1881, Barnardo’s situated only 1 out of the 40 boys from the Labour House for Destitute Youth in a domestic apprenticeship and none of the these “youths” were assisted in finding an overseas placement. This contrasts notably with the younger boys at Stepney between the ages of 10 to 16, as 42 of the 467 boys at Stepney were “sent to situations” in England, while another four were placed in Canada.

“Something by which they can gain their living” Most of the children served by Barnardo’s and the NCH during the 1880s and 1890s were not placed overseas and, as other studies indicate, were only institutionalized for short periods of time (Murdoch, 2006, p. 95). To more clearly understand the rapid growth in philanthropically sponsored juvenile emigration at the end of the 19th century we need to look specifically at programs for school-age children and the philanthropies’ commitment to the empire. Numerous scholars have looked at juvenile literature of the period and noticed the increasing orientation toward empire; likewise, a great deal of attention has been paid to the development of curricular and co-curricular activities that emphasized imperial identity: articles have been written focusing on Empire Day, the Boys Brigade, geography

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classes, museum exhibitions, missionary lantern shows, and so forth. In 1889, NCH placed 521  children in Canada, while 2,253 were relocated in 1910. The cover of Barnardo’s Annual Report in 1910 depicted young colonists and sailors linked to children in England through the bonds of service and labor. Under one flag, the working Barnardo boys and girls in England, Canada and on the seas were all set to serve “One God, One Country.” They were all useful citizens in the making. It is evident that for Barnardo’s service to the empire was an attractive means of portraying children’s labor in 1910, and similar illustrations can be found in the publications of the NCH. However, at the turn of the 20th century there was very little cultural agreement about the purpose of adolescent work, at least for males. Trade unionists, for example, bemoaned the availability of youth labor as a growing source of unemployment for adults, while middle-class observers drew attention to the independence of adolescent boys who had too much change in their pockets (Childs, 1992, p. 51). Girls’ labor, continuing to be defined by motherhood and domestic service, appears not to have been subject to intense scrutiny. These tensions surrounding labor for boys over mandatory school age were indicative of major changes in the labor market. Boy labor became problematic because there had been “a gradual but widespread extension of skill among the working class and a relative decline of the position of the artisan elites of the earlier period” (Childs, 1992, pp. 53–5). The social problem of boy labor was twofold. For boys in England there were fewer opportunities to apprenticeships, but more opportunities to work for cheap wages. The situation for adult males was even worse, for the availability of boy labor and the deskilled jobs discouraged young men, aged 18–25, from continuously holding positions of employment. Adolescence, Michael Childs states, “was often a period of uncertainty and dislocation for the youth. Unable or unwilling to continue in a boy labourer’s job, he was cast adrift into a much more competitive adult labour market” (Childs, 1992, p. 62). Casual labor was a reality for many young men between the ages of 19 and 22 who could not find permanent work. Unemployment in London rates in 1901 increased with age: at 17 only 2.5% were unemployed, at 18 only 10%, at 19 14%, at 20 21%; and at 22 26% (Childs, 1992, p. 63). By 1908, the claim was frequently made that children who worked full time during their adolescent years were the most likely to end up men without steady work (Alden, 1909, p. 118). Gareth Stedman Jones’ work (1971) has indicated how these young casual laborers were

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criminalized. The programs of Barnardo’s and NCH, by extending childhood until 19 or even 21 years of age, can be understood as responding to these social problems as they offered at least stop-gap measures for the young men affected by these new labor conditions. Equally important, these philanthropies modified their methods so that they were offering programs that would train younger lads, under the age of 17, for more permanent positions. In contrast to the philanthropies in the middle of the 19th century that endorsed dead-end labor, both Barnardo’s and the NCH began to place less emphasis on moral discipline and inaugurated new experiments with industrial labor programs, akin to those offered by mechanics’ institutes that stressed artisanal skills. Pictures of blacksmiths in training, rather than uniformed shoe-blacks or messenger boys, began to appear in public-relations material. These vocational training efforts, which were built from a long tradition and part of an international movement to recognize the needs of the working class, have received very little scholarly attention. Lydia Murdoch (2006) has offered an analysis of vocational training for poor children between 1870 and 1890. Public and private welfare programs, she argues, were not shaped by pragmatic economic concerns; instead, they reflected ideals of citizenship. While recognizing that vocational programs did not significantly alter their curricula during these years, Murdoch suggests that there was a switch from an emphasis in the 1870s on making pre-industrial workers, artisans, and farmers, to making disciplined “members of the empire” by the 1890s. She writes that by the end of the century institutions for poor children encouraged children to think of themselves as members of the British nation.… In a manner, much more explicit than the earlier citizen model, which sought to integrate poor children into the organic national community through their work as skilled artisans, notions of imperial citizenship stressed poor children’s direct link and ensuing responsibility to the nation. (Murdoch, 2006, p. 131) In her argument, civic consciousness rather than employment was the goal of education. Murdoch’s analysis is useful when considering the enthusiasm for emigration at the end of the 19th century and its relationship to other labor programs. When compared with the labor programs of midcentury there was undoubtedly a new emphasis placed on incorporating

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poor children into the national community. As already noted, neither the NCH nor Barnardo’s promoted dead-end labor tasks such as boot-blacking or straw-plaiting in the 1880s. Instead, they began to emphasize training in skilled trades that would encourage the children to be independent workers who could actively contribute to the nation. Increasingly, the male emigrants sent by the NCH and Barnardo’s had participated in vocational training. In 1888, for example, Stephenson of the NCH reported that those who emigrated after having been trained at Edgworth in agricultural methods had not simply found employment, but a particularly coveted form of employment characterized by independence and economic stability. A youth who went to Canada, he wrote, could “not only find work, but [work that] … inspires the desire for independence, and fosters the spirit of healthy and manly enterprise” (National Children’s Home, 1889, p. 43). In a similar fashion, the Reformatory and Refuge Union in 1889 reported that children sent from the Sheltering Home in Liverpool to Canada were clearly successful. Some of the youth owned farms, while others had obtained advanced degrees, or entered the ministry. Nearly all of them were settling into productive marriages, raising their own children on the prairies (Reformatory and Refuge Union, 1889, pp. 12–13). In 1906, Barnardo’s proudly displayed its children as “EmpireBuilders” in a lush photographic display. They were no longer part of the residuum, but educated by Barnardo’s through labor on Canadian farms to become valuable members of society. As dramatic as this photograph and others similar to it are, it is less evident that these philanthropic associations were deliberately attempting to build an empire. Parr’s research (1980) indicates that the majority of children immigrated to Canada continued to be placed in agricultural or domestic service. Rather than explaining the growth in the number of juvenile emigrants at the end of the 19th century as inspired by an enthusiasm for “empire-building,” it is more useful to consider the fears regarding “national efficiency” and the new emphasis on vocational education. The pre-industrial trades programs that have been identified as flourishing in private and public welfare settings at the end of the century were not attractive simply because they set children to work in “Old England.” Instead, pragmatic labor considerations and competition shaped the programs. In 1899, for example, Edgworth opened a “model dairy.” Rather than training the children in spade husbandry, “the Model dairy with its modern appliances for the production of pure butter,” as the superintendent Alfred Mager reported:

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will enable us to train both girls and boys in the more scientific and sanitary methods of Dairying approved by the Agricultural Department of the Government, and for the teaching of which the Department is bestowing considerable grants to Dairy Institutes throughout the country; with the object of enabling British farmers to hold their own against foreign competition. Dairy maids and youths trained in these superior methods by us, will be able to hold profitable situations, which otherwise they would be unable to fill. Already, during only six months operations of our new Dairy, its cash receipts have increased … and almost every week brings us new customers. (National Children’s Home, 1890, p. 20) As the opening of the model dairy indicated, farming was not simply providing labor opportunities for the children, it was preparing a new set of workers who could contribute to the national economy. In Mager’s view, there were distinct phases that a child went through. “Education,” he stated, “takes time, and the formation of habits in the young must go on daily, with months and years, until in the due nature of things, maturity comes” (National Children’s Home, 1892, p. 23). To this end, in 1896, Mager directly addressed “the problem of boy labour,” noting that it was a social problem that encompassed both the lads at the NCH and the larger labor markets. Mager asserted that boys had not been set to work by the NCH because they were cheap labor. Instead, the labor of youth encouraged by the NCH was a process of training. This training, Mager believed, was what allowed them to be placed in adequate situations of future independence. “When a lad can be trusted to cut a block of stone, or dig a drain, or asphalt a path, or “point” a building, or milk a cow properly, he is provided with an outfit, and sent off to a situation, that his services may be profitable to others as well as to himself; and his place here is at once taken by one who will only spoil tools, and vex the soul of the Labour Master” (NCH, 1897, p. 27). Placed in Canada, these adolescent lads were in training to be the “Citizens for Tomorrow.”

Conclusion As earlier historians have noted, around 1900 the presentation of the children by Barnardo’s and NCH changed. Flags, military marching bands, and uniforms abound in the organizational literature, complemented by appeals to “the Nation” and the “Empire.” By 1903,

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Barnardo’s organization began to call itself a national organization. In 1904, the Archdeacon of London put forward the claim that the children had been “Saved for the Nation!” as “Citizens for Tomorrow.” But, by this point, childhood was not understood as a singular phase: childhood was increasingly seen as having distinct phases, and children needed to be treated in different ways. Barnardo’s and NCH continued to offer a wide range of programs, but in contrast to the programs designed by mid-Victorian philanthropists, at the beginning of the 20th century there were distinct programs for “little ones,” schoolage children, and youth. Understood to be particularly malleable, school-age children were targeted increasingly for assisted emigration. These apprenticeships, like the increasing number of placements within England, offered the opportunity for supervised labor without the threat of challenging or taking jobs from adult laborers. Lads, in particular, could work toward independence through apprenticeships. Barnardo’s and the NCH continued to support emigration programs because they were convinced that they had not simply shipped off the children, but that the children left for the colonies having been taught “something by which they can gain their living when they leave the Homes” (Barnardo’s, 1906, pp. 14–16), and became productive citizens of the empire. References Alden, M.P. (1909) Child life and labour, 2nd edn. London: Headley Brothers. Barnardo’s (1872) Brief report of the East-End Mission and Home for Working and Destitute Lads, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1875) Rescue the perishing, Being the report for the ninth year of the East-End Juvenile Mission, and for the fifth year of the Homes for Reclaiming Destitute Children of Both Sexes, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1881) Report for 1880–1881, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1884a) Report for 1883–1884, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1884b) Annual report of the East-End Juvenile Mission, “Dr.  Barnardo’s Homes,” University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1886) Report for 1885–1886, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives.

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———. (1906) Address delivered at a drawing room meeting, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. Blair, H.M. (1875) The Dominion of Canada in relation to the mother country, and the special advantages it presents for the emigration of orphan and other destitute children, London: Barrett, Sons. The Children’s Advocate (1871) vol. 3. Childs, M. (1992) Labour’s apprentices: Working-class lads in late Victorian and Edwardian England, Montreal: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Himmelfarb, G. (1991) Poverty and compassion: The moral imagination of the late Victorians, New York: Knopf. Jones, G.S. (1971) Outcast London: A study in the relationship between the classes in Victorian society, Oxford: Clarendon Press. Murdoch, L. (2006) Imagined orphans: Poor families, child welfare, and contested citizenship in London, New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. National Children’s Home (1889) Annual report of the Children’s Home and Orphanage, and Training School for Christian Workers and the Mission, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1890) Annual report of the Children’s Home, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1892) Report of the Children’s Home 1891–92, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1897) Report of the Children’s Home 1896–97, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1906) Annual report 1905–1906, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. Parr, J. (1980) Labouring children: British immigrant apprentices to Canada, 1869–1924, London: Croom Helm. Reformatory and Refuge Union (1889) Thirty-third annual report of the Reformatory and Refuge Union, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. Sheltering Home for Destitute Children (1874) Second annual report, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. ———. (1882) Ninth annual report, University of Liverpool Library Special Collection and Archives. Wagner, G. (1982) Children of empire, London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson.

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THREE

Waifs, strays, and foundlings: illegitimacy, gender, and youth migration from Britain, 1870–1930 Ginger Frost

Assisted child migration from Britain is a deeply controversial subject. “Rescue” societies sent over 100,000 children to the empire in less than a century in a movement riddled with class and racial assumptions. Migration to the Dominions supposedly solved labor problems in both Britain and the Dominions, and authorities hoped that “white” migrants to Africa would delay demands for independence (Langford, 2013). The effects of migration on the children, however, varied widely. Many left families behind; some societies allowed migrants to correspond with their kin, but others did all they could to sever family connections. Similarly, those who received migrants in Canada and Australia exhibited an array of behaviors; some exploited the children ruthlessly, while others adopted them as family. The issue of identity and power was also fraught, since the children’s identities both supported and undermined hierarchies of empire. As “white” migrants, British children were part of the hegemonic racial structure, but they were also paupers and minors. In short, the complexities are seemingly endless (Bean and Melville, 1989; Parr, 1994; Sherington and Jeffery, 1998; Neff, 2000; Parker, 2010; Swain and Hillel, 2010; Boucher, 2014). Unsurprisingly, historians have struggled to encompass the many ambiguities of youth migration. Early works (Bagnall, 1980; Bean and Melville, 1989; Humphreys, 1994; Parr, 1994; Gill, 1997) highlighted the harm done to the children, but later historians noted that reactions spread across a large spectrum. For instance, certain organizations were more diligent about after-care than others (Langfield, 2004, 2013). Individuals also sometimes experienced their migration as positive— gaining control over their own fates, achieving upward mobility, or finding personal happiness. Migration was part of a structure of dominance over the poor, yet it offered the opportunity to reconstitute

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identity, as part of the ruling race for example, or as independent workers (Howard and Leonard, 1999). Furthermore, recent works have shown gender and race distinctions. Boys, after all, were the most common migrants, since girls’ ability to have children made it dangerous to send them abroad (Chaudhuri, 1998; Diamond, 1999). Boys’ migration interacted both with the hope to build proper masculinity in male youths and a desire to support “whiteness” in the empire (Parker, 2010; Swain and Hillel, 2010; Boucher, 2014). To analyze these questions from a new angle, this chapter focuses on one group, illegitimate youths, migrated between 1870 and 1930 by two organizations—the London Foundling Hospital (FH) and the Church of England’s Waifs and Strays Society (CEWSS, now the Children’s Society). The term youth encompasses those between the ages of 12 and 19, when most working-class children began work, but before they were legally adults (at 21). The FH was the formal guardian of its inmates, all of whom were illegitimate, and did not have to ask for permission to send children out of the country (Oliver and Aggleton, 2000; Pugh, 2007; Sheetz-Nguyen, 2012). The CEWSS asked all parents or guardians when they submitted applications for adoption if they agreed to emigration. The CEWSS had both legitimate and illegitimate children and made no distinctions in choosing a child for migration (Church of England Children’s Society, 1922; Rudolf, 1950; Stroud, 1971; Parker, 2010).1 Illegitimacy complicated child migration, as many societies and workhouses hesitated to allow women to escape the consequences of their “falls.” The CEWSS leaders, for example, argued that “the parents should not be relieved of their responsibilities” in such cases (Rudolf, 1950, p. 25). Nevertheless, the need for labor in Canada eventually overwhelmed those prejudices, and both the CEWSS and the FH participated on a small scale. In other words, Social Darwinist fears about hereditary “vice” and Victorian views of sexuality eventually yielded to the pressure of unemployment in Britain and the need for cheap labor in Canada. This prioritization explained the preference for boys as migrants, as they were more flexible and permanent employees. It also illustrated the clash between different domains of power—one based on gender and sexuality and the other on class. Centering on illegitimacy highlights three aspects of this subject. First, most “unwanted” children had already moved multiple times before their international migration. In fact, migrating to Canada or South Africa might be the end, not the beginning, of their travels. Second, the impact of sending children who already did not have families was different from those severed from their families by

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Illegitimacy, gender, and youth migration from Britain, 1870–1930

emigration. Illegitimates’ loss of family ties was the result of poverty and shame, not leaving the country, and the consequences affected girls more than boys. Third, migration was only one of several factors that psychologically damaged them, since institutionalization and poverty were equally responsible. The fact of having been given away— whatever the reason—hurt children, in or out of Britain.

Child circulation Illegitimate children, like orphans, moved frequently between family members and in and out of state or charitable care. Emigration for them was the last (or middle) of a series of changes. Lionel Pearce, born in Lancashire in 1920, lived with his mother and aunts until his mother’s death when he was five. His aunts then sent him to a charity for orphans; after a short stay with a foster mother, he was adopted by a well-off couple. Sadly, these “parents” were abusive, and he left for Australia at the age of 12. He had four different homes before he left school; his depression in Australia was unsurprising, given these disruptions (Pearce, 2002). This type of circulation of illegitimate child migrants was the norm, not the exception; collections of memoirs by the much larger number of children migrated by Barnardo’s charity as discussed in Chapter Two, have similar tales (Howard and Leonard, 1999). In short, illegitimate children frequently had suffered more than one rejection before leaving England. Their existence represented illicit sexuality and a financial burden; they were, then, the easiest members to “lift out” of struggling homes. Children brought to the CEWSS followed this pattern. Families often moved these children several times before resorting to institutions. Once adopted by charities, the children went to different foster homes and institutions as circumstances changed. M, born in 1879, lived first with her mother and maternal kin, then mother and stepfather, before her mother died in 1888. M’s stepfather did not want her, so she went to her grandfather. The CEWSS accepted her in 1889 where she lived in a cottage home in Leeds and then St. Chad’s Home. She emigrated in 1897 at the age of 18. She had lived in five different places before she left England (Bagnall, 1980; Chaudhuri, 1998).2 G, born in 1906, lived with a foster mother while his mother worked as a servant. The mother could not afford to pay for him, so the CEWSS took him. Because of ill health, G went to two different foster homes and eight different institutional homes between 1911 and 1920, after which he went to Canada.3 Foster children were used to traveling, and, as many historians have noted, their movements did not stop when they got

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to Canada. After arrival, they went from home to home until finding one that suited them (Bagnall, 1980; Snow, 2000). The FH, like the CEWSS, had policies that guaranteed numerous disruptions. Mothers gave up their children under the age of 12 months on the understanding that they might later apply to reclaim or be introduced to them. Foundlings went to foster parents in the countryside until the age of five or six, when they returned to the institution for schooling. At 14, they left for apprenticeships. All FH inmates, then, lost two sets of parents by the time they entered school; in other words, if they emigrated, it was only one in a long series of difficult transitions. For most of them, the biggest disruption in their lives was losing their foster parents, and this happened whether or not they went abroad (Oliver and Aggleton, 2000; Williams, 2005; Pugh, 2007; Sheetz-Nguyen, 2012). Constant shuttling between families and institutions was harmful to child migrants; many felt unwanted and unloved. Pearce complained of loneliness, shyness, and depression to the point that he attempted suicide (Bagnall, 1980; Pearce, 2002). But this kind of harm also happened to “unwanted” children who remained in Britain. Emma Smith, born in the 1890s, was rejected by her maternal family, her stepfather, and her abusive foster parents. She also went in and out of the workhouse and a charity home, having had eight changes in residence by the age of 12. As a result, after she married and had children, she had a severe depression, made two suicide attempts, and went to an asylum (Smith, 1956). In other words, child migrants’ experience was an extreme example of a more common pattern for illegitimate or orphaned children. The crucial break came earlier in these children’s lives, when their families gave them away. For some, the stigma of pauperism or illegitimacy was more debilitating than migration; leaving the country, indeed, might mean an opportunity to reconfigure their identities. Despite the distances, some children returned to Britain when things did not work out in Canada. With the CEWSS, these cases usually involved ill health. I, born in 1905, emigrated in 1925, despite some “learning disabilities.” She returned to England in 1930, having not had success in her placement. Back in Britain, the CEWSS sent her to various homes until 1939. F, born in 1910, spent only a year in Canada (1927–28) because of ill health, and the CEWSS brought him back to England.4 Foundlings also traveled back and forth, particularly boys. During World War I, several migrants joined the Canadian army and returned to Britain when posted to the Western Front. Others got in touch with relatives and hoped to

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meet them. In 1920, Herbert O. was extremely pleased to hear from his grandmother and mother after he had moved to Canada. R.H. Nichols, the secretary, cautioned both grandmother and the grandson against a return journey to Britain, telling Herbert, “There is a great deal of unemployment here and if you work hard for the next year or two perhaps … you can come over for a holiday …”.5 Given the expense of travel, the fact that the FH worried about boys returning to England at all was telling. As this issue showed, gender concerns interacted with illegitimacy and migration in complex ways. In the FH, the majority of those who migrated were boys, almost all of whom went to Canada. The FH had a prejudice against sending girls anywhere but to domestic service in Britain (Frost, 2014). Illegitimate girls might potentially inherit their unwed mothers’ moral taint in a way that boys could not; even if boys were sexually incontinent, they could not get pregnant. This was one reason some charities refused to send girls over the age of nine or ten out of the country (Parr, 1994; Parker, 2010). This gender bias was typical in dealing with illegitimacy; authorities persistently ignored men’s roles in engendering illegitimate children. In contrast, the CEWSS was less gender-biased in its policies. According to its records, the ratio of boys to girls who migrated was 60–40, which favored boys, but not overwhelmingly (Parker, 2010, p. 86). Overall, illegitimate children of both sexes were sadly accustomed to constant change, but boys were both more likely to emigrate in the first place and also to complete the circle by returning to Britain. Hierarchies of race and class interacted with gender and sexuality to determine “fitness” for circulation abroad.

Starting over Child migrants often had little say in the decision to leave Britain or agreed because of deceptive recruiters. Most children lost their families when they left; in fact, some societies told them their parents wanted to give them away or had died (Humphreys, 1994; Gill, 1997). In contrast, the vast majority of illegitimate children in institutions had lost touch with their families already, so for them migration was a chance to start again. Being a Home Child in Canada had a stigma, but being an illegitimate child in England did as well. Moreover, some children escaped abusive relatives or the limited job choices offered to children in institutions. Canada or Australia looked the more attractive option in comparison with such drudgery or regulation—though more for boys, since girls were servants wherever they went.

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Many children had problematic or openly hostile relatives, a particular problem with illegitimates. J, born in 1891, went to the CEWSS with the consent of her mother, who was only 17 when J was born. J lived with her grandparents, but was under constant threat from her father, a docker, who resented having to support her. At one point, “he carried off the child saying he had got the child adopted …” This turned out to be a lie; fortunately, her maternal relatives retrieved her. J went to various homes and foster parents before immigrating to Canada in August 1900, in part to keep her whereabouts a secret from her father.6 AA, born in 1910, came to the CEWSS from the workhouse at the age of five. Her father had disappeared, and her mother was in a House of Mercy, either for ill health or to regain her employability. AA immigrated to Canada ten years later, removing her from the taint of the workhouse and her mother from the stigma of unwed motherhood.7 The FH and the CEWSS regarded immigration as a way to “save” both girls and their mothers from “bad” environments, the disgrace of unwed motherhood, and pauperism. Some children were glad to escape, most notably when they had lost their mothers. An illegitimate child had only one legal relative; mothers had the responsibility to support them unless the fathers had been affiliated or the mothers later married. Stepfathers had to support their wives’ previously-born children, but only as long as their wives lived. Consequently, an illegitimate child who had lost his/her mother might well prefer to start anew. C came to the society at ten, since her mother was dying and her stepfather was an abusive alcoholic. C’s mother was emphatic about not leaving C under the care of her “bad, drunken” husband. The CEWSS adopted her, and at 18 she immigrated to Canada, where she settled happily. In fact, in 1910, she sent money to Edward de Rudolf, honorary secretary of the society, to help pay for the passage of children like herself. In the last letter of her file, in February 1911, she confided, “I am hoping one of these times to go back to see England but I would not stay there [.] I have got to like Canada too much to stay in England.” C remade herself through her immigration; she not only had no regrets, but thought others should follow her.8 Children from the FH also sometimes preferred a life in the Dominions. Only a tiny minority ever knew their families at all, so they had no one to lose upon leaving. Additionally, even when mothers sought to know their children, the children might not want to be tied to someone they barely knew. In 1919, Herbert D. was on a visit to England after his immigration to Canada when his mother asked to meet him. Unlike Herbert O., Herbert D.’s response was a

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deep ambivalence, and he wrote to R.H. Nichols, the FH secretary, for advice. Nichols replied that he need not remain in constant touch with his mother if he did not wish to do so: “it is much better for you to … be independent.”9 Herbert followed that advice, happy to leave his past behind. His mother was driven to writing Nichols with a letter to forward to him, which Nichols did. He then admonished Herbert: “She is evidently very fond of you and she is your Mother … when you return to Canada, you will not be troubled very much.”10 Herbert was willing to know his mother, but not to have her dash his prospects of an unencumbered start in life. Unlike Herbert, many foundlings were happy to get in touch with their mothers, but if they had emigrated, they did not always want to return to the UK. Instead, they hoped their mothers would follow them. Mrs. W. enquired after her son for many years; after the FH sent the boy to Canada, she knit him a scarf and pairs of socks for the cold weather. The boy, Charles G., eventually deduced the gifts were from his mother, and asked Nichols for her address. Mrs. W. agreed to this request, and the two began to write directly in February 1926. Rather than Charles asking to return to England, Mrs. W. wrote that she hoped visit Canada, a plan the FH supported. Nichols urged Charles to remain where he was; unemployment in Britain was high, and “when your mother’s husband dies … she might be able to come out to Canada to join you” (Pugh, 2007).11 Migration of foundlings occasionally did lead to reunions with, rather than separations from, birth or foster families. Mothers planning to immigrate applied to reclaim their children as they went. In the early 20th century, E.R. planned to immigrate to Australia, where her work chances were greater and her child’s illegitimacy could be hidden. The governors then agreed to restore her child.12 Mrs. S. applied for her son, then three years old, when she made plans to move to South Africa in early 1919. The Committee restored the boy, and Nichols was pleased to get a letter in December saying “you and your little son are getting on well in South Africa, and that he has quite settled down.”13 Both these women started over socially and economically, and the children rejoined their mothers’ households (Gothard, 1992; Hammerton, 1998). Thus, the children did not so much reconfigure their identities as gain back ones they had lost as infants. For their part, the mothers overcame gender and sexual disabilities by stressing their British nationality. Notably, both these examples involved colonies that encouraged “white” immigration in the early 20th century. If the mothers had already immigrated, their paths were more difficult, as the costs of sending children across the ocean were high,

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but the occasional mother succeeded. Mrs.  M. had given up her daughter, known as Charlotte G., in 1901. She later married a British man who settled in Chicago. In 1916, the M.s applied for Charlotte’s return, and the FH agreed to send the now 15-year-old Charlotte to Chicago. The process of getting a passport and arranging transport for Charlotte during wartime was tedious, but she arrived safely almost a year after her mother first applied, getting to the US in March 1917. To the relief of the governors, her mother wrote that her daughter had settled into her new home well. If or at what point she became American is not recorded. If she did naturalize, hers was one of the more thorough identity reconfigurations in the records—from an illegitimate pauper British servant to a legitimized American daughter, most likely bearing her stepfather’s name.14 In addition, though most foundlings lost touch with their foster parents after they went to school, others stayed in their lives to the point that migration reunited them. In 1921, the Turners, who had moved to Canada, asked if their foster daughter, Louisa N., could live with them. The governors asked for a full inquiry, and the Turners passed the test; when asked her opinion, Louisa agreed to go. Louisa traveled to Canada early in 1922; in April she wrote that she arrived safely. Louisa, unlike many children migrants, had “parents” waiting for her at the end of the journey.15 Cases such as these complicate the picture of children leaving Britain as victims of broken family ties (see also Boucher, 2014, pp. 199–205). Children going to foster parents were another example of those regaining older identities while at the same time taking on new ones. Such examples were not unknown for the CEWSS either. D, born in 1906, came to the society from a home comprised of her maternal grandmother, aunt, and uncle. Her uncle, the main breadwinner, fell ill and could no longer support the family. D lived with kin rather than her parent because her mother had immigrated to Canada, probably to escape the stigma of unwed motherhood. D was nine when she was adopted by the society, and she circulated through several girls’ homes for the next nine years. Finally, in 1924, the CEWSS agreed to let her join her mother in Canada. Rather than going to strangers, D’s migration took her back to the natal family, while her mother’s migration had allowed her to rebuild her life. For both, then, moving helped overcome sexual stigmas attached to gendered notions of respectability in Britain.16 Interestingly, in the cases of reclamation after parental immigration, girls were more prominent than boys. Mothers preferred daughters to help them around the home, especially if they had remarried and had

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Illegitimacy, gender, and youth migration from Britain, 1870–1930

small children. This was shown in the ages of children reclaimed after immigration, all of whom were adolescent (ages 14 to 18) rather than school age. Older boys, in contrast, usually traveled on their own; the FH had boys all over the empire and Dominions in military bands and on farms. In other words, girl foundlings only traveled from the FH if they had “parents” at the other end of the journey. Boys might meet up with parents after adolescence, but they met as equals. Indeed, the FH was openly uneasy about sending girls to anything but domestic futures. In the same year that the Turners asked to have Louisa N. with them (1921), the Laceys wanted two of their foster daughters, aged 18 and 19, to immigrate to Massachusetts. The governors refused, worried that the girls would work in the mills.17

How much did migration matter? Works on child migrants have stressed the hardships for the children, and the psychological scars they carried. Children who migrated away against their wills were depressed, angry, and aimless (Stroud, 1971; Bean and Melville, 1989; Parker, 2010, pp. 209–33; Swain and Hillel, 2010). This chapter does not seek to minimize the traumas these children suffered; the damage was real and lasting. But unless the children were sexually molested or physically abused, the emotional difficulties were not solely a result of migration, but of broken homes and institutional life. “Waifs” who remained in Britain, in fact, shared the trauma. E was born 1892 in the workhouse, and her mother deserted her when she was three months old. She lived with foster parents for a time, but developed rickets from persistent malnutrition. The CEWSS took her in 1909. When she began work at 14 as a domestic servant, she quickly went through many employers because of her short temper and physical ailments. In April 1910, she sent letters to Rudolf in tones many migrants could understand: “I am feeling very very lonely down here nobody to go out with no one to share my joys or sorrows …” By August, she asked to move from her place as “my life has been a perfect misery ever since the first three week [sic] I came.” In September, the employer sent her back, and E went through several more places before she settled down. She was still writing about loneliness in 1913.18 E’s misery was similar to that of children on farms in Canada and Australia, the resounding loneliness of being the only servant and having no relations. Migrants were bitter about the failure of these adoption societies to share information with them, but this was not unique to those who left the country either. Because the FH promised anonymity to

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mothers, the secretaries never told the foundlings anything about their backgrounds. In 1922, Fanny G. indignantly called both the FH him and her mother “heartless” for leaving her with no way to contact her family.19 The CEWSS also frequently evaded such questions, fearing the influence of “bad” parents. M was six years old when she went to the CEWSS. Her mother died when she was four, and her brother, 18, was caring for her when charitable workers intervened. M’s father, a docker, acknowledged paternity and wrote to the CEWSS about her; in 1894, he explained that he had not visited because he had been injured, but he sent his sister as a substitute. In part to separate her from her relatives, M went to a foster mother who adopted her in 1900. Despite this, M wrote to the CEWSS in 1907, asking about her blood kin: “I feel awful lonely [sic] by myself it is nice to feel you have someone [sic] belonging to you for I know I have an aunt … I remember her coming to see me … I should know about someone belonging to me.” Like most charities, the CEWSS did not give M any help in her quest.20 M’s loneliness, loss of identity, and desire to know someone “belonging” to her was not much different from the feelings of child migrants. Nor were the feelings of inferiority complained of by so many unwanted children. Pearce, for example, wrote bitterly of an inferiority complex many years after his migration to Australia (Pearce, 2002). But “unwanted” children who stayed in Britain expressed almost identical emotions, especially feeling that they had no rights like other children (Hatcher, 1988, 27; Nalden, 1989). These similarities indicate that migrating out of the country aggravated the stigmas of pauperism or orphanhood, but did not cause them. The most important point was when the child was given away. For the most part, this break with family was the result of destitution or the death(s) of one or both parents. At its deepest roots, these negative experiences were about poverty and the resulting loss of family, intensified by the harsh law of illegitimacy (Frost, 2016). Traveling across the globe meant that reconciliations were harder, but in neither case were they likely. Institutions separated parents and children in England, as did adoption societies and workhouses. The records are rife with parents intimidated into silence by threats of lawsuits; some persisted, but most did not have the funds to do so (Cohen, 2014, p. 137). Thus, the crucial turning point was when the child went to the institution. Whatever the reason their parents chose to (or were forced to) part from them, most children brought up by strangers felt abandoned and experienced hardship wherever they lived. In fact, those who had the dual stigmas of illegitimacy and pauperism may

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Illegitimacy, gender, and youth migration from Britain, 1870–1930

well have suffered worse treatment in England than those who went to Canada or Australia, where they at least had the opportunity to remake themselves (especially boys). Child migration was part of a broader process of moving children around without respect to their aptitudes or desires (Milanich, 2009, pp.  161-70). For them in particular, migration was one of a series of disruptions, and as many did not know their relatives anyway, they had less to lose. They saw migration as an opportunity to escape. Whenever children lost both biological and foster/adoptive parents, they suffered from the limitations of Britain’s approach to children in care. The role of illegitimacy, then, was key. These children’s lack of legal rights, and the limited rights of their mothers, made the future bleak for anyone without a supportive natal family. The shame associated with birth out of wedlock made immigration the best of their limited choices. This “disgrace” was highly gendered, affecting girls more than boys, as only girls could continue the cycle of “unwed motherhood.” For those children who did go, however, international migration was a way to leave the stigma behind. Indeed, migration could even mean finding family rather than losing it. Nor was it a one-way movement; boys, especially, traveled to and from Britain, as migrants and in the military. In the Americas or Antipodes, an illegitimate child could construct an identity as a full family member, an independent business owner, or a soldier, or any number of other possibilities. Though overarching hierarchies of power made them subordinate, their lived experiences did not always follow that scenario. Indeed, given their disadvantages, any illegitimate child might decide, like C, that she preferred the new world to the old. Notes 1

Church of England Children’s Society (1922, pp. 49, 69, 113, 139) gives the following numbers as examples: 43 boys and 15 girls in 1891; 31 boys and 13 girls in 1896; 30 boys and 40 girls in 1901; 63 boys and 40 girls in 1906; and 66 boys and 38 girls in 1910.

2

Children’s Society Archives (hereafter CSA), Bermondsey, England, Case Files, Case of M, 1879–97, CS010.

3

CSA, Case Files, Case of G, 1911–20, CS144.

4

CSA, Case Files, Case of I, 1910–39, CS461; Case of F, 1910–29, CS171.

5

London Metropolitan Archives, Founding Hospital Records, Letter Books (hereafter FHLB), A/FH/A/6/2/49, 1919–20, 16 March 1920, p. 807; A/FH/A/6/2/50, 1920, 27 April 1920, pp. 21 and 24.

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CSA, Case Files, Case of J, 1898–1900, CS053.

7

CSA, Case Files, Case of AA, 1910–25, CS681.

8

CSA, Case Files, Case of C, 1901–11, CS076.

9

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/48, 1919, 8 April, 1919, p. 350.

10

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/48, 7  April 1919, p.  346; 8  April 1919, p.  350; 17 April 1919, p. 367; 17 April 1919, p. 369.

11

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/53, 9 March 1922, p. 220; 18 April 1922, p. 372; A/ FH/A/6/2/56, 4 July 1924, p. 763; 31 July 1924, p. 880; A/FH/A/6/2/57, 6 October 1924, p. 123; 11 November 1924, p. 291; 21 November 1924, p. 331; A/FH/A/6/2/58, 2 April 1925, p. 27; 5 May 1925, p. 183; 6 July 1925, p. 530; 14 September 1925, p. 748; 14 September 1925, p. 750; A/ FH/A/6/2/59, 25 November 1925, p. 80; 14 December 1925, p. 154; 1 February 1926, p. 451.

12

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/46, 20 February 1918, p. 950; A/FH/A/6/2/47, 1918–19, 20 March 1918, p. 20.

13

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/48, 19 February 1919, p. 137; A/FH/A/6/2/49, 9 December 1919, p. 287.

14

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/45, 18 March 1916, p. 55; 10 July 1916, p. 317; 10 July 1916, p. 320; 22 August 1916, p. 420; 13 September 1916, p. 452; 13 September 1916, p. 453; 13 October 1916, p. 520; 13 October 1916, p. 522; 17 October 1916, p. 530; 24 October 1916, p. 547; 25 October 1916, p.  556; 2  November 1916, p.  574; 30  December 1916, p.  695; 2 January 1917, p. 701; 6 January 1917, p. 719; 12 January 1917, p. 744; 12 January 1917, p. 746; 18 January 1917, p. 762; 22 January 1917, p. 768; 2 March 1917, p. 861.

15

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/52, 18  November 1921, p.  728; 24  November 1921, p. 750; 28 November 1921, p. 778; 30 November 1921, p. 789; 30 November 1921, p. 790; 12 December 1921, p. 821; 6 January 1922, p. 932; 6 January 1922, p. 933; A/FH/A/6/2/53, 1922, 3 February 1922, p. 50; 6 February 1922, p. 56; 24 April 1922, p. 399; 2 August 1922, p. 872.

16

CSA, Case Files, Case of D, 1906–25, CS081.

17

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/53, 1922, 6 April 1922, p. 342; 2 May 922, p. 440; 31 May 1922, p. 578; 31 May 1922, p. 587; 31 May 1922, p. 589.

18

CSA, Case Files, Case of E, 1899–1916, CS061.

19

FHLB, A/FH/A/6/2/54, 1922, 13 November 1922, p. 4.

20

CSA, Case Files, Case of M, 1894–1952, CS053.

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References Bagnall, K. (1980) The little immigrants: The orphans who came to Canada, Toronto: Macmillan. Bean, P. and Melville, J. (1989) Lost children of the Empire, London: Unwin Hyman. Boucher, E. (2014) Empire’s children: Child emigration, welfare, and the decline of the British world, 1869–1967, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Chaudhuri, N. (1998) “Who will help the girls?”, Maria Rye and Victorian juvenile emigration to Canada, 1869–1895, in R. Kranidis (ed) Imperial objects: Essays on Victorian women’s emigration and the unauthorized imperial experience, New York: Twayne Publishers, pp. 19–42. Church of England Children’s Society (1922) The first forty years: A chronicle of the Church of England Waifs and Strays Society, 1881–1920, London: CEWSS. Cohen, D. (2014) Family secrets: Shame and privacy in modern Britain, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Diamond, M. (1999) Emigration and empire: The life of Maria S. Rye, New York: Garland Publishing. Frost, G. (2014) “Your mother has never forgotten you”: Illegitimacy and the London Foundling Hospital, 1860–1930, Annales de Démographie Historique, 1: 45–72. ———. (2016) Illegitimacy in English law and society, 1860–1930, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Gill, A. (1997) Orphans of the empire: The shocking story of child migration to Australia, Alexandria, Australia: Millenium Books. Gothard, J. (1992) “Pity the poor immigrant”: Assisted female migrations to colonial Australia, in E. Richards (ed) Poor Australian immigrants in the nineteenth century, Canberra: Australian National University, pp. 97–116. Hammerton, A.J. (1998) “Out of their natural station”: Empire and empowerment in the emigration of lower-middle-class women, in R. Kranidis (ed) Imperial objects: Essays on Victorian women’s emigration and the unauthorized imperial experience, New York: Twayne Publishers, pp. 143–69. Hatcher, D. (1988) The workhouse and the weald, Rainham: Meresborough Books. Howard, A. and Leonard, E. (1999) After Barnardo: The phenomenon of child migration from Tilbury to Sydney from 1921–1965, Dangar Island: Tarka Publishing. Humphreys, M. (1994) Empty cradles, London: Corgi Books.

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Langfield, M. (2004) Voluntarism, salvation, and rescue: British juvenile migration to Australia and Canada, 1890–1939, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 32(2): 86–114. ———. (2013) Righting the record? British child migration: The case of the Middlemore Homes, 1872–1972, in K. Fedorowich and A. Thompson (eds) Empire, migration, and identity in the British world, Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 150–68. Milanich, N. (2009) Children of fate: Childhood, class, and the state in Chile, 1850–1930, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Nalden, C. (1989) Half and half: The memoirs of a charity brat, 1908– 1989, Tauranga, New Zealand: Moana Press. Neff, C. (2000) Youth in Canada West: A case study of Red Hill Farm School immigrants, 1854–1868, Journal of Family History, 25(4): 432–90. Oliver, C. and Aggleton, P. (2000) Coram’s children: Growing up in the care of the Foundling Hospital, 1900–1955, London: Coram Family. Parker, R. (2010) Uprooted: The shipment of poor children to Canada, 1867-1917, Bristol: Policy Press. Parr, J. (1994 [1980]) Labouring children: British immigrant apprentices to Canada, 1869–1924, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Pearce, L. (2002) Feathers of the Snow Angel: Memories of a child in exile, Freemantle: Freemantle Arts Centre Press. Pugh, G. (2007) London’s forgotten children: Thomas Coram and the Foundling Hospital, Stroud: Tempus. Rudolf, M. (1950) Everybody’s children: The story of the Church of England Children’s Society, London: Oxford. Sheetz-Nguyen, J. (2012) Victorian women, unwed mothers and the London Foundling Hospital, London: Continuum. Sherington, G. and Jeffery, C. (1998) Fairbridge: Empire and child migration, London: Woburn Press. Smith, E. (1956) A Cornish waif’s story: An autobiography, London: Popular Books Club. Snow, P. (2000) Neither waif nor stray: The search for a stolen identity, Boca Raton, FL: Universal Publishing. Stroud, J. (1971) Thirteen penny stamps: The story of the Church of England Children’s Society (Waifs and Strays) from 1881 to the 1970s, London: Hodder and Stoughton. Swain, S. and Hillel, M. (2010) Child, nation, race and empire: Child rescue discourse, England, Canada, and Australia, 1850–1915, Manchester: Manchester University Press.

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Williams, S. (2005) “A good character for virtue, sobriety, and honesty”: Unmarried mothers’ petitions to the London Foundling Hospital and the rhetoric of need in the early nineteenth century, in A. Levene, T. Nutt, and S. Williams (eds) Illegitimacy in Britain, 1700–1920, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 86–101.

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FOUR

“Child rescue at home, overseas migration within the empire”1: the Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39 Mairena Hirschberg

Photo 4.1: Group of “National Assets”

Source: Child Emigration Society (CES), Fairbridge Farm School, Molong N.S.W., Australia, Promotional Leaflet, ca.1935, D296/F1/18. UCSLA

Introduction I saw a street in the east end of London. It was a street crowded with children – dirty children, yet lovable, exhausted with the heat. No decent air, not enough food. The waste of it all! Children’s lives wasting while the Empire cried aloud for men […]. (Fairbridge, 1974, p. 159)

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These are the impressions made on Kingsley Fairbridge (born in 1885) during his first journey to England in 1903. Having grown up in South Africa, he was shocked by the living conditions of the poor that he encountered in England. He also became aware of the many destitute children in the streets there, who were condemned to a life in the workhouse (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 15). Following his return home, later in 1903, the solution to the problem occurred to him: I saw great Colleges of Agriculture (not workhouses) springing up in every man-hungry corner of the Empire. I saw little children shredding the bondage of bitter circumstances. […] I saw waste turned to providence, the waste of unneeded humanity converted to the husbandry of unemployed acres. (Fairbridge, 1974, p. 159) Fairbridge would spend the rest of his life making this “vision” become reality by setting up the Child Emigration Society (CES) and a farm school in Australia in 1912, where formerly destitute British children grew up and were trained to become farmers on the land. After Fairbridge’s death in 1924, his work was continued by the CES and by his wife, and the farm school scheme expanded as additional farm schools in Australia, Canada, and Rhodesia were opened in the mid1930s. The CES selected mostly orphaned and destitute children in Britain for emigration to one of its farm schools. After their arrival, the children would live at the farm school where they would be trained to become farmers on the land on which, later on, as adults, they would become farmers themselves. They would thus be accustomed from the beginning to the special conditions of the country in which they would farm (Hill, 2007). The (British) children lived in little cottage homes, each shared by 12 children (Bean and Melville, 1989, p. 81), supervised by a matron (Arthur Lawley, in CES 1922/1923, p. 8). In this way, a homely atmosphere, rather than that of an institution, should be conveyed (Arthur Lawley, in CES 1924/1925, p. 5). A state teacher who lived on the premises of the farm school was responsible for the education of the children (Arthur Lawley, in CES 1922/1923, p.  8). Crucially, part of their curriculum would be to develop an awareness of “the acknowledged duty of individuals towards God and Man; the glory of England; the essential unity of the Empire” (Fairbridge, 1908).The age range at the farm school was between 8 years (with children exceptionally being as young as 5 years old) and

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The Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39

17 years, when the children left the farm school (Hill, 2007, p. xvi). This chapter focuses on children and youths between these ages. The development of the CES was favored by the general political and economic climate of the interwar period, and especially of the depression, as the CES became a carrier of hope. By 1910, Fairbridge had estimated that 60,000  children were destitute in Britain. The impact of the First World War and of the depression further worsened the situation (Kershaw and Sacks, 2008, p. 153). During the interwar years, child poverty remained endemic in many working-class families (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 156). Particularly in the 1930s, Britain was facing an unemployment crisis, which also led to high numbers of young people being unemployed (Kershaw and Sacks, 2008, p. 153). In the midst of this economic despair, Fairbridge’s and the CES’s activities conveyed hope (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 156). This chapter examines the economic and social welfare problems that Fairbridge and the CES perceived in Britain and within the empire during the interwar period and the subsequent solution they found to overcome these problems, namely the establishment of a farm school scheme. A special focus will be placed on the strategies of action used by the CES in order to gain the support of the wider public, and in the political sphere as well as the financial means needed to put the farm school scheme into practice. I argue that the main economic and social welfare problems perceived by the CES, with regard to children, were due to the overcrowding in Britain, which resulted in many children living in impoverished conditions with no foreseeable future prospects. At the same time, the empire was seen as underpopulated with vast undeveloped open spaces. Fairbridge and the CES wanted to solve these problems through a farm school scheme to be set up throughout the empire. By sending the children from Britain’s overcrowded cities to the vast and empty empire and by training them there on a farm school, both the empire and the children themselves would benefit, but so too would the public purse be relieved and public health improved. As the CES was a major actor in the creation of social policy around children in need and in carrying out public functions—that is, to send the children to the empire—there were high financial costs; this meant the CES was obliged to rely on supporters, donations, and, later, on subsidies provided by the British and Dominion governments (Harper and Constantine, 2010, p. 9). To gain this support and funding, the CES successfully built up an international network of supporters, who were often eminent and renowned people of their time. Moreover, the CES gained the effective support of the political sphere, mostly

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Conservative and Liberal politicians and governments. In particular, concerning the British government, it is important to point out that the CES was able to gain its support as the aims and philosophies of the two bodies, especially with regards to their public empire policy were congruent. Moreover, the work of the CES was seen as strategic in solving the problems of the British government in regard to empire settlement and unemployment. However, it should be remembered that the CES was an intrinsically philanthropic organization compared to the British government and, as such, placed a stronger focus on the welfare of the children. The experience of growing up on a Fairbridge Farm School was strongly influenced by the gender of the child, as more boys were admitted than girls and the pedagogical program at the farm school life was organized in accordance with a strongly gendered worldview. This chapter is mainly based on annual year books and photos which were originally presented in annual year books, but also on appeal leaflets and newspaper articles of the CES. When working with archival sources, it needs to be taken into account that these, among other things, were written to present the organization in a favorable light to the reader, who, in the case of the CES, was often a subscriber and donor. Therefore, one has to be aware that these sources reflect to a certain extent what the sponsoring body wanted to read (Langfield, 2004, p. 104).

Perception of economic and social welfare problems The CES held that there were great economic and social welfare problems in Britain and within the empire, which especially affected the living conditions of British children. These problems were, in the words of the Australian Prime Minister, Stanley M. Bruce, an ardent supporter of the CES, “one of the greatest disgraces of our civilization today” (in CES, 1922/1923, p. 6). In the eyes of the CES, Britain’s economic and social welfare problems stemmed mainly from underpopulation of the empire and from the overpopulation of Great Britain. On the one hand, the empire was seen as underpopulated with a consequent lack of labor, waste of available land, lack of markets, and general stagnation, which in turn affected the British economy (Fairbridge, 1908, p. 5). Empty land in the Dominions was thus expensive for the public because “it represents so much locked-up capital—which is a lying waste”. Moreover, unoccupied land in the colonies was at risk of being conquered by other nations (Fairbridge, 1912, 1920).

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The Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39

On the other hand, in the eyes of the CES, Great Britain was considered to be overpopulated, which resulted in a “consequent surplus of labor; congested districts, overcrowding, low wages, insufficient food, debilitated working class and a high poor rate” (Fairbridge, 1908). In consequence, “even good workmen have become unemployed” (Fairbridge, 1920; CES, 1927/1928, p. 25). On this view, it was the young people “of the orphan and waif class” (Fairbridge 1908; CES, 1933/1934, p. 3) living in the “city slums” (CES, 1928/1929, p. 5) of Great Britain who were especially affected by these economic and social welfare problems. Their lives were “foredoomed” as there was no place in the world for them (CES, 1933/1934, p. 3). When growing up, these children were “wasting in the slums of the cities,” where they carried “the shadow of a family handicap” and were exposed to cruelty, “poverty, neglect and anti-social influences” (CES, 1936/1937, p. 4). This was depicted illustratively in the CES’s annual reports to a wider audience of donors (see Photos 4.2 and 4.3). Their upbringing was often “of such nature as to prejudice their chance of living an honorable and useful life” (Fairbridge, 1908). In the view of the CES, the workhouse and the orphanage were not appropriate places for “children of our Great Empire” to grow up in, as both workhouses and orphanages made Photo 4.2: These might have been mine …

Source: CES, A fair sporting chance, Promotional Leaflet, ca. 1922, D296/F1/16, ULSCA

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Photo 4.3: A street in England

Source: CES, What’s in a name? Promotional Leaflet, ca. 1960, D296/F1/9, ULSCA.

no real effort to foster the best that the children had in them. It took the view that the valuable years, when a child could be taught to be almost anything, were thus wasted (Fairbridge, 1920). Moreover, in many institutions, the “stigma of ‘pauper’ attaches to the children […] frequently reducing them to an acknowledgement of their position as paupers” (Fairbridge, 1908; CES, 1933/1934, p. 3). All in all, it was felt that the children of the poorer classes would not ever stand any chance of making a good life in Britain (CES, 1927/1928, p. 3). The CES stipulated that the solution to the economic and social welfare problems previously discussed could be found in child migration to the empire, following the principle “Child Rescue at home; Overseas, Migration within the Empire” (CES, 1927/1928, p. 12, original emphasis). By sending destitute and needy children to the Dominions, and by training them there on a farm school, above all the empire and the children themselves would benefit, but also the public purse would be relieved, the British race would be consolidated and public health would be improved.

Empire migration as beneficial public policy In the eyes of the CES, child migration to the empire would solve the problem of the uneven distribution of the population across the empire. Part of the British population, namely children, would be redistributed

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The Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39

from overcrowded Britain to the empty spaces of the empire. Child migration would thus make a “valuable and calculable contribution […] to the problem of Empire settlement” (CES, 1936/1937, p. 4). The Prince of Wales (who later on became King Edward VII), in a foreword to the 14th annual report was of the conviction that the Child Emigration Society “is making a very helpful contribution towards solving a very important Imperial problem – the problem of emigration within the Empire” (CES, 1922/1923, p. 4). This view was commonly held and expressed. It was consistently stated that the Fairbridge Farm School scheme was of “national importance” (CES, 1933/1934, p. 6) and that it was “an undeniable service upon the State” (CES, 1918/1919, p. 24), an “imperial gain” (CES, 1920/1921, p. 14) and an “immense boon to the Motherland from which the children would go and to the daughter countries, where they would go to” (CES, 1920/1921, p.14). Child migration was highly beneficial to both Britain and its Dominions in several ways. It was “good business for both England and Australia.” At the same time, it would help to “build up the great Commonwealth of Australia and secure the stability of the state” (Arthur Lawley, in CES 1922/1923, p. 8; CES, 1927/1928, p. 4). Children were seen as being better empire emigrants than adults for a number of reasons. First of all, when migrating young, they would not yet “have acquired the vices of ‘professional pauperism’” (Fairbridge, 1909). Second, it was believed that children were “the kind of settler best suited to rural life and work” (CES, 1933/1934, p. 6), as they had a number of advantages compared to adults. Since children were still “malleable” (CES, 1935/1936, p. 1), it was easier for them to adapt to the new life and conditions in the Dominions (HRH The Prince of Wales in CES, 1922/1923, p. 4). It would also be possible to train them in the Australian way of farming (Fairbridge, 1920). Children who had once been born into difficult circumstances would become tomorrow’s leaders (see Photo 4.4).

Saving children: benefits of empire migration for children The CES was convinced that its work was, to a large extent, for the benefit and the “sake” (CES, 1936/1937, p.  4) of needy and abandoned children, who would have better prospects in the empire than they would ever have had in Britian. It was constantly stressed that “escaping” (CES, 1933/1934, p. 3) from bad living conditions would “save” (CES, 1921/1922, p. 7; H.R.H. The Prince of Wales in CES, 1922/1923, p. 4; Arthur Lawley in CES, 1922/1923, p. 3; CES,

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Photo 4.4: Leadership early acquired!

Source: CES, Fairbridge Farm School, Molong N.S.W., Australia, Promotional Leaflet, ca. 1935, D296/F1/18, UCSLA

1934/1935, p. 3; CES, 1935/1936, p. 1) the children. The children got a chance in life, migration would provide them with “golden” (CES, 1932/1933, p. 5) “opportunities of health, happiness and usefulness,” which these children, through no fault of their own, would not have at home (CES, 1922/1923, p.1; CES, 1928/1929, p.5; CES, 1933/1934, p.3; CES, 1935/1936, p.3), but which was their “due” (CES, 1936/1937, p. 6). In the empire they would find comfortable homes (CES, 1921/1922, p. 24). Photo 4.10 demonstrates the saving mission of the reformers at the time once again, as former slum girls who would have run wild in the British cities, through the saving efforts of the Fairbridge Farm School, now had become “thoroughly domesticated” and were virtuously sewing on the veranda of their cottage. Photos 4.5 and 4.6 show happy and healthy children in the open countryside, which would not have been the case in Britain.

Financial advantages According to Fairbridge, the farm school system was also less expensive and would therefore relieve Britain’s public purse. Keeping a child in an institution in London in a “miserable environment” was more expensive by £3  0s  2d per year than letting a child grow up at a farm school in Australia, in “a splendid environment with wonderful opportunities” (Fairbridge, 1920). The Prime Minister of Australia,

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The Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39 Photo 4.5: Young lambs to sell! No life offers such opportunities of health, character and success for destitute children as the life on the land

Source: Child Emigration Society (CES), Fairbridge Farm School, Molong N.S.W., Australia, Promotional Leaflet, ca.1935, D296/F1/18. UCSLA

Photo 4.6: Better than the workhouse! These three lads were once in the Workhouse. To-day you would not know them

Source: CES, Child Emigration Society, Promotional Leaflet, ca. 1925, D296/F1/16, ULSCA

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

Stanley M. Bruce, called child migration (and especially the work of the CES) “one of the greatest economic feats” (CES, 1922/1923, p. 6).

Eugenic considerations To a lesser extent, the CES was also concerned with eugenic considerations. The Dominions would only profit from emigration if the “human element” that is “transfused into the social fabric of the Dominions” was sound and strength-giving. The CES assured this by transferring “stout British stock” to the empire, at an early age, and by insisting that they were absolutely sound in mind and body (CES, 1922/1923, p. 4). The children were seen to be the “raw material” of which efficient Australian citizens should be made (Arthur Lawley, in CES, 1922/1923, p. 4). They would be able to populate the empire “worthily” (CES, 1926/1927, pp. 18–19) and to become “wonderfully valuable assets to the nation” (CES, 1927/1928, p. 25). A promotional leaflet of 1935 visualizes this notion, by entitling a photo, showing a group of boys, a “group of national assets” (Photo 4.1). It was stressed that the children should be of British stock in order to assure the “national congeniality” (CES, 1928/1929, p. 5). Moreover, that way they would “consolidate the commercial and racial bonds of the British people” and “safeguard the heritage of our race” (Fairbridge, 1909, 1912). Empire migration was seen as a way for the children to “fulfil themselves in the service of their race” (Fairbridge, 1914). Photo 4.7 shows, in a symbolic way, the Britishness’ of the young boys, who, far away from Britain, stick to the British custom of “tea time.”

Deliberations: public welfare policy and environmental considerations The CES believed that migration would improve the health of the children, and, with that, the public health of the nation. By migrating to the Dominions, the children would move from a “depressing to a hopeful and healthy environment” (CES, 1919/1920, p. 8; cf. CES, 1927/1928, p. 2). In the words of Lawley, the chairman of the CES, the child migrants would go “from slums to sunshine”. Significantly, this slogan was used as the heading of two forewords by Lawley to the annual reports of 1922/23 and 1924/25 (CES, 1922/1923, p. 5, 1924/1925, p. 3). England was perceived to be dirty, to have “no decent air” (CES, 1927/1928, p. 3); many people had to live in slums, in unhealthy conditions (CES, 1934/1935, p. 3). In sharp contrast to that, an image of Australia was evoked that described it as a light

68

The Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39 Photo 4.7: Older boys take their afternoon tea break. No great stretch of imagination is needed to realize the immense value to Australia, of virile young men of sound British stock, trained to love and understand the land and trained moreover in the skills, which the successful development of rural industries demands

Source: CES, Fairbridge Farm School, Molong N.S.W. Australia, Promotional Leaflet, ca. 1935, D296/F1/18, UCSLA

and sunny place, with a beautiful and “healthful” climate, where the children would find a “sunny, jolly home” (CES, 1926/1927, pp.  18–19) in “the sunshine city” (CES, 1929/1930, p.  3). Their health would improve due to the “open air life, the genial climate and the long season of grapes, apples, and other fruit” (Fairbridge, 1912) and due to “air that can be breathed” (CES, 1934/1935, p. 3). The rural upbringing and training that the children would enjoy in the Dominions, was seen as a way of “repairing early ills” and at the same time of “fostering in the child a wise and healthy way of life” (CES, 1936/1937, p. 4). Photo 4.8 from the 26th annual report has the caption “Also from slums to sunshine” and shows farm school girls in Australia. It is important to note that the girls are wearing white dresses, which was not their normal attire, and cannot be commonly found in other

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Photo 4.8: Also from slums to sunshine

Source: CES, 26th annual report, 1934/1935, p. 5, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA

photos, but which demonstrates, once more, the “cleanliness” of Australia (CES, 1934/1935, p. 5).

Gaining support: social policy for needy and abandoned children Fairbridge and the CES, through their farm schools, were actively making and executing public policy around children who were, in one way or another, in need. Given that a large of amount of funding was needed to run the vast and very costly farm school system, Fairbridge and the CES had to gain the support and, above all, the necessary financial means from donors and eventually the government. The CES was highly successful in gaining the support of those of higher social status and power, both within society and within the political sphere. These high-profile supporters were typically male and Conservative, which also influenced the curriculum of the farm school. From the beginning onwards, Fairbridge, as well as the CES, was able to secure influential, high-caliber supporters from social elites

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throughout the empire (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 166), but also individual private persons supported the CES. Fairbridge and the CES used the supporters of their farm school scheme purposefully, in order to advance it. The CES was fully conscious of its success in gaining support stating that “the scheme won the approval of men of influence” (CES, 1929/1930, p. 5). In the 20th report it is proposed to the reader that “it is interesting to know that the Prince of Wales [later King Edward VIII], the Duke of York [later King George VI], the Duke of Gloucester and others” gave their approval for and support to the work of the CES (CES, 1929/1930, p. 6). The CES purposefully used the fact that it was supported by many prominent figures to demonstrate its success to the public. In the 25th annual report it is stated: each year has brought fresh testimony to his success by statesmen, by many wise and just men, concerned for the fate of helpless and destitute children and zealous for a satisfactory scheme of emigration which makes a contribution to Empire Settlement. H.R.H. The Prince of Wales affirmed his faith in it. The Inter-Departmental Committee on Migration Policy reported to the Secretary of State for Dominion Affairs ‘in our opinion the “Farm School” system inaugurated by the CES is […] the most satisfactory and successful method of establishing young children overseas’. (CES, 1933/1934, p. 7) Not only persons of aristocratic descent and clergymen but also individual persons and companies supported the CES. Already, during his studies at Oxford in 1908, Fairbridge gained the support of Oxford’s Colonial Club (Fairbridge, 1909), a group of supporters of the empire. During that time, Fairbridge also managed to gain considerable support from influential people such as the Bishop of Kingston, the Mayor of London as well as Earl Grey and the governorgeneral of Canada (Fairbridge, 1908). The CES also had numerous donors and subscribers, who contributed substantial amounts to the CES (CES, 1919/1920, p.  7). Private donations from trusts such as the Rhodes Trust, the Pilgrim Trust, the Gilchrist Educational Trust, the Thomas Wall Trust, and the Coalfields Distress Funds also contributed vast sums (Kershaw and Sacks, 2008, p. 152). Although the CES, compared to other child migration societies like the Christian Brothers, was not strongly religious, the CES was also supported by clergymen (Hill, 2007, p. 37).

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Due to its high standing and influence, the CES managed to gain the support of the Royal Family (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 161). The Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII) was an ardent supporter of the CES. In the annual report of 1922/23, an introductory chapter written by him can be found, where he says that it is a “pleasure and a privilege to come and associate myself with your Society and to help you in any small way that I can” (CES, 1922/1923, p. 4). In 1934, the Prince of Wales launched an appeal to raise £100,000 (over £3.5 million in today’s money) (Kershaw and Sacks 2008, p. 153) at Grocers Hall in London, which he called an “Imperial investment” (Hill, 2007, p. 36) for which £85,000 was donated, which gave a great boost to the Fairbridge Farm Schools (Boucher, 2014, p. 140). With the money, among others, a farm school on Vancouver Island was opened, which was, in his honor, named the “Prince of Wales Farm School” (CES, 1935/1936, p. 24). At the same time, several companies supported the CES with generous donations. The pastoral company, Goldsbrough Mort, donated £15,000 in 1948. Moreover, the company was a major employer of former Fairbridge children who had left the farm school. Lord Nuffield, the founder of Morris Motors, donated money to build a dining hall (Hill, 2007, p. 44).

