Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas (Politics of Citizenship and Migration) 3030743691, 9783030743697

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POLITICS OF CITIZENSHIP AND MIGRATION

Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas Edited by Laurent Faret · Hilary Sanders

Politics of Citizenship and Migration

Series Editor Leila Simona Talani, Department of European and International Studies, King’s College London, London, UK

The Politics of Citizenship and Migration series publishes exciting new research in all areas of migration and citizenship studies. Open to multiple approaches, the series considers interdisciplinary as well political, economic, legal, comparative, empirical, historical, methodological, and theoretical works. Broad in its coverage, the series promotes research on the politics and economics of migration, globalization and migration, citizenship and migration laws and policies, voluntary and forced migration, rights and obligations, demographic change, diasporas, political membership or behavior, public policy, minorities, border and security studies, statelessness, naturalization, integration and citizen-making, and subnational, supranational, global, corporate, or multilevel citizenship. Versatile, the series publishes single and multi-authored monographs, short-form Pivot books, and edited volumes. For an informal discussion for a book in the series, please contact the series editor Leila Simona Talani ([email protected]), or Palgrave editor Anne Birchley-Brun ([email protected]).

More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/15403

Laurent Faret · Hilary Sanders Editors

Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas

Editors Laurent Faret Geography University of Paris Paris, France

Hilary Sanders American Studies University of Toulouse-Jean Jaurès Toulouse, France

ISSN 2520-8896 ISSN 2520-890X (electronic) Politics of Citizenship and Migration ISBN 978-3-030-74368-0 ISBN 978-3-030-74369-7 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover image: © Alexander Spatari/Moment/Getty Image This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Contents

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Introduction Laurent Faret and Hilary Sanders

Part I 2

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Experiments in Sanctuary Policy in North America

Tucson, Arizona: The Politics of Immigration-Welcoming Policy in a Near-Border City James Cohen From “Safety Zone” to “Welcoming City”: Austin, Texas as an Unfinished Urban Sanctuary Rocio A. Castillo A Ship Without a Captain: Political Disengagement and the Failings of Sanctuary City Policy in Toronto, Canada Graham Hudson “A Responsible and Committed City”: Montréal’s Sanctuary Policy Idil Atak New Pathways to Sanctuary in New York City Hilary Sanders

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Part II Nascent Policies of Protection in Latin America 7

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Sello Migrante or Restrictive Hospitality: The Case of the Commune of Quilicura in Santiago de Chile Claudia Arellano Yévenes and Cristián Orrego Rivera Has Mexico City Truly Become a Ciudad hospitalaria? Insights from the Experience of Central American Migrants Laurent Faret

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Hostility, Humanitarianism, and Radical Solidarity with Migrants in Tijuana, Mexico M. Dolores París Pombo and Verónica Montes

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A Sanctuary City? San Jose’s Immigrant Reception and Social Integration Policies Abelardo Morales-Gamboa

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Lima as a Welcoming City for Venezuelan Migrants? Transformations, Tensions, and Challenges in a New Urban Destination Isabel Berganza Setién and Cécile Blouin Conclusion Laurent Faret and Hilary Sanders

Index

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Notes on Contributors

Idil Atak is an Associate Professor and the Graduate Program Director in the Department of Criminology of Ryerson University, Toronto. Idil obtained her Ph.D. from the Faculty of Law of the Université de Montréal. She is a member of the International Association for the Study of Forced Migration’s (IASFM) Executive Committee and a past president of the Canadian Association for Refugee and Forced Migration Studies (CARFMS). She is currently conducting a Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC)-funded research on the intersection of security, irregular migration, and asylum. Isabel Berganza Setién studied law and sociology at the University of Deusto (Spain), and completed a Ph.D. at the University del País Vasco (Spain). She is currently Vice-Rector for Academic Issues at the Universidad Antonio Ruiz de Montoya, in Lima (Perú). Her research interests and work are migration dynamics and displacement, public policy, human rights, and the penitentiary system. Cécile Blouin is currently studying a Ph.D. in Human Geography in the University of Durham (UK). She studied law and political science in the University of Versailles Saint-Quentin-en Yvelines (France) before completing a Master’s in law, with a specialty in Spanish and French law from the University of París X Nanterre (France). She is a researcher at the Institute of Democracy and Human Rights of the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (PUCP). Her research themes are migration from the

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perspective of human rights, international protection, migration policies, and South-South migration. Rocio A. Castillo has been an Assistant Professor at the Interdisciplinary Program for Gender Studies (PIEG) at the Center of Sociological Studies at El Colegio de México since 2018. She has a Ph.D. in Anthropology from CIESAS in Mexico City and a master’s degree in Asian and African Studies from El Colegio de México. She was a Visiting Scholar from 2014 to 2015 at the University of Texas in Austin. Her main research interests are social movements and collective actions from a gender perspective. In particular she has focused on the subjective elements that allow for immigrant women and other vulnerable subjects to become political actors and activists. James Cohen is a Professor of American Studies in the Département du monde anglophone of the Sorbonne Nouvelle (University of Paris 3) and member of the Center for Research on the English-Speaking World (CREW). He was previously an Associate Professor of political science at the University of Paris 8 (1996–2011). He is the author of Spanglish America. Les enjeux de la « latinisation » des Etats-Unis (Paris, Editions du Félin, 2005) and A la poursuite des « illégaux ». Politiques et mouvements anti-immigrés aux Etats-Unis (Bellecombe-enBauge, Editions le Croquant, 2012). Southern Arizona has been the main site of his fieldwork on anti-immigrant and immigrants’ rights movements since 2008. Laurent Faret is a geographer, Professor at the University of Paris and currently on a research leave at CIESAS in Mexico City, with the French IRD. He is member of the LMI MESO, an international collaboration Program between France, Mexico, and Central American countries. His work focuses on the links between international migration and territory, in particular the changes in urban dynamics resulting from transit movements and the settlement of populations involved in Central American and Mexican international migration. He is the author or co-author of different books and articles on these issues over the past fifteen years. Graham Hudson is an Associate Professor in the Faculty of Law and the Department of Criminology in the Faculty of Arts at Ryerson University. He holds a B.A. (Hons) in History and Philosophy from York University, a J.D. from the University of Toronto, an LL.M. from Queen’s University, and a Ph.D. from Osgoode Hall Law School. Graham researches

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and teaches in the areas of socio-legal studies, securitization, sanctuary cities, and criminal law and procedure. His current research is organized around the sanctuary city/access without fear movement in Canada, with special emphasis on community capacity building and the strengthening of municipal jurisdiction over privacy and data. He is also conducting research on the use of secret evidence in Canadian courts, and its historical relationship to imperial law throughout the British Commonwealth. Verónica Montes is an Assistant Professor in the Department of Sociology and co-director of the Latin American, Iberian, and Latina/o Studies Minor at Bryn Mawr College. She was an Andrew W. Mellon Postdoctoral Teaching Fellow at the University of Southern California and with the Center for the Study of Immigrant Integration. Her research deals with immigration from Mexico and Central America to the United States and on the intersection between gender, belonging, and migration. Currently, she is working on the Central American caravan as a new mobility strategy in the North American region; family separation as a result of the US deportation regime and the collective mobilization of deported mothers; as well as the precariousness of the social services provided to the Mexican migrant community in Philadelphia in the context of the Covid-19 pandemic. Abelardo Morales-Gamboa is a sociologist, Professor at the National University of Costa Rica (UNA) and a senior research fellow at FLACSO (Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales-Costa Rica). He obtained his Master’s Degree in International Relations from the National University of Costa Rica and his Doctorate from the University of Utrecht in Holland. His areas of specialization are labor migration, borders, social development, social movements, and regional integration. He is co-editor (with Odile Hoffmann) of The territory as a resource: mobility and appropriation in Mexico and Central America. San José, FLACSO, IRD France, and National University, 2018. Cristián Orrego Rivera is currently preparing a Ph.D. in Latinoamerican Studies at UNAM Mexico. He has a background in political science and public administration and received a Master’s in sociology from the University of Chile. He has served as a consultant for CEPAL and IOM, as social policies specialist for the Departamento de Extranjería y Migración de Chile, and as Director of Cooperation in Haiti for Fundación América Solidaria. His work focuses on public policy and integration of migrants;

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on the analysis of migration patterns and trends in Latin America and the Caribbean; and on Haitian immigration, immigrant rights, inequality, and racism in Chile. M. Dolores París Pombo is a full-time researcher at the Colegio de la Frontera Norte (COLEF), in Tijuana, Mexico. Her book Violencias y migraciones centroamericanas en México (2017), received the Premio Iberoamericano Book Award 2019 from Latin American Studies Association (LASA). She has been featured in several migration-themed publications, including the Journal of Borderland Studies, Migrations Société, Latin American Perspectives and Migraciones Internacionales. Hilary Sanders is an Assistant Professor of American Studies at the University of Toulouse-Jean Jaurès. After obtaining a Bachelor of Arts from Columbia University, she completed a Ph.D. in the sociology of migration and interethnic relations from the University of Paris Diderot in 2013. Her dissertation focused on sanctuary and welcoming cities in the United States, and their role in constructing a form of urban citizenship. Her current research addresses the urban dynamics of local immigration policy activism and the promotion of diversity in the United States. Claudia Arellano Yévenes is currently preparing a Ph.D. in geography at UNAM Mexico and the University of Chile. She has a Master’s degree in Population and Development studies from FLACSO (Facultad Latinoamericana de Ciencias Sociales). Her research work focuses on the various forms of mobility in metropolitan contexts, with special emphasis on international migration at interregional levels. She has performed consulting work for different institutions and organizations that address the themes of migration and urban contexts.

List of Figures

Fig. 7.1

Fig. 7.2

Fig. 10.1 Fig. 10.2

Communal-level residential distribution of recent arrivals per nationality (Source Self-elaborated chart based on the 2017 population and housing census) Predominant socio-economic status per block and migrant presence in the commune of Quilicura (Source Self-elaborated chart based on the 2017 population and housing census) Central American-born immigrants in Costa Rica per canton (2011) (Source Elaborated from INEC, 2012) Central American-born immigrants in San Jose City per district (Source Elaborated from INEC, 2012)

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Introduction Laurent Faret and Hilary Sanders

The regulation of migrations by national governments in the Global North has displayed a remarkable degree of convergence in recent years, as rich nations have shared and refined strategies for preventing unwanted migrants from reaching their borders, as well as strengthened their longstanding deportation regimes (De Genova & Peutz, 2010; Fitzgerald, 2019). This international context of restriction has not halted migration, but rather changed its composition and trajectories, leading many migrants to accept increasing risks during their journey, to spend significant periods of time in countries that were not their initial destination, and to adapt to undocumented status as a more or less permanent condition. As a consequence, an enlargement of debates and numerous

L. Faret (B) Geography, University of Paris, Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] H. Sanders American Studies, University of Toulouse-Jean Jaurès, Toulouse, France e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_1

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questions have arisen, both in the Global North and South, about political responses to human migration (Bender & Arrocha, 2017; Düvell, 2012; Haas et al., 2019; Lahav & Guiraudon, 2006). The different forms of presence, settlement, and participation of international migrants have particularly challenged cities and urban contexts (Agier, 2016; Darling, 2017; Glick et al., 2010; Samanani, 2017). Major places of destination and key stages on migration routes, cities are today at the crossroads of migration dynamics, processes of incorporation at different scales, and politics toward non-citizen residents. Faced with the arrival of more diverse populations in terms of socio-economic background and legal status, who are departing from varying political contexts of expulsion in countries of origin, cities are compelled to adapt to the growing complexity of integrating foreign populations in the twenty-first century. As a result, cities all over the Americas have become involved in the governance of migrations in ways that were not previously as explicit. Mayors, municipal councils, and other stakeholders in urban contexts have had to deal with many issues related to foreign-born arrivals, especially those who lack official recognition by the nation-state, with or without the assistance of national authorities. Access to housing, to health care, to employment, or to education, as well as to local rights and services, are matters that unfold at the municipal level, in the everyday life of towns as well as large urban concentrations. From the moment of their arrival to situations of long-term residency, migrants are actors in the city, and the city is engaged with migrants’ presence. In a related perspective, social movements composed of civil society organizations, churches, and migrant collectives and their representatives also participate in local migration politics, often serving to communicate popular perceptions about the reception of migrants to municipal government and decentralized administrations. In comparison to the restrictive national model that has become so prevalent, local responses to immigration have been varied and fragmented, especially in the United States (Varsanyi, 2010; Walker & Leitner, 2011). Although a growing number of cities in the Americas have adopted integrative policies or have been the site of strong civil society movements in favor of migrant populations, the forms and scope of local measures on migration issues diverge. For some of the cities included in this book, the evolution of policies on migration has proceeded in a kind of continuum, with incremental adjustments based on past experience. For others, new or renewed challenges have arisen, in terms of

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long-term presence, transit situations, as well as the sudden acceleration of migrations driven by crisis situations. Governmental responses have occurred in ambivalent contexts, made of political statements and declarations, limited programs or ambitious frameworks, unsolved debates on the legitimacy and responsibility of various actors, as well as possible political positioning based on opportunism and instrumentalization. What some have called a geopolitics of the cities can be observed, in parallel or in opposition to national policies on immigration, traditionally included among nation-states’ plenary powers, along with the granting of citizenship. In these contexts, we assume that the discourse and actions of local actors expressing a desire to protect migrants must be understood in a multi-faceted way, as the positions ultimately adopted by the city may vary from mere political slogans to significant measures that contribute to new urban policy orientations. Although Canada and the United States have more experience with deliberate measures to incorporate immigrants, including at the local level, the issue has become increasingly relevant in Latin America, where societies have been confronted with foreign populations of unprecedented size and sometimes unfamiliar origin. The massive outflow of Venezuelans to surrounding countries in South America, and the recent dispersal of Haitians throughout the Americas, have given rise to new policy responses in countries that have traditionally been countries of emigration, not immigration. This process is exacerbated as borders and legal pathways of migration to rich nations are closed off, often with the assistance of secondary “buffer” countries (Fitzgerald, 2019; Zaiotti, 2016). The Central American migrations triggered by deteriorating conditions of violence, poverty, and political instability in the Northern Triangle have particularly affected Mexico, where migrants have been trapped as the possibility of claiming asylum in the United States has become ever more elusive (Faret, 2020). Indeed, migration patterns in North America have been altered following policy changes in the United States, such as repeated endeavors to terminate the Temporary Protected Status (TPS) program for migrants from Haiti, El Salvador, Nicaragua, and Honduras, revealing the asymmetrical dependence of Canada and Mexico on its mutual neighbor. Throughout Latin America, these new migration dynamics have unfolded in parallel to experimentation with decentralization in a growing number of countries, leading cities to confront their responsibility in managing migrants’ access to basic services (Marconi & Iglesias, 2010; UN-Habitat/UNESCO, 2012).

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This book thus aims to establish a dialogue around the various policies of sanctuary and other formal or informal practices of migrant protection that have emerged or been strengthened in cities in the Americas in the last decade. By confronting accounts of local responses to migration in both North and South, the book attempts to identify elements of coherence and divergence among experiences of urban governance of migration in cities throughout the Americas. Though the urban sanctuary perspective has been quite well documented in some contexts, few books, if any, have juxtaposed the different perspectives that have led public authorities to react to the arrival and presence of migrant populations in North and Latin America. In some cases, national legal frameworks have been interpreted in specific ways to allow for limited political posturing. In other contexts, local and regional authorities have produced their own legislative standards to assert their authority on migration issues. Many studies have shown that invisibility, otherness, and vulnerability are the main elements that characterize the arrival and incorporation of migrants in cities across the Americas (Casillas, 2017; Goldring & Landolt, 2013; Gonzales & Chavez, 2012). How are these processes substantially transformed by policies supporting an inclusive, hospitable, and politically engaged city that defends the presence of foreign populations within it? Tackling this question is an entry for our collective effort to analyze, in particular, the limits of local strategies to protect migrants, and to identify the latitude of action at the disposal of local actors. Cities sometimes promote integration and multicultural perspectives on one hand, while continuing to deny access to services or participating in restrictive regimes on the other hand. Contradictions between local authorities’ discourse and forms of action by law enforcement actors or administrative officers are not uncommon, reflecting a gap between municipal governments’ perception of migration issues and the way foreign populations experience urban incorporation processes. For example, sometimes irregular migrants and the organizations that serve them are harassed and criminalized by local police, or face neglect and discrimination by administrative agents, despite the hospitable tone of official discourse. By studying the adaptation of policies to migrants’ actual needs and claims, we can see to what extent they can participate in the construction of a form of urban citizenship, of a means to acquire agency and a negotiated legitimacy to be in the city, in opposition to a classical conception of citizenship centered around the nation-state.

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Decentering Sanctuary Scholarship The use of the term “sanctuary” to describe local efforts to protect irregular migrants from restrictive national immigration policies is rooted in the United States, where a social and religious movement emerged in the early 1980s in defense of Central American refugees fleeing civil war and unrest (Coutin, 1993). Faced with the federal government’s refusal to accept these migrants’ claims of asylum, activists invoked churches as spaces of physical sanctuary from deportation and the danger entailed by returning to contexts of violence. Given the widespread opposition to the federal government’s foreign policy in Central America and its role in provoking forced migration, the movement was received with sympathy in the general public. As the refugee crisis coincided with immigration reforms that began to criminalize irregular migrants and their labor, declarations of solidarity on the part of mayors and city councils took on more concrete legal significance over the course of the decade (Ridgley, 2008). By the time these policies became institutionalized, the original Sanctuary movement had little bearing on the framework guiding policymakers’ decisions, which included issues of community policing and trust in local government. Instead of claiming to provide sanctuary for immigrants, most municipal ordinances in the United States referred instead to “limited cooperation agreements” with the federal government and efforts to improve access to services among immigrants. Indeed, the parallels with religious activism have their limits: unlike churches, cities are open spaces that cannot close their doors to provide a safe haven to migrants. Furthermore, the biblical concept of sanctuary for criminals lends credence to claims by opponents that city governments that do not fully cooperate with federal deportation efforts are harboring individuals who pose a threat to public safety. For these reasons, the term “sanctuary” faded from public discourse in the United States during the nativist turn of the 1990s and in the post 9/11 era. In the past decade, interest in the concept has been revived, as surveillance technology and data-sharing within and between governments have facilitated national efforts to deport irregular migrants. In politically polarized contexts such as the United States and the UK, open opposition to national immigration policy has returned within the progressive Left, and apprehensions about conservative backlash have subsided. Civil society actors have been emboldened to invoke “sanctuary” to buttress their demands of increased protection and services for vulnerable

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migrants. Scholars have increasingly attempted to define the concept’s scope and significance, albeit with caveats (Darling & Bauder, 2019; Kagan, 2018; Lippert & Rehaag, 2013). However, these analyses have remained focused on the Global North, most often addressing political and social dynamics in countries with long histories of receiving migrants. Several works have attempted to depart from national frameworks by constructing a genealogy of practices of sanctuary, from its origins as a religious principle to its reactivation as a humanitarian value in modern social movements (Delgado, 2018; Rabben, 2016). Such approaches focus on changing interpretations of the concept over time, in parallel to the development of governmental policies of asylum that have transferred collective responsibility for vulnerable migrants to nation-states. However, by framing sanctuary as a moral imperative that is divorced from practical political realities, researchers risk overestimating the influence of discursive framings of immigrants and overlooking the multitude of strategies motivating actors involved in sanctuary and welcoming practices, beyond humanitarian principles. Because of its religious connotation and its continued imprecision, the use of this term remains fundamentally problematic. The general focus of this body of research on cities is another point that merits attention, as sanctuary jurisdictions that enact policies of migrant protection can be police districts, counties, states, or provinces. In the United States, however, the federal government and opponents of sanctuary policies in general prefer to emphasize the municipal level of jurisdiction, contributing to ideological and partisan conflict around urban centers and their “cosmopolitan” orientation (Lasch et al., 2018, p. 1710). Cities are indeed the settings in which migrants and the organizations that represent them tend to congregate, but it is misleading to consider them as isolated units; even municipal sanctuary policies are complex configurations that involve negotiations between multiple levels and branches of government, and often become effective only when higher levels of jurisdiction intervene. Urban policies are embedded in regional frameworks that can be another layer of action, between national and local scales, according to the importance of federal systems that delegate specific competencies and responsibilities regarding police operations, health systems or taxes, among others. Just as any comprehensive study of the local management of immigration must be grounded in the various legislative and judicial frameworks that constrain it, one cannot ignore that the city is also a site that is open

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to transnational influence, including international diplomatic relations and the human consequences of foreign countries’ migration policies, as well as global trends toward securitization in contexts of anti-terrorism and efforts to combat narco-trafficking. These conditions can contribute to legitimizing cities’ political stance toward protecting migrants. In line with the relational approach to local immigration policy outlined in the work of Filomeno (2017), we consider the city as a site that is open to multiple scales of influence, including the diffusion of policy models within regions. While exploring the conditions that allow for and legitimize cities’ political stance toward protecting migrants, the volume is also an opportunity to interrogate the normative dimension of policies that are often part of a larger effort to include cities in processes of globalization by branding them as international, tolerant, and “welcoming,” an image that is attractive to the highly educated workers and entrepreneurs or to those who appreciate the cultural diversity that immigrants bring. Recent studies have shown that dynamics internal to cities in the United States increasingly lead them to proactively adopt accommodating policies toward migrants in order to reap the associated economic benefits, such as urban economic development or revitalization of distressed urban areas (Huang & Liu, 2018; Sanders, 2018; Williamson, 2018). The different definitions and scopes of what are called sanctuary policies and other welcoming movements in urban contexts thus deserve re-examination. The concept of local migration governance is particularly relevant here, as it acknowledges the interlocking roles of actors at different scales, including non-state actors, who influence the relationship between migration and local policy (Lacroix & Desille, 2018). Local and regional governments, police departments, civil society organizations, and migrant collectives take action according to varying logics, in which their local, national or transnational networks and alliances, their autonomy in making decisions about integration policy for foreigners, and their capacity to influence debates are all fundamental to understanding particular situations in which forms of sanctuary policy arise. In cities where political elites are traditionally favorable to international migration, immigrant rights organizations and other progressive social actors manage to influence local authorities in both the definition and implementation of local migration policies (de Graauw, 2016); several of the case studies in this book examine the extent to which this dynamic can be observed elsewhere. Indeed, the political agendas of civil society organizations are often less constrained than those of municipal actors, and their register

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of actions in migrant protection, wider and more flexible. These organizations are often better situated to respond to the diversity of migrant profiles, including specificities related to gender and sexual orientation, to the experience of unaccompanied minors, or to the plight of migrants who are stranded in their intended trajectories. Not to be neglected, the dynamics of migrants’ own processes of incorporation in urban areas also influence the outcomes of governmental and non-governmental strategies of migrant protection. For these reasons, we argue that a narrow sense of the notions of sanctuary and welcoming that is limited to public policy making, and transposable from one national context to another, is not appropriate in analytical terms. Only through a broad perspective can we hope to identify patterns internationally in the different ways actors understand migration issues and conceive responses, and manage the practical consequences of their policy decisions. Our approach to sanctuary policy acknowledges, in the first place, the variation across contexts in the forms of protection that cities can offer to migrants. In the United States and Canada, municipal governments that invoke the language of sanctuary implicitly or explicitly designate national immigration enforcement as the principal threat to migrants, and the principal barrier to integration. For migrants who lack legal status, the risk of removal from the territory becomes most acute during interactions with police, and their ensuing intersections with federal authorities. In North America, as there are substantial rights and benefits linked to territoriality, rather than citizenship, conflicts between sanctuary jurisdictions and the federal government are thus articulated in terms of the legitimacy of migrants’ presence, depending on their categorization as aliens or as residents. In much of Latin America, where borders remain largely porous and national governments do not dedicate the same resources to immigration control, other threats are often more substantial and immediate to migrants than those of local or federal law enforcement. Insecurity generated by poverty and violence, as well as the spreading of antiimmigrant discourse, are increasingly prevalent in many parts of Central and South America (Domenech, 2017). Furthermore, the immobilization of populations in transit, often in large cities that become places of temporary settlement or indefinite waiting, is a growing dimension, preventing migrants from escaping precarious living conditions (Faret, 2018). Urban elites play an undeniable role in creating a context of reinforcement of neoliberal policies in Latin American cities, where the public

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safety net has been continuously eroded by market-driven forces and their divisive and segregative effects (Duhau & Giglia, 2008; Sehtman & Zenteno, 2015). Finally, widespread corruption and practices of patronage often make access to public services illusory, rendering ineffective many efforts to overcome the challenges of informality and exclusion that characterize migrants’ urban experience. Given these dynamics, one can question a strategy purporting to protect migrants without addressing socio-economic inequality and insecurity more broadly. The limits to the reach and implementation of local policies of migrant protection constitute another focal point shaping our understanding of what sanctuary in the Americas can realistically entail. For example, the book addresses the effects of territorial boundaries and overlapping scales of intervention in metropolitan and regional contexts in light of migrants’ conditions of access to the urban environment. This issue has not received sufficient attention in many contexts. For instance, the most progressive policies are often those implemented by the authorities of central cities, even though migration dynamics affect to an equal or greater extent the municipalities that form the outskirts of the urban regions, and which have fewer resources or political capacity for intervention. In addition, several chapters address an important issue, that of the awareness among migrant communities of policies created on their behalf, and the clarity of these measures for their beneficiaries. In some cases, a fully elaborated system of programs and services remains poorly understood by migrants arriving in the city, or even by the local population. Moreover, administration agents sometimes ignore certain rights and provisions granted for the migrant population in their everyday practices, leading to misunderstandings about procedures and unnecessary complications. These issues also raise the question of whether specific policies for migrants are more or less efficient and appropriate than general policies involving access to housing, employment, health, or other urban resources. Indeed, a migrant is not a one-dimensional character, defined solely by a past or current state of mobility.

Interrogating Practices of Sanctuary in the Americas The perspective of this book is thus to offer a critical reevaluation of urban sanctuary policies, embedded in their various national contexts, and to investigate the tensions that complicate their efforts. To do so, case

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studies on ten cities throughout the Americas have been gathered. From north to south, these cities are Toronto, Montreal, New York, Tucson, Austin, Tijuana, Mexico, San Jose in Costa Rica, Lima, and Santiago de Chile. Our collection of studies does not claim to be representative of the “average” North or South American city experiencing immigration. The chapters include large cities and atypical examples throughout the Americas that cannot adhere to a general law about local responses to migrant populations. National legislative frameworks being characterized by varying degrees of normativity and long-term stability, the public policy measures that emerge from them are more or less appropriate and effectively implemented. If the collection’s explanatory power is limited by the variety of national and regional contexts that it explores, the findings on situations and processes, with their commonalities and differences, allow a more theoretical discussion on the shifting issues associated with the relationship between migration dynamics, public policy making, and participation of social actors. Nevertheless, the book contributes evidence-based research to exchanges between researchers from a range of disciplines who study local, national, and international migration governance, stakeholders in urban migration and integration processes, and public policymakers attempting to address the challenges of migration. The first part of the book consists of five chapters that analyze various manifestations of sanctuary policy in cities in English-speaking North America. In Chapter 2, Cohen traces the emergence and development of popular and political support for migrant populations in Tucson, Arizona, the center of the original Sanctuary movement of the 1980s. Within a national context of increasing scrutiny of the United States’ southern border, successive progressive governments have tried to negotiate the city’s relationship to repressive legislation on the state level. Civil society organizations representing both Mexican and Central American migrants have played a significant role in shaping the terms of the immigration debate within the local chapter of the Democratic Party. However, the limits of municipal authority and the difficulty of mobilizing electors around the issue of sanctuary become clear in this study. Chapter 3, focusing on Austin, Texas, also addresses the complex articulation of shifting municipal and state policies toward immigration, developed amidst the conflicting demands of a growing immigrant rights movement and ardent anti-immigrant activists. Castillo shows that the evolution of the city of Austin’s position was both a reactive process to the intervention of national security objectives in local law enforcement,

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as well as a strategy of constructing an internationally orientated political environment for an increasingly progressive population of knowledgeeconomy workers. The implementation of policies of protection of the most vulnerable migrants, and of “welcome” toward the most desirable, reflect these distinct influences. The two following chapters address these dynamics in a more recent Canadian context, where municipal leaders have struggled to translate messages of support and welcome toward international migrants into concrete policies of protection for the most vulnerable. In Chapter 4, Hudson offers an analysis of the obstacles that hinder implementation of a sanctuary ordinance in Toronto, Ontario, which aims to provide “access without fear” to municipal services. However, certain basic public services, such as education, are elusive for many irregular migrants, and the Toronto Police continue to collaborate with federal immigration authorities, making deportation a possible consequence of any arrest. Lack of regulatory authority and unwillingness to create conflict with provincial and federal government emerge as factors allowing an implicit promise of sanctuary to remain unfulfilled, despite the generally sympathetic views of the city’s population and leaders toward migrants in need of protection. In Chapter 5, Atak gives an account of the adoption of an enthusiastic but vaguely worded declaration of support for immigrant communities by the mayor of Montreal in 2017, partly in response to the divisive United States presidential campaign and election of 2016. Explicitly invoking the term of sanctuary, Montreal thus joined several other Canadian cities whose leaders had recently sought to disassociate municipal government and services from national deportation efforts. However, in subsequent years it became evident that confusion around the distinctions between refugees, asylum seekers, and irregular migrants, lack of funding to address these populations’ needs, and the fragmented nature of municipal services sharply limited the scope of the policy, prompting a change in nomenclature to “A Responsible and Committed City.” Returning to the U.S. context, in Chapter 6 Sanders turns to one of the oldest and most emblematic sanctuary cities in the country, New York, which became a target of national immigration enforcement during the Trump presidency. Recognizing the limits of existing strategies to constrain communication and cooperation with the federal government, municipal authorities, in close collaboration with civil society organizations, have strengthened alternative strategies in migrant protection. These include providing legal aid and widely disseminating information

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about individual rights. However, a separate and parallel trend toward the decriminalization of minor offenses for all New Yorkers has also reduced the risk of deportation for irregular migrants by shielding this population from the federal scrutiny involved at all points of contact with the criminal justice system. This analysis thus juxtaposes migrant-specific policies of protection with more universal reforms, suggesting that efforts to provide sanctuary to immigrant residents will continue to evolve and to deploy various complementary strategies in the future. The second part of the book examines urban policies of migration protection in Latin America. The first two chapters give examples of cities whose leaders have chosen to adopt a pro-immigrant stance, but in which a significant gap between discourse and the actual implementation of policies can be identified. In Chapter 7, Arellano and Orrego address the case of Santiago de Chile, where policies concerning international migrants have emerged in a context of heightened national security and of national legislation inherited from the former military dictatorship. Through an analysis of the Sello migrante program implemented in the municipality of Quilicura, a place of settlement of Haitian and other foreign-born populations, the authors highlight the social and political implications as well as the limitations of a label granted by the federal government to municipalities that try to develop actions supporting migrant inclusion. The authors place their analysis in the context of neoliberal policies—including migration management—and the social and urban fragmentation and segregation that affect Chilean as well as foreign populations. They also show a somewhat clientelistic migration policy, based on individual resourcefulness, rather than a real change of institutional and political frameworks that remain restrictive. In this context, Sello Migrante risks being a paternalistic award toward municipalities that have voluntarily assumed responsibility over migration issues. Faret analyzes another recent and evolving local response to migration in Chapter 8 through the case of Mexico City, where a local hospitality policy has taken on a dimension that was unknown a decade ago in the country. Positions of political actors and programs implemented by Mexico City’s administration have been ambitious and pioneering, backed by a renewed legislative framework and constitutional reforms that create new possibilities and responsibilities for urban elites. Nevertheless, migration contexts are in constant flux in Mexico, where return migration, emigration, transit migration, and immigration are all at play. This questions the ability of urban actors to make a hospitable and inclusive city truly exist in the long

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run and be effective in the face of diverse and sometimes incompatible priorities. Based on a study of Central American migrant incorporation in the city, the chapter also discusses how high levels of vulnerability and invisibility contribute to migrants maintaining distance from institutions, especially when local welcoming discourse coexists with control and detention operations by national migration authorities. The situation of border cities in northern Mexico, with their long histories of installation of Mexican population, transit migration and deportation, is the focus of Chapter 9. París and Montes examine the contrasting reception contexts of two migrant groups upon their arrival in Tijuana: Haitian migrants during the second half of 2016, and Central American migrants moving in caravans in late 2018. The authors argue that civil society organizations and local authorities generated opposite framings and political actions toward the two groups, leading to the construction of distinct narratives which generated diverging public attitudes and political actions. The visibility and positive perception of Haitian asylum seekers represented a new phenomenon, and solidarity encompassed only a short-term effort from the local population, as many Haitians were able to seek asylum in the United States or find employment in Tijuana. In contrast, broad media coverage surrounded the migrant caravans and depicted them as a new threat for urban equilibrium and stability, permitting xenophobic discourses by the general public and local authorities, as well as criticism of some solidarity organizations viewed as foreign and confrontational. The last two chapters of the book address urban contexts where local authorities’ responses to significant populations of migrants from neighboring countries have been mixed and sometimes lacking in political imagination. Chapter 10 focuses on San José in Costa Rica, a city that is home to the largest foreign immigrant population in Central America, and where immigrants are key actors of the national workforce. Morales draws on the concepts of urban fractures and social fragility to analyze the presence and incorporation of Nicaraguan migrants in the city. With the purpose of identifying how national and municipal immigration policies are designated, Morales points out that local welcoming policies are related to the country’s political history of migration management, and that effective reception policies lead to individual migrants’ active engagement in functional, moral, and symbolic integration efforts. But gaps in public policy persist, and immigrant groups remain largely invisible as socio-economic actors, maintained in informal sectors and ostracized.

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This phenomenon is a manifestation of urban fragility, and of a weakened social fabric with limited consensus among urban residents and stakeholders. Finally, in Chapter 11, Berganza and Blouin address the situation of Lima, Peru, a capital city confronted with a massive influx of migrants, as the city is a major destination for Venezuelans fleeing the political and socio-economic situation of their country. As the authors show, public policies on migration have undergone numerous changes and setbacks in a very short time. Although the asylum legislation theoretically provides guarantees, few Venezuelans are actually recognized as refugees and there have been a series of restrictions on the right to claim asylum over the last year. Using the lens of national migration and asylum policies, as well as their local implementation, authors analyze how municipal authorities have reacted to these new migration patterns in various and sometimes contradictory ways, highlighting the lack of a comprehensive urban policy that would truly acknowledge the migrant population and its specificity. The book engages with the question of urban practices of migrant protection from an interdisciplinary as well as a geographically decentered perspective, gathering contributions that combine approaches from the disciplines of geography, law, political science, and sociology. This dialogue allows us to view these policies not only as a collection of programs that correspond to a set of rights, but also as part of complex processes of accommodation and incorporation whose success depends on the involvement of both migrants and receiving societies.

References Agier, M. (2016). Ce que les villes font aux migrants, ce que les migrants font à la ville. Le sujet dans la cité, 7 (2), 21–31. Bender, S., & Arrocha, W. (Eds.). (2017). Compassionate migration and regional policy in the Americas. Palgrave Macmillan. Casillas, R. (2017). Visible and invisible: Undocumented migrants in transit through Mexico. In S. Bender & W. Arrocha (Eds.), Compassionate migration and regional policy in the Americas (pp. 143–158). Palgrave Macmillan. Coutin, S. B. (1993). The culture of protest: Religious activism and the U.S. sanctuary movement. Westview Press. Darling, J. (2017). Forced migration and the city: Irregularity, informality, and the politics of presence. Progress in Human Geography, 41(2), 178–198. Darling, J., & Bauder, H. (Eds.). (2019). Sanctuary cities and urban struggles: Rescaling migration, citizenship, and rights. University of Manchester Press.

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De Genova, N., & Peutz, N. (Eds.). (2010). The deportation regime: Sovereignty, space, and the freedom of movement. Duke University Press. de Graauw, E. (2016). Making immigrants rights real: Nonprofits and the politics of integration in San Francisco. Cornell University Press. Delgado, M. (2018). Sanctuary cities, communities, and organizations: A nation at a crossroads. Oxford University Press. Domenech, E. (2017). Las políticas de migración en Sudamérica: elementos para el análisis crítico del control migratorio y fronterizo. Terceiro Milênio: Revista Crítica de Sociologia e Política, 8(1), 19–48. Duhau, E., & Giglia, A. (2008). Las reglas del desorden: habitar la metrópoli. Siglo XXI-UAM. Düvell, F. (2012). Transit migration: A blurred and politicised concept. Population, Space and Place, 18(4), 415–427. Faret, L. (2020). Migrations de la violence, violence en migration. Les vulnérabilités des populations centraméricaines en mobilité vers le Nord. Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales, 36(1), 31–52. Faret, L. (2018). Enjeux migratoires et nouvelle géopolitique à l’interface Amérique latine - Etats-Unis. Hérodote, 4(170), 89–105. Filomeno, F. A. (2017). Theories of local immigration policy. Palgrave Macmillan. Fitzgerald, D. (2019). Refuge beyond reach: How rich democracies repel asylum seekers. Oxford University Press. Glick Schiller, N., & Caglar, A. (Eds.). (2010). Locating migration: Rescaling cities and migrants. Cornell University Press. Goldring, L., & Landolt, P. (Eds.). (2013). Producing and negotiating noncitizenship: Precarious legal status in Canada. University of Toronto Press. Gonzales, R., & Chavez, L. (2012). “Awakening to a nightmare”: Abjectivity and illegality in the lives of undocumented 1.5-generation Latino immigrants in the United States. Current Anthropology, 53(3), 255–281. Haas, H., Czaika, M., Flahaux, M.-L., Mahendra, E., Natter, K., Vezzoli, S., & Villares-Varela, M. (2019). International migration: Trends, determinants, and policy effects. Population and Development Review, 45(4), 885–922. Huang, X., & Liu, C. Y. (2018). Welcoming cities: Immigration policy at the local government level. Urban Affairs Review, 54(1), 3–32. Kagan, M. (2018). What we talk about when we talk about sanctuary cities. University of California Davis Law Review, 52, 391–406. Lahav, G., & Guiraudon, V. (2006). Actors and venues in immigration control: Closing the gap between political demands and policy outcomes. West European Politics, 29(2), 201–223. Lasch, C. N., Chan, L., Eagly, I. V., Haynes, D. F., Lai, A., McCormick, E., & Stumpf, J. P. (2018). Understanding sanctuary cities. Boston College Law Review, 59(5), 1703–1774.

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Lacroix, T., & Desille, A. (Eds.). (2018). International migrations and local governance: A global perspective. Palgrave Macmillan. Lippert, R., & Rehaag, S. (2013). Sanctuary practices in international perspectives: Migration, citizenship and social movements. Routledge. Marconi, G., & Iglesias, M. (2010). Managing international migration in our cities. Università Iuav di Venezia - SSIIM Unesco. Rabben, L. (2016). Sanctuary and asylum: A social and political history. University of Washington Press. Ridgley, J. (2008). Cities of refuge: Immigration enforcement, police, and the insurgent genealogies of citizenship in U.S. sanctuary cities. Urban Geography, 29, 53–77. Samanani, F. (2017). Introduction to special issue: Cities of refuge and cities of strangers. City & Society, 29(2), 242–259. Sanders, H. (2018). In T. Lacroix & A. Desille (Eds.), International migrations and local governance: A global perspective (pp. 39–55). Palgrave Macmillan. Sehtman, A., & Zenteno, E. (Eds.). (2015). Continuidades, rupturas y emergencias. Las desigualdades urbanas en América Latina. UNAM-PUEC. UN-Habitat, UNESCO. (2012). Inclusión de los migrantes en las ciudades: Políticas y prácticas urbanas innovadoras. AECID-UNH-UNESCO. Varsanyi, M. (Ed.). (2010). Taking local control: Immigration policy activism in U.S. cities. Stanford University Press. Walker, K. E., & Leitner, H. (2011). The variegated landscape of local immigration policies in the United States. Urban Geography, 32(2), 156–178. Williamson, A. F. (2018). Welcoming new Americans? Local governments and immigrant incorporation. University of Chicago Press. Zaiotti, R. (2016). Externalizing migration management: Europe, North America and the spread of ‘remote control’ practices. Routledge.

PART I

Experiments in Sanctuary Policy in North America

CHAPTER 2

Tucson, Arizona: The Politics of Immigration-Welcoming Policy in a Near-Border City James Cohen

The history and geographical situation of Tucson, Arizona have no doubt predestined it to occupy a prominent and unique place among U.S. cities identified in the present era as among the country’s “immigrantwelcoming” or “sanctuary” cities. Arizona’s second-largest city (population 545,000 in 2018 by U.S. Census Bureau estimate), located less than 70 miles from the twin border towns of Nogales, Arizona and Nogales, Sonora, was the largest urban area in the band of territory that became part of the U.S. a few years after the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, through the Gadsden Purchase of 1853. Tucson retained its Mexican character for decades after the “purchase” (Sheridan, 1986) and is still, to this day, and, a city with a distinct Mexican character, especially in its southern and western districts, in spite of ambitious policies of

J. Cohen (B) Sorbonne Nouvelle University (Paris 3), Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_2

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urban renewal whose very purpose was to whiten or de-Mexicanize the city (Otero, 2010). Over 40% of the city’s population is classified by the U.S. Census Bureau as “Hispanic or Latino.” Tucson became a key site in the 1980s of a movement known as the Sanctuary Movement, a largely church-based movement whose purpose was to provide humanitarian aid to refugees fleeing from civil war and political repression in Central America at a time when, in spite of federal and international law, they were being denied entry to the U.S. As a near-border city, but also as the second-largest municipality in a state whose government since the early 2000s has pioneered in aggressive enforcement policies, Tucson has officially identified itself as an “immigrant-welcoming” city since 2012. One of the central components of this policy is an evolving set of General Orders for the city police force. These orders are intended to provide a margin of protection to immigrants in general, though with particular attention to locally settled immigrants, whose status difficulties might place them in danger of deportation and affect the lives of whole families. In November 2019, Tucson voters rejected by a wide margin a ballot initiative that would have provided even more legal protection to migrants by further circumscribing what city police officers and other law enforcement agents may do. We will examine here the particulars of this recent moment of choice and undertake to explain its outcome. How to account for a strong and repeatedly confirmed local consensus in Tucson in favor of the existing protective policies and, at the same time, the reticence of city officials and many voters to go further toward a more comprehensive “sanctuary” policy? To explain the dynamics at work here, we will seek first of all to place the politics of immigration in Tucson into pertinent historical context and examine the geographic and geopolitical situation of the city from a multiscalar perspective, with attention to all pertinent levels of authority in the U.S. federal system. This study benefited greatly from several interviews of local actors conducted in the summer of 2019 as well as the examination of key public documents, press articles and newscasts about the city’s policies and the challenge to them. It would not have been possible, however, without the ongoing experience of direct observation of the politics of immigration in

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the city and in the southern Arizona region, in various research contexts, since 2008.1

Tucson as Regional Hub of Humanitarian Action Although the immigrant-welcoming policies we shall examine here date officially from 2012, it is essential, for understanding how Tucson developed such policies, to place them in the context of earlier layers of local and regional history, from the Chicano movement of the 1960s and 70s to the Sanctuary Movement for Central American refugees of the 1980s, and to identify key actors who have spanned several generations of anti-discrimination, humanitarian, and immigrants’ rights movements. Tucson is not usually considered to have been one of the major centers of the very polycentric Chicano movement of the late 1960s and early 70s, but it was the site of student movements at the University of Arizona and major struggles over the public school system (Echeverría, 2014). There were persistent campaigns for decades thereafter to combat segregation and unequal treatment in the public school system (Echeverría, 2014; Chapter 3). Some of the major activists in the Chicano movement in Tucson, now in their 60s or 70s, represent a generational bridge from the 1960s to the present. Among them are educators Guadalupe Castillo (born 1942) and Raquel Rubio-Goldsmith (born 1936), and U.S. Representative Raúl Grijalva (born 1946), member of Congress since 2003 from a district that includes part of Tucson and the southwest corner of Arizona, an outspoken critic of anti-immigrant policies, ethnoracial discrimination, border walls, and border militarization. Tucson attracted national attention as a city of sanctuary for migrants and refugees in the 1980s, during the period of civil wars in Central America and the Reagan administration’s intervention in the region, framed in the terms of the Cold War. The sanctuary movement, of which Tucson was the birthplace, was a largely church-based movement which at its height involved hundreds of congregations throughout the U.S. Its purpose was to provide humanitarian aid to Central American refugees and migrants who were arriving at the U.S.–Mexico border after a dangerous trek through the desert as early as 1980. When President 1 The field work in Tucson was facilitated by research grants from the French Agence nationale pour la recherche (2006–2011) and the University of Paris 3 (Sorbonne Nouvelle), 2011–2015.

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Ronald Reagan took office in January 1981, his administration actively prevented refugees from these countries from gaining asylum, despite the recent federal law that set forth a set of rules and procedures for hearing the testimony of asylum seekers. For the Reagan administration Justice Department, these border crossers were to be treated as ordinary undocumented immigrants and not as persons entitled to asylum in order to escape dire forms of violence, including political repression, in their home countries. These networks of aid, which have sometimes been compared to the Underground Railroad of the nineteenth century for slaves escaping captivity, were soon subject to surveillance by the FBI and to prosecution by federal authorities for conspiring to break immigration laws, but their strong religious and philosophical convictions led them to brave the threat of prosecution and assume the risks of civil disobedience in their efforts to protect from harm at least a small percentage of the thousands then crossing the border who indeed had ample reason to fear for their lives if they were returned to El Salvador or Guatemala. At the same time, sanctuary activists argued strongly that they had federal and international law on their side in respecting the rights of asylum seekers. Sanctuary activists posed the problem of aid to migrants and refugees in moral terms. “They were confronted,” wrote journalist Anne Crittenden, “with a profound moral dilemma: What should they do if they believed that their government was breaking its own laws and endangering the lives of desperate people? How were they to choose between their conscience and the civil authority?” (Crittenden, 1988, p. xv). The movement at one point in the 1980s involved over 500 religious congregations and some college campuses as well, in over 30 states. Among the initiators of the movement, and therefore among those most exposed to prosecution, were Reverend John Fife of the Southside Presbyterian Church (born 1940), and Reverend Jim Corbett (1933–2001), rancher, Quaker, and philosopher. Another early participant in the movement was Attorney Margo Cowan (born 1950), public defender, still active in immigrants’ rights activities over three decades later. Tucson’s place in this history has played a role in preparing its more recent role as a city where policy is attentive to the rights and needs of immigrants, regardless of their legal status. In the wake of the Sanctuary Movement, a consortium of church-based groups mostly from outside the region founded in 1987 an organization known as BorderLinks, based in Tucson and dedicated to developing an “experiential education program” to teach people

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from other parts of the U.S. about the roots of migration issues in the Americas. A few years later, a growing Tucson community of groups and individuals taking a humanitarian interest in the condition of people crossing the border was forced to turn its attention to the rising number of migrant deaths in the desert. The context of the problem is well-known: in the mid-1990s, following Operation Hold-the-Line in El Paso and Operation Gatekeeper in the San Diego area (Nevins, 2002, 2010), and in conjunction with the construction of barriers in those two places, the U.S. Border Patrol adopted a policy known as “Prevention through Deterrence.” Migrants seeking to cross were forced to travel through less accessible and more dangerous areas, far from major crossing points and population centers, in areas far more threatening to human life (Jones, 2012, p. 31, quoting Haddal et al., 2009). The most important of these areas was the Sonoran Desert, on both sides of the border, where migrants are exposed to dehydration and extremes of temperature. Prior to the construction of barriers in San Diego and El Paso and the expansion of the ranks of the U.S. Border Patrol along the more densely populated sections of the border, the Tucson morgue averaged 18 immigrant-related deaths per year. By 2005, this number had soared to 160 per year. A macabre record was set in 2010 when the Border Patrol found over 250 bodies in the Tucson sector, despite a decline that year in the total number of apprehensions along the border (Jones, 2012, p. 123). The organization Humane Borders has recorded 3339 deaths for the 19-year period from October 1999 to December 2018, that is, about 175 a year (Humane Borders map, 2018). The actual figures are no doubt considerably higher, since many bodies are never found in the expanse of the desert. This situation gave rise to what might be considered a rebirth of the 1980s sanctuary movement in a new guise. Organizations such as the Border Action Network (1999), Humane Borders (2000), the Tucson Samaritans (2002), and No More Deaths/No Más Muertes (2004) sprang up and made humanitarian aid to border crossers in distress their central mission. Nearly two decades after the height of the Central American Sanctuary Movement, one of its major protagonists, Reverend John Fife, still minister of the Southside Presbyterian Church until his retirement in 2009, played a key role in the founding of No More Deaths (NMD). He was accompanied by a Catholic bishop and members of the local Jewish community. NMD was conceived as “a coalition of community and faith

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groups, dedicated to stepping up efforts to stop the deaths of migrants in the desert and to achieving the enactment of a set of Faith-Based Principles for Immigration Reform.” Since 2008 the group has had the status of a ministry of the Unitarian Universalist Church of Tucson. A related initiative was the Missing Migrant Project, founded in 2006 as a volunteer initiative within the Pima County Office of the Medical Examiner and renamed, in 2013, the Colibrí Center for Human Rights. It defines itself as “a nonprofit, nongovernmental organization with the mission to end disappearance and uphold human dignity along the U.S.Mexico border.” The center works with families of the disappeared, using its expertise in forensic science while also striving to fulfill a more fundamental spiritual mission which consists of bearing witness to the unjust loss of life and helping families to bear the pain by sharing their stories and contributing to the effort to raise public consciousness regarding the humanitarian crisis that has made such deaths possible. As the one large city of southern Arizona, Tucson has become the hub of these groups and networks and many others, in a way that towns situated directly on the border are not able to do. In each border town— Nogales (Santa Cruz County) in particular, but also Douglas (Cochise County), and even tiny Arivaca (Pima County)—there are small networks of activists for border and migrants’ rights, but Tucson is the epicenter of all such activity. Within the city itself, several civil society groups have played major roles in defending the rights of locally settled immigrants. One of the best examples is Keep Tucson Together (KTT), a project initiated by No More Deaths, which describes itself as “a grassroots, pro-bono legal group that works with volunteer attorneys to stop deportations and the separation of families in Southern Arizona” (KTT website) as well as help local youth secure DACA status. Attorney Margo Cowan, public defender and veteran of the 1980s sanctuary movement, plays a key role in providing legal counsel and training for community volunteers. The Southside Worker Center is possibly the one place in Arizona where undocumented workers have a chance of finding employment as day laborers without risking constant surveillance and pursuit by the police, thanks to the particular form of sanctuary afforded to them by the center’s location on the grounds of the Southside Presbyterian Church. Coalición de Derechos Humanos (Human Rights Coalition), founded in 1993, is a grassroots organization which, in its own words, “promotes respect for human/civil rights and fights the militarization of the

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Southern Border region, discrimination, and human rights abuses by federal, state, and local law enforcement officials affecting U.S. and nonU.S. citizens alike.” Although in recent years it has been increasingly involved in border issues such as helping to locate migrants missing in the desert, or organizing to protest the “streamline” procedure by which migrants apprehended at the border are tried by groups of 8 or 10 at a time in federal court each morning, Coalición is also based in the local community and mobilizes volunteers who are trained in the defense of the legal rights of immigrants who may have status difficulties and be at risk of deportation. Several other organizations large and small would merit mention here, including Catholic Community Services, the Florence Immigrant and Refugee Rights Project, and Mariposas Sin Fronteras. Tucson is a dense space of social movement and humanitarian activity in favor of immigrants, be they locally settled or recent border crossers, and be they refugees from violence or immigrants seeking to improve their economic lot. The presence of so many groups of this nature clearly helps to explain the immigrant-welcoming stance the city has assumed within a state which has become notorious nationally for its aggressive anti-immigration politics.