Gaining support in political sphere The dependence on government subsidies to finance their undertaking meant for the CES that it had to gain support from governments and politicians (Harper and Constantine, 2010, p.  9), which they successfully managed. This was mainly due to the fact that the motivations of the government with regard to (child) migration to the empire were similar to those of the CES and that the work of the CES fitted well into government’s strategy to solve prevalent (social) problems at the time. In the House of Commons debates, the CES and its work received consistently favorable praise by politicians, mainly from the Conservative and Liberal ranks. The work of child migration organizations and specifically that of the Fairbridge Society was unequivocally considered as “great national work” (House of Commons, 28 May 1924, vol. 174 cc539 and 25 Jan. 1937, vol. 319 cc595) and as “admirable work” (House of Commons, 9 July 1935, vol. 304 cc211 and 18 Dec. 1935, vol. 307 cc1817). The Fairbridge Farm School in Western Australia “merits great praise” (House of Commons, 18 Dec. 1935, vol. 307 cc1840), as it “proved a very great success” and it was therefore considered in the House of Commons

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to extend the Fairbridge Farm School scheme (House of Commons, 18  Dec. 1935, vol.  307 cc1786). In the interwar period, assisted migration under schemes like the Fairbridge Farm School scheme was seen as one of the most successful forms of migration (Langfield, 2004, p. 103). The CES managed to gain the support of a number of individual politicians who were lobbying in their favor. For the CES, the party affiliation of their supporters did not play an important role. Significantly, at the Cannon Street Luncheon in 1924, Arthur Lawley, the chairman of the CES, welcomed the guests, among them the politicians J.H. Thomas (from the Labour Party) and Leo Amery (from the Conservative Party), claiming “Our work has no political bias, it is pure philanthropy” (CES, 1924/1925, p. 1). However, the support for the CES, as for child migration in general, came mainly from Conservative and non-Labour politicians (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 260). The Conservative MP Leo Amery, Secretary of State for the Dominions, became an important supporter and played an important role throughout the history of the CES. He was a close confidant of Fairbridge and also wrote the foreword to Fairbridge’s autobiography (Hill, 2007, p. 74). For him, the financial contribution by the Overseas Committee to the Fairbridge Farm School was a “true piece of constructive economy” (CES, 1922/1923, p. 11). Furthermore, the Conservative Prime Minister of Australia, Stanley Bruce, was a keen supporter of the Fairbridge Society, which he expressed, for example, in his speech at the Cannon Street Hotel as indicated the 14th annual report (CES, 1922/23). He stressed his willingness and the necessity to cooperate with the CES (CES, 1922/1923, p. 4). At the same time, the Conservative Prime Minister of Great Britain, Stanley Baldwin, supported the Fairbridge Society, calling it an “opportunity” and “great work,” and stressing that any money given for the CES was very well invested (The Times, 1935). The CES also managed to gain support from a small number of Labour politicians. Importantly, two of the strongest supporters who were originally Labour politicians, J.H. Thomas and Malcolm MacDonald, both successively held the position of Secretary of the State for the Colonies during the National Governments. The CES was also highly successful in gaining financial support from the British, Australian, and Canadian governments. Again, support for the CES came mainly from Conservative or non-Labour parties, but the Labor Party in Australia did promote child migration at times (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p.  260). CES was able to gain the support of politicians and governments because it reflected profound

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social concerns and ideological constructions by politicians at the time. The message of the CES struck a chord among politicians and governments during the interwar years (Harper and Constantine, 2010, p. 111). The debates in the House of Commons during the interwar years, show that the social problems perceived by the CES and the solution found, namely child migration to the empire, were congruent with those discussed in the House of Commons, although the importance that was assigned to the various problems varied. For both the CES and the British government, imperial sentiment loomed large, as strengthening and developing the empire as well as grappling with juvenile unemployment (House of Commons, 26 April 1922, vol. 153, cc575, 623–4) was an important outcome of child migration (Thompson, 2000, p. 154). To a lesser extent, considerations with regard to public welfare also played a role (House of Commons, 26 April 1922, vol. 153, cc592; House of Commons, 28 May 1924, vol. 174 cc551). However, while, for the British government, child migration was an important way to assure the defense and imperial unity of the British Empire, and eugenic aspects as well as racial solidarity played a significant role, the CES was concerned with these deliberations to a lesser extent. Compared to the CES, the government was concerned much more with eugenic aspects of empire migration. Empire migration was seen as a way to “consolidate the British race” (House of Commons, 21 Dec. 1938, vol. 342 cc2936) and (Conservative) politicians were convinced that they should‚ “give the Dominions the best material we can” (House of Commons, 26 April 1922, vol. 639 cc 153; House of Commons, 21  Dec. 1938, vol.  342 cc2958; cf. House of Commons, 21  Dec. 1938, vol. 342 cc2951; House of Commons, 25 Jan. 1937, vol. 319 cc595; House of Commons, 21 Dec. 1938, vol. 342 cc2951; House of Commons, 27 March 1928, vol. 62 cc422; House of Commons, 25 Jan. 1937, vol. 319, cc595). Second, especially in the 1930s, it was believed that to populate the empire with British people was the best way to defend it (Committee on Empire Migration 11  July 1931, p. 24; cf. House of Commons, 19 Jan. 1937, vol. 319 cc63; House of Commons, 21 Dec. 1938, vol. 342 cc2931, 2954). At the same time, the CES, being intrinsically a philanthropic organization, was more concerned about “saving” the children and giving them a better start in life than the government. Although in the House of Commons a rhetoric about “saving” children from the slums and giving them an opportunity in the Dominions similar to that of the CES can be found, but in a less pronounced form (House of Commons, 26 April 1922, vol. 153 cc624; House of Commons, 28 May 1924, vol. 174 cc556).

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Gendered aspects of Fairbridge Farm Schools While growing up on a Fairbridge Farm School, the children were taught a strongly gendered curriculum, which (as a product of its time) was based on rather traditional understandings of gender roles. The curriculum reflected the fact that the Fairbridge Farm Schools were mainly a masculine undertaking, established by a male founder and with vital positions of its management filled with mainly male personnel. As previously discussed, the CES also derived its supporters and donors from high-profile Conservative and predominantly male circles, which may have further buttressed the particular gender profile of the CES. Throughout the early 20th century, the majority of British child migrants, including those who attended the Fairbridge Farm Schools, were boys, partly because they were more readily available in children’s homes in Britain, but also because they were seen as more useful in terms of their capacity to extend the agricultural economy and, with that, white settlement into the frontiers of the settler Dominions (Boucher, 2014, p. 95). The first farm school opened was, at its very beginning, only for boys, with the first two groups arriving in January and June 1913 (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 58). The first girls arrived in 1921 (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 93). In consequence, the annual report of 1920/1921, for the first time, showed portraits of children on its cover, among them also a girl. Farm school life was organized along strongly gendered lines. Children’s daily chores, leisure time activities, and the school education followed gendered stereotypes to prepare the boys for their future roles as “farmer” (Fairbridge, 1974, p.  159), teaching them the “rudiments of farming under Australian conditions” (CES, 1924/1925, p. 5) and the girls for their future role as “farmer’s wife” (Fairbridge, 1974, p. 159) , teaching them “domestic economy” (CES, 1924/1925, p. 5). Every boy at the farm school had to help with all the chores that had to be done, thereby their duties shifted once every fortnight (Fairbridge, 1920); they were trained in all tasks such as riding, digging, sowing, reaping, tending cattle, or rearing sheep. The girls were instructed in domestic economics, taking part in the management of the house, the laundry, kitchen, and poultry yard, and in sewing (see Photo 4.10) (CES, 1922/1923, p. 8). School was in part also differentiated according to gender. In the 14th  annual report a visitor to the farm school commented on the school work of the boys and girls:

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All the girls were in a classroom doing needle work. They were mostly working on samplers with patches, darns, buttonholes, mending, and other specimens of sewing, on one piece of material. [In the other classroom] all the boys were together and they did mental addition very well indeed. (CES, 1922/1923, p. 17) The boys were also educated in manual skills (see Photo 4.9). Leisure time mirrored gender expectations of the time. In order to teach them ideals of masculinity, the boys were encouraged to spend their leisure time with rather masculine activities, such as military drills and team sports (Boucher, 2014, p. 115), for example, football and cricket. Fairbridge, who was an expert in boxing, spent most afternoons from 3 to 5 teaching the boys how to box (CES, 1929/1930, p. 11). Girls also played sports, but normally spent their leisure time with quieter pursuits such as sewing (see Photo 4.10) or collecting flowers (CES, 1926/1927, p. 23). Rough and tumble behaviors were disapproved of (Boucher, 2014, p. 115). At the Prince of Wales Farm School (in British Columbia), on weekends the boys would take part in the Boy Scouts and the girls would take part in the Girl Guides (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 175).

Photo 4.9: The Shop. Manual training forms part of the boys’ curriculum

Source: CES, 19th annual report, 1927/1928, p. 19, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA

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The Child Emigration Society during the interwar period, 1918–39 Photo 4.10: Thoroughly domesticated

Source: CES, 21st annual report, 1929/1930, p. 28, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA

Children’s experiences The CES was very enthusiastic about the project and had very high expectations for the children’s lives that were at times were not matched in reality. Over the years of their existence, the Fairbridge Farm Schools were under close observation, with many official investigations being carried out and many reports being written about their condition. These investigations and reports allow a glimpse into how children might have experienced growing up on a Fairbridge Farm School. The reports also brought the weaknesses of the farm school system to light, which surely marred the experience of the children. Nevertheless, it seems as if the first years of the farm school on which this chapter is based (1918–39) were fairly “peaceful”, in that corporal punishment was relatively sparingly used (Sherington and Jeffery, 1998, p. 62). This changed when the farm school system was extending in the late 1930s. By the early 1940s, there were increasing concerns about the farm school system (1998, pp. 201–9), which were documented by a number of reports in the 1940s and 1950s. In 1944, several incidents which proved “poor discipline” were reported to UK High Commissioner in Canberra. This set in motion a number of assessments of the newly opened Fairbridge Farm Schools, both by internal members of the CES and by external organizations, namely the UK High Commissioner in Canberra and the Chief Migration Officer of the Australian Commonwealth Government.

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Especially one farm school (at Northcote) was found to be insufficient, in that it was deplored that there had been a decline in the morale of the children and indifferent supervision within the farm school. Some of the children had “seriously gone astray” due to “laxity in supervision”. The general appearance of the children was described as “untidy” and “unnecessarily shabby.” It was concluded that there was “serious wastage of the potentialities of these children” (Green, 1944). In late 1944, a further report was assembled by Mr. W.J. Garnett, secretary to the UK High Commissioner on the state of the Fairbridge Farm Schools. According to this report, 80% of the former pupils had “made good,” but, contrary to the aims of Fairbridge, only a small number of children had managed to become to farmers on their own land (Sherington and Jeffery 1998, pp. 209–10), as it had originally been envisaged by the CES.

Conclusion This chapter has examined the working mechanisms of a major child emigration society, the CES, and explored its relationship with the wider public and the political sphere, especially with the British government. Since the CES was highly successful in gaining both personnel and financial support, it can be said that its message reflected the Zeitgeist—the problems and solutions identified by the CES reflected and generated profound social concerns and ideological constructions among the upper and middle classes at the time (Harper and Constantine, 2010, p. 261). Such solution to domestic issues seem related to the discussions presented in Chapters Two and Three, but in different contexts. In the political sphere, support came mainly from (middle- and upper-class) Conservative and Liberal politicians. Labour politicians with working-class roots were under-represented. Therefore, among supporters of the CES, a clear class dimension can be found. Child rescue often followed a judgement passed by those of higher social status and power, often self-styled or formally trained professionals, upon those socially marginalized, who were often deemed as the nonrespectable working class (Harper and Constantine, 2010, p.  264). The Fairbridge Farm Schools were a highly gendered philanthropic endeavor, and this tendency was further reinforced by the largely male supporters of the CES, both within the political sphere and outside of it. The CES, and also the politicians, had a very positive if not enthusiastic outlook and high expectations of how the Fairbridge Farm Schools should offer better prospects in life to impoverished

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working-class children. However, these expectations were not always met in reality. Although saved from a very meagre and perhaps short existence, not all children thrived at the farm schools, as the conditions there were not always favorable. As adults, only a few were able to become peasant proprietors. But these emigrant children did foster white settlement in the colonies. Note Quote from Child Emigration Society, 17th Annual Report, 1925-1926, 1925/1926, p.12, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA.

1

References Bean, P. and Melville, J. (1989) Lost children of the empire, London: Unwin Hyman. Boucher, E. (2014) Empire’s children: Child emigration, welfare, and the decline of the British world 1869–1967, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. CES (Child Emigration Society) (1918/1919) 10th annual report, D296/ D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1919/1920) 11th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1920/1921) 12th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1921/1922) 13th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ——. (ca 1922) A fair sporting chance, Promotional Leaflet, 296/ F1/16, ULSCA. ———. (1922/1923) 14th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1924/1925) 16th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1925) Child Emigration Society, Promotional Leaflet, D296/ F1/16, ULSCA. ———. (1926/1927) 18th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1927/1928) 19th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1928/1929) 20th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1929/1930) 21st annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1932/1933) 24th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1933/1934) 25th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1934/1935) 26th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1935) Fairbridge Farm School, Molong N.S.W. Australia, Promotional Leaflet. D296/F1/18, UCSLA. ———. (1935/1936) 27th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1936/1937) 18th annual report, D296/D1/1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1960) What’s in a name? Promotional Leaflet, D296/F1/9, ULSCA.

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Green, G. (1944) Report to the Executive Committee, Report on Farm Schools in Australia – Correspondence, D296 J1/1/3, ULSCA. Fairbridge, K. (1908) Letter from Fairbridge to Earl Grey, outlines and draft agreements, D296/A1/1, ULSCA. ———. (1909) The emigration of poor children to the colonies— Speech read before the Colonial Club at Oxford, texts by Kingley Fairbridge (sermons, speeches, articles), D296/A2/1, ULSCA. ———. (1912) Infant immigrants, The Daily Mail, news cuttings, D296/F2/1, ULSCA. ———. (1914) Infant immigrants at home – life at the Farm School, The Daily Mail, newspaper cutting, D296/F2/1, USCLA. ———. (1920) Child immigration—An address delivered by Mr. Kingsley Fairbridge of the Child Immigration Society, Fairbridge Farm School, Pinjarra, under the auspices of the British Native Association at the Wesley Hall, Murray Street, Perth, texts by Kingsley Fairbridge (Sermons, Speeches, Articles), D296/A2/16, ULSCA. Fairbridge, K. (1974) Kingsley Fairbridge: His life and verse, Bulawayo: Books of Rhodesia. Harper, M. and Constantine, S. (2010) Migration and empire, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hill, D. (2007) The forgotten children: Fairbridge Farm School and its betrayal of Australia’s child migrants, North Sydney, NSW: Random House Australia. House of Commons (26 April 1922) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (28 May 1924) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (27 March 1928) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (11 July 1931) Committee on Empire Migration. ———. (9 July 1935) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (18 Dec. 1935) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (19 Jan. 1937) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (25 Jan. 1937) Parliamentary Debates. ———. (21 Dec. 1938) Parliamentary Debates. Kershaw, R. and Sacks, J. (2008) New lives for old: The story of Britain’s child migrants, National Archives. Langfield, M. (2004) Voluntarism, salvation, and rescue: British juvenile migration to Australia and Canada, 1890–1939, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 32(2): 86–114. Sherington, G. and Jeffery, C. (1998) Fairbridge: Empire and child migration, Woburn Education Series. London: Woburn Press. Thompson, A.S. (2000) Imperial Britain: The empire in British politics, c. 1880–1932, Harlow: Longman. The Times (1935) Child rescue—Empire settlement, news cuttings, D296/F2/1, ULSCA. 80

PART II:

Negotiating identities

FIVE

Senegalese young women in Paris and New York: empowerment and shifting identities through migration Medina Ina Niang

By interviewing young Senegalese migrants in Dakar, Paris, and New York, I chose to put migrants’ voices at the core of my analysis on immigration issues. Social unease and the guilt of not being able to provide for their families seem to be a widespread motivation to emigrate. Are young Senegalese women free to exert their agency when they decide to move to France or the United States of America, or are they mostly hindered by social structure on their journey to economic success and social recognition? Youth are herein defined as under 35 years old. Regardless of the age limit of 35 years, single or unmarried people tend to remain within the youth category in Senegal, no matter how old they are. In fact, the youth living in Senegal seldom leave their parents’ household unless they get married or move to another town or country, although they are sometimes financially independent. In Senegal, someone can be 50 years old and still be considered as a child because they still live in their parents’ house. Young girls (children per se) in rural areas often have the responsibility to cook meals and become caregivers. In these examples, the meaning of youth in Senegal differs from that of western countries, where being young is sometimes associated with carelessness or lack of responsibility. Age on its own can become irrelevant in determining what a young woman is in the context of Senegal, but migration and marriage seem to grant adulthood thanks to the associated attainment of economic power. This chapter proposes to explain the transformation of young Senegalese women’s status through their migration to Paris and New York, and to show how their journeys have shifted migrants’ identities and disrupted traditional patterns of masculinity and femininity. It

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addresses the links between their roles of spouses, mothers, and autonomous individuals in a quest for success. The intersectionality between a feminine condition and a migrant’s condition is relevant to study Senegalese women’s immigration in France and the United States, since their migration to both countries has modified traditional Senegalese social and cultural interactions. Discussions are based on fieldwork in Dakar, Paris, and New York.

Senegalese migration to Paris and New York In my first fieldwork in 2011 in Dakar, 196 respondents shared their vision of Senegalese international migration; the majority of migration candidates had not started their migration process by applying for a visa. Only one third of them had actually initiated a visa procedure. Hence, more Senegalese people dream about migration than put their actual plan to emigrate into action. For instance, those who were denied a visa and decided to embark on an illegal journey to Europe, often depict this continent as a fortress they have to get into, by any means necessary. Those who choose dangerous itineraries are in despair because they are unable to fulfill their families’ obligations. Barça walla Barça (meaning Barcelona or the Hereafter in Wolof)1 has been a very popular motto in the first decade of the 21st century. This symbolic connotation of Barcelona suggests that migration candidates were not afraid to cross the Atlantic Ocean, since the risk of dying meant resting in the Hereafter. During the fieldwork, I realized that their families’ life improvement and the prospect of climbing the social ladder were the main motivations to migrate. Therefore, migration has an important meaning in the Senegalese social imaginary and bears a strong symbolic relevance. Thus, international migration does not only affect the actual migrants, but also the society as a whole. France: a traditional destination Paris has long been considered as an obvious destination because of the common historical background shared by Senegal and France. Before Senegal’s independence from France in 1960, three categories of Senegalese migrants were present in the country. The first category was composed by men, women and children exhibited as “samples” from the colonies with other “exotic” animals. These exhibitions started in the 1870s and ended in the 1930s. The colonial exhibition of 1931 was the most famous of them. The second category was formed by African men summoned to fight under the French flag

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in World War  I and World War  II under the label of “Senegalese Infantrymen,” regardless of their diverse African origins. After World War II, Senegalese migrant workers represented the third category of Senegalese migrants in France, where mass migration started in order to rebuild the country ravaged by the war. In 1970, ten years after Senegal’s independence, a severe drought hit most rural areas of the country and led to mass migration to African countries first: Ivory Coast, Gabon, and Congo, then to Europe, particularly to France. But in 1974, France closed its doors to mass migration and a visa was required to enter the country. After 1974, since circulation between Senegal and France was no longer possible, Senegalese migrants had no choice but to settle in France and apply for a family reunion visa, so that their wives could join them, or move to southern Europe, mainly to Italy and Spain. An estimated 75,000 Senegalese migrants were living in Italy in 2003 (Gerdes, 2007). Today, France is perceived as a rather hostile country by the Senegalese, a perception that was confirmed by the majority of my informants in Dakar, Paris, and New York. United States: a recent destination Slavery could be considered as the first migration of Senegalese people to the United States. The first voluntary Senegalese migrants were adventurers who might have arrived illegally in New York after the inauguration of Dakar’s port in 1895. At the time, Senegal was still under French rule and its people could not freely travel outside the country. No one seems to know exactly how and when this process started, but the presence of a few Senegalese individuals at that time has been revealed. For instance, in 1919 Chalys Lèye, a restaurant owner, arrived in Harlem, and Battling Siki—a Senegalese boxer who beat George Carpentier, the iconic figure of French boxing—was offered a considerable amount of money to move to the United States in the 1930s (Ndao, 2012). Later, the Hart Celler Law of 1965 opened the United States of America to migrants of different backgrounds. In 1978, the American Congress decided to open the country to even more migrants in order to promote diversity. The Senegalese took advantage of this legislation and started immigrating to the United States; consequently, the Senegalese population increased considerably in the 1980s and the 1990s. Based on the 1990 census, there were 2,287 Senegalese in New York (AAME, nd). For many Senegalese informants today, New York seems to be more attractive than Paris.

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Women’s empowerment through economic crises at home In the 1980s, Senegal went through a severe economic crisis that had a clear impact on women’s status. The structural programs imposed by the IMF (International Monetary Fund) and the World Bank led to massive job cuts. Many companies closed and employees were hit by corporate restructuring. Overall, this crisis affected mainly men. The purchasing power decreased and the price of basic foodstuff increased. As a consequence, men who were their families’ providers became more and more undermined. They lost their credibility in their households because they failed to take care of extended families. In Senegal, a man often has to provide for his parents, parents-in-law, younger brothers and sisters, and probably other members of his family. Therefore, the repercussions of a job cut seemed endless. Paradoxically, the severe economic crisis of the 1980s granted women more autonomy in Senegalese society. They needed to find jobs. According to the Senegalese sociologist Fatou Sow (1991), in her study of Senegalese women’s initiatives at the time, the economic crisis had consequences for women’s status and allowed them to become more active, more creative, and more visible. During that period, few women could afford not to work. Although still believing it was their husbands’ duty to support the whole family, women started working to help take care of their household. Many became entrepreneurs in the informal local market. Others decided to leave the country: some women would seasonally go to Spain, the closest European destination, where they sold African items such as paintings or masks. As pointed out by McNee (2000, p. 36): Wolof proudly uphold the idea of solidarity within the extended family, even if they do not always enjoy the tremendous burdens of such solidarity. Indeed, the economic crisis makes it extremely difficult for most members of Wolof society to survive outside of these links.

Economic success in New York, social power in Paris Women have long suffered from a lack of visibility in the representation of Senegalese migrants. Stringer (1996, p. 38) noted that “[in] Wolof society, unlike many other African communities, girls are expected to remain virgins before marriage and a close watch is kept on their contact with boys.” Marriage seemed to represent a prerequisite for emigration, while the decision to emigrate for self-fulfillment was

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condemned. That is why single women who migrate were perceived as prostitutes. Their identities had to be related to their husbands in order for them simply to exist. Yet in the context of Senegalese migration, women have played a key role. In France, a family reunification law was passed in 1976. With the absence of a Senegalese community per se, the majority of women who had no educational background felt isolated. They would form a group of African women and organize weekly or monthly meetings, just to feel less lonely. Around the end of the 1980s, Wolof women from urban areas of Senegal started migrating. Unlike the previously arrived wives joining their husbands, they were educated and looking at migration as a path to autonomy and financial stability (Dianka, 2007). Their choice was to migrate as free economic actors. Since then, the image of the Senegalese migrant woman has evolved tremendously over the years. According to Dianka (2007), by becoming able to support their families financially, women have transformed societal perception of them. Previously referred to as prostitutes, single women now benefit from the more positive image of provider. Because they transfer considerable amounts of money to their families, they fulfill an important economic role that gives them more value in society. For instance, according to the United Nations Population Fund report, migrant women were more helpful to their families on a daily basis than men (UNFPA, 2006). Starting a professional life in the United States In the 1980s, Senegalese women already had a commercial background in common with their male counterparts, thanks to their international trade experience between Europe and Africa. As Ebin (1993) noted, many started their professional lives as street vendors. Senegalese female vendors would occasionally go to New York to purchase wholesale goods, mostly jewelry, shoes, and other goods that they eventually sold in Dakar. Those women would usually not settle in the US; those who did had very little money and often bought goods destined to be sold in Senegal whenever possible. In New York, they would sell masks and other African art objects in African American fairs and music festivals organized in various states during summertime and they would go back to Africa for the rest of the year (Ebin, 1993). By the end of the 1980s and the beginning of 1990s, more women had joined their husbands in the United States. The Amnesty Law of 1986 allowed many Senegalese to become legal immigrants and their wives could join them in the US. In the following decade, Senegalese women’s migration to the US increased. Many single women and

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young women arrived, sometimes with a student’s visa or after travelling to Canada or Europe. In 1986, there were few women in New York’s Senegalese community and nearly all of them were married. At that time, their activities mostly relied on male migration. They lived in welfare hotel rooms, transformed into canteens, where they would serve rice and fish (Senegal’s national dish). Those canteens were the main gathering places for Senegalese migrants. They also did men’s laundry. Still some Senegalese men consider unmarried women as prostitutes. Indeed, young Senegalese women who decided to live alone were systematically judged and disapproved of. In the 1990s, Senegalese women’s economic and social situation improved and they stopped being dependent on men whom they worked for inside the community; at that time, more young women joined their husbands, stopped “serving” men, and began working for themselves. While some women still arrived in New York with their husbands or joined them after they settled, more and more women tended to enter the US alone or with other women. They often managed to find employment in the service economy, mostly in restaurants, supermarkets, and hotels. Some even started working in wholesale distribution and electronics, sectors previously reserved for men. But hair braiding has always been the main activity of Senegalese women in New York. Hair braiding business in New York: a route toward autonomy In all African countries, the art of braiding represents one of the most popular forms of body art. In Africa, neglected hair is often associated with mental illness, mourning, or an absence of social integration. Although the art of braiding has an aesthetic dimension, it has long been an indicator of someone’s social background, ethnic group, social position or political status (Babou, 2013). According to many informants, braiding hair has always been the most profitable activity for Senegalese women in New York. The first Senegalese hair salons opened in New York and Washington, DC. By the end of the 1970s, some African American entrepreneurs opened salons where they showcased African hairstyles. Indeed, a domestic activity such as hair braiding became a source of Senegalese women’s emancipation in New York because it allowed them to be more financially successful than men. Hair braiding had become such an attractive sector that even men started to manage hair salons, although braiding was traditionally considered as a feminine activity performed by lower social castes in Senegal.

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In the 1980s, Senegalese entrepreneurs in the US introduced artificial hair extensions into the business and hair braiding became a professionalized activity. Therefore, through migration, hair braiding became a rewarding economic activity, whereas in Senegal the art of braiding was considered as part of women’s sociability. In fact, doing each other’s hair is traditionally considered as a privileged moment of social interaction among women in Senegal. It represents an art transmitted from mother to daughter and an important aspect of motherhood (Babou, 2013). Hair braiding was also convenient for Senegalese women who were overstayers because it did not require a work permit or a social security number, and, more importantly, women felt comfortable to be able to work within the community. As pointed out by Bonacich (1973), some sojourners found it comfortable to remain in a familiar national community and not fully commit to assimilation because their goal was to go back to Senegal eventually, to be precise—after making enough money and raising their social status back home. Also, Senegal being a French-speaking country, the language barrier was not a major hindrance in hair braiding; it did not prevent young Senegalese women to earn a living. Because of the increasing demand for African braiders in the US, some American salon owners would even travel to Senegal to recruit braiders. The women who had already settled in the US would have their sisters join them and work in the hair braiding business. Cheikh Guèye, a Senegalese entrepreneur, was inspired by African American and Caribbean hairstyles. He introduced synthetic hair extensions in Senegal, where he opened a factory with a Korean business partner (Ndao, 2012). Before the introduction of synthetic hair, Senegalese women would use natural products such as tree bark or wool to lengthen their tresses. When they moved to New York, Senegalese women had already created new braided styles, which they thought would appeal to African Americans. Some men, as previously noted, became salon managers, which shows how migration can transform traditional gender patterns. In New York, Senegalese women were the pioneers of this activity and did not have much competition. Today, some hairstyles such as Senegalese twists are famous worldwide. Nevertheless, as revealed by Sokhna, a young Senegalese braider interviewed in New York: Braiding hair is not as interesting as it used to be. It is very hard now. It’s because of the world’s crisis; everybody wants to braid hair now. We are too many!

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Hence, hair braiders seem to be less economically successful today than they were in the 1980s and the 1990s.

Women as agents of “integration” in Paris Senegalese women mainly arrived in France after a family reunification law was passed in 1976. Those women often came from rural areas and were illiterate. They mainly belonged to two ethnic groups, Soninke and Halpulaar. Around the end of the 1980s young Wolof women came from urban areas in Senegal. Unlike the previous group of women, they were educated and looking at migration as a path toward autonomy and financial stability, and many of them were single (Dianka, 2007). Their arrival in France has allowed a whole community to start an integration process. Young Senegalese women in France face many structural barriers which impact their ability to assert their agency. According to UNESCO (2016), Senegal is one of the ten African countries where more than half of the adult population is illiterate (58%), the majority of whom are women. Indeed, many women were poorly educated and had an informal entrepreneurial background. In France, Senegalese men and women have different perspectives on integration in their receiving society. Bonacich’s (1973) middle man minority theory of immigrants whose orientation is primarily to homeland only seems to apply to men among the Senegalese migrant population in France. In most cases, women migrated to France knowing they would stay there at least until their children finish secondary school, whereas men believed they would only stay temporarily, until they earned enough money to take back home. Therefore, men created associations whose actions were mainly directed toward Senegal. For example, they raise money to build schools and lead similar projects in their villages (Bâ, 2014). Conversely, women appear to be an important asset in Senegalese cultural integration in France. In fact, men who decided to leave their wives in Senegal and visit them every two or three years seem to be less integrated than those who opted for family reunification in France. They usually live in special accommodation designed for African migrants called “foyers de travailleurs migrants” (migrant workers’ hostels) without needing to interact with the receiving society. M, a 20-year-old student, explained her insight about Senegalese migrants’ integration in France: I think the French are right about the lack of integration. Most migrants do not make enough efforts  … at least

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to speak French. There are even retired people who have worked here their entire lives here and cannot even pronounce one sentence correctly! N, a student, also underlined the necessity to adapt to the culture of the society receiving migrants. She condemns Senegalese men for trying to reproduce their social interactions in France. She believes there are some features of Senegalese culture which prevent integration: There are certain things we do not do often in our cultures, such as going to cafés, but it is a way to socialize here. You will never speak to anyone if you stay at home and decide not to go to a bar because they sell alcohol there […]. Unlike most men, women seem to be trying to find solutions to the issues faced by migrant communities. Their associations organize events which attract many French people and are useful to showcase their culture. Above all, those activities allow them to become more visible and to have the support of local municipalities, which provide them spaces to host their cultural activities in France (Bâ, 2014). In France, the majority of women migrants have very little income because they are mostly stay-home moms, unemployed, or students. According to official French national statistics,2 between 2006 and 2008, there were 10,632 Senegalese migrants who were allowed to enter France; among them only 277 came with a worker’s visa and one third of the migrants were students. In the workers’ population, there were 239 men and 38 women. Indeed, most women seem to have entered France for family reunion. One can notice the precarious economic situation of young Senegalese women in France. Most of them have low-paid and undesirable jobs. Unlike men’s associations, whose members are often all from the same region, sometimes even the same village or the same ethnic group in Senegal, the members of women’s associations come from various African countries, due to quite similar experiences of immigration. This configuration shows women’s willingness to share their experiences and to move forward in a common effort. For instance, the Association of Women from West African Countries,3 created in 2008, has members from Senegal, Burkina Faso, Ivory Coast, Mali, and Mauritania. In France, paradoxically, Senegalese women seem to occupy public spaces generally reserved for men and appear to be more open-minded about their receiving society’s culture than their male counterparts. They are also the ones who interact with their children’s school staff.

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Women generally represent the link between the migrant community and the host society, and are willing to deal with issues related to their immigration. Overall, women’s associations deal with the transmission of their culture to their children born in France, they exchange views about the new society, raise newcomers’ awareness of French institutions, provide help for job applications, and so on. Therefore, in France, through their associations’ activities, Senegalese women have some sort of participatory citizenship since their actions are acknowledged by the French public services. Indeed, they manage to find solutions for the social and cultural problems faced by their “communities.” They also organize events such as fashion shows and cooking classes in order to share their culture. Generally, women seem to be more willing to adapt to their new environment than men, but some women wish to protect their children from some cultural influences found in the receiving society. Women often are invisible in the media, as opposed to men who are often perceived in a negative way. But Senegalese women (single or not) are “powerful” actors despite their invisibility. They manage to use their culture to facilitate societal incorporation. Some informants in New York have the perception of Senegalese women in Paris as being “too integrated.” KD, a rather conservative taxi driver who has lived in New York for 20 years, complained about this reality: Here we don’t see Senegalese women smoking on the street and drinking beer in public as in France, where they even do it in front of their parents…. Taking them back to Africa for a while is what could save them.

Shifting and switching cultural male and female identities Cheikh Ahmadou Bamba, the founder of the Murid religious brotherhood in Senegal led peaceful resistance against the French colonial power, which made him a holy figure of Senegalese resistance. He was so influential that the French colonists decided to exile him to Gabon from 1895 to 1902. His mother, Mame Diarra Bousso, is perceived as the epitome of femininity among Senegalese Murid women. According to popular belief, the mother of such a holy man should be admired and emulated. According to Moussa Kâ, a Senegalese poet, Mame Diarra Bousso would even pledge her jewels when she had no money, just to pay for her husband’s daily curdled milk. She would never ask him for anything because she was convinced the greater her sacrifices were, the more her children would be blessed

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(Htcom, 2016). She is celebrated yearly in a pilgrimage called Magal in Porokhane, a town located in the Senegalese region of Kaolack, where she died aged 33. Thus, she is often depicted as a saint and represented as a model of virtue. In Senegal, there is also a popular belief that if a woman mistreats her husband, her children will be mistreated as well. As Moussa Kâ wrote: “You were the perfect spouse when all the others were a source of worries…. That is why their sons made themselves domestics while yours is placed on a pedestal.” Hence, women wish to preserve their image and to avoid slander in society. In fact, the ability to be reserved (Kersa) and patient (Muñ) are women’s cardinal virtues in Senegal, found in the figure of Mame Diarra Bousso. These virtues appear to form references for many women in relationships. Senegalese women’s claims do not seem to be in a strict opposition toward men, or aimed at exerting/displaying their power, even when they are economically more successful. According to Fall-Sokhna and ThiéblemontDollet (2009), in their online article, those women would rather envisage gender in terms of “partnership, interdependence and complementarity, particularly in the private sphere.” According to Diouf (2002), in Senegal, femininity is constituted by two elements: the woman perceived as a body and an object of physical pleasure (wife, mistress, and prostitute) and the woman who is the depository of cardinal virtues in the Senegalese society (grandmother, mother, sister). Most Senegalese women are afraid to lose the cardinal virtues defining womanhood, which were culturally imposed on them in their upbringing. Senegalese women embrace attributes which are culturally inherent to their femininity, such as motherhood or being caregivers for their families; they do not seem to perceive those attributes as feminine clichés. Oftentimes, they think of those traditional cultural values as a validation of their femininity. However, they also appreciate the empowerment acquired through migration to Paris and New York, where they notice they are granted more power to challenge their husbands and men in general without being socially condemned. Overall, the female informants in New York were mostly bothered by men’s demanding requests and ungrateful behavior. Thanks to an immediate access to information about their rights and a newly acquired economic empowerment—that is, without a male intermediate—they tend to stand up more and more for themselves. Nevertheless, they do not necessarily wish to endorse the role of advocates for women’s rights in the public sphere, although they refuse to condone some men’s abusive behavior in the private sphere.

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Because of the education they received, Senegalese women are placed in a rather uncomfortable position when they refuse to be dominated by their husbands, who not only often make less money than them but are also unwilling to handle domestic work after migration. But, at the same time, they still want to represent a symbol of virtue, a model inculcated by their own mothers. Therefore, one could argue that the desire to be virtuous appears as a weakness in the way Senegalese women handle their relationships. Through these gender issues, it appears that the conception of masculinity and femininity has completely shifted for the Senegalese migrants settled in the US. They seem to have lost all their bearings as to how they should behave in the public as well as in the private sphere. Some women wish for better balance in the sharing of domestic and family responsibilities, and men expect their wives to spend more of the money they earn on household expenses, despite their role of providers back in Senegal (Kane, 2011). In Senegal, men often tend to limit their role of husband to that of provider, but in New York, men insist that their wives become providers as well as housewives, which leads to confrontation in their households. Some women refuse to spend all their money on household expenses because keeping their money allows them to maintain their social position or to climb up the social ladder in New York’s Senegalese community and in Senegal. They also fear their husbands would be tempted to take another wife if their finances were no longer needed in the household, just to assert their manhood (Kane, 2011). Having more than one wife also reflects a successful image and could raise someone’s social status. As Diouf (2002, p. 284) pointed out, access to “the most beautiful women’s bodies” translates into a model of social success. Many women managed to support their families back home by braiding hair, to send their parents on pilgrimage to Mecca (one of the five pillars of Islam), or to buy houses. Still, some men have tried to dominate their wives, especially the younger ones. But again they seemed to lose all credibility since women are now able to provide for themselves and find it more difficult to cope with domineering husbands. Fatou, a disappointed ex-wife, shared her story of male domination in New York: When I arrived in New York, I was 24 and completely dependent on my husband. He decided to move to the United States to work in the trade business. His strategy was very common. Men would do their best to prevent their young wives from having papers in order to control

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them better. I realized it when a friend who came alone after me received her green card. After that I got divorced, finally took care of myself, and got my papers. According to Fatou, some husbands’ “strategy” was to make sure their wives did not get a green card in order to control them better. Buggenhagen (2003) noted in her doctoral dissertation about Murid women (a Senegalese religious brotherhood to which most Senegalese migrants in New York belong) that Senegalese couples tend to get divorced more often in the US than in Senegal. Women tend to become more aware of their rights and exercise them. In Paris, some informants even compared social workers in charge of ensuring the integration of newcomers, to “couple breakers,” because they allow women to be well aware of all their rights. Men are sometimes shocked that social workers ask their wives if they are properly taken care of. They also complain about the persisting stereotype of the domineering African husband. In Modou’s case: When my wife had just arrived in France, I told her she could go see a social worker for some help. Do you know what she asked her? I could not believe it! She asked her if I did not beat her and if I bought food for the children. Abdou shared the same point of view: The migrants who have brought their wives here have regretted it because the social workers put in their heads they had the right to refuse having sexual intercourses with their husbands. That belongs to the private sphere! This is why some Senegalese migrants in France prefer to marry women in Senegal and live apart rather than marrying a Senegalese woman in a western country, because they think they are already too “compromised.” Because these women are more aware of the system, they would be much more difficult to control. Nevertheless, to some migrants their wives are being manipulated by those same social workers, who seem to destroy their strategy of marrying young rural women straight from the village and treating them as puppets. Cultural “integration” does not seem to be the first preoccupation of Senegalese migrants when they arrive in France or in the US; most of the time, they first seek economic integration. But real changes occur in their social and cultural lives. In the family structure, the patriarchal

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figure slowly fades and women enter the economic and cultural sphere of the receiving society. For example, the hair braiding business moved from being a solely feminine cultural activity in Dakar to a masculine one in New York with more Senegalese men as salon owners. As soon as hair braiding became a lucrative business, men entered the market in what was previously a “women’s business.” Similarly, cleaning became both a male and female occupation in Paris. Some men whose jobs were to clean in the French capital tended to feel undermined whenever they had to disclose their occupation. Some migrants sometimes invent a brand new livelihood for themselves to avoid mockery or contempt in their homeland (from both men and women). Some of the first Senegalese migrants who settled in Paris were ashamed of their cleaning jobs, which they call “métier de madame” (“madam’s job”); they were convinced by the idea of gendered division of labor at home but which they did not always find in France. However, in Senegal’s rural areas, women tended to have it a lot harder than men on a daily basis. They actually farm the lands, cook meals, and serve as the entire extensive family’s caregivers. Senegalese migrants seem to belong to two different social classes, depending on where they are in relation to the migration stream. In Senegal, they are perceived as rich and successful because they are able to address their families’ financial needs, but in Paris or New York they are perceived as belonging to the lower stereotyped and subaltern “class” of African immigrants. Also, the “feminization” of men in Paris is visible in the kind of jobs they have, such as in the cleaning sector. Often when they go back to Senegal, they are ashamed to have a “Madam’s job.” Thus masculinity and femininity have a tendency to switch in these spaces at home and away. Besides the shifting patterns of masculinity and femininity, international migration has impacted Senegalese social stratification. In Senegal, a rigid traditional caste system imposed a social hierarchy based on several groups’ hereditary lifestyle and occupations. Thus society is divided into two “classes”, that is, non-caste and caste people; the former group is composed of aristocrats and nobles and the latter of artisans. The groups were not allowed to intermarry and to this day some families still forbid such unions. The division between the two social groups does not echo the merely economic distinction between “rich” and “poor,” since the rejection of the caste group (in Wolof, Gnegno) by members of the non-caste group (Géer) is an inherited sociocultural identification borne by the individuals in their patronyms. Nevertheless, modernity and later international migration started to disrupt the social order, since members of the caste

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group have managed to become economically successful. Indeed, the Senegalese caste system seems to have slightly lost its power due to the financial possibilities offered by international Senegalese migration. Also, the prejudice suffered by the Gnegno is essentially cultural because today, many of them have become more economically successful than many Géer.

Conclusion This chapter demonstrates young Senegalese women’s role as “independent economic actors” in Dakar, Paris, and New York. It also addresses the transformation of their status through migration from their homeland to France and the United States, as well as the role of the financial crisis in their empowerment. In fact, in the 1980s, women entered the job market to literally save their households and, through the economic crisis, they have become more and more autonomous. But unmarried or single women who migrated on their own were initially viewed as prostitutes by Senegalese men. Today, young and single women have a more positive image because they transfer considerable amounts of money to their families. By doing so, women seem to have undergone a gender role reversal in which they have assumed the socially accepted role of men. They have gained male attributes by becoming providers and consequently earned respect and power in their households. Aside from transforming notions of masculinity and femininity, the respect traditionally owed to the elders is also challenged because young successful women have become decision makers. In some cases, “adulthood” can be granted by economic power. In New York, Senegalese women have managed to transform hair braiding into a cultural and economic tool, as this activity represented a savoir-faire only they possessed. They also needed to break free from patriarchal attempts to control them upon migration. In Paris, Senegalese women fostered relations between their migrant community and the receiving society, both culturally and socially. The illusion of migration as temporary has led many men to focus on their future success in their homeland, so they forget to live in the present and work toward integration. In contrast, women found it crucial to celebrate their culture and raise awareness about its features around them in their host communities. Senegalese women find the means to negotiate their culturally expected temporary within and beyond their groups. This is also observed among the young Arab women in Chapter Twelve.

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As much as Senegalese women seek autonomy, many of them still want to match a socially idealized version of fulfillment as a woman, wife, and mother. Indeed, the meaning of empowerment for Senegalese women differs in context compared to those found in western societies. Rather than strongly opposing masculinity in order to value their rights, they are more inclined toward negotiation and interdependence. Their autonomy, however, is still perceived as a threat by Senegalese men both at home and in Paris or New York. Despite their divergences on migration and gender issues, Senegalese men and women usually agree on the necessity to inculcate their children with what they consider as core traditional African values. Young Senegalese women still think of the most valuable part of themselves: their culture. Notes 1.

Wolof is a language of Senegal, the Gambia, and Mauritania. It is the native language of the Wolof people.

2.

Insee, Institut National de la Statistique et des Études Économiques (National Statistics and Economic Studies Institute).

3.

Association des Femmes des Pays d’Afrique de l’Ouest (AFPAO).

References AAME (nd) African immigration, www.inmotionaame.org Bâ, A. (2014) Femmes africaines immigrées responsables d’association face aux enjeux decitoyenneté et de développement: entre mimétisme et innovation en Ile de France et dans le Nord-Pas-de-Calais, Espace populations sociétés, http://eps.revues.org/5891#tocto1n4. Babou, C. (2013) Senegalese female hair braiders in the United States, in A. Kane and T. Leedy (eds) African migration: Patterns and perspectives, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 230–47. Bonacich, E. (1973) A theory of middleman minorities, American Sociological Review, 38(5): 583–94. Buggenhagen, B. (2003) At home in the Black Atlantic: Circulation, domesticity and value in the Senegalese Murid trade diaspora, PhD thesis, University of Chicago. Dianka, D. (2007) La migration internationale féminine individuelle à partir du Sénégal vers la France: le cas des Fatou-Fatou, PhD thesis, University of Reims, France. Diouf, M. (2002) Des cultures urbaines. entre traditions et mondialisation, in M. Diop (ed) Le Sénégal contemporain, Paris: Karthala, pp. 261–88.

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Ebin, V. (1993) Senegalese women migrants in America: A new autonomy? in Women and demographic change in Sub-Saharan Africa Seminar, Dakar: ORSTOM. Fall-Sokhna, R. and Thiéblemont-Dollet, S. (2009) Du genre au Sénégal, Questions de Communication, (16): 159–76. Gerdes, F. (2007) Country profile: Senegal, Focus Migration, 10(November), http://focus-migration.hwwi.de/uploads/tx_ wilpubdb/CP_10_Senegal.pdf Htcom (2016) Aperçu sur la vie et l’œuvre de Serigne Moussa Kâ, http://www.htcom.sn/apercu-sur-la-vie-et-l-oeuvre-de-serignemoussa-ka.html Kane, O. (2011) The homeland is the arena: Religion, transnationalism, and the integration of Senegalese immigrants in America, Oxford: Oxford University Press. McNee, L. (2000) Selfish gifts: Senegalese women’s autobiographical discourses, New York: State University of New York Press. Ndao, A. (2012) Les Sénégalais de New York, Paris: L’Harmattan. Sow, F. (1991) Les initiatives féminines au Sénégal, une réponse à la crise? in Etat et société au Sénégal: crises et dynamiques, Dakar: Cheikh Anta Diop University, pp. 21–26. Stringer, S. (1996) The Senegalese novel by women—through their own eyes, New York: Peter Lang. UNESCO (2016) Education and literacy project for young girls and women in Senegal, http://www.unesco.org/new/fr/dakar/ education/literacy/literacy-project-for-young-girls-and-womenin-senegal-pajef/ UNFPA (United Nation Population Fund) (2006) 2005 Annual Report, http://www.unfpa.org/publications/unfpa-annual-report-2005

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SIX

Homophobia, transphobia, and the homonationalist gaze: challenges of young Bangladeshi homosexuals and transgenders in migration Raihan M. Sharif

Introduction In Bangladesh, people aged 18–35  years are identified as young (Vogel, 2015). Many gays, lesbians, hijras, and transgenders live in Bangladesh, which is predominantly Muslim. This chapter mainly focuses on young Bangladeshi homosexuals, hijras, and transgenders. It examines their struggles as they tend to migrate from rural to urban areas, and from the urban areas to overseas, in a bid to find safer spaces to live. To understand their migration patterns, the push and pull factors are important considerations. While these factors are common ways of tracing any migration pattern (Bradnock and Williams, 2014; Mishra et  al, 2015), this chapter argues that these factors provide understanding to some geopolitically different societal challenges they confront. These challenges reveal interlinked frames in negotiating strategic violence: inter-societal homophobia, homonationalist queer friendliness, Islamophobia, nation-states’ strategic sympathy and its homo-neoliberal abandonment.

Bangladesh: push and pull factors of migration Bangladesh, with 165 million people in 55,126 square miles and with a 1.6% population growth rate, is one of most densely crowded countries (Muzzini and Aparicio, 2013). Due to rapid urbanization, the rate of rural-to-urban migration is significantly high. Urban population increased nine-fold, from 2.6 million to 22 million between 1961 and 1999 (Hossain, 2011). About 30 million people of the total population

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are now living in urban areas (Lewis, 2011) and by 2030, about 40% of the total population will be living in urban areas (Hossain, 2011). Surveys conducted by Bangladesh Bureau of Statistics, nongovernment organizations (NGOs), and researchers reveal several common factors motivating rural-to-urban migration (Jahan, 2012; see Table 6.1). These are usually categorized under push and pull factors: push factors drive people off the rural areas and pull factors inspire their move to big cities like Dhaka, Chittagong, and Khulna. However, research on internal migration does not focus on push and pull factors for Bangladeshi queers. It is difficult to collect data due to their discreet life and their valid need for concealing motivations for migration in a homophobic and transphobic context. Migration of Bangladeshi queers to cities is often eclipsed by prevalent motivations for migration: seeking better opportunities for work and education, health care, and others. As some interviews and documentary films in this chapter reveal, young homosexuals migrate to cities not only for work and better life chances, but also to conceal their sexual practices, relying on urban alienation and the relatively individualist lifestyle in cities to do so. The first section of this chapter outlines some challenges of young BGHT as they migrate from rural to urban areas drawing upon secondary sources—interviews with young homosexuals by an NGO called Swaprava; documentaries made by Boys of Bangladesh,1 an organization of homosexuals living in Bangladesh and abroad; reports on queer asylum cases in the US and Australia; and other materials. The second section shifts its focus to challenges facing Bangladeshi gay Table 6.1: Push and pull factors of rural–urban migration in Bangladesh Push factors • Landlessness • Adverse person to land ratio • Frequent and severe natural disasters (drought, flood, monga, river bank erosion) • Homelessness • Loss of income sources • Unemployment and poverty • Absence of industries • Law and order situation • Village politics • Lack of social and cultural opportunities (education, health care, recreational facilities) • Do not like village (particularly rural rich) Source: Jahan (2012)

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Pull factors • Job/earning opportunities • Easy access to informal sector • Higher incomes/rural–urban wage differentials • Rural urban disparities in social amenities and services (education, health care, recreation) • Positive information about the city (garments factory jobs) • Better livelihood • Fast and colorful life in city • Joining families/relatives • Willingness to change and see new places

Challenges of young Bangladeshi homosexuals and transgenders in migration

and transgender people as they migrate overseas, and examines how hijras tend to rely on the distinctive life practices within Bangladesh, and the challenges confronting transgenders overseas.

Challenges in rural–urban migration This section outlines the challenges facing young Bangladeshi homosexuals. Fear of stigmatization and criminalization: a push factor Homosexuality is considered “unnatural,” “abnormal,” and even a criminal act in Bangladesh. Laws and popular beliefs as well as dominant religious interpretations make homosexuality both a crime and a sin. Bangladesh has yet to abolish the British colonial law, which criminalizes all other sexual acts except heterosexuality: Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature with man, woman, or animal, shall be punished with imprisonment for life, or imprisonment of either description for a term which may extend to 10 years, and shall also be liable to fine. (Ministry of Law, Justice, and Parliamentary Affairs of Bangladesh, 1860) Section 377 indicates that non-heterosexual intercourse is considered “against the order of nature” and punishable. While nobody has been punished under this law, it has helped sustain a homophobic and antihomosexual sociocultural environment in Bangladesh to the present day. A pervasive understanding of homosexuality as a sinful act, backed by religious interpretation, stigmatizes non-heterosexual orientations. While Hindus, Christians, Buddhists, and others also live in Bangladesh, more than 90% of Bangladeshis are Muslims (Lansford, 2015). Hence interpretations of the Quran and Hadith play a pivotal role in shaping the dominant understanding of sexuality in Bangladesh, alleging homosexuality is a sinful and, hence, totally forbidden act. In a survey by Leblanc (2014), young homosexuals (average age 25) report that more than 50% of them live in constant fear: revelation of their sexual orientation can be disaster for them. Within the socioreligious hegemony across rural and urban areas, any open conversation about sexuality is considered taboo, while any non-heterosexual relationships are considered sinful. Gays in remote villages are marked as “feminine” and are stigmatized as “inappropriate” men. Dolon,

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aged 22 (a self-identified Bangladeshi lesbian), from Shawprova, an organization of Bangladeshi lesbians, said: I myself could not realize before meeting one loving woman of Shawprova that there could be a relationship between two women  … while before coming here I was guilty, as my friends treated me as a sick and ridiculous person. (Hena, 2011, p. 416) Young homosexuals thus remain scared and look for safer spaces, where their sexual orientation are hidden from their family. This fear of being exposed functions as a push factor to migrate to cities. Living under strangers’ gaze: a pull factor Because of the collectivist values and community-oriented life style of rural areas, homosexuals find it difficult to maintain a discreet life. They prefer the gaze of strangers in the city to that of the family at home. John Ashley Moon (a pseudonym), a Bangladeshi gay aged 30, shares his tactics for navigating between urban and rural life style: My sexuality is private. My family do not know but they do notice that I am a little girlish but they never say anything to me. But sometimes my friends in my village pass comments. They call me sissy. When I go to visit my family members in my village, I keep very quiet and discreet so that no one comes to know. If they find out, what my family members would think? (Wright-Duncan, 2016) He also confesses that it is easier to conceal his sexual orientation in Dhaka than in his native village: I live in urban areas now. Usually, your neighbors here don’t show interest in your life and they don’t invade your privacy. But then again, you may find some inquisitive people who will notice that your lifestyle is different from others. Some aunts in your neighborhood may gossip about you. They may wonder why you are not getting married. As for my classmates, I conceal my sexual orientation from them. I must act that I am a heterosexual person just like them. For example, when they share stories about their girlfriends, I must fabricate stories. I know that if I share

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my real sexual orientation with them, they will not take me as their friend any longer. I will be very isolated then. (Wright-Duncan, 2016) Preference for strangers’ gaze indicates a sociocultural feature of heteropatriarchal friendship: the social acceptability of public displays of intimacy between persons of the same sex. Heterosexual males, for example, display intimacy in public spaces by hugging, touching, and walking together with a hand on the shoulder of an intimate friends. This is rather appreciated in Bangladeshi sociocultural spaces if the sexual orientation of either of any two male friends is not suspected as homosexual. Two intimate friends can even share beds. Some homosexuals use the acceptability of same-sex social intimacy to conceal their homosexuality. This tactic of double coding their sexual orientation, however, works only when homosexuals live away from the people who know them well. No inevitable requirement for consistent interaction with strangers and neighbors in a city stands out as a pull factor for homosexuals. Riamoni Chisty, aged 22, said in an interview: My father is an Islamic thinker and considers homosexuality to be the most severe crime in the world. After finding out that I was gay, he took me to a doctor who prescribed me a lot of medicine. Those pills caused severe side effects, including headaches and fevers. I even vomited blood a couple of times. Despite the side effects, my father forced me to take the medicine for 11 months. But that didn’t help at all. Later he took me to India for hormone replacement therapy. That was very painful. I temporarily lost my hair due to the treatment. But I didn’t notice any psychological change in me. At some point, my father gave up and moved to Saudi Arabia with my mother, leaving me behind. (Islam, 2016) In such cases, gay youth prefer to live away from the company of their family and friends. Moving to urban areas provides them relatively less hostile spaces. Challenges and consequences of rural-to-urban migration Migration to urban areas provides scope for homosexuals to recognize their own identities and desires. They find people in whom they confide and, if they are fortunate, are introduced to some organizations

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where they can find out about their rights as homosexuals. This is demonstrated by the following examples drawn from secondary sources and interviews uploaded on YouTube. Dolon, aged 22, a self-identified Bangladeshi lesbian was confused about her different sexual desire (Hena, 2011). Because of an ambiguity in expressions of a clear-cut homosexual and heterosexual bifurcation in sociocultural behavior among close friends, she started considering her desire for women as “perversion.” Also, Riaz, aged 28, a Bangladeshi homosexual, acknowledges his ignorance and confusion about his own sexual orientation (MrPeaceMeal, 2017). It is only when Dolon migrates to Dhaka and joins Shawprova that she starts to recognize her sexual desire as normal. Similarly, Riaz, knows recognizes his homosexuality only when he openly shares his confusions with friends. Hridoy, aged 20, another homosexual confesses: As a young guy when I used to love other guys, I used to think that it’s my unique problem or that it is some mental disorder I have or I am somehow sick. I was very young and felt attracted towards men. After I came away from my village to the city, I found that there are many others like me in Bangladesh and even abroad and that I am not alone. (MrPeaceMeal, 2017) Migration to urban areas thus opens up space for self-identification and recognition of homosexuals’ desire to be themselves and open up to others. However, migration to cities is not the end of all miseries. They still lead discreet lives. Migration provides them with more tactics of effective concealment of sexual orientation than staying at home. The tactic of double layering is no easy task; its success depends on the ability to maintain boundaries between posturing as heterosexual and appearing as homosexual to others, or what I call “crossing sexualityboundaries secretly.” But Bangladeshi gays capitalize on the difference between villages and cities and decide to migrate to cities whenever they find the opportunity. Class-based segregation of homosexuals in cities As they try to settle in cities, homosexuals go through a classbased differentiation in their lifestyle and sexual practices. Upperand middle-class gays get connected through social media like Facebook2 and Twitter3 (Karim, 2014). Some of them join clubs and organizations for gays. In these social platforms, they come to

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know about homosexuality beyond the boundaries of nation-state as they participate in workshops to de-stigmatize homosexuality. Boys of Bangladesh and Shawprova are two such organizations for gays and lesbians, respectively. Poor gays, in contrast, do not have any membership or ties with any such organizations. They instead rely on their close friends and partners to conceal their sexual orientation. Protection from persecution in villages and cities Fatwas are often announced to punish offenders, sinners, and transgressors, especially in remote villages. Fatwas are verdicts supposedly based on interpretations of the Quran. Since homosexuality is a sinful act according to the established interpretation of Islamic laws, fatwas may appear as life-threatening for homosexuals. In Bangladesh, issuing a fatwa is legal, but the execution of a fatwa is illegal (Sarkar, 2010). But legal reform banning fatwas is not always reflected in societal values, beliefs, prejudices, and stereotypes. Hence, queer individuals face social stigmatization and persecution which prevent them from living normal, fulfilled lives and can lead to poor mental health. John, a gay Bangladeshi man and a gay rights activist from Bangladesh stated: Our society is a heteropatriarchal and conservative one. Because of wrong interpretations of scriptures, people think it is OK to kill gays. Few days back you knew that two Bangladeshi LGBT [lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender] activists got killed. People consider us wrong-doers and criminals. They hate us as we are dirty worms. To them, we are like viruses spreading bad things in the society. Hence, they are keen on depriving us from our rights as humans. Because of all these, sometimes I become very frustrated and go through so much pain my mind that I think suicide would be a peaceful solution. Avoiding the risk of persecution by fatwa is a push factor for migration to urban areas. These challenges, irrespective of living in rural and urban areas, may be so intense as to lead to suicide attempts.

Migration to western countries: struggles to become rights-bearing subjects Migration to cities opens up scope to find out about people’s rights as homosexuals. Rural-to-urban migration becomes a process

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of recognizing, de-stigmatizing, and de-criminalizing sexual orientation. Bangladeshi homosexuals become more aware of their need to maintain a discreet life to evade homophobic harassment and physical abuse. Adopting a discreet sexual life is almost like a process of making themselves homo sacer (Agamben, 1988), or the “sacred man” who could be killed. Using categories of animal life (zoé) and life of political participation (bios), Agamben (1988) explains how state power and legislative institutions make some people worthy of death. Bangladeshi queers cannot practice their rights of citizenship and are made to adopt a discreet life (as is done by homosexuals), or a distinctive community life (like hijras), or a life of total isolation (as is done by transgenders). These multifaceted sociopsychological obstacles and constraints deprive non-heteronormative citizens a fullfledged life. Thus, migration to other countries is a convenient choice for them. Of potential host countries, they prioritize western countries due to their established images as rights-giving queer-heavens (Raboin, 2017). Some Bangladeshi homosexuals try to migrate to these countries without foregrounding their sexual orientation: they try to migrate as students, entrepreneurs, and workers in Canada, USA, Australia, and UK. Others seek asylum status. Human rights organizations and different LGBT magazines share the challenges of queer asylum seekers in the West. Queer asylum is granted on the basis of refugee status as defined by the United Nations High Commission on Refugees under the 1951 Convention relating to the status of refugees, as amended by the 1967 Protocol relating to the status of refugees (UNHCR, 2010). According to this protocol, a refugee is someone who: owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country; or who, not having a nationality and being outside the country of his former habitual residence as a result of such events, is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to return to it. (UNHCR, 2010) The United States acceded to the 1967 Protocol but Congress did not enact its own Refugee Act until 1980. The US government codified the Protocol such that an applicant for asylum must: (1) have

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“a well-founded fear of persecution”; (2) the fear must be based on past persecution or the risk of future persecution; (3) the persecution must be “on account of race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion”; and (4) the persecutor must be the government or someone whom the government is unwilling or unable to control. Subsequent case law has defined the category “particular social group” to include homosexuals (Shepard Broad Law Center, 2008). Asylum decisions in the United States are heard by individual asylum officers, with administrative appeal to an Immigration Judge and, later, to the Board of Immigration Appeals. Further appeals may be referred to the federal Courts of Appeal and the Supreme Court, but queer asylum cases have not yet been decided at this level. Over the decades, it has been found that a successful sexual orientation asylum claim depends on establishing two primary elements as follows: 1. Nexus with group: It has to be established in the court that asylum applicants have suffered persecution because of their affiliation with a “particular social group” whose members possess “common, immutable characteristics” fundamental to their identity. The sexual orientation asylum applicant must establish “a wellfounded fear of persecution … because of his [or] her membership” in the “particular social group” of homosexuals. This element can be called “nexus with group” requirement (see U.S. Department of Justice, 2014). 2. Personal disaster spectacle: An asylum applicant must demonstrate a fear of persecution on the basis of their identity and establish a link between the persecution and their group membership. Thus, a sexual orientation asylum applicant must explain the basis of his or her fear with personal testimony and supporting evidence that proves he or she is homosexual and that he or she was persecuted on account of that homosexuality. I prefer to call this “personal disaster spectacle”. This demand must be shown fulfilled to carry out “the burden of proof ” (U.S. Department of Justice, 2014). Australia also requires these two elements, and additionally applies a third element: 3. Discretion test: Australia considers whether applicants, if returned to their country of origin, could avoid persecution by hiding their sexuality (Millbank, 2009).

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But how do these legislative frames address Bangladeshi homosexuals? I argue that a tripartite discursive construction and misrepresentation of Bangladeshi homosexuals poses challenges: the global gay discourse, the teleological developmental narrative, and the homonationalist gaze. Their struggles under the US legal system, for example, relate to the wider undocumented queer movement discussed in Chapter Seven. The following sub-sections demonstrate the struggles and challenges confronting the migration of Bangladeshi homosexuals. Struggle to find legal status as asylum seekers Asylum tribunals in the West tend to define homosexuality within the confines of global gay discourse, which views white queers as the archetype of homosexuality, ignoring potential differences in the identity and appearance of non-white queers. Consequently, tribunals look for the “right” appearance of homosexuals in the bodies of brown queers, which is based on the appearance of white queers. In this way, the tribunals work within teleological developmental narratives, which assume western homosexuality to be more progressive and evolved than non-western practices of homosexuality (Manalansan, 1995). Luibhéid and Lionel (2005, p. xvii) critique the racialization of queer asylum applicants as they argue that “asylum adjudications provide opportunities for the construction or reiteration of racist, imperialist imagery that has material consequences on a global scale.” Racialization of queer asylum seekers often occurs because of considering homosexuality as a western construct. Legal restraints and multifaceted problems intensify the crisis of the queer asylum seekers in developed countries (Elvia, 2002). Cruz-Malave and Manalansan (2002, pp.  5–6) critique the teleological developmental narrative as it conceptualizes non-western queer formations as not yet appropriately lesbian or gay, “in which a premodern, pre-political, non-Euro-American queerness must consciously assume the burdens of representing itself to itself and others as ‘gay’ in order to attain political consciousness, subjectivity, and global modernity.” Thus, they identify a challenge for non-white queers who must await Euro-American legitimization to be considered as rights-bearing subjects in the first place. Puri (2008, p. 68) critiques the global gay discourse: Shaped in the aftermath of the post-Stonewall era in the United States, gay takes the meaning within this developmental frame that originates with an unliberated,

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prepolitical, homosexual practice and culminates in the liberated, politicized, out, modern gay subject. In so far as gay is singularly understood within the framework of bourgeois civil society and individual subjectivity, homosexuality and gayness in non-western contexts are found wanting. Both Manalansan (1995) and Puri (2008) argue that the imperial gaze of the West finds non-western queerness either inappropriate or nonexistent. Puar (2007) similarly argues that the politics of homonormativity normalize western homosexuality and homonationalism marginalizes non-western queers as inappropriate. Homonationalism is “a form of sexual exceptionalism—the emergence of national homosexuality” (Puar, 2007, p.  2). Homonormativity is the assumption that homosexuality is normal and common in western countries, and as such uses homonationalism “as a regulatory script not only of normative gayness, queerness, or homosexuality, but also of the racial and national norms that reinforce these sexual subjects” (Puar, 2007, p. 2). While Duggan (2002) recognizes homonormativity as a new sexual politics, Puar (2013) extends it first to nation-state and then to transnational contexts. Puar (2013, p.  25) argues that “homonationalism is not [the] property of any nation-state”; it is a field of power which more and more western countries want to possess, deploy, and benefit from. As a field of power, the specter of the terrorist within the Orientalist representation of Muslims as the essential other has always provided legitimacy to any homonationalist project. Within the homonationalist discourses, an Israeli queer, for example, is a proper queer, while a Palestinian or a Muslim queer is not. Similarly, Bangladeshi queers with their identities as citizens of a Muslim-majority country find it difficult to be represented as rightful queers. Legislative obstacles As mentioned, in deciding queer asylum cases for non-western Muslim queers, some western countries use a combination of the following three frames: global gay discourses, the teleological developmental narrative, and the homonationalist gaze. I argue that within this tripartite framing of non-western Muslim queers, two problems often go unaddressed: misrepresenting non-western queerness, and reinforcing binaries between the progressive West and barbaric Islam.

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Two case studies are presented to illuminate Bangladeshi Muslim homosexuals’ struggle as they fight to prove themselves rights-bearing subjects.

Case 1: Bangladeshi Muslim gays in Australia K (28) and R (47), residents of southwest Sydney, fled Bangladesh in 1999 after being subjected to stoning, kicking, and other frequent violent attacks, both verbal and physical (Fickling, 2003). In their first hearing, K and R claimed that they lived monogamously in respective heterosexual relationships for 14 years. Later, K and R had lived together for four years in Bangladesh. They had experienced a variety of violent incidents and harassment, and expressed fear of similar persecution if they went back. The tribunal expressed serious reservations about the applicants’ credibility and did not believe some claims of persecution. Evidence that K had complained to the police of harassment was denied on the basis that it was “not plausible” that he would have sought police assistance in the first place, “given the attitudes towards homosexuals in Bangladesh” (Dauvergne and Millibank, 2003). While the tribunal accepted that the couple was genuinely gay and in a long-term cohabiting relationship, they did not believe that this gay couple had any reason to face harassment in Bangladesh. The tribunal concluded that the applicants did not have a well-founded fear of persecution as they had lived together for over four years without experiencing any more than minor problems with anyone outside their own families. They led a discreet lifestyle and would be able to continue with the same if they went back to their own country. The tribunal also used country evidence and found that there are no openly gay men or lesbians in Bangladesh. It added that gay men having relationships usually do not live together. Public places like parks are available to have discreet male–male sex, though gay partners are likely to experience extortion, and being beaten up by police. The tribunal categorically mentioned that men can easily continue male-to-male sex if they conform outwardly to social norms, most importantly by marrying women and having children while keeping their homosexuality secret. The tribunal concluded that: It is clear that homosexuality is not accepted or condoned by society in Bangladesh and it is not possible to live openly as a homosexual in Bangladesh. To attempt to do so would mean to face problems ranging from being disowned by one’s family and shunned by friends and neighbors to more serious forms of harm, for example the possibility of being bashed by the police. However, Bangladeshi men can have homosexual affairs or relationships, provided they are discreet. (Dauvergne and Millbank, 2003)

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Challenges of young Bangladeshi homosexuals and transgenders in migration The tribunal’s argument that Bangladeshi gays can continue with homosexuality by hiding their sexual orientation is problematic; queer relations in this case have been conceptualized narrowly as only to do with sexual orientation. Such a reduction of queer identity to the sex act shows how Australia seems to use homonationalism as a script to define and control homosexuality for non-white queers. Such racialized considerations are further made obvious by distorting facts in the original appeal made by K and R: that they were openly “non-conforming” as they were cohabiting as a gay couple. The tribunal failed to consider the constant fear of physical assault, criminalization through fatwa if homosexuals live in remote areas, fear of exclusion from the family, and psychological and social harassment and abuse by neighbors and acquaintances. That K and R have maintained their relationship for four years is no guarantee that they would be able to do the same for the rest of their lives. In the Bangladeshi sociocultural environment, it is almost impossible to lead a discreet life as the social atmosphere necessitates close interaction between family members, neighbors, and other community members. The problematic approaches to the “discretion” requirement applied in case of Bangladesh led to one man in a gay couple receiving refugee status while his partner was denied it (Dauvergne and Millbank, 2003). Worse, a subsequent tribunal told K and R that “you don’t look like homosexuals.” This is evidence of how the politics of visibility marginalizes non-western queers. Identifying visible markers of sexual orientation is problematic: not all queers necessarily follow the same lifestyle, wear distinctive dress, or carry any other fixed visible markers of their gender identity on their bodies. The logic of visibility seems to be applied routinely, and is underpinned by racialized perception of nonwestern queers. One tribunal asked them to prove they are gay, and they offered to have sex in front of a witness (Byrnes, 2009). This is just one of many examples in which the court created humiliating situations for K and R. In a legal limbo for 17 years, K and R were eventually granted asylum in 2015 (Akerman, 2015).

Case 2: Bangladeshi Muslim gays in the United States A Bangladeshi gay, aged 25 who was threatened with stoning by Islamic extremists in his home city of Dhaka, received political asylum in the United States (Neilson, 2005). In his affidavit, the man reported that he had been raped by police, forced into electroshock treatment, and ordered by his family to enter an arranged marriage.

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities The country information evidence utilized in the cases from Bangladesh appears general in tone and dated. In this particular case, most of the country evidence was five years old at the time of tribunal decision. While the tribunal finds that Bangladeshis are tolerant of male homosexual behavior, a study reflecting the time when the case was being heard shows otherwise—homosexuals going through widespread violence at the hands of police and others. In this case, success for the queer asylum applicant came through only relying on homonationalist ideologies, where the role of stoning, fatwas, Islamic fundamentalists’ abuse of minorities, and others have been foregrounded. In successful asylum cases, both the personal disaster spectacle and discretion test are encouraged to form around such homonationalist formations. While the sources of persecution through fatwa may still exist in the rural areas, it is also an undeniable fact that execution of fatwas is illegal in Bangladesh (Sarkar, 2010). Because of public awareness of this, Bangladeshi gays are less likely to be faced with it, but this does not imply that other forms of sociocultural obstacles have disappeared. However, it is possible that the ruling against enforcement of fatwas in Bangladesh will now be used to argue for the validity of the discretion test that recommends asylum applicants hiding their sexuality and continuing to live in their home countries. Ironically, this recommendation reinforces both heteropatriarchal and homonationalist hegemonies, suggesting that in the hierarchical conceptualization of sexuality and nationality “Bangladeshi homosexuality” is to be kept under the carpet, while “western homosexuality” is to be publicly practiced.

Sociocultural obstacles and neoliberal abandonment in host countries For Bangladeshi queer asylum seekers, life may become even more problematic when they are eventually granted asylum and struggle to settle in host countries where they are vulnerable to the challenges of racism, homophobia, and transphobia. Shakhsari (2014, p. 999) argues that: “the promise of rights and freedom in the teleological developmental narratives of refugee discourse” is not “achievable for queer and trans people who arrive in the ‘third country of asylum’, which is often Canada, the USA, or Australia. Disillusioned with the promise of rights and equality, Sayeh, an Iranian transgender refugee woman committed suicide less than a year after arriving in Toronto in 2008.” Amid the combination of homophobia, transphobia, and the (mis) management of life chances embedded in neoliberal homonationalist

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countries, it becomes difficult to manage housing, employment, and health care, for example, in Canada. On their arrival in host counties, the lives of Bangladeshi Muslim queers remain as disposable as they were in their home countries, and they become victims of racism on top of homophobia and transphobia. These multifarious miseries occur in a wide range of forms, from unemployment and poverty to total abandonment and death. Death of non-white in the “lands of rights and freedom” becomes “unspeakable” because of an easy and uncritical acceptance of the “queer heaven myth” about the West (Shakhsari, 2014). Gaining asylum status does not mean the end of homophobia and transphobia as Bangladeshi queers may find their life in the “lands of rights and freedom” more vulnerable.

Hijras and transgenders: in their home country and abroad Beyond binaries of the home/host countries, this section examines the challenges of hijras and transgenders in their home country and abroad using a comparative analysis of Labannya and Amelia, both in their 20s. Labannya, a hijra, is stuck in Bangladesh, the country in which she was born, while Amelia, a transgender, was also born in Bangladesh but has moved to Canada. Amelia was born as a boy; he was called Adesh then. But he always felt trapped in the wrong body. Taking hormones and undergoing breast implants, he initiated becoming who she wanted to be. Amelia’s “move” from a male body, from a Muslim country, and from middle class to upper class can be compared with Labannya’s “move”: begging on the move from one shop to another while walking in groups in a crowded city, moving from her parents’ house to live with the hijra community, and her recent bold move— capturing two murder suspects and handing them over to police. In an interview (Manik and Barry, 2015), Labannya has used her new-found glory to make a plea: hijras want to move safely in Dhaka and elsewhere. She refers to the harassment and hate-crime hijras experience due to transphobia and the stigma imposed on them. While hijras live in distinctive communities in Bangladesh, India, Pakistan, and Nepal to make their own “safe” spaces for living and livelihood, they must “move” to and live in a segregated space as the mainstream societies in these countries prefer to keep their distance from hijras. Heteronormatively gendered spaces tend to produce an expulsive power which forces hijras to “move out” from families, neighborhoods, schools, and workplaces, so that the mode of production, distribution, and consumption within heteronormative gender categories can flow and operate smoothly. Simultaneously, an interplay of expulsion and

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conditional expropriation of hijras also determines their life chances: hijras are commonly believed to have special power to bless newlyweds and newborn babies and are often found organizing rituals for them. Other hijras become sex workers. Hijras’ labor can help make the heteronormative social and economic activities of society thrive. Hijras also use transphobia as capital in their business model. They enter shops in groups and ask for money. While shopkeepers may feel either sympathy, or pity, or transphobia, or an ensemble of all these, they get busy to shorten hijras’ stay in their shops to ensure free flow of customers, to get back to “normal.” Hijras “move in” to the heteronormative gendered spaces and “move out” if they get paid a small amount of money; this can be presented as follows: They make their living by a traditional, low-stakes protection scheme: asking shopkeepers for small sums of money and creating a noisy racket on the street outside if they refuse. The business model depends heavily on the belief that hijras have the power to invoke curses. (Manik and Barry, 2015) This spatiotemporal intervention by hijras, the temporary occupation of business spaces, heavily relies on the belief that hijras can curse and somehow damage business interests. Yet, this tactic of survival on the part of hijras appears as highly inadequate to combat the strategic violence of heteronormative abandonment. Hijras and transgenders have welcomed the passing of new laws in Bangladesh, India, Nepal, and Pakistan identifying and labeling them as “third genders” (Anam, 2015). While these laws would provide them with recognition, some rights, and, overall, a sense of visibility within heteronormative gendered spaces, such laws often appear problematic. The term third gender reinforces a sequential prioritizing of men and women over hijras and transgenders in and through a hierarchic stratification of gender in which hijras and transgenders should be considered only after people expressing masculinity and femininity. The term “third gender” tends to freeze both gender variance and flows of multidirectional desire which hijras, transgenders, and others may undergo. The Bangladesh government decision on whether to offer jobs to hijras after a medical board has found the candidates “fully male” is pending (AFP, 2015). Joya Sikder, the head of a hijra group rightly comments: “government should have set out a clear definition of a hijra before conducting the medical tests” (AFP, 2015). This frame of

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inclusiveness using legal and medical apparatuses reveals how nationstates reproduce a heteronormatively gendered economy even when they appear as progressive. The socioeconomic immobility of hijras and transgenders can be identified as “compulsory stasis,” an effect of the politics of inaction and collective disavowal within the neoliberal capitalist economy. This phase is made compulsory as a permanent threshold zone of entrapment in and through the biopolitical and necropolitical control of poor workers, destitute hijras, and transgenders. Ironically, this zone of abandonment and disposability fosters the flow of capital which foregrounds the systemic disavowal of transgenders.

Bangladeshi transgenders in post-migration phase Moving between nation-states is almost impossible for brown hijras and transgenders. Poverty makes them immobile. Unlike homosexual victims of “Islamic barbarism” in Muslim countries, hijras and transgenders would fail to provide provable persecution stories (Sharif, 2015). Yet some of them successfully cross geographical borders. Adesh, a Bangladeshi transgendered individual, for example, moved to Canada and became Amelia Maltepe. In their post-migration phase, transgenders are offered specific success routes so that the neoliberal capitalist and heteronormative economy can embrace them. To explain these routes to failure and success, the categories of “shiny” and “dirty” are useful. “Shiny” transgenders are very keen on adapting themselves to the logic of heteronormatively orchestrated norms of capital, race, class, sex, and gender. Using their cultural capital, they may become models and get jobs in the corporate sector. “Dirty” transgenders, however, either cannot or do not want to conform to this. The gender variance the transgenders publicly manifest is determined by their tactics of survival within diverse contexts of the strategic violence they must negotiate. Transgenders acquire more fluidity, more mobility, and greater access to the matrix of socioeconomic relations only when they appear as feminine. Free market mobility of the “shiny” transgenders may provide them with happiness but it also forecloses better life chances for “dirty” transgenders. While Labannya Hijra utilizes her fame to demand safe spaces for all hijras in Dhaka, Amelia Maltepe must keep playing within heteronormative capitalist desire in Canada. I argue that both “shiny” and “dirty” transgenders could be identified as “affect-aliens” (Ahmed, 2010, pp. 41–2). Their assimilation and performances within the global

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capitalist economy are something they must do as happiness duty. As Downes (2012, p. 232) explains: Ahmed turns the situation around to understand the promise of happiness as a process of concealment that hides inequalities and justifies the oppression of “others” under the rubric of the “good life”. In this argument happiness plays a neo-liberal trick, placing responsibility on the individual to achieve authentic happiness and obscures diverse ways of being. In short; queers, feminists and migrants all threaten to expose the unhappiness of the scripts and duties of happiness and can only be seen as the cause of bad feeling. Feminists cause sexism. Migrants need to get over racism. Homophobia no longer exists. Nobody wants to break the illusion of happiness and those who refuse to play along and dare to make alternative lives in queer, feminist and migrant life worlds are stigmatised as unhappy, negative and difficult “affect aliens”. Similarly, I argue that Labannya Hijra should return to her community and take part in begging, singing, dancing, and other ways of participating, as ascribed within the script of heteronormative gender reinforcement. Performing as happy hijra provides her safety within the nexus between heteronormative gender hierarchies and capitalist economy. Amelia should find newer ways of maintaining her status as a happy transgender; that is, no revelation of bad feelings in Canada. In her interview (Jones, 2013), she appears content and confident. Her happiness duty would make her a “no problem woman.” Confronting white supremacist internet forum Stormfront’s racist and heteronormative objection at her becoming SUNshine girl, she would just slightly react and move forward, as the excerpt of her interview reveals: VICE: Have you heard about the “KEEP SUNSHINE GIRLS AS WOMEN NOT TRANNIES” petition that your photo inspired? Amelia: I don’t know who made that, but I think this is very stupid whoever is doing it. It doesn’t really bother me or make me feel bad. I know about myself, I am a very confident person. It didn’t bother me for one second. (Jones, 2013)

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Sun Media’s contentious history with Canada’s LGBT community does not count as a reason for Amelia’s not doing a photoshoot for them. Her sense of allegiance would not cross boundaries to embrace the “dirty” transgender, but rather be inspired by Jenna Talackova, another “shiny” transgender who first competed in Miss Universe Canada. Amelia wants to be the next Miss Universe. The happiness duty also comes as an advice from her mother: “Well, if you like it, then do whatever you want to do, whatever makes you happy” (Jones, 2013). In contrast to the “ascending” and “progressive motion” of “shiny” trans women like Amelia and Jenna, a “descending motion” for other trans women of color attracts less attention. Aizura (2014, p. 129) reveals how life becomes “disposable” within discourses and narratives of homo-neoliberal progression. “Dirty” trans women of color are usually the racialized other within the heteronormative and white socioeconomic matrix of the global North. Whereas brown trans women’s bodies become subject to the Orientalist gaze and appear as only fit for prostitution (Aizura, 2014, p. 135), “shiny” trans women can aspire to be Miss Universe.

Conclusions Bangladeshi queers apply diverse tactics to negotiate power structures at home and abroad. They keep changing their tactics of representation and negotiation with structures of power as they move across different nodal points in the circuit of nationalist homophobic rural and urban spaces within the home country and homonationalist human rights regimes outside the home country. Driven by the logic of survival, for example, Bangladeshi homosexuals in their home countries tend to conceal their sexual desire and practices within the heteropatriarchal power structure—a form of “hidden transcript” (Scott, 1990). Based on the idea of infrapolitics, an everyday form of resistance that falls short of openly declared contestations, Scott (1990) foregrounds the superior–subordinate relations in which the subordinate appears to acquiesce willingly to the stated and unstated expectations of the dominant, where the weak and oppressed are not free to speak in the presence of power. Subordinate groups create a secret discourse that represents a critique of power spoken behind the backs of the dominant. Bangladeshi gays, while living in their home countries, do not directly confront homophobic power structures and entities. They simply try to avoid or evade the vigilance of the punitive system.

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Bangladeshi gays hope to find sexual freedom in the “progressive” and “queer friendly” West. Often they apply for political asylum in western countries. Becoming rightful applicants, however, involves proving immutable sexualities and other features; non-white queers are expected to perform personal disaster spectacles. In their attempt to emerge as rightful subjects, Bangladeshi gays find demonizing their home counties as homophobic, barbaric, and persecutory to be a quick and effective tactic to elicit sympathy in homonationalist host countries. But their struggle is not over once granted asylum. They encounter new forms of discrimination in their settlement and integration. In all these, survival and hope remain. Notes 1

You may know more about them here: http://www.boysofbangladesh. org/

2

One such platform is Boys of Bangladesh: https://www.facebook.com/ BoBangladesh.LGBT/

3

Twitter address of Boys of Bangladesh: https://twitter.com/bobangladesh

References AFP (Agence France-Presse) (2015) Hijras voice anger at gender test failures, Daily Star, July  2, http://www.thedailystar.net/country/ hijras-voice-anger-gender-test-failures-106411 Agamben, G. (1988) Homo sacer: Sovereign power and bare life, trans. D. Heller-Roazen, Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Ahmed, S. (2010) The promise of happiness, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Aizura, A. (2014) Trans feminine value, the racialized others and the limits of necropolitics, in J. Haritaworn, A. Kuntsman and S. Posocco (eds) Queer necropolitics, New York: Routledge, pp. 129–48. Akerman, T. (2015) Gay private lives pictured to prove case for asylum, The Australian, May 9, http://www.theaustralian.com.au/nationalaffairs/immigration/gay-private-lives-pictured-to-prove-case-forasylum/news-story/86a343663bbd5d4997153d10f29c7dcf Anam, T. (2015) Transgender rights, Bangladesh style, New York Times, July 2, https://www.nytimes.com/2015/07/03/opinion/tahmimaanam-transgender-rights-bangladesh-labannya-hijra.html Bradnock, B. and Williams G. (2014) South Asia in a globalising world: A reconstructed regional geography, London: Routledge.

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Byrnes, H. (2009) “We’ll have sex to prove we’re gay,” says Bangladesh refugees, Daily Telegraph, October  16, http://www.dailytelegraph. com.au/well-have-sex-to-prove-were-gay-says-bangladesh-refugees/ news-story/95ac3ae8a23dd152c45108c6b67156f3 Cruz-Malave, A. and Manalansan, M. (2002) Queer globalizations: Citizenship and the afterlife of colonialism, New York: New York University Press. Dauvergne, C. and Millbank, J. (2003) Before the High Court applicants S396/2002 and S395/2002: A gay refugee couple from Bangladesh, Sydney Law Review, 25(97): 97–124. Downes, J. (2012) Review: The promise of happiness, Graduate Journal of Social Science, 9(2): 231–4. Duggan, L. (2002) The new homonormativity: The sexual politics of neoliberalism, in R. Castronovo and D. Nelson (eds) Materializing democracy: Toward a revitalized cultural politics, Durham, NC: Duke University Press, pp. 175–94. Elvia, A. (2002) Queering the painted ladies: Gender, race, class, and sexual identity at the Mexican border in the case of two Paulas, Seattle Journal for Social Justice, 1(3): 679–724. Fickling, D. (2003) Victimised gay couple contest refugee refusal, The Guardian, April 9, https://www.theguardian.com/world/2003/ apr/09/gayrights.australia Hena, H. (2011) Women-loving-women: Issues and concerns in Bangladesh perspective, in S. Wieringa (ed) Women-loving-women in Africa and Asia: Trabs/sign report of research findings, Amsterdam/Den Haag: Reik Stienstra Fund, Kartini Asia Network, HIVOS, MAMA CASH, Ford Foundation, pp. 400–27. Hossain, S. (2011) Urban poverty in Bangladesh: Slum communities, migration and social integration, London: I.B. Tauris. Islam, A. (2016) Nowhere to turn for Bangladesh’s LGBT, http://www. dw.com/en/nowhere-to-turn-for-bangladeshs-lgbt/a-19262468 Jahan, M. (2012) Impact of rural urban migration on physical and social environment: The case of Dhaka city, International Journal of Development and Sustainability, 1(2): 186–94. Jones, A. (2013) I interviewed Toronto’s most popular transsexual model, Vice, May  27, https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/iinterviewed-torontos-most-popular-transsexual-model Karim, S. (2014) Erotic desires and practices in cyberspace: “Virtual reality” of the non-heterosexual middle class in Bangladesh, Gender, Technology and Development, 18(1): 53–76. Lansford, T. (2015) Political handbook of the world, London: Sage.

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Leblanc, D. (2014) Bangladesh survey finds homosexuals live in fear, Erasing 76 Crimes, December 31, https://76crimes.com/2014/12/31/ bangladesh-survey-finds-homosexuals-live-in-fear/ Lewis, D. (2011) Bangladesh: Politics, economy and civil society, London: Cambridge University Press. Luibhéid, E. and Lionel, C. (2005) Queer migrations: Sexuality, U.S. citizenship, and border crossings, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Manalansan, M. (1995) In the shadows of Stonewall: Examining gay transnational politics and the diasporic dilemma, GLQ: A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 2(4): 425–38. Manik, J. and Barry, E. (2015) A transgender Bangladeshi changes perceptions after catching murder suspects, New York Times, April 2, http://www.nytimes.com/2015/04/03/world/asia/an-act-ofcourage-catches-murder-suspects-and-changes-perceptions-inbangladesh.html?_r=0 Millbank, J. (2009) From discretion to disbelief: Recent trends in refugee determinations on the basis of sexual orientation in Australia and the United Kingdom, International Journal of Human Rights, 13(2–3): 391–414. Ministry of Law, Justice, and Parliamentary Affairs of Bangladesh (1860) Penal Code, Act XLV, section 377, http://bdlaws.minlaw.gov.bd/ sections_detail.php?id=11§ions_id=3233 Mishra, R., Raveendran, J., and Jehangir, K. (eds) (2015) Social science research in India and the world, New Delhi: Routledge. MrPeaceMeal (2017) Gay & Bengali/Bangladeshi? https://youtu.be/ ruo20ezm2Cc Muzzini, E. and Aparicio G. (2013) Bangladesh: The path to middleincome status from an urban perspective, Washington, DC: World Bank. Neilson, V. (2005) Homosexual or female? Applying genderbased asylum jurisprudence to lesbian asylum cases, http://www. immigrationequality.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/NeilsonWebsite-Version-Lesbian-article.pdf Puar, J. (2007) Terrorist assemblages: Homonationalism in queer times, Durham, NC: Duke University Press. ———. (2013) Homonationalism as assemblage: Viral travels, affective sexualities, Jindal Global Law Review, 4(2): 23–43. Puri, J. (2008) Gay sexualities and complicities: Rethinking the global gay, in K. Ferguson and M. Mironesco (eds) Gender and globalization in Asia and the Pacific: Method, practice, theory, Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, pp. 59–78.

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Raboin, T. (2017) Discourses on LGBT asylum in the UK: Constructing a queer haven, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Sarkar, A. (2010) Fatwa illegal: HC rules against all extra-judicial punishments upon writ petitions, Daily Star, July  9, http://www. thedailystar.net/news-detail-146004 Scott, J. (1990) Domination and the art of resistance: Hidden transcripts, New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Shakhsari, S. (2014) The queer time of death: Temporality, geopolitics, and refugee rights, Sexualities, 17(8): 998–1015. Sharif, R. (2015) White gaze saving brown queers: Homonationalism meets imperialist Islamophobia, Limina, 21(1): 1–19. Shepard Broad Law Center (2008) Immigration, to admit or deny?, Davie, FL: Nova Southeastern University. UNHCR (2010) Convention [1951] and protocol [1967] relating to the status of refugees, http://www.unhcr.org/3b66c2aa10.html U.S. Department of Justice (2014) Interim decision #3795, Matter of M-E-V-G-, Respondent, decided February 7, Executive Office for Immigration Review, Board of Immigration Appeals, https://www. justice.gov/sites/default/files/eoir/legacy/2014/07/25/3795.pdf Vogel, P. (2015) Generation jobless? Turning the youth unemployment crisis into opportunity, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Wright-Duncan, T. (2016) An interview of a gay Bangladeshi man, https://youtu.be/MTpd2mq4qmM YouTube (2012) Amra Ki Etoi Bhinno … Are we so different, documentary, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x-TUnilAE9A

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SEVEN

From “coming out” to “Undocuqueer”: intersections between illegality and queerness and the US undocumented youth movement Ina Batzke

Introduction One August morning nearly two decades ago, my mother woke me and put me in a cab. She handed me a jacket. “Baka malamig doon” were among the few words she said. (“It might be cold there.”) When I arrived at the Philippines’ Ninoy Aquino International Airport with her, my aunt and a family friend, I was introduced to a man I’d never seen. They told me he was my uncle. He held my hand as I boarded an airplane for the first time. It was 1993, and I was 12. (Vargas, 2011) This excerpt, describing through the eyes of a minor the significant process of leaving the country of birth behind to enter the United States, constitutes the beginning of a unique and exceptional autobiographical essay, published in the New York Times Magazine on June 22, 2011. In “Outlaw: My life as an undocumented immigrant,” Pulitzer prize-winning journalist Jose Antonio Vargas not only revealed how he was sent to enter the United States illegally as a child, but also detailed how he discovered his lack of citizenship as a teenager and how he resided and worked in the United States without legal documents for almost 15 years. As such, the essay is first and foremost a prototypical representation of the so-called US undocumented youth movement, which has gained a powerful voice in American political debate since the turn of the millennium (Nicholls, 2013). What is more, however, Vargas’ essay includes a revealing moment of his life in

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his account which had until then often been silenced. He narrates how during his junior year of high school, he raised his hand in history class after watching a documentary on Harvey Milk and told his classmates and teacher that he was gay. Reading Vargas’ essay one thus attends a personal journey that is on the one hand emblematic of the undocumented youth movement and its diverse tactics, but on the other also bears witness to a development that had for long been discounted by undocumented representations: the growing recognition of self-identified LGBTQ migrants within the overall undocumented youth movement. Indeed, in the years prior to Vargas’ representation, undocumented activists arguably oftentimes ignored or hid their individual LGBTQ experiences as a strategic decision to present themselves as “perfectly adapted” “American” migrants (Gerken, 2013; Batzke, 2014), eager to adhere to dominant heteronormative US gender norms. Vargas’ “double coming out” (DasGupta, 2012, pp.  1–2) can therefore be understood as one prominent intervention of queer1 (self-)representation that surfaced in the context of the overall undocumented youth movement since 2010. It is the aim of this chapter to trace the emergence of such autobiographical junctures between undocumentedness and queerness in popular media, not as parallel aspects to the overall undocumented youth movement, but as intersecting—and even sometimes countercurrent—ones in the fight for social justice, both in the area of immigration rights and LGBTQ struggles. While two of the most divisive political issues in the United States today are arguably those concerning LGBTQ rights and immigration, there has indeed been little public discussion of how immigration is also an issue for LGBTQ people, or vice versa, and even less analysis of the structural similarities between LGBTQ and immigrant struggles.2 By focusing on two prominent and arguably queer appropriation strategies of the undocumented youth movement—“coming out” as undocumented and the emergence of an “Undocuqueer” identity—this chapter responds to that lacuna, and aims to eventually explicate connections between the “vulnerabilities produced through immigration regimes, and the ongoing criminalization of queer- and trans-ness” (White, 2014, p. 978) in the United States.

Coming out once: the beginning of the undocumented youth movement In his remarks on comprehensive immigration reform on January 29, 2013, US President Barack Obama declared that one of three central

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steps to improve the US immigration system was taking up the cause of the DREAMers,3 “the young people who were brought to this country as children, young people who have grown up here, built their lives here, have futures here” (Obama, 2013). He thereby indirectly referred to a potential passing of the DREAM Act—the Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act—which aimed to provide conditional permanent residency to undocumented migrants who have arrived in the US as minors, have graduated from US high schools, and have lived in the country for more than five years.4 It was the continued discussion but also rejection of this Act in US national politics,5 and thus the repeatedly neglected prospect for juvenile and young adult “illegal” migrants to become “legal” that arguably initiated the overall undocumented youth movement in the United States in the first place. When the Act was first introduced in 2001, voices of undocumented migrants were practically unheard in the public sphere and life stories of undocumented youth did not exist. Though there were already “hundreds and thousands of undocumented youths facing a unique set of problems” (Nicholls, 2013) in the 1990s, the fear of deportation forced them to conceal their illegality and the resulting difficulties. There had been quite a few campaigns to win college access and in-state tuition for undocumented youth at the end of the 1990s; these were, however, usually led and implemented by state legislators and national immigrant rights associations, and “[u]ndocumented youths only played residual roles within them” (Nicholls, 2013). Identification with others—a necessary prerequisite for coalition-building and the formation of a collective movement—was therefore nearly impossible, causing undocumented youth to withdraw from public life altogether and to live “in the shadows” (Nicholls, 2013; also Suárez-Orozco et al, 2011). Only a decade after the introduction of the DREAM Act, however, undocumented youths had not only found a collective identity, the aforementioned “DREAMers,” but had also begun to address their situation publicly. By 2009, the “explosion of open, public, and assertive demonstrations across the country” (Nicholls, 2013) organized by undocumented youths marked their entry on the national political stage. During protests, public speeches, and testimonies, undocumented youths publicly rejected a life in the shadows, admitted the fact that they resided in the country illegally and at the same time demanded the right to be recognized as rights-deserving human beings. Notably, this ritual of public sharing of status not only resembles, but was also almost immediately referred to as a “coming out.” It thus seems that the gay rights call to action,6 embodied in Harvey Milk’s famous “Brothers

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and sisters, you must come out,” has influenced the undocumented movement right from the start (Ramirez, 2012, np). Indeed, alongside individual “coming outs” during mock graduation ceremonies (Ricard, 2009), college meetings (Rojas, 2011), and in newspaper articles (Jordan, 2006; Vargas, 2011), collective undocumented youth organizations also adopted the ritual and the terminology promptly. By 2010, several nationwide organizations encouraged undocumented youth to “come out,” to share their stories, and a growing number of young activists blended the “coming out” philosophy7 into their stories and their activism. One exemplary production highlighting this encouragement is the online Coming out of the shadows—A how to guide,8 which was created in close connection with the 2010 nationwide “Coming Out of the Shadows” day, where dozens of undocumented youths publicly revealed their status and told their life stories. In the introduction, it is stated that: [i]n the same way the LGBTQ community has historically come out, undocumented youth, some of whom are also part of the LGBTQ community, have decided to speak openly about their status. Your courage will open the way to having even more conversations about your immigration status. Sharing your stories will allow us, as a movement of undocumented youth, to grow, as we continue to learn to accept ourselves. (Dream Activist, 2010) This motivational statement is followed by a systematic guide that outlines five distinct maneuvers of “coming out,” and connects those to regaining control over one’s own cause. Undocumented youths are, for example, motivated to tell their status and life story to their friends, to come out to one’s guidance counsellor, or to organize a “Coming Out rally” (Dream Activist, 2010). In the guide, coming out is thus understood not so much as a psychological journey, but as self-disclosure as a means of emancipation, which helps to construct undocumented youths as political agents, transfiguring them from “the liminal space of non-recognition [“in the shadows”] into both public consciousness and a more tangible, functional sort of membership status” (Kanstroom, 2012, p.  428). While the introductory passage clearly references coming out as an LGBTQ framework, the undocumented adaptation of the ritual that is presented in the remainder of the guide is however clearly limited to a disclosure of immigration status: “You have decided to come out of the shadows about your undocumented status,” “connect with other

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undocumented youth who might be too scared to come out” (Dream Activist, 2010, emphasis added). A possible self-disclosure of sexual orientation—referring back to the traditional context of “coming out”—is indeed silenced throughout the whole guide and is not part of the strategies presented. By presenting a strict focus on a partial self-disclosure, the appropriation of the coming out strategy from an LGBTQ context has hence only transpired on a rhetorical level, as a figure of speech, and has silenced other potential disclosures such as sexual orientation in the process. This observation might at first be misleading and self-contradictory, particularly since queer undocumented youth had been “at the forefront of fighting for immigrant rights” (Lal, 2013), and had arguably helped to build the undocumented movement in the first place (Vargas, 2011). It becomes comprehensible, however, when considering the limited and contested terrain through which undocumented migrant politics could be practically advanced in the United States at the time of the publication of the guide. Almost all of undocumented activism around 2010 had been in close connection to the DREAM Act, which was extremely exclusionary in that it reproduces dominant ideas about productive/deserving migrants—those who do not have a criminal record, those who have completed high school and post-secondary education, those who have served in the military, and, crucially, those who arrived in the USA while still minors. In an effort to advocate for the Act, this emphasis on the “good” migrant was then also obvious in the rhetorical strategies adapted by the undocumented youth at the time, as Keyes observed: In this narrative, the DREAMer, despite having no legal status, has graduated from an American high school and done something of great note: he or she has finished school despite enormous health or family struggles, risen to leadership positions, cared for ailing relatives, engaged in significant community activism and community service, and so forth. The DREAMer is often also hoping to channel all of his or her hopes and energy into becoming a lawyer, a doctor, a journalist, a scientist, or any number of other professions requiring further education and commitment. (Keyes, 2013)9 The political subjectifications that were embedded in such early “coming out” stories by DREAMers thus mostly embodied relationships between two worlds, namely the two disparate policy

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areas of immigration and education. In their struggle for access to higher education and a pathway to citizenship, DREAMers aimed to make visible an inequitable condition. If they are fit and eligible for K-12 education and in some states post-secondary education upon high school graduation,10 what makes them unfit and ineligible for membership in society? Originating from this discrepancy, undocumented youths tried to shift the negative association of the “illegal alien” to a positive narrative of the “undocumented student,” that is, the “DREAMer.” By creating this contrasting undocumented identity in their self-representations, the ideological confinements created through their advocacy of the DREAM Act seemed to have greatly influenced their produced narratives. DREAMers portrayed themselves as exceptional students and valuable assets for the US economy, and they were careful to depict themselves as highly assimilated and adherent to dominant US norms and values.11 Furthermore, the stories oftentimes highlighted the significance of personal merit, and thus at the same time downplayed the role that structural inequalities might play in denying them recognition as citizens.12 Rather than conjure up ideas of being foreign or a newly arrived immigrant, the identity of the “DREAMer” and the concomitant “coming out” narratives thus refused the inferiority scripts offered by the dominant culture, focusing instead on the requirements stipulated by the DREAM Act: age, education, and length of stay in the United States. They resonated with a subcategory of migrants “who embody such characteristics of exceptional, high-achieving, assimilated individuals” (Anguiano, 2015, p. 88). At the same time, the exclusionary nature of the Act had created a framework in which it was almost impossible to legitimize queer undocumented selfrepresentations. As a result, undocumented narrations excluded nonheteronormative perceptions and characteristics of DREAMers such as queerness, but also, for example, “foreignness” (Nicholls, 2013), as they would have “harmed” their creation of the perfectly adapted migrant who adheres to US mainstream norms and values. A similar pattern is also observed among the Bangladeshi queer in Chapter Six. While the adoption of the “coming out” ritual in the commencing phases of the undocumented movement thus encouraged DREAMers to engage in self-disclosure and self-expression as forms of political resistance, and enabled the movement to “overcome the visibility deficit that previously prevented successful organization and mobilization” (Rivera-Silber, 2013, p. 72), at the same time, self-expression was restricted and limited to only disclosing immigration status, and silenced

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other LGBTQ gestures within the movement. Because undocumented youths who disclosed their life stories before 2010 did so with a primary, and in some cases sole interest in the passage of the DREAM Act, the coalitional gesture that they offer toward queer politics, other oppressed groups (including other migrants), or other social justice project in their appropriation of “coming out” was, in effect, fairly limited.

Coming out twice: queering the undocumented youth movement LGBTQ frameworks have thus been adopted and referenced by undocumented youths right from the genesis of the movement, even though in the beginning they have to be considered as simple cases of “appropriating” (Anspach et al, 2007) LGBTQ language; before 2010, actual queer migrant justice strategies did not surface, particularly since activism was so closely tied to the passage of the DREAM Act. This potential dissent about silencing identity aspects that divert attention away from the central message was however quickly addressed, as many undocumented youths expressed deep dissatisfaction with it. Already, later in 2010, when the DREAM Act was blocked once again by filibuster, many undocumented youths were fueled to broaden the movement and its narratives beyond those designed to address the assumptions and preconceptions of US legislative politics, as those had arguably failed them. As a response, several groups of undocumented activists dismissed the overall movement strategies and created venues where young undocumented migrants could express themselves on different levels and receive support and encouragement from each other. One particularly insightful example of this transition is a newspaper article by Jorge Gutierrez, published on the Huffington Post Queer Voices blog in January 2013. Tracing his activism career, Gutierrez describes how, when first demonstrating for the DREAM Act in 2010, he always had to limit his identity to certain facets: I was coming out as undocumented and sharing my story with friends and coworkers and in public spaces, but that process was heavy and painful, because I was leaving my queer story in the back seat. Every time I walked into a meeting, joined a rally or attended an event, I was making a painful negotiation: “Today I am only wearing my undocumented hat.” (Gutierrez, 2013, emphasis in original)

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Fueled by such bitter constraints, Gutierrez and others started to build alliances between the LGBTQ and the immigrant rights movement, and quickly self-representations of undocumented youth’s diversified and queer self-representations began to surface. In the beginning, online networks were particularly critical for LGBTQ undocumented youth: they allowed those who were marginalized in at least two spheres to connect, socialize, support each other and—most importantly—organize. It was however the introduction of a new identity description that seemed to have furthered the community: first used as a hashtag, the term Undocuqueer13 was coined by early 2011 to reflect a new hybridized political identity and self-description of people who identify as both queer and undocumented (Gutierrez, 2012; Nair, 2012; Lal, 2013). In strong contrast to a mere adaptation of an LGBTQ strategy, according to Karma Chávez, the “coalitional subject of the ‘undocuqueer’” not only indicated an unwillingness to isolate undocumented and queer experiences and identities, but “emerged from within DREAM Act activism in order to call attention to the unique situation of queers in the migrant rights movement and to emphasize queer leadership” (2013, p. 81). While the introduction and creation of the term is not clearly traceable, arguably it emerged in the early days of the National Immigrant Youth Alliance14 (Costanza-Chock, 2014), which was founded in December 2010, and was augmented through the United We Dream network’s launch of the Queer Undocumented Immigrant Project (QUIP),15 which develops dynamic and broad-based strategies for advancing migrant and LGBTQ rights (Gutierrez, 2012). In a literal sense, the function of the new term was to document people who are both “undocumented and a part of the LGBTQ community […] two communities that are systematically oppressed by the conservative right” (Salgado, 2011, p.  26).16 By describing undocumented and LGBTQ migrants as a collective body, “rather than as two distinct (and mutually exclusive) groups between which members must pick an allegiance” (Hart, 2015, p. 3), the neologism formed a “semantic” resistance to thoughts and ideas that reify dominant norms by framing undocumented and queer issues as unrelated (such as the DREAM Act discourse). Furthermore, the term “Undocuqueer” “signaled a theoretical and linguistic inventiveness born of the desire to have words that reference people’s lives and experiences” (Hart, 2015, p. 3). As such, it parallels Gloria E. Anzaldúa’s concept of speaking with a “forked tongue”, which describes the practice of stretching and inventing terms as a product of the borderlands and as an opportunity to show non-conformity to a US-centric monoculture (Anzaldúa,

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1987). In the case of the invention of the term “Undocuqueer,” the “forked tongue” indeed challenges on several levels at once. It contests not only limiting heteronormative frameworks in the undocumented youth movement, particularly in the DREAMer movement, and in mainstream culture, but also xenophobic and US-centric sentiment in both LGBTQ communities and the broader population. Beyond the literal sense, undocumented activists who united under the term “Undocuqueer” enabled themselves “to speak back to a doubled set of exclusions: that of queer people by undocumented movements, and that of undocumented people from queer politics” (Hart, 2015, p. 4). This again becomes evident in Jorge Gutierrez’ newspaper article, in which he outlines “new strategies for alliance building for the LGBTQ and Immigrant Rights Movement”: This is a call to the immigrant rights community: End the lip service on LGBTQ inclusion and invest your resources, commitment and heart in making sure that our queer brothers and sisters are intentionally represented as we work to ensure that all families in our communities are protected and remain together. We must shake up the powers that be and end the anti-LGBTQ values and sentiments in our immigrant rights movements. This is a call to the LGBTQ rights community: Reflect and eradicate the racism that is still at the core of many mainstream efforts. We cannot continue to engage in singleissue organizing, because in doing so we will continue to leave out many in our communities. We need to understand that marriage is important, but stopping the deportations of ourselves and our families is just as important. (Gutierrez, 2013) By claiming a single word and acting upon it, Undocuqueers thus powerfully insisted that sexuality and citizenship status must be considered together, particularly on an activism level, but also for individual endeavors. Accordingly, the stories of Undocuqueers offered insights into the ways young immigrants speak about, navigate, and find strength from these two distinctively stigmatized social locations. Instead of coming out only as undocumented, already in their introduction to an audience, undocumented migrants identifying as Undocuqueer started by offering a double coming out: “My name is Viviana, I’m undocumented, I’m queer, and I’m out” (“Viviana,” 2011), or: “She [my mother] inspired me to have the courage to

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say proudly and unashamedly: I am queer and undocumented. I am UndocuQueer” (Gutierrez, 2013). In the stories that then followed, which were still often branded as “coming out stories,” many undocumented youths presented immigration status as an imposed, legal construction, and contrasted it with their non-heterosexual identity, which is naturalized, but also problematized: I hadn’t planned on coming out that morning, though I had known that I was gay for several years. With that announcement, I became the only openly gay student at school, and it caused turmoil with my grandparents. Lolo kicked me out of the house for a few weeks. Though we eventually reconciled, I had disappointed him on two fronts. First, as a Catholic, he considered homosexuality a sin and was embarrassed about having “ang apo na bakla” (“a grandson who is gay”). Even worse, I was making matters more difficult for myself, he said. I needed to marry an American woman in order to gain a green card. (Vargas, 2011) The stories of Undocuqueers, in stark contrast to the stories of DREAMers, hence give room to a discussion of intersectionality between queerness and lack of immigration status, such as a confrontation with the parental generation. They also discuss the timing and relationship of their silences and coming out sexually to those of being undocumented. Oftentimes, “home” is presented as the locus of sexual suppression and the “public” is presented as site of oppression as an undocumented migrant.17 Notably, the subjectivation as Undocuqueer also seems to have open up a general space for “non-normative” narrations. Under the label, young undocumented migrants also started to discuss their “identities” as complex and to “come out” with more complex personal stories such as dropping out of high school, dealing with the criminal justice system, or arriving in the US after age 15. Other potential facets of discrimination were also addressed: I am a person of color living in America learning and fighting a daily struggle with ADHD [attention deficit hyperactivity disorder] and insomnia. I’m a gender nonconforming male that continues to resist capitalism and fight against patriarchy. I know that I am undocumented, but I do not belong to any country. (Galindo, 2015)

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In this way, the usage of the term “Undocuqueer” can be seen as a kind of semantic activism making visible material experiences that were often erased in the commencing phases of the undocumented movement. That is, the label managed to bring together multiple, overlapping languages and communities in order to draw attention to the limitations of the DREAM Act and also larger immigration debates. In other words, Undocuqueer is not a simple, easily reducible “brand” or an appropriation of LGBTQ language; rather, it is a process of mapping the intersecting realities that work to both constrain and enable particular kinds of action for bodies’ marks as queer and undocumented.

Conclusion and outlook When tracing the emergence of undocumented self-representations since the introduction of the DREAM Act, intersections between illegality and queerness have clearly influenced strategies of undocumented youth from the very beginning. At first, undocumented youths appropriated language from lesbian and gay liberation to form their own strategies and movement: they adopted “coming out” processes to advocate for the passage of the DREAM Act. Regularization programs like the DREAM Act, however, are themselves forms of governance, acting to categorize or even separate “those worthy of permanent residency and eventual formal citizenship from those deemed unworthy or dangerous” (McDonald, 2009, p. 68). To advocate for the DREAM Act hence implied to participate in a nation-building exercise: “to ask the state to reassert itself and make decisions about who is desirable and who is undesirable” (McDonald, 2009, p. 74). The strategies, and particularly the stories created by DREAMers accordingly downplayed or even suppressed queer discourses, as they were tailored to a legislative agenda and to present undocumented youth as desirable citizens to the United States. After the repeated failure of the DREAM Act in 2010, however, undocumented organizers, some of whom had been central in the movement from the very beginning, came out publicly as both queer and undocumented. No longer tethered to legislative politics, young undocumented migrants demanded spaces where they could speak as both. They gave voice to the distinctions of these two experiences and the ways they were interrelated in their lives, giving credence to the statement that the convergence of migrant and queer politics in the United States has become “much broader-based, more pronounced, and larger in scale” (White, 2014, p. 986) in the process.

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This new appropriation was mirrored in the adoption of the term “Undocuqueer,” to speak of and organize around immigration status and sexuality simultaneously. Undocuqueer activists developed a queer youth politics of immigration that insisted that undocumented youth with intersecting and oppressed social locations speak for themselves and develop their own political strategies, and at the same time opened up spaces to “build visibility regarding the intersections of immigrant and LGBTQ communications” (Lal, 2013). And indeed, looking at the various (self-)representations that can be traced in public media since 2010, the introduction of the term “Undocuqueer”—and the associated intersectional organizing— has gained momentum since then. Overall, undocumented productions have become more diversified, and, most importantly, now almost naturally accept the intersectionality between queerness and undocumentedness. Many of those who have since then been at the forefront of the undocumented movement, such as Julio Salgado, an openly gay Mexican-born artist whose artwork has been featured on various media channels, but also Mario Rodas, Tania Unzueta, Yahaira Carrolli, and Mohammad Adbollahi, openly claimed to be both LGBTQ and undocumented, and thus featured an intersectional understanding in their self-representations. But also beyond the individual level, an intersectional understanding has become more naturalized: Undocuqueers not only inhabit spaces at immigration rallies, but also at gay pride parades, such as the San Francisco Pride Parade in 2012 (Flores, 2012). Moreover, most undocumented organizations, such as United We Dream (UWD), have “committed  … [themselves] to ensuring that undocuqueers are represented at every leadership level” (Gutierrez, 2013), or stated that “just as racism is inextricable from nativism, so is the LGBT movement inextricable from the migrant youth movement” (Citizen Orange, 2010). All in all, this thus not only gave a voice to two experiences—undocumentedness and queerness—that are inextricably linked, but also seems to have opened up the overall acceptance of “non-normative” experiences. Armed with such new language and new understandings, undocumented youths increasingly demanded that all the social locations and issues that face them at the margins of society should be addressed and articulated, be they about social status, personal impairments, gender diversity, or legal obstacles. Notes 1.

“Queer” is used in this chapter in the sense of David Halperin, where it denotes “not a positivity but a positionality vis-a-vis the normative […] a

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horizon of possibility whose precise extent and heterogeneous scope cannot in principle be delimited in advance” (1995, p. 62, emphasis in the original). While queer is commonly also used as an umbrella term for gay, lesbian, bisexual, trans, and gender non-conforming identities, this chapter uses “LGBTQ” for all those identities in order to better differentiate between the two senses. 2.

See Chávez (2011, 2013) for notable exceptions. In addition to these academic interventions, in March 2013 the Williams Institute at UCLA released a report that for the first time considered the number of LGBTQ undocumented individuals residing in the US. Based on data from the Pew Hispanic Research Center, Gallup Daily Tracking Survey, and the Census Bureau’s American Community Survey, the report estimates that there are at least 267,000 self-identified LGBTQ undocumented immigrant adults currently residing in the United States (Gates, 2013).

3.

The term DREAMer was coined in 2003 and has been used by undocumented immigrants to describe the roughly 1.8  million undocumented migrants in the United States who might benefit from the DREAM Act, that is, who might be eligible for conditional citizenship. The term however quickly expanded to also include all those activists who were fighting for the acceptance of the DREAM Act. Whenever the term is used in the context of this chapter, it is restricted to its original coinage and thus solely refers to activists with an undocumented status who fight for the passage of the DREAM Act.

4.

To be eligible under the Act, undocumented immigrant students would further be required to undergo a criminal “background check” and must prove “good moral character” (DREAM Act of 2011). After approval, they would be given six years to complete two years of college education or serve in the US military, in order to eventually become permanent residents.

5.

In the Senate: S  1545 (108th  Congress), S  2075 (109th Congress), S 774 (110th Congress), and S 2205 (110th Congress). In the House of Representatives: HR 1684 (108th Congress), HR 5131 (109th Congress), and HR 1275 (110th Congress). The DREAM Act was also frequently addressed by President Barack Obama, both during his election campaigning and his actual presidency. Notwithstanding this support, the Act has failed to pass so far.

6.

For a detailed elaboration on how “coming out” finds its historical roots in gay culture and activism, see for example D’Emilio and Freedman (2012), who argue that by the 1970s, “[c]oming out of the closet was incorporated into the basic assumptions of what it meant to be gay” (p. 323) in America.

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Also see Chávez (2013) for a detailed analysis of the discourse of closets and shadows in relation to undocumented migrant politics.

8.

Two guides were published around this time. First, DREAM Activist, the New York State Youth Leadership Council, and the United We Dream network published the Coming out of the shadows: A how to guide in 2010, in order to prepare for the 2010 Coming Out of the Shadows campaign. In 2011, the National Immigrant Youth Alliance (NIYA) decided to repeat the campaign and produced the new, but remarkably similar A guide to coming out for undocumented youth. For a detailed analysis and reprint of both guides, see Kaitlyn Grade Patia’s (2012) thesis “Crossing the border of fear”: Exploring imitation, imagination, and affect in the citizenship enactment of undocumented immigrant youth.

9.

Due to spatial and thematic constraints, this chapter cannot provide actual examples from DREAMer narratives and thus only provides a summary of the findings from other studies. For a detailed and in-depth analysis of undocumented students’ testimonials during a congressional debate on immigration in 2007, see the author’s 2016 article “Of aliens and DREAMers. congressional testimonies of undocumented migrants in the United States.” For a more general description of DREAMer strategies from a legal standpoint, see article “Defining America: The DREAM Act, immigration reform and citizenship” by Elizabeth Keyes (2013).

10.

Already in 1981, the by-now famous Supreme Court decision in the Plyler v. Doe case held that states cannot deny public education to students for lack of valid immigration status. Without education, undocumented youth were “[already] disadvantaged as a result of poverty, lack of English-speaking ability, and undeniable racial prejudices […] will become permanently locked into the lowest socio-economic class” (Plyler v. Doe – 457 US 202 (1982)). The Court further struck down municipal school district’s attempt to charge a yearly tuition fee for undocumented students, in order to compensate for the lost state funding. Since 1981, undocumented migrants cannot be banned from attending public schools.

11.

The presentation of such stories was frequently accompanied by the showing of the American flag or the wearing of graduation attire.

12.

DREAMers also made a strategic decision not to use the DREAM Act and their activism as an opportunity to discuss a more far-reaching overhaul of the US immigration system or to discuss the historical conditions that led to their current situation. To the contrary, they repeatedly emphasized that the DREAM Act was a “narrowly tailored bill” (Anguiano, 2011) that would only benefit a select group of particularly deserving individuals

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who have to earn their legal status and demonstrate their commitment to become a productive member of US society. 13.

The word is sometimes hyphenated (for example, “Un-Docu-Queer, Undocu-Queer), signaling that it is still a work in progress and can be appropriated in various ways. It is also capitalized, as it is understood as a marker for political identity.

14.

The NIYA can be considered a radical wing of the undocumented youth movement. It describes itself as an undocumented youth-led network of grassroots organizations, campus-based student groups, and individuals committed to achieving equality for all migrant youth, regardless of their legal status.

15.

United We Dream (UWD), the largest national immigrant youth organization, has committed itself to ensuring that Undocuqueers are represented at every leadership level. In 2011, UWD launched the QUIP to bring the LGBTQ and immigrant rights communities to the table in an intentional and strategic manner. QUIP seeks to organize and empower Undocuqueers, queer immigrant youth, and allies via grassroots organizing, educational, and advocacy efforts.

16.

The author of this quote, Julio Salgado, can be considered as one of the founders of Undocuqueer politics, particularly through his art series “I am Undocuqueer!” As both his art and his ideology has already been profoundly analyzed in other academic projects, I have excluded him from my discussion. For an elaboration on his “artivism,” see for example Hart (2015). There is also a chapter dealing with Julio Salgado in Karma R. Chávez’ monograph Queer migration politics (2013).

17.

Notably, this observation is paralleled by the expressions “hiding in the closet” (being queer at home) and “hiding in the shadows” (being undocumented in society).

References Anguiano, C. (2011) Undocumented, unapologetic and unafraid: Discursive strategies of the immigration youth DREAM social movement, PhD dissertation, University of New Mexico, http://repository.unm. edu/bitstream/handle/1928/13122/Anguiano%20Dissertation%20 RESUB.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y ———. (2015) Dropping the “I” word: A critical examination of contemporary migration labels, in E. Hartelius (ed) The rhetorics of US immigration: Identity, community, otherness, Pennsylvania: Pennsylvania State University Press, pp. 93–111.

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Anspach, W., Coe, K., and Thurlow, C. (2007) The other closet? Atheists, homosexuals and the lateral appropriation of discursive capital, Critical Discourse Studies, 4(1): 95–119. Batzke, I. (2014) Collective action and public self-representation of undocumented youth surrounding the United States DREAM Act controversy, Current Objectives of American Studies, 15(1): 1–21. Chávez, K. (2011) Counter-public enclaves and understanding the function of rhetoric in social movement building, Communication Quarterly, 59(1): 1–18. ———. (2013) Queer migration politics: Activist rhetoric and coalitional possibilities, Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Citizen Orange (2010) Dream Now recap – Latino, LGBT, migrant youth, and progressive bloggers lead for the Dream Act, Citizen Orange, August 20, http://www.citizenorange.com/orange/2010/08/ dream-now-recap---letters-led.html Costanza-Chock, S. (2014) Out of the shadows, into the streets! Transmedia organizing and the immigrant rights movement, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. DasGupta, D. (2012) Queering immigration: perspectives on crossmovement organizing, Scholar & Feminist Online, 10(1): 1–2. D’Emilio, J. and Freedman, E. (2012) Intimate matters: A history of sexuality in America, Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Dream Activist (2010) Coming out of the shadows—A how to guide, http:// www.nysylc.org/2010/03/coming-out-of-the-shadows-week-howto-guide/ Flores, M. (2012) Undocuqueer “come out” at S.F. pride parade, New America Media, June  26, http://newamericamedia.org/2012/06/ undocuqueer-come-out-at-sf-pride-parade.php Galindo, A. (2015) Coming out of all the shadows, Facebook Julio Salgado, https://www.facebook.com/julio.salgado.589/media_set?s et=a.10153517014980095.1073741843.625120094&type=3 Gates, G. (2013) LGBT adult immigrants in the United States, The Williams Institute, March, http://williamsinstitute.law.ucla.edu/wpcontent/uploads/LGBTImmigrants-Gates-Mar-2013.pdf. Gerken, C. (2013) The DREAMers: Narratives of deservingness in pro-immigrant activism in the 21st  century, in A. Hornung (ed) American lives, Heidelberg: Winter, pp. 283–95. Gutierrez, J. (2012) Coming out as queer and undocumented: A new strategy for the immigrant and LGBTQ rights movements, Syracuse Peace Council Peace Newsletter, 815, http://www.peacecouncil.net/ sites/default/files/PNL815June12web.pdf

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———. (2013) I am undocuqueer: New strategies for alliance building for the LGBTQ and immigrant rights movements, Huffpost Queer Voices, updated Feb. 2, 2016, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jorgegutierrez/i-am-undocuqueer_b_2521339.html Halperin, D. (1995) Saint = Foucault: Towards a gay hagiography, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hart, C. (2015) The activism of Julio Salgado’s I am undocuqueer! series, Working Papers on Language and Diversity in Education, 1(1): 1–14. Jordan, M. (2006) Illegal at Princeton, The Wall Street Journal, April 15, http://www.wsj.com/articles/SB114505937960426590 Kanstroom, D. (2012) “Alien” litigation as polity-participation: The positive power of a “voteless class of litigants,” William and Mary Bill of Rights Journal, 21(2): 399–461. Keyes, E. (2013) Defining America. The DREAM Act, immigration reform and citizenship, Nevada Law Journal, 14(101): 101–55. Lal, P. (2013) How queer undocumented youth built the immigrant rights movement, The Huffington Post, March 28, http://www.huffingtonpost. com/prerna-lal/how-queer-undocumented_b_2973670.html McDonald, J. (2009) Migrant illegality, nation-building, and the politics of regularization in Canada, Refuge, 26(2): 65–77. Nair, Y. (2012) Undocumented vs. illegal: A distinction without a difference, http://yasminnair.net/content/undocumented-vs-illegaldistinction-without-difference Nicholls, W. (2013) The DREAMers: How the undocumented youth movement transformed the immigrant rights debate, Stanford: Stanford University Press. Obama, B. (2013) Remarks by the President on comprehensive immigration reform, https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-pressoffice/2011/05/10/remarks-president-comprehensive-immigrationreform-el-paso-texas Patia, K. (2012) “Crossing the border of fear”: Exploring imitation, imagination, and affect in the citizenship enactment of undocumented immigrant youth, University of Minnesota, http://conservancy.umn. edu/handle/11299//121156 Ramirez, R. (2012) Undocumented activists follow LGBT tactics, National Journal, July  24, http://www.nationaljoumal.com/ thenextamerica/immigration/undocumented-activistsfollow-Igbttactics-20120724 Ricard, M. (2009) Undocumented students stage mock graduation ceremony in support of Dream Act, Washington Post, June 24, http:// www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/06/23/ AR2009062303406.html

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Rivera-Silber, N. (2013) “Coming out undocumented” in the age of Perry, N.Y.U. Review of Law & Social Change, 37(7): 71–8. Rojas, L. (2011) “Coming out” undocumented: A Dream Act strategy becomes a rite of passage, KPCC, March 16, http://www. scpr.org/blogs/multiamerican/2011/03/15/7668/coming-outundocumented-a-dream-act-strategy-becom/ Salgado, Julio (2011) Queer, undocumented and unafraid: Sexuality meets immigration politics in a youth-led movement for immigrant rights, Briarpatch, 40(3): 26–30. Suárez-Orozco, C., Yoshikawa, H., Teranishi, R., and SuárezOrozco, M. (2011) Growing up in the shadows: The developmental implications of unauthorized status, Harvard Educational Review, 81(4): 438–72. Vargas, J. (2011) Outlaw: My life as an undocumented immigrant, New York Times Magazine, June 26, MM22. “Viviana” (2011) I want my queer and undocumented to be friends, http://organizedcommunities.org/viviana-i-want-my-queer-andundocumented-to-be-friends/ White, M. (2014) Documenting the undocumented: Toward a queer politics of no borders, Sexualities, 17(8): 976–97.