The Polarized Politics of Immigration and Enforcement in Arizona As is well-known, the state of Arizona, in the first decade of the 2000s, became a key site of high-enforcement immigration policing, principally at the state level, where governing Republicans were among the first in the nation to “get tough” (Cohen, 2012; Provine et al., 2016; Sinema, 2012). From the perspective of Tucson as it was evolving in those years, such measures originated in the state capital with the approval of the statewide Republican majority whereas Tucson itself was in the process of evolving into a Democratic bastion, where state laws and practices aiming to apprehend as many undocumented immigrants as possible were strongly opposed by the local majority. Throughout that decade, waves of immigration-related bills were taken up by the Arizona legislature. The majority of these were proposed by Republican legislators under the Democratic governorship of Janet Napolitano (2003–2009), a security-minded Democrat who indeed went on to resign as governor and become the third Secretary of Homeland

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Security (2009–2013). She joined other border governors in calling for the National Guard when migrants from Central America and Mexico started arriving in unprecedented numbers. Nonetheless as governor she opposed and vetoed many—though not all—of the bills aiming to intensify enforcement against suspected undocumented immigrants and even broke a state record for the number of vetoes issued while in office (Cohen, 2012: Chapter 4). She believed that most of these bills would not only result in huge costs, but also exceeded the federal government’s authority to enforce immigration law under the Constitution. As a way of avoiding the prospect of veto, Republicans took to incorporating their proposed measures into ballot initiatives. This resulted in a spate of measures, starting with Proposition 200, adopted in 2004, that aimed to limit the access of undocumented immigrants to certain public services and required a proof of nationality to be shown by all voters before casting a ballot. It had been promoted and its campaign financed by the Federation for American Immigration Reform (FAIR), the well-known national lobbying group for immigration restriction. In November 2006, Arizona voters were proposed no less than four ballot initiatives aiming at immigrants and persons of limited Englishlanguage capacity. Proposition 100, approved by 77% of the voters, refuses bail to persons accused of serious felony offenses who cannot prove that they are legally in the U.S. Proposition 102, which prevailed with 74% of the vote, prohibits a person who wins a civil suit from winning damages if that person is in violation of federal immigration laws. Proposition 103, also at 74%, requires services, programs and documents of state to be provided in English “to the greatest extent possible.” Finally, Proposition 300, approved by 71%, prevents university students who are not citizens or permanent residents of the U.S., or are undocumented, from benefitting from in-state tuition rates and state financial aid. It further denies access for undocumented persons to literacy programs, adult education or aid for child care. In the midst of her numerous vetoes, Governor Napolitano signed a few of the bills of Republican and anti-immigrant inspiration. In 2005 she approved a law banning human smuggling, which was already a federal crime. The law was struck down years later, in 2014, by a federal judge, for being in conflict with federal authority, but in the meantime it was used, notoriously, by the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office under Sheriff Joseph Arpaio, to pursue ordinary undocumented immigrants and not just the organizers of smuggling networks.

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Another important bill that Napolitano resigned herself to signing as a way of fending off even harsher measures via referendum was the Legal Arizona Workers Act, which went into effect on January 1, 2008. It had been actively promoted by State Senator Russell Pearce (R-Mesa), known for his racist outbursts against immigrants and frequentation of right-wing extremists. The law targeted businesses that “intentionally” hired undocumented workers. More than one violation could result in loss of license. It required all employer in the state, for all hiring after January 1, 2008, to use federal data base E-Verify to check on the immigration status of all personnel hired. In federal law, use of this data base was voluntary and in fact few employers were initially enrolled in the program. While reluctantly signing it into law, Napolitano called it a “business death penalty” (Chishti & Bergeron, MPI, 2008). Several months after passage, the law was made to apply only to employees hired after December 31, 2007. Napolitano was succeeded in office by Republican Jan Brewer, who has gone down in history as the signer, in April 2010, of S.B. 1070, which, has become the very symbol of Arizona’s harsh enforcement policies. Three major parts of the law were invalidated by the Supreme Court in 2012 for not respecting the primacy of federal law regarding sanctions applied to immigrants but its controversial Section 2 B), which was allowed to stand, requires police agents at all levels of authority (state, county and local) to check the migration status of persons when there is judged to be “reasonable suspicion” that they may not have legal status. It was immediately denounced by defenders of civil liberties throughout the U.S. as a license for law enforcement agents to engage in racial profiling. The law had been conceived in part by a network of conservative activists known as the American Legislative Exchange Council, which was seeking through it to promote the interests of the private prison industry (Sullivan, 2010). Like other measures ALEC has helped to engineer, it was intended to provide a model transposable to other states; by 2011 at least five states had “copycat” laws inspired in part by 1070: Georgia, South Carolina, Alabama, Indiana, and Utah. After 2010, the cycle of highly restrictive legislation had run its course and the state Republican Party started distancing himself from those legislators, like Russell Pearce, who had turned the multiplication of such measures into a political crusade, even to the detriment of business interests. These measures nonetheless remained on the books and turned Arizona into the kind of state that incoming immigrants preferred to leave as soon as possible after entering the U.S.

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Tucson’s “immigrant-Welcoming” Resolutions and General Orders to the Police The increasingly draconian conditions imposed on immigrants by Arizona state law contributed greatly to the rise of immigrant-welcoming policies in Tucson. Although Tucson is located on the largest Arizona highway leading north of the border, and has thus been a zone of passage for migrants seeking to travel elsewhere, it also hosts its own foreign-born population of roughly 15.2% (U.S. Census Bureau, 2019), of whom about half are estimated to be naturalized U.S. citizens and half of foreign nationality. Of these, an estimated half—or about a quarter of the foreignborn population—are undocumented. As in other parts of the state, the passage of S.B. 1070 resulted in significant flight; Tucson’s estimated undocumented population of roughly 35,000 in 2016 represents a decline of 15,000 from 2006 (Pew Research Center March 19, 2019). The passage of S.B. 1070 in 2010 provoked protest actions not just in Phoenix and in Tucson but in several cities throughout the country as well as calls for boycotts of the state. In Phoenix nine activists chained themselves to the gates of the Arizona Capitol building and hundreds marched in the streets. On May Day 2010, a demonstration in Tucson attracted 7000 people. The crowd was addressed by Rep. Raul Grijalva, who denounced the law as “an affront to any value and principle of this nation” because it “violates civil rights” and “creates a second-class status for people under the law based on race” (Lemons, 2010). The passage of the law moved the mayor—at the time a Republican, Robert Walkup (1999–2011)—and the city council to bring a legal challenge against the state. The law was publicly opposed as well by Police Chief Roberto Villaseñor. In the same year, the city council passed a resolution supporting the DREAM Act by a 6–1 vote. By 2012 Tucson had a Democratic mayor, Jonathan Rothschild, and an overwhelmingly Democratic city council. The city authorities resolved to support five principles regarding immigration policy: (1) the federal government is responsible for solutions; (2) local law enforcement efforts should be focused on criminal activities, not civil violations of federal code; (3) “strong families,” that is, no deportations whose effect is to divide families; (4) a “freemarket philosophy” which “serves Arizona best”; and (5) the principle of a free society in which immigrants are integrated into communities in a spirit of inclusion. Only a few weeks after the Supreme Court decision on S.B. 1070 (see above), on August 7, 2012, the city adopted Resolution

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21,944 in which it declares itself an “immigrant-welcoming city.” The creation of an “Immigrant Welcoming City Web Portal” was announced along with the formation of a Tucson Immigrant Welcoming Task Force by the Tucson Office of Equal Opportunity Programs. The mayor and city council have since issued several resolutions in a similar spirit: in February 2013, at a moment when a compromise bill seemed possible in Congress, they declared their support for “comprehensive immigration reform.” In 2014 they resolved to “protect families with children from deportation” and urged the federal government to approve the administrative closure of the removal (deportation) case against Rosa Robles Loreto, a local mother of two who had been taken into sanctuary by the Southside Presbyterian Church. Following the election of Donald Trump, the city adopted Resolutions 22,657 and 22,699 (December 20, 2016); the first condemned violence and hate speech while the second addressed the “the anxiety and fear related to potential changes to federal immigration laws and enforcement policies,” by reaffirming its entire immigrant-welcoming policy. The Mayor and Council condemned “any threat, by any elected official, of mass deportations” and proclaimed that “the City shall not participate in any such actions.” The resolution ends with the declaration that “an emergency is hereby declared to exist.” While these resolutions provide an idea of the state of mind of city officials regarding immigration policy, their main effect has been rhetorical. The essence of the immigrant-welcoming policy is found in the Tucson Police Department’s General Orders on Immigration, which we shall now examine in some detail. The TPD’s policy regarding the treatment of immigrants is formulated in a seven-page document of General Orders included in the manual of General Operating Procedures for police officers and published on the city’s website under the heading of “Immigration Policy” (TPD website). After stating that the Department “shall conduct all immigration enforcement activities in a manner consistent [both] with federal and state laws regulating immigration and protecting the civil rights, privileges and immunities of all persons,” the document “acknowledges that mere unauthorized presence in the US is not a criminal offense and enforcement of such civil violations is reserved for federal authorities.” Racial profiling, defined as “the reliance on race, skin color and/or ethnicity as an indication of criminality, including reasonable suspicion or probable cause,

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except when part of a specific suspect description” (order 2310, “Definitions”), is expressly prohibited. An officer may ask about a person’s citizenship “after arrest for booking purposes” (order 2332). As for the criteria that may be used to determine whether there is “reasonable suspicion of unlawful presence,” officers are invited to consider (order 2334) “all possible relevant factors,” including the following (the actual list is longer): “lack of or false identification”; “possession of foreign identification”; “flight and/or preparation for flight”; voluntary statements by the person regarding their citizenship or migration status; being “in the company of other unlawfully present persons”; being “in a location known for human smuggling” overcrowded vehicle; prior information possessed about an individual; “providing inconsistent or illogical information”; suspicious demeanor, for example “erratic behavior, refusal to make eye contact.” Significantly, the criterion of speaking English was struck from the order in 2017. It is specified that “no single factor” other than admission of unlawful presence by the person “constitutes reasonable suspicion and all factors must be viewed in their totality.” If reasonable suspicion of unlawful presence exists in the absence of “state or local criminal violations, or any other lawful basis to continue the detention,” such as the completion of a traffic stop,” then “the officer shall release the detainee without delay” (order 2335). If reasonable suspicion arises during a “valid detention,” the officer is directed to contact ICE or CBP via a given channel of communication, the TPD’s telex system. If federal criminal charges do exist against the detainee, then arrangements are made with ICE or CBP to determine who— the officer or ICE/CBP—arrests the detainee. If there are only civil charges, then “the detainee shall not be detained any longer than necessary to complete the officer’s initial reason for the stop or detention,” which means, crucially, that “the officer shall not extend the detention to wait for ICE/CBP to respond” (order 2335). Restrictions are placed on times and places where questions about immigration status may be asked. Schools in particular are ruled off-limits, in the interest of upholding the “sense of trust, cooperation and safety” in relations with students. Officers are directed not to prolong “field release arrests” for the express purpose of making an immigration status inquiry or a request for verification of immigration status (order 2341). If ICE or CBP has not communicated any information concerning the arrestee is obtained by the time the field release process is concluded, “the arrestee shall be released without delay.” Officers are “reminded” of the necessity of “thoroughly document[ing]

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all facts and circumstances” of such stops (order 2380). Another series of orders concerns “detention and removal order (DRO) holds,” that is, orders that ICE issues once a person has been identified as being in the U.S. unlawfully. Such holds can be “either criminal or civil in nature” and since ICE/CBP “will generally not disclose” which is the case for given persons, TPD officers are directed to take no action unless a DRO hold is “clearly identified as criminal” (order 2360). How successful have these General Orders been in preventing TPD officers from overstepping the bounds of their obligations and protecting immigrants from possible deportation as the result of a local detention or arrest? Evidence we have managed to gather on the subject is fragmentary and anecdotal. Presumably, analysis of police records could turn up instances of possible violations of these rules, but few studies have been undertaken to study these records. Activists familiar with the situation on the ground, that is, in the heavily Mexican neighborhoods of southern and western Tucson, have insisted to this writer that numerous cases of abuse are never reported. The city’s own official assessment is clearly a positive one. Defending the policy against the challenge of the ballot initiative Proposition 205 in 2019, police chief Chris Magnus wrote in an op-ed piece: As your police chief, I’m proud to live and work in a border city that has worked hard to implement comprehensive immigration-related policies for its police that protect the civil rights of all, regardless of race, ethnicity or status. (…) This policy not only prohibits racial profiling of any kind, but lays out clear criteria for the limited circumstances when contact with federal immigration authorities is made, which typically involves cases of drug and arms trafficking, human trafficking, transnational gangs, computer crimes, child exploitation and when such reporting is required by state law. (Arizona Daily Star March 31, 2019)

In reference to an incident which stirred up much concern among immigrants’ rights activists in March 2019, in which an immigrant family, including a 12-year-old girl, was detained in a traffic stop on Tucson’s south side and the father later deported, Magnus emphasized that the stop had been made by officers of the Arizona Department of Public Safety (DPS), that is, the state police, and that it was they who called the Border Patrol.” “TPD,” he emphasized, “had no involvement in the stop or detention.”

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A few months later, in the course of the campaign for and against the ballot initiative, Magnus again defended the existing policy, emphasizing “community trust and cooperation” as “an essential component of effective policing and public safety.” “Victims and witnesses of crime,” he asserted, “should not be the focus of immigration inquiries” (Arizona Daily Star July 21, 2019). Numerous similar media declarations were made by Democratic members of city council, who all backed the policy and resisted attempts to change it by making it more protective still of immigrants’ rights. Since the adoption of the policy in 2012, criticisms have nonetheless emerged. In 2016, an ACLU review of TPD records found a pattern of traffic stops being prolonged beyond the time necessary to complete the business of the stop, in order to contact Border Patrol and conduct checks on immigration status. Of 110 cases reviewed from June 2014 to June 2015, about 85 of them, or 77%, posed “constitutional problems.” Citing the Supreme Court case of Rodriguez v. the US, ACLU staff attorney James Duff Lyall argued that such prolonged stops went beyond the “reasonable attempt” to determine immigration status required by S.B. 1070 and were in violation of the 4th Amendment rights of persons to avoid unreasonable search and seizure. The ACLU on this occasion sent a letter to police chief Magnus condemning such practices and the failure of proper officer training they reflected. A second letter was sent to DHS Secretary Jeh Johnson to denounce the role of Border Patrol in such prolonged stops (Gamboa, May 3, 2016; Stuart, May 5, 2016). Prolonged stops continued to be an issue. Two years later, the ACLU filed a friend of the court brief arguing that such stops were continuing and that they represented a misunderstanding of what S.B. 1070 in fact allowed. ACLU Staff Attorney Billy Peard argued (Peard, July 27, 2018) that S.B. 1070 requires law enforcement officers in Arizona to determine, or attempt to determine, a person’s immigration status only in two types of situations: (1) when an officer arrests a person for a state law crime (such as DUI) or (2) when an officer detains a person on suspicion of a state law crime and during the course of the stop develops “reasonable suspicion” that the person is “an alien unlawfully present.” However, there remained much confusion over how to enforce the law, causing many people’s rights to be trampled. Arizona state courts had not yet provided clear guidance on the matter. The ACLU brief cited the case of David Green (State v. Green, 2018), whose vehicle had been approached by a TPD officer for being illegally parked in a city recreational area after

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closing hours. Mr. Green was discovered to have drug-related paraphernalia in his possession, but then the officer prolonged the stop in order to inquire about his immigration status, as he believed he was required to do. That inquiry yielded nothing but in the course of it, the officer discovered an illegal substance that fell from the subject’s lap. Here, the line of unreasonable searches and seizures (4th Amendment) had been crossed. The Tucson policy has had other limitations too, related to the overlapping jurisdictions of city, county and state. Federal agencies in recent years have taken to stopping Tucson residents for routine traffic offenses. This had never been a function of federal law enforcement agencies but in Arizona an obscure law allows for it under certain circumstances, in which federal agents can be “cross-certified” by county sheriffs to make minor traffic stops. Traffic violations have been used as pretexts for stopping vehicles in order to make inquiries about immigration status. This problem came to the attention of the ACLU in 2017 when two plainclothes Border Patrol agents went searching for possible undocumented immigrants in a park in South Tucson, a separate municipality within the territory of Tucson. As journalist Nancy Montoya relates the incident, “the agents wanted to stop and question a man they suspected of being in the U.S. illegally, but had no probable cause. That is, until the man made a rolling stop. He was then stopped by the Border Patrol agents. It was later found that the man was in the country legally.” It came to light that the Pima County Sheriff’s Office had cross-certified almost 400 federal agents, including nearly 50 agents of the Border Patrol (Tucson Families Free and Together website, “All the Reasons Why,” point no. 5; Montoya, 2018; Benz, 2019). The most notable incident to stir immigrants’ rights activists to action in recent times was the arrest of two parents and their 12-year-old daughter by Border Patrol agents after a traffic stop carried out on March 19, 2019, by agents of the Arizona state highway patrol, not on a highway but in a Tucson neighborhood located very close to the Southside Presbyterian Church and Southside Workers Center. Several dozen activists gathered at the scene and one person placed himself under a Border Patrol vehicle to attempt to keep it from leaving with the family inside. The pretext for the stop was the dark tint of the windows of the family’s car. After being separated in detention, the mother and daughter were later released on their own recognizance while the father was deported to

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Mexico. Although the arrest took place on a Tucson street, the TPD was not directly involved (Montoya, 2019; Carranza, 2019). In a study of traffic stops resulting in arrests of immigrants in Pima County between June 2017 and September 2018 jurist Laura Stump Kennedy examined a sample of 17 cases local residents of Mexican nationality who were living in the U.S. without lawful immigration status and reported being “stopped by the local Sheriff’s office or highway patrol for traffic violations, instructed to wait, and subsequently apprehended when Border Patrol officials arrive[d] on the scene, which often result[ed] in their being placed in deportation proceedings.” Against such practices, she invoked the case of Rodriguez v. United States, 135 S. Ct. 1609 (2015) which stipulates that “detention beyond the time necessary to complete a routine traffic stop violates the 4th Amendment’s prohibition of unreasonable seizure.” Significantly, of the 17 stops examined through interviews of the persons detained, none had been conducted by the TPD: six had been carried out by agents of the Pima County Sheriff’s Department, eight by the Department of Public Safety Highway Patrol (DPS), i.e., the Arizona state highway police, and three others by nearby town police forces, but not that of Tucson. This study may not be positive proof that TPD agents have been more careful than others in dealing with immigrants but it does show that the overlapping jurisdiction of the county can be an obstacle to immigrant-friendly policies conducted at the municipal level.

Proposition 205: “Tucson Families Free and Together” As city officials continued to defend the existing policy, in 2019 a group of activists known as the People’s Defense Initiative (PDI) formulated an alternative policy and drafted it into a ballot initiative entitled “Tucson Families Free and Together,” also known as the Sanctuary City Initiative, or Proposition 205. Its purpose, as stated on the ballot, was to amend Chapter 17 of the Tucson Code in order to “limit officers’ authority to inquire about a person’s immigration status” by limiting the “factors that officers may consider in determining” that status. It further aimed to “limit joint law enforcement operations between Tucson police and federal law enforcement agencies”; and to provide for legal recourse for those claiming violations of these provisions.

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The initiative’s promoters purposely chose to adopt the term “sanctuary” despite its legally vague character and give it their own, more precise legal content, if not a formal definition, rather than letting opponents occupy that semantic territory. Its first provision was thus to add new language to the Tucson City Code specifying that “it is the policy of the city that the city be a sanctuary and a safe refuge for all persons, regardless of race, color, ethnicity, immigrant status, ability to speak English, mode of dress, religion, national origin, sex, gender identity, sexual orientation, disability, economic status, and familial or marital status.” Among the most controversial aspects of the initiative were its sections that imposed new forms of constraint on any interaction between the TPD and federal law enforcement agencies, in addition to those already stipulated in Chapter 17 (“Human Relations”) of the Tucson City Code. It proposed that “an officer shall not detain a person” based on any of a series of criteria for possible reasonable suspicion, “unless such factor is part of a specific suspect description linking that person to a particular crime” (Sec. 17–82 a.); furthermore, “an officer shall not detain a person to determine such person’s immigration status.” No officer is authorized to “participate in a joint law enforcement taskforce, joint enforcement operation, or similar endeavor with a federal officer unless the city has in place a memorandum of understanding with the United States agency employing the federal officer.” Such a memorandum would stipulate that no joint taskforce or joint operation could have as its purpose or its effect the enforcement of federal civil immigration law (17–85 c. 4). An entire section of the initiative is devoted to conditions and procedures for bringing suit against “any employee, official or agency of the city that adopts or implements a policy violative of this chapter” (17–88). If the City Court finds that there is a violation, it may order civil penalties against the city, a feature of the initiative which distinguishes it from many other policies aiming to limit immigration enforcement activity. Among the dozens of individuals and organizations who endorsed the initiative were a Tucson member of the State House of Representatives; a member of the County Board of Supervisors; the Pima County School Superintendent; the Pima County Democratic Party; the Progressive Caucus of the Arizona Democratic Party, the ACLU of Arizona, the county federation of the AFL-CIO and a number of other political and human rights organizations.

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Arrayed against the initiative were all the members of the city council, including and especially those who, like Regina Romero, had originally sponsored the existing “immigrant-welcoming” policy several years before. Their basic arguments for opposing it were spelled out in two memorandums (dated January 16 and October 8, 2019) drafted by City Attorney Mike Rankin, approved by the Mayor and City Council, and disseminated widely in the media in the course of the campaign. The conclusions of these memoranda may be summarized as follows: 1. The existing General Orders are satisfactory and result in very few situations in which immigrants are placed in danger of deportation, casting into doubt the claims of Proposition 205 supporters that “potentially thousands of immigration checks each year” could be avoided. The memorandum claims that between January 1, 2018 and September 30, 2019, a period of 21 months, Tucson police officers requested only 23 “S.B. 1070 checks,” that is, inquiries carried out by the police department’s Records Section “that trigger a multi-level criminal background check” on the basis of “reasonable suspicion.” That comes out to about one such inquiry per month. None of these checks resulted in deportations. Moreoever, it is claimed, the provision of Proposition 205 that calls for preventing TPD officers of inquiring about immigration status in “sensitive locations” (schools, hospitals, houses of worship, and court facilities) would be unnecessary since TPD has conducted no checks in any of these types of places locations since “at least January of 2018” and efforts have already been undertaken by the City attorney to write this practice into departmental policy. TPD policy “expressly prohibited the use of racial stereotypes” and has recently (in 2017) “modified its list of reasonable suspicion factors relating to immigration status to remove any consideration of ‘significant difficulty in speaking English.’” 2. Proposition 205 may violate the section of S.B. 1070, known as A.R.S. Section 11–1051, that survived Supreme Court review in 2012. In the January 2019 city memorandum it is argued that the provision “prohibit[ing] a TPD officer from taking part in any law enforcement activity, investigation, or enforcement action, the purpose of which is to determine a person’s immigration status,” is in potential violation of state law.

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3. Because it violates state law, or could be interpreted as doing so, the Proposition would provoke lawsuits by the state of Arizona and measures by the U.S. federal government resulting in the loss of substantial amounts of funding for the city. According to one claim, $126 million in state-shared revenues could be at risk—20% of the city’s budget— if the State Attorney General and courts were to find Proposition 205 in violation of state law. Another $12.4 million in federal grants was also judged to be in jeopardy, bringing the total potential revenue lost to $138 million (Roberts, October 31, 2019). 4. The requirement imposed on federal law enforcement agencies to sign a memorandum of understanding with the city would jeopardize collaboration with nearly all federal agencies —not just ICE and CBP, but also the FBI, the DEA, ATF, HHS, the U.S. Marshals, and the U.S. Secret Service. This requirement, the city attorney’s opinion, could handicap joint efforts with federal agencies to solve murder or missing children cases, take part in anti-terrorism task forces, combat drug trafficking, locate dangerous fugitives, or forced human trafficking, since “it is highly unlikely that any federal law enforcement agency would consent to an agreement under which they would relinquish arrest authority that they otherwise have under Arizona law.” Such constraints would make it impossible to certify that the city “has no ordinances or policies that limit or restrict the City’s compliance with the relevant federal immigration laws,” whereas the TPD’s existing General Orders “were painstakingly written and implemented to strike a careful balance between complying with these federal requirements while minimizing TPD’s involvement with the enforcement of federal immigration law.” Legal experts speaking for the ballot initiative released their own memo to counter the claims of the city authorities, arguing that it is indeed legally possible to strengthen protections for undocumented immigrants (Tucson Families Free and Together website). Regarding Sections 17– 82 (d) of the Proposition, they wrote: “it is undisputed that local police (even after the implementation of S.B. 1070) cannot initiate a traffic stop or otherwise detain someone for the purpose of checking immigration status.” The provision would thus not limit or hinder an officer’s ability to ask questions after stopping or detaining an individual, as is sometimes required by S.B. 1070.

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The City Attorney had contended that section 17-83 (g) of the city code as formulated in the Proposition violated S.B. 1070 by limiting an officer’s authority to inquire about an individual’s immigration status in certain locations such as schools and hospitals. The lawyers for the initiative replied that such restrictions have already existed for federal law enforcement agencies since the 1980s and that “TPD officers themselves have expressed particular concern with the application of S.B. 1070 in these locations.” Finally, they argued, both ICE and CBP have issued their own memoranda on “sensitive locations” which are “designed to ensure that these enforcement actions do not occur at nor are focused on sensitive locations such as schools and churches” (ICE policy no. 10029.2 October 24, 2011). In conclusion, “far from violating SB 1070, this provision… would bring TPD policies into line with long-standing federal guidelines.” Regarding the “factors to be considered in developing reasonable suspicion of unlawful status” (Sections 17-83 (h) and (i)), the lawyers for the initiative deny any contradiction with S.B. 1070, since that law “requires officers to investigate a motorist’s immigration status only when ‘reasonable suspicion’ exists.” The proposed ordinance merely “provides local officers with guidance about what ‘reasonable suspicion’ means” since, as the memo goes on to note, S.B. 1070 “does not define the term ‘reasonable suspicion,’ “nor does it instruct local officers when reasonable suspicion is likely to exist.” Existing jurisprudence already rules out, they argued, certain factors such as “race,” “color” or “Hispanic appearance” as bases for forming reasonable suspicion (Melendres v. Arpaio, 989 F. Supp. 2d 822, 907 (D. Ariz. 2013); United States v. Maricopa Cty., 11 F. Supp. 3d 998, 1030 (D. Ariz. 2015). In short, the initiative was tailor-made to restrict the enforcement possibilities of S.B. 1070 without violating the law. In response to the objection regarding the possible loss of state and federal funds, the supporters of the initiative emphasized that up to 2019, federal judges had prevented the Trump administration from acting on such threats on the basis of its 2017 Executive Order 13,768, which invoked 8 U.S.C. § 1373, a statute barring states and localities from prohibiting their employees from sharing with federal immigration authorities certain immigration-related information. Indeed, several decisions, most prominently City & Cty. of San Francisco v. Trump (897 F.3d 1225, 1231–35, 9th Cir., 2018) and the associated case of Cty. of Santa Clara v. Trump, ruled the executive order unconsitutional, principally on the grounds that it violated the separation of powers by refusing

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to disburse federal grants without congressional authorization. Other cases have challenged the statute itself, invoking the anti-commandeering doctrine, based on the 10th amendment, according to which the federal government cannot issue directives requiring states or their subdivisions to address particular problems or enforce a federal regulatory program (Congressional Research Service, 2019). The Trump administration did not fail to counter-attack, challenging in 2018 various California measures to regulate immigration enforcement. Supporters of the Tucson initiative did not deny that if adopted, it might quickly end up in federal court, but this was a challenge they thought it necessary to take up.

Conclusion The campaign surrounding Proposition 205, pro or con, was contentious, although completely peaceful. Activists for the initiative canvassed doorto-door for weeks leading up to November 5, 2019, when ballots were counted in this exclusively mail-in referendum. Proposition 205 lost by an overwhelming margin: 67,631 against it and 29,285 in favor, or 69.78– 30.32% (Ballotpedia). On the same evening, Regina Romero was elected mayor with a 55% score. She had become the first Latina member of city council in 2010, and soon thereafter the first council member to work for “immigrant-welcoming” measures. The proponents of the initiative attribute its defeat in great part to the overwhelming funding advantage of the “no” side and its tendency to engage in “fear-based messaging” (Fink, Nov. 6, 2019). Publicly available records show that the campaign for “no” spent over $300,000 as opposed to the roughly $30,000 budget of the campaign in favor—a differential of 10 to 1. The proponents also tried to sue the city for “electioneering,” that is, using public means to convey a partisan point of view and influence the outcome. The main documents impugned in the lawsuit were the city attorney’s memoranda (see above). The suit was dismissed by a Superior Court Judge, who saw no possible remedy given the late date. The measure was defeated, in the end, because local authorities were not prepared to take the risk of challenging state and federal authorities and possibly losing funds, or so they feared, and were thus ready to mobilize considerable means to stop the initiative. From the standpoint of immigrant-welcoming city policies, it is important to note that the city has become the site of a divergence between two blocs within a local immigrant-welcoming majority. Many Tucsonan voters would

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defend some form of welcoming policy and support humanitarian causes, civil liberties and immigrants’ rights. On a statewide scale, the Tucson city council remains among the most immigrant-friendly. In the first weeks of her administration, prior to the onset of the COVID-19 crisis, Mayor Regina Romero and the city council rejected a federal grant from the Stonegarden Program, whose purpose is to promote collaboration between local and federal law enforcement authorities in border areas. The grant would have provided hundreds of thousands of dollars in overtime pay for officers involved in such missions, but the city declined the funds when the Trump administration refused to allow a portion of them to be used for humanitarian purposes, that is, housing and services for asylum seekers (Kunz, Dec. 27, 2019). The Board of Supervisors of Pima County also rejected such funding in 2020 as they had also done in 2018. Despite decisions of this nature, the Tucson city government continues to be challenged by a minority of citizens who take a more militant stance and seek to defend immigrants’ rights not just in ways that assume accordance with existing state and federal law, but also in ways that push back against such constraints when they are seen as unjust. This minority, which includes various shades of an emerging political left, may have an approximate equivalent in other U.S. cities, just as the local majority has its equivalent in other places, but to date it is only in Tucson—a near-border Democratic and progressive bastion in a Republican state notorious for its strict enforcement policies—that it has mounted, and pledges to continue mounting, a challenge to existing policies.

References Interviews conducted in Tucson, July 19–25, 2019 Zaira Livier, organizer, People’s Defense Initiative, July 20, 2019. Billy Peard, attorney associated with the People’s Defense Initiative, July 21, 2019. Captain John Strader, Tucson Police Department, July 22, 2019. Prof. Ana O’Leary Ochoa, Binational Migration Institute, Mexican American Studies Dept., University of Arizona, Tucson, July 23, 2019. Marla Pacheco, Coalición de Derechos Humanos, July 24, 2019. Todd Miller, author specialized in borders and border surveillance, July 25, 2019. Public Meeting of County Board of Supervisors to discuss and vote on moving an immigrant shelter to the Juvenile Detention Center, July 22, 2019.

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Primary source documents on internet Ballotpedia results of Proposition 205 vote. https://ballotpedia.org/Tucson,_Ari zona,_Proposition_205,_Sanctuary_City_Initiative_(November_2019). City Attorney Mike Rankin. Memorandum to Honorable Mayor and Council, on Tucson Families Free and Together, January 16, 2019. https://media. azpm.org/master/document/2019/9/19/pdf/mike-rankin-memo-aboutprop-205.pdf. City Manager Michael J. Ortega, Chief of Police Chris Magnus, City Attorney Mike Rankin, memorandum to Honorable Mayor and Council Members, on Proposition 205, October 8, 2019. https://www.scribd.com/document/429 367551/Prop-205-Q-A-Memo-10-8-2019-1. Humane Borders Map (1999–2018). Recorded Migrant Deaths and Humane Borders Water Stations. https://humaneborders.org/wp-content/uploads/ deathmapcumulative_letter_2018.pdf. ICE policy no. 10029.2. (2011, October 24). https://www.ice.gov/doclib/erooutreach/pdf/10029.2-policy.pdf. Keep Tucson Together. https://www.keeptucsontogether.org/. People’s Defense Initiative (Proposition 205) website. https://www.peoplesde fenseinitiative.org. Police Chief Chris Magnus. What Does TPD Do RE: Immigration Enforcement? Arizona Revised Statute 11–1051-Senate Bill 1070 (S.B. 1070) FAQ. No date. www.tucsonaz.gov/police/faq. Tucson Families Free and Together (2019, January 16). Memorandum in response to Tucson City Attorney Mike Rankin’s Memo to the Tucson Mayor and City Council. https://www.familiesfreeandtogether.org/wp-content/upl oads/2019/07/TFFT-Legal-Response-to-Rankin-Memo-.pdf. Tucson Families Free and Together website. All the Reasons Why: point no. 5. https://www.familiesfreeandtogether.org/. Tucson Police Department General Orders. 2300 Series: Immigration Policy. https://www.tucsonaz.gov/police/general-orders.

Secondary sources Cohen, J. (2012). A la poursuite des “illégaux”. Politiques et mouvements antiimmigrés aux Etats-Unis. Editions du Croquant. Congressional Research Service. (2019, May 3, update). “Sanctuary” Jurisdictions: Federal, State, and Local Policies and Related Litigation. Crittenden, A. (1988). Sanctuary: A Story of American Conscience and Law in Collision. Weidenfeld & Nicholson. Echeverría, D. V. (2014). Aztlán Arizona: Mexican American Educational Empowerment, 1968–1978. University of Arizona Press.

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Gzesh, S. (2006). Central Americans and Asylum Policy in the Reagan Era. Migration Policy Institute. Haddal, C., Kim, Y., & Garcia, M. (2009). Border Security: Barriers along the US International Border. Washington, DC: Congressional Research Services. Jones, R. (2012). Border walls: Security and the War on Terror in the United States, India and Israel. Zed Books. MacEoin, G. (Ed.). (1985). Sanctuary: A Resource Guide for Understanding and Participation in the Central American Refugees’ Struggle. Harper & Row. Nevins, J. (2002). Operation Gatekeeper: The Rise of the “Illegal Alien” and the Making of the U.S.-Mexico Boundary. Routledge. Nevins, J. (2010). Operation Gatekeeper and Beyond: The War on “Illegals” and the Remaking of the U.S.-Mexico Boundary. Routledge. Otero, L. R. (2010). La Calle: Spatial Conflicts and Urban Renewal in a Southwest City. University of Arizona Press. Provine, D. M., Varsanyi, M. W., Lewis, P. G., & Decker, S. H. (2016). Policing Immigrants: Local Law Enforcement on the Front Lines. University of Chicago Press. Rabben, L. (2016). Sanctuary & Asylum: A Social and Political History. University of Washington Press. Sheridan, T. E. (1986). Los Tucsonenses: The Mexican Community in Tucson, 1854–1941. University of Arizona Press. Sinema, K. (2012). No Surprises: The Evolution of Anti-Immigration Legislation in Arizona. In C. E. Kubrin, M. S. Zatz, & R. Martínez, Jr. (Eds.), Punishing Immigrants: Policy, Politics, and Injustice (pp. 62–88). New York University Press. Stump Kennedy, L. (2018, December 19). Papers Please: The use of Prolonged Traffic Stops for Immigration Enforcement in Southern Arizona. Unpublished Paper Submitted to Prof. Jane Bambauer, College of Law, University of Arizona.

Press and commentary on Arizona laws, ACLU action and Tucson policies Benz M. (2019, March 28). Tucson family separated, detained by Border Patrol speaks out, News4Tucson KVOA.com Carranza Rafael (2019, March 21). Border Patrol assailed for detaining family, including child, following Tucson traffic stop, Arizona Republic. Gamboa Suzanne (2016, May 3). ACLU: Tucson Traffic Stops for Immigration Checks Violating Rights, NBC News. Kunz Kathleen B. (2019, December 27). Operation Stonegarden Funding Denied for Humanitarian Aid Reimbursement Costs, Tucson Weekly. Lemons Stephen (2010, April 20). Activists Chain Themselves to Arizona Capitol to Protest Russell Pearce’s SB 1070, Phoenix New Times.

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Nintzel Jim (2010, May 2), May Day Protest: Thousands Assemble Downtown to Protest SB 1070, Tucson Weekly. Montoya Nancy (2018, December 11). ACLU: Cross-Certification Used to Profile Immigrants, Arizona Public Media. Montoya Nancy (2019, March 20). Crowd Protests as Family is Arrested by Border Patrol, Arizona Public Media. Morin Rebecca (2018, August 1). 9th Circuit rules White House can’t withold money from ‘sanctuary cities’, Politico. Peard Billy, ACLU Staff Attorney (2018, July 27). SB 1070 in 2018: What are our rights? https://www.acluaz.org/en/news/sb-1070-2018-what-areour-rights. Stuart Elizabeth (2016, May 5). ACLU: Police in AZ Violating Civil Rights During Immigration Checks, Phoenix New Times. Sullivan Laura (2010, October 28). Prison Economics Help Drive Ariz. Immigration Law, NPR Morning Edition. https://www.npr.org/2010/10/28/130 833741/prison-economics-help-drive-ariz-immigration-law.

Press commentary and op-eds on ballot initiative Proposition 205 Ferguson Joe (2019, January 17). Sanctuary City effort in Tucson conflicts with state law, city attorney says, Arizona Daily Star. Ferguson Joe (2019, July 25). Tucson mayoral candidates agree ‘sanctuary city’ initiative would be bad for city, Arizona Daily Star. Fink Eric (2019, November 6). Co-author of Prop 205 speaks out after measure is soundly defeated, News4Tucson, KVOA.com. Hernandez Julian (2019, January 30), Tucson faces potential legal battle with state over sanctuary city petition, Cronkite News, Arizona PBS. Kozachik Steve, member of City Council (2019, September 19). Vote No on Prop 205: The proposition is well-meaning but has too many unintended and damaging consequences, Tucson Weekly. Livier Zaira Emiliana, organizer for Tucson Families Free and Together (2019, September 19). Vote Yes on Prop 205, Tucson Weekly. Magnus Chris, Police Chief (2019, March 31). Tucson police chief: We don’t do Border Patrol’s job, they don’t do ours, Arizona Daily Star. Magnus Chris, Police Chief (2019, July 21). Local Opinion: Police Chief: Sanctuary city initiative wrong for, Arizona Daily Star. Roberts Laurie (2019, October 31). Prop. 205 won’t give immigrants any real sanctuary. But it would sabotage Tucson, Arizona Republic. Smith Dylan (2019, October 9). Sanctuary City backers sue, claim Tucson officials illegally ‘electioneering’, Tucson Sentinel. Smith Dylan and Paul Ingram (2019, November 5). Democrats sweep Tucson mayor, Council election; ‘Sanctuary City’ fails, Tucson Sentinel.

CHAPTER 3

From “Safety Zone” to “Welcoming City”: Austin, Texas as an Unfinished Urban Sanctuary Rocio A. Castillo

Introduction In September 2013, the City of Austin proclaimed itself a Welcoming City for international newcomers. Although part of a national effort lead by Welcoming America (WA),1 this self-proclaimed welcoming stance was part of a coherent discourse of Austin as a progressive community. Indeed, because of its high-tech industry and the University of Texas campus, Austin had become a very diverse city. Labeled as a creative city (Long, 2010), it has a fast-growing creative class (Florida, 2014) resulting from a constant national and international immigration of skilled workers. A flow of skilled migration sustained by a larger immigrant and low-skilled 1 https://www.welcomingamerica.org/about/who-we-are.

R. A. Castillo (B) Interdisciplinary Program for Gender Studies (PIEG), Center of Sociological Studies (CES), El Colegio de México, Mexico City, Mexico e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_3

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population—seldom recognized—whose labor allows for the flourishing economic dynamics of the city. Irregular immigrants mostly from Mexico and Central America have chosen Austin as a place to settle because of its accelerated growth, and hence the constant need for workers (Torres et al., 2013). From the 1980s to 2010 there has been an accelerated increase of the Hispanic or Latino population registered by the U.S. Census Bureau in the city: In 1980 Latinos accounted for the 18.8% of Austin’s inhabitants, but by 2010 they were 34.3% of the population (U.S. Census Bureau, 2010). By 2020 that number has not changed. And this is not considering the immigrant residents of Greater Austin, which comprises a five-county metropolitan area of smaller cities such as Round Rock, Pflugerville, Hutto, and Bastrop, with large immigrant communities. However, portrayals of Austin’s diverse population tend to focus on nonHispanic, regular, and skilled migration, failing to acknowledge the city as a destination hub for unskilled and irregular immigration from Latin America. Austin has not been an historical immigrant destination, nor has it attracted much interest from migration researchers as other Texan urban areas such as Houston or Dallas. Austin barely emerged as a new immigrant destination from the 1990s onwards (Stansfield et al., 2013). “[…] In contrast to much of Texas, Austin (Travis County) is a relatively new immigrant destination city with foreign-born growth rates surpassing levels for Texas and the total U.S. population (18%, 16.1% and 12.4% respectively)” (Torres et al., 2013, p. 2). As the Texan capital, Austin plays a complex antithetical role that defines its identity as part of the contemporary conservative progressive political divide in the US. This is particularly significant as Texas has been one of the leading states in the illegalization of immigrants in the country, following De Genova’s take on the production of illegality (2005). The chapter presents a history of Austin’s municipal efforts in dealing with irregular and mostly unskilled immigration from Latin American countries for the last four decades. The aim of the chapter is to analyze how the difficult articulation and tensions between different levels of immigration governance have resulted in temporary, unfinished and ambiguous local immigration policies, allowing us to question urban sanctuaries’ opportunities and limits. This chapter was built mostly on hemerographic and archival research about the City’s immigration policies and practices from 1997 to 2017.

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The last two decades have been also analyzed through the lenses of my own ethnographic research and direct participation with the local immigrant-rights movement (2014–2015).2 The chapter is organized chronologically in order to show how Austin’s immigration policy has developed in a complex relation to other levels of governance, whether in tandem or in reaction to it. The first section of the chapter deals with a brief historical background on Austin’s immigration enforcement and practices from the early 1980’s to its declaration as a “Safety Zone” in 1997. The second part of the chapter revolves around how the city had to negotiate with state and federal laws on immigration and terrorism after 9/11 trying to honor the “Safety Zone” resolution. A third section, which at times intersects with the previous one, responds to the consequences that the 2006 Immigration Reform Marches had on the local political arena as an immigrant-rights movement rose and consolidated in the following years. Pushing, in some ways successfully, the city and Travis County to take a stand for irregular immigrants residing in the region. A fourth section examines the City’s attempt to institutionalize its policy toward immigrants through the Welcoming City Initiative, program that however neglected to include strategies to benefit low skilled immigrant residents. And which rendered the City an unfinished project of urban sanctuary. A project that was undertaken at the county level, by a new sheriff, whose policy of case-by-case collaboration with ICE prompted a fierce legal confrontation between the state and its jurisdictions through SB 4, better known as the “anti-sanctuary” law, is assessed in the fifth and last section of this chapter.

From Raids to Austin as “Safety Zone”: Local Immigration Policy from 1980 to 1997 During the 1980s and the first half of 1990s Austin’s immigration policy was focused on denying access to public services and alienating irregular

2 From May 2014 to May 2015, I conducted ethnographic fieldwork with two immi-

grant grassroots organizations. For someone who knows the Austin’s immigrants’ right movement field, the identity of these two organizations might become evident. I will try to maintain their anonymity to protect their privacy, particularly with the changes in immigration enforcement that have fallen on immigrant communities since Donald Trump arrived at executive power.

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immigrants residing in the city. For example, a City Council Resolution of 1981 banned access to medical services to foreign residents without an Immigration and Naturalization Service’s (INS)3 valid identification.’4 After the Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA) of 1986, the threat of deportation became more frequent as raids from INS researchers5 and border patrol agents became recurrent when a sub office of the INS was open in South Austin in 1986 (Wilkerson, 1993). Most raids were done on workplaces like hotels, restaurants, constructions sites, and increasingly on corners where day laborers gathered looking for employment, a pattern that reflects the national trend post-IRCA (Wilkerson, 1993). Although from archives is hard to discern the view of City officials on this matter, the lack of discussion about immigration and immigrant communities during City Council’s meetings and agendas might indicate a fixed position on the importance of immigration control and discouragement of irregular immigration. However, over the years it seemed that the “City’s monster construction boom” (Johnson, 1999), which started in Austin in the mid-1990s, and the economic appeal of having a reliable, cheap workforce motivated local authorities to look the other way. Or, at least, to enforce immigration laws at a lower rate than during the preceding decade. On January 30, 1997, recognizing the growth of an irregular immigrant community, the City of Austin passed a City Council Resolution which would turn Austin into a “Safety Zone” for irregular immigrants. It was resolved that it would be “[…] the policy of the City of Austin that It will not discriminate or deny city services on the basis of a person’s immigration status; and […] the City of Austin to be a “Safety Zone” where all persons are treated equally, with respect and dignity, regardless of immigration status”.6 This resolution however, did not occur only as a 3 The Immigration and Naturalization Service (INS) was active from 1940 to 2003 as an agency of the Department of Justice. After the 9/11 events, and along with the association of immigration with terrorism, the INS was divided in three new entities (US Citizenship and Immigration Services, US Immigration and Customs Enforcement and US Customs and Border Protection) now belonging to the Department of Homeland Security. 4 City Council Resolution 810528-03. 5 INS Researchers is what they called themselves being quoted on interviews as way to

be separated from Border Patrol agents. The latter ones in charge of detention, and the former, of investigating a detainee legal status. 6 City Council Resolution 970130-033.