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EIGHT

Syrian youth in Turkey: gender and problems outside the refugee camps Elif Gökçearslan Çifci and Dilek Kurnaz

Introduction The world has witnessed the mass influx of people due to war, disease, or disaster throughout history. The increased destructive force of wars has led to uncertainty and inefficacy of national protection, causing people to leave their country of origin and seek refuge. This ushered in a period where global human rights rules and standards were discussed, and the Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees was established in 1951. The Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees is considered as the guarantee for those people with well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion not to be forcibly returned to a territory where their life and freedom would be threatened. The practical limitations of the convention were resolved in 1967 through the New York Protocol,1 and efforts to create freedom, security, and grounds for justice in the Maastricht and Amsterdam Treaties2—accepted as legal proof of the improvement of the status of international asylum seeking individuals and their right to expect humane treatment and a significant level of human rights protection. In December 2010, civil conflict started in Tunisia and spread throughout the Middle East in a short span of time: first to Egypt, then to Libya, and eventually to Syria, The Syrian crisis, where many dynamics of a civil war can be observed concretely, resulted in mass of people migrating to four neighboring countries (Turkey, Iraq, Lebanon, and Jordan) because of insecurity, fear of oppression, limitations to freedoms, and intense violence. In the fifth year of the crisis, it is hard to describe the situation in the Middle East, and stability in the region does seem unlikely to be attained in the near future. This is the first time that the world has witnessed a huge displacement of populations where the expected norms of human

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rights protection were rendered ineffective. The number of displaced persons around the world exceeded 50 million for the first time since World War II, and has reached 68.5 million (UNHCR, 2017). The number of displacements gave rise to the need to revise existing common norms and practices of human rights with the essential aim of protecting disadvantaged groups (UNHCR, 2015). The Syrian war has turned out to be among the most complicated problems in history as the country hosts proxy wars involving multiple actors and capricious relations in the region. Many scholars working on the Middle East describe Syria as the stage for a proxy war; in this scenario, forces which support already fighting groups but do not actively participate in the conflict are present. This situation, a relationship based on constantly changing self-interests of states and other radical groups, is one of the most complex problems in contemporary history. In the current situation, where overcoming the problems threatening regional security seems so difficult, even if relative stability was achieved, political turmoil would likely result in another conflict. This has brought about the necessity of humanitarian measures on the part of refugee-hosting countries like Turkey on a long-term basis. The greatest humanitarian crisis of the century is forcing a change in paradigms of migration and the acceptance of refugees. Previous experiences of host countries indicate that they remain incapable of handling the magnitude of displacement, where children and youth are mostly affected. About 72% of Syrian refugees in Turkey are women, children, and the elderly (Olaç, 2017). A report of the Disaster and Emergency Management Authority in Turkey states that young people comprise 42% of the male and 45% of the female refugees population (AFAD, 2013). Women face the highest threat to their safety among the young population. Gender and youth are thus important considerations in dealing with humanitarian crises. Gender in this context refers to the roles culturally assigned to men and women in society. This chapter presents the stories of Syrian youth in Turkey outside the refugee camps, based on face-to-face interviews. They convey stories of escape and the problems they encountered in the countries they took refuge. Gender-based differences are prominent in stories of both escape from country of origin and problems in the new country where they try to start a new life. Statistical data for the more than 2 million Syrians living in Turkey are quite limited because of security measures and the secrecy of all information and documentation belonging to people under the protection of the Law on Foreigners

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and International Protection. Our focus is to give voice on their stories in order to reflect on the impact of war at the personal level and in hosting countries. This chapter includes discussion of the political regulations governing the management of the humanitarian crisis in Turkey. Possible changes in responding to refugee situations are highlighted in the conclusion.

Turkey’s changing international protection mechanisms The migration of Syrians to Turkey due to war in their country started in April 2011. The necessity of an “Open Door Policy” arose because of the severity of the humanitarian crisis, and citizens of the Syrian Arab Republic who were stateless and refugees were given “temporary protection” status. No limitations were indicated for these people in terms of accessing basic rights like health and education, and the prohibition of their refoulement was stated in the Temporary Protection Regulation of 22 October 2014.3 The most prominent factors motivating migration to Turkey are the political instability and continuing clashes in the geographical region. Turkey was mainly a transition country until the Syrian civil war began in 2011; however, through the effect of the humanitarian crisis, Turkey gradually became a “target country.” This not only threatens regional stability, global peace, and security, but also undermines the stability of neighboring countries and pushes them beyond the limits of their resources (UNHCR, 2015). It is well known that mass influx brings tensions arising from economic sharing, social problems, epidemics, and changes in ethnic-denominational balances. International cooperation then becomes crucial in providing solution to the humanitarian problem (USAK, 2014, p. 8). Because of the Syrian crisis, Turkey became the country accommodating the highest number of refugees, replacing Pakistan which had been host to the highest number of refugees for the previous ten years (UNHCR, 2015, p.12). Although Turkey is less at risk due to its resources compared to other host countries in the region, the magnitude of the crisis is now beyond the capacities of those host countries with weak economies, limited resources, and fragile political and social structures. In Turkey, implementing the policies regarding refugees found to be appropriate for temporary protection are coordinated by one institution—Directorate General of Migration Management (DGMM)—guided by the Law on Foreigners and International Protection (DGMM, 2015).

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Legal status of Syrian youth refugees Since 2011 the world has been witnessing the mass influx of people who were forced to leave their countries and seek refuge elsewhere. The serious humanitarian situation caused by displacement led to some temporary regulations. Notably, temporary protection to be granted for those displaced via mass influx was added to the agenda of the European Union (EU) in 1992–3 during the civil war in Yugoslavia. Temporary protection was once more discussed by the EU during the Kosovo crisis in 1999 (Ekşi, 2014). During the Bosnia and Kosovo wars, the sharing of the burden and cooperation between countries could not be achieved. For this reason, research was initiated on granting temporary protection for those forced to leave their country in mass influx, to constitute minimal standards, and to urgently share the burden of accepting refugees (BMMYK, 2001, p. 19). The Tampere meeting of the EU Council in 1999 stated the need to ensure consistency between member states in implementing the granting of temporary protection for mass influx displacement. The EU Council issued the Temporary Protection Directive in 2001 (Ekşi, 2014), and Article 2 defines temporary protection as: a procedure to provide, in the event of a mass influx or imminent mass influx of displaced persons from third countries who are unable to return to their country of origin, immediate and temporary protection to such persons, in particular if there is also a risk that the asylum system will be unable to process this influx without adverse effects for its efficient operation, in the interests of the persons concerned and other persons requesting protection. (Gilbert, 2004, p. 17) The first implementation of temporary protection occurred with the mass influx to Turkey after the Syrian crisis. The first legal issue in Turkish law relates to Article 91 of the 6458 Law on Foreigners and International Protection (LFIP). According to Article 91, foreigners who can be provided with temporary protection are those forced to leave a third country, who cannot return to the country that they have left, and who have arrived at or crossed the borders of Turkey in a mass influx situation seeking immediate and temporary protection (YUKK, 2013, Article 91). The EU Temporary Protection Directive had an effect on the Turkish laws governing temporary protection, as did resolutions of the European Court of Human Rights, and the

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legislation of other countries. The country’s experiences regarding the mass influx of Syrians since April 28, 2011 also had important role in the configuration of legal regulations in Turkey (Ekşi, 2014). The first group of 252 Syrians entered Turkey through the village of Güveççi in the Yayladağı district of Hatay on April 29, 2011. An old Tekel building was determined to be the first tent city area; tents, portable kitchens, and bathrooms were installed and the first transfers were directed to this place (Grand National Assembly of TurkeyGNAT, 2011, p. 3). Syrian foreigners under temporary protection have been living in various shelters and cities in Turkey since then. The coordination of 25 shelters established in 10 cities has been carried out by the Disaster and Emergency Management Authority (AFAD). Accordingly, the total number of Syrian foreigners under temporary protection living in these shelters was 265,180 as of November 13, 2015 (AFAD, 2015). “Temporary protection” status is provided to Syrian citizens reaching the borders of the country by mass influx. They are placed in tent cities, container cities, or other means of accommodation. An Open Door policy has been implemented as a result of temporary protection status, therefore the principle of non-refoulement without the consent of the individual is applied (TBMM, 2012, p. 6). The DGMM is responsible for keeping the biometric records of individuals entering Turkey due to the Syrian conflict since 2011. Syrians with temporary protection have access to health, education, and social services provided to them. The total number of Syrians living in shelters and cities within the scope of temporary protection as of December 2017 was 3.4 million, and the majority of this population comprised young people: 486,198 of the population aged from 19 to 29 are males, and 352,876 females. The total number of the refugee youth population aged 15 to 29 in Turkey was 839,074 in 2017 (DGMM, 2017). Their experiences are noteworthy to explore how systems and practices operate to improve refugee welfare or not.

Problems encountered by Syrian youth Five men and five women between the ages of 19 and 29 who fled to Turkey from Syria due to ongoing conflicts and applied to the DGMM were interviewed for this study. Four are single while six are married. Those who are married entered into marriage between the ages of 13 and 15, usually arranged. Acts of violence experienced by these youth

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in Syria while coming to Turkey and in Turkey are discussed through their stories in this section.

The story of K.H.H., who escaped to Turkey with his four children after his wife went missing, summarizes the unspeakable portrait of the current situation in the Middle East We have been in Aleppo for years. I would not regard it possible if they had told me that I would leave my country when the clashes first began. Arrests, missing persons, killing while walking on the street, forcible recruitment, people turning each other in … This is not easy to tell. We had no other choice than leaving everything behind. Otherwise you know what will happen. My wife is missing for two years. There’s no information whether she is alive, dead or under which condition. We cannot return back. We have to struggle for life here for our children, in order not to sacrifice them for this bloody war. (K.H.H, male, married, 20 years old) Indeed, the severe humanitarian crisis has undoubtedly affected the future of children and youth. Refugee populations comprised mostly of young people took refuge in Turkey to escape from arrest, forcible recruitment, torture, and clashes in Syria. The Syrian mass influx to Turkey can be assessed through the experiences of two groups—those living in and outside the camps— and it is believed that problems differ according to where the refugees live. About 17% of the women living in the camps and 12% of women living outside the camps are heads of the family (UNHCR, 2014, p. 3). Turkish camps where Syrians are accommodated are in relatively good condition with respect to recreational facilities, education facilities, health services, accommodation facilities, security, hygiene, and other aspects compared to other host countries in the region. However, for a number of reasons, many Syrians do not want to live in camps. Among this group are Syrian individuals who entered as a fugitive into the country or who did not apply or do not want to apply for temporary protection; individuals who lived in camps for a time but now want to leave as they cannot endure the camp life; individuals with good economic resources who prefer to live outside the camps for subjective or personal reasons; individuals who have

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to wait outside as the camps are at full capacity; and individuals who prefer to live together with their relatives or in places their relatives offer them accommodation (Orhan, 2014, p. 36). According to R.A., a married female: My husband passed away long before the war. We used to live in a village of Idlib together with my parents and my children. We did not hear from my sibling for a long time. Our house was bombed and torn down. My parents are too old. Fearing that the condition of my ill father would worsen, we came to Turkey. We settled in the camp. We were able to live on the money loaded to the card provided to us. However we always felt a constant anxiety and discontent. So we moved in to a distant relative living in the city. Thousands of people live in the same place in the camps. Too much common living places in the camps is a source of anxiety for us. Many people I don’t know. Living every moment according to rules in an order … Then everyday somebody comes along to get married. Besides women do not like ones like me who lost their husbands. They cast us out. They fear that we would steal their husbands […] (R.A., female, widowed, 19 years old) As mentioned in many other reports, domestic violence, early marriage, and polygamous marriage are observed among Syrians living both in and outside the camps (AFAD, 2014, p. 13). This situation, which especially affects young women of certain socioeconomic status, is quite well known in Turkey, although there is no research available on the subject in Turkey so far. Women forced to leave their comfortable lifestyle and culture in Syria and now trying to start a new life under harsh conditions experience difficulties and trauma. Syrian women living outside the camps, and especially those who are undocumented, are more prone to sexual harassment and abuse (MAZLUM-DER, 2014, p. 31). R.K., an unmarried female, said: In Syria, our financial situation was very good. We had a quite different lifestyle than traditional families. I was studying political sciences in Damascus University. When the war began, I had to quit. My father was a tradesman. When we learnt that my father’s name was in the list, we

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left everything behind and came here. I started to work in a restaurant as a waitress. After some time, non-employed, men married with children started to came to ask for marriage. The owner of the restaurant continuously told me how much he liked me. One day he tried to harass me but I prevented him. I told him that I would tell everyone. I quit the job. We lived in the same neighborhood that was how I found that job in the first place. After I quit the job he started rumors that I was demoralizing the neighborhood. Residents, especially women showed a virulent reaction. We had to move out of the house. We lived on streets until we found a new house. (R.K., female, unmarried, 26 years old) One of the most destructive dynamics of civil war is the change of lives with the loss of one or more family members, or those who are in need of lifetime care. It is generally observed that among the Syrian refugees, one or more than one member of the family is dead, injured, missing, or arrested. AFAD noted in its report, Syrian refugees in Turkey, that among the refugees living in camps, 33.22% of men and 40.2% of women, and among the refugees living outside of camps, 28.3% of men and 30.5% of women had lost a family member or a relative to the war (AFAD, 2013, p. 33). The story of 21-year-old L.J.L., who came to Turkey after witnessing the death of her brother summarizes the psychological and social effects of taking refuge and starting a new life from a woman’s point of view. There used to be groundless raids to our homes. Because everybody was denouncing each other. One night there was raid again. This as a routine for us. They came from time to time, turned the place upside down and then left. This time same thing did not happen. The soldier opposite to me shot my brother who suddenly rushed out of the door without blinking an eye. It is not possible to convey those moments. We stared at each other in shock. I wished to attack on the shooting soldier and tear him apart. Hardly had we taken my brother to the hospital. We lost him. Then is the passage to Turkey. It gets harder to walk as you approach to border. We started a new life in a new country with the burden of those we left behind on our backs. People staring at you when they notice that you are

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a foreigner, a language that you don’t understand at all, being homeless, insecurity, uncertainty, stepping into a new life with all of these intertwining is hard. (L.J.L., female, unmarried, 21 years old) The escape story of 24-year-old college student K.R.M, who had to leave Syria and started to have health problems after arriving in Turkey shows his situation in the country of origin and in the country he took refuge from. He narrated: I was a senior in Damascus University in 2013. I was stopped by a soldier. After identity check and few questions they took me to a place where I could not understand. I was blamed for being a regime spy. They showed me the form when I filled during my application to Ba’ath Party. Everyone that continues education is made a member of the Ba’ath Party. This is a condition that regime forces us without asking. Otherwise you cannot find a job, or you do your military service in the hardest conditions. This may seem weird to you now. If you have only one choice for years, you don’t think of questioning it. I was tortured for 10 days. At last I couldn’t resist and signed a writing confessing that I am a member of Ba’ath Party and a spy of the regime. My family was healthy. They paid a lot to people who kidnapped me. So they released me. At that point, there was no turning back for me. I know that the paper I signed was a testimony in their hand. I reached to the border with car. I walked a part of Azez and passed to Turkey. I was stronger when I first arrived to Turkey. I thought that I would continue my education and start a job here. I had excruciating pain. I thought it was because of the torture. I checked in and saw a physician. I had cancer. It is hard to believe but I get used to. I am receiving treatment for two years … I cannot work. This is my story in a country that I know nothing about. (K.R.M., male, unmarried, 24 years old) Although the rights available to them are clearly established in the temporary protection directive, Syrian youth experience various problems due to displacement. For example, young people are offered an opportunity to have education but many decided to discontinue their education and search for work in the various labor market sectors

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because of difficulties and life struggles. Among the youth interviewed, H.M. shared that the general problem is not accessing the rights and services, rather the problem is the decision to postpone accessing these services due to daily struggles. When the Syrian crisis started in 2011, H.M. was a college student, and he told his current situation and story of escape as follows: One night they suddenly came to our home. They took my father. About 15–20 days later, we learnt where they kept him via an acquaintance. He was blamed for leaking information to Free Syrian Army. We learnt that an arrested neighbor gave my father’s name in order to be released. We also learnt through the same acquaintance that he will be released for money. We collected the necessary amount from everyone we know and made them release my father. However, a week later he disappeared, we couldn’t understand anything. We learnt that he was arrested again. A great sum of money was asked for his release. We understood that this was going to go on and on. We couldn’t find the money. He was released about two months later. He was black and blue all over because of the torture. He ran away to Turkey. After him we also arrived here. Whatever happens I cannot go back. If I return back, either ISIS, or regime, or free Syria army would recruit me. I don’t want to fight a battle, kill people. My only problem is that I discontinued my college education. Here we were offered education opportunity but in order to survive, first we must establish an order to get on with our daily life. I feel like I must support my family in this manner hence it is very hard for me to return back to school in short term. (H.M., male, married, 22 years old) During 2001–2011, the number of displaced people varied between 38 million to 43 million per year. In 2011, the number of displaced people worldwide was 42.5 million and reached 59.5 million at the end of 2014 with a 40% increase in three years. Increase in multiple displacements of individuals or re-displacements of people seeking security creates the necessity to find a solution to this humanitarian crisis (UNHCR, 2015, p. 5). Such growth poses challenges to finding adequate responses to the crises, increasingly leading to the multiple displacement of individuals or secondary movements in search of safety (UNHCR, 2015, p. 5).

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J.R.F., a 25-year-old carpenter who lost an arm because of a bomb hitting his home and who then fled to Turkey, talked about his escape story and condition in Turkey: Suddenly a huge quake occurred. Front side of our home was bombed. Trying to understand what had happened between the screams I felt a sharp pain that dragged me to an indescribable pain and emptiness. This war mostly affected the young and children. I cannot possibly describe that kind of massacre and cruelty. Some of my friends are forcibly recruited and I have relatives whom I never have heard of again. We don’t know where, dead or alive, which country did they flee to, we just wait with a hope to hear from them. I am trying to read the Arabic news in my workplace whenever I find time. News on us define us as “the lost generation.” Turkey and Middle East is mentioned as problems for the future. What did the ones commenting like this do for us? Yes, one generation is living through a period which their basic needs like health and education are not provided. We hear about what conditions others live in other countries. We hear the death of our relatives and neighbors due to illnesses. It is hard to forget this war. I will never forget the night that we escaped, stepping on the dead bodies, these clothes on my back and not even carrying our identity cards. I work in Turkey. Because I am disabled, my capabilities are limited. However I have to continue working in order to survive. My parents are old. We work in a tea house together with my brother. (J.R.F., male, married, 24 years old) The Center for Middle Eastern Strategic Studies (ORSAM) published a report in July 2015 about the problems encountered by Syrian foreigners. The most important problems deal with accommodation, food, and working conditions. High rents and landlords asking for a year’s rent in advance were most prominent among problems related to accommodation. Issues about food include grocery prices being higher than in Syria, and low buying power due to limited income. Working conditions, low wages, long working hours, and difficulty in finding a job were the issues that Syrians had difficulty with in the labor market (ORSAM, 2015, p. 17).

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Regulations on the work permits of Syrians are the remit of the Ministry of Labor and Social Security. It is known that in the current situation, men mostly work in construction and textile sectors while women work in house cleaning. I used to work as a tailor in Syria. As the clashes began, request to our services decreased. We spent most of the day by helping the injured in the tailor shop. One evening a barrel dropped near to the shop. Ground was shaken. The shop was torn down mostly. Living became harder and harder every day for us. We were witnessing kidnapping on the streets. I came to Turkey with the hope that I can find a job. I found a job in a tailor whom I used to trade. Then I returned back to Syria to bring my family to Turkey. I couldn’t believe. My house was bombed. It’s such a hell that even finding someone is a big chance. I learnt that my family was with my relatives. My older son was missing. I learnt that he was in a police station. I couldn’t reach him. We still didn’t hear from him for two years. We still hope to hear from him. My daughter is bound to a wheelchair because of shrapnel shot on her shoulder. We decided to leave the country. In Syria some minibus drivers work in this business. We paid to him. We went near the border via minibus and then walked the rest. After entering to Turkey, I started working in the tailor’s shop. Besides I work in construction. If there is a need, I also do porterage. (M.M., male, unmarried, 25 years old) Accommodation is among the most serious problems of Syrians living in Turkey. About 62% of the nearly 2 million refugees are known to live outside the camps (UNHCR, 2014, p. 4). Syrians living in Turkey’s camps are in good condition compared to other countries in the region; however, living conditions outside the camps are relatively more severe. The number of refugees living outside the camps has been increasing and most of them survive with the help of agencies in Turkey. Syrians outside Turkish camps live in very crowded housing, in rented houses under very harsh conditions (ORSAM, 2014, p. 15). G.J.L., 24 years old, came to Turkey a year ago with her husband and five children, and they could scarcely find a home. Both she and her husband are working in a restaurant in order to pay the rent. She said:

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The clashes were too intense. I always told that we had to leave. Most of our relatives were in various countries. We had no idea how they’ve been. However my husband was against to this idea. One day the ground shook. A bomb was dropped near our home. We immediately ran to help our neighbors. We could save a few by digging the dirt and stones by our hands. After this incident we decided to leave. We agreed with a minibus. We came to Turkey. We started looking for a house to rent. However landlords were asking for a Turkish voucher. Nobody wanted to rent their house to people whom even they don’t understand their language. We only managed to find a slum. In order to pay the rent I and my husband are working in a restaurant. In Syria, I was not working. But we don’t want live in a city near the border and this city is too expensive so I have to work. My husband lets me work as nobody here knows who we are and as we are in economic trouble.” (G.J.L, female, married, 24 years old) In Syria, especially in rural regions, women generally do not undertake paid work. However, the severity of conditions in the host country forced women to start working outside the home. The latest report of AFAD titled Syrian women in Turkey found that 64% of women living in camps and 76% of women living outside the camps are looking for a job (AFAD, 2014, p. 63). But it also reported that the income of 96.7% of Syrian women in the previous month, for example, is 0 Turkish lira (AFAD, 2014, p. 30). Trade, business, and line of family ties exist between the border cities of Turkey and Syria; adapting would be quicker for Syrian youth in these border cities. However, in these regions where Syrian population is concentrated, security concerns force many to live in up-country rather than have easier access to social services nearby. Clashes in Syria affected young women and men most severely. Like men, women are also escaping from the cruelty in their country; however, they need special protection that differs from that given to men. The idea that women are much more severely affected than men is also supported by various studies. Gender differences become visible during the war. In general, women are forced to leave their country and take refuge in another because of oppression and cruelty arising just because they are women—like social gender apartheid, oppression, and cruelty based on cultural prejudice, traditional practices harming

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their physical and psychological health, sexual abuse, sexual harassment, and violence in the family (Akkaya, 2002, p. 77). In every phase of displacement, gender identity is as important as socioeconomic class, identity, and culture. Syrian women, being both women and foreigners in Turkey, suffer the problems of abuse twice over, independent of being displaced alone or together with their families in Turkey (Çakmak, 2010, p. 53). The story of 29-year-old A.A.R, a history teacher in a Syrian school, details the difficulty of being a woman in the middle of the war: We lived together with many sects and religions in our village in Syria. I was a teacher at the only school in the village that functions both as a primary and high school. Attendance to classes decreased. One day, while teaching, I heard a sound in the class: “You are not welcomed here.” All of the students started to repeat this sentence. “You are not welcomed here, not welcomed here!” For a moment, I felt like I had a stroke upon what I’ve heard. What happened next, I will try to forget for the rest of my life, but I doubt I can manage. My students, whom I taught for years, were insulting me in a way I never heard in my life because I was Alawite, because I did not cover my head. They walked towards me, pulled my clothes. They were telling if I don’t cover my head before coming to class, they would all together rape me and they were not responsible whatever would happen. I escaped from the crowd by the help of the janitor. That night we got prepared. We were going to escape with my big sister, brother-in-law, and my nephews. We left the village with my brother-in-law’s pick-up. We did not take any clothes fearing that they might be assumed as proof if we get caught. While proceeding towards the border, we saw the soldiers on watch far ahead. We threw away our identities and passports out of the window because of the fear. They stopped us. We told that we were carrying food for the regime soldiers. They searched us and pick-up, they found nothing other than fruits and vegetables and decided that we were not escaping, so they let us. We drove some more distance then left the car. We walked to the border. We entered Turkey passing below the wires through Azez region. (A.A.R., female, married, 29 years old)

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These first-hand stories of Syrian youth reveal all the difficulties of displacement and the severity of the humanitarian tragedy. In all phases of their refugee plight within their country and outside, their experiences cannot be gauged by any measurements as the complex intersections of gender, class, and other factors manifest differently.

Reflections and conclusion The Syrian crisis in 2011 resulted in massive humanitarian crisis severely affecting young people. In this chapter, the stories of Syrian youth who left their country of origin and the struggles they face in seeking refuge in Turkey are presented. Their stories of escape from insecurity, political persecution, violence, and human rights violations in Syria and coming to Turkey provide evidence of the severe difficulties of displacement. Their situation makes it incumbent on the international community to share a burden beyond any that have been experienced till now, and, if possible, to provide funding to regional actors in order for them to provide the minimum humanitarian services to those in need. People displaced within the Syrian border are in a more difficult position as each party to the war prevents access to basic rights. However, it is crucial to increase the availability of education, health, and social services outside of Syria, in order to assist the so-called “lost generation,” denoting Syrian children and youth. In Turkey, these measures are not enough as problems still arise from displacement especially affecting the young population. Scholars are urged to conduct more studies on displaced Syrians under temporary protection status so that appropriate responses can be implemented. The stories of Syrian youth revealed that young men left their country of origin mostly because of fear of arrest and forcible recruitment, while women left because their family members were in danger, one or more family members died, or fears of sexual violence. It is observed that the necessary legal infrastructure had been prepared somehow in Turkey in order to provide temporary protection and secure basic human rights, and overcome the difficulties of displacement. However, because of living far from social support systems, post-war traumatic effects, and difficulties in communication, there are often difficulties in supporting individuals’ capacity to cope. Hence, access to psychosocial services is deemed crucial to the wellbeing of Syrian youth. As a result of one of the most severe humanitarian crises in the world today, Syrian refugee camps in Turkey or in similar places have high

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number of individuals in need of psychosocial services due to trauma and other issues. At this point, it is thought that the conventional methods for creating access to psychosocial services might not lead to the best results due to the language barrier. But self-help groups could contribute a great deal, and strengthen young men and women’s coping strategies. Syrian youth generally experience difficulties with long working hours, accommodation, and access to food. Women are also prone to sexual abuse. Women have the will to work but many of them cannot earn money due to gender constraints and cultural meanings attributed to paid work, hence they have to rely on the support of others. Syrian youth at risk show less enthusiasm in applying to public and aid establishments because of the traumatic conditions they have been living in. For this reason, specific programs or services using neighborhood networks and with the support of local community leaders should be set up for those women who are in need of physical and legal protection, and for victims of violence and other vulnerable individuals. It is not enough to rely on designated government agencies. The stories presented in this chapter tell us about the social support system of Syrian youth. The majority of Syrian families have lost one or more members, either dead or gone missing in the years of chaos in their country. Syrian youth interviewed for this study indicated that they were displaced within the country before they migrated and sought refuge in Turkey. Many family members went missing or have died during displacement in the country too. Such a loss in social support systems should be considered in psychosocial intervention. The intensifying war in the Middle East and the chaotic environment of life-threatening bombardments and security-based fear have brought members of the same family to flee to different countries. Thus it is possible for host countries to consider policies or laws on family reunification. It is important to undertake this type of program of family reunion for women and unattended children while their families are in other countries. Turkey currently allows children and adults who were determined to be in a third country to be reunited with their family members. However, Syrians entering the country with a mass influx usually do not have passports or relevant documents with them. In pursuit of the goal of family reunions, alternative provisions should be reflected in state policies. Resettlement is a key practice for the protection of individuals under risk at the international level, with few countries interested in taking specific numbers of refugees for resettlement. The quotas

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for resettlement should be increased by third countries under current conditions and because of the number of refugees. While in general refugees do not want to live near the borders of the country of origin due to instability, resettling more refugees in third countries could reduce the risk of violence especially for young women. Others at risk due to membership in a social group, religion, or political persecution definitely need to be resettled in a third country. Such measures would constitute a big step towards maintaining the minimum standard of human rights protection for them. The most important suggestion within the scope of this study would be for the international organizations and other states to share the burden of hosting the mass influx of refugees since the Syrian war erupted in 2011. When this war will end or political stability return to the region is a matter of interpretation. But the work on sharing the responsibility and maintaining the balance in humanitarian efforts should be expedited. As discussed in all chapters in this collection, youth is an important phase in life; to act on the desperate situation of refugee youth, regardless of gender, requires action now. Notes 1.

The Refugee Convention applies to those affected by events that happened in Europe or outside Europe prior to January 1, 1951. Because of the temporal and geographical limitations of the convention, those who became refugees as a consequence of events which took place after the date of January 1, 1951 could not benefit from the scope of the convention until the New York Protocol was agreed.

2.

EU Acquis – Chapter 24 “Freedom, Justice and Equality”.

3.

22 Ekim 2014 tarihli 6883 karar sayılı Geçici Koruma Yönetmeliği, http:// www.goc.gov.tr/files/files/20141022-15-1.pdf

References AFAD (Disaster and Emergency Management Authority) (2013) Syrian refugees in Turkey: 2013 field survey results, Ankara: Republic of Turkey. ———. (2014) Türkiye’deki Suriyeli Kadınlar, Ankara: Republic of Turkey. ———. (2015) Syrian guests in Turkey. https://www.afad.gov.tr/TR/ IcerikDetay1.aspx?ID=16&IcerikID=848 Akkaya, A. (2002) Mülteci kadinlar ve siğinmaci kadinlar. Toplum ve Hukuk, 2(4): 75–83.

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BMMYK. (2001) Dünya mültecilerinin durumu: İnsani yardımın 50 Yılı. Ankara: Türkiye Temsilciliği Yayınları. Çakmak, S. (2010) Değişen hayatların görünmez sahipleri: Göçmen kadınlar, Fe Dergi, 2(2): 50–64. DGMM (Directorate General of Migration Management) (2015) Yıllara göre geçici koruma kapsamındaki Suriyeliler, Ministry of the Interior, Republic of Turkey, http://www.goc.gov.tr/icerik6/gecicikoruma_363_378_4713_icerik Eksį, N. (2014) Geçici Koruma Yönetmeliği Uyarınca Geçici Korumanın Şartları, Geçici Koruma Usulü, Sağlanan Haklar ve Geçici Korumanın Sona Ermesi, İstanbul Barosu Dergisi, 88(6). Gilbert, G. (2004) Is Europe up to its obligations to refugees? European Journal of International Law, 15(5): 963–87. Grand National Assembly of Turkey-GNAT (2011) Ülkemize Sığınan Suriye Vatandaşlarının Barındıkları Çadırkentler Hakkında İnceleme Raporu 1. Ankara. www.tbmm.gov.tr/komisyon/insanhaklari/docs/2012/ raporlar/28_02_2012_1.pdf MAZLUM-DER (2014) Kamp Dışında Yaşayan Suriyeli Kadın Sığınmacılar. http://istanbul.mazlumder.org/tr/main/yayinlar/ yurt-ici-raporlar/3/mazlumder-kamp-disinda-yasayan-suriyelikadin/1116 Olaç, B. (2017) Women, children make up majority of Syrian refugees, Daily Sabah Turkey, March  17, www.dailysabah.com/ turkey/2017/03/18/women-children-make-up-majority-of-syrianrefugees Orhan, O. (2014) Suriye İç Savaşının İnsani Maliyeti: Mülteci Krizi, 6(61) March–April. ORSAM (2012) Ülkemize Sığınan Suriye Vatandaşlarının Barındıkları Çadırkentler Hakkında İnceleme Raporu 2. http://www.tbmm.gov.tr/ komisyon/insanhaklari/docs/2012/raporlar/28_02_2012_1.pdf ———. (2014) Suriye’ye Komşu Ülkelerde Suriyeli Mültecilerin Durumu: Bulgular,Sonuçlar ve Öneriler, Ankara: Center for Middle Eastern Strategic Studies, No. 189. ———. (2015) Türk Kızılayı Toplum Merkezi Projesi İhtiyaç Tespiti, Ankara: Center for Middle Eastern Strategic Studies, No. 200. Temporary Protection Regulation (2014) Geçici koruma yönetmeliği, http://www.goc.gov.tr/icerik3/gecici-korumayonetmeligi_333_ 336_1473 UNHCR (2014) 2014 Syria regional response plan: Strategic overview, Geneva: UNHCR. ———. (2015) World at war: Global trends. Forced Displacement in 2014, Geneva: UNHCR.

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———. (2017) Forced displacement worldwide at its highest in decades. https://www.unhcr.org/news/stories/2017/6/5941561f4/ forced-displacement-worldwide-its-highest-decades.html USAK (2014). Misafirliğin Ötesine Geçerken: Türkiye’nin Suriyeli Mülteciler Sınavı, Ankara: Brooking Institute. YUKK (2013) Law on foreigners and international protection, http:// www.goc.gov.tr/icerik/yabancilar-ve-uluslararasi-koruma-kanunu

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PART III:

Education

NINE

Filipino youth professionals in Alberta, Canada: shaping gender and education landscapes? Maria Veronica G. Caparas

Logics of power and space: youth, gender, and migration In this chapter, the narratives of three Alberta-based Filipino youth are analyzed based on the logics of power and space operating through age, gender, and migration; neoliberalism in the economy and education; and their experiences as professionals vis-à-vis the credentialing process in Canada. The narratives explore whether there is a link between neoliberal Alberta’s educational framework and gender preference with regard to migrants, and the migrants’ foreign-trained professional skills and their jobs in Alberta. The narratives likewise determine how this educational framework impacts and is impacted by age, gender, and a foreign-obtained higher education. The narratives come from Filipino youth professionals, aged 15–30, who earned their university degrees in the Philippines before migrating to Alberta. Generally, this chapter explores the relations among gender, Philippine education, and the neoliberal economy in Canada. Through Critical Theory and the use of power and spatial logics, this chapter uncovers as white dominance the narratives of decredentialing and reskilling of highly skilled Filipino youth migrants in Alberta, which limit the migrants’ basic human right to global mobility. Critical Theory is an informative tool that exposes structural, historical, prescriptive, and powerful constraints on human action and choice (Habermas, 1987 [1981]; Dean, 1994; Peet and Hartwick, 2009). Similarly, logics of space and power fuse in global migration, and evolve into dynamics of neoliberal policy regimes in education and labor that mark decredentialing and reskilling of Filipino youth as oppressive and unnecessary consequences of their choice and right to mobility.

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The logic of space corresponds to the location where labor power— in quantitative, physical, locational, productive, skills, attributes, and value terms that complement the capitalist work process—is reproduced (Harvey, 2010). Spatial logics in global migration, in this chapter, consist of (1) the household of family members, with constructions of gender and sexuality, and as associated with the role of, for example, Filipino parents aiming for higher education (Nielsen, 2013) or even influencing their children’s choice of university degree, and (2) the state or the government “within a defined territory that claims the monopoly of legitimate force for itself ” (Weber, 2007, p. 156). The spatial logics of the household and the state both put importance on education and complement Canada’s growing market need for highly skilled labor. Power refers to multiple relations in a given space: as the process that transforms, strengthens, or reverses struggles and confrontations; as the support that forms a chain or a system, or disjunctions and contradictions; and as the strategies in the state apparatus, and various social hegemonies like race (Foucault, 1980). Power logics in global migration, in this chapter, consist of patriarchy, ethnicity, and capitalism. Patriarchy, a social construct of male dominance that perpetuates gender divisions where the family remains a constant and the father retains headship, ties his family with other migrant families, kin, or appropriate social connections (Bourdieu, 1984 [1979], 2001). Ethnicity and race are cultural constructs that depict exclusions, polarizations, dominations, and segmentations as partly based on visible biological differences and audible linguistic diversities, among others (Hall, 1996; Said, 2003 [1978]; Buechler, 2008). Capitalism governs power relations between the labor market in Alberta, Canada and the skills of young Filipino professionals.

Neoliberalism in economy and education For its oil-based economy and fast-changing demography, Alberta targets Filipinos skilled in engineering, health sciences, and social sciences (Uy, 2008). This suggests how Filipinos’ power logics of patriarchy and ethnicity that are apparent in their educational formation and professional background match Alberta’s economic and labor frameworks cast in the spatial logic of capitalism. The neoliberal globalization policy of privatizing education is the abdication of the state of its responsibilities to its student-constituents (Bourdieu, 1999 [1993]), and is aimed at the state’s “vision of students […] as future workers” (Apple, 2005, quoted in Spring, 2009, p. 19). It is a political-

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economic thrust meant to commoditize knowledge production and distribution for the existing dominant economic, ideological, political, and cultural arrangements (Apple, 2004). Alberta’s neoliberal policy of privatizing education from the 1980s onward, is, according to Harrison and Kachur, redefining education based on the “logic of competition, effectiveness and standards” with an emphasis on “choice, vocationalism and marketization,” systematically cutting all public services and students’ rights to equal opportunity in favor of “opening market niches for private entrepreneurs” following “post-industrial models,” and leaving laid-off workers to fend for themselves, leading toward all possible forms of exploitation (Kachur and Harrison, 1999, pp. xiii–xxiv). In this context, Alberta continues to exploit the individual migrant worker as demands for reskilling escalate, leaving the migrant workers in a survival mode, that is, to “sink or swim” as the workers spend every penny they have to fund what is required for their own reskilling (Harrison and Kachur, 1999). In a similar vein, business-imposed policies on Alberta’s labor force became characteristic of the Klein administration that espoused the neoliberal policy of privatizing education in the 1990s, resulting in tensions between educational resources and corporate-driven institutions as pitted against organized labor. Indirectly, this policy impacts Filipino migrants as it “exacerbate[s] inequalities based on students’ socioeconomic backgrounds, race/ethnicity, special needs and gender” (Taylor, 2001, p. 181). Filipinos in Canada are classified as a visible minority—a contested term that the Canadian government uses to refer to non-white and non-Aboriginal peoples in the country. As of 2016, there were 166,195 Filipinos in Alberta (Statistics Canada, 2017). Alberta Advanced Education and Technology is the government agency responsible for education. Its International education framework states: the importance of international education to Alberta’s future economic and social success. It provides a roadmap to ensure international education activities are strategic, integrated and effective, mutually beneficial, high-quality, sustainable, and support Government of Alberta priorities and objectives. (Government of Alberta Advanced Education and Technology, 2009) A close reading of this framework makes Alberta a neoliberal advocate of an “international education from a business case standpoint to

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leverage opportunities and allow for greater efficiencies between institutions  … [and ensures that] global strategic alliances [in its] long-term economic and social priorities are achieved through strategic and collaborative alliances with other countries, businesses, and postsecondary providers” (Government of Alberta Advanced Education and Technology, 2009). A provincial corporate–global industry alliance in Albertans’ education further hints at provincial efforts and strategies in attracting and retaining highly skilled migrant workers, specifically young Filipino professionals, regardless of gender. One of the desired outcomes of the Alberta education framework (Government of Alberta Advanced Education and Technology, 2009) is for “apprentices [to] have access to flexible training options in order to reduce barriers to successfully participating in a changing labor market”—an apparent seal on the ongoing apprenticeship program for Filipino youth professionals schooled in their home country. For its part, the Philippines’ Education Act of 1982 espoused the early beginnings of the neoliberal policy regime in the 1980s, and enabled Filipinos to help accelerate economic growth through formal or informal education. Its educational approach concerns internationalized professions such as nursing and engineering that require the convergence of international standards and policies for professional skills to remain competitive. The Philippines is historically connected with internationalization as a former colony of Spain and the United States, and the rise of regional bloc agreements 1 and of agreements among international organizations2 also fosters market-driven migrations and, at the same time, provides protective mechanisms for professions and industries toward achieving world-class standards (Iredale, 2001). The Philippine government’s labor export policy of 1974 was also instrumental in sending Filipino workers to international worksites including North America and has since facilitated the arrival of university-educated migrants to work as caregivers and domestic workers in Canada (Laquian and Laquian, 2008). Mostly male and female nurses and teachers in their early twenties at the time of migration, these Filipino workers have been rendering caregiving services for Canada’s aging population. With the spatial (that is, household and state) and power (patriarchy, ethnicity, capitalism) logics fused in the neoliberal policy regime between Canada and the Philippines, how is the migration of Filipinos shaping gender and education landscapes in Alberta? In a private social gathering of approximately 30 Filipino engineers in Alberta trained in their home country, there were only four female engineers, all of

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whom are in Alberta via its family reunification program, not because of Alberta’s need for female engineers. Alberta’s major source of economic growth—the oilfields—attracts male, not female, engineers. As for nurses, both males and females have equal opportunities to practice in Alberta if they possess the necessary resources to undertake the credentialing process. Clearly, Alberta’s engineering jobs in oilfields prefer males while health care work can employ either males or females. In this chapter, three Filipinos—a female banker, a male engineer, and a male nurse—educated in Philippine universities narrate the consequences of their decision to migrate to Alberta and describe how they cope with Alberta’s economic integration programs. Twenty-five-year-old Lourdes thought it best to pursue her Master’s in Business Administration in Alberta. She finished her four-year Bachelor’s degree in Business Management at the premiere state university in the Philippines and worked as a financial auditor in a major banking corporation before deciding to migrate to Alberta. She proudly reminisces how her dad, noticing her aptitude for numbers, encouraged her to pursue banking and finance. “The first few years here in Edmonton will be very trying for me and my family. I need to be familiar with the banking system in Alberta. This means I have to enlist in accounting courses which also means I have to save up for qualifying exams,” discloses Lourdes. Beaming with hope, Lourdes adds, “I think my husband and I made the right decision to come here. My husband has lost trust in the Philippine political system. The department where he worked is the most corrupt agency in the Philippines.” Lourdes does not mind going through recredentialing aka reskilling. Reskilling is the process of getting familiar with, trained in, or oriented to Alberta’s educational and occupational landscapes whereby Lourdes’ foreign-earned degree undergoes assessment toward its suitability in Alberta’s economy. Ascribed in part to the continuing internationalization of industries that leads to changes in required certifications and job qualifications, recredentialing involves credential deflation, non-recognition of foreign-earned credentials, course upgrading, and attendance in apprenticeship programs in Canada. During reskilling, Lourdes confronts socioeconomic-psychological challenges such as family responsibilities, work time, and fear of loss of job income, the burden of recredentialing for better wages, feelings of infuriation and self-debasement because of the decredentialing of her four-year Philippine-earned banking degree. For Lourdes, decredentialing refers to the educational, social, psychological, and professional costs of employing the university-educated in jobs not

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compatible with their education. Lourdes’ decision to fit into Alberta’s economy mean she has to subject herself to apprenticeship programs, accreditation tests, or skills upgrade. She is forced to work for the minimum hourly wage of CAD$12 at an apparel shop for 30–40 hours a week while completing an apprenticeship. Lourdes either accedes to staying decredentialed and keeping the job in the shop or weighs available options that include carrying the financial burden of training courses and tests; going back to the Philippines where jobs are scarce; and losing a good number of years spent on education back home, and more years of starting all over again in Canada. Lourdes must take certification courses that include a Canadian securities course, and investment fund, financial planning, and other short-term courses. Each short-term module costs CAD$800–$1,000. This means she needs around CAD$3,000 for a three-module course. “I have to take three modules for financial planning,” she sounds optimistic in her aspiration. Is the course something that she could have taken in her home country? She says, “The banking system in the Philippines is different from that of Alberta’s. It is all right for me to go through another period of training so as to acclimatize myself to the way they do things around here.” Another period of training means more courses to take which would eventually grant Lourdes the license3 to practice accounting in Alberta. While not busy working as a sales associate in Alberta, Lourdes busies herself writing a book on spirituality—a project she started when she was still in a city in southern Philippines. Lourdes can capitalize on her high score of 8/9 in the International English Language Testing System (IELTS), and look forward to finishing and publishing her book. Rene, a 28-year-old engineer who majored in civil and sanitation engineering, acknowledges that there are indeed engineering codes and rules to be learned in Alberta as codes and rules differ in every country. He does not think, however, that his English may be so wanting as to make him attend English as a Second Language (ESL) classes. He does not believe in taking another course or upgrading his course either. Initially approved for Canadian immigration on the basis of merit (number of years spent in university education and professional work, and language fluency in English and/or French), Rene eventually had to subject himself to the constraints of Alberta’s internationalized higher education. He works as a shelving assistant while preparing to take the qualifying examinations to become a licensed engineer4 in Alberta. In the meantime, his wife-nurse assists him in putting food on the table. Asked what made him move to

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Alberta, Rene says, “I want my son to have the good life. I don’t think I could achieve that in the Philippines.” A newly licensed nurse with barely a couple of work years in the Philippines, 23-year-old Arnel works at McDonald’s to save up for Alberta’s required credentialing in the health care profession. He came to Alberta in the aftermath of the 2008 global economic slump. Will Arnel ever earn the required fees to become a licensed nurse in Alberta? “I stay with relatives here, and give what little I can contribute to household expenses. I think, in due time, I can save up for the CARNA5 fees,” says the hopeful young nurse. Should Arnel choose to be a licensed practical nurse in Alberta, he can re-train in an approved practical nursing education program or undergo an equivalent training. He likewise needs to be registered with the College of Licensed Practical Nurses in Alberta (CLPNA). This means he has to take a two-year post-secondary diploma in practical nursing that translates into a minimum of 1,650 instructional hours, including 750 hours of theoretical instruction and 900 hours of clinical or laboratory work. Arnel can then choose among several post-basic learning opportunities in areas such as advanced orthopedics, chronic disease management, foot care, gerontology, immunization, leadership, mental health, operating room, palliative care, renal dialysis, and wound care. Arnel is considered very young in Canada’s K-12 educational system. How could someone be so young as to be a nurse with two years of work experience in the Philippines? Arnel went through the 10-year basic education program, finished nursing training at the age of 20, passed the nursing licensure examination, and started to work right away in the Philippines. Does a nurse like him miss hospital duties in McDonald’s? “Alberta requires that I take the tests before I can be a nurse here. The test fees are high. Working at McDonald’s is an easy way to earn money. I also get to know the multicultural landscape of Edmonton,” he says. Did anyone influence his decision to be a nurse? “My parents did. They know that nurses are needed in Canada and I have the heart for it. I came to Alberta because I have relatives here,” discloses Arnel. Unlike the female Albanian youth in Chapter Thirteen who migrate to complete their education and find work, young Filipino professionals come ready with their credentials upon migration to Canada. But in both cases the role of education, social network, and parental support find relevance in their migration experiences.

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Filipino professionals and credentialing process Despite massive job losses worldwide in 2008–10, Canada continued to invite more migrant Filipinos with post-secondary credentials to join its workforce. This may be due in part to Canada’s need to supplant its aging workforce and to drive economic growth that Filipino migrants ably address (Statistics Canada, 2008). Filipino migration addresses Canada’s annual need for foreign-trained workers. Of Canada’s 10 provinces, Alberta counts among the four likely destinations of Filipinos. The other three provinces are British Columbia, Ontario, and Quebec (Canada Facts and Figures, 2010). Canada is faced with the challenges of welcoming more Filipino migrants with varying levels and degrees of educational and occupational background to fit its educational and occupational landscapes (CIC, 2009). Canada has the infrastructure and resources necessary for migrant labor, both assistance and protection; however, access to such infrastructure and resources comes at the expense of a costly recredentialing process and needing to pass a number of exams.6 It has the ability to cushion Filipino newcomers from the impact of challenges in foreign credential recognition by considering the professions they could fill right away, that is, without having to take accreditation tests or to upgrade courses. Canada’s graying population is in dire need of a foreign skilled workforce in the fields of accounting, engineering, health care, and social sciences. Hence, the need to update its credentialing process. Part of the measures to address these challenges is to set up Foreign Credentials Referral Offices (FCROs) within Canada and abroad to assist new Canadians and prospective permanent residents in identifying programs and services around competency assessments that will facilitate their entry to professional practice. FCROs in the Philippines hold sessions on Canada’s labor market requirements for immigrants in Canada or skilled worker program qualifiers. In 2009, CIC launched its online resource for foreign workers’ fast integration and improve credential recognition (CIC, 2010). It appears that Canada has started to address the need to inform labor source countries of its educational and employment landscape so as to encourage interested Filipinos to be open to having their university degrees morphed into Canada’s educational standards. The Philippines, a rich labor source for Canada, has since acted on Canada’s initiative. Those applying to migrate to Canada have to meet certain requirements, such as age, education, language, and work experience. The applicants’ ability to meet these requirements and to be awarded

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the maximum number of points usually indicates their preparedness to contribute to the economy and potentially replenish an aging workforce. The successful migrant applicant has fluency in either English or French, or in both English and French, has earned a post-secondary education degree (a four-year degree, or a two-year technical or vocational course), and has substantial foreign work experience. This implies the host country’s preference for migrants whose ages fall within the age range of Filipino young professionals like Arnel, Lourdes, and Rene. Apart from having to secure their respective licenses before they can practice their profession in Canada, Filipino applicants for migration to Canada must pass the IELTS that costs approximately Php9,300. IELTS contains test items in listening, speaking, reading, and writing skills of candidates in academic and general training. IELTS test takers’ performance in 20137 shows that all other nationalities interested in getting admitted to Canada score lower than Filipinos in academic and general training sections. On the IELTS nine-band scale, Lourdes, Rene, and Arnel scored between 7.0 and 8.08—an indication of their fluency in English. IELTS reflects Canada’s and Philippines’ educational policies that favor the use of English in basic and higher educational institutions (see Constitution Acts of Canada, 1982, Article 93; Constitution of the Republic of Philippines, 1987, Article 14), and that recognize English as one of two official languages in both countries (Constitution Acts of Canada, 1982, Articles 16, 23; Constitution of the Republic of Philippines, 1987, Article 14). Despite getting comparatively high scores in IELTS, Arnel, Lourdes, and Rene had to re-train in Alberta’s language and work programs (Government of Alberta Employment and Immigration, 2008). These are manifest indicators of Alberta’s power logic of capitalism, in which the practice of decredentialing and reskilling of Filipino professionals continues despite the presence of FCROs, even in the Philippines. Filipino youth professionals contribute to the increase in profits of education service providers in Alberta through the credentialing process. Aside from the profit gained, Alberta has to impress upon Filipino migrants that, according to Rene, “this is how we do things here, this is how we say these words in Canada, and you have to learn them” (an apprentice-trainee quoting a trainer). This lends credence to the power logic of ethnicity which highlights exclusions, polarizations, and segmentations based on, for example, visible biological differences and audible linguistic diversities. The Filipino migrant professionals recognize the costs of learning the ways of working and speaking in

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Alberta, reflectiing how white dominance systematically transforms highly skilled Filipinos’ previous qualifications. All three cases—Arnel, Lourdes, and Rene— disclose that Alberta’s family reunification program played a large role in their decision to move to Alberta, indicative of Filipinos’ strong patriarchal and ethnic ties. This disclosure strengthens the foundational argument that the spatial logic of the Filipino household and the power logics of ethnicity are factors contributing to the shaping of Alberta’s gendered workforce and education landscapes. All three acknowledge that, with global recession, it has been difficult to get into their respective professions. Common in Lourdes and Rene’s narratives is the reason for their migration to Alberta despite knowing that they have to go through a series of reskilling courses: their children’s future is assured in Canada. Lourdes proudly shares how her son excels in mathematics, so much so his teacher has to ask him to tutor his clasmates. “Imagine a Filipino child leading among the white children in a foreign country such as Alberta, and in mathematics at that!” beams Lourdes. Rene, for his part, trains his son in the Filipino value of respect for elders. He does not want his son to lose this value in an individualist liberal Canadian atmosphere. There are no rigid socially defined roles for Filipino men and women at home and in society. Both are expected to perform well in school and contribute to household income. But caregiving and ensuring children do well in their studies depend more on women’s abilities to balance paid work and domestic responsibilities even after migration. Common, too, is their belief that they could only be critical of their host country after joining the workforce, experiencing, and imbibing Canadian work culture, getting exposed to forms of inequality, and being part of relevant organizations9 that would eventually shield them from unfair labor practices and non-recognition of their educational and professional backgrounds. Membership in professional organizations also incurs expenses and the necessity to fulfill a number of requirements. Consistent with Critical Theory, the self-reflexivities of three Filipino youth professionals expose Alberta’s constraints and their subsequent action and deliberative choices like publishing a book or joining organizations. The narratives of Lourdes, Rene, and Arnel manifest how the interplay of spatial logics (household and state) and power logics (patriarchy, ethnicity, capitalism) shape Alberta’s gender and education landscapes, which comprise compelling constraints and requirements. Lourdes, Rene, and Arnel seem to acquiesce to these constraints and requirements as they go through processes of decredentialing and

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reskilling. However, they also see these processes as a practical, if not coercive, means of economic integration and immersion. More instances of informal communication with other decredentialed and reskilled Filipino professionals in Alberta reveal varying sentiments. Many feel demoralized as they adjust to their life in Alberta. Some question the need to upgrade the knowledge and skills gained through years of studies in the Philippines, including the retraining in the use of English. Some take this as a consequence of their choice to move to Alberta, and believe that the fruits of their choice will duly arrive. Others see a better option in staying in Alberta than going back home where jobs are scarce or nonexistent. Still others avoid the plight of compatriots who, because of job scarcity, end up deskilled in their own country. As of 2017, the unemployment rate in the Philippines is 5.7% while that of Alberta is 7.4% (CIA, 2017), partly attributed to the rise in the number of both Albertan and non-Albertan jobseekers, plus the slump in oil prices worldwide. These figures suggest that the reward of university education, that is, greater economic opportunity and stability, poses a challenge, whether at home or in Alberta.

Conclusion Narratives of Filipino youth professionals suggest the importance of examining the spatial (state) and power (ethnicity and capitalism) logics, specifically those of Philippine higher education policies and Canadian employment proclivities. Filipinos generally place importance on education in migrating to Canada as much as Alberta favors highly skilled and English-proficient migrants but only to subject them to reskilling—an indication of Alberta’s failure to provide highly skilled Filipinos with appropriate credential recognition mechanisms. Such failure is inimical to equity and justice, and sends a strong statement of systemic white dominance over foreign-trained Filipino youth professionals. Educated Filipinos’ migration to Alberta leaves them vulnerable to decredentialing and reskilling whose costs, financial or otherwise, they must bear. Applying Critical Theory and the use of power and spatial logics, the narratives of Filipino youth professionals show how the interplay of Filipino migrants’ age, gender, and education impacts or is impacted by Alberta’s neoliberal economic and educational policy. Alberta’s international education framework is aimed at generating profit from Filipino youth professionals as workers first and professionals second. Despite meeting Canada’s requirements for skilled migration, Filipino professionals whose qualifications are foreign-obtained are subjected to

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deskilling in the labor market and a credentialing process. In Alberta, the credentialing processes illustrate vividly the dynamics of the power logics of ethnicity and capitalism, combined with the spatial logics of the household and the state, that perpetuate Canada’s dominance over the lives of migrant Filipino professionals while simultaneously benefiting from their creativity and labor. Gender is a key indicator in the types of work in demand for them in the interim: in caregiving and domestic work. The existing inequities in education policies and economy between Canada and the Philippines shape the realities of Filipino youth professionals upon migration. There is a need for both Canada and the Philippines to review and reformulate their respective economic and educational policies to reflect a more just and equitable relationship between the host country (Canada) and the source country (Philippines) of Filipino youth professionals’ migration. Notes 1.

These regional bloc agreements include the Australia–New Zealand Mutual Recognition Agreement, the European Union, and the North American Free Trade Agreement.

2.

International organizations include the World Trade Organization and the General Agreement on Trade in Services.

3.

The CPA Alberta (Chartered Professional Accountants Alberta) is in charge of distributing the list of requirements for hopeful accountants in Alberta.

4.

Organizations in charge of licensing engineers in Alberta include APEGGA (Association of Professional Engineers, Geologists, and Geophysicists of Alberta) and ASET (Association of Science and Engineering Technology Professionals of Alberta).

5.

In order to be a licensed nurse in Alberta, an applicant has to meet a number of requirements set by CARNA (College & Association of Registered Nurses of Alberta).

http://www.canadavisa.com/foreign-credential-assessment.html

6.

https://www.ielts.org/teaching-and-research/test-taker-performance

7. 8.

A participant with an IELTS score of 8.0 is described as “very good user: has fully operational command of the language with only occasional unsystematic inaccuracies and inappropriacies. Misunderstandings may occur in unfamiliar situations. Handles complex detailed argumentation well” (IELTS).

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For engineers, these organizations include AIMGA (Alberta International Medical Graduates Association), APEGGA and ASET. For accountants, it is the CPA. CARNA is the organization for nurses.

References Apple, M. (2004) Ideology and curriculum, Abingdon: Taylor and Francis. Bourdieu, P. (1984 [1979]) Distinction: A social critique of the judgement of taste, R. Nice trans., London: Routledge and Kegan Paul. ——. (1999 [1993]) The abdication of the state, in P. Bourdieu, A. Accardo, G. Balazs, S. Beaud, F. Bonvin, E. Bourdieu et al (eds) The weight of the world: Social suffering in contemporary society, P. Ferguson, S. Emanuel, J. Johnson and S. Waryn trans., Stanford: Stanford University Press. ——. (2001) Masculine domination, R. Nice trans., Stanford: Stanford University Press. Buechler, S. (2008) Critical sociology, USA: Paradigm Publishers. Canada Facts and Figures (2010) Immigration overview: Permanent and temporary residents 2010, Ottawa, ON: Research and Evaluation Branch, Citizenship and Immigration, http://publications.gc.ca/ collections/collection_2011/cic/Ci1-8-2010-eng.pdf CIA (2017) CIA: The world factbook of unemployment rate, https://www.cia. gov/library/publications/the-world-factbook/rankorder/2129rank. html CIC (Citizenship and Immigration Canada) (2009) Becoming a Canadian citizen: Who can apply? http://www.cic.gc.ca/english/ citizenship/become-eligibility.asp CIC (Citizenship and Immigration Canada) (2010) A commitment to foreign credential recognition. Canada: Minister of Public Works and Government Services. http://publications.gc.ca/collections/ collection_2010/cic/Ci1-12-2009-eng.pdf Constitution Acts of Canada, 1867 to 1982, http://laws-lois.justice. gc.ca/eng/Const/ Constitution of the Republic of the Philippines 1987, http://www. lawphil.net/consti/cons1987.html Dean, M. (1994) Critical and effective histories: Foucault’s methods and historical sociology, New York: Routledge. fFe magazine (for Filipinos in Europe) (2013) Nielsen survey reveals Filipinos value education, September 11, http://ffemagazine.com/ nielsen-survey-reveals-filipinos-value-education/ Foucault, M. (1980) The history of sexuality, vol. 1: An introduction, New York: Vintage Books.

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Government of Alberta Advanced Education and Technology (2009) International education framework, http://www.advancededucation.gov. ab.ca/postsecondary/policy/intframework.aspx Government of Alberta Employment and Immigration (2008) The changing face of Alberta’s workforce: Temporary foreign workers in rural Alberta, Labour market news, 2(2), December, http://www. employment.alberta.ca/ Habermas, J. (1987 [1987]) The theory of communicative action, vol. 2, T. McCarthy, trans., Boston: Beacon Press. Hall, S. (1996) The West and the rest: Discourse and power, in S. Hall, D. Held, D. Hubert and K. Thompson (eds) Modernity: An introduction to modern societies, Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, pp. 184–227. Harrison, T. and Kachur, J. (eds) (1999) Contested classrooms: Education, globalization and democracy in Alberta, Edmonton: University of Alberta Press. Harvey, D. (2010) The enigma of capital and the crises of capitalism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Iredale, R. (2001) ‘The migration of professionals: Theories and typologies’, International Migration, 39(5): 7–26. Laquian, A. and Laquian, E. (2008) Seeking a better life abroad: A study of Filipinos in Canada 1957–2007, Manila, Philippines: Anvil Publishing, Inc. Peet, R. and Hartwick, E. (2009) Theories of development: Contentions, arguments, alternatives, 2nd edn, New York: The Guilford Press. Said, E. (2003) Orientalism, Harmondsworth: Penguin. Spring, J. (2009) Globalization of education: An introduction, New York: Routledge. Statistics Canada (2008) The Canadian immigrant labour market in 2007: Analysis by region of postsecondary education, https://www150.statcan. gc.ca/n1/pub/71-606-x/71-606-x2008004-eng.htm ——. (2017) Brooks [Census agglomeration], Alberta and Alberta [Province] (table). Census Profile. 2016 Census. Statistics Canada Catalogue no. 98-316-X2016001. Ottawa, http://www12.statcan.gc.ca/censusrecensement/2016/dp-pd/prof/index.cfm?Lang=E Taylor, A. (2001) The politics of educational reform in Alberta, Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Uy, V. (2008) Alberta opens doors to OFWs, Philippine Daily Inquirer, October  1, http://globalnation.inquirer.net/news/breakingnews/ view/20081001- 164013/Alberta-opens-doors-to-OFWs Weber, M. (2007) Max Weber’s complete writings on academic and political vocations, ed. J. Dreijmanis and G. Wells, New York: Algora Publishing.

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TEN

Life in a Cold Lake: childhood, mobility, and social structures Gabriel Asselin

Introduction Whether at school, home, or in the wider community, children are active agents in the constant definition and redefinition of the social environments in which they participate. While it might be easy to simplify theoretical perspectives on socialization as a one-way process, much more complex mechanisms are at work. By their actions, the discourses in which they engage, and simply by their presence in an environment, children define and provide orientation to the structures that contribute to their identity building. In comparison with adults, most children do not have a developed capacity to express their motivations and manifest an agency which would be defined by intentionality. Yet they nevertheless have needs and desires which guide their actions and subsequently have an impact on their environment in a way worth noting. This chapter presents and discusses the social structure encountered by the boys and girls of military families in École Voyageur, a K-12 French school situated in Cold Lake, Alberta in Canada. These children’s lives are defined by a mobile lifestyle and the consistent presence of highly structured and gendered institutions of which they are a part. In order to explain the complexity of the processes that influence children’s experiences of their social environment at École Voyageur, I work from the perspective of the children themselves. I call upon fieldwork observations and interviews collected during fieldwork in 2009 and 2010 to show that children of military families at École Voyageur are important agents in the creation and maintenance of their social and cultural environment. By applying this perspective to my research with boys and girls of French-speaking military families in Cold Lake, it became clear that, aside from being actors in their environments, these children possessed considerable agency due to their importance in community

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maintenance for the various groups who sought their participation. On one side, the French-speaking minority required their involvement in its institution to insure its continuation and, on the other hand, the Canadian Forces had to find ways to enlist their moral support in order to promote operational efficacy by providing a stable home environment for military members. Here, I use the terms child and children broadly, in relation to school-age individuals from kindergarten to grade 12, and it therefore includes many who could also be otherwise described as youth rather than children. A number of factors contribute to my decision to mostly use the term “children.” Foremost among these is the fact that the individuals I focus on in the context of this research are of interest not because they are young but because of their belonging to family units within which they are children. A focus on youth could be warranted, but it would divert from my purpose of examining the community experience of individuals defined primarily as children of military families. Second, the offspring of military members, which constitute the core of my research population, are generally referred to not as military youth or young members of military families, but as military kids, children of military families, or children of military (aside from the also common military brats). While many of the individuals I interviewed during fieldwork may more easily self-identify as jeunes (youth), rather than as enfants (children), they all relate to the label of children in the context of discussing their families. Therefore, using the term “children” allows referring to the entirety of my research population among the students of École Voyageur. The relative age differences of the individuals, and their impacts, is acknowledged and addressed when relevant. Unlike the groups discussed in other chapters in Part III, the children of military families represent a unique case of youth migration within a family unit subject to mobility. I focus on three important social environments as centers of their community experience. First, I begin with the school environment and explain how children of military families participate in creating École Voyageur’s particular character. In order to discuss the relations between child, parents, and military institution, I then move the analysis to their home. An ethnographic perspective on military families and their children provides anthropological insights in part because a sizeable portion of the literature now available on the topic is, in the words of Ender (2002), of indigenous nature; produced not by anthropologists but by individuals studying their own subcultures. However, while there are merits to this type of work, within the

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framework suggested for an anthropology of childhood, the insider perspective that adults have of youth may not be representative of today’s military brats. That being said, adult perspectives on children’s lives remain relevant. Among other elements, youth may not have the appropriate points of reference in order to contrast civilian and military life, as most of them have spent their entire lives as part of military families (Tyler, 2002). Subsequently, in order to complete the portrait of military children experience in Cold Lake, the third focus will be on the adults who know these children, and interact with them on a daily basis.

Context: École Voyageur During the fall of 2009 and subsequently during the fall of the following year, I conducted ethnographic fieldwork in the town of Cold Lake, Alberta. The goal of the research was to document and understand the ways in which children of francophone military families experience, integrate within, and influence their communities. As such, while my fieldwork focused on the school these children were attending, I also conducted interviews and observations within the wider community in order to draw a holistic portrait of life in Cold Lake. During my stays in Cold Lake, I interviewed school staff, children attending the school, parents, as well as a number of professionals involved in children’s education and community services. I also met with the staff of the Cold Lake Military Family Resource Centers and other base officials. École Voyageur has a unique clientele which makes it an interesting community in which to study the relationship between youth agency, institutional influences, and community experience. While the children of military families experience a high level of mobility, some elements in their lives remain constant. Wherever they go, they go to school, their families are with them, and there is always an existing relationship between their family and the military institution. Here, I provide a summary description of some of the elements found at the school. At first sight, École Voyageur seems to be like any other school in Canada. A large parking lot, a cafeteria, a gym adorned with banners of past championships, and a schoolyard with soccer fields, swings, and other playground structures. Upon closer inspection, a few details display characteristics that are more unusual. Even before the name above the main doors is read, the French and English information billboard at the entrance of the parking lot, decorated with a large wooden cross, announces some of the school’s characteristics. Three

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flagpoles in front of the school, flying the Canadian, Albertan, and Franco-Albertan flags give further insight into the multiple identities that are shaping the institution. Even more so, however, as another day begins at the Cold Lake school, the constant coming and going of men and women in uniforms betrays the unique character of the local population. While, in another place, the visit of a uniformed individual such as a police officer or soldier could be worthy of attention, or even create a certain commotion, the military members coming and going through the main doors is mostly unnoticed. At École Voyageur, having military parents is not particularly special. As discussed in this chapter, this normality of being military brat at the school is both beneficial and detrimental. Like many schools providing services to the military community since the Department of National Defence stopped managing schools at the beginning of the 1990s, École Voyageur does not have any structured relations with the military base and does not claim a particular or privileged contact with the military institution. Nevertheless, providing services to a clientele constituted by a large number of military families has implications. For example, there is a high turn-around within the school population, among staff as well as among students, which in itself constitutes a major component of the school’s identity. The strong presence of military members means that the mobile character of the school population is unevenly gendered. Most of the staff turn-around comes from female employees as they are usually those who are spouses of military members. While there are about 10,000 women within the Canadian Armed Forces (Government of Canada, 2016), this makes up only slightly above 10% of the total personnel. Furthermore, a large proportion of men who are spouses of military members are themselves military, making the number of civilian men who are part of military families relatively low (Asselin, 2007). Therefore, even without discussing issues of traditional gender roles with regard to children’s education, the mothers of the children of École Voyageur are over-represented in comparison to the fathers. The mobility which is involved in the military occupation is conducive to family models where one spouse is working full-time while the other, usually the women, is a stay-at-home parent, because of the difficulty in pursuing a career through relocations. Compounding this is the fact that having a large population of military brats1 also means that the school continually has to deal with students whose family life is disrupted by prolonged and frequent parental absence. At a time when the Canadian Forces were engaged in war operations in Afghanistan,

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some of these absences were due to active duty deployments that could be the source of a considerable amount of stress. Even when the Canadian Armed Forces are not participating in war operations, the constant demands of travel for training continue to take a toll on military families. At school, in the community at large, or from the base, military brats at École Voyageur are subjected to multiple socializing discourses. Being an important element of enculturation and socialization processes through which society reproduces itself, the French Catholic school is of great importance for minority groups such as FrancoAlbertans. However, one consequence of the diversity in the school population is that a subset of its population, mobile families, have divergent priorities. These families are often less committed to establishing themselves in the region and are therefore less invested in linguistic or cultural maintenance of local Franco-Albertans. They are also strongly connected to another institution that demands much of their time and energy; military families and their children are solicited for participation by the Canadian Forces, which relies on the support of families to maintain their members’ effectiveness. In this context, it might be tempting to portray these children as either victims who are at the center of a conflict between two communities vying for their allegiance, or as simple passive recipients of directed socialization processes over which they have little control. In this perspective, their identity building and sense of self is completely determined by the comparative success of these competing socializing enterprises. Both the school and military, as strong, organized, and authoritative forces in a child’s life, can be seen as primary determining factors in their socialization outside of the family. However, in adopting a theoretical perspective which approaches children as actors within a community of practice, I draw a different picture. Looking at childhood through the lens of community of practice supports a conception of identity which is more fluid and grounded in action. I believe it is possible to take a similar approach to that of McElhinny (2012, pp. 240–1) in relation to gender and to adopt a conception of childhood that may be more an activity, “something one does” rather than a state of being, or “something one is.” In considering children not only as subjects of socialization processes but also as agents whose actions and choices define the character of their own social environment, I show the important role that they play, not only in defining their own identity, but in that of their community. By their presence in the school, by their choices, their discourse, and their relationships, the boys and girls of École Voyageur are active

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contributors in the shaping of the social environment which is their school.

The military in the school One of the defining features of a school such as École Voyageur is that it participates in institutions with a very different gendered structure. If, as previously described, the school itself is characterized by the prevalence of women, the military is definitely a male-oriented organization. While there exists a discourse of gender inclusion and a stated effort to recruit more women and normalize their presence in the Canadian Armed Forces, the practical reality is that the tendency of military institutions to seek uniformity among its ranks does not lend itself to recognizing the inherent structural biases. The relationship with the military is, then, an important feature of a gendered experience of the community in Cold Lake and at École Voyageur. Inside the school, signs of the particular relationship between the base and the school can be found in the hallways: a commemorative plaque in honor of a school graduate who died in Afghanistan, a pamphlet on the Canadian Forces displayed along other potential career paths, a copy of the Look-Out, the local base newspaper on a table in the teachers’ lounge. Students have also brought their military backgrounds into the school. In a display of craft projects are a few armored vehicles, and on a mural depicting potential career prospects chosen by the students is the distinctive silhouette of a CF-18 fighter jet.2 Teachers at the school are also aware of the military connections; many of them are spouses of military members or have military friends among the parents. Paradoxically, the omnipresence of the military in the school seems to be accompanied by very few official acknowledgements of its implications. This can be in part explained by the fact that while military families are a minority in Cold Lake (even if a predominant one), they make up the majority of the population at École Voyageur. This offers a number of advantages, one being that children of military families are not isolated at school. They are surrounded by individuals who understand the implications of having military parents: the unavoidable moves, the tensions surrounding deployments, along with a certain perspective on the role played by the Canadian Forces, in Canada and abroad. However, being part of the norm can also be detrimental for children of military families at École Voyageur. While the administration and teachers recognize challenges that are inherent to military life and mobility, the students of École Voyageur

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experience these things as elements of normality within the school. Dealing with mobility, military parents, or even deployment, can be seen as facts of life similar to love problems or academic difficulties; these are just things that have to be dealt with, nothing special. For instance, most children I interviewed did not consider their situation as singular, or as worthy of being recognized as such by others. Children expressed that they rarely talk about any of the challenges surrounding military life as such, do not seek opportunities to share on the topic, and do not condemn the lack of related discussion. While they mentioned that it might be possible to bring up those topics at school, they were not likely to do so and their teachers rarely brought up issues related to living in a military community, or to war in general in class, unless as part of a specific social studies course. Interviews with teachers confirmed this: while teachers are acutely aware of potential challenges and issues experienced by many of their students, they seldom felt it was their place to bring up the topics, be it in a general fashion or directly with the concerned students. The disadvantage of this situation becomes clear when comparing it to other schools. I found that in an English school in Cold Lake where students coming from military families are a minority even though their numbers are high enough to warrant notice, the administration had put in place support programs geared specifically towards their needs. Meanwhile, at École Voyageur, while the military is omnipresent in the school, dialogues on the military or on the challenges that face children of military families seem absent. Most actors at the school are aware of the issues, but this does not translate into conversations between students and the staff, or between students, and does not lead to creation of targeted programs. As the children of military family status is accepted as the norm, it seems specific initiatives in this regard are not deemed necessary. In this sense, the unique challenges of both mobility and military life for these children are in many ways overlooked, or at least normalized, by the key institutions with which they identify. However, this is not to say that children do not find their own means of expressing and engaging with this discourse.

Remembrance Day One aspect of childhood agency within the school is perhaps best described by examining a particular example. While the influence of the military community on École Voyageur can be observed year-round, it becomes the focus of attention at least once a year through the activities surrounding Remembrance Day.3 In this singular

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example, we see how the youth of École Voyageur do not simply reproduce rituals as they are presented to them by adults, but that they can appropriate them and adapt them to their own reality. Every year, the students of the school gather for a minute of silence, as well as to talk about the day’s significance. Guest speakers, usually military members invited from the base, come to talk about Remembrance Day to children who have a highly personal perspective on the sacrifices related to military activities. Beyond the actual day, students of all levels at École Voyageur take part in preparing the event, be it by writing letters and poems, making crafts, or contributing to a mural built of their own reflections on war and sacrifice. In 2009, some of the students at École Voyageur increased their level of involvement to the point where they took charge of the entire event. The result was a very personal gathering which, while following the common symbolic structure of Remembrance Day ceremonies, invited the students of École Voyageur to make their own reflections on the matter of war and veterans. Some high school students read from their own texts on issues of war and sacrifice while younger children offered crafts they had created in their classes. Finally, orchestrated completely by the students, with the support of a few teachers, a group of students performed a play of their creation for the rest of the school, portraying the loss of a family member for a military family. Being children is not only something they are and are subjected to, but something they do and perform.

Military families Before they even step into a school, the socialization of children is already well under way, largely through families and home life. Thus, from the school environment, my investigations led me to family life through visits to homes and residential neighborhoods, interviews with parents, and discussions of family life with children of military families. For most couples, having children requires a redefinition of domestic and professional life, and in the following section I focus on the impact of having children for couples where at least one spouse is a military member. Connected to this, I discuss the experience of life in a military family from the children’s perspective. Previous work has shown that many members of Canadian Forces, at least in the Canadian Navy, claimed that the military life was ill adapted to families where both spouses have full-time employment, and had little flexibility for families where both spouses were military members (Asselin, 2007). These opinions are supported by other work

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on Canadian military families such as those of Harrison and Laliberté (1994, 1997) and Weinstein and White (1997). In most cases, the birth of a child for a dual-career couple leads to the withdrawal from the Canadian Forces by one of the spouses. In all cases encountered during fieldwork, it was the female spouse who retired from military life. The reasons for women exiting the Canadian Forces have been discussed by Davis (1997), and often involve family obligations and/or harassment. Consequently, to have a child requires further redefinition for the military couple beyond adapting to the needs of a new family member. On the other hand, it has been suggested that the balance of power between families and the military institution might be shifting as a result of the penetration of civilian values within the Canadian Forces. Pinch (2000) talks of the civilianization of the Canadian Forces, a trend through which the military profession has stopped being considered as vocational, but as a job like any other. This furthers the potential influence of families over the Canadian Forces, among other things through requests for increased stability when children are getting older, a trend I noticed among military families in Cold Lake. However, whether or not this shift is having a noticeable impact on how the military institution treats families, the family life of its members is heavily influenced by the demands and limits of the military institution.

The roots of mobility Moves are a defining component of life in a military family as the military career is characterized by a high level of mobility. Members of the Canadian Forces are called upon to take new postings, usually on different bases, every three to five years and while they can have input as to their new posts the final decisions are not theirs to make. Being posted on new bases is important for career military members who wish to climb up through the ranks, and those who repeatedly try to avoid being transferred jeopardize their potential advancement. However, it is possible for those responsible for the postings to take the family situation under consideration. This results in children becoming potential grounding points for military families who might seek to stay in a community beyond the usual three to five year cycle. Typical military families remain mobile when their children are of pre-school age but become hesitant to relocate once their children are in school. According to the individuals I met during fieldwork, this reluctance to move grows progressively stronger as the child ages, culminating when he or she is in grades

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10 to 12. At that point, parents are preoccupied by the difficulties associated with changing schools and often decide to try to stay in the same location so that their teenagers can complete the last few years of their high school degree in the same school. However, it would be erroneous to assume that children are passive in relation to their families’ relocations, like just another piece of luggage their parents are moving around. Children of mobile families come to express their desires in relation to mobility and stability, and can eventually influence their parents’ decisions. As such, military children should be considered as agents in defining the mobile character of the military family, as well as the relation between the family and the community at large. For many military parents who started having children near the beginning of their career, their children`s completion of high school often occurs at the moment that they are nearing the potential of a full retirement from the military, after 20 years of service. Having already established themselves in their profession, and looking forward to retirement instead of feeling the pressures of performance of the early career, these parents can more easily prioritize their children’s needs and preferences. This period also reflects a shift in child agency, where children are increasingly able to articulate their own desires, have increasing individual freedoms, and increasing influence in family decision making. As documented by Segal (1986) in a residential neighborhood of an American army base, the role of children is often overlooked when researchers focus too much on the influence of the military career and fail to understand children as active agents in their own social circles—influential even if not always in control of their futures. In Cold Lake, I observed in a playgroup session civilian parents explaining that they preferred to not invest too much time with military families as these were destined to eventually leave Cold Lake. At the same playgroup, my wife, who was accompanying me on fieldwork, was asked if she was married to a military member, going on to explain that they would not have wanted to develop a friendship with her had that been the case. Even military members recognize this challenge, though they meet it with less fatalism. In this context, it is important to note that the difficulties in creating friendships are not only specifically a consequence of the military lifestyle, but of mobility in general. A woman at the playgroup who was married to an oilindustry worker, and who had moved around quite a bit for work reasons, had encountered the same difficulties. This was even the case for our ‘academic family’ as, indeed, even when actively trying to

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create relationships in a new town, my wife was only successful with individuals belonging to other mobile families.

Having military parents Back at school, many children of military families clearly expressed pride in their parents’ occupation, though the reasons behind this pride often varied according to age. For instance, with the younger children I spoke to, it was often attributed to the glamour associated with their parents’ jobs. This was particularly true for those whose parents were pilots of fighter jets such as the F-18 Hornet, but also extended to ground crew who worked on those types of planes. For teenagers, who had a deeper understanding of the complexity and nature of military activities, this pride usually found its source in a positive perception of their parents’ role within the military, be it at the national level or abroad. In turn, these children were likely to share a positive image of their parents’ occupation when discussing it with other children at school. David, a grade 12 male student speaks of the pride he has about his father’s job.4 I am okay with what he does. And since he is not on the frontline, it is not too risky. Well, there are always risks but … And he helps people. I am proud of my father. Julien, another older student, not himself of military family, comments on the occupation of his peer’s parents: I know that there is a boy in my class, his dad went to Afghanistan. We talk a little and I was asking him what he does there. I think that he is building bridges or something like that […] But I know that the parents of many of my friends went to Afghanistan. They have not talked about it much but, still, it’s kind of cool. Among enlisted members, soldiers of the Air Force are generally less likely to enter high-risk situations associated with military operations. A large proportion of their activities consist in performing maintenance and logistical support, which allows a small number of individuals to carry out operations. In the Air Force, the pilots, who are officers, generally incur the greater risks. In comparison with soldiers in the Army or Navy, a large portion of the Air Force personnel is not worried about being placed in situations of imminent danger, even

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though the Canadian Forces were engaged in active operations in Afghanistan at the time. Among the teenage children I spoke to, this seemed to bring comfort to those who were able to understand these kinds of implications. Many of the École Voyageur children who spoke with me had parents who were engineers, or had other constructionrelated jobs, and were therefore posted in Afghanistan to take part in various infrastructure projects: building of roads, bridges, buildings, and so on. While this still marked them as potential targets for the Taliban, the fact that they were not engaging in active combat operation was enough to diminish some, though not all, of their apprehensions. Those who had parents in the army were much more concerned about their parents’ deployments. One student named Megan shared with me having overheard a parent’s conversation including details of his activities in Afghanistan. In doing so, she had learned some details of her father’s activities, which he had not shared with her. I asked Megan if she was worried about her father returning to Afghanistan: Megan: Well, at the beginning, yes, because when he left for the second time I was even more worried. GA: Because now you knew what he did … Megan: Yes, now I knew what was going on, so I was sending him lots of stuff. I thought that maybe if I sent him more packages, he’d send back more letters … It did not work, but he is okay, he came back. GA: Are there chances that he could go back? Megan: He will go back. I don’t know why really. I think that it’s for the money. I think that they get money when they go. GA: You’d prefer he didn’t go back? Megan: No, I don’t want him to go back. I will tell him “If you go back [she slaps one hand into the other], I’ll hit you!” Some military members I have met said they limit the amount of information that they share with their children in regards to the details of their occupation, especially if these involve combat roles or otherwise risky operations. During previous fieldwork at Canadian Force Base Esquimalt, which is a Royal Canadian Navy base, parents explained that they had decided not to give details of what the military spouse was doing when he was deployed, telling their kids that he was simply “at work.” However, children often have ways of gaining more information than their parents are aware of. This can be through

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overhearing information, through feeling the moods of their parents, through discussion with other children, and through watching the news. As full members of their families with intuition and senses of their own, they are affected by their parents’ daily realities and in turn react, and can influence their parents’ choices and feelings towards their work. Many children of military members also see their family structure change momentarily when one of their parents is away on deployment. Suzanne, one of the high-school-level teachers at École Voyageur was talking about her experience of witnessing the changes that children were going through during such times: GA: Do you often think about the fact that your students are from military families? Suzanne: Yes, more so at the elementary level, we could tell when parents were gone. The kids would get sadder and sadder, more difficult. It does not happen often that it would not change the behavior of a child. Then, after two, three, four months that the parent is gone  … it shows. Even in high school, there is a mom who left, and now that she is back it creates even more changes for the student in school. GA: When they come back it also has an impact? Suzanne: Also, yes. […] They are frustrated sometime, I don’t know exactly why, it impacts them so much that their mom came back … Maybe the mom was stricter and that now homework has to be done  … It often happens like that. There is always one parent who is more easygoing, and another one who takes more responsibility towards the school things. When one of the two is gone, it shows. Worthy of note here is the fact that the return of the parent can also be a source of concerns or challenges for the children. Part of the explanation here is that the family structure changes when one of the parents is away, often leaving more space for the children to develop their autonomy, and possibly take on more responsibilities. In particular for older children, even though deployments may be difficult, they also provide more opportunities to venture into new spaces in which to apply agency. The return of the deployed parent may challenge this, and be a source of conflict between child and parent.

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Conclusion Like many other organizations, the Canadian Forces call upon the concept of the family to secure the loyalties of their members and of their families. Like the members of a family, the individuals who associate with the military community are asked to collaborate and help each other in order to protect their interests, and to be ready to make sacrifices in doing so. Thus, the ideology of the military institution places the family of their members at the center of a broadly conceived military family. Harrison and Laliberté (1997) have explained that many factors contribute to the Canadian Forces’ reliance on this image. Among these are life in the Permanent Married Quarters, support to military spouses of deployed military members by other members, and a general support network. In this chapter, I drew a portrait of the experience that children of military families of École Voyageur have of their environment, from two perspectives. The first considers children as subjects by documenting the discourses that concern them and that they are likely to encounter in their daily life. The second considers children as agents who play a role in the definition of social structures. If children are indeed a muted group, as suggested by Hardman (2001), we can rectify this situation by paying attention to their preoccupations and letting them set the agenda. It is important to account for their role in the center of socialization processes as well as to give them the opportunity to express themselves in order to better understand their outlook on their lived experience. Among others, the examples provided, such as the children’s role in the Remembrance Day ceremony and their influence over shaping the character of the military base’s residential areas, show that children were active agents. The structures within which children live their everyday lives are suffused by discourses which seek to orient their sense of identity, whether as francophones or as military brats. The success of each institution in their respective process of cultural reproduction relies in great part on their success in instilling this identity in the children of those who already participate in their activities. There is a lot at stake, as both francophone and military communities cannot effectively operate without active participation, and commitment, from a continuously changing population. In this light, the fact that institutions such as the school or the military can be seen as gender-oriented can have an impact on how children develop their own sense of identity. However, as seen in Cold Lake, children are active agents in the development of their own identity.

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This agency comes across in a number of ways. One of these is that children of military families, even from a relatively young age, can and do talk about the structures which frame their lives, be it their school, their family, their friends, their mobility, or their parents’ occupation. When considering language use as social action, as participation within a chain of semiotic encounters, it becomes possible to see these interactions not as simple statements of facts or reproduction of some rehearsed speeches but as forms of engagement in the processes which shape these self-same registers and structures. The case study presented of the children of École Voyageur, therefore, allows us to discuss individual identity as being defined in relation to group identities, themselves defined at the intersection of institutional relationships, agency, and participation within particular discourses. The students of École Voyageur experience the military, their school, mobility, and even childhood from a unique perspective which they then refer to in order to make choices in their everyday encounters, even though they may not always be very articulate about their motivations. Notes 1.

While the term brat can have negative connotations, the use of military brat is generally not seen as pejorative within the military community. It is used to identify children of members of military forces.

2.

Procured by the Government of Canada between 1982 and 1988, and expected to be retired by 2020, the CF-188 Hornet fighter jet has been the iconic plane of the Royal Canadian Air Force for the last few decades (National Defence, 2007) and is therefore easily recognizable for individuals who have an interest in military aviation.

3.

In Canada, Remembrance Day is celebrated each year on November 11, and is dedicated to remembering the sacrifices of soldiers who died in the line of duty, with an emphasis on major conflicts. In Alberta, it is also a statutory holiday.

4.

All interview quotes are translated from French by the author.

References Asselin, G. (2007) Ni civiles, ni militaires: Marginalité et identité parmi les familles militaires francophones de la Base de Forces Canadiennes Esquimalt en Colombie-Britannique, MA thesis, University of Alberta.

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Davis, K.D. (1997) Understanding women’s exit from the Canadian Forces: Implications for integration, in L. Weinstein and C.C. White (eds) Wives and warriors: Women and the military in the United States and Canada. Westport, CO: Bergin and Garvey. Ender, M.G. (ed.) (2002) Military brats and other global nomads: Growing up in organization families, Westport, CT: Praeger. Government of Canada (2016) National Defence and the Canadian Armed Forces, http://www.forces.ca/en/home. Hardman, C. (2001) Can there be an anthropology of children?, Childhood, 8(4): 501–17. Harrison, D. and Laliberté, L. (1994) No life like it: Military wives in Canada, Toronto, ON: James Lorimer and Co. ——. (1997) Gender, the military, and military family support, in L. Weinstein and C.C. White (eds) Wives and warriors: Women and the military in the United States and Canada, Westport, CN: Bergin and Garvey. McElhinny, B. (2012) Silicon Valley sociolinguistics? Analyzing language, gender, and communities of practice in the new knowledge economy, in A. Duchêne and M. Heller (eds) Language in late capitalism: Pride and profit, New York: Routledge, pp. 230–60. National Defence (2007) CF-188 Hornet, http://www.rcaf-arc.forces. gc.ca/v2/equip/cf18/index-eng.asp. Pinch, F.C. (2000) Managing change with shrinking resources, in C.C. Moskos, J.A. Williams and D.R. Segal (eds) The postmodern military: Armed forces after the Cold War, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 156–81. Segal, M.W. (1986) Enlisted family life in the U.S. Army: A portrait of a community, in D.R. Segal and H.W. Sinaiko (eds) Life in the rank and file: Enlisted men and women in the Armed Forces of the United States, Australia, Canada, and the United Kingdom, Washington: PergamonBrassey’s International Defense Publisher, pp. 184–211. Tyler, M.P. (2002) Military teenagers in Europe: Health care provider perspective, in M.G. Ender (ed) Military brats and other global nomads: Growing up in organization families. Westport, CT: Praeger. Weinstein, L. and White, C.C. (eds) (1997) Wives and warriors: Women and the military in the United States and Canada. Westport, CT: Bergin and Garvey.

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ELEVEN

Gender gap among secondgeneration students in higher education: the Italian case Alessandro Bozzetti

Italy is experiencing a structural, stable, and multigenerational migratory presence in which new generations are increasingly obtaining access to the highest social and educational levels, including university. However, the process is especially problematic in the Italian context, which has seen a shift from being an “emigration” to becoming an “immigration country” in recent years. The educational choices of young people are influenced by their social, and economic background, as well as by their parents’ and/or other significant adults’ cultural background (Ravecca, 2009; Spanò, 2011). Furthermore, the absence of Italian citizenship can also influence whether a person enrols in university. Young people from migrant backgrounds face cultural challenges which can lead to less social upward mobility and unmet aspirations. In this chapter, the phenomenon of second-generation immigrant students will be quantitatively contextualized, with specific regard to foreign students in Italian universities, and with a descriptive analysis on the impact of gender on education. The aim of the chapter is to analyze the multifaceted educational paths of young people, those under 35 years old, born in Italy to foreign parents (or who moved to Italy later), characterized by several needs and responsibilities.

Foreign population in Italy In a world with an increasing number of international migrants (more than 232 million in 2013) (OECD, 2015), the situation overall in Europe is no exception with migratory flows on the rise. In Italy, in contrast, immigration has decreased over a recent six-year period, from 527,000 in 2007 to 307,000 in 2013 (ISTAT, 2014). Nevertheless, the number of foreigners continues to grow in Italy: the latest available

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data (ISTAT, 2015) reveals that at beginning of 2015 the immigrant population consisted of 5,014,421 in a population of 60,795,612, or approximately 8.2%. According to the IDOS Study and Research Centre, the total number of legal immigrants was higher, amounting to 5,634,000 at the beginning of 2014 (IDOS, 2014). More specifically, the most represented countries are Romania (22.6% of the foreign population in Italy); this percentage keeps increasing significantly following the inclusion of Romania in the European Union (EU) in 2007 followed by Albania (9.8%), Morocco (9%), China (5.3%), and Ukraine (4.5%). The countries of origin of foreigners living in Italy are mainly Eastern countries of the EU, followed by non-member states in the same area (Perna, 2015). These figures are different from those of over a decade ago in 2003 when almost two thirds (64%) of immigrants came from non-European countries. In 2015, only 47.2% of immigrants came from outside of Europe (OECD, 2015). Non-EU citizens entering Italy came mainly for family reunification purposes (41%), significantly exceeding those who came for work reasons (34%) in 2013. Two significant variables of the immigrant population in Italy, namely gender and age, are important. The peculiarities of the Italian labor market and of its welfare system have favored a constant increase of employment among foreign women in the fields of personal care and housekeeping, despite the economic decline of Italian households (Perna, 2015). Partially due to the relevance of these sectors and seeking family reunification, women have comprised the majority of immigrant population in Italy since 2008 (see Figure 11.1). The rise of female immigration also contributed to changing the age structure of the foreign population in Italy: for the first time in 2014 the number of migrants under the age of 18 exceeded 1 million (1,087,016). Those under 35  years old (the focus of this chapter) numbered 2,632,957 (ISTAT, 2014). Data regarding the age of immigrant population are, however, stabilizing, with an increasing number of minors (their presence increased by 450% from 2003 to 2015) and adults over 45  years. These trends will inevitably have implications for the Italian welfare, social security, and health systems.

Which immigration model is best for Italy? Migration trends in southern Europe have led to a debate on the suitability of the “Mediterranean model of immigration.” The model describes the situation of those countries, namely, Greece, Spain, Portugal, and indeed Italy that, since the 1970s, have shifted from

196

197

2003

2004

1,990,159

1,549,373

Source: ISTAT data

0

1,000,000

2,000,000

3,000,000

4,000,000

5,000,000

2005

2,402,157

2006

2,670,514

2007

2,938,922

2008

3,432,651

2009

3,891,295

2010

4,233,873

2011

4,570,317

2012

4,052,081

Figure 11.1: Foreign residents in Italy on 1 January of each year, 2003–15 (absolute values)1

2013

4,387,721

2014

4,922,085

2015

5,014,421

Total

Women

Men

Second-generation students: the Italian case

Global youth migration and gendered modalities

being net emigration countries to becoming prosperous immigration areas. Due to complex dynamics, these countries represent key migration destinations. A peculiar characteristic of this model seems to be that “the division in terms of development, income, living standards that once separated Northern and Southern Europe has now moved to south Mediterranean countries” (Germani, 2001, p. 108). Apart from these features, the complementary demographic models, namely, ageing population and low birth rate, of the two different zones of the Mediterranean area present new challenges for such countries. Aside from the personal care and housekeeping sector, foreign labor coming to European Mediterranean countries is usually employed in the tertiary sector and particularly in the tourism sector as seasonal workers. Ambrosini (2005, p. 14), by analyzing the main employment models for immigrants, defines their usual employment as “the 5 P’s employment”: precari or occasional, pesanti or heavy, pericolosi or dangerous, poco pagati or poorly paid, and penalizzati socialmente or socially penalized, and often in close contact with the informal economy. Ambrosini (2005) speaks about a form of subordinate inclusion, which arises from a different treatment of national minorities and an absence of equal opportunities. But the situation changes between first and second generation of migrants: welcome and adaptation cease to be the key words of the personal experiences of the latter generation. They have different financial opportunities which impact on their expectations and their values. And this happens within a legal framework in which the ius sanguinis, the legal status linked to the parents’ citizenship, is still valid, with no reference to the birthplace (ius soli) until they reach the age of 18. Young people born in Italy to foreign parents, who have grownup and are educated in Italy, do not automatically receive the legal status of Italian citizens, and this situation poses risks for them not only on a legal and administrative level but also to their personal identity. The issue of second-generation immigrants as a whole, not only the children of immigrants who moved later to the other country but also those born in the foreign country, or “migrants without migration,”2 has a crucial role within migratory flows since it can point to a discrepancy between their socialization and the real opportunities afforded to them (Ambrosini, 2005). The ideal-typical paths of second-generation young immigrants can be different: the usual integration process that would mean the progressive loss of their own identity; the subordinate inclusion that would determine their convergence with the most disadvantaged sections of the population; and the selective integration (or segmented integration, following

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Second-generation students: the Italian case

the most widespread debate in the United States) through which they would preserve, develop, and readjust their identity to the new context, becoming a valuable source of support to the receiving society (Portes and Rumbaut, 2001).

“Second generations” and education The Italian education system has been recently characterized by a constant increase of non-Italian students. At the end of the 2013/14 school year, 802,785 students came from an immigrant background (see Figure 11.2): this is equivalent to about 9% of the total student population; more than 10% in pre-primary and primary schools; 9.6% in the lower secondary school/middle school; and 6.8% in the upper secondary school/college. The percentage of non-Italian students who were born in Italy (the narrow definition of second generations) is increasing and represents 51.7% of the total of those students born to immigrant parents (MIUR, 2014). In the analysis of migratory flows and their impact on the receiving society, the topic of second generations is central. The integration of the so-called “children of immigration” represents “a testing Figure 11.2: Non-Italian students per level of education, school years 2005/6– 2013/14 Upper secondary school Lower secondary school Primary school Pre-primary school 900,000 800,000 700,000 600,000 500,000 400,000 300,000 200,000 100,000 0 2005/ 2006/ 2007/ 2008/ 2009/ 2010/ 2011/ 2012/ 2013/ 06 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 Source: MIUR (2014)

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

ground for both their parents’ migration and for the receiving society receptiveness” (Besozzi, 2009, p.  13). Different variables such as accessibility to material resources, availability of relational and symbolic networks, and level of education of the parents come into play, with often unpredictable outcomes. One of the key points emerging from the theoretical and scientific debates in recent years is the significance of education in the life of second-generation young immigrants. School is a pillar for their identity and cultural development, and a crucial turning point in their transition to the labor market. Even if in Italy, thanks to a long process of reforms, access to education is now guaranteed by law, its effectiveness is primarily linked to those actions carried out to promise real chances to succeed (Lagomarsino and Ravecca, 2014). There are several sociological theories that attempt to explain the existence of the so-called “achievement gap” between foreign and Italian students. Briefly, it is important to highlight that research on second generations has followed the “demographic maturation” of this target population: the process is constantly evolving due to the recent transformation experienced by Italy, from an emigration to an immigration country (Ambrosini, 2005). The topic has attracted scholars, mainly focused on primary, lower, and upper secondary schools (Queirolo Palmas, 2006; Besozzi et al, 2009; Ravecca, 2009; Santagati, 2011; Spanò, 2011; Lagomarsino and Ravecca 2012). The “social class” variable is still significant when looking at determining the educational trajectory of young immigrants, mainly in order to decide to undertake long educational paths. Ethnicity is another disparity factor that, depending on other variables, can determine a different allocation of resources (Brint and Karabel, 1989). Differently, gender is increasingly being considered as a declining and less effective variable, at least for western education systems (Ambrosini, 2005). Several studies confirm that there is still a kind of “educational segregation” that seems to affect female students, who are disadvantaged and achieve medium education levels, mainly in those countries that direct them toward careers in personal care or part-time jobs (Ambrosini, 2005). At the same time, a number of investigations reveal that young female immigrants tend to attend and finish school, and achieve better results, compared with young men at secondary school and at university (Ambrosini, 2005). The interactions between the national education system and the particular experiences of non-Italian citizens have consequences for the latter’s future. The transition between secondary school and higher education, especially for second-generation students, is far from

200

Second-generation students: the Italian case

being linear: this trend is prevalent in most western countries, even in those with a long migratory tradition. Students with an immigrant background in Italy are mainly enrolled in technical and vocational institutes, which formally open up to a university career but often cause a sort of school marginalization that frequently results in social disadvantage (Santerini, 2008; Santagati, 2011). However, this point of view is misleading. Research focused on second-generation students reveals that immigrant background does not unequivocally affect school performances: results are more related to the differences within different ethnic groups, to cultural context, to the values and prejudices of the receiving society, to different historical periods, and mostly to each person’s own distinctive features (Portes, 1998; Crul, 2012). The situation of young immigrants in the university context is yet to be empirically analyzed: starting from the mid-1980s, international surveys were focused on the experience of some specific ethnic groups and then moved to the analysis of the economic implications of completing post-school education (Fligstein and Fernandez 1985; Ganderton and Santos 1995; Hagy and Farley Ordovensky Staniec 2002; Crul, 2012). In Italy, the current state of research on immigrants in university is in its early stages, with the research by Lagomarsino and Ravecca (2014) at the University of Genoa being one of the few empirical analyses conducted so far.

Is university a choice for second-generation students? According to OECD data (2016), Italy ranks among the worst countries in the region with regard to the proportion of graduates aged between 25 and 64 years, with 17.5% compared to the average for OECD countries of 36.2%. As stressed by the CUN (the Italian National University Council), the decrease in university enrollments is concerning. According to the MIUR data, in less than ten years the number of people enrolled in the first academic year has dropped from 305,935 in 2006/7 to 275,613 in 2015/16.3 The total number of people enrolled at university was 1,660,595 in the 2015/16 academic year, with a decreasing trend in the last five years: this trend has consequences for the labor market. The decision to invest in an extended education (Zurla, 2001) is often ignored not only by immigrant, but also by native families: as a result, a young and always less qualified workforce, which historically involved young people coming from families with reduced social and economic resources, enters the labor market without a degree. Italy is the EU country with the lowest expenditure on education as a percentage of GDP (less than

201

Global youth migration and gendered modalities

1% per year), with a 20% reduction, in real terms, between 2009 and 2013 (Eurostat, 2015). Moreover, according to the ISTAT (2014), the “Neet” generation of those aged between 15 and 29 years old not in education, employment or training, is about 2,435,000. Different factors hinder access to higher education. Among these, the most predominant has probably an economic cause: the cost of university education. Direct costs such as university fees, accommodation, transport; and indirect costs such as the fact that students, not normally working during their studies, have an influence on household income. Apart from these “hard” barriers, academics have also identified several “soft” barriers to education (Finnie et al, 2008); among these, a lack of support from family and friends; a lower level of social capital; a personal but also a family gap between immigrants and students with Italian citizenship (which is linked to their parents’ qualifications and their symbolic cultural capital); several language-related issues and their symbolic implications. Despite the existence of these barriers, the presence of young immigrant students in Italian universities is increasing significantly.

Foreign students in Italian universities The number of foreign students enrolled at Italian universities is constantly increasing, from 45,556 in the 2006/07 academic year to 74,016 in the 2015/16 academic year.4 According to the MIUR (2016), thanks to the increase of foreign students, the drop in the numbers of those enrolled at university is even more evident: during recent years, the total number of Italian students enrolled at university has dropped by 100,000 (from 1,712,764 in 2011/12 to 1,586,431 in 2015/16). Looking at the data regarding academic year 2015/16, it is interesting to note that of the 74,016 foreign students enrolled at university (from 158 different countries), 34.5% are citizens of one of the following countries: Albania, Romania, and China (see Figure 11.3). The number of Albanian students has always been significant during the last ten years, from the 2006/07 academic year to the 2015/16 academic year (reaching 12,335 people during the 2009/10 academic year, representing 20.2% of foreign students), as well as the increasing number of Romanian students (+234% compared to the 2006/7 academic year, and constantly growing) and Chinese students (+402% compared to the 2006/7 academic year). This chapter focuses on foreign students with an Italian high school diploma currently enrolled in Italian universities. The choice is linked

202

Second-generation students: the Italian case Figure 11.3: Main countries of origin of foreign students enrolled in Italian universities 2015/16 academic year (absolute values) 12,000 10,342

10,000 7,762

8,000

7,422

6,000 4,000

2,875

2,515

2,385

2,374

2,000 0

nia

ba Al

ia

an

m Ro

ina

Ch

n

Ira

m

Ca

a ov

n

oo

er

M

old

ine

ra Uk

2,193

co

ru Pe

oc

or

M

2,202

1,741

a

ssi

Ru

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

to the terminological distinction that has been proposed by the OECD between “international students” and “foreign students.” The first refers to those people who move abroad for educational reasons; the second refers to students who are not citizens in the country in which they study but live in that country, and in some cases were even born there. The focus will be on those foreign students who have obtained the high school diploma in Italy, completing part of their education within the Italian school system and then deciding to go to university. By taking into account this differentiation, those young people born in Italy to foreign parents, or in Italy since they were children, with Italian citizenship, will not be considered: they can only be identified through the use of qualitative research tools as, when enrolling at the university, citizenship and place of birth of parents are not required information. The category of the so-called “second generation” has to be considered according to this criterion. From a statistical point of view, the percentage of foreign students enrolled in Italian universities and with an Italian high school diploma is proportionally increasing, up to 41.7% of the total of foreign students at university in 2015/16 academic year (from 26.7% in 2006/07 academic year). We take into account only those students who have definitely graduated from an Italian school. In the MIUR statistics, the details regarding secondary school diplomas are often unspecified for each student: in recent years there were around 9,000/10,000 cases of unspecified secondary school diplomas each year. Probably most of them graduated from foreign secondary schools without explicitly

203

Global youth migration and gendered modalities Figure 11.4: Foreign students and second-generation students (foreign students with Italian high school diploma) enrolled in Italian universities from 2006 to 2016 (absolute and percentage values) Foreign students (and percentage of the total of students) Foreign students with Italian diploma (and percentage of the total of foreign students) 80,000 70,000 60,000 50,000

45,556 2.8%

51,476 3.0%

56,553 3.2%

61,258 3.4%

65,032 3.6%

67,965 3.8%

69,910 4.0%

72,008 4.2%

73,001 4.3%

74,016 4.5%

22,699 33.4%

24,687 35.3%

26,888 37.3%

29,126 39.9%

30,850 41.7%

40,000 30,000 20,000

12,185 26.7%

14,099 27.4%

15,940 28.2%

18,559 30.3%

20,811 32.0%

10,000 0

2006/ 2007/ 2008/ 2009/ 2010/ 2011/ 2012/ 2013/ 2014/ 2015/ 07 08 09 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

providing this information when enrolling at a university in Italy. Since the aim of this chapter is to analyze those students who have completed at least a part of their education in Italy, these cases were excluded. By analyzing the countries of origin of foreign students enrolled at university with an Italian high school diploma, the situation is partially different compared to the previous discussion. Even if Albania and Romania are still the most represented countries, the difference between them is extremely small (see Figure 11.5). The number of Chinese students who graduated from Italian secondary schools is instead low: a clear majority of them hold a foreign diploma.

How gender affects the educational path of secondgeneration students: a descriptive analysis Due to the lack of qualitative research in the Italian context, the analysis of this section is based on secondary quantitative data (especially from MIUR, updated and retrieved in September 2016). This study will reveal features of the target student population compared to the whole student population.

204

Second-generation students: the Italian case Figure 11.5: Second-generation students (foreign students with Italian high school diploma) enrolled in Italian universities: the most represented countries 2015/16 academic year (absolute values) 7,000

6,260

6,000

6,032

5,000 4,000 3,000 1,804

2,000

1,706

1,654

1,498 1,008

1,000 0

nia

ba

Al

ia

a ov

an

m Ro

M

old

e

in ra

Uk

ru Pe M

co

oc

or

or

ad

u Ec

778

ina

Ch

693

481

es

nd

la Po

pin

ip hil

P

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

Pre-university experience Interesting trends come to light by focusing on the type of high school diploma earned by students enrolled at university. The differences among students with Italian citizenship and second-generation students appear evident. Among the first, the percentage of students who graduated from secondary schools specialized in classical and scientific studies is equal to 71.2%, while among second-generation students (students with foreign citizenship and with an Italian diploma) it is 43.9% in the 2015/16 academic year. Among second-generation students the technical diploma is more frequent (38.8% compared with 21.2% for their Italian peers) as well as the vocational diploma (14.3% compared with a 4.1%), usually unrelated to a willingness to invest in a long-term education path, at least for Italian students. The introduction of the gender variable in the analysis highlights that the “Lyceum” (classical and scientific studies) is the most common high school diploma for the different groups considered, except for the male second-generation students, who more frequently have technical certificates (in just under half of the cases). Predictably, the “Lyceum” diploma is more frequent among female students and, above all, among the Italian female students. About three out of four among those enrolled at university, in fact, graduated from secondary schools specialized in classical and scientific studies, while among the female

205

Global youth migration and gendered modalities Figure 11.6: Type of high school diploma of Italian students and secondgeneration students (male and female) enrolled in Italian universities, 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) Classical and scientific

Technical

Vocational

Psychology and teaching

80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0

Female Italian students

Male Italian students

Female secondMale secondgeneration students generation students

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

second-generation students this percentage falls below 50%, lower than that of male Italian students. It seems that the possibility of continuing the studies offered by technical and especially vocational studies, while remaining residual (or just formal) for Italian students, is much more common among second-generation students, not necessarily representing a predictor of scholastic marginalization. Focusing on the final grade and taking into account the gender variable, females tend to have better educational results than their male peers (Hodges Persell et al, 1999; Qin-Hilliard, 2003; Ravecca, 2010). As shown in Figure 11.7, second-generation students have more generally achieved lower final marks than their Italian peers: gender differences, however, are lower. Among Italian students, 45.9% of girls achieved a final mark lower than 80/100 while among boys the percentage is 56.1% (difference of 10.2%). Among second-generation students, however, the percentage of students of both genders with a final mark lower than 80/100 is higher than for Italian students (60.7% for girls, 66.6% boys) but the gender difference is lower (5.9%). University experience Of the total number of university students, there is a majority of female students, almost 12% more than male students during the

206

Second-generation students: the Italian case Figure 11.7: Final mark for Italian students and second-generation students (male and female) enrolled in Italian universities, 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) 100 and 100 cum laude 90/99 80/89 70/79 60/69

% 100 90 80 70 60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Female Italian students

Male Female secondMale secondItalian students generation students generation students

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

2015/16 academic year (a constant gap since the 2006/07 academic year). The difference is even more evident among the total number of foreign students (16.4% more female than male students during the 2015/16 academic year). Among foreign students with the Italian high school diploma (over 30,850 of the university students enrolled in the 2015/16 academic year), 64.2% are women and only 35.8% are men (a 28.4% difference, increasing over the years): the gender gap is therefore more than doubled among second-generation students. While females have led in the academic arena for at least two decades (Besozzi, 1997), it is interesting to see how gender issues intersect with migration experience. Research activities carried out in several countries with a longer multicultural tradition show that the reasons for this more considerable gender gap could be linked to the different socialization processes that affect the genders (Portes and Rumbaut, 2005; Ravecca, 2010). It seems that more family supervision is exercised over women in immigrant families, in addition to the idea that education can represent for many women of immigrant origin an opportunity for social redemption and a possibility of self-realization (Lagomarsino and Ravecca, 2014). The research carried out in Britain

207

Global youth migration and gendered modalities

and France on Muslim girls (Hassini, 1997; Haw, 1998) suggests that educational success is seen as an opportunity for them to distance themselves from family restrictions through a claim of greater personal freedom in relation to parental figures (especially toward the father figure). This occurs without gender roles within the household, or the values of patriarchal culture, being questioned, but aiming to create a flexible identity that seeks to reconcile the prescribed identity, full of family meanings, and the desired identity, as bearer of a change (Aggoun, 2001). At a more general level, females could then count on greater capital resources within the family, in the form of parental monitoring and expectations, and outside the family, in the form of a network more oriented to academic success and a more pronounced support of teachers, with whom they generally have more positive relationships than their male peers. For male students, on the other hand, the presence of less strong protective and support networks, the possibility of negotiating more spaces of freedom with parents, and the widespread need to emphasize their own masculinity to form a well-determined identity seem to lead to less successful educational opportunities (Qin-Hilliard, 2003). The gender distribution in the case of second-generation students, however, is different depending on the country of origin. The cases of the main countries of origin of students with foreign citizenship and Italian degree are shown in Figure 11.8.5 Almost all the countries under consideration show a clear prevalence of women among students enrolled in an Italian university. Among the first ten countries where the presence of women is more pronounced, nine are European. However, despite the absolute numbers being quite low (163 students), the highest percentage of girls (72.4%) is among Ugandan second-generation students. Only in three cases there are more boys than girls enrolled in Italian universities: students coming from Bangladesh (52.8%), from Pakistan (59.7%) and, above all, from Egypt (66.7%). In any case, a limited number of second-generation students come from these countries. Second-generation students, as previously noted, are mostly Albanian and Romanian (over 40% of the total). Female students coming from Albania and Romania are an overwhelming around 67%. Variables such as the geographical area of origin and the gender patterns of their own tradition play a key role in determining “the range of possible choices, results, aspirations, ways of use of the educational resource by immigrants” (Colombo, 2003, p. 91). The adherence to patriarchal ideologies widespread in certain countries, which tend to reproduce the values related to female subordination, is closely linked

208

Second-generation students: the Italian case

Figure 11.8: Gender distribution for the main countries of origin of secondgeneration students enrolled in Italian universities, 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) Female

Male

N

Uganda

163

Ukraine

1,706

Poland

693

Russia

444

Moldova

1,804

Romania

6,032

Albania

6,260

Serbia

287

Bosnia

191

Bulgaria

342

Brazil

355

Philippines

481

Ecuador

1,008

Morocco

1,496

Macedonia

293

Croatia

211

Switzerland

314

Tunisia

201

Colombia

300

Peru

1,654

Nigeria

195

India

412

Sri Lanka

174

China

770

Germany

324

Ghana

293

Bangladesh

161

Pakistan

221

Egypt

261

0

20

40

60 %

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

209

80

100

Global youth migration and gendered modalities

to a low level of education, if not to an actual exclusion of women from education (Hodges Persell et al, 1999). Focusing on the different study areas, the majority of students with Italian citizenship are enrolled in degree courses related to the social area (36.6%), followed by the scientific area (31,6%), liberal arts (17.7%), and, finally, by courses related to the health sector (14.1%). Of the total number of second-generation students, the percentages change but the order of preference remains unchanged. The presence in social area degree courses is even more relevant for second-generation students (41.7%, +5.1 percentage points compared to Italian students) and, to a lesser extent, in liberal-arts courses (19.0%). Their presence is instead lower in degree courses related to health (11.8%), and especially those of the scientific area (27.5%, –4.1 percentage points). Unlike several differences depending on the country of origin, the introduction of the gender variable highlights that the emerging trends among second-generation students are the same, but even more accentuated, as those found among Italian students (see Figure 11.9). The prevalence of students in social area degree courses is more pronounced for females with foreign citizenship and Italian high school diplomas (46.3%) compared to female students with Italian citizenship (38.2%). At the same time, the percentage among male second-generation students in the courses of the scientific area is equal to 49.7%, more accentuated than that of the Italian students (45.0%).

Figure 11.9: Distribution in different study areas, depending on gender, of students enrolled in the 2015/16 academic year (percentage values) Health area

Scientific area

Social area

Liberal-arts area

60 50 40 30 20 10 0 Female Italian students

Female secondgeneration students

Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

210

Male Italian students

Male secondgeneration students

Second-generation students: the Italian case

Graduate students In the end, some mention must be made regarding students who have already completed their university studies. The number of secondgeneration graduates is growing, but it was only in the 2012/13 academic year that the proportion of foreign graduates holding an Italian degree reached 1% of total graduates. However, generalization is not possible due to the limited data. In the academic year 2012/13, for the first time, there were more than 10,000 foreign student graduates (out of about 300,000 total graduates). Among them, just under 3,000 were in possession of an Italian high school diploma. Analyzing the final grades, it appears that the grades achieved by Italian students are on average higher than those of second-generation colleagues. Referring to the 2013/14 academic year, 21.3% of Italian graduates obtained top marks (110 cum laude), compared with 10.1% of second-generation graduates. Focusing on the ten-year trend, the percentage of those who received a degree mark lower than 90 has been growing steadily. There has been moderate growth of those receiving a mark less than 90 for graduates with Italian citizenship (from 9.3% in the 2004/5 academic year, to 11.7% in the 2013/14 academic year). A much more important growth for second-generation graduates (from 10.8% to 23.6%) is evident, but the low number of cases must be taken into account. Female graduates with Italian citizenship obtained the highest grades: 23.6% of Italian female graduates in the 2013/14 academic year obtained the maximum grade, a percentage more than double that of second-generation female graduates (10.3%). More generally, 64.4% of Italian graduates in 2013/14 academic year achieved a grade higher than 100/110, while among the second-generation graduates this percentage was at 42.9%. Lower percentages were found among male graduates: if 18.2% of graduates with Italian citizenship achieved the maximum grade, that percentage is 9.4% among second-generation graduates. Conversely, the percentage of graduates who achieved a rating lower than 100/110 was 64% among second-generation graduates and 46.8% among Italian graduates. Bearing in mind that the population of graduates with foreign citizenship and an Italian high school diploma is numerically small, the gender gap is less accentuated among second-generation students than that found among graduates with Italian citizenship.

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities Figure 11.10: Italian and second-generation students graduated in 2013/14 academic year (percentage values) 110L 106/110 101/105 91/100 66/90 % 100 80 60 40 20 0

Female Italian students

Male Italian students

Female secondMale secondgeneration students generation students

Note: Italian and second-generation students graduated in 2013/14 academic year, grade marks (percentage values). Source: Analysis of MIUR official data (2016)

Conclusions: changing the course? The study of the different realities and identities of young secondgeneration students in the Italian university system is essential: they are no longer students recently arrived or temporarily passing through Italy. The phenomenon is increasingly consolidated but, as is often the case, research starts when the event is already rooted, without any anticipatory analysis (Lagomarsino and Ravecca, 2014). The presence of foreign students in Italian secondary schools has been extensively covered by research (especially regarding their presence in technical and vocational institutes) but little is known about their presence at the university level. It would be simplistic to assume that those students who enrolled at university had never experienced any trouble in their pre-university or university career. A deepening of their educational paths, especially at university, is crucial, in view of a possible link with the labor market that is affected by gender dynamics and a huge

212

Second-generation students: the Italian case

difference between the expectations of young people and the real opportunities offered to them. On the one hand, at a macro level, there is a need to remove the uncertainties, delays, and bureaucratic difficulties that characterize the mechanisms for acquiring Italian citizenship. Such a move would guarantee to the children of immigrants the same educational opportunities as are available to young people of Italian origin; on the other hand, something must be done through educational policies to foster their integration. Moreover, the opportunity to rely on a theoretical corpus and on the experiences of other countries that have already gone through a similar dynamic allow Italy to gain advantage from the different experiences of second-generation immigrant students in order to develop its human, cultural, and economic capital. And, finally, there is a need to implement additional pathways from the first phases of second-generation students’ educational path; an aspect that concerns not only those born in Italy, but also, and mainly, those who arrived in Italy later in their lives. The need is to avoid possible systematic delay from the very beginning of the lower levels of education and, at the same time, to ensure that students can choose, in a conscious and informed way, what they consider to be the best education path for them. The role of teachers, from at least the lower secondary level, is to avoid directing students of immigrant origin toward technical and vocational paths a priori. An educational path developed in a certain upper-secondary schools, however, risks not adequately preparing students for the continuation of their studies, creating a certain disorientation in them, which could lead to them achieving results lower than expected, which affects their participation in the labor market. Orientation actions also play a decisive role in second-generation students choosing to undertake university studies, and are necessary to prevent (and possibly overcome) a series of obstacles: the reduced enrollment times for those who do not hold Italian citizenship or the difficulties in validating qualifications obtained abroad. Orientation choices also impact gender issues; it is within the educational context that actions can be put in place to provide equal rights for anyone, in terms of education training and with a view to subsequent work in the future. The school must be a place that allows young people to overcome economic, social, and cultural challenges deriving from migration and family environment. For these reasons, preconceptions that lead them to particular fields of study risk strongly marking the future of second-generation students, with or without Italian citizenship. Like

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Global youth migration and gendered modalities

the second-generation Arab American women in college discussed in Chapter Twelve, those of the same generation in Italy need appropriate programs to address their needs, especially based on gender. After all, education is a sure investment that benefits any society. Notes 1.

The decrease, in absolute values, of foreign residents in Italy registered between 2011 and 2012, was not connected with a real reduction of their presence, but was due to the fact that data available from 2012 refer to the census of the population of 2011.

2.

It is a similar approach to that of the Council of Europe. In the 1984 report (Council of Europe, 1984) they identified as “second generations” the children of the immigrants born in the country that parents had moved to, the children who moved with their parents or those children who joined their parents in the other country after the migration of one or more members of their family. Moreover, it is explained that the definition “second generation” only refers to those who completed part or all of their education or professional education in the country of immigration.

3.

The data are provisional and not final. It must be noted that the decrease of the number of people enrolled at university is partially due to the end of the novelty of 3+2 reform of the university system that encouraged more adults to enrol at university.

4.

The data are updated to September 2016: the figures regarding previous academic years can be considered as final data, but the data regarding the total number of students enrolled at university during the academic year of 2015/16 is still provisional.

5.

The figure represents the top 30 countries of origin of second-generation students: these countries have at least 150  second-generation students enrolled in an Italian university, and their sum covers about 90% of the total number of enrolled students with foreign citizenship and Italian degree.

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———. (2009) Una generazione strategica, in E. Besozzi, M. Colombo, and M. Santagati Giovani stranieri, nuovi cittadini: Le strategie di una generazione ponte, Milano: Franco Angeli, pp. 13–56. Besozzi, E., Colombo, M., and Santagati, M. (2009) Giovani stranieri, nuovi cittadini: Le strategie di una generazione ponte, Milano: Franco Angeli. Brint, S. and Karabel, J. (1989) The diverted dream: Community colleges and the promise of educational opportunity, 1900–1985, New York: Oxford University Press. Colombo, M. (2003) Differenze di genere nella formazione, Studi di Sociologia, 1: 81–108. Council of Europe (1984), Recommendation No. 9, Of the committee of Ministers to the Member States on Second-generation migrants, https://www.coe.int/t/democracy/migration/Source/migration/ CMRec%20_84_9E.pdf Crul, M. (2012) What is the best school integration context? School careers of the Turkish second generation in Europe, Mondi Migranti, 2: 7–32. Eurostat (2015) Database, http://ec.europa.eu/eurostat/data/database Finnie, R., Mueller, R., Sweetman, A., and Usher, A. (eds) (2008) Who goes? Who stays? What matters: Accessing and persisting in post-secondary education in Canada, Montreal: QC and Kingston. Fligstein, N. and Fernandez, R. (1985) Educational transitions of whites and Mexican-Americans, in G. Borjas and M. Tienda (eds) Hispanics in the U.S. economy, Orlando, FL: Academic Press, pp. 161–92. Ganderton, P. and Santos, S. (1995) Hispanic college attendance and completion: evidence from the high school and beyond surveys, Economics of Education Review, 14(1): 35–46. Germani, A. (2001) Immigrazione: il modello mediterraneo, Affari sociali internazionali, 4: 107–15. Hagy, A.P. and Farley Ordovensky Staniec, J. (2002) Immigrant status, race, and institutional choice in higher education, Economics of Education Review, 21: 381–92. Hassini, M. (1997) L’école: Une chance pour les filles maghrébins, Paris: CIEMI – L’Harmattan. Haw, K. (1998) Educating Muslim girls: Shifting discourses, Buckingham: Open University Press. Hodges Persell, C., James, C., Kang, T., and Snyder, K. (1999) Gender and education in global perspective, in J. Saltzman Chafetz (ed) Handbook on gender sociology, New York: Plenum, pp. 407–40. IDOS Study and Research Center (2014) Dossier statistico immigrazione 2014: Rapporto UNAR, Roma: Edizioni Idos.

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ISTAT (Italian National Institute of Statistics) (2014) Report migrazioni internazionali e interne della popolazione residente, anno 2013, http:// www.istat.it/it/files/2015/11/Migrazio ni-_-Anno-2014-DEF.pdf ———. (2015) Report migrazioni internazionali e interne della popolazione residente, anno 2015, http://www.istat.it/it/files/2016/12/Report_M igrazioni_Anno_2015.pdf Lagomarsino, F. and Ravecca A. (2012) Percorsi interrotti: le migrazioni come evento critico nella capitalizzazione e spendibilità del capitale umano, Mondi Migranti, 2: 105–22. ———. (2014) Il passo seguente: I giovani di origine straniera all’università: I giovani di origine straniera all’università, Milano: Franco Angeli. MIUR (Ministry of Education, University and Research) (2014) Gli alunni stranieri nel sistema scolastico italiano: A.S. 2013/2014 (Foreign students in the Italian school system, 2013/14 school year), http:// www.istruzione.it/allegati/2014/Notiziario_ Stranieri_13_14.pdf ———. (2016) Anagrafe nazionale studenti, http://anagrafe.miur.it/ index.php OECD (Organisation for Economic, Co-operation and Development) (2015) International migration outlook 2015, Paris: OECD Publishing. ———. (2016) Education at a glance 2016, http://www.oecd-ilibrary. org/education/education-at-a-glance-2016_eag-2016-en Perna, R. (2015) L’immigrazione in Italia: Dinamiche e trasformazioni in tempo di crisi, Social Policies, 2(1): 89–116. Portes, A. (1997) Immigration theory for a new century: Some problems and opportunities, International Migration Review, 31(4): 799–825. ———. (1998) Social capital: Its origins and applications in modern sociology, Annual Review of Sociology, 24: 1–24. Portes, A. and Rumbaut, R.G. (2001) Legacies: The story of the immigrant second generation, Berkeley: University of California Press, Russell Sage Foundation. ———. (2005) Introduction: The second generation and the children of immigrants longitudinal study, Ethnic and Racial Studies, 28(6): 983–99. Qin-Hilliard, D. (2003) Gendered expectations and gendered experiences: Immigrant students’ adaptation in schools, Innovative Practices for Leadership Learning, 100: 91–109. Queirolo Palmas, L. (2006) Prove di seconde generazioni: Giovani di origine immigrata tra scuole e spazi urbani, Milano: Franco Angeli. Ravecca, A. (2009) Studiare nonostante: I percorsi degli studenti di origine immigrata nell’istruzione superiore. Rapporti di relazione, capitale sociale e successo scolastico, Milano: Franco Angeli.