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response to local needs and demands, but mostly as an acknowledgment of a series of events occurring at national and federal levels of immigration debate and enforcement. During the second half of the 1990s, anti-immigrant sentiments were growing, particularly in southern borderland states, materializing in movements and lobbying efforts that fought what they called cultural division and bilingualism.7 These movements forged an image of immigrants as cultural, social and economic threats. In 1996, the federal government passed the Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA), which created a more restrictive legal frame that criminalized irregular immigration. It inaugurated an administrative mechanism for expedited deportations without the right to be presented in front of a judge (Kohli et al., 2011, p. 4). As part of IIRIRA, the Memorandum of Agreement 287(g) allowed the federal government, through immigration agents, to enter into agreements of collaboration between state and local enforcement giving them authority to enforce federal immigration law (Lacayo, 2010). The same year the Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA) was approved. One purpose of the PRWORA, among others, was to withdraw access to public services (such as health services, food stamps or other forms of social security) for irregular immigrants, and even for regular immigrants who were not naturalized (Ridgley, 2008, p. 61). Immersed in this national context, the Austin’s “Safety Zone” resolution was met with federal criticism. Russ Bergeron, a then Washington, DC. spokesman from the INS, said to the Austin American-Statesman that the “[…] new city resolution declaring Austin as a “Safety Zone” for immigrants could create legal problems if the city chooses not to comply with federal laws” (Dworin, 1997b). As a public response given to the same local newspaper, Council Member Gus García, main sponsor of the resolution, answered that “the “safety zone” declaration will not change the way the city goes about its day-to-day business. For example, all residents—including undocumented immigrants—may continue to call the police to report crimes and use city clinics to get health care […]” (Dworin, 1997a). Also, on October of that same year the City released an

7 Such as the English-Only, US English and English first and organizational efforts that materialized in organizations such as FAIR (Federation for American Immigration Reform), CIS (Center for Immigration Studies) and Numbers USA, some of them now classified as hate groups.

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ordinance8 that created a Task Force on Immigration Issues. It was made of representatives of 40 different organizations with the goal of investigating “[…] the effect of recent changes to welfare and immigration laws on residents of Austin […]”.9 This Task Force would later become the Commission on Immigrant Affairs, which played a significant role in future policy analysis such as the Welcoming Cities Initiative. These first local efforts to take a stance against federal immigration policy illustrates the complexities of what being a “urban sanctuary” or in this case, a “safety zone” implies. The ambiguity of the language used allows for ample movement in any direction, such as protecting immigrant communities or leaving them defenseless against federal immigration authorities. This resolution did not protect immigrant communities against deportations as it only protected them within the City’s service provisions. A couple of years after, the Austin Chronicle reported that the then Chief of Police of the Austin Police Department (APD) interpreted the resolution in these terms: This means, more or less, that immigrants will not be questioned about their status when applying for social services, say, or seeking day labor. The APD, likewise, doesn’t do the INS’s work for them. […]. Generally, it has been a long-held policy that we don’t enforce immigration laws. In the case of a roundup by INS […] we would not participate. What we would do, and have done, we might work the perimeter to make sure [no one gets hurt] —If INS decided to come to day labor, we would open the doors and say come on in. But we do not actively enforce the immigration laws. (Johnson, 1999)

As this APD officer stated, becoming a “safety zone” meant was compliance with federal authorities, but not cooperation in raids. As others have found, “sanctuary cities do not offer absolute protection from federal immigration authorities […] illegalized migrants remain subject to detection, and possible detention and deportation […] Although sanctuary cities are unable to offer complete protection, they commit to including all inhabitants […]” (Bauder & Gonzalez, 2018, p. 125). However, they fuel deportability as practice and sustain the unjust economic system immigration in which they are ingrained (De Genova, 2005). 8 City Council Ordinance 971023-A. 9 City Council Ordinance 971023-A.

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A New Century in Austin Immigration Policy: Negotiation with Federal and State Laws As I have stated earlier, the City of Austin’s stance on immigration is a consequence not only of its local social and economic dynamics, but of a complex intertwining with state and federal laws and politics. In tandem with state policies and following the 1990s pattern of more flexible immigration policies at the state level (in contrast to states such as California), the City was looking for ways to guarantee access to services and basic rights to its immigrants’ residents. Even after 9/11, despite Republican Party affiliation, the state of Texas was departing from the Federal government emergent immigration policies. This seemed to allow the City to push for alternatives to compensate for criminalizing federal policies, such as the use of matriculas consulares . Some years later, however, Texas made a sharp turn toward compliance with federal politics on immigration, and even became a leading state in immigration control, persecution, and criminalization. The City of Austin followed Texas’ change of direction, not by direct action of the City Council, but by compliance and silence on the consequences for its local immigrant residents and communities. In 2001, Texas was the first state nationwide that passed House Bill 1403 (sometimes called the “Texas Dream Act”), which allowed undocumented students that had completed high school in the state, and therefore were considered residents of Texas, to pay in-state tuition on postsecondary institutions. Signed by Governor Rick Perry, the bill embraced the notion that empowering undocumented youths in Texas, would bring financial and social prosperity in the long run. Since then, 21 more states have passed similar legislation (Broder, 2020). In Texas, however, it has been contended at each legislature session since. Being home of one of the most respected campuses of the University of Texas, the “Texas Dream Act” had a huge impact on Austin and its postsecondary student immigrant-rights movement, housing a chapter of the national organization United We Dream (UWD). In that same year (2001), the City passed the first and only ordinance that would change the City Code in favor of immigrant communities. On September 10th the City Council ordained that “[…] Chapter 51 of the City Code is amended to add a new section 5-1-7 to read as follows: 5-1-7 City services provided regardless of immigrant status. Services funded by funds appropriated by the Council shall be provided

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without regard to a recipient’s immigration status.”10 This was a move that followed the state’s stances toward inclusion. Therefore, despite the tumultuous years ahead regarding the criminalization of irregular immigration, services provided by the City were offered without distinction of immigration status. However, equal access to services is just one of the multiple dimensions of what an urban sanctuary would entail. It is an important one nonetheless, as it institutionalizes belonging by upholding substantive rights by virtue of being a recognized inhabitant of the City, and also allows for the emergence of other kinds of citizenship—and agency—not dependent on the national scale of belonging (Isin, 2009). In Texas, the consequences of the 9/11 attacks were not felt immediately. However, the link made between terrorism and irregular immigration at the federal level eventually led to a state discussion on national security and the rights of immigrant residents. Among others, one of the issues that affected local enforcement agencies was the validity of forms of identification attainable by irregular immigrants, particularly drivers’ licenses. As this form of identification is issued by the states, and not by the federal government, but enforced at the local level, it has been a common point of negotiation. The state of California was the first state, in 1993, to explicitly restrict driving licenses to irregular immigrants, followed by Arizona in 1996. By 2011, irregular immigrants could only obtain driving licenses in three states: New Mexico, Utah, and Washington (Hunter & Mathay, 2016). In Texas, the Department of Public Safety (DPS) in charge of issuing drivers’ licenses used to accept passports or other forms of valid foreign governmental IDs such as matriculas consulares 11 until 2008. Facing a national discussion on security linked to the access of irregular immigrants to services (private as well as public)12 through valid US identifications, in May 2002 the City Council of Austin directed the City Manager “[…] to determine which departments, programs and services will accept the ‘matricula consular’ as a form of identification; and to develop an outreach component to the 10 City Council Ordinance 010910-01. 11 The matricula consular is an initiative of the Mexican government to provide secure

identity documentation to its nationals abroad who may not otherwise, have any other form of valid identification. Because of its use in the banking and remittances industry, Monica Varsanyi has called the matriculas consulares a form of neoliberal local membership (2007). 12 Such as boarding a domestic flight.

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broader community to accept the ‘matricula consular’”.13 The National Strategy for Homeland Security, released by then-President George Bush in July 2002, encouraged state initiatives to assure the security of driving licensing and other forms of identification. This, as drivers’ licenses had been largely used as a de facto form of identification across the US. In the midst of this, the City of Austin, in April 2003 resolved to push for legislation (HB 57) that allowed for other forms of identification to be used in issuing a driver’s license at the fore coming Texan legislature session.14 The HB 57 proposed that the DPS accept as proof of the applicant’s identity “[…] an identity document that is issued by the government of another country, if that document bears the applicant’s photograph, full name, and date of birth […]”.15 Departing from federal policy, the bill was signed and took effect September 1, 2003, in Texas, specifying the “identity documents” allowed, including passports, consular identity documents (such as the matricula consular) and national identity documents. For some years, immigrant residents of Austin (and Texas in general) were issued a driver’s license if they had the proper form of identification, protecting them from some interactions with the police due to minor traffic offenses. Anti-immigrant sentiment, however, continued growing in the US: 2005 was a difficult year for immigrant advocates and immigrant grassroots organizations. The House of Representatives had passed the Border Protection, Anti-terrorism, and Illegal Immigration Control Act of 2005, better known as the “Sensenbrenner bill,” which among other things would have criminalized the act of assisting irregular immigrants or knowingly or recklessly disregarding their presence. The fear of the law passing in the Senate (which in the end it did not) was compounded in Austin by the fear of groups of “Minutemen” arriving in the City.16 Although local newspapers claimed that the Minutemen did not actually arrive in Austin, local supporters of the Minutemen and anti-immigration 13 City Council Resolution 20020523-074. 14 City Council Resolution 20030403-033. 15 Texas HB 57, 78th Regular session. Introduced version. 16 The Minutemen is an anti-immigrant nativist movement made up of various and very

diverse, typically local, organizations dedicated mostly to citizen-border patrol activities. Some of the organizations are dedicated to what some scholars have termed “sensationalist monitoring of the border” through demonstrations (Chavez, 2007; Oliviero, 2011), while others focus on more aggressive and militarized activities (Trujeque Díaz, 2007).

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demonstrators disturbed the Annual 15 of September Parade (Mexico’s independence day) protesting illegal immigration from Mexico at the Capitol, provoking confrontations that had to be stopped by the police. According to the parade goers, the protesters wore Minutemen t-shirts and banners. Minutemen or not, on December 15th, the City resolved that “[…] the Austin City Council believes in a person’s right to assemble and demonstrate their right of free speech; but it is opposed to the activities of the Minutemen and groups like the Minutemen who may exploit this First Amendment right to the detriment of the constitutional rights of others,”17 honoring their commitment to being a “Safety Zone.” This is, not only protecting its residents from other levels of governance, but also from nongovernmental groups and associations. As immigrants and immigrants-rights activists fought the antiimmigrant narrative that was introduced nationally through the Sensenbrenner bill and the incursion of the Minutemen, the REAL ID Act was also passed in 2005 at the federal level. This law encouraged states with lenient driver’s license standards to change them to a national standard that did not allow people without a US government-issued ID or social security number to be issued one. Texas laws did not change until October 2008 when the state passed a bill requiring driver’s license applicants to provide documentation of their immigration status. From then on, eligible foreign citizens (regular immigrants that could prove their authorized legal status) would be issued differently marked ID cards from those issued to US citizens (Limón, 2018). This 2008 bill marked a sudden and profound change in the lives of irregular immigrants across Texas. That same year, Texas offered Harris County (containing the city of Houston) as the grounds where a pilot of the Secure Communities Program (commonly known as S-Comm) would take place. As an automated form of information sharing between local enforcement agencies and ICE, in the years to come S-Comm would accelerate and increase the deportation rates. Unlike at other times, as I have shown, the City Council did not act, in practice or discursively, to protest this development. It actually followed a more compliant stance with Federal and State law on immigration enforcement, materializing when Austin joined the S-Comm Program in 2009. From that moment on, immigrant communities in Austin without access to drivers’ licenses, faced with the City’s

17 City Council Resolution 20051215-055.

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cooperation with ICE, found life becoming more and more dangerous. Deportations, particularly of Latin American men, became more frequent, with numbers rising to 19 deportations a week from 2009 to 2014. During this time, the City was mostly silent on immigration policy and the protection of its immigrant residents. Although there was no change of office in Texas (Rick Perry’s term lasted from 2000 to 2015), there was a sudden and critical transformation of policy, perhaps amid increasing federal coercion. This transformation spread to the local level, as the City’s commitment to upholding immigrants’ rights began to decline.

The Consolidation of a Local Immigrant-Rights Movement and the Prominence of Travis County Although during this period there were no raids in Austin as there had been during the 1980s, the threat of deportation was constant, particularly for immigrant residents stopped while driving, or arrested for misdemeanors such as having a loud party at home. Although the 2006 local immigration reform marches consolidated a local immigrantrights movement (Jiménez, 2010, 2011), it took several years to create an immigrant-based movement with the force and drive to challenge local and regional immigrant enforcement and immigration policies. The arousal and organization of immigrant communities finally resulted in the organization of the #19TooMany Campaign (in 2013), which targeted the City of Austin as one of the main actors responsible for Austinites’ deportations. The local immigrant-rights movement continued to grow, and its presence materialized frequently at City Hall, at the Texan Capitol, and other government offices. It is hard to know how much influence the local immigrant-rights movement had on city policy. However, after years of silence on immigration affairs (the last City Council resolution was issued in 2005), even after the massive 2006 immigration reform marches, and no changes in the mayor’s office (Mayor Lee Leffingwell’s term was from 2009 to 2015), it seemed as if the local immigrants-rights movement had managed to push the City toward revising its policies and involvement with injustices committed to its immigrant residents. However, it might also be that the City, concerned with preserving an image of progressiveness in a context of rising national dissatisfaction with S-Comm, had the opportunity to take visible action in supporting its local grassroots movements. In February 2013 the City of Austin, as a way of responding

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positively to the local immigrant-rights movement, resolved to send a letter to the United States Congress. […] to enact legislation accomplishing comprehensive immigration reform that: provides a realistic pathway to citizenship; works to keep families of immigrants intact; promotes public safety, national security, and economic prosperity; respects human rights and civil liberties; establishes a responsible and accountable border policy; and addresses the root causes of migration”.18

It was however clear that the City was laying the responsibility of immigration enforcement at the federal level without revisiting their local practices and open collaboration with ICE. For a year, local activists demonstrated, lobbied, protested, and organized actions to push the City toward ending its agreement with S-Comm. From 2012, S-Comm was no longer optional and jurisdictions were not able to opt out from it; however, symbolic disagreements with Federal immigration law could prompt authorities, such as City police (like the Austin Police Department) to act differently. At the time, the local immigrant-rights movement demanded that the APD, as the enforcement agency of the City, stop detaining immigrants for minor offenses, as those detentions would most likely end in deportation processes. Later that same year, in June 26th, after a year of campaigning and continuous protesting against the local collaboration of police and county staff with S-Comm, the City resolved to oppose the collaboration with ICE and with the S-Comm Program. The resolution reads as follows: The City Council opposes the use of Travis County resources, including efforts by County staff and taxpayer dollars, for the implementation of ICE’s S-Comm program. […] The City Council urges the Travis County Sheriff’s Office to stop complying with ICE detainers and holding people in its jail for ICE to assume custody. The City Council directs the City Manager to research options to minimize or completely replace the City of Austin’s use of the Travis County Central Booking Facility, until such time that Travis County’s participation in the S-Comm program has been terminated […]. The City Council directs the City Manager to send a

18 City Council Resolution 20132228-034.

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copy of this resolution to the Travis County Judge, Commissioners and Sheriff.19,20

It is important to note that the language used by the City of Austin, is replicating the one used by the local immigrant-rights movement (in its demand of ending S-Comm and collaboration with ICE), which may be a sign of how influential a local movement might be. However, complying with ICE detainers is separate from S-Comm (as S-Comm is only an automated mechanism of information sharing which allows to identify irregular immigrants), and from which jurisdictions could not opt-out since 2012. Also, although not mentioned in the City Council’s resolution shown above, the commitment of the City was agreed upon informal meetings with the Austin Chief of Police. Their agreement was that APD would make efforts to raise awareness on their deputies about the renovated City’s commitment toward its immigrant residents. Although, as an informal stance, arrests on misdemeanors made by APD officers would still be discretionary, or immigrant residents with minor offences would not end up in the county jail. In spite of this resolution and the City’s support, it became more and more clear that although the APD could make changes in the way it dealt with misdemeanors of racialized immigrant residents, the main actor in the chain that linked immigrant residents with ICE was Travis County’s Sheriff Greg Hamilton, who refused to end his compliance with ICE detention requests or “holds.” As portrayed at the City Council resolution, the problem laid on the City’s dependence on the Travis County Central Booking Facility. Although located in Austin, the facility was out of the City’s jurisdiction, but used its services as the City did not have a city jail. Therefore, arrests made by the city police were always subjected to the Travis County Sheriff’s office. If the City had its own facility (a magistration center), as it was discussed on City Council reunions, it would be easier to effectively stop honoring warrantless ICE detentions

19 City Council Resolution 20140626-099. 20 It is important to note that the language used by the City of Austin is replicating

the language used by the local immigrant-rights movement. The question of complying with ICE detainers is separate from S-Comm (which allows ICE to locate migrants in the first place). Participation in S-Comm was only terminated when Obama replaced it with the Priority Enforcement Program, officially in 2015.

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(Kanin, 2014). Yet, the City never got a new magistration center, as it would have required approval to build a new facility run by the City. After this resolution took place, the local immigrant-rights movement shifted its focus toward the county. They asked several times for meetings with the sheriff, who rejected them. As the sheriff’s refusal became news for Austinites, he saw himself pressured to accept to participate at an S-Comm Forum where different opinions could be heard. Sherriff Hamilton, the first African American sheriff in Travis County and Democratic Party candidate, was elected in 2005 and served until 2016 when he was succeeded by another Democratic candidate, and first woman sheriff: Sally Hernandez. On several occasions Hamilton publicly used discriminatory language to refer to Mexican immigrants. In 2014 on an ultraconservative radio station, as one of the journalists covering the story put it: “[…] the chat devolved into a derisive exchange perpetuating the ugliest of Mexican stereotypes, while mocking the reality of broken families left in S-Comm’s wake” (Cantú, 2014). In this context, tensions were high between the sheriff and local activists. The Forum, held in October 2014, became an important event for the local immigrant movement as it offered a chance to build a space for dialogue with its opponents (Castillo, 2020). Guest speakers at the Forum were the Travis County Sheriff’s Office Major, the sheriff, a representative from the Travis County Democrats Party, three not-for-profit representatives,21 and one representative of a local immigrant-based organization. Representatives of the City of Austin and the Austin Police Department were not present. The Forum did not bring the results expected, as neither side was willing to negotiate. A local newspaper recounted the event in these terms: […] Perhaps an even greater obstacle to consensus than the tortuous complexities of the law is the high level of emotion the topic inspires in proponents and detractors alike. It’s clear that Hamilton and his supporters feel as though he’s being personally attacked, a feeling that was likely reinforced when an audience member shouted at him, “You just don’t like Mexicans!” The sheriff’s attitude throughout the forum was defensive and dismissive […] and he accused S-Comm opponents of being “disingenuous with the way this program operates.” He argued that they should be focusing on reforming immigration law rather than fighting enforcement of the law. (Kamp, 2014)

21 ACLU, Grassroots Leadership and Texas Civil Rights Project.

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After the S-Comm Forum it became evident to the immigrant-rights movement that an agreement with the sheriff was virtually impossible. Therefore, they turned to the Travis County Commission and the County Judge. Their lobbying was aimed at getting the Travis County Commission to support the resolution of the City of Austin through their indirect power over the sheriff’s office. The strategy was to persuade Commissioners to support a reduced budget for the sheriff. As the highest rank on law enforcement at the county level the sheriff has jurisdiction over unincorporated areas of the county to enforce state laws, leaving the jurisdictions within city limits, to the Chief of Police. However, one of the main responsibilities of its office, is to manage the county jail and its prisoners, provide security to courtrooms and serve warrants and civil papers. The reduction of its annual budget was expected to pressure him to stop complying with detainer requests by ICE; hence, dropping the amount of deportation procedures started for misdemeanors. It was a complicated move; however, one Latina Commissioner took up the challenge and agreed to support the initiative within the Commission. However, some days before the voting she stopped her communication with the movement and publicly declared she would not support the initiative, and it was dropped from the agenda. As a result, the City Council of Austin started discussing the need to include the County in the City’s debates on immigration affairs. An ordinance was passed to add a permanent representative of the County at the Commission on Immigration Affairs (which came into practice in 2015). Meanwhile, looking for ways to prevent unnecessary detentions—for example, for minor traffic offences—, in August 2014 the City Council began reviewing the prospect of issuing a municipal identification. As mentioned before, valid identification cards would allow irregular immigrants access to different private and public services (such as banking, housing, healthcare, among others), as well as the possibility of more favorable encounters with the police. A resolution passed in August 7th directed the City Manager to review, with a community stakeholder group, the possibility of a municipally issued identification card.22 In December of that same year a new meeting regarding the municipal ID took place and it was directed that a Program Administrator and a Task

22 City Council Resolution 20140807-102.

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Force be created “[…] to conduct a detailed feasibility study of a municipally issued identification card that incorporates stakeholder feedback, design rules and processes as well as exact features, estimates start-up and annual maintenance costs […]”.23 Although it was an initiative of the Immigrants Affairs Commission it was passed on to Health and Human Services. This move would include a broader range of beneficiaries, since municipal IDs would also provide a government-issued identification without gender classifications for LGBT residents, and a means of identification for Austin’s homeless who have difficulties obtaining other forms of identification. However, as time went by, the idea of municipal identifications was neglected by the City, as it was not included in the agenda of the City Council for at least a couple of years. That same year on the national scale, on November 20, 2014, President Obama announced the beginning of DAPA (Deferred Action for Parents of Americans and Lawful Permanent Residents) and the extension of DACA (Deferred Action for Childhood arrivals), as well as the ending of the S-Comm and the launch of the Priority Enforcement Program (PEP).24 The local immigrant-based organizations listened to the announcement in party-like events: having dinner with music and friends. Even though it felt like a victory, as many of the activists would benefit from DAPA, it was a bittersweet celebration for DREAMers and their parents,25 because most of its members had a DACA status, meaning their parents could not benefit from the Presidential executive action. After the initial excitement wore off, careful analysis took place within the organizations. Most discussions were centered on three issues: the first

23 City Council Resolution 20141211-225. 24 In 2012 President Barak Obama announced the start of the Deferred Action for

Childhood Arrivals (DACA) through executive action. DACA allowed irregular immigrants brought to the US before their 16th birthday a temporary (2 years) and renewable deferral for deportation and work permit. The DACA extension would offer a 3-year deferred action and an expanded eligibility and DAPA would give temporary and renewable deferral action from deportation and work permits to irregular immigrants with children with a US citizenship or legal residence, and that had lived in the US for at least for 5 years. 25 That means that it was an organization affiliated to United We Dream, an immigrant-

youth led national network born as a movement that supported the legislative proposal of the DREAM Act (The Development, Relief, and Education for Alien Minors Act) first introduced in 2001 (although never passed). The DREAM Act would grant temporary conditional residence and the right to work to immigrant brought to the US as minors, as well as the possibility to later obtain a regular and permanent status.

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one was organizing the task of sharing and spreading the information. The second was discussing the biological foundations of DAPA which, for most single mothers, meant the reappearing of long-absent biological fathers. And thirdly, the yet unknown differences between PEP and S-Comm, fearing that parents of non-citizens would be the main target of the Program. As for the City, some days after the presidential announcement, its Council passed a resolution in “strong” support of President Obama’s executive action.26 The presidential announcement and ending of SComm and the upcoming holidays had the effect of dimming the impulse of the local immigrant-rights movement. However, this lull did not last, as Texas and 25 other states took legal action against President Obama’s DAPA and DACA expansion, leading to a preliminary injunction blocking DAPA in February 2015.27 For the time being, since also the electoral campaign for the position of sheriff was starting and a rumor of the sheriff Hamilton not running (Hoffberger, 2015), all the attention was focused on the discussion of municipally issued identification and the possibility of a new sheriff’s immigration policy, in particular non-collaboration with ICE. After several years of silence and compliance with state and federal laws on immigration, and pushed by a local movement that made visible the inconsistencies of Austin’s portrayal as a progressive and diverse community, the City opted for supporting the local immigrant movement. This decision was also made possible by growing dissatisfaction, at a national scale, with immigration enforcement and victories such as the DACA executive action of 2012. The City’s new alliance with its local immigrant-rights movement brought on new opponents and obstacles, such as certain authorities like the Travis County Sheriff. Clearly, in practice, immigration enforcement occurs at the intersection of several levels of governance and individual stances on immigration policy, leading us to question the relevance is of “urban sanctuaries”—or in this particular case “safety zones.” Any interrogation must take into account the political and economic context of a metropolis seeking to develop particular images,

26 City Council Resolution 20141211-125. 27 On 2017 the Trump administration announced the rescission of Obama’s executive

action.

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or branding, that distinguish and associate them with broader political ideologies, notably in a context of growing national divide between conservatism and progressivism.

The Possibility of Institutionalizing “Welcome”: Austin as a Welcoming City On March 20, 2014, the City Manager was “[…] directed [by the Austin City Council] to engage community stakeholders, including City departments, educational institutions, non-profit organizations, and other government entities in defining the vision for Austin as a Welcoming City”.28 The Welcoming Cities Initiative started off with a local research project whose purpose was “[…] to give Austin residents the opportunity to share their perceptions of Austin’s inclusion of immigrants and to inform and define what “welcoming” means in the context of our community, through a serious of input processes” (Coff et al., 2015). This input came from online surveys and focus groups with immigrant residents, general public, service providers, business, and funders (public and philanthropic), as well as individual interviews with elected officials. However, none of the activists from any of the major immigrant-based organizations took part in any of the focus groups or interviews, even at a time when regular negotiations with them were taking place. This also reflected on the collaborators listed in the report and from which the pool of participants was chosen.29 None of the collaborators represented any of the most vulnerable immigrant communities in Austin, who also accounted for most of the immigrant population in the City and its metropolitan area. The final report on the Welcoming Cities Initiative (WCI) was released in September 2015. The topics of the report range from “how welcoming is Austin towards immigrants?”, “health and services,” “public safety” to “civic engagement & community involvement” among others. According to the report, its value lies in understanding “what are the perceptions of 28 City Council Resolution 20140320-049. 29 The organizations listed are: Asociación de Empresarios Mexicanos, Austin Community

Foundation, Austin Independent School District, Caritas of Austin, Chinese American Semiconductor Professional Association, Eurocircle, Greater Austin Asian Chamber of Commerce, The Indus Entrepreneurs Austin, SafePlace, SAIVA, The SEED Adult and Family Learning Community, and The University of Texas at Austin International Office.

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Austin’s inclusion of immigrants, both in general and across specific areas of community life; what can the city do to be more welcoming, and what is the city already doing and its obstacles towards that goal” (Coff et al., 2015, p. 5). The plan seemed to be that the report would guide the City toward the implementation of its Welcoming City policy, something that did not happen. And probably is the reason why Austin is not part of the Welcoming America network. However, WCI did become a program of the City of Austin, albeit a very unsatisfactory one. The program has three outreach subprograms: (1) Welcome to Austin Orientation Sessions, (2) International Welcome Ambassadors Program (which now is inactive), and (3) International Calendar of Events and Resource Guide.30 It is quite telling that the program’s information, as well as its subprograms, are located on a web page of the government of the City that is only in English. This contrasts with the City of Houston (member of the WA network) which is politically more conservative, but whose official website is available in English, Spanish, French, Sindhi, Chinese, and Vietnamese.31 Also, as another example, the City of San Antonio has implemented concurrent English–Spanish interpretation in all City Council’s meetings and allows a Spanish live streaming when watching them from home.32 The decision of a monolingual access to the Program shows a persistent unfinishedness on immigration policy and the tenacious invisibilization of poorer and racialized immigrant communities in favor of the truly welcomed immigrant which are skilled and part of the creative class. The outreach subprogram “Welcome to Austin Orientation Sessions” comprises eight educative and orientation videos in English where City staff explain how to get access to certain services in Austin if you are new in town.33 Some of the sessions’ titles are: “Introduction to APD,” “Avoiding traffic violations,” “Managing finances in the United States,” or “Employment opportunities: Starting a small business.” On the other hand, the International Welcome Ambassadors Program had as a goal to match.

30 See: https://austintexas.gov/department/welcoming-cities-initiative. 31 See: http://www.houstontx.gov. 32 See: https://www.sanantonio.gov/gpa/SpanishTranslation. 33 See: http://austintx.swagit.com/play/01262013-501.

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[…] international newcomers to local volunteer ambassadors through community groups. […] 1) Provide international newcomers with a point of contact for any questions about life in Austin and familiarize them with all our community has to offer. 2) Introduce international newcomers and all Austinites to community groups that contribute to the multiculturalism and cultural awareness of our city”.34

The third outreach subprogram consists of a monthly email newsletter and an online calendar “[…] announcing international and intercultural events […].” The events range from French casual conversation clubs, leadership training, auctions, and fundraisers to dance classes and artistic presentations. Many of the activities are held Downtown or in wealthier parts of town, where irregular immigrants, and even regular ones, feel unwelcome, given the intersections of power relations driven by class, race and ethnicity, and unsafe because of the increased presence of the police. As a result, the local immigrant-rights organizations did not feel engaged with the WCI. Clearly, the WCI was not carried out for the larger and more vulnerable immigrant communities in Austin, but for those immigrants deemed valuable and therefore deserving of welcome. WCI ended up being an unfinished program focused on the symbolic inclusion of immigrants appealing, as Bauder and Gonzales have found in the UK, as a policy of changing “[…] the imagination of the city as a place of welcome and in this way shape the manner in which inhabitants interact with each other” (Bauder & Gonzalez, 2018). In their clear interest of attracting skilled immigrants and neglecting to include strategies to benefit their already lower-skilled immigrant residents (Ahn, 2017, p. 85) we can conclude that some immigrants are welcome, while others, in spite of their fundamental contribution to the City’s economic development (Torres et al., 2013), are to be discussed and protected, but not welcomed— this is, subjectivized as passive recipients of compassion but not as active members of society. The subtle differences between protection and welcome become evident. Although there have been other efforts by the City to include irregular and/or unskilled immigrants, in the context of the WCI they were absolutely invisibilized.

34 https://austintexas.gov/page/international-welcome-ambassador-program.

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A New Sheriff in Town: “Sanctuary Sally” and the Texas Anti-sanctuary Legislation Nonetheless, a new dynamic emerged through a change in the Texas administration, when Governor Greg Abbott took office—as a forecast of the future changes in the presidential election of 2016—, and proclaimed immigration control as an imperative of American politics. His governorship was inaugurated in January 2015 by challenging in federal court President Obama’s executive action, in a coalition of 25 states led by Texas.35 That same year, along with the start of Donald Trump’s presidential campaign, Greg Abbott’s government contested the right of citizenship of children born in the US of parents holding an irregular immigration status. In September and October of 2015 parents of Texan new-born children were being denied birth certificates for their babies. Despite the 14th Amendment of the Constitution that guarantees citizenship for all US-born children, officials justified their decision by refusing to accept passports or matriculas consulares as valid forms of photo identification (Cantú, 2015a). After a lawsuit filed against the Texas Department of State Health Services, the state finally agreed to the expansion of secondary forms of identification in July 2016 (Ura, 2016). However, Texas was beginning a decisively immigration policy of fear and strong enforcement. A struggle between the state and its municipal jurisdictions started in 2015, when Democratic Dallas County Sherriff Lupe Valdez changed her policy on collaborating with ICE, deciding that she would not honor detainers in the Dallas County jail of people who committed minor offenses. As a response, Greg Abbott “[…] sent letters to sheriffs statewide alerting them that they would potentially be cut off from criminal justice grant funds if they failed to honor detainer requests on behalf of federal immigration officials” (Cantú, 2015b). A full range of strategies from the federal to the state government were being deployed against immigrants and its communities. In the face of this development, in December 2016 the City of Austin passed a resolution that would commit the City to fund local organizations who provided immigrant legal services.36 The day after Donald Trump won the presidential 35 Obama’s excecutive action was put on hold on February 2016 by US District Judge Andrew Hanen. 36 City Council Resolution 20161215-066.

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election, Steve Adler, mayor of Austin (2015 to the present), made a public address to Austinites and in Spanish he added: “Quiero que sepan que sus líderes, en este edificio que se encuentra a nuestras espaldas, nos comprometemos a la seguridad de ustedes y de sus familias ” (Rossi, 2017).37 In 2016 Democrat Sally Hernandez won the Travis County Sheriff’s election. Being a vocal candidate about ending compliance with ICE detainers requests of minor offenders, she was strongly supported by the local immigrant-rights movement, as they lay on her the hope for change in local immigration enforcement. She was also given the nickname “Sanctuary Sally” by her Republican opponents (although 6 out of 7 candidates had the same campaign promise). As pledged, Sheriff Hernandez made public her new policy about collaboration with ICE: she would only hold a detainee if his/her request was accompanied by a judicial warrant or court order for continued detention or if it involved major offenses such as murder, rape, aggravated assault among others. And also, her deputies were now barred from giving information about an inmate’s release or address to ICE (Hoffberger, 2017a). In a clear act of retaliation, in addition to public scorn from the State Governor toward the Sheriff, the state refused a criminal justice grant of $1.5 million the County typically received to fund various social programs unrelated to immigration (Marloff, 2017). Some months after, the county was denied another $500,000 (King, 2017). Surprisingly, Travis County officials, in spite of the loss of funding, decided to continue supporting Sheriff Hernandez and to raise funds through crowdfunding, highlighting the strength and dedication of county residents (Tuma, 2017a). Sheriff Hernandez’s new policy began on February 1, 2017. The next weekend, a secret ICE raid in Austin resulted in 51 residents arrested; most of them, as later was discovered, did not have a criminal record (Tuma, 2017a). In what was a weekend of raids nationally, “[…] the Austin region led the nation in the number of non-criminal arrests […]” (Tuma, 2017b). But what escalated the tensions between the state and its local jurisdictions (the county and the city) was the leak of information that proved that Governor Abbott asked ICE to specifically “hammer 37 You need to know that your leaders, in the building behind us, are committed to your safety and your family’s.

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Travis County” (Tuma, 2017b). Abbott had chosen Travis County and the City of Austin as exemplary to discourage other local jurisdictions from challenging state and federal political goals. Consequently, this was the first time that County and City officials would lead the fight for immigrant-rights, embedded in a broader struggle of autonomy between different levels of governance and the battle between Republican and Democratic politics. Governor Abbott made banning “sanctuary cities” an emergency item for the Texan legislative session of 2017. Since November 2016, Republican state senator Charles Perry had filed Senate Bill 4, better known as the “anti-sanctuary bill.” The bill made compliance with ICE detainers obligatory and imposed criminal and civil penalties (up to $25,000) on local law enforcement agencies that refused to comply. In February, the City Council of Austin also passed a resolution in which they resolved to oppose “[…] legislation that attempts to shift the cost and/of responsibility of enforcing civil immigration law to local governments and penalize them through the denial of federal funding” during the 115th legislative session that would take place that same year.38 Some days before Greg Abbott signed SB 4 bill, a failed but telling sit-in protest in Governor Abbot’s office was organized by Austin City Council member Greg Casar to pressure him to veto SB 4. In May 7th, the Governor signed the Bill that would go into effect on September 1, 2017. The bill did not make it out of the House without picking up a series of amendments. Amendments added to the bill in the House include criminal penalties for elected officials who violate SB 4 and civil penalties for jurisdictions that violate the bill. SB 4 would not be enforced in churches or public health entities, but it would be enforced on college campuses and in homeless and domestic violence shelters. (Arteaga, 2017)

Senate Bill 4 allows local police to ask about immigration status, even before an arrest is made. In this way the SB 4 is quite similar to the “show me your papers” law enacted by Arizona’s SB 1070. The difference between them is that SB 1070 instructed law enforcement to demand proof of immigration status, while SB 4 merely allows it (although it bars sheriffs or police chiefs from discouraging its deputies

38 City Council Resolution 20170216-068.

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from asking for immigration status). This policy could, however, have the same consequences in terms of racial profiling. In a video message made of the signing of SB4, Governor Abbott “[…] took direct aim at Travis County Sheriff Sally Hernandez […]” (Tuma, 2017c), underlining the almost personal confrontation that had emerged between the two. And in a shocking political move from the state of Texas, on Monday, May 8th, a day after the bill was signed into a law, Texas Attorney General Ken Paxton filed a lawsuit against Sheriff Hernandez, Mayor Adler, Council Members of the city of Austin and MALDEF (Mexican American Legal Defense and Educational Fund). The lawsuit stated that they were violating a state law by blocking cooperation with federal agents and not upholding the constitutionality of SB 4. Paxton was seeking to have the law declared constitutional before it took effect in September 1st (Jankowski, 2017). In May 18th the City of Austin resolved to. […] prepare and pursue litigation against, and defend litigation from, the State of Texas as appropriate, in order to provide relief to the City of Austin and the people of Texas from Senate Bill 4. The City Manager is hereby directed to explore, identify, and allocate the necessary resources, financial or otherwise, to prepare and pursue effective litigation and defense. Additionally, the City Manager is directed to explore coordination with other municipalities and entities engaging in similar litigation.39

The City of Austin was not the first jurisdiction to file a lawsuit to oppose SB 4; a small border town called El Cenizo and the El Paso County did so first, followed by Austin, San Antonio, Houston, and Maverik County. In August 10th a US District Judge dismissed the lawsuit filed by Attorney General Paxton “because SB 4 does not take effect until September 1, 2017, it is impossible for defendants to take any action that would violate the not-yet-effective law” (Jankowski, 2017). In August 30th, a day before SB 4 became effective, a court judge agreed to temporarily suspend it because of its possible unconstitutionality. The excitement of the suspension did not last long as in September, the 5th circuit’s three judge panel ruled that SB 4 would go into effect and that all jurisdictions would be obliged to honor all ICE detainer requests. Only one part of SB4 was dropped: the penalties to officials that did not comply. 39 City Council Resolution 20170518-045.

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Legal procedures continued, but until 2020 SB4 is still active in Texas, making the lives of irregular immigrants more dangerous and uncertain. And although the “ICE out of Austin” campaign, (a continuation of the #19TooMany campaign) is still active—reopening an emergency phone number and office-hours for support and non-professional legal help or consultation—many irregular immigrants that used to participate have distanced themselves from the movement as it became more dangerous to be involved.

Conclusion As shown throughout the chapter, Austin’s policies toward immigrants have evolved continuously in the last four decades. Going back and forth between the inclusion and exclusion of its immigrant residents, the City acts in a framework of complex articulations with other levels of governance. Before the 1997 “Safety zone” resolution, the City seemed to follow the national trend of control and repression of irregular immigration. This policy changed when, after becoming a popular immigrant destination, the City had to position itself on one side of the conservative vs progressive political divide, prioritizing economic expansion over immigration control. The 9/11 attacks created a less polarized debate on the subject of immigration, which at the local level was materialized by a period of silence and stillness that lasted at least a decade. The silence was broken in tandem with broader changes in cities all over the nation; some of them pushed by nation-wide collective efforts such as the DREAMers movement (Nicholls, 2013), who aimed to transform the discourse from the “terrorist immigrant” to the “deserving immigrant.” In Austin, this period was characterized by the search for local inclusion mechanisms and by the attempt to coordinate different departments, institution, and stakeholders to undertake them. However, as Sanders suggested in her research on the City of Philadelphia, “[…] just as federal immigrant and refugee policies have often been constructed in such a way as to conduct public diplomacy and to further geopolitical aims, support for immigrant rights on the local level can also be partly attributed to urban branding and communication strategies” (Sanders, 2018, p. 50). In the interest of maintaining a coherent discourse of Austin as a progressive community, in sharp contrast with mainstream Texas politics, and in order to maintain the steady growth of a creative class that fuels Austin’s technology and knowledge industries, the Welcoming Cities Initiative seemed, at the

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time, as a way of killing two birds with one stone: it was an opportunity to portray the city as a part of a network of diverse and tolerant communities in the US, and “solve” the local immigration “problem” that was building a louder public voice in the local political arena. The result was unsatisfactory and incomplete, not even engaging with and responding to the demands of the local immigrant-rights movement. This strategy changed in the face of the anti-immigrant agenda of the Trump administration, strongly supported by the Texas government. That is, the City of Austin’s greatest attempt to protect and include its immigrant residents was made not only to buffer the new administration’s strategies of deportation and criminalization, but also, to take a stance that could mirror the sentiments of frustration of its population in the face of an increasingly conservative federal and state government in a context of deep political polarization and competition between cities for a highly mobile creative class.

References Ahn, J. J. (2017). Welcoming city initiative for urban economic development: An interpretive policy analysis of four US welcoming cities (Doctoral dissertation). Arizona State University. Bauder, H., & Gonzalez, D. A. (2018). Municipal responses to ‘illegality’: Urban sanctuary across national contexts. Social Inclusion, 6(1), 124–134. Castillo, R. A. (2020). Indignación y compasión. Sentires apropiados e inapropiados en la participación política de mujeres migrantes. Alteridades, 30(59), 73–85. https://doi.org/10.24275/uam/izt/dcsh/alteridades/202 0v30n59/Castillo. Chavez, L. R. (2007). Spectacle in the desert: The Minuteman Project on the US-Mexico border. In D. P. Sen (Ed.), Global vigilantes:perspectives on justice and violence (pp. 25–46). Hurst Publishers. Coff, R., Axler Miranda, L., Johnson, M., & Horton, J. (2015). Austin: Welcoming city initiative final report. Austin, Texas. Retrieved from https:// austintexas.gov/sites/default/files/files/EGRSO/WelcomingCityInitiativeF inalReport9_4_2015__1_.pdf. De Genova, N. (2005). Working the boundaries: Race, space, and “illegality” in Mexican Chicago. Duke University Press. Florida, R. (2014). The rise of the creative class, revisited: Revised and expanded. Basic Books. Isin, E. F. (2009). Citizenship in flux: The figure of the activist citizen. Subjectivity, 29(1), 367–388.

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Jiménez, H. (2010). Unidos Por La Justicia and Mujeres Fuertes: Grassroots groups shaping Mexican immigrant women’s activism in San José. California. Latino Studies, 8(4), 442–462. Jiménez, H. (2011). The start of a new era? Examining the Austin Immigrant Rights Coalition (AIRC) and experiences of Latinas (Doctoral dissertation). Univesity of Texas at Austin. Kohli, A., Markowitz, P. L., & Chavez, L. (2011). Secure communities by the numbers: An analysis of demographics and due process. University of California at Berkeley. Lacayo, A. E. (2010). The impact of Section 287 (g) of the Immigration and Nationality Act on the Latino community. Retrieved from http://publicati ons.nclr.org/handle/123456789/1067. Long, J. (2010). Weird city: Sense of place and creative resistance in Austin, Texas. University of Texas Press. Nicholls, W. J. (2013). The DREAMers: How the undocumented youth movement transformed the immigrant rights debate. Stanford University Press. Oliviero, K. E. (2011). Sensational nation and the Minutemen: Gendered citizenship and moral vulnerabilities. Signs: Journal of Women in Culture and Society, 36(3), 679–706. Ridgley, J. (2008). Cities of refuge: Immigration enforcement, police, and the insurgent genealogies of citizenship in US sanctuary cities. Urban Geography, 29(1), 53–77. Sanders, H. (2018). Immigrant Rights as an Exercise in Urban Branding: The Case of Philadelphia (2008–2015). In T. Lacroix & A. Desille (Eds.), International Migrations and Local Governance. A Global Perspective (pp. 39–55). London: Palgrave Macmillan. Stansfield, R., Akins, S., Rumbaut, R. G., & Hammer, R. B. (2013). Assessing the effects of recent immigration on serious property crime in Austin. Texas. Sociological Perspectives, 56(4), 647–672. Torres, R., Heyman, R., Munoz, S., Apgar, L., Timm, E., Tzintzun, C., & Tang, E. (2013). Building Austin, building justice: Immigrant construction workers, precarious labor regimes and social citizenship. Geoforum, 45, 145–155. Trujeque Díaz, J. A. (2007). Minuteman Project: segregación y activismo antimigratorio. Andamios, 3(6), 137–172. Varsanyi, M. W. (2007). Documenting undocumented migrants: The Matriculas Consulares as neoliberal local membership. Geopolitics, 12(2), 299–319.

Hemerographic Sources Arteaga, E. (2017, May 1). Austin City Council member Greg Casar, 18 protesters cited at SB4 sit-in. CBS Austin. Retrieved from https://cbsaustin. com/news/local/councilman-casar-18-protesters-cited-at-sb4-sit-in.

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Broder, T. (2020, April 11). Basic facts about in-state tuition for undocumented immigrant students. National Immigration Law Center. Retrieved from https://www.nilc.org/issues/education/basic-facts-instate/. Cantú, T. (2014, July 4). Hamilton Digs In: Won’t End S-Comm. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/2014-0704/hamilton-digs-in-wont-end-s-comm/. Cantú, T. (2015a, October 23). No birth certificates, for now. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/2015-1023/no-birth-certificates-for-now/. Cantú, T. (2015b, November 13). Abott cracks down on Sanctuary Cities. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/ 2015-11-13/abbott-cracks-down-on-sanctuary-cities/. Dworin, D. (1997a, January 31). Immigration status no barrier to city’s provision of services. The Austin American-Statesman, p. B3 Dworin, D. (1997b, February 1). Correction. The Austin American-Statesman, p. B3. Hoffberger, C. (2015, September 18). Meet the candidate: Sally Hernandez. Or, more accurately, meet the not-yet candidate who’s “strongly considering” a run. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/ news/2015-09-18/meet-the-candidate-sally-hernandez/. Hoffberger, C. (2017a, January 20). Travis County Sheriff wont play nice with ICE. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle. com/daily/news/2017-01-20/travis-county-sheriff-isnt-playing-ball-withice/. Hoffberger, C. (2017b, January 27). ICE’s freezeout in Travis County. The Austin Chronicle. Retrived from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/ 2017-01-27/ices-freezeout-in-travis-county/. Hunter, A. & Mathay, A. (2016, November 22). Driver’s licenses for unauthorized immigrants: 2016 highlights. The PEW Charitable Trusts. Retrieved from https://www.pewtrusts.org/en/research-and-analysis/articles/2016/ 11/22/drivers-licenses-for-unauthorized-immigrants-2016-highlights. Jankowski, P. (2017, August 10). Judge tosses Paxton’s “sanctuary cities” suit against Austin. The Austin American-Stateman. Retrieved from https://www. statesman.com/news/20170810/judge-tosses-paxtons-sanctuary-cities-suitagainst-austin-county. Johnson, J. (1999, November 12). Men at work. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/1999-11-12/74654/. Kamp, A. (2014, October 20). At S-Comm Forum, both sides dig in. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/daily/ news/2014-10-20/at-s-comm-forum-both-sides-dig-in/.

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Kanin, M. (2014, November 7). Council tries for changes in Secure Communities. Austin Monitor. Retrieved from https://www.austinmonitor.com/sto ries/2014/11/council-tries-changes-secure-communities/. King, M. (2017, March 24). Point Austin: Cold as ICE. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/2017-03-24/pointaustin-cold-as-ice/. Limón, E. (2018, July 9). Can immigrants living in the U.S. illegally get a Texas driver’s license? Curios Texas investigates. The Dallas Morning News. Retrieved from https://www.dallasnews.com/news/curious-texas/2018/ 07/09/can-immigrants-living-in-the-u-s-illegally-get-a-texas-driver-s-licensecurious-texas-investigates/. Marloff, S. (2017, February 3). Abbott cuts County funding. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle.com/news/2017-02-03/ abbott-cuts-county-funding/. Rossi, V. (2017, February 10). Sanctuary cities and the ways we fight for human rights. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle. com/news/2017-02-10/sanctuary-cities-and-the-ways-we-fight-for-humanrights/. Tuma, M. (2017a, March 17). The Texas Hammer: Immigration and sanctuary cities. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchronicle. com/news/2017-03-17/the-texas-hammer-immigration-and-sanctuary-cit ies-immigration-and-sanctuary-cities/. Tuma, M. (2017b, March 24). ICE payback for Sheriff Sally Hernandez’s policy confirmed. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.austinchroni cle.com/news/2017-03-24/ice-payback-for-sheriff-sally-hernandezs-policyconfirmed/. Tuma, M. (2017c, April 21). Lege lines: Same old “sanctuary”. House version of SB4? Still terrible. The Austin Chronicle. Retrieved from https://www.aus tinchronicle.com/news/2017-04-21/lege-lines-same-old-sanctuary/. Ura, A. (2016, July 25th). Texas agrees to resolve birth certificate case with undocumented families. The Texas Tribune. Retrieved from https://www.sta tesman.com/news/20170810/judge-tosses-paxtons-sanctuary-cities-suit-aga inst-austin-county. U.S. Census Bureau (2010). Quick facts data on Austin, Texas. Retrieved from https://www.census.gov/quickfacts/fact/table/austincitytexas/POP010210. Wilkerson, J. (1993, December 12). Immigration officials arrest 18 workers, 9 others during raid at Austin hotel. The Austin American-Statesman, p. B6.

Primary Sources City Council of the City of Austin. (1981). Resolution 810528-03. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=21455.

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City Council of the City of Austin. (1997). Resolution 970130-033. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=48804. City Council of the City of Austin. (1997). Ordinance 971023-A. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=48804. City Council of the City of Austin. (2001). Ordinance 20010910-01. Retrieved fromhttps://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=48804. City Council of the City of Austin. (2002). Resolution 20020523-074. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=86977. City Council of the City of Austin. (2003). Resolution 20030403-033. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=83386. City Council of the City of Austin. (2005). Resolution 20051215-055. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=94382. City Council of the City of Austin. (2013). Resolution 20130228-034. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=184748. City Council of the City of Austin. (2014). Resolution 20140320-049. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=207652. City Council of the City of Austin. (2014). Resolution 20140626-099. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=212619. City Council of the City of Austin. (2014). Resolution 20140807-102. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=214623. City Council of the City of Austin. (2014). Resolution 20141211-125. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=224126. City Council of the City of Austin. (2014). Resolution 20141211-225. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=223769. City Council of the City of Austin. (2016). Resolution 20161215-066. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=269644 City Council of the City of Austin. (2017). Resolution 20170216-068. Retrieved from https://www.austintexas.gov/edims/document.cfm?id=223769. City Council of the City of Austin. (2017). Resolution 20170518-045. Retrieved from Legislative Reference Library of Texas. HB 57, 78th Regular session. Introduced version. Retrieved from https://lrl.texas.gov/legis/BillSearch/ text.cfm?legSession=78-0&billtypeDetail=HB&billNumberDetail=57&billSu ffixDetail=&startRow=1&IDlist=&unClicklist=&number=100.