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———. (2010) Immigrant children school experience: How gender influences social capital formation and fruition? Italian Journal of Sociology of Education, 1: 49–73. Santagati, M. (2011) Formazione chance d’integrazione: Gli adolescenti stranieri nel sistema d’istruzione e formazione professionale, Milano: Franco Angeli. Santerini, M. (2008) School mix e distribuzione degli alunni immigrati nelle scuole italiane, Mondi Migranti, 3: 235–49. Spanò, A. (2011) Esistere, coesistere, resistere: Progetti di vita e processi di identificazione dei giovani di origine straniera a Napoli, Milano: Franco Angeli. Zurla, P. (2001) Percorsi di scelta: giovani tra scuola, formazione e lavoro, Milano: Franco Angeli.

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Balancing family, aspirations, and higher education: the gendered experiences of second-generation Arab American college women1 Pamela Aronson and Ivy Forsythe-Brown

Introduction Arab Americans comprise over 1.8 million people in the US (Ajrouch and Shin, 2018) identified as having ancestry from 18 nations [Algeria, Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Oman, Palestine, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, the United Arab Emirates, and Yemen] (Asi and Beaulieu, 2013). They have received scholarly attention in terms of identity, religiosity, and citizenship. However, little research has examined the college experiences of these recent immigrants. Middle Eastern and Muslim American family values stress family obligation and kin support over individual needs (Haddad and Smith, 1996). Muslim American parents often attempt to preserve religious beliefs and practices and resist children’s acculturation to dominant American culture (Haddad and Smith, 1996). Christian Arab Americans have had a relatively easier assimilation into white American society (Ajrouch and Jamal, 2007), although they also face cultural adaptation. This situation creates tensions for young adult college students, although little is known about how they navigate this process. In this chapter, we examine the gendered college experiences of Arab American young women, especially how they blend their college experiences with family expectations. In the American context, college students fall into an “emerging adulthood” period (age 18–25). This phase represents a period of “independent role exploration” (Arnett, 2000, p. 469), characterized by identity exploration in careers and romance, a lack of adult responsibilities, and a time of experimentation. Research on Arab American emerging adults has found that they experience

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psychological pressure as a result of straddling two competing cultural worlds: the Arab community, which emphasizes ethnicity and family togetherness, and the individualistic American society which their parents often consider to be morally compromised (Swanson, 1996; Naber, 2012). Generally, Arab and Muslim parents adhere to a more traditional or conservative approach to gender interactions between young adults in comparison to the more liberal American dating practices (Haddad and Smith, 1996). In particular, girls and young women are closely supervised and have restrictions on their interactions with the opposite sex (Haddad and Smith, 1996; Haddad, 2009). Middle Eastern and Arab American parents focus on pro-natalist values, such as early marriage and childbearing, and girls’ purity before marriage. Matchmaking and arranged marriages are common among Arab and Muslim immigrant families with a preference for marrying within the ethnic and religious group (Haddad and Smith, 1996; Haddad, 2009). In addition, Middle Eastern immigrant families expect that family members will spend as much time as possible together (Haddad and Smith, 1996). The gendered nature of family obligations can be heightened for immigrant groups, as domestic tasks such as child care and cooking that were communal activities in the country of origin now must be done solely within the migrating family. Female children often take on much of this work (Mehrotra and Calasanti, 2010). Girls are also expected to be a companion to their mothers and assist her in such tasks as shopping, child care, and meal preparation (Haddad and Smith, 1996). As a result of combining two competing cultures, Arab American youth exhibit dual lives where they employ American culture “by day” in the public sphere (for example, in schools and employment) and Arab culture “by night” in the private sphere of the family and ethnic community (Swanson, 1996). This orientation may be a means of reducing intergenerational conflict between immigrant parents and their second-generation children (Swanson, 1996). All the same, these young adults hold more individualist values than their parents, leading to generational conflict (Chen and Sheldon, 2012). A study of Muslim residential college students found that their “multidimensional identities” often do not fit into the binary identities expected of them as either Muslims or college students (Mir, 2014). Although previous research has examined aspects of the lives of Arab American immigrants, little is known about their college experiences. In particular, prior studies have not considered the gendered dynamics associated with young women’s college choices and expectations. Our

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study fills this gap in the literature by considering how young Arab American women pursue and conceptualize these experiences. Thus, we ask the following questions: how do young Arab American women navigate the college experience in relation to cultural expectations regarding family obligations, marriage, and motherhood? In what ways do marital and parenthood status lead to different college experiences? Finally, what factors enable “success” in college for these young immigrants and what factors impede their achievement?

Methods Description of setting The Arab and Middle Eastern population in metropolitan Detroit is diverse and complex. The population is largely Lebanese and Syrian (37%) with more recent immigrants from Iraq (35%) and Yemen (9%) (Baker et al, 2003). About 80% of Arab Americans in metro Detroit are foreign-born US citizens (Baker et al, 2003). Most are bilingual, speaking a language at home other than English (86%) with roughly 80% claiming to speak English very well (Baker et al, 2003). Arab Americans reside throughout the metropolitan region and are socioeconomically evenly distributed across income quartiles (Baker et al, 2003). Educationally, just over half of foreign-born Arab Americans have a high school diploma or less (56%) while about 73% of US born Arab Americans (second and third generation and up) have some college or more (Baker et al, 2003). Within the Arab American community in this region, the majority are Christian (58%) and a large minority are Muslim (42%) (Baker et al, 2003). Study design Data were collected between 2009 and 2014 at a four-year public commuter university in metropolitan Detroit. The sample was drawn from two larger in-depth interview studies on college experience. This chapter focuses on a sub-sample (N = 22) of women from these two studies (10 from study A and 12 from study B), all of whom are second-generation Middle Eastern immigrants. In study A, interviewees were recruited in classes, as all instructors in the university were asked (via email, with an attached recruitment flier) to make announcements regarding the project. In study B, a convenience sample was interviewed. Interviews were conducted faceto-face in a university setting by trained research assistants (study A) or

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senior-level sociology undergraduate students in connection with their Senior Research Seminar and under the supervision of the Principal Investigator (study B). The interviews, lasting between 30 minutes and two and a half hours, were tape recorded and transcribed verbatim. Interviewees completed a demographic survey and were given a $25 (study A) or $10 (study B) incentive payment at the conclusion of the interview. Sample The majority of the interviewees came from Lebanon, although a few were Iraqi, Syrian, Palestinian, or Egyptian. Of the 22 interviewees, 20 were 25 years old and younger; the remaining 2 interviewees were between 27 and 29 years old. The mean age was 22.36. Slightly more than half (54.5%; N = 12) had parents who had at least a Bachelor’s degree. Of these 12  women, 3 reported that both parents had at least a Bachelor’s degree, 4 reported that only their fathers had a degree, and 3 reported that only their mothers had a degree. The interviewees tended to come from relatively low-income families; only 23% (N = 5) reported a household income over US$50,000 per year (2 women declined to report their family incomes). At the time of the interview, most were out of the labor force (32%, N = 7) or working under 25 hours per week (32%, N = 7). In terms of college major, 1 woman majored in accounting, 2 chose education, 2 chose English and 1 majored in urban studies. The rest of the women were concentrated in biology, psychology, or health policy. Analytic strategy We began with inductive open coding for major themes and used a qualitative data analysis program (Atlas.ti) to enter codes, highlight passages of text, and compare co-occurrences of codes. This strategy sought to bring together potentially relevant interview quotes from multiple interviewees on a given theme. The presentation of findings that follows examines the gendered aspects of Arab American women’s college experiences in the US. Although all of the women melded Arab and American cultural expectations, these approaches are classified on a continuum, with collective–family ideals on one side and individualist approaches on the other.

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Findings Emphasizing collective–family ideals Reflecting cultural practices, about one third (N = 7) of the college students were married. Three of the women had become mothers and one was pregnant at the time of the interview. Combining early marriage and motherhood with college enrollment falls toward the side of collective–family ideals because of its emphasis on fulfilling family expectations. The subjective discussions of this cultural melding showed an emphasis on both upholding pro-natalist “Arabic” cultural traditions while simultaneously emphasizing the American individualistic ideals of individual academic achievement and aspirations. Blending these cultural expectations was not easy and often caused conflicts for the interviewees. The three women students who were already mothers faced significant strain. All had married before age 21 (typically at 18 or 19) and became pregnant shortly thereafter. Many expressed significant tensions in their roles, as they had difficulty maintaining the expectations of both family obligation and academic achievement. In fact, many scaled back their achievement expectations and career aspirations and regretted taking on such time-intensive family roles so early in life. For example, Rashida2 expected to come back to college six months after becoming a parent, but ended up waiting a year. As she puts it, “How am I going to go to school with only two hours of sleep? I’ll just go to sleep on the desk.” Despite waiting, it was difficult to return. She said, “I really became … stupid after I gave birth because of lack of sleep … Coming back to school … was really sometimes hard and nerve-wracking. I really did not think I could do it.” In addition to her responsibilities as a mother, Rashida also had responsibilities for her parents. She said: “my parents depend on me a lot for a lot of stuff, my mom especially. So there is a lot of pressure on me … Sometimes [my mom] goes into … a really deep depression and I’m the one that takes care of her.” Similarly, Nour described feeling “guilty … every single day” because her three-year-old daughter starts crying and asking her to not go to school. In addition to her own family and household responsibilities, she also assists her parents, who have limited English abilities. She undertook typical language brokering tasks among recent immigrants: she made phone calls for her parents, took them to appointments, and paid their bills. Although this woman had the most egalitarian

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husband of the women interviewed, he still complained that she had not “cleaned the house in forever” or “cooked anything for the past two months.” Nour said: “He doesn’t blame me, but he just says … ‘oh, I haven’t had any home-made food for a long time.’” Because she felt “guilty,” she had difficulty making the time to complete her homework. When her husband and daughter were home, “there’s no way I can sit home and study.” When they were away from the house, Nour felt pulled toward domestic tasks. As she puts it, “if they weren’t home and I was home, I feel like, oh my God, I have to do the dishes, go vacuum, clean the house … I feel guilty being at home and not doing anything for my family.” Nour summed up her feelings as follows: “when I got married and had a child, I knew it was going to be harder [to go to college] but I didn’t know [it would be] this much [harder].” Although she had hoped to become a doctor, Nour’s family obligations led her to come with “a system” where she did not aim for As, but Bs, and sometimes Cs. Although it was less time consuming, she knew that “Bs and Cs [are] not going to get you into med[ical] school.” In short, Nour decided to sacrifice her career aspirations to absolve her guilt toward her family. Ultimately, the cultural tensions between achievement and family responsibility were resolved in favor of family, and college was expected to fit around her intensive family obligations. At the same time, it is notable that Nour did not abandon her pursuit of her degree and thus combined these conflicting roles. Many of the young mothers had a great deal of support from their own families. Family support was emotional, physical, and financial. Providing child care was a significant function and was primarily done by their own mothers. The interviewees said that they could not afford or would not use other forms of child care, so this assistance allowed them to continue with college. For example, Mariam said that her mother took care of her daughter, helped her by cooking home-made meals that upheld the cultural standards of a new wife, and provided her with emotional support. She said, “if my mom wasn’t there encouraging me … to keep going … I wouldn’t be in school. Honestly.” Fathers occasionally provided child care, but more often provided financial and other forms of assistance, such as transportation and “moral support.” For example, Rashida said that her support system was her dad, who provided her with money, transportation, and babysitting. She said: “he’s like really rooting me on … ‘you can do it’ … the whole moral support. Well, he’s the babysitter sometimes, but he’s really … there for me.”

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All three mothers said that they had supportive husbands, although they seemed to vary in how much responsibility their husbands took for the child care and domestic work. Rashida called her husband “supportive” and said that he influences her to “go get an education.” She went on to say, “sometimes when he sees me struggling trying to get a paper done and [my daughter is] screaming at the top of her lungs, he actually just takes her and goes upstairs and just tries to let me be alone for a few minutes.” Although this example does not suggest an egalitarian relationship, it was cited as important toward helping women succeed. Generally, the interviewees said they felt happy and proud about being mothers. However, they also exhibited regrets about early family formation. For example, Nour, who aspired to becoming a doctor, said that “marriage wasn’t in my mind” when her husband proposed. She implied that she liked being married both because she had residential independence from her parents and permission to engage in sexual activity (“When you’re not married, you have to live with your family. And you can’t do certain stuff … You’re not allowed to have boyfriends.”). Nour had planned to delay childbearing, but her husband convinced her to have a child early in the marriage. She noted: I was actually against it. Like, I’m in school. I do not want a child … I blame it on him … He kept nagging and nagging and nagging … I said ok but I … didn’t think that, “oh my God why am I saying ok? What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen to school?” … But that wasn’t a good decision. It was all him … I think if I was still single, I’d like still be in the honors … all the way top of my class and [parenthood] just changed my entire life. As a result of getting diverted from her initial plan to become a doctor, Nour gave the following advice to current students: “don’t think about getting married. Don’t think about having a child until you’re done with school.” Married women without children also emphasized family obligations over individual achievements. When they were asked about their decision to attend college, many described family expectations that prioritized marriage over a college degree. For example, Sabah, married, said that her father expected his daughters to graduate from high school and then get married. Sabah “challenged” her father’s views about college and he eventually changed his mind. Similarly, Rashida,

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who at 21 was married and had a child, said that her grandfather had curtailed her aunts’ education at a young age. Although her father was generally supportive of her pursuing college, he expected As of his sons but found Bs and Cs acceptable for his daughters. She resisted the restriction and lower priority of girls’ education that was typical among immigrant families in her community. She remarked: There’s so many girls that are not allowed to go to school. You know, “you sit home. You raise kids. You get married.” No. I guess I’m not the traditional woman … People don’t believe I can get a degree. So I can show them … we Arab women, we can get degrees … The scarf on my head is not oppressing me … I can become who I want. In pursuing a degree while also upholding traditional marital and childbearing practices, Rashida is forging an approach that melds potentially conflicting cultural imperatives. In fact, when her brother violated the family’s religious ban on alcohol and drugs, Rashida reported that he was “not doing a good job” with carrying on “his father’s name.” Although it was unusual for girls to achieve educationally on behalf of their families, she said that one of her “secrets” was: “trying to make my dad proud.” She went on to say that she took the atypical approach of viewing her own educational achievement as stepping in for her brother. As she puts it, “at least [my dad] can become proud of one of his kids … I’m proud that I’m living up to my dad’s dreams … keeping up the family’s name.” Yet Rashida also wanted a degree for career purposes: “I did want to work … and try to just go up the ladder.” This could be tied to some concern about being able to support herself financially in the future. She noted that “divorce rates are so high. I’m not saying we’re going to get divorced but anything can happen. And why should I just sit at home and just depend on him, you know? No, I’m a woman and I can do what I want to do.” Thus, this example blends cultural perspectives by combining early marriage and childbearing with a view of education that emphasizes not only individual achievement but also resistance to traditional paths and independence and strength as a woman. However, not all of the interviewees had parents who opposed their college attendance. Hala’s parents wanted her to delay marriage until after she completed school. It was she who wanted to get married early on and, at age 22, was pregnant at the time of the interview. Calling her parents “open-minded,” she contrasted them with typical Arab

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parents as follows: “some of the families … they don’t care if their daughter’s educated. They just care if their daughter gets married … My parents … they’d rather I be educated than married.” Although Hala followed early marriage customs, she also resisted them. When her parents and siblings thought that she would drop out of college after marriage and pregnancy, she was determined “to prove them wrong.” In an interesting comment that contrasts the age at which American and Arab American women establish themselves, Hala said that American women “get on their feet” and leave home at age 18, whereas Arab women “don’t ‘get on our feet’ till 35.” Here, she is referring to the sense that Arab women spend their early adult years consumed with marriage and children rather than forging their own identities. The married interviewees who were not yet mothers also experienced strain as a result of balancing their college and family expectations. These women were expected to devote a great deal of their time to their husbands and housework, as well as to their own families. As a result, college was often not their first priority. For example, Manal reported that she took time off because she was “so distracted by wedding planning.” Similarly, Sabah said that attending college caused “a huge strain in my marriage.” Since she was both working and attending college, she was not able to follow cultural expectations regarding housework. Sabah said: there was just no time. I think, unfortunately, that put a lot on my husband to … make dinner a lot. He was … very supportive. It’s not like he cared. But … he worked 50 to 55 hours a week. Who’s going to clean? So, if you want to study, when are you going to do this? Part of the pressure to work while going to college was due to what she called the “American ideas” about the importance of “home ownership” and “having this nice house.” Sabah said “we needed two incomes to maintain, but even that wasn’t enough.” Thus, individualist American notions of financial and educational achievement conflicted with the time-intensive cultural ideals of being a wife. In sum, the married interviewees fell toward the collective family side of the continuum of cultural blending. Although they combined early marriage and childbearing with college, traditional ideals made it difficult to reconcile conflicting roles. Ultimately, college was secondary to family demands and some women narrowed their ambitions or expressed regret about early family formation.

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The middle of the continuum: delaying marriage In the middle of the collective–family and individualist continuum of blending Arab and American cultural expectations are the majority of unmarried women who delayed marriage to pursue their college education. However, they still expected marriage and childrearing to be a central part of their life and many had significant obligations to their parents and sometimes siblings. Thus, although achievement through college was important to them, they also emphasized the importance of family. When asked why they enrolled in college, these interviewees expressed diversity in their parents’ views of marriage and its relationship to education. For some families, attending college was viewed as an alternative path to early marriage. While they still expected to marry relatively early in life, marriage was delayed until after college completion. For example, when Bushra was asked where she would be if she had not gone to college, she said: “I don’t know, my parents would probably make me get married or something, married with, like, four kids.” Similarly, Rena said that going to college was unusual for girls in her community: “In … the Arab culture … school isn’t as important … It’s not very likely that young Arab girls will … go off to college. That doesn’t really happen, especially in this city. There’s just a few of us.” Samira reported that the alternative to college was to be trapped “in a box”: “it’s either … staying at home, getting a job, or … getting married, which [is what] basically … all Arabs think.” Of these options, she chose college over marriage. As she put it, “Why would I want to live that life and trap me in a box?” In fact, some of the interviewees were encouraged to go to college by their mothers, who had taken a more traditional path themselves. For example, Rena said that her mother told her to go to college before marriage “because she didn’t have that opportunity. She got married first and I guess she sees that wasn’t the right choice.” Despite a focus on pursuing a college degree in their early twenties, the cultural importance of having a family was not diminished for these interviewees. In fact, reflecting a dual focus on family and achievement, they expected that marriage and children would be a priority in their life in the near future. For example, Takia reported that her parents said “go to college, then get married,” yet she was willing to consider marriage during college for “the right person.” At the same time, she did not want marriage to alter her college or graduate school plans. As she put it, “if I get married in … a year or something, I’m not going to change my plans. I’m still going to go

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to graduate school. [My husband] has to accommodate and I have to accommodate for him.” In this example, we see a cultural blending that emphasizes marriage and a focus on family as well as an emphasis on achievement and relatively gender-egalitarian perspectives. This approach differs from the married women, who emphasized the ways in which their schooling was expected to fit into their lives around their family obligations. Further reflecting the dominance of family demands in their lives, some interviewees said that they had narrowed their educational plans and career aspirations as a result of their expected family obligations in the future. For example, Imani is a recent graduate who worked as medical assistant but had the eventual goal of becoming a physician’s assistant. She had previously considered going to medical school, which she later dismissed as a result of her hoped-for future family responsibilities. Imani attributed these plans directly to Arabic cultural expectations. She noted: [in] the Arab community, the women are automatically assumed to take on the responsibility with the children, responsibilities at home … so I feel like that has … changed my future goals … Being the female and having all these societal expectations thrown at you kind of gets to you and you … internalize it … That has changed my goals. So if I were male, I think I would’ve definitely went to medical school. In particular, Imani was concerned about being in medical school during the decade of her twenties, when most women in her community have children. These women also discussed the cultural expectation to live at home before marriage. Zainab said: “I’m going to stay home until I get married.” In her father’s family, “the girls … they went to university, but … they didn’t leave their house … I guess, he feels safer that way … It’s a cultural thing.” For this interviewee, commuting from home to college also meant that she wouldn’t “miss out on … my social life and family.” For another interviewee, her “authority figures,” especially her mother, would not allow her to visit a nearby residential campus, although her male cousin was “allowed” to attend there and “do whatever he wants.” Many of these women had significant responsibilities in their families, especially for younger siblings. For example, as “the oldest child,” Rena said: “I have responsibilities when it comes to my house

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and everything … taking my brother to school, waking him up every morning, fighting with him to get dressed. Also, I guess, like chore work and everything.” Aisha, whose parents are divorced, also “help[s] out a lot at home,” including cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, shopping, and taking care of her younger brother and cousin. Thus, the women in the middle of the continuum blended the cultural ideals of individual achievement and family obligation. They pursued their college degrees while maintaining significant family connections. Although they were able to prioritize college, many scaled back their aspirations as a result of future family goals.

Emphasizing individualist ideals In contrast to the interviewees mentioned earlier, there were a few women who rejected traditional cultural ideals in favor of American individualist approaches. For some, this took the form of focusing on their educational achievement and career aspirations, and expecting that marriage and children would play a less central role in their lives. For example, Jinan, a recent graduate, said that she went to college “because I wanted to be independent to be able to educate myself, not have to rely on somebody in the future. And in the future whenever I did decide to get married and have kids, my kids could rely on me rather than my husband.” Another interviewee described her career goals as applying to medical school and becoming a doctor. The future goals of these women were not centered on marriage and children, but their own achievement. In fact, there were two interviewees who broke with traditional expectations entirely. These women were living alone at the time of the interview and had engaged in American dating practices atypical of the other immigrants in this study. Both experienced periods of estrangement from, and struggle with, their parents and other family members of their families. At the same time, these women still embraced traditional female expectations regarding children, who were cited as a major life goal. Rima, one interviewee who fit into this category, was the only one in the sample to have enrolled at a residential college. She wanted to be a lawyer. When she started college, Rima lived with roommates, and “we always just partied.” Rima experienced a “culture clash” with her family because she expected to experience college in a more typical American way, while they expected that “Lebanese girls don’t live outside of the house until they get married.” Her parents also disagreed with how Rima dressed, which she called “revealing.”

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Thus, her parents felt that she was becoming too “Americanized.” In addition, she had dated a man outside of Arab American dating practices, although her parents were unaware of the relationship. Rima described the cultural perceptions of her family as, “Oh my God, what’s wrong with this girl?” Her parents sought to correct her Americanization by sending her to Lebanon to live with her extended family. Rima described the events as follows: They realized that I was too Americanized so they sent me to Lebanon for a weekend to talk to my Uncle about moving out of the house … When I got there, my passport was taken at the airport to check me in, because at the time, you could do that if you’re a military family. But they never gave me back my passport and then they were like, “Surprise, you’re living here!” So I was there for six months until I was able to contact the American embassy and they got me a new passport and a plane ticket and I came back home … But it was a big lie and they had this big plan. And they wanted to enroll me in the American University of Beirut … For the first … three months, I wasn’t allowed to go out anywhere on my own. And then once I did, I started going to the embassy, getting my papers set up. My friends from here sent me money and then I snuck out one night and flew back home. When Rima came back from Lebanon, “I didn’t talk to my parents for, like, a year … I was cut off … unless I moved back home. And I wasn’t going to live with them.” As a result, she had to pay for college on her own, which meant working full time and slowing down her progress in college. However, Rima felt that it was a good tradeoff. She said: “I chose my independence over completing college faster.” Despite rejecting a great deal of Arab expectations, Rima still expected marriage and children to be important to her life in the future, and planned to marry her current boyfriend. As she puts it, “I keep thinking, ‘when am I going to have kids?’… I want to be married before I’m 30. That’s the plan for us. And as soon as I’m married, I’m getting pregnant.” Thus, although Rima rejected most of her family’s cultural ideals, she did not reject the importance of marriage and children in her future life.

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Conclusions This study found that Arab American young women blend gendered cultural ideals in ways that can be classified on a collective–family to individualist continuum. On the collective–family side, young women follow Arab customs of early marriage and childbearing while simultaneously pursuing their college degrees. These women experience significant tensions as they combine contradictory expectations of achievement and family obligations, and college ultimately goes on the back burner. Delayed marriage, in the middle of the continuum, is comprised of unmarried women who prioritize their education yet still expect to follow Arab practices with regard to family formation and obligations. At the other end of the continuum, there is a rejection of traditional expectations and an emphasis on individualist goals, including American dating practices. In this cultural blending, these Arab American young women report feeling as if they have one foot in American culture and one foot in Arab culture. However, the shape and extent of this cultural straddling varies, depending on where they are on the continuum. The Arab American students’ bifurcated or “two worlds” cultural experience derives from trying to accommodate the more traditional cultural expectations of parents, family, and community while being actively involved in American society. Although the significant family obligations of the Arab American students reflects the gender and cultural orientations of their ethnic immigrant community, tensions about conforming to those obligations were also an important part of their experiences as immigrants. These tensions led to inconsistencies, such as marriage and childbearing at a young age, coupled with regretting early motherhood and longing for the achievement possibilities that were curtailed as a result of intensive family demands. At the same time, the immigrant experiences of these young women involved embracing American ideals, including women’s educational achievement and financial success. Although these women highly valued marriage and children, some emphasized the importance of women’s independence from men. The influx of first-generation and immigrant students into higher education calls for four-year colleges and universities to more thoroughly understand and address the particular needs of these students. This is quite comparable to the second-generation students in Italian universities discussed in Chapter Eleven. Young mothers, and those for whom English is not their first language, face significant strain as they pursue their degrees. University programs, including

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financial aid assistance, should be attentive to the gendered and class-based dimensions of these students’ experiences. It is only by understanding and trying to address the unique needs of these students that they will be able to succeed in college and, ultimately, in their new home country. Notes 1.

This project has been funded by the Rackham Graduate School at the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, the Institute for Research on Women and Gender at the University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, and the Office of Research and Sponsored Programs at the University of MichiganDearborn. We would like to thank the following research assistants, whose help was invaluable: Ashleigh Hodge, Sumeyya Rehman, and Cynthia Douglas.

2.

All names are pseudonyms to protect the identity of respondents.

References Ajrouch, K. and Jamal, A. (2007) Assimilating to a white identity: The case of Arab Americans, International Migration Review, 41(4): 860–79. Ajrouch, K. and Shin, H. (2018) Twilight of ethnic identity? Implication of mixed ancestries among Arab Americans, International Migration & Integration, 19: 59–73. Arnett, J.J. (2000) Emerging adulthood: A theory of development from the late teens through the twenties, American Psychologist, 55: 469–80. Asi, M. and Beaulieu, D. (2013) Arab Households in the United States: 2006–2010, American Statistical Briefs – US Census Bureau. Baker, W., Stockton, R., Howell, S., Jamal, A., Chih Lin, A. Shryock, A et al (2003) Detroit Arab American Study (DAAS). ICPSR04413-v2. Ann Arbor, MI: Inter-university Consortium for Political and Social Research. Chen, K. and Sheldon, J.P. (2012) Arab American emerging adults’ bicultural identity, acculturation stress, and perceptions of parenting, Journal of Immigrant & Refugee Studies, 10(4): 438–45. Haddad, Y. (2009) The shaping of Arab and Muslim identity in the United States, in R. Alba, A.J. Raboteau and J. Dewind (eds) Immigration and religion in America: Comparative and historical perspectives, New York: New York University Press, pp. 246–76. Haddad, Y. and Smith, J.I. (1996) Islamic values among American Muslims, in B.C. Aswad and B. Bilge (eds), Family and gender among American Muslims: Issues facing Middle Eastern immigrants and their descendants, Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.

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Mehrotra, M. and Calasanti, T.M. (2010) The family as a site for gendered ethnic identity work among Asian Indian immigrants, Journal of Family Issues, 31: 778–806. Mir, S. (2014) Muslim American women on campus: Undergraduate social life and identity, Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Naber, N. (2012) Arab America: Gender, cultural politics, and activism, New York: New York University Press. Swanson, J.C. (1996) Ethnicity, marriage, and role conflict: The dilemma of a second-generation Arab-American, in B.C. Aswad and B. Bilge (eds) Family and gender among American Muslims: Issues facing Middle Eastern immigrants and their descendants, Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press, pp. 241–9.

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Young, educated, and female: narratives of post-1991 internal Albanian migration Ermira Danaj

Introduction This chapter1 focuses on the experiences of highly educated female internal migrants in Albania. Since the fall of socialism in 1991 and the erosion of state infrastructures that strictly regulated internal and international migration, an estimated 1.5  million people have left Albania, more than half of the current resident population (Gëdeshi and Jorgoni, 2012, p.  6; Vullnetari, 2012, p.  15). While the first decade of post-socialism witnessed a predominantly male migration, data gathered since 2001 points to a shift: the gap between male and female migrants who leave Albania to migrate abroad is becoming less and less significant. Data on internal Albanian migration reveals that women are more likely to migrate internally than men. In Albania, during the decade of 2001–11, women accounted for 59% of internal migrants (Galanxhi et al, 2014, p. 25). The predominance of women in internal movements is not, however, surprising, since Ravenstein (1885) explicitly stated how women are more involved in internal short-distance movements compared to men who migrate out of the country. The chapter is based on the analysis of in-depth interviews of eight young2 female migrants who moved to Tirana, the capital of Albania, for education purposes.3 They all originated from different cities and villages in Albania, but after completing their studies in Tirana they did not return to their native communities. The aim of this chapter is to investigate how gender is embedded in the process of migration of these young women, and the effects of migration in shaping gendered subjectivities and gender relations.

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Theoretical context of gender and youth migration Gender is considered as a social construct; it is produced and reproduced consistently through social practices and interactions, and experienced through multiple social institutions such as the family, labor market, and state, among others (West and Fenstermaker, 1995; Mahler and Pessar, 2001). Gender refers to socially created meanings, relationships and identities organized around reproductive differences (Scott, 1986; Connell, 2002). From a feminist perspective, gender is not only an identity but also an organizing principle of collectivities, social institutions, historical processes, and social practices (Nakano Glenn, 2000, p. 5). Subjectivities are constructed in relation to others, are made and remade through negotiation, mediation, and resistance (Gill, 2008, p. 439), and shaped by various categories such as gender, class, and sexuality. Gendered subjectivities are not static but constantly being produced and reproduced (Boehm, 2004). Change is implicit in gender relations too (Connell, 2002). This chapter is based on premise that migration patterns and processes, migrants’ experiences, and the social, political, economic, and cultural impacts of migration are gendered, and, at the same time, migration influences gender relations (Erel et al, 2003) in various social institutions. One of the first pioneering works about the importance of migrant women was published in 1885. Social geographer Ernest Ravenstein proposed then “the laws of migration” and clearly indicated that more women were migrants than men, despite the common view of women attached to the “domestic life.” Ravenstein shows how women are more engaged in short-distance migration “in some other county of the same kingdom,” compared to men who migrate to another “kingdom” (Ravenstein, 1885, p. 197). It was the first study on the participation of women in migration processes. After that, it took until 1984 until this issue was analyzed again in the special edition of International Migration Journal, where Mirjana Morokvasic (1984) criticized the persisting male bias in migration studies. Studies on gender and migration have subsequently developed and revealed various aspects of intersection between gender and migration. In contrast to the image of women as passive dependent subjects in migration, scholars showed that women are active migrants, moving for various reasons and exposing their agency in various moments of the migration process (Oso Casas, 2006; Schmoll, 2006; Dahinden et  al, 2007; Moujoud, 2008; Erel, 2009; Kihato, 2009; Parreñas, 2009; Vianello, 2009; Dahinden, 2010). Women do not migrate only for economic reasons and cannot be found only in low-skilled jobs.

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Migration may correspond to an escape from gender constraints and patriarchal practices prevailing in the country of origin (Morokvasic, 1984; Moujoud, 2008; Erel, 2009; Kihato, 2009; Vianello, 2009). Furthermore, the profile of the migrant is no longer the poor or less skilled woman (and man). Studies on migration have shown that women who migrate may be high skilled and in search of a better paid job and career opportunities (Kofman, 2000; Kofman and Raghuram, 2015). The entwinement between migration and gender is complex and cannot be framed only within unidirectional conclusions: for example, “migration empowers women.” As stated by Morokvasic (2008, p. 2): “Crossing borders can be empowering, and established gender norms may be challenged. However, it can also lead to new dependencies and reinforce existing gender boundaries and hierarchies.” Moreover, the empowerment and the agency of migrant women are not reinforced or demonstrated only in their destination locations but also in their place of origin. The agency of women is manifested already in the very fact of engaging in migratory projects (Moujoud, 2008; Erel, 2009; Lévy, 2015). When it comes to young people, it may be noticed that children and youth are significantly involved in internal migration, especially in South–South migration contexts. According to Yaqub (2009, p. 14), internal interprovincial migration in Argentina, Chile, and South Africa involved 11 times as many people as international migration; and internal intra-province migration was roughly as large. Youth in developing countries are diversifying their opportunities through combining internal and international migration projects (Heckert, 2015) as well as different migration purposes. Migration for education purposes is becoming increasingly present in the spectrum of internal and international migration. Education migration is often an early phase in stepwise migration, such that youth may first migrate internally to obtain education and skills, and later to other domestic or international destinations providing more and better opportunities (King and Skeldon, 2010), as in the case of the young Filipino professionals in Chapter Nine.

Albanian context and migration During the communist regime (1944–91) in Albania, international migration was forbidden and the internal migration was state controlled. Rural retention and minimal urbanization was practiced from the early 1960s onwards (Sjöberg, 1994) and an obligatory use of

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a domestic passport was practiced (Vullnetari, 2014). Albeit migration, both internal and international, started in year 1990, when it was understood that the regime might change, it was only in 1993 that internal and international movement of Albanian citizens was legally liberalized. The post-1991 internal migration in Albania is a femaledominated migratory process, unlike international migration. The higher percentages of young women may also be explained by the number of female students in universities, which are all located in cities (Vullnetari, 2012, p. 95). There are also cases were highly educated young women move to Tirana after having finished their studies. They do so mainly because of “the stagnation … of cultural life” (Vullnetari, 2012, p. 213) in other parts of Albania, except for Tirana and other urban centers, and the stronger conservative social pressures. During the communist period, Albania implemented what is called the “women’s emancipation model” (Moghadam, 1995), or policies that support the participation of women in the productive labor force, and introduced new laws that promote the equality of men and women, with little impact on changing “traditional” gender roles in the reproductive sphere, as in other countries. One of the features of the aftermath of the fall of communism in the early 1990s was the withdrawal of women from the labor market and the political sphere. Despite the changes since the early 1990s, the participation of women in the labor market remains significantly lower compared to that of men (INSTAT, 2015). At the same time, women are almost exclusively in charge of unpaid care work (INSTAT, 2011). Education still remains an important value for boys and girls in Albania. This may be one of the legacies of communist period. The 2011 Census data (INSTAT, 2012) still showed a high tendency of boys and girls to get educated, even though there were regional and wealth variations. It is relevant to mention that parents’ own educational attainment seems to have no impact on their children’s level of education (Danaj et al, 2005). Education appears to be one of the main reasons and also a rationale for the migration of young women to the capital.

Main findings Having a degree and escaping from the place of origin Studies have shown that university studies are becoming more and more attractive as a way to achieve economic security, especially for girls who are considered as disadvantaged regarding entry to the labor

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market compared to men (INSTAT, 2015). The number of female students at the university level is higher than that of male students; among high school students, 84.7% of girls as opposed to 72% of boys wish to continue their studies (Çela et al, 2012, p. 21). There are a number of reasons why university education in Tirana is attractive for women. First, university studies appear to be essential not only for finding a good job, but also as a form of self-achievement. Iris said: I could not imagine myself without university diploma. What could I do without a degree, no job, nothing. I would be a failure.… That is why I had decided, together with my family, to attend the University of Tirana and later, maybe somewhere abroad. “Education in Tirana” or “education abroad” seem to be the code words in which these women express their desire for higher education. Indeed, succeeding in their career by having a university degree is a sound motivation to move to Tirana. Second, migration in itself is also a sound and solid motivation. Some of the young women interviewed come from cities where there are no universities. For them, the desire for higher university studies is combined with the desire to move to Tirana, which is the biggest city in Albania. As Kiara says, she wanted to have a university degree, but on the other hand she “always” wanted to leave her small city and go to Tirana. Third, the motivation to escape from the social control of relatives and kinship over gender norms in the native home takes center stage in the narratives of these women. Iris said: what could I do in Librazhd, it’s such a small city, and you cannot do anything…. My life in Librazhd was confined at school and at home…. Thus, the only thing I was doing was watching TV, all the telenovelas, and having good grades at school so I could come to Tirana…. Even if I wanted to do something different like read a book alone in a bar, I could not, because neighbors or relatives or others acquaintances could see me and start gossiping … Lack of activities and the boredom associated with their native towns and villages, where—as the women describe it—nothing ever happens, is an additional reason for moving to Tirana. After the change of

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government in 1991, very little attention was given to the development of cultural and artistic infrastructure, especially for young people in Albania. There are very few cities with movie theatres; theatres are nonexistent in most parts of the country. There are very few public or private libraries outside Tirana. TV is the main entertainment for women and girls, while men spend their leisure time having coffee in the bars of the city, or in various sports and game parlors (Danaj et al, 2008). Thus moving to Tirana for university studies is a double escape: on one side, it is an escape from the social control of kin and community over gender roles, which confine girls and young women to the domestic sphere and to a certain code of behavior and dressing (Nixon, 2009), and on the other, it is an escape from the lack of leisure activities in their native home. Tirana appears highly attractive to these women because they imagine it as a city with a lack of control and with many opportunities for education, career, and other activities that are absent in their places of origin. This attraction is also facilitated by television as the main source of information. Television gives quite a glittering image of the city of Tirana. On TV, Tirana has the air of a very modern city (well-dressed fashionable young women and men, nice high buildings, nightlife, cinemas, festivals, and so on) in contrast to the native homes of the interviewees. TV appears to play a significant role in shaping the imaginaries about potential destinations and particularly about “alternative lifestyles” (Mai, 2004, p.  18), more “modern,” “independent from parents,” and others (Mai, 2004, p. 14). Imaginaries about Tirana as a place full of opportunities and freedom, as well as a place with no social control regarding gender norms, inform these women’s project to migrate to Tirana. Tirana scores high in the imaginary of achieving certain freedoms unavailable to these women in their native homes. Interviews illustrate how geographical gendered imaginaries outline these women’s project of migration, confirming what Appadurai (1996) emphasizes about the imaginary as a powerful force in shaping human action. Parents’ role in migration to Tirana Both parents’ and women’s desires fuse when it comes to making the decision to move to Tirana. Interviews show that parents and young women concur on this point; there are no substantial contradictions. For example, Eriola says that the decision to study at the university in Tirana was taken in total agreement with her parents. Kiara concurs:

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It was a mutual desire, my family’s and mine.… My family has always pushed me, even before coming to Tirana, to take classes in foreign language or take other courses. It was my family’s drive, combined for sure with my own desire. Parents are not only willing to let their daughters go to Tirana to study at the university in order to have better and “other opportunities in life,” as Olisa noted. They supported them financially4 as well as protecting them from adverse reactions in places of origin. Parental support is much needed because, as Kalaja (2014) observes, it is unusual for young women to migrate on their own to Tirana. Parents play a significant role when faced with gossip about their daughters’ migration on their own. The interviews show that, paradoxically, it is not within the family that social control materializes; rather, the close nuclear family plays the role of a shield against kinship/community reactions and gossip. According to Drotbohm (2010), gossip is not “just talk” but should be understood as a powerful tool for exercising social control. According to Kiara: My family has never been an impediment to my education and my advancement. The relatives yes, but not my family…. But I did not feel the pressure of my relatives because my parents protected me. They told me that they had many issues with the wider kin regarding my education, the various classes I was taking before coming to Tirana, or my plans to advance in my career rather than planning to have a family and a kind mother-in-law. My mother told me later how my relatives were gossiping or criticizing my parents for the liberties I had. These situations defy the stereotypical clear-cut distinction between “modern” children and “traditional” parents. Interviews in this research have shown that parents are the main “protectors” of their daughters against traditional social practices. The role of parents in these cases could hardly be portrayed as “traditional” or “backward.” Similar narratives are made visible also in the case of Turkish migration where education of young women was valued and encouraged by their parents in many cases (Erel, 2009). In Chapter Nine, young Filipino professionals were also supported by their families to migrate to Canada.

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Life in Tirana: juggling between opportunities and constraints This section expands upon the paradox that embodies the situation of women in Tirana: they experience less social control from kin and community, but at the same time they face highly gendered and sexualized prejudices and constraints that underlie the same mechanism as those they escaped from and subject them to new forms of precarity and dependency. Anonymity as an escape from social control Anonymity is a way to get away from social control. “The fewer people know you, the freer you are,” so the saying goes. Control as exercised by others to respect specific gender norms and roles is considerably diminished upon migration to the city. Tirana is a big and growing city, with new communities being created and people coming from all parts of the country. In such a context, people hardly know each other, and this provides the anonymity that young migrant women appreciate. By being anonymous, they feel less pressured and controlled. As Marjola says, in her native city, everybody controls everybody by asking all the time about who one surrounds oneself with and how one is dressing, among others. They appreciate the anonymity and physical distance in Tirana that separates them from the “prying eyes of the community” (Kihato, 2009, p. 86). At the same time, a change of everyday practices is experienced by these young women which makes them feel freer compared to their places of origin. This change includes the way people dress, cook, and eat, or practice sport. Going out to night clubs or sitting alone in a coffee bar would not be common in their place of origin because people would judge them, as they tell. One of the main reasons for not returning to the city or village of origin is related to the difference between control in their city or village of origin and anonymity or autonomy in the big city (Simmel, 2002 [1903]). As Alba says: Fortunately in Tirana you don’t know a lot of people and like this you are less controlled, and you can live normally, without this damn fear about she saw me doing this, he saw me doing that. In a similar way, Kiara avers that in Tirana one can get lost, and this makes up the freedom that Tirana provides compared to her native

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home. The streets in Albania, as Musaraj (2009) has aptly noted, carry ambivalent connotations. Walking in the streets of Tirana without knowing people is often presented in the interviews as the muchappreciated anonymity and “freedom,” while the streets of their native homes represent the place where social control is exerted at full force. For instance, the coffee shop in their native homes is a “forbidden” space for these young girls, in particular for those coming from towns and villages. Appropriating such a “forbidden” space in Tirana appear to give a sense of greater freedom compared to their place of origin. Tirana offers a liberating dimension of anonymity and autonomy compared to their places of origin. Yet the lack of social control and the liberating dimension of Tirana are mirrored by new gender constraints and difficulties. The other side of the paradox: gender and sexualized prejudices, financial uncertainties, and precarious jobs The paradoxical situation is manifested straight upon these young women’s arrival in Tirana. As the interviews show, they face gendered and sexualized prejudices because of living “on their own” and being far from their families; they are perceived to transgress the borders of accepted femininity. Having moved from “the provinces” and living alone in Tirana makes them easy prey to prejudices and discrimination by non-migrants and other migrants alike. From the point of view of those living in Tirana, almost all other cities in Albania are considered “provincial.” Thus, when young migrant women arrive in Tirana their behavior is often perceived as “liberated from chains.” This is complemented by many prejudices toward young female students moving on their own to Tirana, or “dormitory girls,” as they are often called. This is how Iris illustrates this point: As dormitory residents, we were all seen as whores. Especially older men and other people think so. You must know this expression “dormitory girls.” It means that these girls have all the worst qualities of the world, they are all whores, and they just want to get money from married men. We were and are still considered to spoil marriages and families. Kiara also says that it is not only non-migrants who show prejudice against them, but also other internal migrants, mainly those who migrated together with their families. The stigmatizing adjectives such

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as “dormitory girls” or “girls from the cities,” “the whores from the cities,” all mean the same. They are used to describe young girls with no “morals,” who lead an unacceptable life by any accepted “moral” norms. They are usually thought to have sexual relations for money; to have “destroyed married couples” because of their relationships with married men; their behavior is unacceptable because they live far from their families, who would usually exert control over them, and so on. There seems to be no such similar stereotyping for young male students. The lives of male students moving to Tirana appears to be an extension of their life in their city of origin and it is not thought to be marred by the radical change that the girls are subjected to. Men were allowed to pursue activities in public by themselves, and continue to do so when in Tirana. They were allowed to have relationships with girls and were not judged, and they continue to do so when in Tirana. But young women encounter a very different environment. Their life in Tirana is different from their previous life. They are freer, as they say, to do things that they could not do in their places of origin. This means they may have a nightlife, establish relationships with younger men or older men, go to the bars, and many more. Often, young people having migrated to Tirana for educational purposes do not return to their native home. The interviews in this chapter show that young migrant women invest as much as possible in their education and training (for example, pursuing Master’s and doctoral studies, graduating from two faculties to increase their employment chances, and so on) to find a well-paid job in Tirana and, as they say, to possibly leave the country. To achieve these objectives, they also try to mobilize all possible social networks. This describes the paradoxical situation these young women find themselves in. They appreciate the anonymity that Tirana offers because they know few people. On the other hand, they need to develop and maintain social networks to find a good job. Social networks here include less family and kin, but more friends and professional networks. Most of the women interviewed report that they found employment through their friends’ network. Others have succeeded in finding jobs in their field of study, or have been helped by their professors. Kiara says that after having held several temporary jobs, a professor in the department of psychology helped her obtain work with a nongovernmental organization (NGO) providing psychological research and counselling. Eriona recounts a similar situation. She says that during her studies she worked as an intern at one of her professors’ law firm because she was one of the best students, and she still works there. Another case is that of Alba, who says that she found a job at an

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NGO through her former employers, and now works as a consultant. She said: My employers helped me to find a job, by recommending me. This is a good job, and I can work in my profession […] I work for an NGO project, so probably this won’t last very much. There is no contract, no [social] insurance […] but it is an investment for my CV. Another strategy is that of mobilizing their “erotic capital” (Hakim, 2010) to succeed in their plans and objectives. Marjola illustrates this by saying: I have had a relation with an older man, much older, in fact. It’s not the end of the world…. In fact, I had this relation during my time as a student. I was quite lost and at the same time I did not want to return to my city. Having a relationship with this man, and all the facilities that he was providing me, was a kind of work, with some insurances [laughs]. […] It’s impossible to find a job in Tirana the normal regular way. Everybody knows this. You need to have important connections to find a good job and have some security … According to Hakim (2010, p. 512) erotic capital (that is, beauty, sexual attractiveness, flirtations, social presentation, sexuality, and so on) may be an essential concept for understanding sexual relationships and social processes in the public and private spheres of the individualized and sexualized cultures of modern societies in the 21st century, as much as economic, cultural, and social capital. Hakim (2010) further notes that, like social capital, erotic capital can be an important hidden factor in improving success in employment. The mobilization of sexuality here is mostly analyzed in the context of international migration. For example, in the case of Chinese migrants in Paris, Lévy and Lieber (2009) show that sexuality is turned into a resource that allows migrant women to achieve their objectives. The same is observed among internal migrants in Tirana. Three forms of capital are mobilized by young migrant women in Tirana: professional networks, “erotic capital,” and friendship networks. There is a seeming correlation between the type of social network and the kind of jobs they have found. The unequal position in finding a job is shaped by one’s social network, similar to what Lévy (2015)

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highlights in her research about Chinese migrants in Paris. Lévy (2015) pertinently uncovers how social networks may filter job opportunities and influence inequalities in job positions and entrepreneurial success. In the cases where professors or former employers have provided the necessary channels of support for finding a job, the chances are this position is more apt to fit their professional qualifications. When they have found jobs through friends, the chances are the jobs are not so much related to their studies and are more precarious—that is, characterized by no collective contracts, no employment protection, and a generalized and permanent state of insecurity (Bourdieu, 1998; Fredman, 2004). Working in jobs not related to their profession is the case for many other young migrant women living in Tirana on their own.5 Finding a job and having enough income to stay in Tirana become the most important objectives for these young girls after completing their studies. Thus, uncertain jobs with no social insurance are accepted as long as they bring in money. Accepting low-paid jobs and being in a state of constant fear and uncertainty about the job illustrates what Bourdieu (1998) defines as précarité, a generalized and permanent state of insecurity aimed at forcing workers into submission, into the acceptance of possible exploitation. All interviewees spoke of jobs with no collective contracts, and most of them without social insurance and employment protection, thus a state of precarity (Fredman, 2004). Iris and Erida also comment that the uncertainty of keeping a job is supplemented by a lack of solidarity and friendship in the workplace, illustrating situations which Bauman (2013) calls “liquid modern workplaces”—that is, where in the context of job insecurity competitiveness and suspicion prevail over solidarity. Furthermore, being a woman results in additional difficulties in the workplace, particularly in forming professional relationships with superiors and with male colleagues. Eriola summarizes the many challenges while accessing the labor market: Now I work for a private TV station. It’s very tiring and frustrating because we don’t get regular salaries. It’s paid well; there are no contracts, no contributions. But, it’s so difficult to find a job in Tirana so that you have to get used to this market. And the main problem is not the salary or the contract. It’s the attitudes of men, who are in higher positions, or those of other male colleagues, who treat you like a piece of garbage. And they are less educated than myself. It goes like this: Yes, you girls from the districts, you

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have no morals, that is why you are working here. Don’t put on weight because you’ll get fired […] OMG, I always wish to say to them: shut up people, just worry about your job and your life. But I don’t say anything, I just play this role of the stupid girl, and that’s all. I’m not staying there forever; it’s just a temporary job. I can cover my rent and other expenses and this is just enough. The irregularity of salaries, the absence of contracts and social insurance, the lack of collective bargaining, are features of precarious employment that many of these women are faced with. Stigmatization about their status as migrants—being girls “from the districts,” with no “morals,” ready to do anything to keep their jobs or advance in their careers, ready to do anything for money, and many more—form part of their life in Tirana. Sexual objectification, or equating a woman’s worth with her body’s appearance and sexual function (Szymanski et al, 2011, p. 6), is another issue affecting their situation. They have to stay thin and be good-looking to avoid losing their jobs to other young women. All of this adds to their already difficult situation in Tirana, where young women primarily moved to escape social pressure about gender norms in their places of origin. In Tirana, they face a precarious financial situation, highly gendered and sexualized prejudices and constraints that underlie the same mechanism they escaped from. It appears that they have remained in the same gender order—that puts women and men in unequal hierarchical positions, with unequal gender norms, roles, and expectations—but in a different constellation of gender constraints. Sexual harassment is another issue brought up by some of the participants in the workplace. Kiara said: I was sexually harassed for about a month and a half, and after that he [the employer] gave up because apparently, he saw that it was not going anywhere.… He was profiting from our situation because he knew that we were students, and we needed this job, so he considered himself to have the right to do this … Kiara shows that she is aware of sexual harassment and the reasons that put her in a vulnerable situation, which has to do essentially with her financial dependency. Sexual harassment does not happen only in small informal businesses, but also in those considered as more prestigious corporations. For instance, Olisa says that she had to quit

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the job because of harassment from her supervisor while she was working as a secretary for a newspaper company. Olisa adds that after she refused once to travel with her boss the next day, he warned her that if she could not travel with him, then she was not right for the job. She instead quit her job. These young women feel unprotected and do not know where to report experiences of sexual harassment. Iris illustrates this: But at a certain moment he [employer] made it clear that I had to sleep with him if I wanted the job. Thus, I left the job because I had no other choice, I could not complain to anyone about what was happening, so I just left the job. However, sexual harassment in the workplace is not specific to single highly educated migrants. Sexual harassment “undercuts woman’s potential for social equality in two interpenetrated ways: by using her employment position to coerce her sexually, while using her sexual position to coerce her economically” (MacKinnon, 1979, p. 7). The unwanted imposition of sexual requirements in a relationship of unequal power emphasizes the use of “the need” for women to find or keep a job. Migrant women are often faced with sexual harassment because of their “needy” position. Young migrant women in Tirana living on their own are subject to more sexual harassment than those living with their families. According to Kocaqi (2013), in an interview for this study: Life in Tirana is very difficult and very expensive. These young women give their best to find and keep a job. This puts them often in very unpleasant provoking situations of sexual harassments. Interviews also show examples where cases of sexual harassment do not preclude the agency of these young women, similar to what Erel (2007) demonstrates in her research about migrant women in Germany. They try instead to make use of their available resources, in most cases their social networks, and to carry on with their goals in life.

Conclusions For female student migrants, education is not only a strategy for a better career but also a rationale for migrating to Tirana. It is also a

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way to escape from the gender constraints and lack of opportunities in their places of origin. Hence, education, as a significant value for Albanian families, is strategically mobilized by young women as a tool and resource for migration; a more acceptable venture for single women. Emigration of young women “on their own” is less gossiped about and more quickly accepted by the community when it is for educational purposes. To achieve their desire to migrate to Tirana, a bustling city, women rely heavily on parental support not only for the needed finances but also their protection from adverse reactions of the community. Even when an individual migrates alone, there is a significant role for the family left behind, particularly in cultures where the family exercises influence over a daughter or son even after they have become adults (Lauby and Stark, 1988). The metaphor for the life of young female migrants seems to be a paradoxical pendulum. From one side, the escape from social control of their places of origin in Albania and the new freedom acquired by moving to a city in which they know very few people, if anyone at all, is greatly appreciated. The fewer people they know, they maintain, the freer they are with respect to specific gender norms and roles. In Tirana, they experience both anonymity and indifference. However, it appears that the “liberating” dimension of Tirana has a price. As the cases show, the women face gendered and sexualized prejudices because of living “on their own,” far from their families, which is perceived to be a transgression of accepted femininity. They encounter sexual objectification and sexual harassment in the workplace. In retrospect, Tirana appears to be more “a transitional phase” than a final destination. All the young women interviewed in Tirana have already applied to several places abroad to pursue further Master’s or doctoral studies. The interviews reveal a chain of geographical imaginaries in which internal migration is insufficient by itself and is entangled with international migration projects. Notes 1.

This chapter is part of my doctoral research on post-1991 internal and international Albanian migration. I wish to express my deep gratitude to my PhD supervisor, Prof. Janine Dahinden, for having oriented and supported me through my doctoral work. I would also like to thank Ajkuna Hoppe, a dear friend and colleague, who helped improve this chapter through her suggestions and editing.

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Interviews were conducted in 2012. All the interviewed women were younger than 30  years old. They are all single (that is, not married, cohabiting or in a “stable” long-term relationship). I have called them Kiara, Iris, Eriola, Erjona, Olisa, Erida, Alba, Marjola in this chapter to preserve their anonymity.

3.

The educational system in Albania includes: preschool education, not compulsory, age 3–5; primary school, compulsory, age 6–10 (Grade 1–5); lower secondary, compulsory (Grade 6–9); upper secondary school, not compulsory (Grade  10–12); tertiary or university level (UN Women, UNFPA, and INSTAT, 2014). Women in this chapter have migrated to Tirana for university studies, at the age of 18 or 19 years old.

4.

These young women come from middle and low economic level classes. In their interviews, they all state that most of their parents’ savings have been used to cover their education-related financial needs in Tirana.

5.

Many young internal migrant women in Tirana (including some of the participants in this research) work in call centers. These agencies operate mainly for foreign companies, as the cost of labor in Albania is less than in Italy. Here we have a situation of outsourcing of services from a developed to a low-income country in order to benefit from cheap labor. For further analyses of “call center” sectors in other countries see James and Vira (2012) and Mankekar and Gupta (2014).

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Moujoud, N. (2008) Effets de la migration sur les femmes et sur les rapports sociaux de sexe: Au-delà des visions binaires, Cahiers du CEDREF, 16: 57–79. Musaraj, S. (2009) Passport troubles: Social tactics and places of informal transactions in Post-Socialist Albania, Anthropology of East Europe Review, 27(2): 157–75. Nakano Glenn, E. (2000) The social construction and institutionalization of gender and race: An integrative framework, in M. Ferree, J. Lorber and B. Hess (eds) Revisioning gender, New York: AltaMira Press, pp. 3–43 Nixon, N. (2009) “You can’t eat shame with bread”: Gender and collective shame in Albanian society, Southeast European and Black Sea Studies, 9(1–2): 105–21. Oso Casas, L. (2006) Prostitution et immigration des femmes latinoaméricaines en Espagne, Cahiers du Genre, 40(1): 91–113. Parreñas, R. (2009) Inserting feminism in transnational migration studies, migrationonline.cz, May. Ravenstein, E.G. (1885) The laws of migration, Journal of the Statistical Society of London, 48(2): 167–23. Schmoll, C. (2006) Moving “on their own”? Mobility strategies and social networks of migrant women from Maghreb in Italy, The Institute for International Integration Studies (Dublin, Ireland) Discussion Paper, 154, May. Scott, J.W. (1986) Gender: A useful category of historical analysis, American Historical Review, 91(5): 1053–75. Simmel, G. (2002 [1903]) “The Metropolis and Mental Life”, in G. Bridge and S. Watson, (eds) The Blackwell City Reader. Oxford and Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Sjöberg, Ö. (1994) Rural retention in Albania: Administrative restrictions on urban-bound migration, East European Quarterly, 28(2): 205–33. Szymanski, D.M., Moffitt, L.B. and Carr, E.R. (2011) Sexual objectification of women: Advances to theory and research, The Counselling Psychologist, 39(1): 6–38. UN Women, UNFPA, and INSTAT (2014) Gender perspectives in Albania: Gender analysis of the 2011 population and housing census results, Tirana: UN Women. Vianello, F.A. (2009) Migrando sole: Legami transnazionali tra Ucraina e Italia, Milano: FrancoAngeli. Vullnetari, J. (2012) Albania on the move: Links between internal and international migration, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.

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PART IV:

Work

FOURTEEN

Characteristics of and gender differences in young Hungarians’ attitudes and intentions on emigration Ibolya Czibere and Andrea Rácz

Introduction In the last few years in Hungary, a serious interest has arisen concerning emigration intentions and processes related to emigration. This chapter deals with youth intentions to study and work abroad, as well as with retaining and motivating factors based on large-scale Hungarian youth research conducted by Kutatópont Ltd in 2012 (Kutatópont 2013). Hungary’s growing involvement in migration triggered dramatic processes after 2007, and even more so after 2010. This chapter presents those processes and trends, highlighting and analyzing the changes brought about by the transition of regimes and the migration dynamics of the recent period. Due to the uncertainties and validity problems of data in migration statistics, the official and valid administrative data that is available is extremely incomplete. This mainly stems from the lack of international and domestic migration statistics, so the mirror statistics of host countries are used for examination of migration processes. However, even these statistics are unsuitable to explore the actual underlying causes behind emigration, emigration duration, and other matters. Nevertheless, migration research essentially intends to indicate precisely what changes can be expected or predicted, changes that have considerable socioeconomic and demographic consequences for both the sending and the host countries.

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Migration trends in Hungary In former socialist countries, the change of regime led to the elimination of the restrictive emigration policies and the eradication of obstacles to traveling abroad; the borders became permeable and political control over migration disappeared. As a consequence, the intensity of migration in these countries increased significantly in the early 1990s. New forms of mobility also became typical and acceptable, such as short-term, income-oriented movements in the late 1990s and early 2000s for which the international literature coined the terms pseudo-tourism, quasi-migration, and unfinished migration (Gödri and Tóth, 2010). After the fall of the Iron Curtain, some analysts termed the group of countries including Hungary, Poland, Czech Republic, and Slovakia as a buffer zone between East and West (see Wallace et al, 1996; Wallace and Stola, 2001), while today, after joining the European Union (EU), the region of the “buffer zone” countries, along with Romania, have become the EU’s periphery. After regime changes in each country, there was a higher rate of migration toward and within the buffer zone; the rate of migration to western Europe, however, was far below what was expected, that is, what the West feared the most after the fall of the Iron Curtain did not occur—the “eastern European invasion” never happened. Later, this process intensified a great deal, at or after the millennium, and after the expansion of the EU, when some western and southern European countries became target countries. This was further enforced as the old EU countries—gradually, but steadily—opened their labor markets to the citizens of the new member states. Despite the similarities in the new forms of mobility that have appeared in central European member countries, they show extremely heterogeneous migration trends. That is, in terms of migration, central Europe cannot be described in terms of single, common characteristics. Consequently, over the last 20 years, immigration from central European countries has had different intensity, orientation, and timings. In Hungary, the greatest difficulties occur in the analysis of trends because of the inadequate quality and reliability of international migration data, as well as obstacles to actually accessing the data. In recent years, a sudden increase in migration trends has been experienced, whence—for the lack of accurate statistical data— several, often contradictory estimates of different scales and ranges have come to light, kindling debate among scholars and among the public through the media as well. One reason for this is that when political control over people leaving a country ceased,1 no serious

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notification was required of emigrants, and therefore the reliability of emigration statistics has significantly worsened in Hungary. The statistics published officially show presumably much under-rated values compared to the reality; that is, the actual number of emigrants from Hungary is significantly larger than that shown in the Hungarian migration statistics. The other reason, one that also creates complications, is the comparability of data between countries, which over time results from the definitional difficulties of migration (Gödri, 2015). The diversity of migration forms, as well as the reversibility and repeatability of migration, greatly complicate counting and identifying migrant groups methodically. According to the 1997 United Nations (UN) recommendation applied to resolve these difficulties, a person is considered a (long-term) immigrant if they change their country of usual residence for a period of at least 12 months (Coleman, 1994). Despite this recommendation, there are significant differences in the practice of collecting migration data, and the data coverage of certain types of real migration processes in each country (Gödri, 2015). In particular, measuring migration is very difficult (for the sending countries); therefore in the migration flow between two countries, the sending and receiving countries produce different data (Gödri, 2015). To alleviate this problem and to more accurately estimate the actual extent of emigration, most analyses employ data from mirror statistics (the immigration statistics of the receiving country), and the extent of migration is estimated accordingly. One possible analytical framework for migration processes over the past few years is the research approach that divides the migration process periods first into the mass accession of post-communist countries to the European Union in 2004; second, to the financialeconomic crisis period starting in 2008; and, third, this approach limits processes only to the EU. In this approach, Hárs’ (2013) results show that the increase in migration in Hungary when analyzing any period is much lower than in most post-communist countries, which means that as a proportion of population, migration is much lower than average for the region. The trend rate of labor migration in Hungary was negligible, even ten years after the regime change (Linden, 2003); it began to grow, however, after the country joined the EU, but the recent trend only changed and accelerated in the period of, or due to, the outbreak of the financial crisis. At the beginning of 2013, approximately 330,000 to 350,000 Hungarian citizens were living abroad, which is 3.3% to 3.5% of the total population. If we examine not only the European migration trends, but also those beyond the EU,

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the UN estimates that the proportion of the population living abroad is 5.1%. This rate is still largely below the rates of other countries (Lithuania 16.1%, Bulgaria 15.9%, Romania 14.3%, Latvia 14.2%, and Poland 8.7%) (Gödri, 2015). In addition, according to UN data (Gödri, 2015), in 2013 about 36% of the Hungarian-born population living abroad lived in Russia, the US, Canada, and Israel (26% in the US and Canada). In each of these countries, almost as many Hungarians are living as are living in Germany, Austria, and the United Kingdom together. According to the UN data cited, the number of persons born in Hungary but living abroad, regardless when they left the country, was 528,000 in 2013. After the transition period (1989), until the EU accession (2004), the majority of Hungarian employees abroad worked in their job for up to two years and the two most important destinations were Germany and Austria. At the beginning of this period, the number of emigrants rose sharply until the mid-1990s, and then gradually declined. In 2004, new growth could be witnessed, which analysts claim to result from the impact of the EU accession in 2004 that intensified emigration, despite the fact that only three of the older EU member states had opened up their labor markets to Hungarian workers—Sweden, Ireland, and the United Kingdom (UK) (Gödri and Tóth, 2010). A stronger growth of working abroad and emigration began around 2008, according to mirror statistics of both the Hungarian labor force survey and the host countries (also, between 2006 and 2007, other older member states, Finland, Italy, Spain, Portugal, the Netherlands, Luxembourg, and Greece terminated the employment restrictions for Hungarian employees).2 The combined effect of several factors may be responsible for the increase that has accelerated since 2011 (Gödri, 2015). Since joining the EU, the proportion of people currently working abroad has increased from year to year, but the dominance of Germany and Austria has remained in place. Each year, 14,000–25,000 Hungarian immigrants were registered in Germany after 2000, and studies claim that between 2000 and 2008 two thirds of the migrants arrived there on average (Gödri and Tóth, 2010). Migration to Austria is also significant, though much lower than to Germany (from 2,400 to 52,000 people per year). Moreover, the UK has adopted Hungarian employees increasingly in the last decade, but Ireland, the Netherlands, Italy, and Spain have also seen an increasing number of Hungarians. In January 2014, about 38% of Hungarian citizens in European countries (total 330,000) were living in Germany, 23% in the UK, and 14% in Austria (Gödri, 2015).

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The magnitude of the data from mirror statistics in migration trends show a significant difference compared to the domestic emigration statistics. One reason is that most people moving abroad have no reporting obligation, and those who do neglect it. Formerly, temporary stays of more than three months in a foreign country also required notification; as of 1 March 2013 onwards, only permanent residence abroad requires notification. The law does not set a time period for finality, as the citizens’ intentions are authoritative. A reporting obligation for those absent of more than three months has remained in place toward social security and tax authorities. As a result, the number of emigrant Hungarian citizens in the national statistics lags far behind the data of mirror statistics, although both databases indicate a growing trend in migration. Gödri (2015) calculates on the basis of data from mirror statistics that in 2013, more than 85,000 people migrated to European destination countries, while this figure barely exceeded 20,000 according to national statistics. Even the total of 80,000 can only represent a lower value of emigration than exists in reality, because on the one hand Hungarian citizens can also leave for countries outside of Europe and, on the other hand, the UK has been becoming an increasingly important target country whose mirror statistics are incomplete from 2006, so no data was provided for the year 2013. Nevertheless, according to available information, a total of almost 55,000 employees of Hungarian citizenship were registered in the country between 2004 and 2011, but more than that, about 80,000 people, and by March 2014, an additional 66,000 received a tax and social insurance number in the UK (Gödri, 2015). The growing trend of emigration on this scale and the high involvement of young people “makes Hungary an increasingly emigrant country” (Gödri, 2015, p. 188). Gender Examination of the characteristics of the migrants’ gender shows that there is a higher proportion of men, mainly in Germany, where the gender imbalance is very pronounced, with 62% of migrants being male, but a slight male surplus occurs in the UK, Ireland and the Scandinavian countries (52–5%) among those living abroad. A majority of female migrants can be observed mainly in Italy, with an highly significant proportion of 72%, and there is a lesser, but also characteristic female dominance in Spain, Switzerland, Austria, and the Netherlands (53–4%) (Gödri, 2015).

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Age According to age, the proportion of younger age groups among emigrants is higher, which applies to all destination countries. According to data from the Population Research Institute (KSH Népességkutató Intézet, 2015), more than half of migrant Hungarians (53%) residing in European countries in 2013 were in their twenties and thirties, while only 28% of the population belonged to this age group in Hungary. This also means that Hungarians living abroad form a younger socio-demographic group than the Hungarian average. Proportionately, the ratio of young people (20–39-year-olds) is very high in the newest destinations, mainly in the Netherlands (73%), Ireland, and Denmark (68–9%), as well as Spain and Italy (58%). The traditional destination countries, like Austria, Germany, or Sweden, have a lower proportion of young people, slightly below average (47–51%). Observing the latest migration figures since 2009, youth’s dominance is even more striking, as almost 80% moving abroad during this period belong to the younger age group. Education According to the results of emigration research of the SEEMIG Project,3 the educational attainment of Hungarians living abroad differs from that of the sending population. The different rate of Hungarians with higher education living overseas is striking (32%), which significantly exceeds the results among those in Hungary (18%). In particular, there is a high proportion of graduates (36%) among those Hungarians living in the UK. People with vocational education are over-represented in the other two main destination countries, Germany and Austria, but their rate is not different from home figures. There is also a higher proportion of single people (not married). According to the 2011 census, two thirds of single people staying less than one year abroad were men. Gödri (2015) reveals that young emigrants have higher fertility rate than those living in Hungary. For analysts, the most worrying aspect of Hungarian emigration is that mass emigration mostly affects the age group in their childbearing phase. As an example, immigrants of Hungarian citizenship living in England and Wales had a reported total fertility rate of 1.63 in 2011, which was significantly higher than the value reported for a similar period in Hungary, where the ratio was 1.24 (Gödri, 2015).

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Young Hungarians’ intentions for migration and their characteristics Migration is a selective process wherein the participants in the migration process, that is, people leaving their countries get selected (becoming migrants) according to certain aspects, and, consequently, the composition of the migrant population does not reflect that of the sending country (Brücker and Defoort, 2009). The selection can be interpreted as the multiple, combined effect of individual characteristics, but in most cases it is mainly influenced by what the likely costs and returns of the decision are, namely, what are the incentives to and restrictions on migration. The costs and returns primarily vary according to the individual’s main criteria, especially influenced by age, education, gender, and other important personal factors. Therefore, not only is the magnitude of the exodus an important factor, but also the composition of migrants that brings about a number of economic, social, and demographic consequences for both the sending country and the host country. The concept of positive and negative selection is interpreted in this regard as well. Positive selection occurs when the migrants have—for some important criteria, such as level of education, labor market status, income, and financial position—a more favorable composition than the origin country’s population as a whole, otherwise a negative selection takes place (Gödri and Feleky, 2013a). Those international longitudinal studies that are based on monitoring the total sample in both stages of the selection (for example, Gardner et  al, 1985; Van Dalen Henkens, 2013) prove that examining the composition of people planning to emigrate may result in conclusions, in some cases, about the actual composition of migrants, while in other cases, a significant shift occurs. Assuming that the formation of migration plans does not involve the same factors as the realization of actual migration, then only the combined analysis of migratory intention and migration can significantly promote understanding the selection process as a whole. Comparing the profiles of people considering migration plans and people realizing them, as well as comparing migration intentions and factors affecting actual migration may explain why some plans remain just plans, and what explains the change between the two stages of planning and realization. It is noted that: while migration intention arises from various attractive, repulsive and disincentive factors—or from the subjective

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perception of these—as well as from assessing migration costs and expected benefits from migration, in fact, the presence of a variety of human, financial, relational, psychological resources promote […] and external barriers (such as social norms and expectations, unanticipated costs, legal barriers etc.) hamper the realization of migration plans. (Gödri and Feleky, 2013b, p. 288) In other words, presumably, those groups have a better chance and opportunity to realize the actual migration who have convertible assets and individual resources to foster migration. Gardner et  al (1985) draw attention to the need for longitudinal studies, emphasizing that without these, the exploration of links between migration intentions, plans, and actually realized migration remains impossible. Despite this, few such researches have been implemented on international and national level so far.4 With regard to individual-level actions, migration is a multi-stage process (Kley, 2011), therefore looking at the planning stage, the different attitudes, expectations, and anticipations could be examined together with the individual socio-demographic data, and those individual factors can be described as affecting migration decisions the most. The decision-making and realization stages are completely separate within the migration process. This actually means nothing else than that the individual is considering, and then planning the emigration at the beginning of the process, wherein the individual reasons, goals, preferences, conditions, and opportunities shape the specific intent of migration and the migration plan. Of these plans, depending on the effects of promoting or inhibiting factors, only some will actually be realized (Kley and Mulder, 2010). A combination of factors can be found behind unrealized migration plans, for example, the lack of the minimum required personal resources, including language knowledge, social capital, and financial capital, or any kind of legal obstacles; opportunities assessed in advance as not good enough; costs; limitations imposed by individual life cycles; or the occurrence of any unexpected event. According to Gödri and Feleky (2013a), selection happens between planned and realized migration for these reasons, which can only be researched through tracking potential migrants. Analyzing the link between migratory plans and realizing migration may provide answers to how well migration intentions predict migratory acts, “that is, to what extent the migration potential can be considered an index capable of forecasting migratory processes” (Gödri and Feleky, 2013a, p. 283). Hungarian research has regularly

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measured migration potential since 1993, aiming to explore the scale of mobility abroad, its social base and target countries. They enabled the continuous monitoring of the orientation and intensity of migration intentions (Nyírő, 2013). Monitoring the actual realization of migration intentions, however, did not take place. Migration intentions and plans: the migration potential Hungary had been characterized by a deteriorating economic and labor market situation even before the 2008 crisis, and these processes were intensified by the crisis, with employment indicators significantly worsened and unemployment increased. The main migratory destination countries, in turn, had an increasing demand for workers from central and eastern Europe, which accelerated after 2011, when Austria and Germany, traditional target countries for the Hungarians, fully opened their labor markets.5 Not only a significant decline in real wages and the lack of economic growth contributed to this trend, but also young people seeking to enter the labor market faced difficulties and limited opportunities in higher education through the education “reforms”6 that were implemented as well. In 2012, there was an extremely high unemployment rate in the 15–24 age group among young Hungarian people even at the European level. According to Eurostat (the European Commission Directorate-General of Statistics) data, it reached 28.8% (Matheika, 2013), and there was a very low youth employment rate in Hungary (among the EU member states, the average youth employment rate was 32.9% in this period). The continuing insecurity and lack of positive vision strongly contributed to a mass of young people beginning to contemplate migration plans. All this was increased by the expansion of foreign learning opportunities, while knowledge of foreign languages also became more widespread. The Population Research Institute estimates that in 2013, about one third of the 18–40 age group planned to work abroad or emigrate (Gödri, 2015), which represents approximately 370,000 people in that age group. The results of the so-called migration potential studies that measure migration plans and intentions show a significant increase in the rate of people planning migration in Hungary. Based on the measurements by TARKI (Társadalomkutatási Intézet Zrt.) (Demográfia, 2014), a higher growth can be observed since 2010, especially for long-term plans to work abroad. This upward trend reached its climax in 2012 when 19% of the total adult population planned some form of migration (shorter or longer employment,

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permanent emigration). In 1990, the rate was 5–6%, and around 10% in the early 2000s. In 2013, there was a slight decrease in the migration potential, later it was a cumulative 16% of the total population and 33% among the 18-40-year-olds. Additionally, while a number of people have increasingly left the country in recent years, many are still planning to migrate, particularly in the young age groups. At the elite grammar schools of Budapest, for example, there is a multiple increase in the number of young people planning to continue their studies abroad. In a certain school, one in three students applied for admission to an Austrian, Danish, German, British, or American university in 2013. Germany and Austria mainly offer free training, and Britain entices top talents of good language skills with scholarships. Eduline7 contacted school directors, who assumed that most students chose economic and social science courses to study abroad, but there is an increasing demand for artistic faculties that Hungarian universities lack. Although migration plans may not result in actual migration and the migration potential of a given period is not a clearly accurate prediction of the migration processes, it is apparent from the foregoing that migration intentions measured at present are important indicators of subsequent migration, and people planning migration are more likely to move and work abroad for the shorter or longer term in the future. In the adult population planning migration in Hungary, the largest group is young people under the age of 30, and in this age group every second person, that is, almost half of all 18–29-year-olds, are thinking about moving abroad.8 Currently, the most comprehensive information on this class appears in the results of the 2012 Hungarian youth research (Kutatópont, 2013). The fourth large-scale Hungarian youth research focused on 15–29-year-olds (1,823,070 people, according to the 2011 Census data), with a representative sample of 8,000 persons interviewed.9 The research includes a chapter measuring intentions on working abroad and migration. One of the basic conditions of mobility for employment or learning is the existence of language skills. The results of the Hungarian youth research 2012 found that nearly 60% of young people spoke a foreign language, usually English, mostly at medium (35%) or basic level (36%). There is a significant link between migration plans and language skills. About 45% who did not speak a foreign language were not considering any migration plan, while 40% were willing to go abroad for shorter or longer periods. Whereas 60% of young people who spoke other languages were considering going abroad and only 27% had future plans exclusively in Hungary. Altogether, only 2.5% of the young people had ever studied abroad in the past 5–8 years, which

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means just a 1% rise. The time period of study abroad was less than a year for nearly 80%. Working abroad was, though to a lesser extent, higher; 5.8% had ever worked abroad, and the enterprising spirit was highest in the first few years after graduation, but again, the period for working abroad was less than one year for nearly 70%. Those who had ever studied abroad were more willing to migrate in order to study or work, 71% would do it given an opportunity, 29% of them would even settle down permanently in another country. Working abroad has an even stronger impact on migratory behavior. Only 6% of young people claimed that they could only imagine their future in Hungary, even if there was an opportunity to go abroad, 24% would leave for longer than five years, 39% would even settle down permanently in another country. In general, young people have a much higher propensity to migration, as 52% would leave Hungary for learning or employment purposes. The majority of them would consider leaving for more than six months (39%), 12% contemplate more than five years in a different country, and the same proportion of young people (12%) would permanently leave Hungary. Gender differences in the overall assessment of learning and working migration show that, in terms of their intentions, males are more mobile (64.4%) than women (56.5%) (see Table 14.1). The division of the age groups also clearly shows that this is true for all age groups separately. However, according to the 15–18, 19–24, and 25–29 age categories, the results for the 19–24 and the 25–29-yearolds were significant, and those of 15–18-year-olds were not. Ignoring gender differences by only examining the differences between age groups, the middle age group, that is, the 19–24-year-olds have the highest (65.8%) migration propensity, and the 25–29-year-olds have the lowest (50.8%), but half of this age group would leave, too, if they could (see Table 14.2). Table 14.1: Attitudes to studying or working abroad, by gender

If you had the opportunity to study, work No abroad, would you leave the country for longer or shorter periods? Yes Total

The respondent’s gender Male Female Total 463 512 975 (31.3%) (37.3%) (34.2%) 1,017 862 1,879 (68.7%) (62.7%) (65.8%) 1,480 1,374 2,854 (100.0%) (100.0%) (100.0%)

Source: Hungarian youth research 2012 (Kutatópont, 2013)

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Separating purposes of learning and employment abroad, young people are much more planning to work abroad (49%) rather than learn (10%). According to the gender differences in learning, for those who are planning to work abroad, young women have significantly higher learning plans and motivations than young men (men 8.5%, women 12%). Division of age groups, however, does not show any statistical correlation. The mobility of employment intentions shows a significantly higher value for men (men 52%, women 46%). People planning to study abroad have a significantly higher rate (14%) among the 15–18-year-olds than in the other two age groups (19–24 years old, 11%, 25–29 years old, 6%). At the time of the survey, one fifth of secondary school students planned to study abroad, 18% of higher education students, and 12% of vocational school students. Vocational school students planned to study abroad the least, at only 7%. The 19–24-year-olds were contemplating going to work abroad (54%) the most, but more than 40% of the 15–18-year-olds and 25–29-year-olds were also open to this idea. According to the data for age and gender on the work plans for each of the three age groups, men have greater mobility intention. Residence The type of residence for young people significantly influences their intention to migrate. The highest proportion of young people planning short- and long-term stays abroad (nearly 60%) live in county seats (urban-city), with the exception of young people in Budapest. Those living in Budapest are thinking least about emigration (40%), and 39% of them only consider living in Hungary. In large towns, the figure is 30%. About 52–3% of young people living in smaller towns and Table 14.2: Attitudes to studying or working abroad, by age group

15–18 years old (person) 536 If you had the opportunity to study, No (34.8%) work abroad, would you leave the country for longer or shorter periods? Yes 1,004 (65.2%) 1,540 Total (100.0%)

Age groups 19–24 25–29 years years old old (person) (person) Total 1,002 1,169 2,707 (34.2%) (49.2%) (39.5%) 1,932 1,206 4,142 (65.8%) (50.8%) (60.5%) 2,934 2,375 6,849 (100.0%) (100.0%) (100.0%)

Source: Hungarian youth research 2012 (Kutatópont, 2013)

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villages would be open to plans to go abroad, and only 34% rule this out entirely for both types of settlements. Marital status According to marital status (married, unmarried/single, divorced, widowed), given the opportunity to go abroad, mostly unmarried and divorced people would do this, while married people with a family would be least likely do so. In each category, men show significantly stronger mobility; as for married people, 42% of men and 34% of women would go abroad, while for unmarried or single people, 66% of men and 60% of women would. The biggest differences between the genders occur among the divorced, where divorced men’s intention for migration (63%) significantly exceeds that of divorced women (35%). Among people who live in partnership, a male dominance appears— the majority of men with partners are eager to go abroad (61%) while the majority of women with partners would rather not leave Hungary (the negative response rate is 54%). The existence of children significantly influences mobility to go abroad. More than half of young people with children are not planning to move abroad any more, and the more children they have, the less likely it is they would leave. The majority of those without children (54%), however, would go to study or work abroad if they had the opportunity (among them, only 30% said that they considered living only in Hungary). Among childless people open to mobility, men have a slight majority of 66.3% as compared to 62.4% for women. Nonetheless, there is a major difference and a highly significant relationship between people with children as regards gender differences; as men (49%) are far more likely to move abroad than women (32%) as parents, if there was an opportunity. Regarding the status of young people, we primarily analyzed the mobilization intention of young people who were then students, employed, and unemployed. As key factors to mobility intentions for abroad, young people are assumed to be considering ideas related to work, or chances to access opportunities. Questions concerning work included the likelihood of getting a desired job, which revealed that 54% of pessimistic young people did not believe in their chance of getting such a job (1 in 10 of the general population) and considered living only in Hungary, while only 28% of optimistic young people believed they might obtain a desired job (50%) and did not consider migration plans. There can be a number of reasons for working abroad. Better livelihood is the most attractive prospect for young people,

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while only 1 in 5 sees the opportunity of working abroad in terms of career development, personal development, language learning, and chances to gain experience. Thus, economic factors are far more decisive for them, rather than personal development or shaping a career path. Seeking new challenges does not seem to be an incentive for migration either; young people showed little interest with only 1 in 7 young people motivated to work abroad (see Table 14.3). In this case, there were no significant differences between the regions of the country. One fifth of the young believed they would actually work abroad within a few years and move to another country. Ruff (2013) points out that a better social status or social position makes young people more mobile, and significantly many more such young people planned studies or employment abroad. The research data also support that, contrary to popular opinion, for example, young Roma people are less mobile in the age group, as they have lower than average migration potential. This is related to the fact that their parents’ educational level is well below average, as well as to the disadvantages of their residence (45% live in villages in disadvantaged regions). Due to their disadvantages, they consider it less likely to work abroad or continue studies abroad; typically, they plan to spend the rest of their lives in the country (Hajnáczky and Hámori, 2015). Many deterrent causes exist for leaving the country for a longer or shorter time. Young people mostly want to stay near family members, moreover nearly 50% also want to stay in the homeland or birthplace, complicating the decision; also, maintaining live relationships with friends is important. About 41.9% of them are satisfied with life, thus working or studying abroad is not important for them. In addition, the research data clearly show that there are other barriers that hinder Table 14.3: Ranking of motivation for working abroad Plans for the future Better livelihood Language learning Gaining experience Career development New challenges Family reasons Learning in general (in Hungary there is no training, more learning facilities) Political/ideological reasons Volunteer work Source: Hungarian youth research 2012 (Kutatópont, 2013)

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Mentioning (%) 66.5 21.6 20.0 18.8 13.8  6.4  4.9  2.0  1.7

Young Hungarians’ attitudes and intentions on emigration Table 14.4: Rankings for deterrent causes Reasons that influence leaving the country for a longer or shorter period Staying near family Staying in the homeland, birthplace Staying near friends Not willing to give up life at home Not daring to go alone Not speaking a foreign language well enough No financial potential Things going well at home Not even knowing where to begin Too much administration involved

Agreement ratea (%) 63.2 48.1 45.8 41.9 41.3 40.1 39.9 35.4 34.0 31.4

Note: a On a scale of 5, 4 and 5 added together. Source: Hungarian youth research 2012 (Kutatópont, 2013)

making the decision, such as the lack of language skills, or adequate information or how to plan a longer trip, and what preparations it requires. Many people believe that it involves much administration, and capital and financial investments (to cover transport, housing, livelihood) to get started are often not available, as these pose significant costs compared to domestic conditions.

Conclusions Young Hungarians’ migration processes support the previously expressed view that the participants’ behavior in the migration process can be interpreted as a combined effect of many individual characteristics. It is a kind of selective process primarily influenced by certain incentive and restrictive factors of migration. In this respect, it is true for Hungarian young people as well, that when they consider the costs and returns of migration decisions, the most influential are educational attainment, age, gender, and other important personal factors, as much as the labor market status and financial-income situation. It seems that a positive selection takes place in Hungary in this respect, that is, the composition of migrants is more advantaged than that of the home country’s population as a whole, based on the aforementioned criteria. Thus, the assessment of migration as a whole should not only include information on the scale of emigration, but also the composition of the population leaving the country; because this positive selection may be expected to result in negative social, economic, and demographic consequences.

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Migration by gender shows that a kind of destination-focus can be observed between the genders, so that there is a male surplus in the UK, Ireland, and the Nordic countries, while female predominance characterizes Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Austria, and the Netherlands. The results of the so-called migration potential studies that measure migration plans and intentions show a significant increase in the rate of people planning migration in Hungary. A higher growth can be observed since 2010, especially for long-term plans to work abroad. This upward trend reached its climax in 2012, when 19% of the total adult population planned some form of migration (shorter or longer employment, permanent emigration). In 1990, the rate was 5–6%, and around 10% in the early 2000s. Additionally, while people have increasingly left the country in recent years, many people are still planning migration, particularly in the young age groups. Although migration plans may not result in actual migration, and the migration potential of a given period is clearly not an accurate prediction of the migration processes, it is apparent from the foregoing that migration intentions measured at present are important indicators of subsequent migration, and people planning migration are more likely to move and work abroad for a shorter or longer period in the future. In the adult population planning migration in Hungary, the largest group is young people under the age of 30, with almost half of 18–29-year-olds thinking of moving abroad. One of the basic conditions of mobility for employment or learning is the existence of language skills. There is a significant link between migration plans and language skills. About 45% who did not speak a foreign language were not considering any migration plan, while 40% were willing to go abroad for shorter or longer periods. Whereas 60% of young people who spoke other languages were considering going abroad and only 27% had future plans exclusively in Hungary. In Chapter Nine, young Filipino professionals in Canada use their fluency in English to their advantage in the labor market. According to the Hungarian youth research 2012, young people have a much higher propensity to migration, as 52% would leave Hungary for learning or employment purposes. Gender differences in the overall assessment of learning and working migration show that in terms of their intentions, men are more mobile (64.4%) than women (56.5%). Given these characteristics and gender differences, Hungarian youth are differently motivated to leave or stay in the country. While pursuit of education or better economic opportunities remain popular among them, like the Albanian women in Chapter Thirteen, the

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desire to pursue them rests on a combination of factors. Indeed, youth migration in Hungary is personal, familial, and intersectional. Notes 1.

In the decades before regime change in Hungary (1989), emigration was strictly controlled. During this period, the last major migration period was the revolution of 1956 and the following year, when nearly 200,000 people left the country. Because it was controlled, however, typically the level of emigration was extremely low until 1989 (an average of 4,300 people per year) (Hárs, 2001).

2.

France in 2008, Denmark, Norway, and Belgium. Switzerland and Germany in 2009 extended restrictions for the entire seven-year transitional period, and only removed them in 2011.

3.

The SEEMIG project, which was based on partnership of 18 institutions from 8 countries, examined the long-term migration and demographic trends and human resources of south-east Europe from the perspective of labor market and national and regional economies. See: http://www.ksh. hu/docs/szolgaltatasok/sajtoszoba/seemig_sajto_reszletes.pdf

4.

Only one such survey was carried out in Hungary in 2007, when those participants of the 2003 KSH Labor Force Survey sample were revisited who had been considering migration plans four years before (see Hárs, 2001).

5.

Before 2011 these two countries had already exempted from the restrictions the countries joining the EU in 2004—Hungary, Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, Slovakia, Slovenia, Czech Republic, and Estonia—for those citizens with high qualifications and specialized expertise (Gödri, 2015).

6.

These included a drastic cut in the number of students; radical decrease of the budgetary sources available to support universities; elimination of departments; a ‘stick-to-a-place’ principle, meaning that students following their graduation are expected to work in Hungary for a number of years, corresponding to financial support they have received from the state; termination of the autonomy of universities.

7.

Hungarian universities have lost thousands of students: the best go abroad, http://eduline.hu/erettsegi_felveteli/2013/3/19/Egyre_tobb_diak_ jelentkezik_kulfoldi_egyete_Q4SVQW

8.

TARKI Monitor and Omnibus recordings, March 1993–2012 (Flash report), http://old.tarki.hu/hu/news/2012/kitekint/20120523_migracio. html.

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About 49% are women, 51% men, in the sample of 8,000. The average age is 22 years. Broken down by age group, 31% are 15–19-year-olds (2,457 people), 34% are 20–24-year-olds (2,767 persons), 35% are 25–29-year-olds (2,776 people). Regarding educational attainment at the time the survey: 2,648 people with eight grades, 1,306 were skilled workers (17%), 3,345 people had maturation exam (42%), 645 people (8%) were university graduates. As for their subjective financial situation, 7% lived without worries, 35% made ends meet, 38% managed badly, 16% struggled with financial problems from month to month, and 4% lived in hardship.

References Brücker, H. and Defoort, C. (2009) Inequality and the self-selection of international migrants: Theory and new evidence, International Journal of Manpower, 30(7): 742–64. Coleman, D.A. (1994) Trends in fertility and intermarriage among immigrant populations in Western Europe as measures of integration, Journal of Biosocial Science, 26(1): 107–36. Demográfia (2014) Demográfia, 57(4): 241–69. http://real-j.mtak. hu/6251/3/Demografia_2014_4_nyomda.pdf Gardner, R.W., DeJong, G.F., Arnold, F., and Cariño, B.V. (1985) The best-laid schemes: An analysis of discrepancies between migration intentions and behaviour, Population and Environment, 81(2): 63–77. Gödri, I. (2015) Nemzetközi vándorlás. Demográfiai portré 2015 [International migration], http://demografia.hu/hu/letoltes/ eloadasok/Demografiai-portre-2015-bemutato/Godri-Nemzetkozivandorlas.pdf Gödri, I. and Feleky, G.A. (2013a) Migrációs tervek megvalósulása egy követéses vizsgálat tükrében: Az előzetes migrációs szándék, a várakozások és a külső elvárások szerepe. [Realization of migration plans in light of a follow-up study: The role of pre-migration intention, anticipations and external expectations], Demográfia, 56(4): 281–332. ———. (2013b) Elvándorló fiatalok? Migrációs tervek a magyarországi 18–40 évesek körében, Korfa, 5: 1–4. Gödri, I. and Tóth, E.F. (2010) Magyarország, Románia és Szlovákia kivándorlási folyamatai a rendszerváltozások után—eltérések és hasonlóságok [Emigration process in Hungary, Romania and Slovakia after the political changes—differences and similarities], Demográfia, 53(2–3): 157–204. Hajnáczky, T. and Hámori, Á. (2015) Cigány fiatalok migrációja, Új Egyenlítő, 3(1): 20–4.

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Hárs, Á. (2001) Népességmozgások Magyarországon a XXI. század küszöbén [Population movements in Hungary at the threshold of the 21st century], in E. Lukács and M. Király (eds) Migráció és Európai Unió, Budapest: Szociális és Családügyi Minisztérium, pp. 43–66. ———. (2008) A nemzetközi és a belső vándorlás kapcsolata: Részletes kutatási beszámoló, 2005–2007 [The relationship between international and internal migration: Detailed research report 2005–7], Budapest: OTKA [Hungarian Scientific Research Fund], http://real.mtak. hu/1987/1/49518_ZJ1.pdf ———. (2013) Magyarok külföldön: Gondolatok a magyarok külföldi munkavállalásáról [Hungarians abroad: Thoughts on Hungarians working abroad], Magyar Tudomány, 3: 286–91. Kley, S. (2011) Explaining the stages of migration within a life-course framework, European Sociological Review, 27(4): 469–86. Kley, S. and Mulder, C.H. (2010) Considering, planning and realizing migration in early adulthood: The influence of life-course events and perceived opportunities on leaving the city in Germany, Journal of Housing and the Built Environment, 25: 73–94. Kutatópont (2013) Magyar Ifjúság 2012 – Tanulmánykötet (szerk. Székely Levente) Budapest: Kutatópont, http://kutatopont.hu/ files/2013/09/Magyar_Ifjusag_2012_tanulmanykotet.pdf Matheika, Z. (2013) Az ifjúsági munkanélküliség magyarországi sajátosságai [The characteristics of youth unemployment in Hungary], Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, Büro Budapest, p.  22, http://www.fesbp.hu/ common/pdf/tanulmany_tarki.pdf Linden, M. (2003) Transnational labour history, Aldershot: Ashgate. Nyírő, Zs. (2013) A migrációs potenciál alakulása Magyarországon [The changes of the migration potential in Hungary], Magyar Tudomány, 3: 281–5. Ruff, T. (2013) Ifjúsági mobilitás: hajlandóság, lehetőségek és tervek, in L. Székely (ed) Magyar Ifjúság 2012, tanulmánykötet, Budapest: Kutatópont, pp. 152–78. van Dalen, H.P. and Henkens, K. (2013) Explaining emigration intentions and behaviour in the Netherlands, 2005–10, Population Studies, 67(2): 225–41. Wallace, C., Chmouliar, O., and Sidorenko, E. (1996) The eastern frontier of western Europe: Mobility in the buffer zone, New Community, 22(2): 259–86. Wallace, C. and Stola, D. (eds) (2001) Introduction: patterns of migration in central Europe, in C. Wallace and D. Stola (eds) Patterns of migration in central Europe, London: Palgrave, pp. 3–44.

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FIFTEEN

Youth perspectives: migration, poverty, and the future of farming in rural Ethiopia Logan Cochrane and Siera Vercillo

Introduction The majority of the world’s population lives in urban areas, a phenomenon previously unknown in human history (UN, 2014). The trend of urbanization is expected to continue, potentially reaching two thirds of the global population by 2050. Despite an increasingly urban world, global poverty remains disproportionately rural, with rural residents comprising three fourths of the world’s poor (Olinto et al, 2013). The Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations (UN) claims that although food availability on the African continent has increased by 12% and poverty has decreased by 23% since the early 1990s, rural areas still remain disproportionately food insecure (FAO, 2015). Volatile market prices, poor soil conditions, declining landholding size, limited employment opportunities, as well as the way individuals and communities prepare for and confront these challenges, are critical for understanding the geographic inequality of rural areas. One of the most significant outcomes of these challenges is the migration of youth to urban areas, which contributes further to an uncertain future for farming and food security in rural communities. This chapter seeks to complement and enhance the existing global, regional, and national data on migration and rural inequality with a case study from southern Ethiopia. We analyze the socially differentiated dynamics of youth migration from rural to urban areas, and how this impacts livelihoods, family life, and access to food in rural communities. Ethiopia stands out as a unique case because it has a lower than average urban population in Africa (below 20%), as well as a lower than average urban population within Eastern Africa, and has Africa’s second largest population at 97 million (CSA, 2011; UN, 2014).

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Sumberg and Okali (2013) call for more empirical evidence about the experiences of migration as an indication of evolving geographies of opportunities that do not homogenize the diversity of contexts by taking a differentiated view of young people who have uneven talents, access to resources, networks, and interests. This chapter highlights the opportunities for youth living in rural Ethiopia as it relates to their choices to migrate or not. We draw upon qualitative and quantitative research that emphasizes the perspectives and agency of different community members (skilled/unskilled, young/old, and male/female) often missed in a discourse that tends to rely heavily on macro-level casual explanations of migration. Geospatial dimensions are considered as three different kinds of rural communities are compared to assess the impact of living near to a town, living in a remote area, and having irrigation infrastructure. In doing so, this chapter analyzes youth perceptions of rural agricultural life, different types of migration, and the perceptions of food insecurity.

Contextualizing youth migration in sub-Saharan Africa With the persistence of rural poverty, particularly of smallholder farmers, Resnick and Thurlow (2015) remind us that youth migration out of rural areas across the world is happening at an unprecedented scale, particularly in sub-Saharan Africa, where the rates of urbanization and reliance on farming livelihoods are highest. This rapid transition is critical to consider for anticipating the future of farming and community access to food across the continent, because a significant number of rural residents are migrating out of rural areas to diversify their livelihoods beyond farming (Bonifacio, 2013). Choices around migration also have gendered implications for who leaves and who is left behind in rural communities (Cornwall et al, 2007), including posing difficult questions about who is responsible for providing food for the household (Bryceson, 1995). Women and men have different and varied reasons for migrating out, and/or returning to rural communities, with different opportunities and access to resources (Bonifacio, 2013). There are a number of push and pull factors that explain why young people move away from rural areas and in particular out of farming. This includes the availability of education and other services, and the allure of better paying and higher status jobs beyond the family farm in urban centers (Sumberg et al, 2012). While these factors pull young people away from rural areas, youth are also being pushed out of farming communities due to poor ecological and climatic conditions

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(Luginaah et al, 2009), declining landholding size and loss of land (Rahmato, 2007), and other political economic factors that result in many households not having sufficient capacity to continue farming and meet the needs of all their members (Weis, 2007; Cochrane and Thornton, 2017) (see Figure 15.1). Bernstein (2010) argues that the neoliberal globalization of trade restructuring in sub-Saharan Africa in particular has led to increasing migration because urban employment can offer support that farming no longer can for rural populations. As in urban areas, rural areas are challenged by demographic changes (Bonifacio, 2013), with agrarian sectors restructuring in ways that block youth’s access to productive resources, alongside pressures on land where many more people are relying on plots that are too small to be viable for subsistence or surplus production (Sumberg et al, 2012). Other challenges, as outlined by Kuuire et al (2015) include access to farm labor, land tenure, reliable markets, storage and transportation constraints, resulting in the need to diversify livelihoods, including opting to migrate out temporarily or for extended periods of time. A lack of investment and development of smallholder agrarian livelihoods is exemplified by historical policies across sub-Saharan Africa that protect urban access to food (Shipton, 1990). These historical and contemporary push and pull factors that explain the migration of youth and others out of rural areas are limited as they do not tend to consider young people’s agency. Problematically, this approach also implies that migration is a strategy at one point in time and does not explain the evolving nature of engagement with agriculture and rural areas that changes seasonally, throughout a life course and in socially differentiated and gendered ways (Sumberg et al, 2012). There are sociocultural relations to migration based on gender, class, location, ability, age, ethnicity, language, and history that also relate to why certain youth may be the first to migrate out of rural areas in sub-Saharan Africa and for different purposes. Migration patterns are complex. Patrilineal or matrilineal social relations influence who stays behind to defend land rights, with younger, unmarried, adult men tending to leave first to seek work, followed by older men, and then by whole families (Shipton, 1990). Rural–rural migration for family reunification and economic reasons is the most common type of movement among female migrants, and tends to be highest in sub-Saharan Africa (Quisumbing et al, 2014). Regarding male migrants, urban–urban migration prevails, although rural–rural migration is also practiced. Women have increasingly been migrating for economic reasons rather than just for family reunification, including for sex work and domestic service provision.

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This also includes providing labor for manufacturing industries that prefer to hire women because they are less likely to protest and are more willing to work longer hours for less compensation and under less regulation and with lower labor standards (Wright, 1997; Bonifacio, 2013). Conjugal obligations lead men to migrate during periods of hunger to seek food, while women and the elderly tend to stay behind with children (Jackson, 2007). As familial and kin social structures fragment due to distance, this leaves dependents and those left behind more vulnerable because roles, responsibilities, and obligations are not maintained to the necessary extent (Cornwall et al, 2007). Pull factors include the availability of educational opportunities and other services, and the allure of better paying and higher status jobs, most often in urban areas. More prominent in the literature is that young people are being “pushed” out of agriculture against their will. Here the emphasis is on aspects of agrarian structures, economies, and transitions that block young people’s access to productive resources (White, 2012). At the forefront of these is decreasing landholding sizes, to the point where increasing numbers of smallholder farmers in Africa are working plots that are too small to be viable. The elderly who are left behind in rural communities face the greatest challenges of coping with youth out-migration and, subsequently, a lack of labor because they cannot work on the farms themselves, which negatively affects household food security and further risks dispossession of land and agrarian livelihoods. Reliance on family, kin, and community labor is an important survival strategy that enables competitive household production to survive market fluctuations (Bello and Baviera, 2009). The shifts of household composition because of migration are significant because labor is a critical asset for rural livelihoods (Whitehead, 2002, 2006; O’Laughlin, 2007). Lastly, education has a positive impact on rural communities’ access to disposable income, as skilled migrants can send more remittances to families, who then use that support to purchase new assets and cope with long-term challenges (Kuuire et  al, 2013). Figure 15.1 brings together the findings from the literature and the data from this research to summarize the push and pull factors for skilled and unskilled migration from rural agricultural settings.

The Ethiopian context Ethiopia is an important case study because population growth projections suggest that by 2050 Ethiopia will have the ninth largest population in the world (United States Census Bureau, 2016) and

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Migration, poverty, and the future of farming in rural Ethiopia Figure 15.1: Factors influencing youth migration Volatile rainfall

Climate and environmental change

Declining land size per capita

Population growth

Availability of infrastructure and access to services

Insufficient yield

Insufficient labor

Short-term and seasonal unskilled migration

Chronic food insecurity

Chronic poverty

Inability to pay for youth education

Limited access to markets and services

Long-term unskilled migration

Long-term relative financial security

Greater number of dependents

Youth complete education

Long-term skilled migration

approximately 80% of Ethiopia’s current 97 million population live in rural areas (UN, 2014; World Bank, 2016). The most important component of Ethiopia’s national GDP is based on agriculture, particularly the export of agricultural commodities such as coffee, oil seeds, fresh-cut flowers, khat, cereals, and vegetables (NBE, 2014; Cochrane and O’Regan, 2016). Rural smallholder farmers are the foundation of the agrarian sector, and are responsible for more than 90% of agricultural cultivation (Taffesse et al, 2012). Despite rapid and sustained economic growth of 8% to 12% of GDP annually for more than a decade (World Bank, 2016), malnutrition and chronic poverty remain high, and are particularly pronounced in rural areas (CSA, 2011). With rare exceptions, smallholder farmers in Ethiopia do not have irrigation infrastructure, and depend upon seasonal rainfall for their agricultural livelihoods (CSA, 2009). Variable rainfall can result in significant decreases in yields, and result in rises of child malnutrition (Cochrane and Gecho, 2016; Cochrane, 2017). In addition, while total yields and agricultural productivity have increased in Ethiopia, household production has decreased due to declining landholding size per capita, driven by a range of factors, including population growth

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and land division due to inheritance (Ludi et  al, 2011; Spielman et al, 2012). Many rural youth do not plan to work in agriculture, exemplified by the significant rises in migration in recent years (Bezu and Holden, 2014). This chapter focuses on three communities in the Southern Nations, Nationalities and Peoples’ Region (SNNPR) of Ethiopia, and specifically within the Wolaita Zone. The three communities were selected to compare the impact of proximity to services and markets as well as the availability of irrigation infrastructure. All three communities share a similar agroecological setting and agricultural practice. While smallholders in this region grow cereal crops, they are reliant upon root crops, including: enset, sweet potato, and taro. These traditional crops are key components of what has been suggested as one of Africa’s most sustainable, long-term agricultural systems operating within a high population density area (Brandt et al, 1997; Tsegaye and Struik, 2002). These root crops are also the most important contributors to food security within the region (Olango et al, 2014). While this chapter focuses on “young people” we do not strictly adhere to an age category, opting instead for those who define themselves as youth or as a young person. In Ethiopia, this typically means pre-marriage, as was the case for the interviewees, while those who are newly married may also consider themselves to be “young” or “youth” depending upon the context. In all three communities, Ethiopian land inheritance law, which does not allow the sale or transfer of land, has influenced the migration process. The government nationalized and (re)distributed all rural land in 1975 under the Derg Marxist-inspired government. Beginning in 1998 the Ethiopian Peoples’ Revolutionary Democratic Front issued land use certificates, a process that expanded region by region and improved land rights. The new government (1991–present) retained state-ownership of land. As a result of this tenure system, at least one of the children within a family will remain on the land to ensure it is not returned to the government. In part, this has slowed the permanent migration process of entire families, and contributes to the relatively low urban population level and rate. The Wolaita Zone is unique because it is not rain-secure, as the highlands typically tend to be, nor is it rain-insecure, as the eastern lowlands are. The unpredictability and variability of rainfall within Wolaita pose significant challenges for smallholder households, most whom live in chronic poverty and experience food insecurity, and farm plots of land that are small by Ethiopian standards. The average landholding size in the district where this study took place has

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fallen below 0.25 hectares, in Wolaita Zone the average is less than 0.7 hectares, while the national average is 0.96 hectares (Rahmato, 2007; Headey et  al, 2013). Rahmato describes Wolaita as a “land of micro-holdings” that “collapse under even minimum pressure” (Rahmato, 2007, p. 10). The relatively dire situation of Wolaita relative to other parts of Ethiopia does not, however, mean that the situation can be generalized to all residents. There is great diversity within and between the households and communities of Wolaita. The selected communities include one that is located near to a town, and has greater access to markets, health care, and education. The second community is remote and has limited access to any services; “remote” is defined as not being accessible by vehicle and being located too far to walk to and from the nearest market. The third community is not near to a town, not remote as it is linked by a paved road, and has the unique feature of a large-scale irrigation system.

Methodology In 2015, participatory household surveys, focus group discussions, and interviews were conducted in the selected communities. These communities were selected to compare and contrast the differences within and between, with a particular emphasis upon their location and access to services. In each community, male and female focus group discussions were held to ensure participants felt free to express their opinions, and to explore the gendered nature of food security, and interconnected issues such as migration. While the discussions were open to everyone and held in public spaces, particular individuals were invited as a means to ensure that participants reflected the socioeconomic diversity within the community. At the outset of the focus group discussions, community members co-created a household survey that emphasized their ideas, experiences, and priorities. Individual interviews were then held, and participants selected based on a set of criteria, such as having migrated to the nearby town from the district wherein the communities were located, with gendered balance, as well as balance of the type of labor (skilled/unskilled). To maintain rigor and quality assurance of qualitative data, further focus group discussions and interviews were held to analyze the processes of youth migration in greater detail. The co-creation of the survey questions included questions related to migration. Within these discussions, in subsequent interviews and in the household survey, youth migration emerged as a primary factor that community members felt required greater attention. Additional interviews and

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focus group discussions were conducted after the surveying was completed to receive feedback on the results and explore the findings in depth. In addition, interviews were conducted with male and female migrants currently living in a nearby town. Within the three communities, the co-created household survey covered 450 households, which were distributed amongst the three selected communities: in the community with irrigation infrastructure, 42% of the households were surveyed; in the community located near to a town, 15% of households were surveyed; and in the remote community, 20% of households were surveyed. Because there is no database of community members, household numbers, or any other mechanism to support randomization, all households were selected using field-based quasi-randomization approaches (based on start points within the community). Surveying was done at the household level, primarily with heads of households; in the vast majority of instances, multiple members of the household were present at the time of visit and contributed to the completion of the survey. The differences of survey coverage relate to the size of the communities, with the community being nearest to the town having five times as many households as those in the community being served by irrigation infrastructure.

Findings Within the three communities, youth migration was a common experience, with one quarter to one half of all households having at least one migrant. Migration can be broadly categorized into two types: those migrating for low-wage unskilled labor work, and those migrating for skilled, often permanent, work. Examples of the former include young men and women going to work on construction sites in nearby towns or in coffee plantations, and for young women, working in households as domestic servants or in the food service industry. In some sectors, this migration is seasonal, particularly with migration to provide agricultural labor for wages. As explained in the focus group discussions held within rural communities from which migrants leave, youth seeking unskilled labor often have not completed primary education. Examples of skilled labor are those who have obtained a sufficient level of education or training to acquire a professional position outside the community, commonly government jobs, such as teaching or working in the health care system. Individuals who migrated from the research area, and who were interviewed in a nearby town, validated the findings from the

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communities and added contextual details to the way in which males and females experience migration. Those who migrated for unskilled labor positions cite doing so because of their family’s inability to meet basic needs at home, and a lack of options and opportunities, thus engaging in migration by necessity. A 20-year-old female migrant described the situation as having “no freedom,” while a 26-year-old female migrant complained of low pay and that employers “force them to work more hours”; it is poverty and hunger on the farm or poverty and hunger as a migrant. Male youth tended to survive through inconsistent, short-term work, such as cleaning shoes, loading and unloading materials, and working in construction sites, while female youth tended to have more regular positions in the service industry, such as cooking, cleaning, and serving. While both young men and women returned home on important holidays, only the young women consistently mentioned sending their savings back to their family. Among the three communities, the level of migration varied significantly. The remote community experienced the highest level of migration, with half of all households having one or more person leaving (see Table 15.1). About 28% of households had one or more people migrate from the community nearest to the market, which community members explained as being because youth walk to and from the nearby town for work daily, and thus, they suggest, youth migration would be much higher if this was accounted for. In the community with irrigation infrastructure, 35% of households had one or more youth migrate. However, the division between skilled and unskilled migration differed significantly for the community with access to irrigation, having 43% of its migrants leaving for skilled labor, whereas the figure was 16% for the community near to a town and Table 15.1: Proxy measurements of poverty in communities

% able to afford to send all children to school % of HH with one or more migrants % of migrants going for skilled labor Months of food insecurity % enrolled in the Productive Safety Net Programa % selling to the market

Village— remote 47% 50% 21% 4.3 31% 54%

Village— Village— close with to town irrigation 38% 61% 28% 35% 16% 43% 4 3.5 24% 14% 58% 90%

Note: a The Productive Safety Net Program is a government-run safety net operating in rural areas to support the most food-insecure households. For additional details see Cochrane and Tamiru (2016).

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21% for the remote community. Regarding relative poverty across the three communities, those households facing greater food insecurity were strongly correlated with having more unskilled migrants (r = 0.84), whereas greater food insecurity was weakly, and negatively correlated (r  = –0.13) with households having skilled migrants. While the location, and therefore access to services, was important, the relative situation within those communities was a more influential factor regarding the level of the different types of migration. Community members recognize the positive impact that education has for the household and the migration process, but many families are unable to send all their children to school. On average, 52% of households stated that they were unable to afford to send all their children to school, resulting in significant drop-out rates. In the wider zone, 90% of children begin primary school, only 42% will start high school and only 16% will continue through high school (Cochrane and Gecho, 2016). The ability to pay for school costs differs significantly among the three communities, with 61% saying they have sufficient funds to do so in the community with irrigation, 47% in the remote community, and 38% in the community near to the town. Drop-out rates must be considered in tandem with decision making about the opportunity cost of lost labor, youth migration, accessibility of secondary schools (the long distance may require boarding elsewhere which prevents enrolment), as well as the expenses related to attendance. The higher self-reported ability to pay for school costs in the remote community may also reflect their perception of the available options, since the secondary school is beyond walking distance and therefore not considered an immediate option. “Ability,” therefore, refers to those schooling options that are available locally, namely primary school. In the town-side community, a secondary school is within walking distance, thus the perception of what “ability” means in these instances may have affected the findings. According to data from the local government of Wolaita Zone, the drop-out rates do not significantly differ by gender. However, some female migrants located in the nearby town suggest otherwise—that they were prevented from continuing education because of their gender. These differences may be reconciled due to time, when the migrants were young the gendered disparity of enrolment was significant and common, but recent data (in this region and nationally) indicate that the disparity has declined. Education and skilled employment tend to provide long-term, relatively well-paid work. Those with more permanent positions report returning to their former communities more often, because of their financial ability, in comparison to those

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with inconsistent unskilled work. The ability to invest in children’s education in the community with irrigation is linked with their higher income due to twice as many yields in a year and involvement with the market, demonstrated by relatively fewer unskilled migrants and more skilled migrants. The legacy of disparity and inequality also affects land ownership, although recent developments of land certification have shown improvements (Bezabih et al, 2012); only 3% of landholders in Ethiopia are women, with slow shifts in how households redistribute land inheritance, thereby disenfranchising women from the land they have a right to, and reducing their opportunities (Bezu and Holden, 2014). In the interviews, both males and females specified the land shortage as a reason for their migration, but women, in particular felt there were no opportunities for them because of consistent exclusion of women from land inheritance. A 20-year-old female migrant, who stopped her education in primary school, explains that “males have more right or power than females” because “they are culturally considered as the most dominant.” As a result, males “have access to resources like land” and have more work opportunities as migrants. She further reflected, “I do not think there are advantages” to being a woman. Another female migrant stated “most of the time our parents give more attention to males” and that her family “considered female education as valueless.” Rather, young women are “encouraged to marry early to reduce the dependency from them [parents or household]; they prefer females to marry than send them to school.” This respondent also felt there were no advantages to being female. A 26-year-old female migrant felt the issue was compounded by a lack of confidence among women, speaking about herself, saying “as a female I do not have full confidence as a male; males are stronger than us.” In addition, women felt they were abused in their workplaces, such as having to work long hours for minimal pay, and had no confidence and ability to confront their employers about these practices because they had no options or alternative opportunities. Within rural communities, elders explained that youth migration places additional work upon the elderly to care for younger children and manage the farm, often requiring burdensome and timeconsuming manual labor. “The elders do not have the capacity to work,” explained one of the elderly community members, and those who do have that capacity (those aged 15 to 40) tend to migrate to towns. During a focus group discussion, the elders stated that “all youth are leaving; very few of them are staying” and as a result they “expect a great challenge because all the youth are migrating.” The

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concern runs deep and they explain with desperation that they “do not know what the future will be” and that “they miss their labor [because] it affects our yield.” Without sufficient labor, some elders sharecrop their land, or offer it to others on short-term contracts; both processes result in decreased yields and income for the household. From the perspective of the youth, migrating to towns “reduced some burden from them [families],” having one less person in the household to provide for. The situation is similar for youth: “hard labor [jobs] is because there are no other options,” referring both to the hard labor they take in towns and the hard labor involved in farming. However, youth are most disillusioned with the future on the farm because of what they witness with the division of land due to inheritance, resulting in plots that are too small to provide sufficient yields for household consumption needs. A host of other factors provide additional detail of the dynamics of youth migration. The community with irrigation was more food secure (3.5  months insecure versus 4  months in the community near to the town and 4.3  months in the remote community) and sold more crops to the market rather than producing for household consumption alone (90% versus 58% in the community near to the town and 54% in the remote community). Another proxy measure of the level of poverty within the communities is the percentage enrolled in the government-run Productive Safety Net Program, which supports food-insecure rural households. Using 2011 as a measure (before which no graduations from the program took place), in the community with irrigation only 14% were enrolled, while in the community near to the town it was 24% and in the remote community it was 31%. The receipt of domestic remittances from migrants did not follow this pattern, with the highest rate (29%) in the remote community, followed by the community with irrigation (14%) and the lowest in the community near to the town (8%). In the community with irrigation infrastructure, which is more food secure and has a greater proportion of households that sell to the market, there is also a larger average household size (7.5 versus 6 in the remote community and 5 in the community near to the town), and larger average landholding size (0.5 hectares versus 0.4 hectares in the remote community and 0.2 hectares in the community near to the town). This highlights a greater pull factor for youth to remain on the farm in the community with irrigation as it is more viable as a livelihood option. When smallholder agriculture is not a viable option, however, migration provides few new opportunities. A 34-year-old male

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migrant says that migration “helps only to sustain daily life.” A 21-year-old female migrant explains that both male and female youth migrate for similar reasons, but often taking different types of work. At the time of the interview this particular woman worked long hours in a restaurant, preparing and serving coffee, for which she describes receiving very little pay and experiencing exploitation. She concluded that migration “changed nothing in my life, I am just working for existence; I have no alternative.” Regularly she misses one or two meals a day, but the situation back at home on the farm is worse, she says “they have less access to food.” She feels, “leaving reduced the burden on my family” but she dreams not only of supporting her family in the future, but of returning and investing in the rural area. None of the migrants wished to return to farm, but some planned to invest in livestock or start small businesses in their home communities. Others had no desire to return at all: “I do not want to go back home because there are no job opportunities in rural areas,” a 25-year-old female migrant explained. In reflecting broadly on their respective situations, almost everyone felt the situation was worse now than it was in the past, although the most positive opinions about the present were found in the community with irrigation. When comparing the present to a decade ago, 57% said the situation was somewhat or much worse in the community with irrigation, while 77% said so in the remote community and 84% said so in the community near the town. Comparing the situation to 25 years ago, the figures were quite similar (59%, 75%, and 85% respectively). Two common themes when thinking about the challenges of the present included declining landholding size and increasingly variable rainfall.

Discussion This chapter presented qualitative and quantitative data to analyze the dynamics of youth migration from rural areas in southern Ethiopia, finding the push factors of poverty, food insecurity, and declining landholding size to be the greatest factors influencing decision making. In areas where the viability of agricultural livelihoods was greater, there was far less unskilled migration, and a greater proportion of skilled migration due to long-term investment in education. These findings imply several key recommendations: rural agricultural development; targeted and tailored vocational training, and inclusive education; and improved information about work opportunities.

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Remote communities and types of labor Choices to migrate seem to be dependent on a few main factors: type of labor (skilled/unskilled), household situation and location (distance), which is also shaped by gender and class dynamics. Greater rates of migration from remote communities seem to be explained by the lack of income generating opportunities, and food insecurity experienced therein, as well as the distance from towns, thus making moves more permanent. “We see most of the youth who leave are from the nonirrigated land and this is due to their poverty and difficult situation,” one elder stated in a focus group with solemn nods of agreement by his peers. Because youth migration is commonly caused by situations of extreme poverty, those with irrigation do not encounter migration of this nature to the same extent, and therefore have more resources to overcome periods of difficulty as well as a greater ability to invest in education over the long term. A young person migrating for unskilled labor will struggle to meet basic daily needs, be unable to support the family and struggle to support themselves. Rural agricultural development, such as expanding access to irrigation, is a key recommendation derived from these findings. Deciding to leave and return home Migration itself is not a choice made by the youth for their own benefit or simply because they do not want to farm. Some families explain that the choice for youth to migrate is a family decision. They realize that when there is insufficient food for all the family members, youth migration for unskilled labor work will reduce the household demands, while the youth migrant will work to meet their own basic needs and ideally provide support to the family. In other instances, youth decide on their own, seeking new opportunities and experiences elsewhere, largely driven by push factors of poverty and dire prospects of agricultural livelihoods due to declining landholding size. Few generalizations about how this occurs can be made; what ought to be challenged, however, is that not a single answer exists to explain how and why youth migration occurs. For households wherein land is limited, education and vocational options need to be developed to ensure migrants are better able to acquire work when they migrate. Matching skills training to relevant employment needs will be key for such initiatives to be successful, as will improving access to information about where the skills are in demand.

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Implications for rural farming and access to food Increasing rates of migration, and for longer periods of time, is causing a profound and gendered dispossession of land in rural areas across sub-Saharan Africa, as well as several health concerns (Kuuire et al, 2013). While migrant youth drop out of school entirely, other children seasonally withdraw from school to support their elderly caregivers and parents to complete farming tasks. The community sentiment that “youth do not want to farm” stems from both challenges: the difficulty of farming itself as well as the probability that such hard work will not result in basic food security nor surplus. Furthermore, agricultural livelihoods are becoming increasingly challenging as climate change results in greater rainfall variability (Bezabih and Di Falco, 2012). Rural agricultural development along with targeted vocational training and information sharing will improve the options and opportunities for rural youth, and address both the pull factors for youth to pursue agricultural livelihoods and the pull factors to obtain better employment.

Conclusion There are several factors that explain why young people move away from rural areas and in particular out of farming. Migration itself is less of a choice made by the youth for their own benefit or simply because they do not want to farm, but because of their specific opportunities, constraints, and abilities. Choices are dependent on a few main factors: type of labor ability (education and skills development), access to land, household poverty, and location, which are also shaped by gender. Access to opportunities, such as in education and land inheritance, are highly unequal between young women and men, influencing the gendered nature of migration. The work of migrants is also gendered, with women experiencing more vulnerability in many of their workplaces than men. This is similar to the experiences of female migrants in Albania in Chapter Thirteen. Youth migration is typically caused by situations of extreme poverty with no alternatives. In particular, both male and female youth who migrate for unskilled labor struggle to meet sufficient basic daily needs. Those in rural communities with irrigation take on a different type of migration, and have more resources and an ability to invest in education over the long term, which further influences opportunities and types of migration. Female youth experience gender discrimination in the household, which is compounded by a lack of confidence to

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shape their migration trajectories. The elderly left behind in rural communities are unable to meet the labor demands needed to farm for subsistence and fear a future with farming diminishing further and lack of access to food in the community. Such a situation could be averted through rural agricultural development, targeted and tailored vocational training, improved access to information, and inclusive education for all rural youth. References Bello, W. F. and Baviera, M. (2009) The food wars, Monthly Review, 61(3): 17. Bernstein, H. (2010) Class dynamics of agrarian change, Halifax: Fernwood. Bezabih, M. and Di Falco, S. (2012) Rainfall variability and food crop portfolio choice: Evidence from Ethiopia, Food Security, 4(4): 557–67. Bezabih, M., Holden, S., and Mannberg, A. (2012) The role of land certification in reducing gender gaps in productivity in rural Ethiopia, Working Paper 01/12, As, Norway: Centre for Land Tenure Studies, Norwegian University of Life Sciences. Bezu, S. and Holden, S. (2014) Are youth in Ethiopia abandoning agriculture?, World Development, 64: 259–72. Bonifacio, G. T. (ed) (2013) Gender and rural migration: Realities, conflict and change, New York: Routledge. Brandt, S.A., Spring, A., Heibisch, C., McCabe, J.T., Tabogie, E., Diro, M. et al (1997) The “tree against Hunger”: Enset-based agricultural systems in Ethiopia, Washington, DC: American Association for the Advancement of Science. Bryceson D.F. (1995) Women wielding the hoe: Lessons from rural Africa for feminist theory and development practice, Oxford: Berg. Cochrane, L. (2017) Strengthening food security in southern Ethiopia, Doctoral dissertation submitted to the University of British Columbia Okanagan. Cochrane, L. and Gecho, Y. (2016) The dynamics of vulnerability and adaptive capacity in southern Ethiopia, in M. Companion and M. Chaiken (eds) Responses to disasters and climate change: Understanding vulnerability and fostering resilience, Boca Raton: CRC Press. Cochrane, L. and O’Regan, D. (2016) Legal harvest and illegal trade: Trends, challenges and options in khat production in Ethiopia, International Journal of Drug Policy, 30: 27–34. Cochrane, L. and Tamiru, Y. (2016) Ethiopia’s Productive Safety Net Program: Power, politics and practice, Journal of International Development, 28(5): 649–65.

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Cochrane, L. and Thornton, A. (2017) A socio-cultural analysis of smallholder borrowing and debt in southern Ethiopia, Journal of Rural Studies, 49: 69–77. Cornwall, A., Harrison, E., and Whitehead, A. (eds) (2007) Feminisms in development: Contradictions, contestations and challenges, London: Zed Books. CSA (Central Statistical Agency) (2009) Large- and medium-scale commercial farms sample survey 2008/09 (2001 E.C.), Statistical Bulletin 446, Addis Ababa: Central Statistical Agency. ———. (2011) Demographic and health survey, Addis Ababa: Central Statistical Agency. FAO (2015) Regional overview of food insecurity: African food insecurity prospects brighter than ever, Accra: FAO. Headey, D., Dereje, M., Ricker-Gilbert, J., Josephson, A., and Taffesse, A.S. (2013) Land constraints and agricultural intensification in Ethiopia: A village-level analysis of high potential areas, ESSP Working Paper 58, Washington: International Food Policy and Research Institute. Jackson, C. (2007) Resolving risk? Marriage and creative conjugality, Development and Change, 38(1): 107–29. Kuuire, V., Mkandawire, P., Arku, G. and Luginaah, I. (2013) “Abandoning” farms in search of food: Food remittance and household food security in Ghana, African Geographical Review, 32(2): 125–139. Kuuire, V.Z., Mkandawire, P., Luginaah, I., and Arku, G. (2015) Abandoning land in search of farms: Challenges of subsistence migrant farming in Ghana, Agriculture and Human Values, 33(2): 475–88. Ludi, E., Tesfaye, K., and Levine, S. (2011) Preparing for the future? Understanding the influence of development interventions on adaptive capacity at the local level in Ethiopia, https://policy-practice. oxfam.org.uk/publications/preparing-for-the-future-understandingthe-influence-of-development-interventio-188290 Luginaah, I., Weis, T., Galaa, S., Nkrumah, M.K., Benzer-Kerr, R., and Bagah, D. (2009) Environment, migration and food security in the Upper West region of Ghana, in I. Luginaah and E.K. Yanful (eds) Environment and health in sub-Saharan Africa: Managing an emerging crisis, London: Springer, pp. 25–38. NBE [National Bank of Ethiopia] (2014) Annual report 2013/14, Addis Ababa: National Bank of Ethiopia. Olango, T.M., Tesfaye, B., Catellani, M., and Pe, M. E. (2014) Indigenous knowledge, use and on-farm management of Enset (Enset ventricosum (Welw.) Cheesman) diversity in Wolaita, southern Ethiopia, Journal of Ethnobiology and Ethnomedicine, 10(41): 1–31.