CHAPTER 4

A Ship Without a Captain: Political Disengagement and the Failings of Sanctuary City Policy in Toronto, Canada Graham Hudson

Seven Canadian City Councils have joined the global trend toward declaring sanctuary city status. The first to do so was Toronto, (2013), followed by Hamilton (2014), Vancouver (2016), Montreal, (2017) London (Ontario) (2017), Ajax (2017), and Edmonton (2018). Although each city had its own set of motivations, all are contending with the localized human rights and policy consequences of exclusionary national and international migration law. Many took occasion to criticize national governments and nationalist populist rhetoric—sometimes pointedly. In 2013 and 2014, Toronto’s City Council called on the federal government to reform its harsh refugee policies. When reaffirming its

G. Hudson (B) Lincoln Alexander School of Law, Ryerson University, Toronto, ON, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_4

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sanctuary status in 2017, it denounced the policies of the Trump administration, including its “Muslim ban” (City of Toronto, 2013a; 2017a). Montreal, London, and Edmonton also criticized Trump when declaring sanctuary status. Occasional representations of resistance to national and global polities, belie what has otherwise been stagnant political terrain. Whereas sanctuary cities in the United States have long been embroiled in heated jurisdictional clashes with the federal government over the protection of data, privacy, and rights (Lasch et al., 2018), Canadian cities have steadfastly avoided intergovernmental conflict. The economic and jurisdictional weaknesses of Canadian cities are a big part of this story. Unlike cities in the United States, even the largest of Canadian cities lack true fiscal independence and rely on federal and provincial governments for critical settlement and integration resources. Public disengagement and lack of demographic data is another critical factor. No-one knows how many non-status migrants live in the country and so there has been far less media coverage, political pressure points, or public discourse. Without serious populist pressure to find and deport non-status migrants, the federal government has preferred to avoid recognizing, much less addressing, the true measure of suffering and hardship. Not once has it officially commented on sanctuary policies. The same is true of provincial governments, which have repeatedly punted migration-related problems up to the federal scale on the grounds that they have no jurisdiction over refugees, asylum seekers, and non-status migrants. The result is that none of the three levels of government has a vested political interest in tackling the causes or consequences of irregular migration at the scale of the city. The themes of federalism and conflict avoidance are central to understanding the general character and limited impact of sanctuary policies in Canadian cities. To be sure, city staff take the aims and effectiveness of these policies seriously, working assiduously to enhance access to at least some services, free of fear. But no strategy of implementation can take shape without clear, long-term visions and goals; without a strategy, the consolidation and deployment of resources miss the mark by an appreciable margin. The case of Toronto bears this out. Without truly understanding what city staff need to do their jobs effectively, successive Mayors and City Councils have confused lofty statements of value for strategy, abandoning staff to amass, combine, and deploy minimal resources without fiscal support, political direction, or legal clarity (Hudson et al., 2017). In a context where the policy issues are

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global in scope, no-one tackles hard jurisdictional questions or brokers serious intergovernmental collaboration. The hard work of implementation is left to staff who have been set adrift without a compass, a map, or a captain. This chapter will use the case of Toronto to examine two defining features of sanctuary policies in Canada, that may resonate with cities in other national jurisdictions. The first is the working assumption that sanctuary policies are local in content and scope. Anxious about avoiding conflict, many cities concede the federal government’s claim of exclusivity over migration, describing sanctuary policies as local governance in the context of migration and not the governance of migration. This is tenable if sanctuary is read simply as access to municipal services, like library cards and public transit. But it distorts the reality that even local matters are integrated into national government through the circulation of data, statistics, and other mechanisms of population management. The circulation of information between levels of government is built into the fabric of all policy domains, whether in the context of health, education, housing, courts and tribunals, or criminal justice. Any sanctuary policy, no matter how local, humble, or conciliatory, is immersed in an ocean of (sub-)urban securitization, where local police, by-law officers, city staff, hospitals, employers and others collect and share data with federal authorities who restively push or breach jurisdictional boundaries as they reach ever more deeply into local institutions and communities. To hide from the spectre of jurisdictional conflict is to leave the door to the city and its data unlocked. Second, there is the theme of automation or self-implementation. Mayors and City Councils frequently present pre-existing and general municipal policies relating to equity, diversity, and inclusion as evidence of implementation, as though sanctuary policies can be grafted onto existing policies of general application. This effaces unique challenges of a jurisdictional nature, like anti-detention and deportation measures, challenging local bordering practices, securing municipal data against federal search and seizure, and countering discourses of securitization and neo-liberalism that support negative conceptions of deservingness among front-line staff. The provincialization of sanctuary policies ignores the fact that national borders are bundled up with broader forms of exclusion on the basis of racism, colonialism, and economic suppression. In this chapter, I examine the limitations of these ways of engaging with sanctuary, using the case of Toronto as an example. I argue that

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sanctuary policies waver between local and federal registers: presented as purely local in character, they are actually bundled up with federal policies and practices, and cannot be jurisdictionally carved out of the broader nation-building enterprise. This puts city staff in a difficult situation as they search for ways of implementing policies without clear political direction or jurisdictional certainty. The problems this produces are most acute in the collection and control of data relating to non-status residents. In the end, the inability to collect and store relevant information undermines the ability of staff to assess, refine, and deliver on the promises of sanctaury policies. The solution to this problem is unclear, but firm political stewardship at the local level is a critical piece of the puzzle—and it is altogether lacking in Canada. The chapter is organized as follows. The first section addresses the nature and scale of the problems faced by non-status migrants in Canada. The second section addresses the jurisdictional contexts within which sanctuary cities operate. The third section briefly describes Toronto’s sanctuary policy, while the fourth and fifth sections, respectively, examine implementation in terms of access to services and data collection. I conclude by returning to the theme of conflict avoidance and political disengagement. This work draws on the insights of 63 Toronto-based stakeholders interviewed since 2015, by myself, Professor Idil Atak, Michele Manocchi, and Charity-Ann Hannan (Hudson et al., 2017). Participants included: City staff and Councilors; front-line service providers; Directors of community service organizations; legal and medical professionals; and migrants who either had no status or lived without status but have since been regularized. These interviews were supplemented with a legal and policy research phase, which placed sanctuary policies in the context of provincial and federal laws, regulations, and policies. During this analysis, we identified emerging topics (Grounded Theory approach) and registered every comment related to each one of them. This helped us select topics that were important to our interviewees and to identify new and established topics in need of further research. The project is ongoing, and now includes qualitative data from all seven Canadian sanctuary cities. Finally, because some of the participants requested, they remain anonymous, all interviewees were coded “P#”; this eliminated the chance of identifying certain participants through a process of elimination.

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Migration, Non-Status Migrants, and the City of Toronto According to the 2016 National Census, 21.9% (7,540,830) of the Canadian population, is foreign born while 1.5% (506,625) were nonpermanent residents. The largest city in Canada (and fourth largest in North America), Toronto is home to 30 per cent of all recent immigrants and 20 per cent of all immigrants in Canada. About 76% of the city’s population is foreign born or second-generation Canadian. Over 140 languages and dialects are spoken in the city. The City of Toronto represents 8.2% of Canada’s workforce and is a major national economic driver. The City of Toronto plays a key role in national and provincial settlement and integration policy. In 2017, the City was formally identified as a stakeholder in the Canada-Ontario Immigration Agreement and, in 2018, it signed onto a Memorandum of Understanding (MOU) with the province of Ontario and the federal government over settlement and integration (Canada-Ontario-Toronto, 2018)—the only City to do so. This MOU recognizes prior relationships between Toronto and Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) which culminated in the creation in 2013 of the Toronto Newcomer Office (TNO). Through the TNO, both the City and the IRCC work with community partners to ensure that “all newcomers reach their full potential to thrive and contribute to their local neighborhood, community and city” (City of Toronto, 2016). Intergovernmental collaboration is limited to settlement and integration and, therefore, shared policy interest in labor and the economy, civic engagement, social inclusion, and removing barriers to accessing key social services like childcare, housing, transit, health, the justice system, and language training. Left out of this picture are non-status and many precarious status migrants. Non-status migrants are persons who have entered and/or remain in Canada without the permission of the federal government. This would include persons who overstay visas, persons who have had their status revoked, as well as persons who have not complied with a removal order, e.g., failed refugee claimants. A more expansive term is precarious migrant or refugee, which captures gradations of status that are limited, not only by temporariness, but by a host of material epistemic, and discursive practices that condition access to formal rights and

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privileges. This includes temporary workers, international students, and refugee claimants. Legislative changes in the past 6 years or so have added significant barriers to acquiring citizenship and enhanced the ease with which the government may revoke permanent status, which has increased numbers of precarious (and probably non-status) migrants (Atak et al., 2019; Hudson, 2019; Nakache & Dixon-Perera, 2015). There is no data on the number of non-status migrants. in Canada. Unlike the United States, which has several metrics related to federal data (e.g., censusplus-community survey, immigration enforcement statistics), the federal government of Canada has no interest in the subject.1 Although there are no official statistics, politicians and the media tend to claim there are between 200,000 and 500,000 non-status migrants in Canada. This number is pure fiction. There are no empirical bases for these estimates, although there are a couple of studies that provide clues as to the numbers of non-status persons who access particular services, including health, education, and those provided by labor organizations (Bou-Zeid, 2007; City of Toronto, 2005; Goldring et al., 2009; Hynie et al., 2016; Khandor et al., 2004). A report by Soave Strategy Group found in 2006 that in the Greater Toronto Area, there were up to 40,000 nonstatus workers of which half–20,000 are employed in the construction industry (Soave Strategy Group, 2006). In 2003, Ontario’s Construction Secretariat estimated there were 76,000 non-status migrants in Ontario’s construction industry alone. A more recent study on emergency room consultations suggest that there are at least 58,000 non-status migrants in Ontario (Hynie et al., 2016). This figure was extrapolated by comparing the numbers of uninsured and insured persons using emergency services and identifying what percentage of uninsured were likely to be non-status migrants (rather than, say, homeless persons). The researchers calculated what percentage of the insured population use these services. Assuming that the percentage would be comparable, they estimated the total number of non-status 1 Canada’s national census asks about citizenship and immigration status and has no version of the American Community Survey. The federal government does not collect data. Some two weeks after an interview, one high-ranking federal government official emailed our research team asking if we had any idea how many non-status migrants there were.

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migrants in Ontario. Interestingly, the use of emergency rooms services by non-status migrants is highest in areas where migrants live (e.g., Toronto, Ottawa) and where temporary migrants work (Waterloo-Wellington, Niagara). The human rights implications of living without status are profound. The degradation of mental and physical health is a primary concern, which is attributable in large part to fear of detection and deportation, social isolation, poor working and living conditions, vulnerability to abuse and exploitation, and a host of institutional barriers (Barnes, 2011; Bernhard et al., 2007; Larchanche, 2012; Ruiz-Casares et al., 2010). A comprehensive report on newcomer health, written by Toronto Public Health and Access Alliance Multicultural Health and Community Services, noted: Migrants without status also face unique and serious health needs and access challenges… (r)esearch found that non-status migrants in Toronto present signs of trauma, chronic stress and depression from family separation, and physical illnesses associated with stress. One local study has noted that those living with precarious status experience a constant fear of deportation, along with anxiety about becoming ill and not having the economic means to seek care. Social isolation, stress and fear of being unable to access required health care can have a significant impact on the mental health of individuals facing these circumstances, potentially contributing to depression, suicidal thoughts, PTSD and addiction. It is important to recognize that the challenges facing residents without status are often persistent; they are not unique to those who have recently arrived in Canada. (Toronto Public Health and Access Alliance Multicultural Health and Community Services, 2011, p. 117)

A 2013 report by Toronto’s Medical Officer of Health also concluded that non-status persons, along with other uninsured persons (e.g., homeless people) face distinctively serious health issues (City of Toronto, 2013b). Primary areas of concern include reproductive health, mental health, chronic conditions (e.g., diabetes), Child and youth care, and communicable diseases. The health effects of non-treatment become more severe the longer one is denied care. These findings are replicated in all social spheres. The Ontario Council of Agencies Serving Immigrants (OCASI) reports that a “defining experience for those without legal immigration status is the uncertainty and fear of being deported that result from their lack of legal immigration

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status.” (OCASI, 2012, pp. 73–75). This impedes access to a wide range of services beyond health care, including education, shelter, and labor rights (Bihari, 2011; Goldring & Landolt, 2013). A particularly serious problem is lack of access to the police services. The Toronto Police Service (TPS), the Vancouver Transit Police, and provincial agencies, such as the Ministry of Transportation Ontario, have all actively inquired into immigration status, engaged in unsolicited sharing of personal information with the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA), and arrested and transferred non-status persons to the CBSA (Moffette & Gardner, 2015). This is a feature of “urban securitization”—a process where local and provincial authorities participate in the management of perceived risks to state and “citizen” at the scale of the city (Lippert & Walby, 2013; Valverde, 2008). Already vulnerable to abuse, fear of deportation dissuades many non-status victims and witnesses from reporting crimes (Alaggia et al., 2009; Magalhaes et al., 2010; Ricard-Guay & Hanley, 2014). This has a disproportionately harmful affect women and children, especially in the contexts of domestic violence and sexual assault (Hamilton Community Legal Clinic, 2013; West Coast LEAF, 2012, 2015). Securitization seeps into all social spheres and policy domains, creating intersectional barriers. For example, the lack of access to provincial social assistance, housing, and other social and economic supports prevents women without status from leaving abusive partners. The situation is more complicated when children are involved. Although family law officially permits non-status women to apply for custody of children when leaving and reporting an abusive relationship, social, economic, and institutional barriers as well as fear of local police force non-status women to choose “between living in Canada illegally and losing their children” (West Coast LEAF, 2012).

Sanctuary Cities in Canada: Jurisdictional Context The case of non-status migrants forces governments to confront the limitations of conventional distributions of authority over migration. Jurisdiction has many dimensions, but it is easy to reduce it to technical doctrine that fixates on what is written in constitutions. Political debates about sanctuary cities in the United States are obsessed with federalism. But it is federalism of a certain kind that generates and organizes the terms of the debate, casting as a natural, unavoidable truth

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that all sovereignty is exhaustively dispersed into two, hermetically sealed spheres or compartments: cities govern their domains absolutely, just as federal governments are autonomous in their own domains. Judith Resnick refers to this ethos as “categorical federalism,” which judges use to police jurisdiction over matters they deem “truly local” or “truly national” in character, even while all social, economic, and political relations cut across scales and levels of government (Resnik, 2001). Thought of categorically, sanctuary policies become either purely local in character, having only incidental effects over federal immigration law, or an incursion into federal jurisdiction (Lasch et al., 2018). Features of this thinking are evident in Canada, just as are its limitations. The constitution expressly conveys to the federal government exclusive constitutional jurisdiction over “naturalization and aliens” (Constitution Act, 1982, s. 91(25)), which includes the power to establish selection criteria and to enforce the border. Integration and settlement services for immigrants are not referenced in the constitution. These matters by and large spring from classes of subjects within the jurisdiction of provinces, such as education, most labor laws, driving licenses, social assistance, and housing (Paquet, 2019). Health also is an area within provincial authority, although with a far greater degree of jurisdictional and fiscal overlap. Formal jurisdictional categories cannot contain the social, economic, and political entanglements that structure the governance of migration. This is not to say that jurisdiction is irrelevant, but that it is ambiguous, artificial, and always limited. In contrast to the United States, federal and provincial governments in Canada have tended not to resort to courts to solve complex questions about how to manage settlement and integration or, frankly, most questions of social and economic policy (Leo, 2006; Mowrey, 2008). Instead, they have relied on conventions, customs, and processes of intergovernmental collaboration to co-manage most aspects of migration, with provinces assuming more prominent roles in policy design and implementation (Paquet, 2019). As a result, authority and capacities in immigrant selection and integration are now managed through a web of bilateral intergovernmental institutions. These arrangements vary across provinces. The province of Quebec establishes its own selection criteria and administers immigration programs that differ from the federal system (Canada-Quebec, 1991). Other provinces and territories are also parties to intergovernmental agreements that provide them with funding for immigration services, with the opportunity to implement

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immigration selection programs (Provincial Nominee Program) and that set norms for collaboration and information sharing. Cities are cut out of this process (Fourot, 2015). The limited value of written constitutional texts in addressing multilevel governance, displayed so clearly in the area of settlement and integration, is not so evident in the field of immigration enforcement. Municipal governments are content to leave this matter firmly within the jurisdiction of the federal government. Cities eschew the very term “sanctuary,” partly because they do not want to imply a resolve to obstruct or interfere with border enforcement, and partly to dissociate Canadian policies from those of the United States. In place of “sanctuary” is some variation of the term “access without fear.” The City of Vancouver, which styles its sanctuary policy “Access to City Services Without Fear,” went so far as to state: The Government of Canada has jurisdiction over immigration policies and regulations including law enforcement activities related to border management and immigration control. As these activities are under the jurisdiction of the federal government, this policy relates only to the areas of access to municipal services under the jurisdiction of the City. (City of Vancouver, 2016)

This passage pays homage to strict divisions of powers, conceding to the federal government exclusive jurisdiction over migration, while asserting a local political domain within which municipalities may govern unchallenged. But this is to fall into the trap of equating the actual distribution and exercise of authority with formal constitutional text or, derivatively, official consensus among legislative and executive officials. The domains of sovereignty marked by written law are distinct from the domains within which sovereign power is exercised. This is obvious in the border practices of local police, by-law officers, transit officers, and a panoply of administrative bodies not to mention private entities (Hershkowitz et al., 2020; Hudson et al., 2017; Moffette & Gardner, 2015). The pernicious nature of local border enforcement is not restricted to the actual deployment of sovereign power, but in the anxieties and uncertainties generated in the absence of clear and meaningful legal boundaries. As with non-status migrants, front-line staff committed to service delivery are haunted by the looming presence of the CBSA. The City cannot even

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collect demographic data, out of fear the CBSA will seize it. No city can properly implement, assess, or improve a policy of any sort without disaggregated data on service use, inefficiencies, organizational conflict and cooperation, and cost. Try as they might, cities cannot carve sanctuary policies out of broader constellations of national and global migration policy; this is to recede into the safe platitudes of categorical federalism and illusions of separate spheres of governance. The reality is that sanctuary policies are irreducible to federalism doctrine alone. The question of privacy is a matter of individual rights and the rule of law, both of which apply across the full jurisdictional and territorial sweep of the state. Grassroots advocacy is best viewed in these terms. Beginning at least in the mid-2000’s, advocates have argued that school boards, police, transportation authorities, and by-law officers lack statutory authority to cooperate with federal authorities and, if they possess some remit of authority, it is circumscribed by equality, privacy, and other constitutional rights. Opposition to police/CBSA cooperation led the Toronto Police Service (TPS) to adopt a “Don’t Ask” policy in 2006, although it has never taken this oath seriously (Deshman, 2009; Hershkowitz et al., 2020; ILC, 2008). Schools have also been involved in border enforcement. In several instances in 2006, the Toronto Catholic District School Board allowed the CBSA to enter their premises to arrest students. In one case, the CBSA threatened to arrest two students unless their mother came to the school at which point they arrested all three. In another instance, they arrested two children and took them to a van containing their mother and grandparents (CBC, 2006). The CBSA stated that this was against protocol, but activists knew all too well that this was a planned and coordinated move. Resistance led to the passage of a Don’t Ask Don’t Tell policy in the Toronto District School Board (but still not the Catholic school board). More recently, the Ministry of Transport Ontario used its powers of vehicle safety audits to stop trucks so that the CBSA could search them in 2014. One of the trucks carried 21 non-status passengers, all of whom were arrested. The public reaction was swift and powerful, leading the ministry to terminate its partnership with the CBSA (Hannan & Bauder, 2018). Similar events have occurred in other cities. Perhaps the most notable occurred in 2013, when the Vancouver Transit Police (VTP) detained Lucia Vega Jimenez for fare evasion. Ms. Jimenez committed suicide in a CBSA holding cell in the Vancouver international airport. In 2015, the VTP terminated a Memorandum of Understanding with

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the CBSA, no longer officially detaining and transferring custody of non-status migrants to the CBSA. Federalism has eclipsed rights and rule of law framings within municipal sanctuary policies. Notwithstanding their effort to dissociate themselves from US sanctuary policies, Canadian cities deal in the same basic jurisdictional language. Quite unlike US cities, Canadian cities have opted for a strategy of non-confrontation, if not conciliation. Closely connected to federal agencies in the realm of settlement and integration, a field that defies sharp delineations of constitutional authority, they have preferred not to risk even the appearance of treading into the realm of enforcement. But the idea that sanctuary policy can be compartmentalized at the local level, with federal authority in kind confined to the national scale, is a fiction that, at best, masks the impossibility of implementation and, at worst, jettisons the values and interests central to rights and the rule of law.

Toronto’s Sanctuary City Policy: Access T.O. In February 2013, Toronto’s City Council pronounced the first sanctuary city policy in Canada. The first iteration of the policy was at once retrospective and aspirational, “reaffirming” the City’s commitment to ensuring that all residents, regardless of immigration status, be able to access City services without fear of being asked for proof of status. Council gave the Division of Social Development and Financial Administration (SDFA) primary responsibility for the implementation of the policy, which was given a year to report on: a. Opportunities to improve access without fear. b. Opportunities for City-funded agencies to improve access without fear. c. Training for front-line staff and managers to ensure that undocumented residents can access services without fear; and d. A complaints protocol and a public education strategy to inform Torontonians of the City’s policy. The SDFA conducted broad community conciliation during this year, tabling its report to Council in 2014. It recommended that Council:

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1. Direct that immigration/citizenship information only be collected where specifically required by either Provincial or Federal legislation. 2. Require divisions, agencies and Corporations to review internal policies and procedures for consistency with access to services for non-status Torontonians. 3. Direct a plan to inform, educate, and train City staff. 4. Support a public education campaign to raise awareness about the City’s commitment to access without fear (City of Toronto, 2014a). Council accepted these recommendations in 2014, at which time it officially entitled its sanctuary policy “Access T.O.” (City of Toronto, 2014b). Before delving into the particulars of how Access T.O. has been implemented, it is worth taking up the verb “reaffirm,” used in both the 2013 and 2014 iterations of the policy. City Council believes that existing policies and values of non-discrimination ensure that non-status residents already have equitable access to services; Access T.O. simply formalizes pre-existing practice, which can be gently rounded out with three simple rules directing staff to (a) provide access to designated services regardless of immigration status, (b) not inquire into immigration status, unless relevant, and (c) not share information with federal authorities, unless expressly required to do so by law. The theory was that frontline staff do not need, and probably cannot absorb, nuanced policies replete with facts about migration, legal rights/obligations, jurisdiction, or underlying moral and political principles. Instead, the policy should be concise, simple, and disseminated from managers, executive directors, and supervisors through emails. To say the least, this strategy vastly overestimated staff compliance with values of equality and, in equal measure, underestimated the distinctive and at times unique nature of sanctuary policies. Implementation requires conscientious shepherding through complex bureaucratic landscapes, which is carved into differentiated institutional fiefdoms. Access T.O. applies to some twenty-one divisions, agencies, and corporations within the City’s authority, which include Children’s Services, Employment and Social Services, Parks, Forestry and Recreation, Shelters, Toronto Public Health, Support, and Housing Administration, Emergency Medical Services, the Toronto Transit Commission, Toronto Public Libraries, and Municipal Licenses and Standards (including bylaw enforcement). These institutions employ approximately 60,000 staff

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or volunteers who operate across six geographically dispersed administrative districts. In some instances, bureaucracies are part of the city’s organizational structure, but are not (directly) governed by City Council. Transit, health, libraries, and housing fit into this category, each of which is governed by autonomous boards. Some local authorities are not part of the City at all, and so are not bound by Access T.O. The Toronto District School Board (TDSB), Toronto Police Services (TPS), and a host of rights tribunals, fall into this category, as the authority of each is sourced in separate provincial statutes (e.g., Police Services Act, Education Act ) and stands beside, not below, that of the City. Plainly, there is just as much disjuncture between formal law and socio-political reality in the field of local law as there is in constitutional law—perhaps even more. No matter how simple or concise, legal rules are produced, interpreted, and applied in relation to social, economic and political processes that vary greatly across institutional context, and even within institutions. The simplicity prized by Council is fantasy, which ignores the economic, ideological, and political counterinfluences that impede uniform internalization and, more fundamentally, which forgets the necessary link between implementation (the actual delivery off services) and internalization (alignments between the values of policy and those of city staff).

Implementation: Access to Services Between the two main objectives of sanctuary policy, one might assume that providing access to local services is easier than impeding federal enforcement operations. The former is, after all, a matter over which cities have clear statutory jurisdiction and which has only incidental effects on federal immigration policy. The case of Toronto provides little evidence of success even in this modest area. Seven years after its introduction, Access T.O has yet to be institutionalized within highly differentiated services areas, hovering above front-line and mid-level operations in rather specialized task groups and a handful of dedicated policy staff. The reasons for this are many but boil down to the absence of funding/resource support, bureaucratic complexity, waning political engagement, and competing normative and ideological forces. Implementation of Access T.O. was originally coordinated by the Division of Social Development, Finance and Administration (SDFA), whose

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first priority was identifying barriers to accessing services. From 2013– 2017, responsibility rested largely on the shoulders of one policy officer who balanced Access T.O. with a number of other files (P#1). In an effort to improve institutional supports, the City transferred the file to the Toronto Newcomer Office (TNO) in 2017. The TNO is a unique agency, being the only one in the country that works in partnership with Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC). In fact, until recently, the TNO was fully funded by the federal government, which coimplements the 2013 Toronto Newcomer Strategy- a localized settlement and integration policy. Between 2017 and Spring of 2019, there were two members of the TNO on the Access T.O. file, which formed only a fraction (around 10%) of their respective workload (28). In the summer of 2019, a third policy staff member has been mandated to devote all of her time on this file. This is the first time a policy staff member has been assigned to make Access T.O. her exclusive responsibility. The merits of having three persons with experience in migration leading implementation are obvious. But for a city of Toronto’s size, a much larger complement of staff is needed. In 2014, lead policy staff created an “Access to City Services for Undocumented Torontonians Working Group” (the “Access T.O. Working Group”), composed of one policy representative from each of the twenty-one participating service areas, as well as libraries. They currently meet four times a year, but prior to 2017, met only once a year. Save for the TNO, all members of the Working Group sit on the Group on a voluntary basis—they have not received increased salaries or, as far as I could tell, reduced workloads in other aspects of their jobs. Unsurprisingly, turnover is fairly high, although there has been considerable continuity in some service areas, most notably health and libraries. The core aim of the Working Group is to generate knowledge about internal barriers to implementation and to facilitate norm-internalization all the way across the city and down to the front-line. In the words of a former high level staff member, the aim is to ensure the policy is not left on the back shelf but is “baked in, and it’s this latter approach that we are trying to embed” (2019, p. 29). This has proven to be very challenging due to the sheer size of the City, bureaucratic complexity, and the existence of institutional silos. The functional division of interrelated services areas impedes service integration and enhances the risk of incongruities between institutional practices. For example:

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income support programs, childcare, housing and income security, that right now are three very siloed systems and we are doing deep business process review to see, is there a way to simplify and align those, particularly for clients who were served by all three and simplifying income clarification processes. (P# 28–29, 2019)

Fragmentation and differentiation is constitutive of local governance in Toronto, across all policy areas. Many staff persons relay the theme of “silos”. Because there’s a lot of front-line, but a lot of them operate within silos. So, the four of us literally could be working in the same neighborhood, and we would never know. (P# 15, 2016)

Differentiation is also a factor within institutions, which are hardly homogenous. Another stated that, within any institution: the roles we have are so different. With Public Health, we have direct service providers; we have policy people; we have administrative staff. And so the messaging that I need to convey [is different for] the person answering the phone, versus the person that’s providing the service, versus the person that’s providing the data, versus the person that’s collecting the data, versus the senior management team, versus our division head, right? (P# 8, 2016)

Training is an obvious approach to this problem. Done properly, training helps staff in disparate, localized contexts understand the fuller picture; how language, culture, race, sex and gender, and country of origin all present unique, intersecting needs and barriers; how lack of status is not a criminal law issue; how cities have no legal basis to participate in border enforcement; how staff can rely on the expertise of community organizations. Knowledge of these matters cannot be apprehended intuitively nor is it inherent in cognate policies of general application, such as those concerned with anti-racism or poverty reduction. To its credit, the City tasked a leading migrant rights organization, the FCJ Refugee Centre, to conduct training, but it has funded only two sessions, both of which were voluntary, reaching only around two hundred staff. Part of the problem is lack of funding. Thus far, City Council has only provided $800 in additional funding for small-scale training and community outreach since 2014.

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One of the most striking features of Access T.O. is the absence of political drive and support for lead policy staff. Beyond occasional meetings and resolutions, City Council is not involved in monitoring or advancing the policy nor, for that matter, is the Mayor. One councilor stated that the policy has been eclipsed by other priorities: Um, (sigh) (sigh) I would say, ah, poverty reduction is really high on the agenda. So, we have a beautiful poverty reduction strategy that, you know, I was, many of us were part of. So, people are putting their energy into that. This would require a lot of study and that, of people who are already busy. And they would say like, ’We can’t do everything.’ It, it would cost money, to do. So, there’s a budget implication. So there’s a staff resource implication. (P# 18, 2016)

He added: And of course, you know, senior, staff…they are bureaucrats, and they are to follow the will of their political masters. But, at the same–oh, not this one. And they really, they attune themselves to what’s happening politically. And so, if the mayor’s not into it, then they kind of–hmm, in a world of competing priorities. But our mayor is really supportive of, um, the poverty reduction strategy. So, they might focus their energies there. And he’s supportive of safe injection sites. So, he’s, we’re driving that hard. (P# 18, 2016)

Formal values of equity, diversity, and inclusion are ubiquitous in municipal policy, and are part of the very identity of the City; this helps explain (or rationalizes) political disengagement from the particulars of a sanctuary policy that is viewed as merely an extension of policies and practices that already characterize City operations. It is evident in the refrain that Access T.O. simply “reaffirms” what City staff have always been doing: providing public goods to all residents free from discrimination. This refrain is not only an inaccurate representation of the efficacy of equality policies, but glosses over the unique nature and challenges of sanctuary policies, providing cover for politicians to retreat from more challenging aspects of implementation and the specter of jurisdictional conflict. Certainly, institutional values are a necessary aspect of implementation, but they are not sufficient and can even be detrimental. When cognate institutional values are in place, and are effective, it is because they are

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integrated in broader legislative and policy frameworks, are adequately resourced, and rest on strong community partnerships. Health is a good example. Canada provides public health insurance to citizens and prescribed categories of authorized migrants. Ontario’s People’s Health Care Act requires citizenship or immigration status (plus 6 months residency in the province) to access the Ontario Health Insurance Program (OHIP). While emergency medical services will be offered in hospitals (which are not city-run), one would be charged non-OHIP rates. Community health clinics can also provide services, but they have to use provincial funding that is officially designated for uninsured persons who are legally insurable, e.g., homeless persons with citizenship. Toronto Public Health (TPH) cuts against the grain of this dimension of provincial policy, but it does so by making use of its enabling statute: The Health Protection and Promotion Act. This act requires health boards to provide residents of geographical regions immunizations, family health services, and health promotion (HPPA, s. 5); no mention is made of status in this statute. There are other provincial statutes similar in this respect. As part of the City, the TPH draws authority from the City of Toronto Act, which mandates the provision of services for inhabitants, again without reference to status. The TPH is somewhat distinct from other City services, though, because it reports to the Health Board and not City Council. The lack of political drive within City Council may have less of a drag here, although recent provincial changes to the overall municipal budget, the health budget, and the governance structures of local health boards and networks will have appreciable impacts on access to TPH. The confluence of legal, political, and institutional factors has produced an impressive commitment to Access T.O. The TPH has a history of caring for the health of newcomers and has collaborated with various NGOs in the production of several reports on the issue (Aery & Chef, 2018; City of Toronto, 2013b, 2017b, p. 7; Stanley, 2014). It is a key player in disseminating information to stakeholders, including migrants, community clinics, NGOs, physicians, hospitals, and health networks. It is also a key player in municipal responses to the COVID-19 crisis. Its work here is supported by recent expansion of health coverage to all residents, regardless of status, which was prompted by the province’s intention to expand access to testing of and treatment for COVID-19 (Hudson et al., 2020).

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Contrast health with education. Since 1993 provincial law has mandated regional school boards to enroll all persons under 18 and who are resident in the province for at least 6 months. The Toronto District School Board passed a DADT policy in 2007 (TDSB, 2007), but empirical studies demonstrate that access has not improved and remains dismally low (FCJ, 2015; Landolt & Goldring, 2019; Villegas, 2019; Villegas & Aberman, 2019). The TDSB retains records on all non-status students, which it classifies as “status pending” and which are confidential. A Senior Manager of Admissions reported to us in 2016 that the numbers of non-status students have decreased (2016: 10). The prevailing explanation for inaccessibility relates to racism, negative conceptions of deservingness, and economic incentives: schools can charge non-status students international student fees if they deny access as residents. Of note, the province provides 100% of funding to public schools, whereas historically, the City contributed significant funding and had more influence on local school practices and policies. Like Access T.O. , the province’s access to education policy has been left adrift with no concerted political direction or interest; in a context of under-resourcing and political indifference, it is no surprise local schools have pounced on the opportunity to exploit non-status migrants for additional dollars. Similar problems beset shelters, where some participants lauded alignments between institutional values and Access T.O. : [W]hat happened was council caught up with what we had always been doing…So essentially, they’re now legitimizing what we’ve always done. And, and it sends out a clear message to everyone that this is the approach. (P# 4, 2016)

But several participants we spoke to identify City shelters as one of the more difficult services to access. This is partly due to under-resourcing, but it is also due to latent institutional values that conflict with Access T.O. Toronto’s shelter system rests on a philosophy of respite—transitional spaces through which the homeless seek more permanent supports. Legislatively excluded from affordable housing, denied social assistance, unable to access labor protections, and (particularly women and children) subject to domestic abuse, non-status migrants have nowhere to transition. Increasing poverty and the absence of any national housing policy whatsoever, the City’s shelter system is under-resourced and overburdened. Migrants in general, and non-status migrants in particular, are

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handy scapegoats. Poverty activists report a rise of anti-migrant sentiment among homeless populations, which blame asylum seekers for the lack of shelter space (2019, p. 4). This narrative picks up on political discourse, including Mayor John Tory’s attempt to secure federal money by blaming over-crowding of shelters on asylum seekers (Wilson, 2019). There is a broad spectrum of operational responses to Access T.O. It is clear that institutional values do not determine these responses and, in some cases, are overborne by ideological and normative counterinfluences. As with constitutional law, municipal law is fragmented, differentiated, and reshaped by empirical realities. Bureaucratic organizations have their own constitutions of a sort; they are composed of values, customs, identities, and cultures that do not fit together in a harmonious whole but compete with each other in concrete contexts. Institutional values hospitable to sanctuary may well be necessary for implementation, but any number of legal, policy, or ideological resources may be used to rationalize denial of access just the same. The lack of political will and direction emerges as a decisive factor. On the one hand, lead policy staff cannot muster, organize, or deploy enough resources to institutionalize Access T.O., which remains sidelined in various specialized corners and task groups, but not baked into the operations of the City. On the other, those without an inclination to implement the policy make use of ambiguous legal frameworks to deny access without facing meaningful political accountability.

Implementation: Control of Data The key to understanding the challenge of access to services is to see all municipal decision-making concerning migrants as a form of multilevel governance. No matter how “local” a service may appear to be, it operates in the context of national and global migration policy whenever it is touched by sanctuary policies. If nothing else, obligations to provide services can be sloughed off by representing the rights and interests of non-status migrants as the responsibility of the federal government, as is the case with shelters and education. Even when we accept its limits as a descriptor of how authority is actually dispersed, categorical federalism drives thinking about the relationship between local law and migrants. Municipal anxieties about staying within their allotted sphere of constitutional jurisdiction harden the fiction that sanctuary policies can and should be purely local in orientation. This makes sense only if one

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ascribes to federalism doctrine that grants cities, as creatures of provinces, exclusive authority over local matters and, in turn, reserves immigration enforcement to the federal government. It also requires a hard and fast distinction between the governance of migration and the governance of security, the latter of which is within the jurisdiction of all levels of government. In truth, migration and security are mutually constructed political concepts that cut across jurisdictional boundaries. Buried within discourses of risk, danger, and crime, migration becomes an object of local policing, and the migrant a target of surveillance and control. Take as an example the growing role of local police, by-law officers, and other law enforcement entities in border enforcement, which gives them a sense of national and global relevance. I have already surveyed some of the most conspicuous examples, including transit officers in Vancouver, transportation authorities in Ontario, and even schools. But police are by far the most egregious example. According to a report by David Moffette and Karl Gardner, the Toronto Police Service made 3278 calls (out of a total of 10,700 calls made nationally) to the CBSA between November 4, 2014 and June 28, 2015. “Status checks” were the most common reasons for calls—83.35% in the case of the TPS as against a national average of 72% (Moffette & Gardner, 2015, p. 22). Chief Mark Saunders defended the force by insisting cooperation with the CBSA is mandated by provincial law (the Police Services Act (PSA)) and the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA), as: both provide authorization for police officers to proactively assist the C.B.S.A. with personal information about persons under investigation, charged and/or convicted of serious Criminal Code (C.C.) and Controlled Drugs and Substances Act (C.D.S.A.) violations. The (Immigration and Refugee protection Act) ... directs when police officers are legally obliged to act as peace officers under this Act. (emphasis added, TPSB, 2017, p. 236)

Without getting bogged down in legal technicalities, this claim is patently false. The PSA does not compel cooperation—it simply permits it, and only in accordance with principles of equality, privacy, and the public interest. The public interest includes the protection of victims, police-community relationships, and the investigation of crime (Police Services Act, s. 1). Police can persist in unlawful cooperation because they have not been challenged in court and are not subject to the jurisdiction

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of municipalities (Hershkowitz et al., 2020). Politically, they turn associations between irregular migration and crime into an asset, stretching their operations beyond the authority delegated by enabling statutes so as to overlap with and augment federal enforcement authority. When cities conceive of sanctuary as a purely local policy, they are receding from national discourses and, therefore, from essential fields of contestation. At the same time, national authorities are ever-present locally. Security being what it is, abandoning the national scale is in a very real sense to renounce authority over and within local terrains; conflict avoidance tacitly encourages federal enforcement bodies to brazenly trespass. This is in the first instance more of a psychological than a legal issue: how can cities expect non-status migrants to feel safe accessing services, unless they are confident local authorities can make good on their promise of protecting privacy? How can non-status residents feel safe entering a city building if they do not even feel safe on the streets? How can they be sure data collected by one entity is not accessible by another? The question of data is of primary importance. All sanctuary policies direct that data identifying non-status persons are not collected, much less shared. Sanctuary cities refuse to collect disaggregated data outlining the intersection of status, age, gender, sexual orientation, race and ethnicity, language, country of origin, length of residency in Canada, and so on. This data would sharpen municipal understanding of the varied and distinct needs of non-status populations. Sanctuary policies are truly unique in this respect. Any policy whatsoever has to be constructed, assessed, and modified based on demographic data. In an effort to build a firewall around itself, individual institutions and the City as a whole are trying to implement a policy with no data at all concerning its target population. This issue is especially acute in the context of health, where community health surveys deliberately omitted reference to immigration status even though the TPH is aware that this is a social determinant of health. (Aery & Chef, 2018; Hudson et al., 2017). The problem is now universal in scope. Toronto City Council recently directed the TNO “to improve our data collection and specifically disaggregated data…by different sociodemographic characteristics” (2019, pp. 28–29). Its interest is in evaluating the equity and budget implications of the policy, perhaps with an eye to shelters and, certainly in the era of COVID-19, with an eye to public health.

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The legal solutions to this quandary are unclear, but they relate to privacy. Section 32 of the Municipal Freedom of Information and Protection of Privacy Act (MFIPPA), the City is permitted to disclose personal information: 1. If disclosure is to an institution or a law enforcement agency in Canada, to aid an investigation undertaken with a view to a law enforcement proceeding or from which a law enforcement proceeding is likely to result. 2. For the purpose of complying with an Act of the Legislature or an Act of Parliament, an agreement or arrangement under such an Act or a treaty. The MFIPPA does not state that compliance with immigration law qualifies as a statutory ground for disclosure, but this is nearly certain. The CBSA is a law enforcement agency which investigates violation of the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA). CBSA officers can issue arrest warrants, which local peace officers must execute under s. 142 of the IRPA. The term “peace officer” does not include City Staff, but this is a technical legal matter that not all staff will be positioned to grasp. If push came to shove, the CBSA could apply for a judicial order to seize City data. This has yet to happen, and the probability of its success is unclear. The City’s Legal Services team has erred in the side of caution, advising against collecting data in the first place. While this position is certainly reasonable, wariness and assertiveness do not sit well together, placing the City at a great disadvantage relative to ambitious security professionals. The absence of demographic data also impedes the capacity of city staff to assess service need, barriers, and impact or to otherwise improve the effectiveness of sanctuary policies. There is no other policy field where the absence of demographic data would not only be tolerated but preferred by Mayors and City Councils.

Conclusion The unveiling of Canada’s first sanctuary city policy was a special moment. But after seven years, it has not been implemented. The most obvious problem is lack of funding and political will, followed closely by bureaucratic complexity, which cumulatively undermine the prospects

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of centralized control. Material and functional factors are linked to epistemic and ideational factors. The City of Toronto lacks institutional pathways for managing the information it can collect and, due to fear of collecting data, it lacks systematic knowledge about non-status migrant populations, the institutional dynamics of sanctuary policy administration, and the interaction between the two. These seemingly local factors are embedded in provincial, national, and global processes and, above all, a culture of silence among political actors across all three levels of government concerning the existence and rights of non-status migrants. By contrast, lead staff are immensely knowledgeable, experienced, invested, and creative in finding access to informal sources of knowledge. Despite producing workable solutions in the short-term, they have not received adequate resources or cover fire. The collection of these factors points to two common themes: jurisdictional complexity and lack of political direction. The Mayor and City Council have set the policy adrift in constitutional waters fraught with jurisdictional pitfalls, but have not provided staff with a map or the tools needed to truly succeed. By design, the policy wavers between local and national registers, never resting in one space long enough to make a serious impact at any scale of governance. Because the issues are transversal, but governments are agnostic about jurisdiction, authority is perpetually reconfigured to meet the diverging interests of actors and institutions operating in different spaces. The legal and policy framework for virtually all city-run services is provincial in origin, and it is provinces that retain authority over eligibility criteria, finance, and legislation. In most cases, the province has said nothing at all about migration status. Local administrators are free to offer services or, as is often the case, deny access for ideological and fiscal reasons, under cover of jurisdictional argument. Schools and the TDSB are driven by fiscal concerns, categorizing non-status residents as “international” students. This reconfigures the legal subjectivity of non-status migrants as members of local communities into mere objects of federal immigration law. Shelters also strike the federal register in just this way. But the messy confluence of local, provincial, and federal authority is perhaps most glaring in local policing. Empowered by the province, mandated to serve local communities, and partnered with federal immigration authorities, the legal authority for local policing is impossibly contorted, its functionality determined by the fusion of policing and border enforcement within a transversal field of

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security. The effect is profound, accounting for the near total absence of data-collection in any local public institution. There is no disentangling these layerings, no sorting them into neat and tidy spheres. The desire to avoid conflict is understandable, but doing so is to abandon non-status migrants to their own devices. It is far from clear how one might keep sanctuary policies afloat, but it is evident that conceiving of them as truly local in nature, as no different in kind from any other municipal policy, is both a descriptive and a strategic mistake. Reflecting on the brief history of sanctuary policies in Canada, one cannot help but place them in the longer history of federalism, in which each level of government was said to govern, absolutely, within their own “watertight compartments’’ (A.G. Canada v. A.G. Ontario, 1937). The metaphor serves to ground anxieties about conflict when multiple political actors compete for power in the same space. While this metaphor serves poorly as a descriptor and precept, it does prompt another naval metaphor: if sovereignty is like a ship, then sanctuary policy in Toronto is a ship without a captain.

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Canada-Ontario-Toronto. (2018). Memorandum of understanding on immigration. Canada-Québec Accord relating to Immigration and Temporary Admission of Aliens, 5 February 1991. Canada-Québec Accord relating to Immigration and Temporary Admission of Aliens, 5 February 1991. CBC. (2006). School official blasts deportation tactics. Retrieved from https:// www.cbc.ca/news/canada/toronto/school-official-blasts-deportation-tactics1.622136. City of Toronto Act, 2006, S.O. 2006, c. 11, Sched. A. City of Toronto. (2005). Council resolution on Support for undocumented workers. https://www.toronto.ca/legdocs/2005/agendas/council/ cc050719/adm6rpt/cl003.pdf. City of Toronto. (2013a). Undocumented workers in Toronto. City Council resolution. CD18.5. City of Toronto. (2013b). Medically uninsured residents in Toronto. Ref no. City Council resolution, HL21.5. City of Toronto. (2014a). Access to city services for undocumented Torontonians. Staff Report, May 7, 2014 Ref. no. 18943. City of Toronto. (2014b). Access to city services for undocumented Torontonians. City Council Resolution, CD29.11. City of Toronto. (2015a). Access to city services for undocumented Torontonians: Progress of the access T.O. initiative. City Council Resolution. CD 8.4. City of Toronto. (2015b). Toronto Police Service: Service governance pertaining to the access to police services for undocumented Torontonians. City Council Resolution, CD4.2. City of Toronto. (2016). Toronto newcomer strategy—progress report. Staff Report, Ref. no. AFS#22213. City of Toronto. (2017a). Toronto for all—United as an inclusive sanctuary city—by Mayor John Tory, seconded by Councillor Joe Cressy and Councillor Joe Mihevc. Member Motions, Ref. no. MM 24.23. City of Toronto. (2017b). Refugees, refugee claimants and undocumented Torontonians—recent trends and issues. City Council Resolution, CD19.9. City of Toronto. (2017c). Managing refugee flows. Staff Report, Ref. no. CD 23.12. City of Vancouver. (2016). Access to city services without fear for residents with uncertain or no immigration status. https://council.vancouver.ca/201 60406/documents/pspc3.pdf. Constitution Act, 1982, being Schedule B to the Canada Act 1982 (UK), 1982, c 11. de Graauw, E. (2014). Municipal ID cards for undocumented immigrants: Local bureaucratic membership in a federal system. Politics & Society, 42(3).