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O’Laughlin, B. (2007) A bigger piece of a very small pie: Intrahousehold resource allocation and poverty reduction in Africa, Development and Change, 38(1): 21–44. Olinto, P., Beegle, K., Sobrado, C., and Uematsu, H. (2013) The state of the poor: Where are the poor, where is extreme poverty harder to end, and what is the current profile of the world’s poor?, Economic Premise, 125(2): 1–8. Quisumbing, A.R., Meinzen-Dick, R., Raney, T.L., Croppenstedt, A., Behrman, J.A., and Peterman, A. (eds) (2014) Gender in agriculture, London: Springer. Rahmato, D. (2007) Development interventions in Wollaita, 1960s–2000s: A critical review, Monograph No. 4, Addis Ababa: Forum for Social Studies. Resnick, D. and Thurlow, J. (eds) (2015) African youth and the persistence of marginalization: Employment, politics, and prospects for change, New York: Routledge. Shipton, P. (1990) African famines and food security: Anthropological perspectives, Annual Review of Anthropology, 19: 353–94. Spielman, D., Mekonnen, D., and Alemu, D. (2012) Seed, fertilizer, and agricultural extension in Ethiopia, in P. Dorosh and S. Rashid (eds) Food and agriculture in Ethiopia, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Sumberg, J. and Okali, C. (2013) Young people, agriculture, and transformation in rural Africa: An “opportunity space” approach, Innovations, 8(1–2): 259–69. Sumberg, J., Anyidoho, N.A., Leavy, J., te Lintelo, D.J., and Wellard, K. (2012) Introduction: The young people and agriculture “problem” in Africa, IDS Bulletin, 43(6): 1–8. Taffesse, A.S., Dorosh, P., and Gemessa, S.A. (2012) Crop production in Ethiopia: Regional patterns and trends, in P. Dorosh and S. Rashid (eds) Food and agriculture in Ethiopia: Progress and policy challenges, Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, pp. 53–83. Tsegaye, A. and Struik, P.C. (2002) Analysis of Enset (Ensete ventricosum) indigenous production methods and farm-based biodiversity in major Enset-growing regions of southern Ethiopia, Experimental Agriculture, 38: 291–315. UN (United Nations) (2014) World urbanization prospects: The 2014 revision, New York: Department of Economic and Social Affairs, Population Division. UN (2015) The least developed countries report 2015: Transforming rural economies, New York: United Nations.

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United States Census Bureau (2016) International database – Ethiopia, https://www.census.gov/population/international/data/idb/ region.php?N=%20Results%20&T=13&A=separate&RT=0&Y= 2050&R=-1&C=ET Weis, T. (ed) (2007) The global food economy: The battle for the future of farming, London: Zed. White, B. (2012) Agriculture and the generation problem: Rural youth, employment and the future of farming, IDS Bulletin, 43(6): 9–19. Whitehead, A. (2002) Tracking livelihood change: Theoretical, methodological and empirical perspectives from north-east Ghana, Journal of Southern African Studies, 28(3): 575–98. ———. (2006) Persistent poverty in north-east Ghana, Journal of Development Studies, 42(2): 278–300. World Bank (2016) Ethiopia, http://www.worldbank.org/en/country/ ethiopia Wright, J. (1997) Deconstructing development theory: Feminism, the public/private dichotomy and the Mexican Maquiladoras, Canadian Review of Sociology and Anthropology, 34(1): 71–92.

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Intersectional experiences of young migrant women in Istanbul Bayram Ünal

As of the early 1990s, we have witnessed increasing immigration to Turkey in line with the integration of Istanbul in the globalized economy as an important node in a world-city system (Sonmez, 1995; Keyder, 1999; Gedik, 2000; Hacisalihoglu, 2000; Radikal, 2001; Sibel, 2001; Turkiye Gazetesi, 2002). As an integral part of the global capitalist system since early 1990s, Istanbul has seen an increasing informal economy due to its geographical position and generally unobstructed entry into the country. Istanbul became one of the most common arrival points for the people from neighboring countries, especially those coming from the Newly Independent States (NISs) or ex-Soviet states. Additionally, the economic turmoil and increasing feminization of poverty (Corrin, 2005) in NISs during the first quarter of the 1990s has gradually forced the residents of these states, especially young women, to earn their livelihood in other countries. The breadwinner role left unfilled by unemployed male householders has inevitably been undertaken by woman at different ages, and the outmigration toward preferred neighboring countries has been largely feminized (Castles and Miller, 1993; Antonova-Ünlü et al, 2015). In this chapter, this outflow has emerged as the site of intersectional experiences (Crenshaw, 1991) of marginalized young migrant women in Turkey. The experiences in our case1 have placed the young women migrants at the “intersections of class, sexual orientation, religion, age, citizenship and ethnicity” (Durbin and Conley, 2010, p. 185). Here, following Crenshaw’s expansion of intersectionality, the intersectional experience is defined as the set of young women’s migratory-exclusionary experiences revolving around multiple categories earlier noted (Crenshaw, 1991). Intersectionality thus provides “a methodological and theoretical framework that conveys the multiple and simultaneous oppressions” (Moore et al, 2011, p. 6) of the experiences of young migrant women at different stages of their

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movement toward Istanbul. This chapter presents the shifts in female migration to Turkey, the ethnic division of labor, and preferential frameworks that examine the varied discourses and practices about them as migrant workers.

Shifts in migration The first migration stream during the early 1990s was identical with both trafficked and voluntary migration of young Russian women as sex workers2 in the northern part of Turkey. The important actors in these trafficking stories were Russian-origin, or those who looked Russian, charming women under 30 years old (Gulcur and Ilkkaracan, 2002). Their migration is perceived by the media (İlbuga and Sepetci, 2010) as having a coercive element, rather than the media trying to understand women’s experiences and preferences. This coercive element reflects the hegemony of sex industry networks over the lives of trafficked women from Istanbul to Europe (International Organization for Migration, 2000; Laczko and Thompson, 2000). Female victims of human trafficking have been called Natashas worldwide (Ünal, 2016), thanks to the global print and visual media identifying sexy, young, hot, passionate, blonde bombshells as of “Russian origin” (Gulcur and Ilkkaracan, 2002, p. 414). The Natasha image has been decisively constitutive of the symbolic boundaries of ensuing migration streams. It has turned out to be the primary labeling tool constituting public perception, which categorizes young migrant women as embodying this erotic label, regardless of their own experiences of migration. Through this representation, not only in the public sphere but also, most importantly, among single migrant women, they struggle over who they are, and come to know what practices define them in their everyday life. The second migration flow has been directed toward the tourism and entertainment sectors defined within capitalist consumption patterns (Antonova-Ünlü et al, 2015). In fact the new entertainment sector has been “a new form” of an old business; the Natasha image has thus become more and more entrenched in the media (Gulcur and Ilkkaracan, 2002; İlbuga and Sepetci, 2010) and diffused as the dynamic dimensions of social relations that leave young migrant women no choice but to compete in sex-related social relations. The more women migrate toward cities like Istanbul with its wellknown tourism and entertainment sector, the more institutionalized the Natasha image has become. They represent an alternative to local women in providing entertainment and sexual services. Thus, the

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categorization of migrant women is not only based on their ethnicity, such as native vs. migrant, but also their age, such as young vs. old. Expanding on the trafficking of women mostly taking place in northern Turkey, and toward the entertainment and tourism sector mostly in southern Turkey has also consolidated the image of Natasha extensively and deeply in all work relations. Thus, a migrant woman should be a Natasha in order to have this type of job and perform the job as Natasha. This has been pointed out by one of the women who sees herself as a Natasha: I was 24 when I came to Turkey … everybody was around the same age. As a matter of fact, those who came for sex-related business were so young. However, working in entertainment is not any less womanly … it requires you to be sexy. The way you present yourself is so important as well. Your job forces you to use your body, most of the time. Sometimes you have to get involved in sexual relations. If you are not young and charming, it is almost impossible for you to work in this business. (Mrs. L., 34, Bender) In the third stream of migration, we have witnessed an increasing number of Moldovan women migrating (from around 8,000 in 1996 to 78,000 in 1999)3 toward Istanbul right after the second half of the 1990s, corresponding to the increase in the so-called irregular suitcase trade (Yükseker, 2003) in Turkey’s Laleli region. Suitcase trading refers to the sale of goods stuffed in a suitcase in various destinations, usually for cash. While the ethnic characteristics of women participating in this type of trade remain unaltered—they are from eastern Europe— their migration reflected a shift in the women’s ages. The increasing mean age of migrant women came about because older women are more likely involved in the suitcase trade, and the sexual representation of Natashas was not associated with these women as much as it was with the women involved in the entertainment industry. However, there were some cases where women became sex workers in order to accumulate capital to organize their suitcase trade (Yükseker, 2003). During this time, it might be said that women’s migration took place between the entertainment sector and the informal trade sector interchangeably. The demand created through these two sectors attested to what migrant women can do properly based on their ages. Thus the demand itself becomes a source of conflict among migrant women, as noted in this narrative:

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Most of the young women are working or willing to work in Laleli. But the business in Laleli is insignificant for employment now. Too many women and no jobs … Lately, they go to Antalya to work in tourism. Not all of them, of course  … those are showy, the youngest, they earn more money in tourism. Yes, it is true that those who work in in-house services are little bit older. (Mrs. S., 33, Agency P., Beşiktaş) As the agency worker witnesses, “objectified forms of physical differences have been the primary constituents in establishing the social boundaries for these women manifested in unequal access to and unequal distribution of resources (material and nonmaterial) and business opportunities” (Lamont and Molnar, 2002, p.168, italics added). The fourth stream of women migration from the NISs occurred at the beginning of 2000, with women going to work in all sorts of domestic service with middle and upper middle class (MUMC) families in Istanbul and Antalya. At this time, there was a clear classification as to which kinds of domestic services migrant women should work in based not only on their ages but also on their ethnicity. In other words, there have been more complex refractions of sexuality in the types of domestic service undertaken. The earlier migrants had been bounded with the tourism or entertainment business relations explicitly accredited with suitable physical appearances, whereas the latter migrants manifest themselves as groups of individuals distinguished with perceptional and personal differentiations other than the physical appearances in in-house services (IHSs).

Shifts in ethnic and ethical division of labor: from domestic work to IHSs The public (imagers) perceptions (images) of in-house service workers (IHSWs) (imagined) have been decisive in determining the boundaries (imaginary) of the work that should be considered and the boundaries of the proper ways of performing (experiencing) such work. Through the images and the imaginary, 
the imagined has been blockaded by the imager (Appadurai, 2000). Therefore, there is a strong correlation between the experiences of women in his work and the public perception of an expected framework in which young IHSWs have been either victims of or subservient to these perceptions. The primary field where imagery patterns and experiences can be traced comparatively and clearly is that of IHSs and the transformation

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of the sector itself. The early concept of “domestic work”4 usually consisted of activities reproducing the members within home that is the “sphere of patriarchal conjugal family” (Habermas, 1989, p. 43). Hence, the early content of domestic work, by definition, has long included a variety of reproductive tasks assigned to women—such as cooking, washing dishes, doing laundry, cleaning, and dusting. Domestic services in Turkey have long been provided by native Turkish women who are generally uneducated and of rural origin (Kalaycıoğlu and Tilic, 2000; Ozyegin, 2001). These two features—that is, being uneducated and of rural origin— are the most important factors in the generalization of native women as Ayses (from the Turkish name, Aisha) in the eyes of the public. Ayses were usually allowed to work in domestic service as day laborers, helpers, servants, cleaners, or cooks due to the patriarchy’s gendered terms enforced on her by the family. Furthermore, Ayses can provide none of these services to single-person households or to male members of the families. In many instances, they have clearly rejected working while male family members are at home. By these features, the image of the Ayse labels Turkish women who accept their socially constructed and gendered identity in patriarchal settings (Ecevit, 1985, 1995; Özbay, 1990, 2002) and who are less educated, married, and between the ages of 20 and 60 (UNDP, 2014). However, during the second half of the 1990s, we have witnessed decisive shifts. First of all, not only the types but also the content of IHSs have become different from earlier types of domestic services. Second, these services that were provided only for upper-class families before the late 1990s, soon after that became widespread services for all the MUMC, including for single male households (Ozyegin, 2001; Kaska, 2005; Ünal and Coskun, 2005). In line with the new consumption patterns, especially childcare for MUMC families, it is no longer only a matter of meeting the physical needs of the child on a daily basis. Care services now should include the educational and psychological development of the child starting from a very early age. Domestic work started to include extra caring services, requiring more skilled and educated labor, especially when such work related to children and elderly or ill people. The demand for the new maid, who can endure the old patriarchal work beneath the contemporary image of the modern maid, was on the rise. This new demand soon met a response in the flow of Moldovan Gagauz (hereafter Gagauz)5 women to Turkey, known as Marias. The image of Maria has been adapted from the Brazilian TV series to define innocent, young, beautiful, good, obedient, truthful, respectful,

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and most importantly poor single woman. The age distribution of Moldovan women overall shows that 54% are women under the age of 35. Among the Moldovan IHSWs, 61% are Gagauz women under the age of 35. This new labor source corresponded with the new demand that required a young woman under 40, married but acting as single during her work, and literate IHSWs. The image of the Maria has established not only the boundaries of the new forms of IHSs but also the essential clues for Gagauz women IHSWs, as young, hardworking, and especially live-in workers. In line with live-in demand, the migration of young and literate Gagauz women, who are either single or married but who migrate without their male companions, has been organized through intermediary agencies in Turkey and Kishinev. Most of the Gagauz women, 41.5%, reported that they were single, while 29% were widowed. In other words, more than 70% of them were single. In addition to marital status, their educational level satisfies the new demand as well. The percentage of primary school graduates among them is less than 1% while the percentage of high school graduates presents the highest value. Most of them—51.4%—are high school graduates, while 31% of them have university degrees. “Secondary” school graduates and those with a “graduate studies” degree constitute 16% and 2%, respectively. The concept of IHSs has not been exclusive of further services and of other migrant women. In addition to the major services included in IHSs, there are also other emerging services. The demand for new services including sexual affairs is likely to increase in vicious form; recent differentiation in consumption patterns in IHSs open up a space for correspondingly new flows of further immigrant women. Although pet care, tidying up, cooking, provision of services, massage, and household management can be included among the traditional IHSs, there is no denying that these services have been newly established under the form of IHSs namely in-house partnership services (IHPSs). This means that the rise of pet care, massage services, and so on serves to cover up partnership services potentially related to sexual affairs. Newspaper ads show that the demand for sexual affairs has been covered under certain types of work, such as massage, house manager, pet care, and so on. Most importantly, these services are somehow related to sexual affairs and demanded particularly by MUMC single male households as a result of the expectations raised by the early image of Natashas in Turkey (Ünal, 2016). Furthermore, most of the IHSs have been provided more and more by an increasing number of young migrant women from east European countries such as Ukraine, Moldova, and Bulgaria, and later from Caucasus countries

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such as Azerbaijan, Uzbekistan, and Armenia (Ünal and Coskun, 2005). An employment agency characterizes what is expected from inhouse partnership service workers (IHPSWs), as noted by Mrs. S.: To be reasonable … they call us and ask for a beautiful, fashionable animal caretaker at the age of 18–24. And they say that they might pay up to $400 per month. The callers are male … and they sound young. Then we call them to meet the woman for whom they ask. They refuse most of them without any reason, saying like “She is short,” “She is not well dressed,” etc. In fact, they are not looking for an pet caretaker … rather for women for themselves. (Mrs. S., 36, Agency A, Şişli) The demand for IHPSWs implicitly looks for the women overlapping with the Natasha image. Natasha still covers simply the most common idea of sexy, young, and beautiful and Russian origin or Russian-like women. The following example also demonstrates how this service could be demanded in more overt manner: Some callers utter very specific criteria, so we can simply understand what kind of work they look for in women. I ask directly whether they have special requirements for women or not, like Natasha. They simply answer by saying “why not if the woman is ok with it?”… money has not been a problem so far. (Mrs. D., 37, Agency O., Levent) The Natasha image is also an epithet used in IHPSs to name those Russian-origin or Russian-like young and sexy migrant women. As an image of women in the eyes of public, they are all either pleasure workers or available to provide all sorts of pleasure services including hassle-free sex. This image has not only resulted in the Turkish public sphere calling all females from the ex-Soviet countries prostitutes but also established the perceptional boundaries of the young women by themselves. People, as Lamont and Molnar (2002, p. 170) note, adapt to their environment through cognitive categorization and stereotyping. This constructed image has been widely used in newspapers and other forms of mass media as well: movies, theaters, forums, television, and so on. The media has primarily established the social and symbolic boundaries of Natashas mainly by focusing on their ethnicity and their

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sexuality to define these as identical assets (Ünal, 2016). Thus, this provides the distinctions between IHPSs vs. IHSs as social practices. These distinctions have further expanded the IHSWs toward special services on the part of IHPSWs by particular migrants who have sexual assets as a given gift. Therefore, in line with the conceived sexual images shaping 
the IHPSs, the provision of pleasure in MUMC families has been expected 
automatically from young migrant women mostly from Russia and 
Ukraine aged 18 to their early 30s. These women, among others, in our sample are over-represented in the age group of 21–25 by 53%, while the other nationalities are over-represented in the age group of 26–35 by approximately 30%. Furthermore, they are the group of people with the highest cultural/educational capital level; 37.5 % are high school graduates and 62.5% are university graduates. Non-school attendance and primary and secondary school graduation do not even exist among these women. The percentage of singles among these women is 50%, while 41.7% of women are married but not presently together with a man. Widowed women are underrepresented in our sample by 8% for this group. Due to these characteristics, young migrant women from eastern Europe do not make adequate ideal and traditional IHSWs like the Ayses and Marias in both their own and public perception. Accordingly, an agent said: Whatever they do in the market is parallel to their level of education and thus to their lifestyle. Most of them graduated from higher education. They prefer to stay away from regular housework. Ukrainian women are in between Gagauz and Russian women. They do not dedicate themselves to the housework like Gagauz women do. Gagauz women are like porters, they take care of everything. (Mrs.  O., 36, Agency A., Şişli) The total absence of Russian-origin women from IHSs has been further ascribed to “their will” for involvement in sex and pleasure by women from MUMC families. However, their rejection has been related with the highly endless and inclusive boundaries of work in IHSs. One of the intermediary agents reported that: They [women of Russian origin] thought that they were not created to serve someone but to be loved. Reciprocally, Turkish people, especially young males, also believe that

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such women are here to be loved and serve to give pleasure for them. They feed each other. If a woman looking for a job is Russian, the male household’s approach toward the woman changes radically and he forces her (to provide sexual services). (Mrs. O., 36, Agency A., Şişli, emphasis added) Such stereotypes are in line with the image of Russian women based on their physical appearance, such as young and beautiful, rather than their personal qualities such as honesty, trustworthiness, being hardworking, hygienic, and so on. They were not considered “good maids” for many families, especially from the perspective of the lady of the house. For those families who need a maid for childcare or any housework, the maid should be well-behaved as a woman first, meaning that the maid should be aware of who she is in relation to the lady of the house and of what she must be doing. Thus, the latest perception of maids in the eyes of female employers is clearly associated with gendered expectations rather than sexual expectations, with a certain level of hierarchy rather than overly loose relations, and with the definitions of superior and inferior: one being the “lady of the house” and the other is the “maid,” not a friend or partner. While Marias have been a full replacement for the MUMC women for all house-related work, Natashas have been a full replacement for native women for personal services, including partnership and sexual affairs, while being excluded from general IHSs. Following these shifts in migration, we have finally witnessed the rise of and, in turn, the impact of ethical and ethnic filtrations and further divisions of labor in IHSs that are the obvious determinants of migrants’ experiences. Ethical attributes have turned out to be decisive filters to distinguish three distinct categories of IHSWs, corresponding to different consumption patterns: Ayse, Maria, and Natasha. Ethnic attributes fostered labeling of all migrant women either as Russians or as the rest, namely Turkish-origin foreigners.6 The next section discusses the preferential framework underlying the intersectional practices affecting female migrant workers.

Ethnic preferential frameworks: officers’ practices toward Natashas The ethical labeling framed in previous section relates to the efforts toward ethnic categorization by the state and the media. The ethnic distinctions, corresponding to the ethics of work undertaken in IHSs, have been legitimized not through the relevant law itself but

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through state officials’ preferential ethnic frameworks. Migrants have been differentiated (regardless of the pull-push factors) by ethnicity, as Turkish-origin foreigners and non-Turkish, following an ethical classification through the state and media channels.7 I will highlight here the different treatment by state officers of migrant women in IHSs with respect to their ethnic origin and their ages in conjunction with the ethical aspects inferred from the type of work in which they have been assumed to be engaged (sex business, suitcase trade, IHSs, textile manufacturing, sales, tourism, and others). The first example concerns ethnic origin, where the state officers in charge of law enforcement treat migrant women differently, as stated by an agent: If woman is Russian or Russian in origin, the police treat her as a Natasha, meaning as a prostitute. The number of women mistreated by the police is too many … Thousands of women were threatened as well. If the woman is Gagauz, meaning Turkish in origin, the police turn a blind eye and say to the Gagauz woman “Disappear dear sister.” In the worst case, the police take the last bucks of the Gagauz woman from her wallet, that is usually US$10 and always ready for the police raid. (Mrs. S., 36, Agency A., Şişli) It is a very common view among police officers that Gagauz women deserve special treatment, especially since they are of Turkish origin and come to Turkey to work only in the IHSs sector, unlike other women, who are not of Turkish origin and supposedly arrive in Turkey to work in the sex industry. “Stereotyping is neither equally nor randomly distributed; it is linked to structural, legal and social violence” (Kovic and Argüelles, 2010, p. 87, italics added). This special treatment presents some important advantages for Gagauz migrants in overcoming the various difficulties they encounter in Turkey. When considered in combination with the public support given to Gagauz Moldovan women in Turkey through the image of Maria, one can infer that they are in fact encouraged to come to Turkey as only IHSs workers. Women of Russian origin are imagined as IHPWs, mostly for sexual affairs in private settings, regardless of their desire to work in the tourism sector or as translators in commercial establishments. This difference in social construction of young migrant women is based on the traditional and official stigmatization of sex work, and highlights the ways in which actors can be subjected to

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social and legal control, and be targeted for discriminatory treatment (Weitzer, 2009, p. 213). A case in point here is the reported conversation between an officer (DG, 45) and a tourism agency owner (NT, 36) at the airport, explicitly about unfair treatment: NT: Dear Officer, I came here to report that your officers have been acting unlawfully. If you let me explain details, I would appreciate it. DG: Take a breath, Mrs. NT. It is good for the health to take it easy … just a second. In NT’s expression, the event is as follows: A lady approaches the customs control desk at the airport terminal and gives her passport to the customs officer [CO]. The police superintendent [PS] of the airport suddenly approaches the CO and asks: PS: Is she Ukrainian? CO: No, Moldovan, coming from Kishinov. The PS orders the CO: PS: Send this woman away. CO: But she has a visa. PS: Never mind, do not take her in. She is so young, looks like a prostitute. She can find another country to sell herself. After the PS’s insult, the woman passes out and falls to the floor. As she opens her eyes, she is in line for the return ticket office. NT: How come that your officers cannot behave properly to a woman with a legal visa issued by your embassy, dear officer? This woman has worked at famous Turkish tourism agencies for a long time, and this is not the first time she has come to Turkey. Without even looking at her passport, how come your officer sends this woman back to Moldova? It is unbelievable … Is it possible to tell someone is a prostitute by looking at her dress and her young face? In which part of the law is this plausible? This will harm our business and your business, too. I

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am expecting that you will punish this man for his ill behavior. DG: Mrs. NT, it is impossible to punish the officer for this. He does his work. As you know, Turkey became a haven for thousands of Natashas [laughing]. Controlling this is our legal right. If we do not do that, we will be criticized for not protecting the society’s morals. NT: Dear officer, is it written on her forehead that she is prostitute? Please be realistic, for god’s sake. DG: [in a somewhat rigid tone] These officers are wellexperienced, dear lady. They should be able decide by themselves in this kind of situation. If we interfere and punish, they step back from taking responsibility for their work. Relax, such examples are very rare. Please, do not let marginal and single cases aggravate you. As you well know, almost all of the Russian women in our country are involved in sex in one way or another. NT: Dear officer, you are more or less labeling thousands of women like me and others. This is not good and acceptable. I am taking your time, I am very sorry, have a good workday. DG: You, too, Mrs. NT. [While NT leaves, he turns to other person at the office] They will have us involved in the Natasha trade. Everybody from Russia and the Ukraine is working in the sex business either directly or as tourist. Except for the Gagauz, other women will have work in the sex business for more, and more and more money, only a couple of days or weeks after their entry. The long example of a conversation between the PS and the CO at the airport shows how the perceptional framework shapes the labeling discourse regarding young migrant women and the application of laws around migration, and the negative impact of this on women’s rights (Lansink, 2006). Another example of unfair treatment occurred at the border, at Edirne’s Dereköy Customs, where papers are checked before entering Turkey. At the border, a number of nonconsensual, coercive, deceptive or abusive means are exercised by different groups of women, and reveals that the difference in treatment is not only based on ethnicity but also on age and physical appearance of women. A respondent disclosed:

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We were 19 women in a minibus. I am well experienced since I entered Turkey a couple of times through customs. Officers at the border were so nice to Gagauz women. The driver has always been taking care of everything. On my last trip, there was a young girl in our minibus … from the North [non-Gagauz region]. She was inexperienced, but worse, she was well groomed and dressed, with makeup. The driver came back and told us to get out. Officers were to control the minibus, he said. They interrogated each of us individually … asking where we were going and why … But to me, it was fake. They all knew where we were going and why. They did not even listen to our answers. They were mumbling by “ok … hmm … ok … out.” We were all outside the office, except for the young girl from Bricani. It took almost six hours for her. We, 18 people, waited for her for six hours. It was so cold. She came toward midnight … was so miserable. All officers had sex with this young miserable girl at the age of 19. Actually, they raped her. She cried during the rest of the trip. She could not resist, since she needed to enter Turkey and earn money. She needed money so badly … Besides, tell me to whom she could complain? (Mrs. S., 36, Kishinev) The violation committed against the young Bricani woman at the border could be explained neither by consent nor by sex and lust. As Lansink argues (2006, p.  47), consent is irrelevant if coercion, deception, fraud, or the other listed means are used. Woodhull (1988) notes that coercion is the simplest way of proving the power of state authorities and the dehumanization of ethnic women. As a member of the other, the Bricani woman was humiliated, shamed, embarrassed, degraded, and terrified by representatives of Turkish authority at the border. Furthermore, the violation is most likely tossed out juridically since it has been seen as instrumental in exercising the state’s power and control over others. The age and ethnic differences among migrant women have not always resulted in forced sexual assaults. In a raid or seize, the ethnicity of the woman and the reason to carry out such an operation determine further official decisions. According to a retired police officer: If she is of Russian origin, then the police officer’s face turns red. They are directly interested in the woman’s pocket. If she has money enough to organize her departure, they

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oblige her with a little threat to depart at her own expense. Then, the police fill out papers. But if she is not an illegal resident or does not have enough money to manage her departure, they do not fill out any official papers. They take all the money she has in her pocket and throw her out of the police station immediately. That happens all the time, except in case of grievances. Polices have to officiate the paperwork for her if the public has a complaint about her. The state has too many deportations based on this kind of denunciation, meaning the quota of these complaints is more than that of others. (Mr. T., 55, retired police officer, Eminönü, rephrasing in italics) In these examples, agents of state power like the police contribute to the experiences of migrant women at the point of entry.

Conclusions Young migrant women in Turkey encounter different treatment and further marginalization through negative labeling associated with their physical appearance and ethnic origin. For instance, ethnicity is organized culturally by the media and state itself and subjectively inferred from assumed ethical rules of conduct and the legal and social boundaries of their perceived status (Lamont and Molnar, 2002). However, not all migrants, particularly women, are equally legal, illegal or perceived as illegal (Ünal, 2016). Assumed ethnic ties and the attitudes of state officials toward young migrant women are strongly reflected in the type of work offered by employers as well (Ünal, 2004). These practices reveal that the migration patterns in which education, skill, wealth, and family background are important factors in the reception of migrants in the country of destination are arguably limited by the public labeling or perceptions of migrant women. These factors—constituting valuable human capital—are not taken into account in admitting young migrant women into the country. Rather, positive selectivity mostly and most likely comes from characteristics such as the women’s age, ethnic origin, ethical aspects, ambition, and the notion of chastity in Turkey. Young migrant women’s experience of work in different industries is associated with exclusionary practices. Ethnicity, age, and imagined cultural background have paved the way for young migrant women to be perceived differently. The ones defined as Natashas, notably of Russian origin, have been excluded and forced to look for work

310

Intersectional experiences of young migrant women in Istanbul

in IHPSs rather than the IHSs. Their exclusion and marginalization are among the most prominent and influential factors underlying the concentration of particular groups of young migrant women in certain sectors and their different work experiences. Other groups of migrant women are labeled as Ayses and Marias; the former, from rural areas, work in traditional domestic chores while the latter, from Moldova, work as “modern maids.” Shifts in migration usher in particular shifts in ethnic-defined labor associated with preferential treatment based on age and ethnicity. The initial concept of “domestic work” as type and content usually consisted of labor demand for reproductive or general care activities—housework, childcare, health care. This has changed, with new transferable migrant female labor in the entertainment and tourism sectors. Accordingly, traditional domestic work has evolved into a widespread variety of new forms of services for the MUMC, especially for single male households, including personal, massage, and partnership services, all classified as IHPSs. The demand for sexual services has been disguised under certain categories of work, such as massage services, house management, pet care, and so on, to some extent transferring the early image of Natashas into the realm of domestic services. The “intersections of class, sexual orientation, religion, age, citizenship and ethnicity” (Durbin and Conley, 2010, p. 185) clearly manifest in the experiences of young migrant women in Turkey. All the chapters in this collection allude to an intersection of identities and of systems of power that define the experiences of youth-in-migration. As indicated by the Natashas, Marias, and Ayses in this chapter, the public discourse about gender and work seems rooted in particular labeling of ethnic women that are hard to escape from. Notes 1.

This study is based on field work in Istanbul.

2.

See further discussion on the concept of sex work (Jeffreys, 2009) and trafficking (Limoncelli, 2009).

Statistics were provided by Turkish Statistical Institution in 2003.

3. 4.

“Domestic work” here will be limited to work within the household, while “work” is used in its general meaning to imply the exchange of one’s efforts measured in time for payment either in cash or in kind. The notion of “housework,” on the other hand, will include only unpaid house-related services, while the paid form of these activities relating to others’ houses

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will be indicated as “in-house services” (IHSs). IHSs are simply seen as an extension of housework at somebody’s house. 5.

Gagauz people are Turkish-origin citizens of Moldova, living mostly in the Gagauzia Region, in the southern part of Moldova.

6.

The term Turkish-origin foreigners was introduced in Law No. 2007 (dated to 1932) to apply flexible employment regulations for foreigners of Turkish/Turkic origin. There is no clear definition of the term. However, officials emphasize that it reflected the state’s preferential approach to Turkic people from Azerbaijan, Bulgaria, Turkmenistan, Iraq, Iran, and several other Asian countries, as well as from Moldova.

7.

Details on media have been discussed in Ünal (2016).

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Habermas, J. (1989) The structural transformation of the public sphere, Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Hacisalihoglu, Y. (2000) Küresellesme: Mekansal etkileri ve Istanbul, Istanbul: Akademik Duzey Yayinlari. İlbuga, E.U. and Sepetci, T. (2010) Representations of foreign women in the Turkish media: A study on regional supplements of national newspapers and local newspapers in Antalya, GS Iletisim Dergisi, 13(13): 29–53. International Organization for Migration (2000) Perspectives on trafficking of migrants, Geneva: International Organization for Migration. Jeffreys, S. (2009) Prostitution, trafficking and feminism: An update on the debate, Women’s Studies International Forum, 32(4): 316–20. Kalaycıoğlu, S. and Tilic, H.R. (2000) Evlerimizdeki gündelikçi kadınlar, Ankara: Su Yayinlari. Kaska, S. (2005) The new international migration and migrant women in Turkey: The case of Moldovan domestic workers, Istanbul: Migration Research Program, The Koc University. Keyder, C. (eds) (1999) Istanbul:Between the global and the local, Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Kovic, C. and Argüelles, F. (2010) The violence of security: Central American migrants crossing Mexico’s southern border, Anthropology Now, 2(1): 87–97. Laczko, F. and Thompson, D. (2000) Migrant trafficking and human smuggling in Europe: A review of the evidence with case studies from Hungary, Poland and Ukraine, Geneva: International Organization for Migration. Lamont, M. and Molnar, V. (2002) The study of boundaries in the social sciences, Annual Review of Sociology, 28: 167–95. Lansink, A. (2006) Human rights focus on trafficked women: an international law and feminist perspective, Agenda, 20(70): 45–56. Limoncelli, S.A. (2009) The trouble with trafficking: Conceptualizing women’s sexual labor and economic human rights, Women’s Studies International Forum, 32(4): 261–9. Moore, S., Wright, T., and Conley, H. (2011) Addressing discrimination in the workplace on multiple grounds—the experience of trade union equality reps, Industrial Law Journal, 40(4): 460–5. Özbay, F. (1990) Kadınların ev içi ve ev dişi uğraslarindaki değişimi, in Ş. Tekeli (ed) Kadın bakış açısından 1980’ler Türkiye’sinde kadınlar, İstanbul: İletişim Yayınları. ——. (2002) Evlerde el kızları: cariyeler, evlatlıklar, gelinler, in L. Davidoff (ed) Feminist Tarih Yazımında Cinsiyet, Istanbul: İletişim Yayınları, pp. 13–49.

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Ozyegin, G. (2001) Untidy gender: Domestic service in Turkey, Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Radikal (2001) 11 ayda 2 bin 816 kaçak, Radikal, Haber no. 23917, December 16, http://www.radikal.com.tr/haber.php?haberno=23917 Sibel, F. (2001) Yabanci kaçak isçi kâbusu, Sabah, http://www.sabah. com.tr. Sonmez, M. (1995) Küresellesmenin Istanbul’a etkileri, Istanbul Dergisi, 15 (Ekim). Turkiye Gazetesi (2002) Kaçak işçi sayısı bir milyona ulaştı, I, http:// www.turkiyegazetesi.com Ünal, B. (2004) Sermaye olarak yaş ve eğitim değerleri: Türkiye’de ev içi hizmet sektöründe çalışan kadınlar üzerine karşılaştırmalı bulgulari, Sosyoloji Arastirmalari Dergisi, 7(2): 137–61. ———. (2016) Social and political dimension of stigmatization: The development of Natasha and Maria images for immigrants in Istanbul, Migration Letters, 13(1): 159–68. Ünal, B. and Coskun, M.K. (2005) Kayitdisi Ekonomide Gundelikcilik, Sosyoloji Arastirmalari Dergisi, 8(1). UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) (2014) Marital status of men and women, world marriage data 2012, UN. Yükseker, D.H. (2003) Laleli Moskova mekigi: Kayıtdışı ticaret ve cinsiyet ilişkileri, İstanbul: İletişim Yayinlari. Weitzer, R. (2009) Sociology of sex work, Annual Review of Sociology, 35: 213–34. Woodhull, W. (1988) “Sexuality, power, and the question of rape.” In I. Diamond and L. Quinby (eds) Feminism and Foucault: Reflections on resistance. Boston: Northeastern University Press, pp 167–76.

314

Conclusion Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

Youth migration is diverse in forms, patterns, and practices within particular contexts, geographies, and histories. The 15 chapters in this collection tell us in varied ways that youth migration is an important area of study across disciplines, for example, in history, economics, political science, psychology, sociology, and anthropology. Youth remains a contested concept with different meanings according to use, purpose, and framework of analysis around the world; often age is the distinct qualifier, but may not be relevant when enmeshed with bearing adult responsibilities, even at a young age. What we can agree upon is that youth could be that phase in life when experiences are accumulated through education, interactions in the workplace, and in the community, both domestic and international, within a period of forming identities and forging paths for the future. They face so many challenges and opportunities that impact not only their own lives but their communities as well for scholars, policy makers, and practitioners to care about. In a globalized world in the 21st century, youth migration continues to shape the future of families, communities, and countries as the talents, labor, and resources of young people become mobile. Their mobility, whether domestic or foreign, is rooted in structures and practices that are lacking. In examples of rural youth migration in Ethiopia, the development of agriculture and land policies could avert such outmigration. The lack of economic opportunities in the Philippines, the need to access better resources like higher education in Albania, and the search for autonomy are some favored reasons for leaving, and along with this come other issues and challenges in migrants’ destinations. Discrimination, vulnerability, and precariousness define most experiences of marginalized migrant youth. But diverse groups of youth migrants face them differently. Gender is a defining variable in migration that intersects with sexuality, religion, class, ethnicity, status, and others; roles, expectations, and aspirations are organized in ways that are not equitable for men, women, and trans. Hence, gendered modalities attends to this variance in migration experiences and processes.

315

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Youth migration is not always decided upon through “free choice”; it is forced on them through war, persecution, and oppression, or even as state policy, for example in the British empire. Migration is a way to escape from death, violence, and harassment, as in the case of Bangladeshi queers and Syrian refugees. But the exercise of choice is also contested given the dire lack of opportunities that consequently “forces” youth to leave. Those migrating with their families as a unit constitute another example where consent is implied. The selected studies about them in this collection open a sort of window to the much larger complexities of youth migration. We live in a moment of intense anti-immigration politics in western countries, particularly in the US and Europe, and the tide is growing against acceptance in other countries too. In this matrix, youth comprise a significant number among undocumented migrants. The established markers of difference in host countries, such as race and ethnicity, complicate efforts to integrate them. Much like the youth in this collection struggling to deal with racism and discrimination, those in other areas are also facing a number of challenges brought about by unequal structures and harsh policies of detention and deportation without due regard to accepted laws of protection. This is not new; in fact, it is the same as before, but with differing responses depending on the political climate. Sadly, youth migration is considered a burden among government agencies rather than an opportunity to be managed. The cases and studies in this book from Asia, Africa, North America, Europe, and the Middle East vividly situate youth migration in the larger realm of critical interdisciplinary scholarship. The chapters offer insights and interpretations about youth migration to enrich the current literature in the English language. Some chapters have relied on data available only in a foreign language, and including their work here signals the interdependence of knowledge, which, arguably, is becoming the trend toward a shared understanding of the world we live in. Making available the works of non-western scholars who are considered experts in their own countries is a way to democratize knowledge production. As a feminist, I claim that to be heard is inclusion, and to be known is recognition. So many other scholars, young and established, are working tirelessly in different parts of the world to increase the impact of youth migration on the agenda, and to explore its implications. I continue on this path with the hope that more and more people will heed the plight and concerns of youth, wherever they may be.

316

Index Note: Diagrams and illustrations (unless included within a page range) are indicated by italic page numbers. 5 P’s employment, work for immigrants 198

A

accommodation refugee camps, Turkish borders 147, 148, 149 Senegalese migrant workers hotels in France 90 Syrians outside camps in Turkey 154–5 adoption societies, failure to share information 51–2 AFAD (Disaster and Emergency Management Authority) reports 144, 147, 150, 155 “affect aliens” 117–18 Africa youth migration 278–80 factors influencing 281 see also Ethiopia; Senegalese people Agamben, G., state power 108 agricultural communities see Ethiopia Ahmed, S., the promise of happiness 118 Albanian women, internal migration study 235 historical context 237–8 motivations for migrating escape from social control at home 239–40 university degree for job security 238–9 opportunities and constraints, juggling between 242–8 supportive role of parents 240–1 theory of gender and youth migration 236–7 Ambrosini, M., employment models 198 Amnesty Law (1986), US 87–8 anonymity and escape from social control, female Albanians migrating to Tirana 242–3 anti-immigration politics, US and Europe 316 Appadurai, A., importance of the imaginary 240 Arab American college women 219–21 Americanization of 230–1

delaying marriage to continue education 228–30 following collective-family ideals 223–7 study conclusions 232–3 study methods 221–2 arranged marriages 5, 147–8, 220 assimilation, cultural 89 see also integration assisted child emigration 27–8, 33 asylum seekers 2–3 Bangladeshi queers in the US 108–15 Australia Bangladeshi Muslim gays 112–13 migration of illegitimate youths (1870–1930) 43–53 sexual orientation asylum claims 109 see also Fairbridge Farm School system Ayses (rural Turkish migrant women) 301, 311

B

Bangladeshi queers 101 hijras and transgenders, challenges of 115–19 migration overseas 107–10 legal barriers to asylum status 110–14 sociocultural obstacles 114–15 rural-urban migration challenges facing young homosexuals 103–107 push and pull factors 101–103 Barça walla Barça (Barcelona or the Hereafter) 84 Barnardo’s 29–30, 39–40 donations to 33 empire orientation 35–6 funding by donations 33 Labour House for Destitute Youths, London 33–5 nurturing of “little ones” 31 social welfare for older children 33 vocational training of lads 37–8 Bauman, Z., “liquid modern workplaces” 246 Bernstein, H., causes of sub-Saharan Africa migration 279 Blair, H.M., defence of child migration 32

317

Global youth migration and gendered modalities Bonacich, E. 89 middleman minorities theory 90 Bourdieu, P., job insecurity 246 boy labor, social problem of 36 British colonial laws, Bangladesh 103 Bruce, Stanley M., Australian Prime Minister 62, 68, 73

C

Cairns, Earl, Barnardo Chairman 33 Canada Bangladeshi transgenders migrating to 117–19 experiences of children of military families 179–93 illegitimate youths sent to (1870– 1930) 43–53 juvenile emigration from Britain (1875–1914) 27–40 need for foreign-trained Filipino professionals 165–76 caste system, Senegalese 96–7 CEWSS see Church of England’s Waifs and Strays Society charity, poor children deserving of 30–1 Chávez, Karma 132 Child Emigration Society (CES) 60–2 concern with eugenic issues 68 financial advantages of farm schools 66–8 financial support 70–2 migration seen as beneficial to the empire 64–5 perception of economic and social welfare problems 62–4 political support 72–4 public welfare policy 68–70 see also Fairbridge Farm School system child labor 35–9 child marriage 5 child migration to the empire (1870– 1930) 43–5 beneficial public policy 64–5 eugenic aspects 68, 74 financing of 70–2 political support 72–4 see also Child Emigration Society (CES) children of military families 179–81, 192–3 École Voyageur, Cold Lake, Alberta, Canada 181–4 military presence in the school 184–5 Remembrance Day activities 185–6 high level of mobility, impact of 187–90 impact of having military parents 189–91 socialization of 186–7

children’s homes, UK circulation of children 45–6 Dr. Barnardo’s Homes 28–33 impact of institutionalization 51–3 children’s labor (1875–1914) 35–9 Church of England’s Waifs and Strays Society (CEWSS) 27, 44 denying children contact with birth mothers 52 frequent movements of children 45–7 reuniting children with birth mothers 50 ‘saving’ children from poverty and stigma 48 Cieslik, M. 5 citizenship status Bangladeshi queers 108 children of immigrants in Italy 198, 213 “Undocuqueers” in the US 125, 130, 133–5 climate change, rainfall variability due to 291 Cold Lake, Alberta, Canada, school for children of military families 179, 181–5 college education see university study Coming out of the shadows—A how to guide (2010) 128 “coming out”, undocumented youth movement beginnings of 126–31 broadening of 131–5 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees (1951) 108, 143 Crenshaw, K., intersectionality 297 criminalization of Bangladeshi gays 103 Critical Theory 165, 175 Cruz-Malave, A., non-western queerness 110

D

Dakar, Senegal 84, 85, 96, 97 Davis, K., women exiting armed services 187 decredentialing and reskilling of Filipino professionals in Alberta, Canada 165–73 Deotti, L., youth is “bulk of migration flows” 2 destitute British children, “rescuing” of 28–31, 33 DGMM, implementing Turkish refugee policies 145 biometric records of Turkish refugees 147 Dianka, D., societal perception of women migrants 87 Diouf, M., femininity in Senegal 93, 94 displacement of populations

318

Index following Syrian crisis (2011) 143–4, 152 worldwide statistics (2001–11) 152 domestic services/work girl labor, imperial Britain 36, 38, 47 in Turkey, change in definition of 300–305, 311 “dormitory girls” 243–4 Downes, J., the promise of happiness 118 DREAM Act (2001), US 127, 129, 130, 131, 135, 137, 138 “DREAMers”, undocumented queers 127, 129–30, 134, 137 Drotbohm, H., gossip 241 Duggan, L., homonormativity 111

E

Ebin, V., autonomy of migrants women street vendors 87 École Voyageur, children of military families 179–86 economic crisis, Senegal (1980s) 86 economic problems, Britain during early 20th century 62–4 economic slump, late 19th-century England 27–8 education 6–7, 13–14 Albanian female internal migrants 235–49 Arab American college women 219–33 children in a military school, Alberta, Canada 179–93 reskilling of Filipino youth professionals in Alberta, Canada 165–76 second-generation Italian university students 195–214 elders in rural Ethiopia, effect of youth migration on 280, 287–8, 292 employment cleaning jobs, Senegalese men in Paris 96 for immigrants in Italy 196, 198 low-paid, Filipino professionals in Canada 169–70 precarious jobs, migrant women in Tirana 246–7 workplace sexual harassment 247–8 see also job search; unemployment; work empowerment of women by migration 93–4, 237 Ender, M.G., military families 180–1 entertainment sector, women migrants to Turkey 298–9 entrepreneurs, migrants becoming 86, 88–9, 90 environmental factors in migration 7–8

rainfall variability, Ethiopia 281, 282, 289, 291 Erel, U., migrant women in Germany 248 erotic capital 245 Estruch, E., youth is “bulk of migration flows” 2 Ethiopia 277–8 agricultural productivity 281–2, 291 background context 280–2 decision to leave and return home 290 education/schooling decisions 286, 287, 291 elders left behind, effect of migration on 280, 287–8, 292 extreme poverty in remote communities 290 findings from study 284–9 food insecurity 280, 282, 286, 288, 291 gender shaping migration choices 286, 291 labor (skilled/unskilled) of migrating youth 284–5, 290 rural farming implications 291 ethnic origin, police powers in Turkey 305–10 EU Temporary Protection Directive 146–7 eugenic aspects of empire migration 68, 74

F

Fairbridge Farm School system 62, 65 environmental benefits 68–70 eugenic issues 68, 69 financial advantages 66–8 funding for 70–2 gendered curriculum 75–7 political support for 72, 73 reports of children’s behavior 77–8 saving children 65–6 Fairbridge, Kingsley 59–60, 61 Fall-Sokhna, R., Senegalese women’s notion of gender 93 family life of military couples 186–7 family reunification/reunions Alberta’s program 174 of foundlings with birth mothers 49 rural-urban migration, Ethiopia 279 Senegalese women in France 87, 90, 91 Syrians split up following the war 158 women immigrants in Italy 196 farm schools see Fairbridge Farm School system farming, and youth migration in Africa 278–9, 291 fatwas, Bangladesh 107, 114

319

Global youth migration and gendered modalities femininity of Senegalese women 92–3 shifted following migration 94–7 Filipino youth professionals in Alberta, Canada 165–6 credentialing process 172–5 effect of neoliberal policy of privatizing education 166–71 flexible identity 208 food insecurity, Ethiopia 277, 280, 282, 286, 288, 291 Foreign Credentials Referral Offices (FCROs), Canada 172, 173 foundlings, Britain (1870–1930) 43–53 France see Paris, France

G

Gagauz (Moldovan) women 301–302, 304, 305, 306, 309, 311 gay, meaning of 110–11 gender 2–3 and migration 8–10, 236–7 socially constructed 9 theoretical context 236 gender gap in education see Italy gender roles Albanian women 238, 240 in Fairbridge farm schools 75–7 gendered modalities 11–15 Global Youth Development Index 1 Gödri, I., Hungarian migration trends 258–62, 264 gossip, tool for social control 241 Government of Alberta Advanced Education and Technology 167–8 Gutierrez, Jorge 131–2

H

hair braiding business, Senegalese women in New York 88–90 Hakim, C., erotic capital 245 happiness duty 118–19 Hardman, C., children as agents 192 Harrison, D., military wives in Canada 187, 192 Harrison, T., redefining education 167 Hárs, Á., migration trends in Hungary 259 Hart Celler Law (1965) 85 Heckert, J., gender differences in support for migration 9 hijras 115–17 homonationalism 111 homonormativity 111 homophobia 114–15 homosexuals, Bangladeshi 101 challenges faced by hijras and transgenders 115–19 criminalization and stigmatization 103–104 migration to the West, challenges of gaining asylum status 107–15

rural-urban migration anonymity of urban life 104–105 challenges of migration to cities 105–106 class-based segregation in cities 106–107 risk of persecution by fatwa 107 Horsley, Rev. John 27 housework Arab American college women 227 Gagauz women, Turkey 304 see also domestic services/work; inhouse services (IHSs) human trafficking 6, 298 humanitarian crisis, Syrian war 144–5, 148, 157–9 Hungarian youth, emigration attitudes and intentions 263–5 marital status and existence of children 269 migration potential 265–8 motivation for working abroad 269–70 obstacles to leaving the country 270–1 residence 268–9 social status/position 270 Hungary, migration trends 257–61 age of migrants 262 education levels 262 gender differences 261

I

identities in youth migration 12–13 Bangladeshi homosexuals and transgenders 101–20 Senegalese women in Paris and New York 83–99 undocumented youth movement, US 125–36 young Syrian refugees in Turkey 143–59 IELTS (International English Language Testing System) 173 IHPSs (in-house partnership services), Turkey 302–304 IHSs see in-house services illegitimate youth migration (1870– 1930) 44–53 immigrant (long-term), UN definition of 259 immigration models, Italy 196–9 imperial histories 11–12 child emigration during interwar period (1918–39) 59–79 emigration of destitute children (1875–1914) 27–40 illegitimate youth migration (1870– 1930) 43–53 ‘in-house’ partnership services (IHPSs) 302–304

320

Index ‘in-house’ services (IHSs), paid housework 312 transformation to IHPSs (sexual services) 300–305 treatment of by state officers 305–306 infrapolitics 119 integration “children of immigration”, Italy 199–200 segmented/selective 198–9 Senegalese women in Paris 90–2, 95 internal migration of young female Albanians 235–49 intersectionality between illegality and queerness, US youth movement 125–36 migrant young women in Istanbul 297–311 irregular suitcase trade 299 irrigation communities, rural Ethiopia 284, 285, 288, 289, 290 Istanbul, experience of young migrant women in 297–311 Italy 195 foreign population in 195–6, 197 foreign students at university 202– 204, 205 immigration models 196–9 second-generation immigrants’ education 199–201 enrollment at university 201–202 gender and pre-university experience 205–206 gender and university 206–10 graduates 211–12

J

job insecurity, young migrant women in Tirana 246–7 job search friends/former employers aiding 244–5 social networks aiding 245–6 Syrian women in Turkey 155 Jones, Gareth Stedman 36–7 juvenile emigration (1830s to 1880s) 28–31 following vocational training in England 38 “little ones” isolated from 31–3 youths and lads 33–5

K

Kachur, J., Alberta education 167 Kalaja, D., parental support to migrant women 241 Kelly, M., Iranian youth migrants in Sweden 7 Kocaq, M., sexual harassment 248 Kuuire, V.Z., need to diversify livelihoods, African farmers 279

L

labor market see employment; work Labour House for Destitute Youths, London 33–4, 35 Laliberté, L., military wives in Canada 187, 192 land ownership, Ethiopia 282, 287, 288 declining landholding size 279, 280, 281–2, 283 language skills, condition of mobility 266, 272 Lansink, A., power of state over others 309 Law on Foreigners and International Protection (LFIP), Turkey 144–5, 146 Lawley, Arthur, chairman of CES 68, 73 Leblanc, D., young gays living in fear 103 legal status queer asylum seekers in the US 110–11 second-generation immigrants in Italy 198 Syrian youth refugees in Turkey 146–7 Lévy, F., social networks and job search 245–6 LGBTQ migrants 125–6 undocumented youth movement 126–35 see also Bangladeshi queers Lionel, C., racialization of queer asylum seekers 110 “little ones”, destitute children 31–3 London Foundling Hospital (FH) 44, 46, 47, 48, 49, 51 loneliness of child migrants 51, 52 longitudinal studies, need for 263–4 Luibhéid, E., racialization of queer asylum seekers 110

M

Mager, Alfred, vocational training for children 38–9 “maids”, perception of, Turkey 301, 305, 311 Malamassam, M., Indonesian youth migration 6 Manalansan, M., non-western queerness 110, 111 Marias, Moldovan women (Gaguz) 301–302, 304, 305, 306, 309, 311 marriage 5, 7 marital status, effect on migration plans 269 marriage, Arab American college women delaying of marriage 228–30

321

Global youth migration and gendered modalities parents’ prioritizing over college degree 225–6 strain of balancing study and housework 227 traditional approach 220 prerequisite for emigration, African communities 86–7 masculinity and femininity, shifting patterns of 92–7 McElhinny, B., conception of childhood 183 Mediterranean model of immigration 196–8 middle man minority theory of immigrants, Bonacich 90 migration data, Hungary 257 difficulties accessing and collecting 258–9 mirror vs. domestic emigration statistics 261 migration potential studies 265–72 military families 179–93 mirror statistics 259, 260 versus domestic emigration statistics 261 mobility, new forms of 258 “modern maids” 111, 301 Moldovan women (Gagauz) migrants to Turkey 301–302, 304, 305, 306, 309, 311 Morokvasic, Mirjana, male bias in migration studies 236, 237 MUMC (middle and upper middle class) families, Turkey 300–305 Murdoch, Lydia 37–8 Musaraj, S. 243 Muslims see Arab American college women; Bangladeshi queers

N

O

Obama, Barack 126–7

P

Natashas and demand for IHPSWs 303–304 image of 298–9 officers’ practices toward 305–10 National Children’s Home (NCH) 29 funding 33 placement of children overseas 36 placement of “little ones” 31 rescuing of destitute children 30 vocational training efforts 37, 38 neoliberalism 166–71 networking, Tiran migrant women 245–6 new maids, demand for 301 New York, Senegalese women migrants 87–90 Newly Independent States (NISs), migration of young women to Turkey 297–300

parents, military 189–91 Paris, France Chinese migrants 245–6 Senegalese migrants 84–5 cleaning jobs 96 men’s resentment of social worker ‘interference’ 95 women as agents of integration 90–2 Parr, J., juvenile emigrants 38 participatory citizenship, Senegalese women in Paris 91–2 patriarchy 166, 301 pauperism, stigma of 46, 52–3, 64 Pearce, L., child migrant 46, 52 persecution by fatwa of homosexual Bangladeshis 107 personal disaster spectacle 109 philanthropists, 19th century see Barnardo’s; National Children’s Home (NCH) Philippines Education Act (1982) 168 Philippines, migration of youth professionals to Canada 165–75 Pinch, F.C., civilianization of the Canadian Forces 187 positive selection migration from Hungary 263, 271 young migrant women in Turkey 310 poverty Barnardo’s children 30, 31 cause of illegitimates’ loss of family ties 45 children in Britain, interwar years 61, 64 Ethiopia 277, 281, 285–6, 288, 290, 291 power logics, Filipino youth migration to Canada 165–6 precarious jobs, migrant women in Tirana 246–7 privatization of education in Alberta, Canada 166–7 Productive Safety Net Program, Ethiopia 285, 288 prostitutes dormitory residents viewed as 243–4 Natasha image 303, 306, 307–308 view of female migrants by Senegalese men 87, 88 Protocol relating to the Status of Refugees (1967), UNHCR 108 pseudo-tourism 258 Puar, J., homonationalism 111

Q

quasi-migration 258

322

Index queer asylum seekers legal obstacles, case studies 111–14 sociocultural obstacles 114–15 struggle to find legal status 110–11 struggles to become rights-bearing subjects 107–10 see also LGBTQ migrants “queer”, uses of term 136–7

R

racialization of queer asylum seekers 110 Rahmato, D., Wolaita Zone, Ethiopia 283 rainfall variability, Ethiopia 281, 282, 289, 291 rape by Turkish officials 309 Ravenstein, E., women’s internal migration 235, 236 recredentialing of Filipino migrant professionals 169–71 process of 172–5 Refugee Act (1920), US 108–109 refugee status, UNHCR definition of 108 Remembrance Day, military school in Canada 185–6 resettlement of refugees 158–9 reskilling of Filipino youth 165 escalating demands for 167 increasing profits of education providers 173 psychological and financial burden of 169–71 Resnick, D., youth migration, subSaharan Africa 278 Ruff, T., social status-mobility link 270 rural–rural migration, sub-Sahara Africa 279–80 rural–urban migration Africa 279–80 Bangladesh challenges facing young homosexuals 103–107 push and pull factors 101–103 Russian origin trafficked females see Natashas

S

Salgado, Julio, artist 132, 136, 139 same-sex social intimacy, acceptability of 105 Scotland, Patricia, Commonwealth Secretary-General 1 Scott, J., infrapolitics 119 second-generation students Arab American college women 219–33 in Italian universities 195–212 Segal, M.W., children as active agents 188

selective integration 198–9 Senegalese people beliefs and customs 83, 92–3 caste system 96–7 migration to France 84–5 migration to the US 85 motivations to emigrate 83, 84 Senegalese women empowerment of acquired through migration 93–4, 98 in Senegal (1980s) 86, 97 empowerment through migration 93–4, 98 expectations of 86–7 migration to France 90 husbands’ complaints of social workers 95 integration into Paris society 90–2 migration to New York 87–8 hair braiding business 88–90, 97 male domination in 94–5 womanhood virtues 93–4 sex workers see prostitutes sexual assault, Turkish officials 309 sexual harassment 149–50, 247–8 sexual objectification 247 sexual orientation asylum claims, Bangladeshi gays 107–15 sexual services, desguised as domestic services 311 sexualized prejudices, young female migrants in Tirana 243–8 Shakhsari, S., “queer heaven myth” 114–15 Simpson, D. 5 Smith, Emma 46 Smith, Samuel, MP for Liverpool 28–9 social control at home, escape from 239–40, 242–3 social networks aiding job search 245–6 social welfare problems, Britain and the empire (1918–39) 61, 62–4 social workers, cultural integration role, France 95 socialization processes 183 Sow, F., Senegalese women’s initiatives 86 state powers, Turkey 305–10 Stephenson, T. Bowman 30, 38 stereotyping of African men by French social workers 95 of women migrants in Turkey 303, 304–305, 306 of young female students in Albania 243–4 stigma of illegitimacy 47, 52, 53 of pauperism 46, 52, 64

323

Global youth migration and gendered modalities of unwed motherhood 48, 50 stigmatization Bangladeshi gays 103–104 young female migrants in Tirana 243–4, 247 sub-Saharan Africa, youth migration 278–80 subordinate inclusion, Ambrosini 198 suitcase trading 299 Syrian civil war (2011–) 143, 144, 145, 159 Syrian youth refugees in Turkey 143–5 escape stories 147–57 legal status 146–7 protection mechanisms 145 reflections and conclusions 157–9

T

Temporary Protection Directive (2001), EU Council 146 Temporary Protection Regulation (2014) 145 “temporary protection” status for Syrian refugees 145, 146–7 tent cities for Syrian refugees, Turkey 147 Thiéblemont-Dollet, S., notions of gender, Senegalese women 93 “third gender” 116 Thurlow, J., youth migration, subSaharan Africa 278 Tirana, study of female migration to 238–48 tourism sector, migration of young women to Turkey 298–9, 300 trafficked women 6, 298 see also Natashas transgenders 115–19 transphobia 114–15, 116 Turkey Syrian refugees 143–59 young migrant women in Istanbul 297–311

U

undocumented youth movement, US 125–36 “Undocuqueer”, political identity 132–5, 136, 139 unemployment Britain, early 20th century 36, 61, 63 “Neet” generation, Italy (2014) 202 Senegal (1980s) 86 young Hungarians (2012) 265 UNESCO, definition of youth 4 unfinished migration 258 UNHCR (United Nations High Commission on Refugees). 1967 Protocol 108 United We Dream (UWD) 136, 139 university study

attractions of, women in Tirana, Albania 238–9 second-generation Arab American women, US 219–33 second-generation foreign students, Italy 201–12 “unwanted” children 44–5 misery of 46, 51, 52 urban–urban migration, Africa 279–80

V

Vargas, J., undocumented immigration 125–6 visible minority, Filipino youths in Alberta, Canada 167 vocational training for poor children (1870–1890) 37–9

W

“waifs”, traumas suffered by 51 Weinstein, L., family life of military couples 187 welfare practice of juvenile emigration (1875–1914) 27–38 White, C.C., family life of military couples 187 Wolaita Zone, Ethiopia 282–3 Wolof society, Senegal 86–7 “women’s emancipation model”, communist Albania 238 Woodhull, W., power of authorities and rape 309 work 14–15 Ethiopian youth, internal migration 277–92 Hungarian youth migration 257–73 young migrant women in Istanbul 297–311 working abroad, young Hungarians 265–7 attitudes toward 267–9 barriers hindering 270–1 motivation for 269–70 working conditions, Syrians in Turkey 153 workplace sexual harassment 247–8

Y

Yaqub, S. 237 youth defining 4–5 and hope 1–2 illegitimate 44 meaning pre-marriage in African countries 83, 282 in migration 6–8 youth labor migration 6 children at end of 19th century 35–9 Filipino professionals in Canada 172

324

John Horton, University of Northampton

Youth migration is a global phenomenon, and it is gendered. This collection presents original studies on gender and youth migration from the 19th century onwards, from international and interdisciplinary perspectives. An international group of contributors explore the imperial histories of youth migration, their identities and sexualities, the impact of education, policies and practices, and the roles, contribution and challenges of young migrants in certain industries and services, as well as in communities. These cross-disciplinary themes include cases from Albania, Bangladesh, Canada, Ethiopia, France, Hungary, Italy, the Philippines, Senegal, Syria, Turkey, the United Kingdom and the United States.

Global Youth Migr ation and Gendered Modalities EDITED BY

GLENDA TIBE BONIFACIO

Edited by Glenda Tibe Bonifacio

Glenda Tibe Bonifacio is Associate Professor in Women and Gender Studies at the University of Lethbridge. She is also a research affiliate of the Prentice Institute for Global Population and Economy.

Global youth migration and gendered modalities

“A fascinating collection of research on gendered experiences and processes of migration in diverse international contexts.”

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