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Deshman, A. (2009). To serve some and protect fewer: The Toronto police services’ policy on non-status victims and witnesses of crime. Journal of Law and Social Policy, 22(8), 209–235. Education Act, R.S.O. 1990, c. E.2. FCJ Refugee Centre. (2015). Audit report Access T.O. initiative. Retrieved from: http://www.fcjrefugeecentre.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/02/AUDITREPORT-ACCESS-T.O.-INITIATIVE.pdf. Fourot, A. C. (2015). Bringing cities back into Canadian political science: Municipal public policy and immigration. Canadian Journal of Political Science, 48(2). Goldring, L., Bernstein, C., & Bernhard, J. (2009). Institutionalizing precarious migratory status in Canada. Citizenship Studies, 13(3), 239–265. Goldring, L., & Landolt, P. (2013). Producing and negotiating non-citizenship: Precarious legal status in Canada. University of Toronto Press. Hamilton Community Legal Clinic. (2013). The situation of precarious status residents in the city of Hamilton, Ontario and Canada. https://hamiltonsanc tuarycity.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/hclc-completed-report-1.pdf. Hannan, C. A., & Bauder, H. (2018). Scoping the range of initiatives for protecting the employment and labour rights of illegalized migrants in Canada and abroad. In I. Atak & J. Simeon (Eds.), The criminalization of migration: Context and consequences (pp. 313–339). McGill-Queens University Press. Health Insurance Act R.R.O. 1990, Regulation 552. Hershkowitz, M., Hudson. G., & Bauder, H. (2020). Rescaling the sanctuary city: Police and non-status migrants in Ontario, Canada. International Migration, 58( 3). Hudson, G. (2019). City of hope, city of fear: Sanctuary and security in Toronto, Canada. In J. Darling & H. Bauder (Eds.), Rescaling citizenship, migration and rights (pp. 77–104). Manchester University Press. Hudson, G., Atak, I., Manocchi, M., & Hannan, C. (2017). (No) access T.O.: A pilot study on sanctuary city policy in Toronto, Canada (RCIS Working Paper). https://www.ryerson.ca/content/dam/rcis/documents/RCIS%20W orking%20Paper%202017_1GHudsonFinal%20.pdf. Hudson, G., Cébron, C., & Mallette, R. L. (2020). Access to health care for precarious and non-status migrants during COVID-19: Ontario and Québec. Canadian Diversity, 17 (3), 45–49. Retrieved from https://www.ciim.ca/ img/boutiquePDF/canadiandiversity-vol17-no3-2020-d3549.pdf. Hynie, M., Ardern, C. I., & Roberston, A. (2016). Emergency room visits by uninsured child and adult residents in Ontario, Canada: What diagnoses, severity and visit disposition reveal about the impact of being uninsured. Journal of Immigrant and Minority Health, 18(5), 948–956. Immigration Legal Committee (2008). Police services: Safe access for all. Legal arguments for a complete “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy. Report by the

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Immigration Legal Committee presented to the Toronto Police Services Board. Khandor, E., McDonald, J., & Nyers, P. (2004). The regularization of non-status immigrants in Canada, 1960–2004: Past policies, current perspectives, active campaigns. CERIS-The Ontario Metropolis Centre. Landolt, P., & Goldring, L. (2019). Assembling noncitizen access to education in a sanctuary city: The place of public-school administrator bordering practices. In X. Bada & S. Gleeson (Eds.), Accountability across borders: Migrant rights in North America (Ch. 8). University of Texas Press. Larchanche, S. (2012). Intangible obstacles: Health implications of stigmatized, structural violence, and fear among undocumented immigrants in France. Social Science & Medicine, 74. Lasch, C. N., Chan, L., Eagly, I. V., Haynes, D. F., Lai, A., McCormick, E., & Stumpf, J. P. (2018). Understanding sanctuary cities. Boston College Law Review, 59, 1705–1774. Leo, C. (2006). Deep federalism: Respecting community difference in national POLICY. Canadian Journal of Political Science, 39(3), 481–506. Lippert, R., & Walby, K. (2013). Policing cities: urban securitization and regulation in a 21st century world. Routledge. Magalhaes, L., Carrasco, C., & Gastaldo, D. (2010). Undocumented migrants in Canada: A scope literature review on health, access to services, and working conditions. Journal of Immigrant Minority Health, 12, 132–151. Moffette, D., & Gardner, K. (2015). Often asking, always telling: The Toronto police service and the sanctuary city policy, Union of Ontario and no one is illegal-Toronto. Retrieved from http://rabble.ca/sites/rabble/files/often_ask ing_always_telling_-_kedits_dec_1.pdf. Mowrey, T. (2008). Open federalism in an urban age: Implications of recent trends in intergovernmental relations for municipal governance in Canada. Ph.D. Dissertation (unpublished), Concordia University. Nakache, D., & Dixon-Perera, L. (2015, October 27). Temporary or transitional? migrant workers’ experiences with permanent residence in Canada. Institute for Research on Public Policy, No. 55. Retrieved form https://ssrn.com/abs tract=2732661. Ontario Council of Agencies Serving Immigrants. (2012). Making Ontario home. Retrieved from https://ocasi.org/downloads/OCASI_MOH_ENG LISH.pdf. Ontario Works Directive 3.1. Retrieved from https://www.mcss.gov.on.ca/en/ mcss/programs/social/directives/ow/3_1_OW_Directives.aspx. Paquet, M. (2019). Province building and the federalization of immigration in Canada. University of Toronto Press. Police Services Act. R.S.O. 1990. Ontario Regulation 265/98.

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Resnick, J. (2017). Accommodations, discounts, and displacement: The variability of Rights as a Norm of Federalism(s). Jus Politicum, Revue de droit politique, No 17 (Yale Law School, Public Law Research Paper No. 599). Retrieved from https://ssrn.com/abstract=2919397. Resnik, J. (2001). Categorical federalism: Jurisdiction, gender, and the globe. Yale Law Journal, 111(3). Ricard-Guay, A., & Hanley, J. (2014). Frontline responses to human trafficking in Canada: Coordinating services for victims. Retrieved from: http://www. cathii.org/sites/www.cathii.org/files/CATHII_english.pdf. Ruiz-Casares, M., Rousseau, C., Derluyn, I., Watters, C., & Crépeau, F. (2010). Right and access to healthcare for undocumented children: Addressing the gap between international conventions and disparate implementations in North America and Europe. Social Science & Medicine, 70(2), 329–336. Soave Strategy Group. (2006). The impact of undocumented workers on the residential construction industry in the GTA. Laborers’ International Union of North America (LIUNA). Stanley, A. (2014). Free to some: Examining the landscape of health services for uninsured residents in Toronto. Report Prepared for the Toronto South Local Immigration Partnership & Canadian Centre for Victims of Torture. Retrieved from http://www.torontolip.com/Portals/0/Resources/Health/ Free%20to%20Some%20-%20Examining%20the%20Landscape%20of%20H ealth%20Services%20for%20Uninsured%20Residents%20in%20Toronto.pdf. Toronto District School Board (2007). Policy P. 061 SCH: Students without legal status. Retrieved from http://ppf.tdsb.on.ca/uploads/files/live/98/ 1555.pdf. Toronto Police Services Board (2017, March 23). Minutes of the Toronto Police Services Board. Retrieved from http://www.tpsb.ca/component/jdo wnloads/send/42-2017/557-march-23. Toronto Public Health and Access Alliance Multicultural Health and Community Services. (2011). The global city: Newcomer health in Toronto. Retrieved from http://www.toronto.ca/health/map/pdf/global_city/global_city.pdf. Villegas, J. F. (2019). Active communities and practices of resistance: A brief history of school as border zones and resistance in Toronto. In J. F. Villegas & J. Brady (Eds.), Critical schooling: Transformative theory and practice (pp. 175–199). Palgrave Macmillan. Villegas, P. E., & Aberman, T. (2019). A double punishment: The context of postsecondary access for racialized precarious status migrant students in Toronto, Canada. Refuge: Canada’s Journal on Refugees, 35(1), 72–82. Valverde, M. (2008). Analyzing the Governance of Security: Jurisdiction and Scale. Behemoth, 3–15. Retrieved from http://www.behemoth-journal.de. West Coast LEAF. (2012). Position paper: Violence against women without immigration status. Retrieved from http://www.westcoastleaf.org/wp-con

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tent/uploads/2014/10/2012-POSITION-STATEMENT-Women-withoutStatus-in-Canada.pdf. West Coast LEAF. (2015). Position paper: Sanctuary city policy. Retrieved from http://www.westcoastleaf.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/01/WCLPosition-Paper-Sanctuary-City.pdf. Wilson, C. (2019, June 26). Toronto’s overcrowded shelter system can’t handle more refugees, Tory’s letter to feds says. CP24 News. Retrieved from https:// www.cp24.com/news/toronto-s-overcrowded-shelter-system-can-t-handlemore-refugees-tory-s-letter-to-feds-says-1.3988924.

CHAPTER 5

“A Responsible and Committed City”: Montréal’s Sanctuary Policy Idil Atak

Introduction With a population of about two million in 2018, Montréal is the second largest city in Canada after Toronto, and a major destination for immigrants. The greater Montreal area (GMA) has a population of 4 million. According to the latest census in 2016, some 645,000 people in the GMA were immigrants, a 74% increase compared with 370,000 in 1981 (Ville de Montreal, 2020). More than 120 cultural communities are represented in the city. Haiti, Algeria, Italy, France and Morocco were the top five countries of origin in 2016. In 2017, Montréal welcomed more than 52,000 new permanent residents—18% of all permanent residents admitted in Canada (IRCC, 2019). Some 70% of newcomers to the Province of Québec choose to settle in Montréal. What is less

I. Atak (B) Department of Criminology and Faculty of Law, Ryerson University, Toronto, Canada e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_5

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known, however, are the figures about non-status migrants.1 It is estimated that about 50,000 people live illegally in the city (BINAM, 2018). Some civil society organizations believe that this number might be much higher. Indeed, it has been argued that irregular migration has increased in Canada, notably following the drastic changes in refugee policy and temporary workers schemes in the past decades (Goldring et al., 2009). Unlike in the United States, there is limited understanding of the nature and scope of irregular migration in Canada. Not only the size, but also the sociodemographic characteristics or the national origins of the non-status migrant population are not well-known. However, as noted by Magalhaes et al., becoming undocumented in Canada is a process “reinforced by gender, racial stratification” (2010, p. 2). Grassroots movements, advocacy groups, and researchers have highlighted the legal and socioeconomic marginalization of this population (Campbell et al., 2014). In February 2017, the Council of Ville de Montréal acknowledged the need to “ensur[e] the protection and accessibility of its services to all people without legal status living within its borders” when it unanimously adopted a resolution declaring Montréal a sanctuary city (Ville de Montréal, 2017, Preamble and par. 1). Montréal followed the examples of Toronto (2013), Hamilton (2014), and Vancouver (2016), which have committed to allowing this non-status population to access some municipal programs and services without fear of being arrested, detained, and removed from Canada. The City of Montréal subsequently decided to drop the “sanctuary city” brand in favor of a “Responsible and Committed City” label. It held that the reference to “sanctuary” was misleading, as it could create a false sense of security among non-status migrants. Indeed, the City of Montréal Police Service (SPVM) has been known for its active collaboration with the Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA) to report non-status migrants for deportation. Nevertheless, local authorities in Montréal pursued their efforts and passed an “Access to Municipal 1 In Canadian law, there is not any reference to the concept of “non-status migrant.” Instead, the Immigration and Refugee Protection Act (IRPA) defines the categories of individuals with an immigration status—such as permanent resident (s. 21(1)), protected person (s. 21(2)), and temporary resident (s. 22(1))—who are entitled to reside, study, or work in Canada. Immigration Regulations provide for any matter relating to the rights and obligations of these individuals. Those non-citizens without immigration status are considered to be non-status migrants.

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Services without Fear Policy” on 5 June 2019. This policy is implemented as part of an Action Plan (2018)—where the City outlines its objective to allow “each resident” in Montréal to benefit from municipal services, regardless of their immigration status—to alleviate the fear of arrest and deportation that result in marginalization and abuse of this population. All administrative units of the City of Montréal are bound by the policy, with the notable exception of the SPVM. The City can recommend the policy, but has no power to compel the municipal police to implement it (Ville de Montréal, 2019a). This chapter provides a critical analysis of the emergence and the operation of Montréal’s sanctuary city policy. It has two specific aims. First, a reflection is offered on why the City of Montréal chose to adopt a supportive stance toward non-status migrants rather than to oppose their presence. This question is significant since, like many other states in the Global North, the Canadian government has portrayed non-status migrants as “abusers” of the immigration system, if not “criminals” or “threats to national security” (Crépeau & Nakache, 2006). Several measures have been taken to deter and punish these migrants, in particular, during the rule of the Conservative Party (2006–2015) (Atak et al., 2018; Bates et al., 2016). Furthermore, the jurisdictional power and authority of local governments in Canada are considerably limited in migration matters. Thus, the second aim is to explore whether and to what extent the local policy effectively allows non-status migrants to access municipal services without fear of being arrested and deported. It is argued that rather than a political desire to craft effective local responses to the legal and socioeconomic marginalization of non-status migrants, Montréal’s sanctuary city policy has emerged as a reaction to the punitive measures against refugees and non-status migrants by the United States (US) Administration in 2016–2017. City leaders felt the need to distinguish themselves from these measures. Since then, the City has shown a genuine commitment to improve non-status migrants’ lives and to promote their access to municipal services. Nevertheless, it has been difficult to translate positive municipal initiatives into effective implementation. This chapter further argues that Montréal’s policy exemplifies the limits of municipal jurisdiction in the management of migration—the Canadian constitutional context constrains the scope of services available and the City’s ability to achieve the stated policy goals. Research on sanctuary cities in Canada is scarce. This chapter aims to contribute to the emerging scholarship through a critical analysis that

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draws on documentary research and the results of fieldwork. Ten semistructured interviews with 12 stakeholders were conducted in Montréal in May 2019. The chapter reports on the insights and perspectives of city officials, civil society organizations, practitioners, advocates, researchers, and the City of Montréal Police Service.2 The fieldwork was part of a multi-year research project that aims to compare the design and implementation of sanctuary city policies across Canada and in the selected US states. Each interview was audio-recorded and transcribed. The data collected was treated according to Ryerson University’s Research Ethics Board guidelines. In the first part, the geopolitical context that led to the adoption of Montréal’s sanctuary city policy is presented. The purpose is to highlight the reasons that motivated such a decision and discuss the top-down approach that prevailed in the process. The second part examines the main obstacles in the achievement of the City’s policy goals. After explaining the distribution of powers between the orders of government within Canada’s constitutional landscape, this part takes a close look at the municipal services made accessible and holds that they are not sufficiently adapted to the needs of non-status migrants. Finally, the municipal police’s compliance with the policy is discussed.

Main Drivers of Montréal’s Sanctuary Policy Irregular migration is not a new phenomenon in Canada (Berinstein et al., 2006; Wright, 2003). As noted, researchers and activists have pointed to the challenges faced by non-status migrants in Montréal (Meloni et al., 2017). Self-organized “action committees” of non-status migrants and refugees, as well as other groups and organizations, have regularly launched public campaigns against detentions and deportations (Nyers, 2010, p. 134). They have pressured the Federal Government to regularize non-status migrants. These movements have long relied on mobilization and resistance, with a view to working toward an empowerment of non-status migrants (Lowry & Nyers, 2013). Recent debates on non-status migrants’ lack of access to public education and healthcare in the Province of Québec (see below) have drawn 2 The letter “P” refers to participants who took part in the interviews conducted in Montréal in May 2019. The interview transcriptions have been classified in chronological order.

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the public and local authorities’ attention to the plight of this population, while framing the issue as a matter of social justice. These developments have arguably inspired Montréal’s sanctuary city policy, as they questioned the limitations of existing rights that everyone holds—by virtue of their active presence in the city, and regardless of their immigration status. As well, around the 2010s, some local governments in Canada have started to take action in the face of unfair treatment and socioeconomic marginalization of non-status residents. In 2013, Toronto became the first “sanctuary city” in Canada to enable all residents to access municipal services. Toronto was followed by Hamilton in 2014 and Vancouver in 2016. Montréal’s decision can be considered an effort to join this select group of progressive cities. The Council of Ville de Montréal Resolution (2017) refers explicitly to Montréal’s desire, as the second largest destination city for immigrants in Canada, to follow suit with the frontrunner sanctuary cities in Ontario and in British Columbia, as well as other cities worldwide. Undoubtedly, the 2017 Resolution resonates with the stated values of the City of Montréal. Take the Montréal Charter of Rights and Responsibilities, where the term “citizen” is defined as “any person living within the territory of Montréal” (Art. 30). Hence, the criteria of residency— and not legal status—prevails for municipal matters, allowing everyone residing in Montréal to benefit from “the city’s commitments with respect to democratic, economic, social and cultural life, heritage, recreation, physical activity, sports, the environment, sustainable development, security and municipal services” (s. 86.1 of the Charter of Ville de Montréal, Metropolis of Québec). Montréal’s sanctuary policy has emerged in a sociopolitical and legal context conducive to more inclusive measures toward non-status migrants. This brief overview shows that several factors may have influenced the City’s decision. However, they fail to precisely explain why the Council of Ville de Montréal decided to vote the resolution declaring Montréal a sanctuary city in February 2017. I argue that two developments have triggered the decision. The first development was the arrival of large numbers of Syrian refugees in Montréal in the midst of the so-called “migration crisis” in Europe. The shocking images of uprooted individuals and families generated a massive public outcry in Canada. During his election campaign in 2015, the leader of the Liberal Party, Justin Trudeau, promised to help

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Syrian refugees. He criticized the Conservative government’s repressive politics toward asylum seekers and pledged to restore Canada’s “humanitarian commitment and respect for international human rights as a pillar of our immigration and refugee system” (Office of the Prime Minister, 2015). Keeping its electoral promise, the new Federal Liberal government resettled 25,000 refugees in Canada from November 2015 to February 2016. Almost 4000 of these refugees from Syria were hosted by Montréal within this short period of time (Friesen, 2016). An ad hoc committee was established by the City to ensure the reception and settlement of this population. In March 2016, the ad hoc committee was transformed into the Office for the Integration of Newcomers in Montréal (Bureau d’Intégration de Nouveaux Arrivants à Montréal [BINAM]), a full-fledged unit now integrated into the City’s Social Diversity and Inclusion Service. BINAM was given the mandate to mobilize and coordinate city-wide efforts for the settlement of newcomers. It has been allocated a permanent team and an initial budget of $1 million (Global Migration, 2017, p. 56). In 2020, BINAM continues to benefit from an adequate financial support and political backing (Ville de Montréal, 2019c, p. 16). The unit has a solid institutional infrastructure and dedicated staff in charge of long-term policy planning and coordination. As discussed below, BINAM has been the principal engine of Montréal’s sanctuary city policy. The second development is the sharp spike in irregular crossings of the Canadian border, following the election of Donald J. Trump in the US in November 2016. In 2017 alone, nearly 25,000 migrants crossed irregularly the land border via the US to claim asylum in the Province of Québec (IRB, 2020). The majority of these migrants arrived in Montréal, although many have then engaged in onward migration. Two factors have spurred these arrivals: (i) the 2004 Canada-US Safe Third Country Agreement, which bars most third-country nationals in the US from making an asylum claim at a Canadian land port of entry. According to the agreement, those who manage to arrive in Canada, albeit irregularly, are allowed to stay and make an asylum claim; and (ii) the anti-immigrant rhetoric and changes in the US policies, particularly the threat by the new administration led by Mr. Trump to terminate the Temporary Protected Status programs for some groups of migrants, including nationals of Haiti, El Salvador, and Honduras (Baglay, 2019). The Trump Administration also passed an executive order to pull grants from local governments that fail to comply with federal immigration enforcement laws (Executive Order, 2017).

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As the number of irregular arrivals had continued to climb, in a tweet dated 31 January 2017 and directed to the US President, Denis Coderre, then-Mayor of Montréal,3 announced that Montréal had become a “sanctuary city.” The tweet read: “Montreal proud ‘Sanctuary City’ Newcomers & refugees are welcome. Diversity is our strength and part of our DNA.” In February 2017, Mr. Coderre further explained his decision to the media: “There are people who have been here for six or seven years, and then they are being expelled. It creates major social disorder […] Montreal is already a city of solidarity; it is the second largest center of immigration in the country. We have a role to play, and I take my responsibilities” (Shingler, 2017). On 20 February 2017, the Council of the City of Montréal unanimously adopted the Resolution designating Montréal a sanctuary city (Déclaration désignant Montréal ville sanctuaire) (Maire de Montréal, 2017). The resolution emphasizes the City’s commitment to ensuring the protection and accessibility of their programs and services, particularly in the area of housing, to its inhabitants without legal status. It mandates the Director General of BINAM to develop an action plan, after consultation with the different partners of the City, and to outline: (i) the opportunities to improve access for non-status migrants to the services of the City and its partner organizations without fear of being reported to the CBSA or deported; (ii) the education and training needs of frontline staff so that residents without legal status can have access to all City of Montréal services without fear of being reported or deported; (iii) a complaints protocol and a communication strategy to inform Montréalers of the scope of the City’s commitment to be a sanctuary city (Maire de Montréal, 2017). This overview suggests that Montréal’s sanctuary city policy has emerged as a top-down approach, driven by the Mayor himself. Although civil society organizations have long advocated for non-status migrants’ rights in Montreal (see below), the grassroots mobilization did not seem to play any meaningful role in the policy decision. Mayor Coderre took everyone by surprise, tweeting his decision most likely as a reaction to the US President’s illiberal policies that target precarious status migrants, 3 Mr. Coderre was the Mayor of Montréal from 2013 until November 2017 when he was replaced by the newly elected Ms. Valérie Plante (2017-present). A former member of the Federal Parliament (1997–2013), Mr. Coderre also served as Minister of Immigration under a previous Liberal government.

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and threaten local governments with punitive measures if they continued to support this population. One can argue that Mr. Coderre’s move— endorsed unanimously by the Council of Ville de Montréal—is grounded in ethical claims of making the City inclusive by allowing everyone, including non-status migrants, to access local services (Ellermann, 2014). These claims cohere with the above-stated Charter values as well. Both the Mayor’s tweet and the wording of the 2017 Resolution clearly point to an effort to distinguish Montréal from the US politics, which have been deemed morally reprehensible and socially unjust. The emphasis therein on the diversity and inclusive nature of Montréal show that its leaders aimed at positioning the local government as a key actor in migration matters. Such a move is consistent with the active involvement of the City in the promotion of interethnic relations and newcomers’ integration through several social and cultural programs over the past 50 years (Fourot, 2013, p. 15). Montréal’s policy was adopted as a reaction to the plight of asylum seekers, refugees, and non-status migrants globally—rather than a carefully crafted initiative to empower non-status migrants in the city. Indeed, Montréal’s policy diverges from those of its Canadian counterparts, which are often specifically designed to protect non-status migrants in particular. The plan of action adopted by the City of Montréal in 2018 spells out the objective of promoting non-status migrants’ access to municipal services; nevertheless, a conceptual confusion is still noticeable in policy documents, and debates. They refer interchangeably to “newcomers”— a group that supposedly includes resettled Syrian refugees and asylum seekers who arrived irregularly from the US—, “precarious migrants,”, and “non-status migrants.” The confusion may have originated from the wording of the Mayor’s tweet in which he refers to newcomers and refugees in relation to Montreal sanctuary city. According to some research participants from civil society organizations (P-10; P-12), it has been exacerbated by some of the City officials’ limited understanding of the legal differences between asylum seekers and non-status migrants. Under Canadian law, unlike refugees or asylum seekers, non-status migrants are not eligible for settlement services, e.g., access to employment, language, and cultural orientation, nor can they benefit from any other social or economic rights, such as healthcare and housing (see below). Thus, they need policy responses to address the specific problems they encounter due to lack of legal status in Canada. In the next

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part, the most significant barriers are examined together with the efforts of the local government to overcome them.

Main Barriers to Montréal’s Sanctuary Policy Within Canada’s constitutional landscape, cities don’t have any jurisdictional status or constitutional powers. Immigration is a matter of concurrent power of legislation between the Federal Government and Provinces (Constitution Act 1982, s. 95). The Federal Government retains exclusive legislative authority over “naturalization and aliens” (Constitution Act 1982, s. 91(25)) and to enforce the border. The provincial jurisdiction extends over subjects such as education, policing, health, housing, and social assistance (Constitution Act 1982, s. 92). Thus, provinces play prominent roles in settlement, integration, and regulation of other aspects of the lives of migrants legally residing in Canada. This is especially true for the Province of Québec which, unlike the other Canadian provinces, has sole responsibility for delivering reception and integration services, supported by an annual grant from the Federal Government (The Canada-Québec Accord, 1991). The Province directly provides a portion of the settlement services through the Ministère de l’immigration, francisation, et intégration; these services including language training, and skills development. Support services are provided by civil society organizations (Praznik & Shields, 2018, p. 20). Obviously, non-status migrants cannot access settlement services funded by the Federal Government, as they don’t meet the “legal residence” criteria of eligibility. Cities are created and enabled by provincial legislatures (Hudson et al., 2017, pp. 3–4). Section 92.8 of the Constitution Act states that “in each Province the legislature may exclusively make laws in relation to municipal institutions in the Province.” The City of Montréal, like other Canadian cities, has no direct authority over matters like health, education, and employment; this authority is held and delegated by the Province of Québec. There have been ongoing efforts from municipalities in Canada to advocate for more power vis-à-vis the Provinces and the Federal Government, and to gain recognition of their political roles in immigration along with more fiscal resources (Fourot, 2015).

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In this frame, The City of Montréal4 has obtained from the Province acknowledgement of its important role in areas such as public transit, police, emergency preparedness, social housing and assistance to the homeless, and certain components of economic development (Ville de Montréal, 2019a, p. 21). The City’s authority in relation to the reception and integration of immigrants were enhanced in 2017 when the National Assembly of Québec conferred to Montréal the status of “metropolis.” Accordingly, the city committed to “contribute, through the support services it offers in its territory, to the full participation of immigrants, in French, in the community life of the metropolis and to consolidating harmonious intercultural relations” (Act to increase the autonomy and powers of Ville de Montréal, the metropolis of Québec, Schedule C). As discussed below, the term “support services” includes services accessible to non-status migrants as well. Of note, these services are supported through the City’s budget. Moreover, the City of Montréal has been enabled to take measures promoting the construction of affordable or family housing units, and to implement housing programs without the authorization or approval of the (Provincial) Société d’habitation du Québec. It might be for this reason that the 2017 Resolution emphasizes housing, in particular, among the services the policy aims to make accessible. City officials we met held that the metropolis status provides municipal authorities with certain powers of negotiation with the Province, as well as increased autonomy and resources (P-1 and P-2; see also Ville de Montréal, 2018, p. 2). However, the City has no powers over immigration matters. Non-status migrants don’t have access to services funded or delivered by the Province of Québec. Thus, the effective implementation of the municipal sanctuary policy largely depends on the collaboration of other orders of government. In the 2017 Resolution designating Montréal a sanctuary city, the Council of Ville de Montréal acknowledged this fact by requesting the Government of Québec to review its policies regarding provincially funded services for non-status residents—in order to promote access to healthcare, emergency services, community housing, and housing. The Council also asked the Federal Government to set up a regularization program for non-status 4 The Council of Ville de Montréal (the City) consists of 19 boroughs, city territorial subdivisions, that comprise 88% of the total population of the island of Montréal (Charter of Ville de Montréal ).

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migrants. To our knowledge, there has not been any response from either government. The limited nature of the municipal jurisdiction explains why the services accessible by virtue of the “sanctuary policy” are not fully adapted to the needs of non-status migrants. 2.1. Municipal Initiatives for Non-Status Migrants and Their Limits In order to assess the adequacy of the municipal services accessible to non-status migrants, I first discuss the condition and specific needs of this population. Research shows that non-status migrants experience poor working and living conditions, as well as the degradation of mental and physical health. They are vulnerable to abuse and exploitation (Hudson et al., 2017). The figures provided to us by Montreal City Mission Solutions Justes (MCM)—one of the two legal clinics serving precarious-status migrants, including non-status persons in Montréal—give a hint about their condition. In 2017–2018, MCM served 436 people with precarious immigration status. 30% were from sub-Saharan Africa, including the Democratic Republic of Congo, Nigeria, and Cameroon, 16.5% from Latin and Central America, mostly Mexico and Chili, 12.5% were from the Caribbean, in particular from Haiti, and 9% were from Asia (China, Pakistan, and India). 31.7% of their clients were non-status, including refused asylum seekers. All of the clients presented signs of vulnerability such as mental and physical health issues, domestic violence, and financial precarity. The majority of the clients were women, and some had children with specific needs (MCM, 2018). Hanley and Wen (2017) remarked that non-status migrants typically survive at a subsistence economic level. Excluded from the Québec labor rights regime and from any form of public subsidy for housing, they find themselves relegated to poor-quality rental housing and to exploitative and dangerous work (255). Many live with constant fear of detection and deportation. Some landlords, employers, and service providers have been known to exploit this fear, threatening to report them to immigration authorities if they file complaint with authorities (Ives et al., 2014; Walsh et al., 2015). In addition, non-status migrants encounter several barriers in performing personal tasks, such as opening a bank account, since most banks require a valid identification document and an address. A research participant who is a legal counsel noted that many migrants have to cash their salary using services like Insta Cheques, “losing hundreds of dollars a year” (P-3).

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Non-status migrants also accrue debt to access basic needs, e.g., nonstatus parents of Canadian children cannot claim a tax credit for childcare expenses (P-3). Access to healthcare has generally been a major challenge for nonstatus migrants in Montréal (Ruiz-Casares, 2010). There have been documented cases where individuals are either refused access to doctors and medication, or billed double the cost set by the Ministry of Health, and often forced to make large deposits (Doctors of the World, 2019). Even children born in Québec to non-status parents have been denied healthcare. The Québec Ombudsman criticized the discrimination experienced by these Canadian children and recommended a legislative change (Protecteur du Citoyen, 2018). Another highly controversial issue in Québec has been the exclusion of many non-status children from primary and secondary education. As highlighted by the Québec Ombudsman: The extent of the phenomenon is difficult to gauge because of the clandestinity of people with a precarious immigration status. The Ministère de l’Éducation, du Loisir et du Sport puts the figure at between 300 to 400, but organizations that work with this population cite numbers in the several thousands. (Protecteur du Citoyen, 2014)

Children were denied access to public education because of either: (i) demands from the school boards for immigration papers proving their legal status, or (ii) demands to pay tuition beyond the means of their family (Meloni et al., 2017, p. 22). In 2013, subsequent to mobilization from activists, the Minister of Education in the Province of Québec announced new regulations allowing access to education for non-status children (Projet de loi, 2017, p. 144). However, there still remain implementation gaps and it has been argued that non-status migrants, school boards, and frontline staff are still not aware of the changes (Solidarity City—Collectif Éducation Sans Frontières, 2019). The wide-range consultations with stakeholders, and focus groups with migrants organized by BINAM, have confirmed that the fear of being turned over to the CBSA for deportation drives them to avoid or delay seeking healthcare, pursuing education, and using existing recourses to denounce exploitation or abuse. To illustrate, a participant from Doctors of the World (DoW) told us the story of a non-status migrant in Montréal

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who, for five years, refrained from contacting their clinic for fear of detection. When this person finally had the courage to visit the clinic run by DoW, he brought his personal belongings with him in a backpack, ready to leave on the spot and not return to his apartment (P-12). It should not come as a surprise that during the consultations led by BINAM, non-status migrants listed the following services at the top of what they need the most: healthcare, work and work-related protections, education, and housing support. Several research participants concurred and pointed that these services are inaccessible under the City’s sanctuary policy. Non-status migrants can access all the services and programs offered by the City, the boroughs and the City’s subcontractors. These include libraries, BAM—311 (a line of information and service request), Sports and Recreation, day camps, and Fire Department. Despite the limited nature of these services, the City of Montréal took steps to empower non-status migrants. The Access to Municipal Services without Fear Policy (Ville de Montréal, 2019a) is a case in point. The policy directs City employees, administrative units, and partners to: (i) make the necessary changes as to the identification requirements to access their programs and services; (ii) raise the awareness of their employees and service providers, improving their knowledge by training them about the different migration statuses and the issues arising from them; and (iii) adapt the interventions with this specific clientele. According to our interviews, the City referred to s. 57.1 of the Charter of Ville de Montréal,5 to declare the AMSWP a “strategic operation,” making it binding on the City services and across the 19 boroughs (P-1 and P-2). The AMSWP has originated from the action plan “Montréal inclusive 2018–2021” unveiled by the Mayor of Montréal on 5 December 2018— which states that the City of Montréal, as a responsible and committed city, wants to protect [non-status migrants] from abuse, injustice and crime” (Ville de Montréal, 2018, 9). In addition to the AMSWP, the City committed to: (i) providing financial support enabling organizations in Montréal to meet the needs of clients with precarious or no immigration status; and (ii) establishing an intervention and protection unit (IPU)

5 57.1. The authority of the director general of the city is exercised over officers or employees whose job or work is connected with the powers of a borough council only when they are carrying out a function that is under the authority of the city council or the executive committee or is connected with a strategic operation.

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to support victims of abuse and crime, while protecting their privacy (Ville de Montréal, 2018, 18). Since 2017, BINAM has subsidized several organizations in Montréal working with migrants with precarious immigration status, including the legal clinic MCM and Doctors of the World, which runs a medical clinic for the uninsured. These projects have enhanced the partner organizations’ capacity to provide vital services to non-status migrants. To illustrate, the project led by MCM in 2017–2018 allowed 329 non-status migrants and migrants with precarious status to access services like legal information, references to and/or representation, socio-legal support, and medical support (MCM, 2018). Some $30,000 out of the $45,719 total budget for this project came from the City of Montréal. BINAM continues to support civil society organizations. In the City’s 2019–2021 operating budget, $378,000 are allocated to meet “the urgent needs of community organizations who collaborate with BINAM as part of the ‘sanctuary city’ initiative” (Ville de Montréal, 2019c, p. 16). Tackling the issue of identification has been perhaps the City of Montréal’s most significant move in favor of non-status migrants’ protection. The lack of valid identification documents is a major impediment in accessing municipal services. Interviews conducted by AQAADI, Quebec Immigration Lawyers Association, with non-status migrants in Montréal confirmed their inability to access services—such as parks and recreation facilities, and libraries—because of the requirements for documentation of personal identification and proof of residence (2018). More importantly, this same obstacle causes considerable hardship during police checks. Those who have no identification to present are more likely to be subject to status checks or reported to the CBSA (see below). To remedy this situation, the City decided to run a pilot project that will enable non-status migrants to use the services of four third-party organizations approved and recognized by the municipal administration. These organizations provide non-status migrants with a municipal ID card and a certificate of identity and residence, which will give them access to the various sports and recreational services offered by the City (Ville de Montréal, 2019b). Different pieces of identification, such as proof of school registration or official documents from the country of origin, may be presented. A municipal ID card is an initiative supported by several civil society organizations who believe it will reduce the risk for a non-status migrant to be turned over to the CBSA for lack of identification, as well as

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countering excessive control by the police in cases of minor offences or municipal contraventions (TCRI, Médecins du Monde et BINAM, n.d.). Research from the US shows that municipal ID cards make non-status migrants feel safer and more secure, and therefore more comfortable interacting with police officers—in particular, to report crimes they had witnessed or been victims of (de Graauw, 2014, p. 318). Of note, research participants from some civil society organizations stressed the importance of making the municipal ID cards available to all Montréal residents, and not exclusively for non-status migrants who could otherwise be singled out (P-3; P-6; P-12). The general availability of municipal cards that benefit all city residents is key in order to demonstrate that the cards don’t constitute a local attempt to regulate immigration, nor contravene federal enforcement policies. Els de Graauw (2014) notes that in San Francisco, city officials made the conscious and strategic decision to keep the Municipal ID Ordinance completely silent on the issues of immigration and non-status immigrants. By making municipal IDs widely available, officials signaled that it falls within the powers of the city to legislate for the health, safety, and welfare of all city residents (323; see also Varsanyi, 2006, p. 242). Court challenges to the municipal ID card programs, some of which were successful, alleged that they are an illegal expenditure of city funds, or violated federal law by aiding and abetting irregular migration and by treating non-status migrants like US citizens (de Graauw, 2014, pp. 321–322). As noted by the City officials we interviewed, the experiences of US cities have informed Montréal’s initiative (P-1 and P-2). However, for practical reasons, Montréal chose to not follow the best practice of making the ID cards available to all city residents from the very start. Representatives from BINAM told us that the municipal ID cards will be, in the long run, available to all Montréal residents. As the process of establishing these cards will be lengthy, the above-stated third-party referral system is put in place as a transitory measure. To be an effective tool, the City should ensure that the cards are accepted by the municipal police, SPVM, for identification purposes. As well, concern has been expressed that data collected for these ID cards may fall into the hands of the police or otherwise lead to greater surveillance of non-status migrants (SSF-SAB 2019). A BINAM representative we contacted in May 2020 acknowledged that holding a municipal ID card without other identification may

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further stigmatize non-status migrants. In consultation with field partners, BINAM is therefore considering to revise its policy. This brings me to another major obstacle, which is the role of the local police in the implementation of Montréal’s sanctuary policy. Lack of Compliance by the Municipal Police Research shows that policing of non-status migrants remains the main barrier in the achievement of sanctuary city policies across Canada (Hershkowitz et al., 2019; NOII, 2015). Montréal is no exception. As stated, the SPVM has been known to participate in immigration enforcement by investigating a person’s immigration status at routine traffic stops, before sharing information with the CBSA. Some officers had directly reported the presence of victims to the CBSA when they intervened in cases of family disputes or domestic violence (AQAADI, 2018, p. 14; P-11 and P-12). According to figures obtained by HuffPost Québec under the federal law on access to information, the SPVM communicated with the CBSA to report non-status migrants more than any other municipal police force in Canada (Robichaud, 2018, 2019). The SPVM representative we interviewed held that the municipal police don’t enforce immigration law. This person confirmed that the CBSA can be contacted by the SPVM for the purpose of identity check: “there are times when we have exhausted the means of identification, we call the border agency for contact information or to confirm identity” (P-4). The SPVM reiterated that “the people arrested should identify themselves if they do not want their immigration status to be verified with the CBSA” (Robichaud, 2018). Research shows that “status checks” were the most common reasons for calls (NOII, 2015). CBSA call center procedures define a “status check” as, among other things, when “law enforcement officers […] call to verify the immigration status of a subject because they have a suspicion a subject may not have legal status in Canada and therefore may be of interest to CBSA” or when they call “to confirm the status of a subject they have in custody” (NOII, 2015, p. 22). Thus, identity check is not the only reason why the SPVM communicates with the CBSA—a mere suspicion that a person might be a non-status migrant would trigger such communication. In the 2017 Resolution, the Council of Ville de Montréal acknowledged the crucial nature of the police participation in the initiative.

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They directed the Public Safety Commission to develop, in collaboration with the SPVM, an approach to ensure that non-status migrants can have access to municipal public security services without the risk of being reported to the immigration authorities, or deported from Canada—unless that person is specifically subject to a compliance order (ordonnance exécutoire) issued by a court of law, particularly in criminal and security matters (par. 5). The SPVM’s reporting practice is well below this threshold; instead, it targets non-status migrants because of their lack of immigration status. The SPVM has been criticized for racially profiling immigrants. AQAADI held that the SPVM officers are not trained to understand the nuances between the various statutes under Canadian law (or the absence of status), and that these complex factors create a real risk: that calls made by the SPVM to the CBSA are based more on issues of racial, cultural, and/or socio-economic profiling than on real security considerations (AQAADI, 2018, p. 17). The criminalization of irregular migration is apparent in the harsh treatment of non-status migrants by the municipal police in Montréal. There were brutal police arrests and arbitrary detention cases, like that of Lucy Francineth Granados, a non-status mother and activist who was deported to Guatemala in 2018 (Jiwani, 2018). Hence, following the adoption of the 2017 Resolution declaring Montréal a sanctuary city, a number of civil society actors denounced the absence of clear implementation policies and guidelines. In February 2017, some 60 organizations had signed the Declaration for a City without Borders, which called upon the City to treat “in a strictly confidential manner the information concerning the immigration status that they have in their possession” and that they never share this information with the authorities and government agencies (Solidarity Across Borders, 2017). Faced with increasing pressure, Mayor Valérie Plante who took office in November 2017, acknowledged that the SPVM continues to collaborate actively with the CBSA and report non-status migrants, and decided to abandon the term “sanctuary city” in favor of “Responsible and Committed City” (Corriveau, 2018). As one research participant who works in a legal clinic serving non-status migrants, put it: “there was really a gap between the [2017] statement that was made in a very theoretical way and what happens on the ground. I think the new administration was more aware of it. For me it is a rather responsible act to say: We will not call this city a sanctuary. We will call this city responsible and

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committed. So that people without status know exactly what exists in terms of protection” (our translation) (P-6). The 2018 Action Plan listed the SPVM among frontline services required to train their employees to adapt their services (formation en adaptation des services) when interacting with non-status migrants. The research participant from the SPVM suggested that the municipal police “agree with the don’t ask, don’t tell policy in principle. Reminders were made by our [SPVM] legal affairs to police officers that they do not have to ask for immigration status… it is important for us to tell the police officer that they can not call the border agency if there is no valid warrant or if there is no active investigation. Last year, we toured the investigation centers, to remind officers that they could not call the border agency” (P5). Nevertheless, the verification of arrest warrants constituted less than 5% of communications between Montréal police officers and the CBSA, with 163 verifications in 2018 (Robichaud, 2019). As stated, status checks of non-status migrants constitute the major reason why the SPVM officers contact the border police. The City of Montréal’s BINAM collaborates with the SPVM’s Prevention and Urban Safety Unit in relation to the Inclusive City initiative. Yet the SPVM decided to not participate in the 2019 Access without Fear policy to “preserve its independence” from the municipal government (Dufour, 2019). This argument can be challenged, since the City of Montréal has regulatory authority with respect to the SPVM; the Charter of the City of Montréal provides that the City has jurisdiction, obligations, and special powers over the police (Sect. 87.8). In addition, according to the Police Act, every municipality may make by-laws to: (2) prescribe the duties and powers of the members of the police force; and (5) prescribe the inspections to which police officers must submit (Sect. 86). A report by AQAADI put forward convincing legal arguments on how the SPVM can comply with the policy (2018). BINAM’s above-mentioned efforts to provide non-status migrants with an identification document are part of the initiatives the City has taken to mitigate the effects of the SPVM’s position. In addition, the City has developed an Intervention and Protection Unit (IPU) which became operational in 2019. The BINAM representatives said the IPU is aimed to address the three main issues faced by non-status migrants in Montréal: workplace exploitation, abuse from landlords, and victims of other crimes—in particular, domestic violence.

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The IPU is run by the Center for Assistance to Victims of Crime (Centre d’aide aux victimes d’actes criminels de Montréal), a non-profit organization that provides psychosocial and judicial expertise. With a total budget of $129,953 in 2019–2020, the project would allow immigrants who have been victims of abuse or crime to obtain information, psychosocial, legal, and technical support that can lead to the complaint. The IPU provides support. It can direct and refer victims, relatives, or witnesses of an abuse or of a crime (CAVAC, 2019). This initiative by the City is commendable since it represents an effort to minimize victimized nonstatus migrants’ interaction with the police, thus, the risk of deportation, while offering them a possible line of relief. It is not clear however how the complaint mechanism plays out in practice.

Conclusion Montréal’s sanctuary city policy constitutes an important step toward the acknowledgment of the vulnerability of non-status migrants and their right to be protected from abuse and injustices. The City’s efforts to ensure access to municipal services for all, regardless of immigration status, are grounded in ethical claims. When Montréal announced its sanctuary city policy in 2017, a number of Canadian cities had already committed to provide non-status residents with access to municipal services. Locally, civil society mobilization had gained traction in favor of non-status migrants’ access to public education and healthcare. These factors have arguably influenced Montréal’s decision. But the decisive policy trigger came from the Mayor. As Montréal became home to a soaring number of asylum seekers from the US, following the punitive measures by the newly elected US Administration, City leaders chose to welcome displaced populations. The policy launched by the then-Mayor, Mr. Coderre, has been endorsed and actively promoted by his successor Ms. Plante as well as a progressive Council of Ville de Montréal. The City has taken concrete steps to implement the policy since 2017. BINAM, a full-fledged City unit endowed with a permanent team and a substantial budget, has been a key institution, as it has effectively mobilized and coordinated city-wide efforts. BINAM’s genuine commitment to the policy has been praised by the research participants from civil society organizations, who commended the trust-based close cooperation that BINAM has established with them and other stakeholders.

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Under the leadership of Mayor Plante, the City first adopted the Action Plan “Montréal inclusive 2018–2021”—followed by an Access to Municipal Services without Fear Policy and an Intervention and Protection Unit, within a year. These initiatives have laid the foundation for a policy, which includes: a third-party referral pilot for the future municipal identification documents, a reporting mechanism for non-status victims of abuse or violence, and financial support for community organizations assisting non-status migrants. These initiatives position the municipality as a key player in improving the condition of non-status migrants in Montréal. Its metropolis status provides the City of Montréal with enhanced powers within the Province. The City leaders invoked s. 57.1 of the Charter of Ville de Montréal to declare the AMSWP a “strategic operation,” making it binding on the City services and across the 19 boroughs. However, the achievement of the policy objectives encounters difficulties. The City’s authority is circumscribed by provincial law and the constitutional division of powers. Hence, it is not clear how the City’s metropolis status will play out in terms of extending services—e.g., social housing—to non-status migrants. Today, many vital services such as healthcare, education, housing, and the police remain outside the regulatory power of Montréal; therefore, unavailable to non-status migrants. One should not minimize the symbolic importance of the accessible services—e.g., parks and recreation, libraries—as they enhance migrants’ sense of belonging to the community. However, they are not among those services that non-status migrants need the most to live a decent life. More importantly, the municipal police refuse to comply with the policy. The SPVM continues to inquire into immigration status, arresting and transferring non-status persons to the CBSA. Thus, effective implementation of the municipal policy—which, ironically, aims to protect non-status migrants from abuse, injustices, and criminal acts (2017 Resolution)—is seriously curtailed by the police, who treat non-status migrants as criminals. The fear of arrest and deportation result in further marginalization and abuse of this population. To break this vicious circle, at a minimum, the training of police officers should be made a priority, as well as the training of City staff and frontline workers, which has been sporadic thus far. These stakeholders—as well as most community groups and non-status migrants themselves—remain largely unaware of the policy. At the time of writing, there were a lot of unknowns about the operation of the third-party referral system or the IPU, including how the data

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collected from non-status migrants would be retained and their privacy protected. Further research is also needed on the policy implementation within the city divisions and the services accessible to non-status migrants. As research in the US shows, initiatives such as the municipal ID cards can hardly be achieved gradually without the risk of losing the trust of the non-status population, or stigmatizing them. Thus, contradictions can be observed between local authorities’ discourse and forms of action by local law enforcement actors—most notably the municipal police. The success of Montréal’s Responsible and Committed City Policy would ultimately depend on the cooperation of the City with the SPVM, the Provincial and Federal Governments, on sanctuary measures. Some research participants drew attention to the rise of anti-immigrant sentiments and discriminatory policies in the Province of Québec. Thus the “Responsible and Committed City” label which replaced the “sanctuary city” notion, is not only more accurate but it can also be interpreted as a strategic move to not attract attention to a potentially unpopular policy. In this context, Montréal’s progressive policy has been successfully championed and financially supported by its Mayor and a progressive Council of the City. Yet its long-term sustainability largely depends on the continuity of this political commitment.

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Mission Communautaire de Montréal (MCM). (2018). Reddition de comptes 2016–2017 . Final Report. Un chemin vers la régularisation et l’intégration à Montréal, Montreal. No One is Illegal. (NOII). (2015, November). Often asking, always telling. The Toronto Police Service and the Sanctuary City Policy, Toronto. Nyers, P. (2010). No one is illegal between city and nation. Studies in Social Justice, 4(2), 127. Office of the Prime Minister. (2015). Minister of Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Mandate Letter, Ottawa. Praznik, J. & Shields, J. (2018, July 3). An anatomy of settlement services in Canada: A guide. BMRC-IRMU. http://bmrc-irmu.info.yorku.ca/files/ 2018/07/An-Anatomy-of-Settlement-Services-in-Canada_BMRCIRMU.pdf. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. Projet de loi no 144. Loi modifiant la loi sur l’instruction publique et d’autres dispositions législatives concernant principalement la gratuité des services éducatifs et l’obligation de fréquentation scolaire (2017, chapitre 23). Protecteur du citoyen. (2014, November 7). Access to education for children with a precarious immigration status: Make public school available to all children, in their interest and that of society. Press Release, Quebec City. https:// protecteurducitoyen.qc.ca/en/news/press-releases/access-to-education-forchildren-with-a-precarious-immigration-status-make-public-school-available. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. Protecteur du citoyen. (2018). Donner accès au régime québécois d’assurance maladie aux enfants nés au Québec de parents au statut migratoire précaire, Québec : Assemblée nationale du Québec. Robichaud, O. (2018, March 21). Montréal n’a pas fait tous ses devoirs pour devenir une ville sanctuaire, selon la mairesse Valérie Plante. HuffPost. Robichaud, O. (2019, May 17). Montréal: les policiers toujours aux trousses des immigrants sans statut. HuffPost. Ruiz-Casares, M., et al. (2010). Right and access to healthcare for undocumented children: Addressing the gap between international conventions and disparate implementations in North America and Europe. Social Science & Medicine, 70(2), 329–336. Shingler, B. (2017, February 16). Why Denis Coderre wants to make Montreal a sanctuary city. CBC. Solidarity Across Borders. (2017, February 9). Déclaration pour une cité sans frontières. http://pasc.ca/fr/article/declaration-pour-une-cite-sans-fro ntieres. Accessed 6 June 2021. Solidarity City – Collectif Education Sans Frontieres. (2019, June 14). Des enfants sans statut attendent toujours que le ministre de l’Éducation fasse ses devoirs http://collectifeducation.org/des-enfants-sans-statut-att

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endent-toujours-que-le-ministre-de-leducation-fasse-ses-devoirs/. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. TCRI, Médecins du Monde et BINAM. (n.d.). Guide de formation. Personnes sans statut ou à statut précaire d’immigration http://tcri.qc.ca/images/pub lications/volets/volet-formation/2018/Guide_participant_couleur_web_hyp erlien_formation_PST_PSP.pdf. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. The Canada-Québec Accord relating to Immigration and Temporary Admission of Aliens, 5 February 1991. The Constitution Act, 1867, 30 & 31 Vict, c 3. Varsanyi, M. W. (2006). Interrogating “urban citizenship” vis-à-vis undocumented migration. Citizenship Studies, 10(2), 229–249. Ville de Montréal. (2017, février 20). Résolution CM17 0106 Déclaration désignant Montréal ville sanctuaire. Ville de Montréal. (2018). Plan d’action, Montréal inclusive 2018–2021, Montreal. Ville de Montréal. (2019a). Offrir ses services à tous une responsabilité, un engagement: Politique d’accès aux services municipaux sans peur, Montreal. Ville de Montréal. (2019b, June 9). La Ville de Montréal dévoile sa Politique d’accès aux services municipaux sans peur et la création d’une Cellule d’intervention et de protection. Communiqué de la Ville, Montreal. http:// ville.montreal.qc.ca/portal/page?_pageid=5798,42657625&_dad=portal&_ schema=PORTAL&id=31683&ret=//ville.montreal.qc.ca/pls/portal/url/ page/prt_vdm_fr/rep_annonces_ville/rep_communiques/communiques. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. Ville de Montréal. (2019c). Highlights Montreal, 2019 Operating Budget. 2019–2021 Three-Year Capital Works Program. http://ville.montreal.qc. ca/pls/portal/docs/PAGE/SERVICE_FIN_FR/MEDIA/DOCUMENTS/ BUDGET-PTI_FAITSSAILLANTS_2019_EN.PDF. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. Ville de Montréal. (2019d). Annual Financial Report Fiscal Year Ended 2018, Montreal. https://ville.montreal.qc.ca/portal/page?_pageid=44,80007&_ dad=portal&_schema=PORTAL. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. Ville de Montréal. (2020). Coup d’œil sur la population immigrante. Agglomération de Montréal, Montreal. http://ville.montreal.qc.ca/pls/portal/docs/ PAGE/MTL_STATS_FR/MEDIA/DOCUMENTS/POPULATION%20I MMIGRANTE%202020.PDF. Accessed 14 Nov 2020. Walsh, C. A., Hanley, J., Ives, N., & Hordyk, S. R. (2015). Exploring the experiences of newcomer women with insecure housing in Montréal Canada. Journal of International Migration and Integration, 17 (3), 1–18. Wright, C. (2003). Moments of emergence: Organizing by and with undocumented and non-citizen people in Canada after September 11. Refuge: Canada’s Journal on Refugees, 21(3), 5–15.

CHAPTER 6

New Pathways to Sanctuary in New York City Hilary Sanders

Introduction Since their emergence in the 1980s, policies of sanctuary in the United States have proved themselves resilient to changing national contexts. They adapted to the wave of conservatism and concern over illegal border crossings of the 1990s, as well as the expansion of the surveillance state and “crimmigration” enforcement in the wake of 9/11 (Stumpf, 2006). They have also developed in conjunction with policy experiments in the opposite direction, as measures designed to restrict the social rights of the undocumented and facilitate their identification and deportation have multiplied, particularly in rural areas, cities, and states in the Southeast and Southwest (Rodriguez, 2008; Varsanyi, 2010). As such, they have been an integral part of the fragmentation of immigration policy on the local level (Varsanyi et al., 2011; Walker & Leitner, 2011). However, local jurisdictions attempting to protect undocumented immigrants were confronted with an unprecedented cascade of restrictive immigration policies adopted at the federal level, starting in February

H. Sanders (B) University of Toulouse-Jean Jaurès, Toulouse, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_6

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2017. The Trump administration’s determination to curb legal entry led to travel bans in various iterations, a dramatic reduction in refugee admissions, and a tightening of criteria to qualify for asylum. Although the number of undocumented residents present in the United States has been decreasing since the Great Recession, the President vowed to sharply increase immigration enforcement within the nation’s interior (Executive Order 13768). In this context, the contradiction between federal priorities and those of sanctuary jurisdictions, already salient, became a widening gulf. Cities that refused to comply with deportation efforts were stigmatized by the Executive branch for harboring criminals and risking public safety, whereas stakeholders in these districts criticized federal policies and the tactics of immigration agents as xenophobic and inhumane (Cunningham Warren, 2017). Given the polarized, partisan nature of this conflict, it is not surprising that the national context only strengthened the resolve of proponents of sanctuary jurisdictions, leading to the formation of an arsenal of techniques of non-cooperation (Lasch et al., 2018). However, if we consider sanctuary more broadly, we can observe that local governments have continued to innovate in their approach to migrant protection, and that public policies outside the narrow field of immigration management also have a significant impact on the unauthorized population’s likelihood of detection by federal authorities. This chapter explores the modalities of this struggle and the levers of action available to city governments attempting to protect deportable migrants, beyond the “traditional” methods of limiting cooperation with the federal government, and the political and institutional boundaries within which such actions can take place. Focusing on New York City, home to roughly 477,000 unauthorized residents and tens of thousands more with precarious legal status, it analyzes the means by which municipal government has achieved some measure of success in countering the Trump administration’s repression of sanctuary jurisdictions (MOIA, 2019, p. 11). How can direct intervention among immigrant communities shield this population from arrest by federal immigration agents? To what extent does the larger framework of the criminal justice system affect immigrants’ risk of deportation? To answer these questions, the chapter first describes the evolution of New York’s local immigration policies, designed to improve access to services and reduce communication with federal immigration agents, toward a more confrontational position through the conflict around detainer requests. Using data from

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the New York Police Department (NYPD), the Mayor’s Office for Immigrant Affairs (MOIA), and the Office of Civil Justice (OCJ), the following section attempts to quantify the impact of migrant-specific policies within the context of the aggressive enforcement efforts that have marked the first three years of the Trump presidency. A third section examines the continuing vulnerability of deportable immigrants within the criminal justice system, and conduct an analysis of the criminal justice reforms enacted in New York City in 2016 and 2017 in regards to this population. A concluding section discusses the implications and possible consequences of these trends.

Shifting Policies of Migrant Protection A political consensus around the recognition and inclusion of recent immigrants became entrenched in New York City in the 1980s, as the demographic realities embodied by the city’s increasingly diverse population diverged from the increasingly exclusionary and security-oriented policies enacted on the federal level. Thanks to immigration from the Caribbean, Latin America, and Asia, the population of New York never ceased expanding through the second half of the 20th century, avoiding the demographic decline plaguing metropolitan areas in the Northeast and in the Rust Belt (Department of City Planning, 2013). As a primary immigration gateway and an emblematic “global city,” it attracted both unskilled labor in the service sector and highly skilled workers in the growing “knowledge economy” (Hall et al., 2011; Sasken, 2001). The entrepreneurial tendency of immigrants compared to the native-born population, a phenomenon observed across national contexts, further strengthened the formation of a “migration-development nexus” among city leaders in New York and elsewhere (Desiderio & Mestres-Domenech, 2011; Filomeno, 2017; Sanders, 2018). Since this period, New York City has consistently been a leader in the crafting of progressive policies designed to protect migrants from the repressive effects of federal immigration law. In 1986, Democratic Mayor Edward Koch (1978–1989) created a municipal office dedicated to assisting New York’s growing immigrant communities, the first of its kind nationwide. Voted by referendum in 2001 into the city’s charter and made into a permanent part of city government, the Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs is now the largest and most generously funded of

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such offices, with over 50 full-time staff members (de Graauw, 2015). Furthermore, as a result of the 1980s Sanctuary movement in regards to Central American migrants, Mayor Koch issued an executive order in 1989 prohibiting municipal employees from transmitting information about immigration status to the federal government (EO 124). After the original non-cooperation policy was invalidated by the 1996 immigration law IIRIRA,1 and amid concerns that immigrant communities were reluctant to report anti-Muslim hate crimes in the wake of the 9/11 terrorist attacks, a re-vamped executive order forbidding municipal employees from collecting sensitive information about immigration status or sexual orientation was enacted in 2003 (EO 41). This measure protected victims and witnesses during their interactions with local law enforcement, but allowed the police to determine legal status when individuals were themselves the object of a criminal investigation. Accordingly, once unauthorized migrants faced charges, however minor and whether or not they were ultimately dismissed or invalidated, the promise of confidentiality offered by city government no longer held. New York’s progressive position toward immigrants was strengthened during the post-9/11 era, buttressed by concrete measures that improved this population’s access to city services, which include public schools, the police department, a network of public hospitals and clinics, and parks and libraries, among others. Since 2003, the city government has adopted and extended comprehensive language access legislation, mandating that all city agencies translate its written documentation in the six languages most represented among the populations they serve, and inform users with Limited English Proficiency of the availability of free interpretation services in nearly all languages (Local Law 73, EO 120, Local Law 30).2 After the election of Mayor de Blasio in 2013, the city also created a free municipal identification card that all New York residents, including undocumented immigrants, could use during interactions with police and other city agencies.3 These initiatives were adopted under pressure from 1 Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigration Responsibility Act. 2 23% of residents were estimated to be Limited English Proficient in 2018 (MOIA,

2019, p. 13). 3 To avoid making the card a marker for undocumented status, city government broadened its appeal by allowing transgender residents to choose the gender indicated on the

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vocal and well-funded immigrant rights associations such as the New York Immigration Coalition, the Immigrant Defense Project, and Make The Road. They have also been influential in inspiring a number of other large U.S. cities to adopt similar policies, notably municipal ID cards in Detroit in 2016, Chicago in 2018, and Philadelphia in 2019, part of a larger trend on the local level toward acceptance of unauthorized immigrants’ long-term residence in the United States in the foreseeable future. As highlighted by Gulasekaram and Ramakrishnan (2015), despite the attention given to the exceptional case of Arizona, a progressive turn unfolded in states and cities in the wake of Obama’s executive action in 2012, Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA). Significantly, these initiatives in local governance have occurred in cities in which the undocumented population is primarily composed of one national-origin group, such as Chicago with its large Mexican community, as well as those with more diverse populations, like New York City. In the latter, the two largest foreign-born populations, from the Dominican Republic and China, only account for 25% of the total immigrant population (MOIA, 2019, p. 12). What has come to define “sanctuary” cities in the United States context is not, however, the expansion of access of services, but rather the issue of non-citizens who have come into contact with the criminal justice system. The establishment of the Secure Communities program between 2008 and 2012 allowed the automatic transmission of fingerprint data taken during all police bookings to the federal immigration agency Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). Thereafter, the identification of immigrants whose presence is suspected to be unauthorized was greatly facilitated for federal agents, who previously relied on the deliberate cooperation of local law enforcement and corrections officers. With the help of more extensive and interconnected databases, ICE agents now receive immediate notification of a possible match between individuals present in local jails and existing records (e.g., previous border apprehension or expired visa). In such cases, federal agents can request that local law enforcement authorities detain the suspect for an additional 48 hours; this extension allows ICE to take the individual into custody for further

card, by offering discounts to the city’s network of museums, and by extending eligibility to residents as young as 10. Similar in many respects to the card launched in San Francisco in 2009, the New York program, launched in 2015, has succeeded in reaching a particularly large audience, having issued over 1 million cards by 2017.

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investigation of legal status, possibly leading to transfer to a detention center and eventual deportation proceedings. These new tools created an immediate and substantial increase in immigrant removals resulting from arrests by local law enforcement, even when charges are dropped or never formulated. As the subsequent backlash from immigrant rights’ organizations and local jurisdictions took form, countering Secure Communities and resisting ICE requests for immigrant detention in local jails became the linchpin of debates about sanctuary (Capps et al., 2018).4 While law enforcement in the vast majority of jurisdictions has tolerated this increased collaboration with federal government, and some have welcomed it enthusiastically, the response of cities and counties opposed to federal deportation efforts has been to restrict the cases in which detainer requests are respected (23% of counties in 2018), to decline requests by ICE to interview suspected individuals in person or over the phone (2%), and to refuse to notify the agency of individuals’ release date from local jail (6%) (Avila et al., 2018). Since 2014, the laws passed by New York City Council have made the city’s detainer policy one of the nation’s strictest: the police department and department of corrections only comply with detainers of 48 hours relating to individuals who have committed a “violent or serious crime” and have been deported and illegally reentered the country, or who are suspected terrorists. The City also mandated the closure of the ICE field offices at the prison complex on Riker’s Island, and in proximity to all city jails. Whereas hundreds of individuals were detained each year at ICE request in years prior, from July 2015 to June 2019, only two were detained beyond their scheduled date of release and transferred to federal custody (NYPD, 2016, 2017, 2018, 2019).5 City legislation effectively ended the local prison to ICE pipeline that the federal government had briefly established, primarily through Secure Communities. Federal courts have generally defended the position of cities that limit cooperation with immigration detainers, condemning these periods of detention as an unconstitutional violation of the right to due process of

4 ICE names these detainer requests Detention and removal order (DRO) holds. 5 However, these measures apply to undocumented residents who live in one of the

five NYC burroughs, but not to undocumented workers who live in neighboring counties in New Jersey, where close collaboration with ICE was common during this period.

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law promised by the 4th amendment.6 As a result, a growing number of counties have decreased, rather than increased, cooperation with ICE since 2016, despite the executive branch’s concerted efforts to undermine sanctuary legislation (Avila et al., 2018). After Attorney General Jeff Sessions’ attempt to nullify California’s Trust policy (less protective than New York’s but state-wide) was struck down by a district court in 2017 (United States v. State of California), the Department of Justice also failed to coerce sanctuary cities into sharing more information with ICE by threatening to withhold federal grants to police departments (City of Philadelphia v. Sessions ). Given these judicial victories, the resistance of New York City government to cooperating with the federal government’s deportation strategies has only become more determined, in line with national trends. However, the core repertoire of policies enacted by sanctuary jurisdictions is limited to the extent that these attempts to disentangle immigration and law enforcement are operative only after undocumented individuals come into contact with the criminal justice system. The next section will examine situations that occur outside this dynamic, and strategies that attempt to prevent such encounters.

Migrant-Specific Policies in the Age of Trump The necessity of further strengthening protections for vulnerable immigrants, already a priority from the start of Bill de Blasio’s first term as mayor, quickly became apparent after the presidential elections of 2016.7 Indeed, as cooperation from local law enforcement had declined nationwide, the new administration developed strategies to pursue the goal of dramatically increasing deportations, championed during the presidential campaign. Executive Order 13768, published January 30,

6 Although in March 2017 federal agents began to accompany detainers with “ICE warrants,” signed by an ICE officer; the intentional confusion around nomenclature did not have an effect on their legal argument. Neither based on criminal charges nor reviewed by a judge to determine the existence of probable cause, “ICE warrants” continue to be deemed insufficient to justify extending a period of detention. See for example Galarza v. Szalczyk, 745 F.3d 634, 645 (3d Cir. 2014) ou Morales v. Chadbourne, 996 F.Supp.2d 19. 7 Bill de Blasio was elected as mayor in 2013 and reelected to a second term in 2017.

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2017, untied ICE agents’ hands by dismantling the Priority Enforcement Program,8 which had attempted to narrowly target unauthorized immigrants with criminal records, while encouraging the release of individuals who were not considered threats to public safety. The new federal guidelines instructed ICE field offices to abandon these enforcement priorities, allowing agents to make apprehensions outside the criminal justice system. As a result, in addition to greatly increasing detention requests, the agency began making at-large arrests of individuals who had been released from local jails without charges, or of individuals who had received removal orders after the rejection of an asylum application. Agents could also freely conduct raids in public areas, during which any unauthorized immigrant encountered could be taken into custody and deported. According to ICE’s internal guidelines, arrests were not to take place in “sensitive areas,” enumerated as schools, hospitals, places of worship, or public demonstrations, though exceptions were permitted. Workplaces, public areas in residential neighborhoods, and courthouses, in particular, were not considered sensitive areas (Directive N. 11072.1). In view of the Trump administration’s insistence that the aim of increased immigration enforcement was to protect the general public from criminal activity, this increase in non-criminal arrests hardly seems justified, but ICE officials repeatedly claimed that the agency had no choice, given the refusal of local police departments to fully cooperate with federal immigration agents. As attempts to directly nullify or defund non-cooperation policies were struck down by federal courts, the Trump administration specifically targeted sanctuary cities in retaliation. Through Operation “Safe City,” announced September 2017, increased and more indiscriminate enforcement was authorized in jurisdictions that refused to comply with federal requests for detention.9 Consequently, although arrests of unauthorized immigrants by ICE increased nationwide by 44% from 2016 to 2017, and non-criminal arrests increased by 248%, these trends were more pronounced in New York City (MOIA, 2018).

8 This program replaced Secure Communities, which the Obama administration terminated in 2014. 9 Enforcement operations took place in Baltimore; Cook County, Illinois; Denver; Los Angeles; New York City; Philadelphia; Seattle; Santa Clara County, CA; Washington, DC; and the state of Massachusetts, leading to 498 arrests over four days (ICE News Release, 2017).

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In NYC, total arrests increased by 88% (twice as much as nationally), and the number of non-criminal arrests increased 414% from 2016, the last full year of the Obama administration, to 2017.10 As for deportations, total nationwide interior removals increased by 46% in the same period, whereas in New York City, ICE removals increased by 150%, with a 266% increase in non-criminal removals (MOIA, 2018).11 As expressed by the Acting Director of ICE at the time, “sanctuary jurisdictions that do not honor detainers or allow [ICE] access to jails and prisons are shielding criminal aliens from immigration enforcement and creating a magnet for illegal immigration. As a result, ICE is forced to dedicate more resources to conduct at-large arrests in these communities” (ICE, 2017). The decision made by city government to protect undocumented immigrants held for misdemeanors thus led to a backlash from ICE, leading to increased arrest and deportation of individuals with no serious criminal convictions.12 NYC government reacted on a number of fronts to counter ICE’s enhanced enforcement efforts, in particular by reinforcing access to legal defense and to accurate information about immigration law and constitutional rights. These migrant-specific policies, implemented in conjunction with local civil society actors, have seen their budgets increase substantially in recent years. One strategy particularly championed by the MOIA has been the organization of Know Your Rights information sessions, tailored to specific immigrant communities. Conducted in 10 different languages, with events in Spanish outnumbering those in English, these KYR sessions provide a forum to advise immigrant communities in regards to interactions with police and ICE officers, and to inform them of the limits to the authority of these agents (MOIA, 2019, p. 35). Although “strategic assimilation” or “camouflaging” are common strategies on the part of

10 More precisely, total arrests in the New York area reached 2576 throughout 2017, of which 674 non-criminal (https://www.ice.gov/sites/default/files/documents/ Document/2017/localStats2017b.pdf). 11 In 2017, 2006 individuals were deported in the New York area, of which 791 noncriminal (https://www.ice.gov/sites/default/files/documents/Document/2017/localStat s2017b.pdf). 12 However, these numbers are still down compared to 2013–2014, when Secure Communities was fully effective nationally, using broad criteria for the detention and deportation of unauthorized immigrants who were identified through local jails.

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undocumented immigrants to avoid drawing the attention of law enforcement (Chauvin & Garcés-Mascareña, 2014; Garcia, 2019), these tactics are of little use in the case of federal agents seeking to apprehend particular individuals. For example, immigrants and New Yorkers more broadly are often unaware that they have no obligation to open the door of their home to ICE officers who do not possess a court-issued warrant to do so. The City funded 681 such events in 2018, roughly half conducted by MOIA staff and half by community-based organizations that partner with the city. In comparison, a total of 658 events were organized throughout 2016 and 2017.13 This sudden increase in the funding of Know Your Rights (KYR) sessions was a direct response to the surge of at-large arrests conducted by ICE agents in New York City. In 2018, KYR events in all five boroughs reached a total of 18,000 New York residents.14 Given that participants share information within their own networks and social media, for example through applications that facilitate communication about sightings of ICE officers, the impact is undoubtedly greater. Another strategy pursued by New York City authorities has been to improve access to legal counsel and representation for immigrant residents, both undocumented individuals seeking to obtain authorized status and legal residents seeking to obtain citizenship. According to the Office of Civil Justice, city government has increased funding sevenfold since 2013 for free legal services for this population, attaining an allocation of $48 million in 2019 (OCJ, 2019, p. 33). In order to reach the individuals and families most in need of legal assistance, city-funded non-profit organizations have set up screening sessions in schools, hospitals, and community centers. In particular, these initiatives have helped long-term residents, including immigrants facing expiration of DACA or Temporary Protected Status, to renew their status or apply for permanent residency or other visas. Overall, these programs reached nearly 18,000 individuals in 2018, offering full legal representation in 79.7% of these cases (OCJ, 2019, p. 46). When cases entailed an application for legal status with the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services (USCIS), the success rate has been close to 100%; out of the 2482 applications

13 Data provided upon request by the MOIA. 14 Data provided upon request by the MOIA.

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sent through legal programs funded by NYC’s Office of Civil Justice and decided by the federal agency in 2018, 96.5% were granted (OCJ, 2019, p. 42). This support in obtaining legal status could be seen as a way of ending the prolonged “state of waiting” that arguably characterizes the existence of all unauthorized immigrants, and that sanctuary jurisdictions have traditionally done little to correct (Bagelman, 2016). City-funded legal defense services have also provided representation to defend individuals in deportation proceedings. The City offered legal representation in over 3400 cases in 2018, out of a total of 31,000 removal cases initiated at the federal immigration court located in New York City (OCJ, 2019, pp. 37–39). 3000 of these cases were funded through programs targeting low-income immigrants with children, or unaccompanied children themselves.15 However, as the number of deportation proceedings filed in New York immigration court has risen dramatically, by nearly 50% from 2017 to 2019, immigration attorneys have been unable to respond to the increase in demand, leaving increasing numbers of immigrants facing deportation without representation in court: 36.9% in 2019, compared to 12% in 2017 (TRAC, 2020). The City’s investment in legal services is thus particularly relevant in this context of penury. The funding of Know Your Rights sessions and legal services clearly protects immigrants by helping them to maintain or secure legal status to reside on U.S. territory, or to minimize their risk of deportation by ICE. These efforts represent a laudable effort by city authorities to maintain the legitimacy of its status as a sanctuary city through direct and transparent means, via generously funded programs targeted exclusively for immigrant populations. Using the tools of law, local government actors attempt to prevent the situations of vulnerability created by precarious legal status and unnecessary interaction with federal immigration agents. If we tally the total number of New Yorkers who benefitted from KYR sessions (~18,000), mayoral legal defense services (17,967), and removal defense services funded by City Council (3000), we can estimate that city authorities assisted 39,000 immigrants in 2018 alone.

15 Unlike the majority of immigrant legal services, funded through mayoral programs, these 3000 cases were funded through City Council programs, the New York Immigrant Family Unity Project (NYIFUP) and Immigrant Child Advocates’ Relief Effort (ICARE). NYIFUP represented approximately 1300 immigrants facing removal in FY2018, while ICARE represented 1700 unaccompanied immigrant children facing removal.

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Clearly, when individuals are armed with the knowledge of the limited power of immigration authorities, the confines of their own homes can constitute a temporary haven. However, it is the assistance provided by the city in obtaining legal immigration status that is of particular significance here: legal status represents the most reliable form of protection from deportation, although only citizenship can entirely eliminate this threat. As a pre-emptive measure, it precludes the power struggles that occur when undocumented immigrants become involved with law enforcement. Furthermore, instead of acting only within the bounds of municipal authority, this strategy intervenes at the federal level, through a separate component of the Department of Homeland Security, USCIS. Generally, the city’s migrant-specific policies of protection draw on the expertise of the city’s legal community and leverage constitutional and immigration law to their favor.

Structural Change in the Criminal Justice System Despite the recent increases in at-large arrests of immigrants, many of whom have no criminal record, it is important to underline that interaction with the criminal justice system remains the primary means by which ICE identifies “removable aliens,” even in cities with sanctuary policies. The NYPD no longer communicates to ICE information about the release dates of individuals in custody, or complies with detainer requests, in accordance with this policy. Nonetheless, the federal agency is still notified of the presence in local jails of individuals suspected to be removable, through the booking process which comprises obligatory background checks with records from the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), linked to DHS databases.16 Local jail bookings thus help ICE agents locate such individuals with precision, as do scheduled appearances in court, which are public information.17

16 The program linked the FBI database of nation-wide criminal records and search warrants to that of ICE, both agencies being part of the Department of Homeland Security since 2004. As a result, fingerprint and other personal data that is transmitted during routine FBI background searches are now automatically shared with ICE agents. 17 Information about court appearances is available online through the website of the New York State Unified Court System, of which New York City Criminal Court is a part.

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Indeed, in a cruel subversion of city authorities’ efforts to protect immigrant residents through the legal system and the diffusion of knowledge about rights, it is precisely those individuals who choose to comply with judicial orders to appear in court that became particularly vulnerable to arrest. As noted earlier, courthouses are part of the public spaces considered “non-sensitive” that saw dramatic increases in ICE enforcement operations (Cunningham Warren, 2017, p. 204). In New York state, whereas only 11 arrests occurred within and around state courthouses in 2016, 195 occurred in 2018, with 75% of arrests occurring in New York City (IDP, 2019, p. 6). ICE has maintained that this trend is a necessary consequence of certain cities’ refusal to allow full collaboration between local police and the federal agency. ICE agents are permitted to attend proceedings in the interior of courthouses, and in the past the agency occasionally made arrests after conviction of individuals for felonies, or with prior deportation orders. What is unprecedented is for individuals with no prior criminal record to be apprehended by federal agents at mere hearings and arraignments, in full view of plaintiffs, witnesses, jury members, and the general public. In response to the sudden increase in the number of such arrests, many of them disruptive and violent, and under pressure from immigrant rights organizations, as well as the NYC Bar Association, the NY State Office of Court Administration passed a rule in April 2019 forbidding ICE agents from making arrests within state courthouses, which are property of the state of New York, not the federal government (Directive 1-2019). However, this rule has led to a displacement of enforcement activity to the immediate surroundings of courthouses (IDP, 2020). It is noteworthy that the current escalation of immigration enforcement in the court system undermines immigrant populations’ trust in the legal process, leaving them less likely to seek recourse when victimized, or to defend themselves when accused. In this context, a previous policy shift outside the field of immigrant rights, involving the enforcement of low-level misdemeanors, has indirectly offered a significant measure of protection for immigrants at risk of deportation. The Criminal Justice Reform Act (CJRA), passed by New York City Council in June 2016 with support from the chamber’s progressive wing as well as the Mayor, was intended to protect low-income New Yorkers of color, who are disproportionately targeted by the police, from the immediate and long-term consequences of criminal arrest and eventual conviction for non-violent offenses. It created

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a civil procedure to handle five “quality of life” violations covered by the city’s administrative code: drinking alcohol in public, littering, public urination, unreasonable noise, and all NYC Parks Rules violations. The NYPD supported the measure, as it encourages officers to conserve human and financial resources, while allowing them to continue issuing criminal summonses for these offenses to appear in New York City Criminal Court, when deemed necessary. A collaborative of legal experts at John Jay College estimate that the CJRA led to approximately 123,000 fewer criminal summonses being issued in the 18 months after the reform was implemented; this radical shift is primarily attributable to the 94% drop in criminal summonses for the five offenses covered by the reform (Tomascak, Grimsely et al., 2020, p. 2). Police officers in most cases (87%) now issue civil summonses for these offenses, which correspond to a standardized fine structure, or an option to perform community service. Offenders can pay fines online or by phone to the NYC Office of Trials and Hearings without making a scheduled appearance at a public trial. In this civil procedure, there are no criminal convictions on offenders’ records, with their associated consequences on employment opportunities and immigration status. This process also eliminates the risk of having an outstanding warrant issued when an offender fails to appear in court, which can lead to arrest if an individual is stopped for any reason. The reform thus reduces contact between all New York residents and the criminal justice system, a clear benefit for undocumented immigrants. A logical extension of the city’s decriminalization of low-level offenses was the decision by the District Attorneys of Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx, in August 2017, to dismiss all outstanding warrants for these offenses, in cases that dated back at least 10 years, and in which the offender had not committed another offense subsequently (Manhattan District Attorney’s Office, 2017). This amounted to 644,000 warrants being dismissed in the four boroughs (Staten Island declined to participate). With these outstanding warrants wiped from their record, individuals who had missed a court hearing or trial for an offense now covered by the new administrative procedure no longer risked criminal prosecution in the event of a police apprehension. For unauthorized immigrants, this represents a significant protection from arrest and possible criminal court proceedings that could lead to identification and deportation by ICE. This criminal justice reform represents a sea change compared to the Broken Windows policing strategy put in place under Mayor Guiliani

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in the 1990s, which assumed that strict repression of minor offenses would lead to reductions in violent crime. It is also part of the dismantling of the Stop-and-Frisk policy adopted by Mayor Bloomberg in 2003, intended to prevent crime by instructing officers to use their discretion to pre-emptively question and search individuals observed displaying suspicious behavior. The policy was ended by court order in 2013 after a federal judge deemed that it created a pattern of racial profiling targeting primarily African-American and Latino men (Floyd v. City of New York). From the perspective of immigrant rights organizations, these strategies facilitated the NYPD bringing deportable immigrants into the criminal justice system, where they could come to the attention of ICE (IDP et al., 2017). During the years when they were operational, the assertion that the city’s policy of limited cooperation was successfully maintaining “community trust” among immigrant populations was doubtful at best, despite the intentions of municipal government leaders, including police chiefs (Ferrel et al., 2006). Although the Criminal Justice Reform Act was not specifically designed to prevent the interaction of the unauthorized immigrant population with the police, its impact in this regard is substantial, as it is for all New Yorkers. After the law went into effect on June 13, 2017, only 214,258 criminal summonses were issued for all offenses during the following two and half years, whereas 757,669 had been issued during the previous two and a half year period, constituting a 71% drop (Tomascak, Chauhan et al., 2020, p. 2). Although the issuance of criminal summonses had already been declining in the past two decades, we can estimate that at least 500,000 citations to appear in criminal court were avoided through 2019, or about 200,000 per year. Given that NYC’s estimated 477,000 undocumented residents constitute roughly 5.3% of the population of the city’s five boroughs, and assuming that violation rates are identical among the undocumented population and the rest of the city’s residents, approximately 10,600 criminal summonses for infractions committed by unauthorized immigrants were avoided each year after implementation of CJRA (MOIA, 2019, p. 10).18 The population of undocumented individuals has clearly received a form of indirect protection, allowing them 18 Given that one individual can commit multiple offenses (and receive multiple summonses), the number of civil summonses issued does not correspond to the number of individuals involved, which is most likely lower. Furthermore, based on widely corroborated data indicating that incarceration rates for the foreign-born are significantly lower

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to forego the risk of publicly appearing in court, of having a warrant for their arrest issued in the case of non-appearance, and of having a possible criminal conviction on their record. If the same logic is applied to the dismissal of outstanding warrants (644,000 dismissed in 2017), we can estimate that 34,132 warrants pertaining to undocumented immigrants were erased.19 The dismissal of outstanding warrants represents the elimination of a lesser risk, in the event of a future stop by police, but is nonetheless significant. Without enacting legislation specifically targeted to the protection of undocumented immigrants, New York City Council and the city’s largest District Attorney’s Offices have thus reformed the criminal justice system in a way that reduces the risks associated with “quality of life” offenses for this population. This “universal” policy, applicable to all New York City residents, is an effective complement to the targeted policies of offering legal defense and informing immigrants of their rights and of the functioning of governmental institutions. However, these are not parallel and independent processes that result by differing means in protecting deportable individuals from interaction with federal immigration agents. Indeed, both developments are part of a broader reconfiguration within sanctuary jurisdictions of the role of the criminal justice system in the struggle to defend immigrant claims to residency.

Conclusion Throughout the periods of emergence and institutionalization of sanctuary policies in the United States, interactions with law enforcement have been the key point of contact between unauthorized immigrants and federal immigration authorities. Although one of the primary goals of sanctuary policies is to reassure immigrants that they can access all municipal services, communication between city employees in hospitals or social services departments and the federal government has never been a significant danger, in comparison. After the full rollout of Secure Communities in 2012, laying bare the consequences of automatic communication

than among the general population, it is highly possible that violation rates among undocumented immigrants are also lower (Rumbaut et al., 2006). 19 Similarly, one individual can possess multiple outstanding warrants.

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between police and immigration authorities, sanctuary cities have intensified their focus on protecting unauthorized immigrants who become involved with law enforcement, whether as defendants, witnesses, or temporary detainees whose charges are dismissed. The refusal to honor detainer requests from ICE was an obvious step in the process of strictly circumscribing cooperation with federal immigration authorities to cases in which defendants face a true public safety risk. By partly closing this jail-to-deportation pipeline, sanctuary jurisdictions have made fewer undocumented immigrants involved in the criminal justice system easily available to federal immigration agents, and are largely responsible for the inability of the Trump administration to increase the number of deportations per year beyond the levels observed in 2012–2014, when Secure Communities was fully operational. The Criminal Justice Reform Act of 2016, though adopted without explicit reference to New York’s status as a sanctuary city, further reduced the number of deportable individuals that could be identified and located by ICE. However, in order to continue pursuing unrealistic deportation targets, and to punish sanctuary cities for their refusal to fully cooperate with the federal government, the agency re-directed enforcement efforts to a larger community of immigrants. As a result, a rising share of immigrants deported had no past criminal convictions, increasing from 32% in 2016 to 43% in 2018.20 In sanctuary cities such as New York, where there is a diminishing pool of deportable immigrants who have been identified by the police and court systems, with public records attached to their name, it is likely that this proportion will continue to increase. New York City government has thus adapted by offering services to a larger community of immigrants, in order to reach those who are not involved and have little chance of becoming involved in the criminal justice system. The shift in strategy to pre-emptive measures is, in part, the result of the on-going process of disentanglement of immigration enforcement and criminal justice that is occurring in sanctuary jurisdictions. As minor, non-violent offenses are progressively decriminalized in New York City and other large cities, public authorities will be forced to be increasingly imaginative in their efforts to extend protections to a wider swath of the deportable immigrant population. 20 Numbers of individuals deported with or without criminal convictions, or with pending criminal charge are available at https://www.ice.gov/removal-statistics/2016 and https://www.ice.gov/removal-statistics/2018.

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What are the long-term consequences of this shift in tactics on the part of sanctuary jurisdictions, by which fewer immigrants are brought to the attention of ICE through local criminal justice systems, and fewer immigrants are unaware of their rights or lacking legal counsel to regularize their status? One notable trend that we can expect to continue is the reliance of federal immigration agents on “Big Data” to find deportable individuals. Already, accounts are emerging on the use of surveillance technology, such as databases of license plates photographed by public and private security cameras across the country, to locate targets, and of social media to trace them in real-time (Funk, 2019). Although local jurisdictions can do little to protect their residents from these strategies, sanctuary policy in the future will probably involve restricting access to civil databases run by local and state authorities. Provisions to destroy personal data used to issue municipal identity cards in San Francisco and New York are a case in point. More recently, New York state legislation expanding access to drivers’ licenses to undocumented immigrants included a measure blocking federal immigration agencies from the Drivers’ and Motor Vehicles (DMV) database. As the post-Covid-19 world unfolds, these conflicts over access to data in the name of public health and safety seem increasingly likely. Another consequence of the federal government’s thwarted efforts to increase deportations is that the backlash against sanctuary jurisdictions is becoming a more generalized attack on city governments and the larger public. Although threats to withhold federal funding from sanctuary cities have been discussed by conservative members of Congress in the past, the Trump administration was the first to attempt a coercive strategy by making a federal grant to police departments contingent upon full cooperation with immigration enforcement.21 In a more creative act of retaliation, the Department of Homeland Security excluded all New York state residents from enrolling in airport security pre-clearance programs that shorten wait times, as a result of the state’s legislation regarding driver’s licenses for undocumented residents and the confidentiality of the corresponding data.22 It is unclear whether these attacks are simply 21 The City of Los Angeles protested the conditions imposed by the Attorney General for access to Community Oriented Policing Services in City of Los Angeles v. William Barr (2019), and the Ninth Circuit has temporarily blocked the provisions. 22 Customs and Border Protection announced February 6, 2020 that New York residents would no longer be eligible to apply for or renew “Trusted Traveler Programs.”

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meant to pressure local governments to comply with the federal government, or also to create resentment among the general population, but they raise the question of the future popularity of an issue that has not yet generated significant opposition in the university towns, large cities, and progressive states where sanctuary policy has been adopted. Finally, the increase in at-large arrests that accompanied the decreasing availability of deportable immigrants through local criminal justice systems can be seen as part of a larger strategy to emphasize the fundamental vulnerability of this population, perhaps in order to highlight, for conservative voters, the relative security procured by United States citizenship. The objective of periodic tactics such as the Safe Cities campaign targeting sanctuary cities, or the deployment of elite BORTAC agents from the Border Patrol to accompany ICE officers in these cities, was not necessarily to dramatically increase the number of individuals deported, as these operations are expensive and resource intensive. These episodic and highly mediatized operations primarily increased uncertainty among immigrant communities, similar to the manner in which the creation of a Denaturalization taskforce cast doubt on the permanence of United States citizenship through naturalization. Furthermore, the repeated announcements by the Trump administration of imminent large-scale raids, which led to relatively few arrests, begged the question of their veritable intent. As media space became saturated with images and messages reinforcing migrant insecurity, public space was emptied of immigrants at risk of deportation, who remained behind locked doors to avoid arrest. In this light, the federal government and local authorities in sanctuary jurisdictions found themselves engaged in a struggle focused not only on deportation per se, but also more generally on access to a “common good” whose extension to racialized minorities has historically been problematic in the United States: the right to visibly and legitimately occupy public space.

References Avila, K., Bello, K., Graber, L., & Marquez, N. (2018). The rise of sanctuary: Getting local officers out of the business of deportations in the Trump era. Immigrant Legal Resource Center. Bagelman, J. (2016). Sanctuary: A state of waiting. Palgrave Macmillan.

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Chauvin, S., & Garcés-Mascareña, B. (2014). Becoming less illegal: Deservingness frames and undocumented migrant incorporation. Sociology Compass, 8(4), 422–432. Capps, R., Chishti, M., Gelatt, J., Bolter, J., & Ruiz Soto, A. G. (2018). Revving up the deportation machinery: Immigration enforcement and pushback under Trump. Migration Policy Institute. Cunningham Warren, C. (2017). Sanctuary lost? Exposing the reality of the ‘sanctuary-city’ debate & liberal states-rights’ litigation. Wayne Law Review, 63, 155–213. de Graauw, E. (2015). Rolling out the welcome mat: State and city immigrant affairs offices in the United States. IdeAs, 6. Department of City Planning. (2013). The newest New Yorkers: Characteristics of the city’s foreign-born population. Desiderio, M., & Mestres-Domenech, J. (2011). Migrant entrepreneurship in OECD countries. In International migration outlook: SOPEMI . OECD Publishing. Ferrel, C., et al. (2006). Immigration committee recommendations for enforcement of immigration laws by local police agencies. Major Cities Chiefs Police Association. Filomeno, F. A. (2017). The migration-development nexus in local immigration policy: Baltimore City and the Hispanic diaspora. Urban Affairs Review, 53(1), 102–137. Funk, M. (2019, October 2). How ICE picks its targets in the surveillance age. New York Times Magazine. Garcia, A. (2019). Legal passing: Navigating undocumented life and local immigration law. University of California Press. Gulasekaram, P., & Ramakrishnan, S. K. (2015). The new immigration federalism. Cambridge University Press. Hall, M., Singer, A., De Jong, G., & Graefe, D. R. (2011). Geography of immigrant skills. The Brookings Institute. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE). (2017, September 28). ICE arrests over 450 on federal immigration charges during Operation ‘Safe City’. Press Release. https://www.ice.gov/news/releases/ice-arrests-over-450-fed eral-immigration-charges-during-operation-safe-city. Accessed 1 Dec 2020. Immigrant Defense Project (IDP). (2019). The courthouse trap: How ICE operations impacted New York’s Courts in 2018. Immigrant Defense Project (IDP). (2020). Denied, disappeared, and deported: The toll of ICE operations at New York’s Courts in 2019. Immigrant Defense Project (IDP), Immigrant Legal Resource Center (ILRC), & Fair Punishment Project. (2017). The promise of sanctuary cities and the need for criminal justice reforms in an era of mass deportation.

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Lasch, C., Chan, R. L., Eagly, I. V., Haynes, D. F., Lai, A., McCormick, E. M., & Stumpf, J. P. (2018). Understanding ‘sanctuary cities’. Boston College Law Review, 59(5), 1703–1774. Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs (MOIA). (2018). Fact sheet: ICE enforcement in New York City [2018]. Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs (MOIA). (2019). State of our immigrant city: MOIA annual report for calendar year 2018. Manhattan District Attorney’s Office. (2017, August 9). District Attorney Vance dismisses 240,000 summons cases. Press Release. https://www.manhattanda. org/district-attorney-vance-dismisses-240000-summons-cases/. Accessed 2 Dec 2020. Office of Civil Justice (OCJ). (2019). 2018 Annual Report. New York City: NYC Human Resources Administration, Department of Social Services. Rodriguez, C. (2008). The significance of the local in immigration regulation. Michigan Law Review. NYU Law School, Public Law Research Paper No. 08-22, 567–642. Rumbaut, R., Gonzales, R., Komaie, G., & Morgan, C. (2006). Debunking the myth of immigrant criminality: Imprisonment among first- and secondgeneration young men. Migration Policy Institute. Sanders, H. (2018). Immigrant rights as an exercise in urban branding: The case of Philadelphia (2008-2015). In T. Lacroix & A. Desille (Eds.), International migrations and local governance: A global perspective (pp. 39–55). Palgrave Macmillan. Sasken, S. (2001). The global city: New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton University Press. Stumpf, J. (2006). The crimmigration crisis: Immigrants, crime, and sovereign power. American University Law Review, 56, 367–376. Tomascak, S., Chauhan, P., & Meizlish, A. (2020). Trends in issuance of criminal summonses in New York City, 2003-2019. Data Collaborative for Justice. Tomascak, S., Grimsely, E., Mulligan, K., & Chauhan, P. (2020). Evaluating the impact of New York City’s Criminal Justice Reform Act: Summons issuance and outcomes in the 18 months after implementation. Data Collaborative for Justice. Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC). Details on deportation proceedings in immigration court. https://www.trac.syr.edu/phptools/imm igration/nta/. Accessed 1 Dec 2020. Varsanyi, M. (Ed.). (2010). Taking local control: Immigration policy activism in U.S. cities and states. Stanford University Press. Varsanyi, M., Lewis, P. G., Provine, D. M., & Decker, S. (2011). A multilayered jurisdictional patchwork: Immigration federalism in the United States. Law and Policy, 34(2), 138–158.

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Walker, K., & Leitner, H. (2011). The variegated landscape of local immigration policies in the United States. Urban Geography, 32(2), 156–178.

Case Law, Legislation, and Public Data City of Los Angeles v. Barr, 2:17-cv-07215-R-JC (9th Cir. 2019). City of Philadelphia v. Sessions, 2:17-cv-03894-MMB (E.D. Pa.). Directive 1-2019 (Rev. from Memo issued March 2019). (2019, April 17). Office of the Chief Administrative Judge, State of New York Unified Court System. Directive N. 11072.1. (2018, January 10). Civil Immigration Enforcement Inside Courthouses. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Executive Order 41. (2003, September 17). City-wide Privacy Policy and Amendment of Executive Order No. 34 Relating to City Policy Concerning Immigrant Access to City Services. Executive Order 120. (2008, July 22). City-wide Policy on Language Access to Ensure the Effective Delivery of City Services. City of New York Office of the Mayor. Executive Order 124. (1989, August 7). City Policy Concerning Aliens. City of New York Office of the Mayor. Executive Order 13768. (2017, January 30). Enhancing Public Security in the Interior of the United States. 82 Fed. Reg. 8799. Floyd v. City of New York, 959 F. Supp. 2d 540 (S.D.N.Y. 2013). Galarza v. Szalczyk, 745 F.3d 634, 645 (3d Cir. 2014). Morales v. Chadbourne, 996 F. Supp. 2d 19 (D.R.I. 2014). New York City Council Law Number 30 (Local Law 30). (2017, February 15). In relation to the provision of language access services. New York City Council Law Number 58. (2014, November 14). Persons Not to Be Detained by the Department of Correction. New York City Council Law Number 59. (2014, November 14). Persons Not to Be Detained by the Police Department. New York City Council Law Number 73 (Local Law 73). (2003, December 22). In relation to the provision of language access services. New York Police Department (NYPD). (2016). Civil Immigration Detainers Received July 1, 2015–June 30, 2016. New York Police Department (NYPD). (2017). Civil Immigration Detainers Received July 1, 2016–June 30, 2017. New York Police Department (NYPD). (2018). Civil Immigration Detainers Received July 1, 2017–June 30, 2018. New York Police Department (NYPD). (2019). Civil Immigration Detainers Received July 1, 2018–June 30, 2019. United States v. State of California, 2:18-cv-00490 (E.D. Cal.).

PART II

Nascent Policies of Protection in Latin America

CHAPTER 7

Sello Migrante or Restrictive Hospitality: The Case of the Commune of Quilicura in Santiago de Chile Claudia Arellano Yévenes and Cristián Orrego Rivera

Introduction In the context of growing global mobility, Chile has become a preferred country of destination at the regional level. This can be confirmed by the steady increase in the number of migrants arriving in the country in the past years, as well as a growing diversification of nationalities. In the past five years, arrivals from Venezuela and Haiti have notably increased, becoming two of the three top countries of origin, along with Peru, and displacing Colombia, Argentina, and Bolivia, which had historically been the predominant inflows.1 The trend toward a majority of female profiles

C. A. Yévenes (B) · C. O. Rivera UNAM‚ México and University of Chile, Mexico City, Mexico 1 According to the Department of Citizenship and Migration, Venezuelan inflows increased by 23%, and Haitian arrivals by 14.3% between April 2017 (when the census was conducted) and December 2018. These estimates show how Venezuela and Haiti have

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_7

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seen in the 90s has also been reversed, especially due to the arrival of a large number of male Haitian migrants, and the arrival of younger individuals. Data from the Department of Citizenship and Migration (DEM), the National Institute of Statistics (INE), the 2017 census, and administrative records show the impact of these trends at the local level. One of these trends is the concentration of migrant communities in determined rural areas or urban spaces that have not historically been characterized by the presence of migrants. This shift poses challenges to central and local authorities, since municipalities need to address demands that are not covered by central government policies, leaving migrants vulnerable and unprotected. The present chapter analyzes Sello Migrante (roughly translatable as “The Migrant-Friendly Badge”), an initiative that incorporates a rightsbased approach to migration management at the municipal level. As noted above, inflows have grown in magnitude and diversity, creating new needs and challenges that need to be addressed by local authorities. This chapter focuses on the effect of Sello Migrante in the commune of Quilicura, and the social and spatial consequences of the central government’s migration policy applicable to municipalities and the metropolitan area of Santiago. This initiative was developed by the central government during former president Michelle Bachelet’s second administrative term (2014– 2018). Sello Migrante was created by the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security through the Department of Citizenship and Migration (DEM), and was implemented almost in parallel with another international migration management initiative developed by a different instance of the central government. This initiative was developed by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MINREL) in partnership with the International Organization for Migration, without the participation of DEM. MINREL and IOM organized the Inter-Municipal Discussion Panel on Migrants and Refugees with four municipalities, including the commune of Quilicura. The “Migrants and Cities” Program was developed following up on the discussions of this panel. The Inter-Municipal Panel is an interesting effort in the sense that it highlights the important role territories play in the implementation of integration policies. However, it also led to political disputes between DEM and MINREL, undermining inter-institutional surpassed nationalities from neighboring countries, such as Argentina or Colombia, which topped the list of migrants in transit through and immigrants settling in Chile during the first decade of the twenty-first century.

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collaboration and effective coordination from the central government. The latter is regulated by outdated national legislation passed in 1975. Based on a national security approach, the law grants the Executive broad discretional power to restrict and impose selective measures on migration that cause direct negative effects on certain international migrant populations, especially those from South–South corridors. The present chapter is the result of the authors’ research into Haitian migration into Chile from the intersecting approaches of human mobility and critical geography. This section will thus expose the paradox of the double dimension of migration at the national and local levels, as well as the issues raised by this phenomenon. This double dimension in turn sheds light on how the central government’s policies and guidelines in terms of border management, citizenship, and social rights are decoupled from the needs of local governments, which are directly responding to the migrant populations’ needs for education, health, housing, and labor. This chapter is based on secondary information sources, namely, official records, census data, and surveys. Likewise, relevant stakeholders were interviewed, such as the Major of Quilicura and the Head of Migrant Services of the Municipality of Recoleta.

Selective Migration at the Core of Chile’s Socio-Political Construction In order to understand Chile’s migration issues, the context in which migrants arrive should be described, followed by a reflection about the historical background of Chile’s migration policy and regulations. Since its independence, Chile’s migration policy has leaned markedly toward an origin-selective approach, favoring the arrival of Europeans, except from Southern Europe and/or persons of color. These criteria laid the foundation of a racist State that fostered ethnic and racial segregation, and thus classified society into criollos (American-born European descendants), indigenous people, Spanish colonists, and African slaves. As early as 1824 and 1845, Chile passed laws that encouraged European migration by offering land and tax waivers to newcomers (Bernal, 2018) in an attempt to improve and whiten the “Chilean race,” a social construct developed by nineteenth-century liberal criollos, who advocated for a Nation-State based on the kinship resulting from the blood ties between indigenous peoples and Spanish colonists (Subercaseaux, in Cussen, 2016, p. 31). This construct justified the attempt at overlooking

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and underreporting the number of Africans in Chile’s historical, demographic, social, and cultural records, despite the undeniable fact that they had also mixed with the native population and had descendants in Chilean territory (Cussen, 2016). During the twentieth century, new discriminatory criteria were developed to the detriment of non-European migrants, and South–South migration was deemed problematic. According to Correa Téllez, considering this contemporary flow as a negative phenomenon is a sign of the perpetuation of racism (2015, p. 37), whereby some groups of foreign citizens become “immigrants” and are thus relegated to a secondclass social group, while others are foreigners eligible for citizenship (Pérez, 2015; Sayad, 2008; Stefoni, 2016). This conceptual differentiation occurred at the height of Augusto Pinochet’s dictatorship (1973– 1989) when Decree-Law N° 1094 was passed, also known as the Law on Migration and Citizenship (1975). The decree, still in force today, has an outright border security approach, and is far from being an instrument whereby human rights are promoted and respected. There is therefore a clear chronological evolution of the imaginary conceptualization of who a “foreigner” is. Colonists advancing the country’s progress in the farthest lands and most extreme weather were replaced by poor immigrants coming to benefit from Chilean resources. The Chilean society’s racist tradition is thus manifest at the core of the State’s migration policy and Chile’s first migration management instrument. This critical regulatory shift was magnified by the enactment of the 1980 Political Constitution of Chile, which came into force amid Pinochet’s dictatorship and the Cold War. This fundamental event influenced the spirit of the laws that were passed in later years, which aligned with the neoliberal model that was already taking shape in Chilean territory. The main neoliberal initiatives implemented during this period include the privatization of social security (healthcare, pensions, and retirement funds), the reduction of public spending, and the suppression of social guarantees and rights that had previously been considered essential. Public services and rights guaranteed by the State, such as free education, universal public healthcare, and public housing were replaced by private goods and services (Carrillo, 2010), resulting in the proliferation of social inequalities at the local level, social segregation, and deep urban fragmentation (Daher, 1991; Hidalgo, 2005; Rodríguez y Rodríguez, 2012; Sabatini, F., Cáceres, G. & Cerda, J, 2001).

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An urban structure marked by inequalities, segregation, and stigmatization has set the stage for exclusion and discrimination against migrants and a large proportion of the Chilean population. Migrants therefore struggle to find appropriate housing and a convenient location, hindering their effective integration in cities, especially among migrants who have not obtained regular status (Arriagada, 2014; Contreras & Palma, 2015; Contreras et al., 2015; Lube-Guizardi, 2013; Sabatini, 2003; Schiappacasse, 2008). Additionally, obtaining an identity card is a challenging and cumbersome process that migrants cannot elude if they want to enjoy basic rights and have access to social services in Chile. Migrants can alternatively obtain a residence permit if they are formally hired by an employer, a process that grants them regular civil and administrative status, but which is at least as complicated as obtaining an identity card. The above illustrates how migrants’ rights are subjected to the recognition of their legal identity (Pérez, 2015), a situation that creates difficulties for municipal (local) governments who want to implement a rights-based approach to local migration policies. In recent years, though, Chile has ratified international conventions and treaties that safeguard migrant’s economic, social, and cultural rights (ESCRs). However, these are enforced through “infra-legal instruments”2 (Domínguez, 2016), such as ordinances, decrees, directives, policies, or notes issued by multiple sector-specific ministries during a particular administration, meaning that they can be suppressed or replaced in the following term if such is the political will of the authorities in charge. Examples of these measures include: • Presidential note N° 5 (2015), whereby a human rights approach should be incorporated into the design and implementation of initiatives targeting migrants. • The Ministry of Health’s Supreme decree N° 67 (2015), whereby undocumented and low-income migrants may enroll in the Healthcare Benefits Regime. • The Chile Reconoce Program (2016), whereby stateless children would be granted the Chilean nationality.

2 Infra-legal instruments are non-statutory instruments subordinated to laws in Chilean legislation. The former may be modified or derogated by the administration in office, while laws are permanent since they are approved by Parliament.

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• The Healthcare Policy and the Educational Policy for International Migrants. As noted above, although Chile’s current citizenship and migration framework explicitly demands the adoption of a rights-based approach to migration, it does not translate into a political will to develop and implement a comprehensive migration management strategy. These efforts are not a comprehensive State policy, but rather scattered and intermittent initiatives advanced by specific authorities for a period no longer than a presidential term. These good intentions, however, are overturned due to the fact that migration management is led by the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security. A border control paradigm will impose itself over the rights-based approach for as long as migration is in the purview of this ministry.

The New Landscape of Migration: South–South Migrants in Cities According to the 2017 census, 746,465 foreign nationals lived in Chile, equivalent to 4.3% of the country’s population. This is a sharp increase if compared to previous census information: foreign nationals accounted for only 0.8% of the population in 1992, and 1.3% in 2002. On the other hand, 66.7% of international migrants participating in the 2017 census declared that they arrived between 2010 and 2017, but especially after 2016 (INE, 2017). The National Institute of Statistics (INE) complemented the census3 by estimating that the number of foreign nationals residing in Chile was 1,251,225 in December 2018. These data reinforce the idea that migration is a dynamic and growing phenomenon (INE, 2018) since migration continued to increase after the census.4 According to the 2018 estimates, the top 5 countries of origin were Venezuela (288,233), Peru (223,923), Haiti (179,338), Colombia (146,582), and Bolivia (107,346). These data show how trends changed between 2017

3 Joint estimate from the National Institute of Statistics (INE) and the Department of Citizenship and Migration (DEM), with collaboration from the Police Department of Investigation (PDI), the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Civil Registry and Identification Service (SRCeI). 4 Ibid.

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and 2018, shedding light on an increase in flows from Venezuela, and a slight majority of male profiles (INE, 2018). Migration into Chile is not new. It has, however, increased in the past years, becoming a topic of high public interest. The idea of a “new migration” has arisen as a result of the latest trends. Nevertheless, the turning point in this discussion was April 2018, when the Chilean government implemented an immigration reform consisting of restrictive measures, such as the suppression of the temporary worker’s visa granted to migrants residing in Chile with tourist status. In other words, this visa will now have to be obtained at the Chilean consulates abroad. Following on the same restrictive and origin-selective line of work, Haitian migrants can only apply for tourist visas issued by Chilean consulates, and may only request reunification with a limited number of family members per year. In parallel, a Democratic Responsibility Visa was established for Venezuelan migrants only. These measures were accompanied by the “mass expulsion” of undocumented migrants or migrants who had committed crimes either in Chile or in their countries of origin. In terms of the geographic distribution and social insertion of migrants in cities, the 2017 census showed that international migrants have largely settled in the Metropolitan Region (65.3%). Likewise, 85% of this population resides in four regions: two in the North (Tarapacá and Antofagasta Regions) and in the central region (Metropolitan and Valparaíso Regions) (INE, 2017). Two-thirds of the immigrant population in the Metropolitan Region are from Venezuela (26.8%), Peru (21.4%), and Haiti (13.9%). The latter is mostly concentrated in the commune of Quilicura (Censo, 2017). In this area, popularly known as “The Haitian Commune,” migrantfriendly initiatives and policies were implemented. These measures motivated us to perform a case study about Quilicura, the commune that received the highest number of Haitian migrants, implemented a joint migration management strategy in coordination with other entities (MINREL, IOM, UNHCR), and whose institutional framework was able to respond to the growing demands and challenges of such a strategy. In sum, the latest migration regulations passed in Chile have followed the country’s historically selective and regulatory approaches described above. These policies affect a migrant’s strategy on how to settle in Chilean urban centers—whether permanently or temporarily—, and on how to find employment and accommodation. The population’s profile

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and urban spaces are therefore reconfigured due to the impact of these strategies, as we will explain in the following section.

The Territorial Effect of Migrants Arriving in Cities The fragmentation and segregation that characterize the city of Santiago (Hidalgo, 2007; Sabatini, 2000; Schiappacasse, 2008) are the result of the inequalities and side effects produced by the free-market model imposed during Pinochet’s dictatorship in 1979, whereby the distribution of land was determined by supply and demand (MINVU, 1979; Sabatini, 2000; Trivelli, 1981). The urban structure of Santiago is one where individuals live in specific locations depending on their socio-economic status, a model denominated as “residential segregation,” according to Sabatini et al. (2001). The occupation of residential space also depends on an additional factor: ethnicity or nationality. This factor may likely not be new in Chile, especially in the Metropolitan Area of Santiago. Yet, it has not been studied from the intersecting perspective of migration and residential space. Research had identified enclaves and commercial districts created by immigrant communities in different parts of the city. Migrant neighborhoods or “hubs” came into view for academia and local governments during the 90s due to the arrival of large Peruvian flows (Garcés, 2006, 2007). One of the first studies that observed the spatial distribution of the most significant migrant communities of the Santiago Metropolitan Area (SMA) was performed by Chilean geographer P. Schiappacasse (2008). Based on the 2002 Population and Housing Census, her research showed the residential segregation and the labor niches occupied by migrants in the Chilean capital. This study would also bring to light the first indications of South–South migration into Chile and its capital city. Ten years later, consulting firm Atisba developed a similar study based on the 2017 census, “Mapa de la Inmigración en Santiago” (A Map of Immigration in Santiago). This study revealed that migrants’ integration in Santiago was characterized by three issues: urban concentrations that segregate migrants, settlement in neighborhoods with pre-existing criminality or violence, and densification and changes in land use. The census highlights how certain nationalities concentrate in a determined number of residential communes, revealing how populations are segregated not only

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on the basis of their socio-economic status, but also their origin, ethnicity, or nationality, as shown in Fig. 7.1, a map elaborated by the authors. The map shows how U.S. and European migrants are concentrated in East SMA, accounting for 54% of the total number of migrants who live in this “macro area” (18.791), also known as “Barrio Alto” (Upper Santiago). This urban area is characterized by the concentration of the highest income households in the city. The report also reveals that the second largest group of migrants is Venezuelans (8.194 people), while a minority of migrants come from Haiti, Africa, or the Caribbean, in other words, predominantly Afro-descendant nations (ATISBA, 2018). By contrast, the Haitian population in Santiago is mostly present in the peripheries, notably in the communes of Quilicura (13.3%), San Bernardo (5.6%), Pedro Aguirre Cerda (4.5%), Lo Espejo (3.9%), Recoleta (3.8%), Cerro Navia (2.6%), and Conchalí (2.3%). In short, 45.3% of the Haitian population residing in Chile lives in peripheral and low-income communes of the Santiago Metropolitan Area. This phenomenon responds on the one hand to the fact that these are the areas with the lowest housing costs, while being close to industrial or service complexes where migrants have a higher likelihood of finding employment. On the other hand, international immigrants arrive in housing spaces that have historically been occupied by internal migrants (Contreras & Palma, 2015), or in areas the market assigned to the settlement of the most vulnerable populations, which includes at present Latin American migrants from the South–South corridor. Current international migration flows into Chile, especially in the country’s productive cities, largely differ from migration trends in the past decades, when inflows concentrated in the inner city of Santiago. Migrant profiles and the global context of migration have considerably changed as well, posing political, legislative, social, and cultural challenges to countries of destination and transit. As described above, Atisba’s study and local research have shown that Haitian migrants have not settled in these areas at random (Arellano, 2020; Arriagada, 2014; Iturra, 2016). Rather, their settlement responds to exclusionary and racist practices rooted into housing services (Contreras et al., 2015), whereby access is determined not only by a person’s ethnicity or nationality, but also the color of their skin. Haitian populations have been driven to residential spaces deprecated not only by the urban population at large, but also the communes, perpetuating concurrent forms of discrimination against this group. Other regional

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Fig. 7.1 Communal-level residential distribution of recent arrivals per nationality (Source Self-elaborated chart based on the 2017 population and housing census)

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cities show the same geographical trend, such as the neighborhood of Villeray-Saint-Michel Parc Extension in Montreal (Silva, 2017) or Little Haiti in Miami (Audebert, 2006), where urban spaces called “Haitian neighborhoods” have been created next to industrial cities. The insertion of Haitian migrants has been interestingly similar in different social and chronological settings. This trend is also present in many Haitian cities, such as “Cité Soleil,” a former industrial area of Port-au-Prince where the city’s most marginalized population is settled.

The Geographical Distribution of Immigrant Communities in the Commune of Quilicura In 2007, migration dynamics started to change in the commune of Quilicura, located in the Northern periphery of Santiago. Much as the commune was characterized by booming population growth due to intra-urban migration in the early 90s, it was not until 2007 that international migration increased. In April 2017, 210,351 people lived in the commune of Quilicura. Quilicura’s population is therefore highly heterogeneous and diverse: 15,752 residents are international migrants, and 8,306 are Haitian. Figure 7.2 shows the dominant socio-economic status of Quilicura’s inhabitants, per block. Brown and dark brown represent the spatial units (blocks) with the highest presence of lowest-income individuals (Census, 2017). Circles represent the concentration of international migrants in the same spatial units. The map shows therefore that migrants settling in the commune of Quilicura live in the same spaces inhabited by the most vulnerable native population. Atisba’s 2018 study also shows that in South-West Quilicura, the San Luis-Parinacota district concentrates most of the commune’s Haitian population, where 70% percent of the total migrant population is Haitian. This is additionally the district with the most questionable housing conditions, scoring lowest in livability criteria. Atisba’s observations and official municipal reports indicate that San Luis-Parinacota is also characterized by high poverty and segregation rates. The government and NGOs have repeatedly conducted interventions and holistic development plans to address drug trafficking, violence, and poor housing conditions. Atisba’s report (2018, p. 24) expressed concern over the presence of vulnerable migrants in San Luis-Parinacota given that the commune’s segregationist

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Fig. 7.2 Predominant socio-economic status per block and migrant presence in the commune of Quilicura (Source Self-elaborated chart based on the 2017 population and housing census)

trend could aggravate their precarious living conditions and hamper their insertion. The municipality of Quilicura was, however, the first to receive the Sello Migrante, an award delivered by the Ministry of Citizenship and Migration (DEM) in recognition of a municipality’s migrant-oriented programs and inter-cultural public policy. Despite the award and coordinated efforts between the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and IOM, migrants have not been exempted from racial discrimination, and labor and housing abuse.5 The presence of these phenomena in urban areas that have not

5 Even though DEM and INE’s estimates are not fully comparable to census information in view of their different methodologies, these two estimates will be compared to show the contrast between two moments in time.

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been intervened by the local or central governments shows that they are a widespread issue resulting from recent mass arrivals. Haitians’ focalized presence in certain locations, informally referred to as the “Haitian neighborhoods” or simply “Haiti,” reflects how Haitians around the world face what authors such as Cédric Audebert (2006) call “restriction-based choices.” This concept suggests that persistent racism and rejection have led the Haitian community to concentrate in specific areas. In our opinion, the presence of Haitian migrants in these parts of the city results from the implicit restrictions imposed by the socio-urban structure of the community of destination. Residential choices are therefore determined by their affordability. Meanwhile, urban settlements and mobility are subjected to the dynamics imposed by the social and urban structure. This situation is aggravated by territorial stigma (Wacquant, 2007), whereby a neoliberal approach to space management creates areas to which “the undesirables” are displaced, facilitating their control. This group includes persons living in poverty or marginalization, persons with disabilities, elderly persons, dissidents, homeless persons, and now, migrants, especially those from the South–South corridor. These individuals are therefore stigmatized on the basis of their place of residence (Domenech and Magliano, 2007; Harvey, 2013, 2014; Wacquant, 2007). In brief, the observation of residential distribution patterns among recently arrived migrants indicates that their origin or nationality determines their place of residence, and that they face the same types of segregation as the most vulnerable and stigmatized nationals do. While Venezuelans have mostly settled in centric or Eastern communes (characterized by a higher socio-economic status), Haitians have been relegated to peripheral communes such as Quilicura, where they live in geographically and socially vulnerable, segregated, and stigmatized neighborhoods.

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Chilean Migration Policy and Migrant-Friendly Cities According to articles 92 and 93 of Decree-Law N° 1094, the Department of Citizenship and Migration (DEM) shall enforce and supervise compliance with immigration law, as well as decrees, resolutions, orders, and instructions mandated by the Ministry of the Interior in observation of Decree-Law 1094 and its By-Law. DEM has therefore a limited scope of action. DEM is a State department, i.e., an internal organizational unit of the State offering public services. In terms of hierarchy, DEM is subordinated to the Ministry and the Deputy Minister’s Office of Interior Affairs. As mentioned above, DEM is dependent on institutions in charge of interior affairs and security. This national security approach prevents DEM from fulfilling its mission to ensure the systemic and permanent protection of the rights of migrants. On the other hand, DEM lacks the mandate and the resources necessary to develop integration initiatives. As a result, DEM has had to enter into partnerships with ministries of social affairs to implement the majority of the programs that have until now advanced migrant rights. The case in point for this chapter is Sello Migrante, due to its impact on territorial management policy. Sello Migrante is an initiative that was designed and implemented by DEM without any form of interministerial agreement or budget. Sello Migrante is rather an initiative of the central government, created by Exempt Resolution N° 10331 issued in December 2015, and modified by Exempt Resolution N° 1744 in March 2019. As mentioned above, resources are not allocated to the implementation of Sello Migrante, except for training provided by a limited number of DEM staff members to municipal officials. Sello Migrante was created by Exempt Resolution N° 10331 on January 2016,6 even though its implementation began in December 2015, in other words, months before its formalization. Much as the Ministry of the Interior validates the initiative, Sello Migrante’s design and implementation is the responsibility of the Department of Citizenship and Migration. According to article 1 of the resolution, Sello Migrante is an award provided to municipalities that implement positive actions 6 Arellano defines housing abuse as rent overcharge in a space that may or may not be suitable for housing. Housing abuse is usually exerted in informal agreements where the landlord does not provide a contract to the tenant.

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toward migrant inclusion with a focus on quality, rights, inclusion, and non-discrimination. The award is provided by the State through the Ministry of Citizenship and Migration, which belongs to the Ministry of the Interior and Public Security. Similarly, Sello Migrante’s objective is to develop and strengthen institutional capabilities to implement initiatives, programs, and projects aimed at facilitating inclusion and assistance for migrants. DEM certifies capacities, facilitates the creation of new communal offices, or helps build capacities in existing ones. Sello Migrante is awarded to communities that have: • • • •

Institutions providing assistance to migrants and refugees; Trained and sensitized public officials; Inclusive and non-discriminatory municipal public policies; Immigration status regularization programs (and active promotion thereof); and • Initiatives promoting civic engagement and association among migrants and refugees. Municipalities apply for Sello Migrante by submitting a report with evidence of the work done in the areas listed above. The report is then reviewed and approved by an Evaluation Committee, comprised of two DEM officers: an official from the Undersecretary of Regional Development, and an Academic chosen by the DEM’s head officer. According to DEM’s records, Sello Migrante has been awarded to 15 municipalities, 3 of which have renewed their award: Quilicura (October 2018), Estación Central (November 2019), and Peñalolén (June 2019). Municipalities can renew their title two years after receiving it by submitting a second report describing how they have pursued the efforts described in the first report. This new submission must also be approved by the Evaluation Committee.

Implementation and Impact of Sello Migrante in the Municipality of Quilicura The commune of Quilicura started working toward migrant inclusion even before receiving Sello Migrante and entering the UN’s list of cities standing with refugees in 2015 thanks to its Local Welcoming and Recognition Plan for Migrants and Refugees. An interview performed

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for the purpose of this chapter showed that migration was incorporated into municipal policy after the first wave of Haitian migrants arrived following the 2010 Haiti earthquake. Following this natural disaster, authorities installed phone booths to facilitate communication between Haitians residing in Quilicura and their families in Haiti. As a result of this concrete effort, migrants who later migrated to Chile developed the idea that Quilicura was a welcoming city for migrants. Haitians migrating for humanitarian reasons into the commune increased. Additional “unexpected” measures were taken in view of the circumstances, as described in Quilicura’s application report. These efforts can therefore be considered an emerging migration management policy at the local level. In the opinion of experts, this apparently unintentional situation was rather a premeditated opportunistic move from mayor Juan Carrasco, who was running for a second term, and had connections with academia and international organizations (IOM). This intent was advanced by Sister Yamile Cabrera, who headed the municipality’s Office for Migrants and Refugees. By positioning migration as a relevant regional topic, mayor Carrasco’s promotion of migrant rights allowed him to distinguish the management of migration in Quilicura from other national approaches. This was, however, a risky political move, considering that the arrival of “black immigrants” sparked mistrust, xenophobia, and racism due to the large concentration of Haitian migrants in Quilicura and neighboring communes. The first landmark of the commune’s migration policy was the creation of the Municipal Office for Migrants and Refugees (OMMR) in 2011, which stems from the Human Rights Program of the Head Office for Community Development. OMMR enabled multiple interventions in favor of migrants, including the Welcoming and Recognition Plan for Migrants and Refugees, the core purpose of which was to identify the critical obstacles faced by migrant or refugee families when they first arrived and settled in Quilicura. A municipal ordinance was also issued to regulate and sanction irregular housing practices against migrants to prevent housing abuse, which results in overcrowded housing and overpricing in spaces unsuitable for housing. Moreover, a specialized migrant assistance unit was implemented, among additional measures. However, the municipality’s application report to obtain Sello Migrante recognizes that the existence of a specialized public body does not automatically translate into inclusion, recognition, and respect and promotion of the rights of migrants. OMMR therefore incorporated a

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holistic rights-based approach to its work since its creation. The municipality’s inter-institutional coordination with entities such as MINREL or IOM as early as 2014, as well as the Inter-Municipal Panel Discussion “Los Migrantes y las Ciudades” (Migrants and Cities), bears witness to the implementation of this approach. The Panel Discussion’s objectives were: (a) to harmonize communal immigration procedures; (b) to work toward a consistent migration policy across all levels of government; (c) to develop innovative processes and to replicate good practices across communes; (d) to strengthen the commune’s social inclusion models for migrants; (e) to discuss the need for local migration policies; and (f) to incorporate migration into local planning strategies. Specific components of these strategies include granting documented status to children, welcoming and integration plans, inter-cultural activities, access to housing, a migrant information database, surveys, fairs, recreational activities, inter-cultural mediation, and inclusion assessments (IOM, 2017). The coordinated effort of the municipality of Quilicura, MINREL, and IOM has led the commune to present itself as non-discriminatory and to highlight its effective migration management policy. Similarly, DEM supported the possibility of granting Sello Migrante to Quilicura if it complied with the application requirements, even though DEM could not allocate resources or create additional coordination mechanisms with the central government. In practice, Sello Migrante in Quilicura was an initiative that sought to “compete” with the actions MINREL, and IOM were implementing. The Ministry of the Interior and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in fact entered into conflict on numerous occasions, not only due to Sello Migrante, but to other “disputes” over what body was responsible for migration affairs. These disagreements across government levels and offices obstructed the Draft Law on Migration sent to Congress during Michelle Bachelet’s administration, one of her government’s key proposals, and which was not concluded due to internal tensions. Jurisdictional disputes were also relevant given that migration-related efforts would reveal the reality of migration across regions, and the political limitations of different levels of government (Thayer & Durán, 2015). Current migration management practices across the territory are a manifestation of internal tensions in the central government regarding who should be legitimately in charge of migration according to applicable regulations.

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At the local level, Quilicura’s first efforts toward a comprehensive migration management policy set a benchmark for other municipalities, researchers, and civil society organizations, especially due to the relevance of Haitian inflows, and effective actions targeting refugees. At present, the community of Quilicura stands out for advancing a rights-based migration management strategy in light of two relevant political events: Mayor Juan Carrasco Contreras’ reelection for the 2016–2020 period, which gave continuity to his first administration’s migration policy, and served as an instrument to oppose and resist the central government’s restrictive migration policy pursued during the second presidential term of Sebastián Piñera. In other words, Quilicura’s local integration policy effectively detaches itself from a national policy that, by virtue of the immigration reform of April 2018, succeeded at reducing Haitian migration by imposing a consular tourist visa on this group, and terminating the National Consultation Council on Migration Affairs, created by law during the preceding administration of Michelle Bachelet.7 As a result, while the central government restricted Haitian inflows, and excluded and discriminated against civil society, the municipality of Quilicura advanced integration and inter-institutional coordination with communal entities interested in improving migration management.

Tensions and Obstacles for Sello Migrante Two aspects of Sello Migrante should be analyzed: first, the design and implementation stage, and next the tensions that jeopardized its continuity in 2018 when Piñera took office. As mentioned above, Sello Migrante was an attempt from the Ministry of the Interior to “compete” against MINREL and IOM’s actions in Quilicura. Sello Migrante was therefore one of the multiple attempts from the central government to exert excessive influence over different levels of government, causing disputes regarding the presence of the central government at a local level, and revealing the disarticulation of state migration policies. On the other hand, Sello Migrante is not a public program (according to the definition provided by the Head Office of 7 By virtue of Resolution N° 1744, Sebastián Piñera’s administration abrogated the former government’s resolution regarding the law’s by-law, implementing new guidelines that do not touch on the content of the by-law, but only on the form of compliance.

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Budget Management of the Ministry of Finance), but rather a general initiative not entitled to formal resource allocation, lacking measurable components, and not subject to evaluation. Its implementation also depends on the current administration’s political will, and instrumentalization from a State body (i.e., DEM) that faces serious limitations in terms of operational and jurisdictional capabilities. In sum, the municipality only needs to comply with a checklist to be awarded Sello Migrante by DEM. Similarly, since the initiative is not formally incorporated into a public program and is not subject to technical evaluation, its impact is merely political, and may be opportunistically exploited to win elections or reelections, or to articulate promotional discourses around an individual or a political party at the local level. It stands out, however, that Sello Migrante was designed according to a product-based approach. Municipalities therefore have to implement concrete and visible actions, such as plans, programs, and actions furthering migrants’ inclusion. These must be carried forward despite scarce support from the central government, and even restrictive border control policies or policies that limit access to social benefits. An example of this paradox is how the central government transfers to municipalities the responsibility of promoting regularization, even though granting regular status is an exclusive competence of the central government. Sello Migrante’s design is also flawed in the sense that it does not consider migration as a multi-dimensional phenomenon. It lacks therefore specific guidelines regarding how to ensure the rights to education, health, employment, or housing, among others. Additionally, it does not foresee formal coordination mechanisms for ministries and municipalities to engage with one another. The absence of inter-institutional coordination at the central level— evidenced by internal tensions, and the absence of effective coordination between the central and local levels—translated into the awardees of Sello Migrante not engaging with any of the authorities that addressed migration issues at the Technical Migration Policy Council.8 This is yet another example of how existing resources and institutions are not leveraged enough to enable better coordination across ministries and levels of

8 The Technical Council on Migration Policy is a public entity presided by DEM that seeks to bring together multiple ministries and create a coordinated response to migration affairs.

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government. For instance, Sello Migrante could help create a best practice repository that could be shared among public stakeholders. As it currently is, Sello Migrante is a short-sighted measure lacking clear long- or middle-term objectives. Thayer and Durán (2015) have appropriately noted that central-level policy must develop a long-term outlook, enabling a policy that grants equal rights to migrants. Martínez Pizarro (2011) shares the same conclusion, noting that migration brings wellbeing and development to communities and countries across the region. A multi-dimensional long-term approach should therefore be developed and work toward goals such as more inclusive labor markets, more diverse and rejuvenated societies, or overcoming the challenges of interculturality. Much as DEM offers to train municipal bodies in charge of migration management, resources are in fact insufficient and lack a tangible impact. Additionally, a greater effort should be made to harmonize assistance mechanisms from the central to the municipal levels. This measure might be more important than raising awareness among stakeholders who instrumentalize migration management policies. Without prejudice to awareness efforts, municipalities need solutions from the central government to properly inform migrants what public mechanisms are available to them. As described in the 2017 Sello Migrante Report, promotion and regularization efforts were based on “providing information, assistance, and guidance regarding regularization procedures to allow migrants to change or regularize their status” (translated quote, p. 56). The central government’s and the municipalities’ powers are, however, overlapped as a result of this transfer of responsibility to municipalities. The central government has therefore failed to fulfill its responsibility to promote regularization, and to refrain from implementing restrictive measures, such as consular visas, and cumbersome regularization procedures, to name a few. There is evidently a dissonance between what Sello Migrante advocates for—, i.e., a rights-based approach, a cultural shift in how migration is seen, and how migration management is implemented—, and scarce training, insufficient resources, short-term strategies, and fragmented municipalities. In other words, there is a major gap between what the proposal says and what is actually done, a situation that forces municipalities to juggle between the responsibility to deliver on a new model, while observing their subordinated position, and a contradictory public policy, which hampers the development of rights-based local policies.

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Sello Migrante is therefore a paternalistic and clientelistic policy in the sense that its coordination and resource allocation is vertical and hierarchical, that it underestimates local capacities, and that it creates a clientelistic relationship with its beneficiaries by providing support in exchange for compliance with a certain number of requirements, instead of making a social impact on the rights of migrants to be recognized.

The Difficult Journey Toward Sello Migrante’s Continuity In March 2018, a new central government took office. One month earlier, Sebastián Piñera’s elected administration announced a reform to launch a crackdown on immigration. The epitome of this initiative was Piñera’s promise to “put the house in order,” implying that restrictive and morally judgmental measures would be taken against unwanted migrants, by suggesting that the desirables and the good-doers would be welcome, while the undesirable and the wrong-doers would be banned from entry. In April 2018, Chile’s new president, Sebastián Piñera, addressed the following message to the press: Dear friends, citizens of this beautiful country, either by birth or by blood, the moment has come to put our house in order, a house that belongs to every one of us. Our country is in need for a new immigration reform, and a dire one at that. A reform in line with our current reality, and that ensures safe, orderly, and regular migration for everybody. Everybody who is willing to do good to our country. Yet, closing the door to anybody who harms Chileans (translated quote).

The highlights of the reform, and subsequent migration management initiatives, include: • Creating a consular visa for Haitians, with the intention of minimizing Haitian inflows. • Shutting down the National Consultation Council on Migration, despite the fact that it had been created by law and it was key to the operation of public institutions, as it provided room for dialogue and coordination where organizations, academia, and the government would design public policies and other specific measures.

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• Closing the Technical Migration Policy Council, an intersectoral body that brought together multiple public offices whose mandates touch on migration policy to develop and implement joint initiatives in this regard. • Launching the Extraordinary Regularization Process, whereby applicants could not immediately obtain work permits and had to wait at times more than a year before being granted a working visa. Central-level policies thus dissociated from local development ones. According to the official of the Municipality of Recoleta, tensions scaled to the point where official communication channels between DEM and municipalities were suspended and replaced by a makeshift WhatsApp group between one of DEM’s internal offices and the municipalities. DEM’s insufficient resources and support to municipalities were made evident again and ceased altogether. The systemic exclusion of civil society and municipal authorities has forced the latter to find solutions to the central government’s actions and omissions, which emanated from a hostile outlook on migration. Therefore, even if the current administration showed political will to pursue Sello Migrante, the initiative did not undergo technical assessment, and was not strengthened by new coordination and cooperation mechanisms.

Conclusions A persistent free-market economic model shaped and advanced by the Political Constitution of Chile has had a negative impact on the livelihood of all the individuals and communities residing in Chile. Neoliberal policies—including migration management—established by the Chilean government since the reestablishment of democracy in 1990 have resulted in deep social inequality. Santiago’s spatial configuration is marked by fragmentation and segregation at different levels, affecting Chilean and foreign nationals. There is however, a notably negative effect on immigrants from the South–South corridor, due to the magnitude, frequency, and causes behind South–South migration. Haitian migrants have been most affected by this posture since full enjoyment of their rights is obstructed by a discriminating and racist migration management policy. Additionally, the Political Constitution of Chile foresees that the State shall play a subsidiary role in public affairs. In other words, the State intervenes and channels resources in matters that are not managed by

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the private sector, or where its presence is limited. The State therefore “subsidizes” access to “services” (which used to be rights) when people cannot find or afford them on the market. As a result, the State cannot guarantee universal access to these services, and public demands regarding migration management need to be addressed through other means. Consequently, migrants have to find makeshift solutions in the absence of official alternatives. Different governments, notably the current administration of Sebastián Piñera, have developed a clientelistic migration policy, whereby individuals can enter and stay in Chile if they “earn it” by virtue of their merit. Therefore, successful immigration into Chile is largely due to individual resourcefulness, rather than the social, institutional, political, economic, and urban framework of the Chilean Nation-State, which is utterly restrictive. The scope of migration policy itself has led to either an absent role of the central government at the municipal level or overintervention thereof. Stigmatizing collective thinking about municipalities depicts them as precarious territories in need of intervention from the subsidiary State they are ascribed to. In the specific case of the commune of Quilicura, excessive intervention results from the disputes among ministries, and a formal partnership entered into by a single ministry and an international organization. These and other factors translate into a dislocated migration policy and inter-ministerial conflict, which in turn results in clientelistic actions. Sello Migrante is, on the other hand, not an initiative seeking to promote migrant-friendly urban spaces, but rather a paternalistic award from the central government toward municipalities that have voluntarily assumed responsibility and funded inclusive efforts in favor of migrants that have been historically excluded and segregated. The above sheds light on the need for an articulated and coordinated relationship between the central and local governments. A crossministerial response and effective communication mechanisms leading to horizontal relationships among different government levels and sectors are also necessary. Additionally, data and information should be collected for the benefit of different levels of government. Authorities would receive feedback about their work, and would thus be able to design policies based on empirical data obtained from central and local sources. The central government’s administrative records should include variables that help identify the number of foreign nationals living in each commune. On the other hand, the central government should design and assess public policies based on information obtained at the local level. These

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proposals are feasible provided that the two levels of government engage in a systematic exchange through formal and institutional mechanisms whereby local governments have an impact on the policies drafted at the central level. A successful rapport of this sort also implies that municipalities should gain greater autonomy to manage local affairs, and that decisions should benefit migrants and non-migrants living in each territory. Finally, Chile’s exclusive entry policy has influenced the spatial configuration of the urban spaces the migrants settle in. These configurations are yet another piece of evidence of how Chilean society and cities are socially and spatially segregated. Haitians and persons from other ethnicities are not only segregated from certain residential areas and social groups within the fragmented metropolis of Santiago. Segregation also materializes in how migrants need to tailor their personal strategies to find employment or housing, and overcome, at least in part, the barriers imposed by Chile’s social, cultural, urban, and institutional structures. Analyzing the geographical location of recent inflows into the Santiago Metropolitan area sheds light on how a person’s origin, nationality, and race determine a person’s urban inclusion. Urban spatial configurations are therefore not only the result of Chile’s internal inequality and structure, but also a product of institutional racism rooted in the central government’s migration policy and entrenched racism in Chilean culture.

References Agar, L. (2009). Inmigrantes y descendientes de árabes en Chile: Adaptación social. In A. Akmir (Coordinator) Los árabes en América Latina. Historia de una emigración (pp. 99–170). Siglo XXI. Arellano, C. (2020). Trayectorias residenciales y capital espacial de los inmigrantes haitianos asentados en la comuna de Quilicura. La espacialidad de la movilidad (Unpublished PhD Dissertation). National Autonomous University of Mexico, Mexico City. Arriagada, C. (2014). Inmigrantes Internacionales. Emprendimientos en barrios comerciales: Iquique, Gran Valparaíso, Santiago de Chile. Ceibo Ediciones. ATISBA (2018). Mapa de la Inmigración en Santiago. Reporte Monitor, Santiago de Chile. http://www.atisba.cl. Audebert, C. (2006). L’insertion socio-spatiale des Haïtiens à Miami. L’Harmattan.

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Bernal, C. (2018). Los Límites Jurídicos a la Expulsión de los Inmigrantes en Chile (Graduate Dissertation). School of Law of the University of Chile, Santiago de Chile. Carrillo, J. (2010). El neoliberalismo en Chile: entre la legalidad y la legitimidad. Interview with Tomás Moulián. Perfiles Latinoamericanos, 35, 145–155 Contreras, Y., & Palma, P. (2015). Migración latinoamericana en el área central de Iquique: Nuevos frentes de localización residencial y formas desiguales de acceso a la vivienda. Anales De Geografía De La Universidad Complutense, 35(2), 45–64. Contreras, Y., Ala-Louko, V., & Labbé, G. (2015). Acceso exclusionario y racista a la vivienda formal e informal en las áreas centrales de Santiago e Iquique. Polis, 14(42), 53–78. https://doi.org/10.4067/S0718-656820150 00300004. Correa, J. (2015). La Inmigración como problema o el resurgir de la raza. Racismo general, racismo ciudadano y su papel en la conformación de la nación. In Ma. Emilia Tijoux (Ed.) Racismo en Chile, la piel como marca de la inmigración (pp. 35–47). Editorial Universitaria. Cussen, C. (2015). Raza y calidad de vida en el reino de Chile. Antecedentes coloniales de la discriminación. In Ma. Emilia Tijoux (Ed.) Racismo en Chile, la piel como marca de la inmigración (pp. 21–33). Editorial Universitaria. Daher, A. (1991). Neoliberalismo Urbano en Chile. Revista Estudios Públicos, 43, 281–299. Decree-Law N° 1094 on Citizenship. Official Gazette of the Republic of Chile, Santiago de Chile, July 14th, 1975. Domenech, E., & Magliano, M. J. (2007). Migraciones internacionales y política en Bolivia: pasado y presente. Estudios Migratorios Latinoamericanos, 21(62), 3–42. Domínguez, C. (2016). Derecho chileno migratorio a la luz del derecho migratorio internacional: ¿Ceden los derechos humanos mínimos a los extranjeros ante las prerrogativas soberanas de control migratorio? Revista Chilena De Derecho, 43(1), 189–217. Garcés, A. (2006). Configuraciones espaciales de lo inmigrante: usos y apropiaciones de la ciudad. Papeles Del CEIC, 20, 1–33. Garcés, A. (2007). Entre lugares y espacios desbordados: formaciones urbanas de la migración peruana en Santiago de Chile. Serie Documentos, 2, 5–22. Garcés, A. (2011). De enclave a centralidad. Espacio urbano, comercio y migración peruana en Santiago de Chile. Gazeta de Antropología, 27 (2), 1–24. Garcés, A. (2012). Localizaciones para una espacialidad: territorios de la migración peruana en Santiago de Chile. Chungará – Revista de Antropología Chilena, 44(1), 163–175.

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Harvey, D. (2013). Ciudades rebeldes. Del derecho a la ciudad a la revolución urbana. Ediciones Akal. Harvey, D. (2014). Diecisiete contradicciones y el fin del capitalismo. Traficantes de Sueños. Hidalgo, R. (2005). La vivienda social en Chile y la construcción del espacio urbano en el Santiago del siglo XX (1st edn.). DIBAM IOM (2017). Sistematización de la Mesa Intermunicipal los Migrantes y las Ciudades 2014–2016. Chile. Iturra, D. (2016). De Haití a Chile: la formación de un enclave residencial en la periferia de Santiago (Post-graduate Dissertation). Institutos de Estudios Urbanos, PUC. Lube-Guizardi, M. (2013). Inmigración, vivienda e integración social en España. Dilemas, retos y perspectivas. Ecléctica, 2, 63–77. Luque, J. (2003). Transnacionalismo político. Identidad nacional y enclave étnico. El caso de los inmigrantes peruanos en Santiago de Chile. Conference given at the 2nd Latin American Conference on Political Science. Asociación Latinoamericana de Ciencia Política (ALACIP). September 29th to October 1st, 2003. Mexico City. Martínez Pizarro, J. (2011). Migración internacional en América latina y el Caribe: nuevas tendencias, nuevos enfoques. Economic Commission for Latin America and the Caribbean (ECLAC). Martínez, J. (2003). El encanto de los datos. Sociodemografía de la inmigración en Chile según el censo de 2002. Serie Población y Desarrollo 49. Ministerio de Interior y Seguridad Pública (2018). Minuta Reforma Migratoria y Política Nacional de Migraciones y Extranjería. Documento Oficial. Política Nacional de Desarrollo Urbano, División de Desarrollo Urbano, marzo de 1979, Publicación Oficial No 114, p. 3. National Institute of Statistics (2017). Censo Nacional de Población y Vivienda Chile 2017 . National Institute of Statistics. National Institute of Statistics (2018). Características de inmigración internacional en Chile. Censo 2017. National Institute of Statistics. Pérez, M. (2015). Ciudadanía Urbana y Derecho a la Ciudad: Hacia una política del habitar. En Ivo Gasic, Ángelo Narváez y Rodolfo Quiroz (Comps.) Reapropiaciones de Henri Lefebvre: Crítica, Espacio y Sociedad Urbana (pp. 10–39). Editorial Triángulo. Colección Falansterio. Political Constitution of the Republic of Chile. Supreme Decree N° 100 (1980). Chile. https://www.bcn.cl/leychile/navegar?idNorma=242302. Rodríguez, A., & Rodríguez, P. (2012). Santiago, una ciudad neoliberal (Experiencias latinoamericanas). Cuestiones Urbano Regionales. Revista del Instituto de la Ciudad, 1(1),101–126.

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Sabatini, F. (2000). Reforma de los mercados de suelo en Santiago, Chile: efectos sobre los precios de la tierra y la segregación residencial. EURE, 26(77), 49–80. Sabatini, F. (2003). La segregación social del espacio urbano en las ciudades de América Latina. Documentos del Instituto de Estudios Urbanos, Serie Azul, 35. Pontificial Catholic University of Chile. Sabatini, F., Cáceres, G., & Cerda, J. (2001). Segregación residencial en las principales ciudades chilenas: Tendencias de las tres últimas décadas y posibles cursos de acción. EURE, 82, 21–42. Sandoval, R. (2016). Hacia una Política Nacional Migratoria. In M. E. Tijoux (Ed.), Racismo en Chile: la piel como marca de la inmigración (pp. 103–125). Editorial Universitaria. Sayad, A. (2008). Estado, Nación e Inmigración. El orden de lo nacional ante el desafío de la inmigración. Revista CECYP, 13, 101–116. Schiappacasse, P. (2008). Segregación residencial y nichos étnicos de los inmigrantes internacionales en el Área Metropolitana de Santiago. Revista De Geografía Norte Grande, 39, 21–38. SECPLAC, I.M. Quilicura (2019). Análisis de la dinámica de uso de suelo residencial y sus efectos sobre el mercado de acceso a la vivienda en la comuna de Quilicura. Communal Planning Secretary, Distinguished Municipality of Quilicura. Silva, G. (2017). Los haitianos en Montreal: migración e integración. Odisea. Revista de Estudios Migratorios, 4, 179–201. Stefoni, C. (2004). Inmigración y ciudadanía: la formación de comunidades peruanas en Santiago y la emergencia de nuevos ciudadanos. Revista Política, 43, 319–336. Stefoni, C. (2016). La nacionalidad y el color de piel en la racialización del extranjero. Migrantes como buenos trabajadores en el sector de la construcción. In Ma. Emilia Tijoux (Ed)., Racismo en Chile, la piel como marca de la inmigración (pp. 65–78). Editorial Universitaria. Thayer, L. (2014). Plan de acogida y reconocimiento de migrantes y refugiados de la comuna de Quilicura. IOM. Thayer, L., & Durán, C. (2015). Gobierno local y migrantes frente a frente: nudos críticos y políticas para el reconocimiento. En Revista del CLAD Reforma y Democracia, 63, 127–162. Tijoux, M. (2016). Racismo en Chile, la piel como marca de la inmigración. Editorial Universitaria. Trivelli, P. (1981). Reflexiones en torno a la Política Nacional de Desarrollo Urbano. Revista EURE, 8(22), 43–64. Wacquant, L. (2007). Los Condenados de la ciudad. Gueto, periferias, Estado. Siglo XXI.

CHAPTER 8

Has Mexico City Truly Become a Ciudad hospitalaria? Insights from the Experience of Central American Migrants Laurent Faret

Introduction The large, international migrations that Mexico is witnessing today and their constant transformation have added a dimension to the local policy question of how to receive migrants that, ten years ago, was unknown in the country. Mexico City has taken a pioneering role in responding to these questions, as much in the positions put forth by politicians as in the measures that the municipal administration has sought to enact. In this sense, the efforts made by Mexico City’s government can be considered a proactive approach aimed at inclusion and the affirmation of the rights of migrants, particularly since recent legislative and constitutional changes that have created both new possibilities and new responsibilities for the urban elite. In 2011, the local executive authorities adopted the

L. Faret (B) University of Paris, Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_8

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Ley de Interculturalidad, Atención a Migrantes y Movilidad Humana. In 2017, the city declared itself a Ciudad Santuario (Sanctuary City). These positions come at a moment when greater Mexico City, as a metropolitan space, is undergoing a historic process of transformation in which emigration is another component along with immigration, transit migration, and repatriation. Over the last few decades, the urban region has received Central American migrants at a rate that exceeds earlier transitory processes and includes forms of settlement. The flow of people from countries further away (the Caribbean, South America, Africa) is also growing, tied to the twofold logic of the attractiveness of North America and the reinforced blockades at different borders (Faret, 2018; Nájera Aguirre, 2016). In this context, the place allocated to international migrants in the city has become a significant issue. Affirming the city’s hospitality as policy has become subject to a great deal of questioning, between the persistent invisibility of mobile populations in the public debate, the risks surrounding these people’s access to urban resources, and local players taking a position in favor of the most vulnerable residents. As opposed to the classic idea of citizenship considered strictly in the context of the nation-state, the ability for those active on the urban scene to really enforce an inclusive, hospitable city policy is actually far from obvious. Mexico City, Ciudad hospitalaria (hospitable city)—under what conditions can this become more than a mere slogan? How can a local reception policy be a part of constructing urban civil life where the brokered legitimacy of migrants being both in the city and actively part of the cityscape is recognized? Most importantly, how can diverse, constantly changing migrant situations be taken into account by public policy on the local level in an enduring way? In Mexico City as elsewhere, the measures instituted by local authorities bring into question the involvement of local powers in domains that are more often the prerogative of the State concerning migrant status and the legal conditions for residency. For the case in question, migrant minorities’ ability to access the city and its resources offers an opportunity to develop an understanding from configurations that can be qualified as “critical,” in the sense that the current situation of migrants is characterized by a recent and growing

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presence1 ; by complex migrant dynamics due to the blocking of migratory paths and by default settling in; by a heightened degree of vulnerability; and by the handling of the related issues by public authorities which has long been very minimal. In this chapter, the debate and the policy surrounding “urban sanctuaries” will be discussed with these characteristics in mind. By focusing on the conditions of the urban experience of Central American migrants in Mexico, this chapter will discuss local initiatives and the debate surrounding the forms of urban integration for people arriving from Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala. In their migratory experiences, people from the Central American Northern Triangle are confronted with double adversity: the experience of migratory routes toward the United States has become riskier, all while a return to one’s home region is made impossible due to violence or the degradation of its labor market. Greater Mexico City, an alternative place of refuge for the formation of migratory projects, presents the characteristics of a gateway city, as meant by Price and Benton-Short (2008), combining metropolitan attractiveness, opportunities for settlement, and a refuge for getting back on one’s feet. This chapter presents the hypothesis that the vulnerability and invisibility of these migrants keeps them away from institutions, especially when the local hospitality discussion coexists with national immigration authority control and detention operations. The abuses and the non-assistance of public authorities, particularly common during migration before arrival in the city (REDODEM, 2018), create mistrust and cause many migrants to keep their distance from public servants. In this sense, how can Mexico City produce measures that respond to the challenges of protecting mobile populations, of assuring effective implementation of its operations, and of bringing an end to the risk environments elsewhere on the migratory journeys of foreign populations? In the first part of this chapter, the context of current migration into the city and the specificity of populations coming from Central America will be discussed. The second part presents the principal aspects of policies put into place by the city and the local aid available to migrants. The third and fourth parts propose an analysis of the scope of this local, distinctive policy and the political will to establish a hospitable city by examining 1 It should be specified here that Central American migration is not the same as it was during the period of civil war in Central America, when it was the object of other modalities of reception.

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how the measures function and the challenges and problems faced. The materials drawn upon for this analysis come from field studies conducted among migrant populations in the city, from civil organizations, and from local institutions over the period of 2017–2019.2 This analysis is also supported by a study of statutory texts, activity reports from local institutions and social organizations, in conjunction with academic studies on the subject (although those remain sparse).

International Migration in Mexico City The urban region of Mexico City, a metropolitan area of more than 20 million inhabitants, has historically been a focal point for migratory flow coming from the country’s interior. In demographic terms, the effects of international migration have been much less noticeable there, even if their influence has been significant from the point of view of opening the city up to the rest of the world. Mexico is not, historically speaking, an immigrant country, and since independence, those born abroad have never exceeded one or two percent of the total population. Despite that, the arrival of foreign populations has been economically, culturally, and socially significant, in the sense that these migrants have been agents of a wide-ranging transformation. Foreign-born populations have had an influence on the cultural, social, and economic shifts that the Mexican capital has undergone. Today, the presence of foreign populations is one of the aspects of a metropolitan economy that is more and more integrated into regional and global trade. It is at the heart of a flow of information, people, merchandise, and capital. Throughout the past, the presence of a foreign-born population could be traced back to specific historical moments, such as the arrival of Spanish refugees at the end of the 1930s or the influx of South American exiles in the 1970s and 1980s. Going even further back, the policies of the porfiriato (a period of interventionist modernization implemented by Porfirio Diaz from 1876 to 1911) had promoted voluntary foreign colonization—a reflection of the dominant, post-independence attitude toward nation-building that consisted of doing something about an ethnic composition considered 2 The fieldwork conducted for this research was made possible thanks to the author’s participation in various research programs including the LMI MESO (IRD/CIESAS/ACR), the INMIMEX Program (SECTEI/Ciudad de Mexico) and the PAMIMEX Program (Labex DynamiTe Paris).

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too heterogonous and promoting national development involving the outside world. In fact, the diversity of ethnic origins and the place of Indian communities in the city have historically been essential characteristics of how the city is populated. Debates over multiculturalism and the recognition of rights that take into account the ethnic characteristics of the various peoples are thus nothing new and have partly resurfaced in the current migratory context (Durin, 2010; Perraudin, 2018). Although the strong growth of the second half of the twentieth century has now slowed down, the metropolitan area continues to grow at its periphery, at rates that have remained significant in the first two decades of the twenty-first century. The central city, Mexico City, with 8.8 million inhabitants, accounted in 2010 for only 44% of the urban area’s total population (source: INEGI). The urban region’s ability to attract remains strong on the international scale, because of the size and diversity of the (formal and informal) labor market, because of the resources and services offered by the city regarding social integration (access to healthcare, education, etc.) and because it is the nation’s capital, with a concentration of services, institutions, and governmental agencies. The city is also a focal point because of the presence of foreign representatives (embassies and consulates, among others) and especially for its institutions that handle migrant affairs: the COMAR (which manages asylum requests), the National Migration Institute (INM, the authority in charge of residency requests), and representatives from international organizations such as the HCR and the OIM. The dynamic strength of community organizations in the capital is a key factor in the current context of vulnerable, mobile populations largely in need of the support of these sectors of society. For migrants coming from Central America, obstacles to their mobility have been strengthened, leading to them staying in Mexico for longer periods of time as they seek new options. Over the last few years, the length of their stays on Mexican soil has risen compared to the previous decade, and the incidence of staying in Mexico rather than trying to reach the United States has increased (EMIF). In this context, conditions for the incorporation of a population “wandering” among uncertainties and more muddled migration dynamics are brought to the foreground once again (Anguiano & Trejo Peña, 2013; Faret, 2017). The conditions for permanent residency in Mexico create challenges for accessing different types of resources (healthcare, employment, housing, and education to name the most immediate needs) for those in vulnerable situations, constantly seeking protection faced

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with the dangers of the places where they are staying. The change in migratory forms has made it difficult to quantify the scale of migrant presence in Mexico City over the past few years. An indirect estimate of the origin of migrants without immigration papers is provided by the number of people intercepted by immigration authorities in the metropolitan area. For 2019, of the 3300 “instances of foreign nationals appearing before immigration authorities,” 65% were people coming from Central America, mainly from Honduras (34%), Guatemala (17%), and El Salvador (13%). People from other countries included those from India, Colombia, Venezuela, as well as from a number of other regions including Africa and Asia, whose proportion of the total remains low but has been growing of late (source: UPM/SEGOB, 2019). Greater metropolitan Mexico City is not the initial destination of Central American migrants, which corresponds to the conclusions of studies conducted in other inland cities in the country (FM4, 2017; Izcara Palacios & Andrade, 2016). As a hub of migratory routes leading north, the metropolitan area has a high concentration of national road and train networks. For the vast majority of migrants, staying in Mexico City results from their plans being interrupted, their route being altered, or what we can call an indefinite period between two types of migratory movement: an interruption in their journey between Central America and the United States, or their expulsion from the United States without being able to return to their country of origin. As such, the specificity of the migratory path largely defines the conditions of incorporation within the metropolitan area. In the case of movement from the south toward the north, insufficiency of financial and social resources for continuing the journey northward is noteworthy. The cost of travel, unfamiliarity with migration itineraries, and a very limited capacity for gaining support from a network of acquaintances can all lead to a prolonged stay in the city. In this context, people who were interviewed pointed out that time spent in transit grows progressively as exposure to economic hardship and violence forces them to interrupt their journeys. In the second case, where the direction of travel is from the north toward the south (people who either were not allowed entry into or were expelled from the United States), the metropolitan area of Mexico City appears as an alternative place, a “refuge” after deportation or a failed attempt to enter the United States. The violence, either experienced or feared, in the environment where they came from, plus the lack of a means to access the labor market hinder their

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return. Staying in Mexico City is thus considered a more viable option, despite the difficulties they face locally; sometimes they maintain their hopes for a future migratory project.

A Local, Proactive Policy: Efforts and Contexts The implementation of a reception policy in Mexico City has been marked by different factors from a legal and regulatory point of view, and the changes it has undergone over the past decade are proof of the increased importance of migrant issues. From a general perspective, throughout this entire period the city has displayed a proactive standpoint and a certain degree of innovation in the framework it has put into place and the measures stemming from it. One particularity of the situation is due to the fact that the city has relatively recently become politically autonomous. As the national capital, the city had been a federal district (DF) with its own specific status since 1824. It was only after the political reforms of 2015 that it was given its new status as Mexico City. This autonomy paved the way for the municipal authorities to put forth a new, negotiated social agenda, founded on progressive positions that successive heads of the city’s government have maintained, it should be noted, even though the level of engagement has varied over the course of time.3 The general scope of the city’s programs is provided by the “Ley de Interculturalidad, Atención a Migrantes y Movilidad Humana”4 (LIAMMH), which went into effect in April, 2011. In the Mexican judicial system, a federal body can issue laws applicable within a region; that is the case of this law, applicable within the ex-Federal District. At the time the law was being written, the inclusion of migrant issues in a local political agenda was considered innovative in Mexico, and the urban authorities were positioning themselves as forerunners of a progressive

3 The head of Mexico City’s government serves a 6-year term without the possibility of re-election. The office’s powers are both those of a mayor and of a governor within the Mexican federal system. The office has only existed since 1997. Before this, the head of the Department of the Federal District was appointed by the Mexican president. Those who have held the office (excluding interim office-holders) are: Andrés Manuel López Obrador, 2000–2005; Marcelo Ebrard, 2006–2012; Miguel Ángel Mancera, 2012–2018. The current head, Claudia Sheinbaum Pardo, took office in December, 2018. 4 Law on Interculturality, Assistance for Migrants, and Human Mobility.

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vision for the city by aligning themselves with the Red de Ciudades Interculturales 5 (Botey et al., 2011; Calderón Chelius, 2019). The law became the first initiative in Mexico to include migrant issues in a local statute. Article 5 of the LIAMMH stipulates that human mobility falls under the right of each person to migrate, and that mobility produces positive change in the reduction of inequality, injustice, and discrimination. For instance, the law provides that “every human population in movement, independent of its migrant status” must be treated in accordance with a “standard of hospitality consistent with dignified, respectful and opportune treatment of a huésped [guest] within the territory of the Federal District, and for whom access to all services and programs granted by the government of the Federal District is made possible. Huéspedes have the right to access social programs” (Ley de interculturalidad, 2011, pp. 2– 3). The terminology reflects a proactive approach: the migrant is a guest in the city. In the same spirit, Article 2–2 of the Constitution of Mexico City (adopted in February 2017) recognizes that the city “is made richer by the passage, the settling, and the return of national and international migration,” and Article 3 states that the city “is a space open to people displaced within Mexico and foreign nationals whose status as refugees has been recognized by the Mexican state or who have obtained political asylum or similar protection” (Ciudad de Mexico, 2017, p. 17). The establishment of a constitution for an urban entity—one that happens to be the capital of the country—is an innovation within the Mexican system and is the result of a process that began at the beginning of the 2010s.6 Mexico City’s constitution does indeed raise the question about the sovereignty of local powers on issues that are normally within the purview of federal authorities, in particular the issues of the legal status of a foreign national’s residency and the eligibility of migrants for local

5 The Network of Multicultural Cities is a collaborative structure between Spanish cities founded in 2011 and later expanded to other cities in association with the network “Intercultural Cities”, created in 2008 by the European Commission and the European Council. A Euro-Latino American meeting of multicultural cities was held in Mexico City on the 27 and 28 of August, 2014, supported by the European Council, the Organization of Ibero-American States, and Mexico City’s government. 6 Regional constitutions do exist butare not issued from a capital with its specific territory as was the Federal District until 2016.

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or national programs.7 According to the local constitution, the services of Mexico City’s government must cover prioritized groups which may include foreign migrants “independently of their legal situation,” in order for them to benefit from “the protection of the law and not be criminalized for their migrant condition. The authorities shall take the necessary measures to assure the protection of their rights in accordance with the standards of hospitality, solidarity, interculturality, and inclusion” (Cd de México, 2017, p. 44). The implementation of local measures to provide aid to migrants predates the existence of this normative framework. In 2008, the Programa de Atencion a Migrantes y sus Familias (PAMF, Program for the Assistance of Migrants and their Families) was created, whose purpose is to help meet the basic needs of migrants: healthcare, food, education, and social assistance. The program is administered by what is considered a hybrid authority, the Secretaría de Desarrollo Rural y Equidad para las Comunidades (SEDEREC, Secretary of Rural Development and Community Equity). In a way that reflects the ambiguous place these issues hold in the local political agenda, the program occupies a minor spot on the organizational flow chart of an organism whose primary responsibility is to support the rural development and provide aid to the city’s Indigenous population. Since a new administration took office in December 2006, (which predates this period) the local government has emphasized the importance of policies whose aim is to guarantee that the people of the city can freely exercise their fundamental rights, while at the same time recognizing the existence of a portion of the population—migrants and their families—which had not received a proper amount of support. In his inaugural speech as Mayor of Mexico City, Marcelo Ebrard declared: “The essential goal of my government is equity, both for the city and in the city. Without equity, there is no future. In order to reduce inequality, we are going to pick up the pace in terms of education, healthcare, access to housing…Furthermore, for the first time, we are going to establish public policy for the ethnic communities native to the city, for migrants in and from the city, in order for them to be able to find, in reality, equity in a multiethnic society such as ours ” (Botey et al., 2011, p. 25). 7 The constitution provides that”the city must guarantee priority attention for the full exercise of the rights of people who, as a result of structural inequality, are victims of discrimination, exclusion, ill treatment, abuse, violence, and major obstacles to fully exercising their fundamental rights and freedoms” (Cd de México, 2017, p. 42).

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In the first version of the PAMF program, its areas of focus are varied, and the diversity of migrant populations and of their needs seemed to create an incredibly complex challenge when it came time to implement in concrete terms the political will. Operations were geared toward repatriating expelled migrants, helping get identity papers and diplomas certified, assisting with funeral services, providing support for migrant families in precarious financial situations, and supporting community associations looking after migrants and their families (Gaceta official de la CDMX, 30 January 2020). In fact, the international and migratory situation at this time highlighted the complexity of the issue: the city was taking in foreign migrants coming from the south, either in transit or staying, as well as migrants returning from the United States, either voluntarily or, more and more commonly, following expulsion by the American authorities. Although the original idea was geared toward foreign populations, the migration dynamics of the second half of the 2000s transformed the situation. The return of Mexican nationals and those of Mexican origin (largely their descendants) grew rapidly, particularly on account of the economic crisis in the United States between 2008 and 2010 (Barros Nock & Escobar Latapí, 2017; García Zamora, 2017). The program changed the name in 2010, becoming the Programa Ciudad Hospitalaria, Intercultural y de Atención a Migrantes (PCHIAM, the Urban Hospitality, Intercultural, and Protection of Migrant Program), and the attention given to the returning migrant population has grown. Support measures for productive and educational projects have been put into place, as well as a telephone helpline called the “línea migrante.” Nevertheless, the structural transformation of the local administration has created difficulties for its operational management: staff changes and the regular reorienting of operational focus undermine the continuity of the work. A number of community observers have criticized, for example, the political change at the head of the SEDEREC that occurred in 2013, which has been interpreted as a political malfunction (Marzorati & Marconi, 2018). The techno-bureaucratic sluggishness of local collectivities and political differences between the principal local stakeholders contribute to the difficulties both of setting up and maintaining programs. With a new structural transformation five years later, the SEDEREC was eliminated from the administration established by the city’s new governor, Claudia Sheinbaum, in 2018. The program was transferred to the Secretaría de Inclusión y Bienestar Social

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(SIBISO, the Secretary of Inclusion and Social Well-Being) and was retitled the Programa Ciudad Hospitalariay Movilidad Humana (PCHMH, the Hospitable City and Human Mobility Program). The new name gives life to the city’s position, the city having declared itself a Ciudad Santuario in 2017. The international migratory situation again played a major role in the period from April 2017, when the city took its position as a sanctuary city, and the fall of 2018, when the “migrant caravans” reached the city. In April 2017, Miguel Mancera, head of city government, declared Mexico City a “sanctuary city,” in tune with the international situation of the time; taking this position was gaining ground in territorial collectivities, most notably in the United States and Europe (Ridgley, 2008; Walker & Leitner, 2011). But the declaration specifically addressed the reception “of nationals who are forcibly returned to the nation’s territory, either temporarily or permanently, as a result of situations alien to their wishes” (Gaceta official de la Ciudad de México, 6 April 2017, p. 4). The city’s position illustrates the more specific debate over the status granted to Mexican migrants returning from the United States, a question that became much more pressing and politically strategic following D. Trump’s anti-immigrant discourse in the United States, expulsions, and concern over the situation of Dreamers as the DACA8 agreement fell into uncertainty. Proclaiming the city a sanctuary city was, in a certain manner, a bit specious, as other texts had already made provisions for what the declaration was asserting. What’s more, it refers to populations that are, in the majority of cases, Mexican citizens. So it seems ironic that a city declares itself a refuge for people from the very country that the city is located in, putting on display its rhetorical use and the political instrumentalization of the issue of migration. The goal seems to be to find a label for the city with positive connotations (Marzorati & Marconi, 2018). When, starting in October 2018, the city found itself faced with the arrival of Central American populations in the form of “caravans,” the overall picture changed again. Coming from Honduras, El Salvador, and

8 Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, an immigration policy instituted in the United States by the Obama administration in 2012 which allowed approximately 800,000 young people, often called Dreamers, to benefit from immigrant status for a period of two years (renewable) despite their arrival on American soil in childhood without immigration documents.

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other countries, these people began moving as a group toward the United States. This was the result of mobility strategies they were compelled to take due to their vulnerability , faced with the dangers on their migratory routes. Although Mexico City was not the intended destination, several of these caravans stopped in the city between October 2018, and March 2019. These caravans, at times made up of nearly 10,000 people, received a great deal of media coverage in the United States and Mexico. They presented Mexico City with the opportunity for concerted effort, resulting in an effective “humanitarian bridge” during this period (CDHCDMX, 2019). Collaboration between local institutions and community organizations culminated in the establishment of a temporary reception zone at the Magdalena Mixhuca sporting complex east of the city. This collaboration involved clear, significant coordination between governmental authorities and civilians, whereas, on the national level, the discussion was far more ambiguous, wavering between a desire to stop the migrants (under pressure from the U.S. administration) and a position of defending human rights in accordance with treaties signed by Mexico. Local efforts meant that numerous groups of people were successfully lodged and taken care of for several weeks. And this happened at a time when international migration was being made visible in various parts of the city, despite an often vague anxiety regarding migrant issues (Calderón Chelius, 2019). But this episode also served to throw into confusion issues surrounding hospitality as they had been previously developed: the high visibility of the migrants arriving as a group sheds light on some of the challenges of offering a temporary settlement, and serves to push the issues of long-term urban incorporation to the background.

Migratory Realities and Local Operations The PCHMH program was allocated a budget of 6.5 million pesos (around $270,000) for 2019. Lower than in previous years, its budget remains limited, representing less than 1% of the total budget of the Secretaría de Inclusión y Bienestar Social (SIBISO) that is responsible for Mexico City’s social programs.9 The program’s operations are divided into three types of operations: operation “Hola Migrante” (reception 9 Source: SIBISO, Primer informe de gestión, December 2018–September 2019. The total budget for the SIBISO in 2019 was 5832 million pesos.

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units providing information on the city’s social services as well as occasional financial support, over Easter and in the summer and winter in strategically located places where there’s a significant flow of migrants); investment, in partnership with community organizations; and temporary support for migrants in the process of returning to Mexico. The total number of people benefiting from these three operations is estimated at 6500 (SIBISO, Informe 2019).10 Earlier operations were larger in scope but have been reduced over time. One aid program to support economic activity, for example, allocated as much as 65,000 pesos to each beneficiary for groups of four, organized around and presenting a productive or commercial project (for example, the sale of prepared food, woodwork, artisanal goods, or sewing or hairstyling services). With around fifty beneficiaries that year (of various nationalities), the project nevertheless had minimal impact. The logistics of obtaining financial aid remained highly regulated, requiring the presentation of a written project, proof of residence dating from fewer than three months, market research, and the execution of a socio-economic evaluation of the project leader. Practically speaking, it was a highly improbable prospect for migrants in the city. At the same time, another measure was available for the benefit of migrants: the local administration established an identity document, known as the Credencial Sederec. Starting in 2012, this card made it possible to have a valid, official identity document in order to gain access to the city’s various social programs, regardless of migratory status.11 The program drew inspiration from important aspects of the international debate surrounding the need and right of migrants to obtain an official identity document as a first step in removing them from situations in which their invisibility due to lack of official papers made them vulnerable (Calderón Chelius, 2019). Mexico City used the city of San Francisco,

10 In 2017, 60 people received individual assistance from the program, under the category “monetary grants to people involved in training, disseminating, monitoring, and tracking the operations of the social program” for an amount of 116,000 pesos (about $4600). That same year, a fund of 3 million pesos gave grants to 18 community organizations involved in assisting the migrant and returning populations in the city (source: SEDEREC). 11 The condition necessary to receive the document was presence in the city for at least 30 days, which applicants had to be able to prove with a document from the person housing them or from a utility (water, electricity, telephone…). From September, 2016, to September, 2017, 1113 credencialesSederec were issued (Informe de actividades SEREC, 2017).

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California, as the model for its program (SEDEREC interviews, 2015), and the measure took into account the everyday concerns of migrants as reported by community reception organizations (Sin Fronteras, 2017). The symbolic form of recognition that the document provided was also significant for other vulnerable populations, notably for asylum seekers. Community organizations drew attention to the lack of information concerning this measure, the bureaucratic obstacles for those requesting it, and the city’s services not being systematically obliged to recognize this valid identity document, especially when it came to healthcare access (CDHDF, 2017; Marzorati & Marconi, 2018). Due to a lack of financial resources, production of the card was suspended and was not resumed by those in charge of migrant support programs who took office in 2018. Under the control of another local institution, the assistance program for people who had lost their jobs was another ad hoc resource for migrant populations. But because it gave priority to the unemployed from formally recognized sectors, the measure was hardly suited to the realities of the labor situation of the majority of people who had only recently arrived in the city and were largely employed in the metropolitan economy’s informal labor sectors. Broadly speaking, the measures for the benefit of migrants clashed, in both budgetary and personnel terms, with the operational priorities that national and local authorities had established due to the persistent poverty of the urban population. Although migrants are part of this population, they only make up a small part of it, demographically speaking, and maintaining programs that are designed for them is an unending challenge for the local leaders responsible for said programs. According to CONEVAL,12 the organism in charge of measuring standards of living and evaluating social policy, 30.6% of the population of the central city lives in poverty, and the rate is higher for the other municipalities of the metropolitan area. In such conditions, there is very little room for maneuvering when it comes to directing the priorities of social programs. Scholarly literature has significantly documented the practical forms of incorporation in the urban space, particularly regarding vulnerable groups or those with meager economic and social resources (Balbo, 2005; Holston & Appadurai, 1999; Varsanyi, 2006; Waldinger, 1989). Beyond

12 ConsejoNacional de Evaluación de la Política de Desarrollo Social.

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the observation that the migrant presence is now a significant component of urban growth and socio-economic changes in cities (Fonseca, 2008; UN Habitat, 2011), the debate over impoverished foreign populations’ access to a place in cities has provided elements from diverse perspectives, whether focused on urban transformation, the nature of migratory dynamics or—albeit more rarely—the intersection of the two (Agier, 2016; Darling, 2017; Glick Schiller & Ça˘glar, 2011; Nicholls & Uitermark, 2016). In the case of Mexico City, the forms of perceiving and acting in the city and incorporating into it also vary depending on migratory status, since the vast majority of Central Americans in the city do not possess a migration document, or are awaiting a decision on their request for asylum. Not having a residency card makes it difficult to obtain the rent guarantee necessary for getting housing, or to enroll in programs set up by the local authorities. In theory, civil servants with the local administration cannot refuse migrants access to local programs, owing to the city’s policies of inclusion. In reality, not having the requested documentation excludes a large portion of migrants from these programs. In the context described, a major factor in the relations between migrants and public authorities is the role of migratory status and control operations. Far from the issue of municipal programs, everyday life in the city is marked by interactions with the police or with agents from the National Migration Institute (INM), the federal authority in charge of verifying a person’s legal right to be in the country. Greater Mexico City presents, from this point of view, conditions that can be considered less repressive than in the rest of the country, especially the southern and northern border regions. Since the end of 2018, control operations (i.d. checks) have increased nationally in connection with the migrant caravans and pressure from the U.S. administration with expectations that Mexico would work on containment. As there is an asymmetrical power dynamic between the two countries, the Mexican administration ceded and reached an agreement in June 2019. The first consequence of the agreement was the deployment of more than 20,000 members of the National Guard13 to support the INM agents in their containment efforts. The current environment follows the older preference for administrative detention and for depriving persons without migration documents

13 15,000 members of the National Guard were deployed in the north, and 6000 at the southern border (El Economista, 20/VI/2019).

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of their freedom, in force throughout the country. Mexico City’s Iztapalapa municipality is home to the oldest of the country’s 30 migrant detention centers (“estaciones migratorias” is the terminology employed by the INM, which runs the centers). Opened in 1964, the center in Iztapalapa, serving central Mexico, has a capacity of 430 for those who, when checked, were lacking migration documents; they are held there before being sent to the southern border. At certain times, the center operates above capacity, and human rights organizations regularly raise warnings about non-compliance with detention conditions as prescribed by law (CNDH, 2019). In Mexico City, the operations of INM agents fall under the jurisdiction of federal directives and are in no way coordinated with local authorities. All the same, migrants without proper papers continually feel at risk of local authorities turning them in to the INM. Among heads of households—men and women alike—the risk of detention followed by expulsion raises the fear of immediate separation from their families upon detention. For migrants in the urban environment, the distinction between police officers, INM agents, and municipal authorities is vague, particularly for recent arrivals. As such, going to city workers in Mexico City in connection with existing protocols and programs implies an understanding of local rights and being able to differentiate between different authorities. This is rarely the case, despite the efforts of administrative bodies to inform the public about the city’s inclusive programs and rights. Even for accessing neighborhood health services, community organizations point out that access to care is dependent upon the presentation of national identification documents (such as the CURP14 or the INE15 card). The situation is often only resolved through the intervention of an organization establishing that 2011s law on interculturality provides for the admissibility of other forms of identification. In other words, foreign migrants’ identification papers play a small part in the daily routine of civil servants—or of employees in a business that might hire them. In the

14 The Clave ÚnicadelRegistro de Población number is an individual registration number for each resident of Mexico (whether a citizen or foreign resident) and for Mexicans living abroad; itis considered the access key to procedures and services offered by public administration agencies. 15 The InstitutoNacional Electoral card is the identity document of Mexican citizens.

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absence of a voter registration card, they hardly consider the valid equivalents for a foreign national residing temporarily or permanently in Mexico (Sin Fronteras, 2017). Another reason why migrants keep their distance from local or national authorities is exposure to the vulnerability , violence, and impunity that have been characteristic of the country for several decades (Armijo Canto & Benítez Manaut, 2016; Faret, 2020). Surveys of abuse victims have revealed that a significant portion of attacks against migrants are committed by public authorities. In its 2015 report, the REDODEM (Documentation Network of Migrant Defense Organizations) indicated that nationally, 41% of reported crimes had been committed by officers of public authorities. One of every two cases concerned federal authorities (including INM agents) and the rest were from the municipal or regional level (REDODEM, 2015, p. 60). At the same time, crimes are not always reported to authorities out of fear of expulsion or a lack of trust in the effectiveness of the justice system due to the lack of information on crime reporting procedures and the degree of impunity. In 2013, the Comisión Interamericana de Derechos Humanos (CIDH, the InterAmerican Human Rights Commission) concluded that “the Mexican state’s response has been seriously insufficient for preventing, protecting, dealing with, punishing, and rectifying crimes and violations of human rights committed against migrants and other people in the context of human mobility in Mexico” (CIDH, 2013, p. 126). In these conditions, the discrepancy between certain authority figures’ abuses and the aid measures promoted by other authorities can only be problematic in the migrant experience in Mexico City. The general attitude is quite often that of keeping one’s distance from all forms of authority, and the divergence between the politico-administrative framework of government action and the urban experience of the metropolis’s inhabitants is, in this context, striking.

The Challenges and Perils of a Distinctive Local Policy As already mentioned, the city’s efforts to establish policies concerning foreign migrants come from a vision of inclusion on urban social issues. It is worth mentioning that they relate to a certain conception of the problematics surrounding access to resources and incorporation into urban society. In this section, we will point out two types of challenges that

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have emerged in the course of our fieldwork among people in the process of settling in the city. The first type pertains to the relationship between migrants’ methods for settling in the city and programs as they actually are (or were). The second type stems from observations on urban authorities’ conception of reception and the operational difficulties that it entails. The diversity of migrants’ situations in the city makes it difficult to elaborate a coherent, effective reception policy. As is the case in other urban settings with recent immigration, the presence of Central Americans in Mexico City is exemplified by everyday tactics of improvisation, self-preservation, and informal incorporation into an environment full of uncertainties (Faret et al., 2019; Glick Schiller & Ça˘glar, 2011). These numerous experiences in the city are indicative of a specific appropriation of the new environment. When social networks and the sharing of experience are lacking—as is largely the case here—life is dominated by instability and the ephemeral. The issues of access to employment, housing, or services are made difficult by an imperfect grasp of the urban surroundings and by interactions with other city dwellers in enduring situations of otherness. The social forms of being in the city can be characterized by a double nature whereby one makes an effort to become invisible all while accessing only those resources in the city that are actually accessible. These spaces of resources take the form, on the local level, of micro-concentrations (streets and intersections, public areas near shelters for new arrivals) and, on the metropolitan scale, of attempts to blend in within poorer neighborhoods of the metro area (Faret, 2017). These forms of invisibility are assimilation strategies, sometimes qualified as “camouflage,” and their goal is often to avoid attracting the attention of the forces of order, as has been documented in other contexts (Chauvin & Garcés-Mascareñas, 2014; Rojas Wiesner & De Vargas 2014). They also produce a more general relationship with the city, one of keeping one’s distance, which is characteristic of a relationship of deteriorated trust toward municipal employees, a factor rarely taken into account by the heads of local programs. In the case of Mexico City’s public policies, another limit is due to the extent that local officials can intervene, as well as their territorial jurisdiction. By definition, their sphere of action is the municipal space (Mexico City), whereas the actual methods of incorporating into the city proper are more and more commonly the same ones as those employed

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throughout the metropolitan region.16 The cost of moving into the city means, for example, that very frequently housing is sought on the periphery, where rent is cheaper. All the same, many attractive services require being able to provide an address in the city proper (as was the case, for example, with identification cards and financial assistance for the creation of businesses, as discussed above). The constraint of a beneficiary needing to be located within the confines of the central city affects the range of aid distribution, notably when the path to incorporation leads to residential decentralization in the second phase of settling. With meager resources at their disposal—or by not participating in international networks focused on migratory challenges—municipalities surrounding the city do not have policies to support foreign populations. This highlights how territorial borders within the urban area interfere and how the failure to consider matters on a metro-wide scale is damaging, especially when the daily life in the city for outsider populations unfolds on this scale. The political fragmentation of the metropolitan area (with its continuous partisan rift between the center and the periphery), is a long-standing barrier on this issue (Delgadillo Polanco, 2012). On another matter, the time frames of governmental action and the long-term management of aid measures for migrants also raise questions. As pointed out above, the constantly changing migratory dynamics makes it difficult to coordinate the necessary timeframes for creating regulatory standards and planning municipal operations. The measures enforced correspond to policy preoccupations in a specific context, which are sometimes already at odds in regard to the realities that the associated programs claim to deal with. When willingness corresponds to a political agenda in which such a position is convenient, actually translating this position into action and getting results become much more uncertain. From a longterm perspective, the effectiveness of a program can also be hindered by the logistics of restructuring services, by high employee turnover and the subsequent effects in terms of acquired skills and experience that got lost, as well as by the excessive compartmentalization of agents working on one or more aspects of urban incorporation. One of the challenges of receiving migrants is thus linked to the continuity of the city’s administrative policies: when new approaches entail the weakening of previous 16 The ZMVM (Zonametropolitana del Valle de México) is an urban area of 7900 km2 that includes 60 municipalities around the central city, which itself only covers a space of 1480 km2 , i.e. less than 20%.

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measures, as has been the case in 2013 and late 2018, the coherence of the city’s initiatives and the visibility of the measures are affected. More broadly, the discrepancy between the often ambitious perspective of the city government and the difficulty in setting up concrete, lasting programs raises the question of how the idea of reception is conceived. Regarding that, the way local policies are shaped seems to be systematically the result of a “top-down” process, to the detriment of a reasoning more grounded in past experiences. Indeed, the guiding principles are often influenced by foreign discourses that have little to do with the local situation, as they have been inspired by contexts with different migratory histories and other priorities among elites (most notably in North America and Europe). At the very least, the transposition of these experiences requires reinterpretation for the local context where the multiethnic character of the urban population, the continuous transformation of reasons for migration, and people’s keeping of their distance from urban authorities must be understood in their specificity. On that matter, civil society contributions to the creation of public policy appear too peripheral, despite recent experiences tending toward greater participation. For the July 2018 municipal elections, six organizations created a “community proposal for a progressive agenda on human mobility in Mexico City” (Sin Fronteras, 2018).17 Based on the experiences of these organizations, the “proposals aim to improve the inter-institutional work for the conformity of programs and policies with existing legislation and the international commitments that Mexico has signed” in order to “implement properly the legislative and public policy mechanisms whose goal is to align the agendas in every institutional structure in the city.” Presented as a series of feasible steps, the proposed agenda was “based on an assessment of what was accomplished during the 2013–2018 administration” with the goal “of making progress in the proper implementation of basic regulatory and public policies, and not to go back over that which has already been dealt with” (p. 8). In the interaction of all the players on the urban scene, the distrust between public agents and migrant support collectives remains tangible, and the fear of clientelism on one side and of

17 The communityorganizationsthatparticipatedwere the Casa de Acogida, Formación y Empoderamiento de la Mujer Migrante y Refugiada (CAFEMIN); Casa Tochan; SMR ScalabrinianasMisión con Migrantes y Refugiados; Comisión de DerechosHumanos de la Ciudad de México; Centro de Atención y Apoyo a Migrantes (CAAM); and the Instituto de Investigación y Práctica Social y Cultural (IIPSOCULTA).

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political takeover on the other are enduring obstacles to effective collaboration. In this way, the multiplication of measures and the fragmentation of institutional bodies and agents in charge of their endorsement are part of the “loss of competency” pointed out by community organizations, as well as the persistent ignorance of measures by field agents (Calderón Chelius, 2019).

Conclusion By calling for an inclusive, welcoming, and intercultural vision of social issues in the urban space, local authorities refer to a right to the city in the renewed sense that international institutional and urban figures have given to the notion developed by Henri Lefebvre in the late 1960s. From the perspective of migratory experiences in the city, calls for the respect for human rights, for access to basic resources, for the right to non-discrimination and for the application of international protection conventions signed by Mexico appear nevertheless more important and more urgent. In many ways, positions on cultural difference and interculturality may seem secondary to more immediate socio-political challenges. What’s more, intercultural viewpoints tend to depoliticize migratory issues, as Marzorati and Marconi (2018) suggest, by classing migratory matters alongside cultural ones—which is hardly incongruous—rather than in terms of the political issue of access to civic life, whether on the local or national level. Numerous social interactions contextualized and daily, are characteristic of living in a city under constraints where marginalization, legitimacy, and effective agency are in a state of permanent tension. These practices function in the sense of a politics of presence, as defined by S. Sassen (2002) or J. Darling (2017): the expression of objective conditions where political subjectivity and the practical exercising of rights interact. The ways that rights are expressed, however, and the debate over the conditions of incorporating foreign migrants are, in the current context, faced with an absence of mobilization of the migrant populations themselves. Between invisibilization as a strategy for incorporation and the possible continuation of the migration north, Central American populations frequently keep their distance from institutional agents and their discourse, as inclusive or well-meaning as it may be. Intermediation clearly passes through the work of community migrant support organizations, both secular and religious. These organizations have long been the only ones truly, in Mexico City as in the rest of the country, to

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take responsibility for the specific needs of populations in transit or in the process of settling down. Mexico City’s programs are signs of progress, but are largely based on a vision that is out of touch with the realities of migrants in the city. The situation, however, for migrants in Mexico City is, in certain aspects, more favorable than in other regions in Mexico, especially in the south or at the northern border where discrimination and exposure to deportation operations conducted by migration authorities are common. For people maneuvering such a restrictive psychosocial environment, the idea that the metropolis may provide a calmer, less hostile environment seems tangible. The positions held by urban authorities come into play, and despite the numerous restrictions cited, Mexico City can still provide an environment that is both less violent than the places of origin and less exposed than the zones of mobility. The place of these populations in local contexts where resources are already strained brings into question the possibilities of incorporation and the living conditions of a large part of the metropolis’s poorer population. The magnitude of insecurity is not to be understood here in simply economic terms. It is also the insecurity of shortcomings in the feasibility of mobilizing social resources, of exposure to the risks of unlawfulness or of the extremely insufficient response from national and local authorities. The escalating criminalization of migrants and their exposure to organized crime remains very significant in the persistent context of impunity (París et al., 2016). In that sense, the tradition of hospitality toward those in exile or in forced migration which the country could take pride throughout the twentieth century18 is a long way from functioning in a comparable manner for migrants from much closer lands fleeing pronounced violence in the Central American Northern Triangle19 (García Aguilar & Villafuerte Solís, 2014; PEN, 2016). These conditions reveal a latent tension, one of the effects of which is the invisibilization on the national scene of migratory issues and a shifting of the burden onto local activists or, in certain cases, onto cities’ resources for dealing with problem issues, without giving these issues a central place on the 18 In particular, Spanish Republicans and those in exile from Latin American dictatorships. 19 The COMAR (Mexican Commission for Refugee Aid) has indicated that the number of asylum requests went from 3424 in 2015, to 8781 in 2016. Fewer than one in three applicants is granted refugee status.

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local agenda. How to respond then to demands that stem principally from the effects of measures established by the national authorities? In Mexico City as elsewhere, when a city declares itself a sanctuary city, we get an implicit, comparative glimpse at the national statements and the way the local position tries to come into play. In both cases, there is no shortage of the political instrumentation of migratory issues and the rhetorical use of hospitality.

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igratorias_Testimonios_de_vida_en_torno_a_la_migracio_n_y_la_solidaridad. Accessed 22 July 2020. Fonseca, M. L. (Ed.). (2008). Cities in movement: Migrants and urban changes. CEG University of Lisbon. García Zamora, R. (Ed.). (2017). El retorno de los migrantes mexicanos de Estados Unidos a Michoacán, Oaxaca, Puebla, Guerrero y Chiapas 2000–2012 (p. 241). UAZ-Porrúa. García Aguilar, C., & Villafuerte Solís, D. (2014). Migración, derechos humanos y desarrollo. Aproximaciones desde el sur de México y Centroamérica (p. 423). Mexico, UCAC - Juan Pablos Ed. Glick Schiller, N., & Ça˘glar, A. (Ed.). (2011). Locating migration: Rescaling cities and migrants (p. 279). Cornell University Press. Holston, J., & Appadurai, A. (1999). Introduction: Cities and citizenship. In J. Holston (Ed.), Cities and citizenship (pp. 1–18). Duke University Press Books. Izcara Palacios, S., & Andrade, K. R. (2016). Transmigrantes centroamericanos en Tamaulipas (p. 182). Fontamara. LIAMMH. (2011). Ley de Interculturalidad, Atención a Migrantes y Movilidad Humana en el Distrito Federal. Mexico: Gaceta Oficial del Distrito Federal, 7 April 2011. http://www.aldf.gob.mx/archivo-e800ffd58570472c879df856 002040c5.pdf. Accessed 22 July 2020. Marzorati, R., & Marconi, G. (2018). Gobernar la migración y la diversidad urbana en la Ciudad de México. Una reflexión critica a partir de la Ley de interculturalidad. REMHU, Rev. Interdiscip. Mobil. Hum, 26(52), 149–166. Nájera Aguirre, J. (2016). El complejo estudio de la actual migración en tránsito por México: Actores, temáticas y circunstancias. Migraciones Internacionales, 8(3), 255–266. Nicholls, W., & Uitermark, J. (2016). Migrant cities: Place, power, and voice in the era of super diversity. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 42(6), 877–892. ONU-Habitat. (2011). Inclusión de los migrantes en las ciudades. Políticas y practicas innovadoras (p. 123). UNESCO y ONU-HABITAT. https://geo graphy.columbian.gwu.edu/sites/g/files/zaxdzs1786/f/image/guia-inclus ion-de-los-migrantes.pdf. Accessed 10 Sept 2020. París, M. D., Zenteno, R., Treviño, J., & Wolf, S. (2016). Un análisis de los actores políticos y sociales en el diseño y la implementación de la política y la gestión migratoria en México (p. 108). Informe final, Tijuana: El Colegio de la Frontera Norte. PEN Programa Estado de la Nación en Desarrollo Humano Sostenible. (2016). Quinto Informe Estado de la Región (5ta edición, p. 452). San José: PEN CONARE.

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Perraudin, A. (2018). Droit à la ville, multiculturalisme et minorités ethniques dans les villes latino-américaines. Le cas de Mexico. Problèmes d’Amérique latine, 3(110), 61–79. Price, M., & Benton-Short, L. (2008). Migrants to the metropolis: The rise of immigrant gateway cities (p. 428). Syracuse University Press. REDODEM. (2015). Migración en tránsito por México: rostro de una crisis humanitaria internacional (p. 133). México: Red de documentación de las organizaciones defensoras de migrantes. http://redodem.org/wp-content/ uploads/2019/07/Informe-Redodem-2015.pdf. Accessed 10 July 2020. REDODEM. (2018). El Estado indolente: recuento de la violencia en las rutas migratorias y perfiles de movilidad en México, informe 2017 (p. 195). Mexico: Red de Documentación de las Organizaciones Defensoras de Migrantes. http://redodem.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/Inf orme-Redodem-2017.pdf. Accessed 10 July 2020. Ridgley, J. (2008). Cities of refuge: Immigration enforcement, police, and the insurgent genealogies of citizenship in U.S. sanctuary cities. Urban Geography, 29(1), 53–77. Rojas Wiesner, M., & De Vargas, M. (2014). Strategic invisibility as everyday politics for a life with dignity: Guatemalan women migrants’ experiences of insecurity at Mexico’s Southern Border. In T. Truong, D. Gasper, J. Handmaker, & S. Bergh (Eds.), Migration, gender and social justice (pp. 193–211). Springer, Berlin Heidelberg. Sassen, S. (2002). Towards post-national and denationalized citizenship. In E. Isin & B. Turner (Eds.), Handbook of citizenship studies (pp. 277–291). Sage. SIBISO. (2019). Informe anual de Gestión de la Secretaría de Inclusión y Bienestar Social (SIBISO) (p. 169). https://www.sibiso.cdmx.gob.mx/storage/ app/media/informe_sibiso_2019.pdf. Accessed 10 July 2020. Sin Fronteras. (2017). Diagnóstico interseccional sobre la situación y necesidades de mujeres; niñas, niños y adolescentes; y personas LGBTTTI migrantes y sujetas de protección internacional en la Ciudad de México (p. 87). México: SF. http://agendamigracioncdmx.sinfronteras.org.mx/wp-content/uploads/ 2017/07/diagnostico_final.pdf. Accessed 15 July 2020. Sin Fronteras. (2018). Una propuesta desde la sociedad civil para una agenda progresiva por la movilidad humana en la CDMX (p. 18). Mexico: SF. https://sinfronteras.org.mx/wp-content/uploads/2019/01/ Agenda-nueva-administraci%C3%B3n-CDMX.pdf. Accessed 15 July 2020. UPM/SEGOB. (2019). Boletín Mensualde estadistica migratorias. Mexico: Unidad de Politica Migratoria/Secretaría de Gobernación. http://www. politicamigratoria.gob.mx/es/PoliticaMigratoria/CuadrosBOLETIN?Anual= 2019. Accessed 26 June 2020. Varsanyi, M. (2006). Interrogating “urban citizenship” vis-à-vis undocumented migration. Citizenship Studies, 10(2), 229–249.

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Waldinger, R. (1989). Immigration and urban change. Annual Review of Sociology, 15, 211–232. Walker, K., & Leitner, H. (2011). The variegated landscape of local immigration policies in the United States. Urban Geography, 32(2), 156–178.

CHAPTER 9

Hostility, Humanitarianism, and Radical Solidarity with Migrants in Tijuana, Mexico M. Dolores París Pombo and Verónica Montes

Introduction During the last decade, nativist and xenophobic discourses have proliferated not only in countries of destination but also in countries of transit and origin. In many parts of the globe, those discourses have become hegemonic ideologies and have contributed to the rise of rightist and populist governments. How have anti-immigrant and anti-refugee frames resonated culturally among an array of social and political sectors, even in countries or regions with a very small foreign-born population? Moreover, why are some migrants and refugees framed as a menace to national identities or as a source of criminality while others are considered vulnerable and deserving of humanitarian aid? To address these questions, we

M. D. París Pombo (B) El Colegio de La Frontera Norte, Tijuana, B.C., Mexico e-mail: [email protected] V. Montes Bryn Mawr College, Bryn Mawr, PA, USA © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_9

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examine the arrival of two groups of asylum seekers, Haitians and Central Americans, in the border city of Tijuana, situated at the northwest of Mexico. By examining the responses that the arrival of these two groups generated among local citizens, municipal agencies, and civil society organizations (hereafter CSOs), this chapter explores what aspects play a determining factor in shaping the conditions of these migrants’ reception.1 To do this analysis, we focus on solidarity movements to understand their influence on public opinion and how that shapes local policies toward migrants. Drawing on the social movement framing perspective (Benford, 1997), we aim to explain why and when solidarity organizations in Tijuana can articulate their causes in a meaningful way, to the extent this articulation can generate a cultural resonance within the local population leading to the establishment of critical alliances with local political actors. We draw on fieldwork carried out during two critical events: first in 2016–2017, marked by the influx of thousands of Haitian migrants headed to the United States in search of humanitarian protection; and the second at the end of 2018, when large contingents of Central American migrants arrived in Tijuana after spending over a month crossing Mexico in the self-designated caravans. The first author worked with research teams from her institute, the College of the Northern Border (El Colegio de la Frontera Norte or El Colef), carrying out applied research on policies surrounding the reception of migrants in Tijuana. Together with colleagues, she conducted multiple interviews with political and social actors. They also administered one survey in Creole to Haitian migrants (February–April 2017) and two surveys in Spanish to Central American migrants who had arrived in Tijuana with the caravans (November–December 2018) (El Colef, 2019; París et al., 2018). The second author carried out ethnographic research with the caravan during October and November 2018 both in Mexico City and Tijuana and has been following the process of integration of several Honduran migrants who arrived at the US-Mexico border since their arrival and settlement in Tijuana. This chapter begins with the discussion of framing and cultural resonance within the literature of social movements. We then describe the 1 By reception, we mean all those services that have to be provided to meet basic and decent conditions for a group of individuals at the time of arrival at a new place.

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geopolitical and historical specificity of Tijuana, which helps explain the early formation of several groups and CSOs that assist migrants. We also demonstrate the limits of local institutions and the importance of transborder solidarity. In the following two sections, we describe the arrival to Tijuana of the two migrant groups: the Haitian migrants who arrived at the border in 2016–2017 with the goal of requesting international protection in the United States and the self-proclaimed Central American migrant caravans that arrived at Tijuana in 2018. We then turn to analyze and compare the cultural resonance of solidarity movements in both contexts. Ultimately, we conclude this chapter by articulating the factors that determined the contrasting conditions of reception of these migrant groups.

From Humanitarian Framing to Radical Solidarity In this section, we utilize some notions and concepts from the framing theories on social movements to explain how CSOs contend to construct social reality and to mobilize resources in favor of migrants and refugees. We propose that a wide mobilization of volunteers and the external support of solidarity organizations can be crucial in gathering material and financial resources to mitigate migrants’ vulnerability and to guarantee their basic rights. However, the participation in solidarity movements has become more difficult in times of border securitization and migrant criminalization (Reggiardo, 2019). The permanent production and dissemination of anti-immigrant discourses have led to a strong distrust and stigmatization not only of migrants but also of organizations working for their rights. Our current context is one where the erection of walls and warnings about the invasion of strangers abound. We believe it is important to ask, along with Balibar (2017): is the construction of the stranger (or the reproduction of strangeness) the foundation for the current form of domination? For this reason, solidarity can have a deeply counterhegemonic meaning. From the framing perspective, social movement organizations (SMOs), local authorities, media outlets, scholars, and other actors intervene in the construction of meaning and contend to shape public opinion. The work of these actors is to focus the public’s attention on particular events, to stress particular information, and to provide a set of meanings for their interpretation (Benford & Snow, 2000). These theories explore what motivates volunteers and activists to join SMOs and to invest personal

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resources in collective actions. They also explain why some social movements can successfully promote motivational framings—the urgency of taking actions or the moral priority in doing so—in order to mobilize the local population and to gather resources (Snow et al., 2019). Following Reggiardo’s (2019) study on solidarity during the European “migrant crisis,” we propose that CSOs and volunteers aiding refugees and migrants produce two types of motivational framings: “solidarity as salvation” (or humanitarianism) and “solidarity as revolution” (or radical solidarity). The humanitarian perspective is usually depoliticized and based on religious beliefs about the duty to protect the most vulnerable populations, to provide people with basic services like food and shelter, and to guarantee human dignity. The organizations promoting radical solidarity develop a more controversial frame arising from the political left, harshly critical of the securitization of migration policies; they often defend open borders for human mobility. Both humanitarian and radical organizations share a common master frame, based on notions of human rights. According to Benford and Snow (2000, p. 619), “master frames are a handful of collective action frames sufficiently broad in interpretive scope, inclusivity, flexibility, and cultural resonance.” The concepts of frame resonance and cultural resonance are relevant to understand the effectiveness or mobilizing potency of proffered framings (Benford & Snow, 2000). Different empirical studies have identified factors that can affect the prospect of frame resonance: for instance, frame consistency (Benford & Snow, 2000), the importance of temporality and context (Snow et al., 2019), sharing common emotional experiences (Jasper, 2011), when frames appeal to people’s everyday experiences, or when they propose a simple solution to a social problem (McDonnell et al., 2017). Some empirical studies also demonstrate that frames resonating with one audience can undermine the prospect of resonance with another audience (Snow et al., 2019). Bloemraad et al. (2016) utilized a survey experiment to undertake a comparison across randomized groups in the United States to understand how particular master frames related to immigration affect individuals’ expressed attitudes and policy preferences. The authors conceptualize resonance in terms of framing contests between movement proponents and opponents (p. 1648). The three domains used to investigate these framing contests are human rights, the economic benefits of immigration, and family unity. The findings of this study suggest that human rights do not resonate with a wide audience in the United States. By contrast, the

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framing of family unity resonates more strongly among those surveyed, primarily among self-identified conservatives. However, the authors do not contextualize frame resonance in a broader political field, neither do they take into consideration the power relations embedded in framing contests. Power and domination are usually surprisingly absent from framing analysis. Therefore, Carragee and Roefs (2004, p. 215) have proposed integrating framing research and the literature on media hegemony in order to explain how power shapes the framing process. They show that some frames are promoted by powerful actors (like politicians or public institutions) and amplified by hegemonic media outlets so that frame resonance routinely favors political elites. Also, these authors link resonance to the amount of resources invested in the news coverage. In their “theory of resonance” McDonnell et al. (2017, p. 7) observe that the structure of power differentials usually shapes the dynamics of resonance and that power determines a “hierarchy of credibility.” In this sense, some institutional high-status political frames are much more likely to lead to resonance, and even to confer status on local actors who emulate their framing on immigration. In the case of the border region of San Diego-Tijuana, several contending actors compete to frame the issues occurring at the border, and particularly those related to migration and deportation. There are religious congregations and humanitarian organizations whose aim is to create a welcoming environment for undocumented migrants, deportees, and refugees; they provide shelter, food, and humanitarian aid. Radical solidarity movements regularly protest, organize rallies, and propose laws and public policies to grant migrants rights. Other political actors, local authorities, and pressure groups push states toward greater restrictions, representing migrants as a menace to internal security or as criminals trying to invade the homeland. Media outlets and social networks are key to the process of frame amplification: They highlight some incidents, like crimes committed by migrants, or, on the contrary, they call for political empathy and solidarity. Before delving into the examination of how these contending groups responded to the arrival of both Haitian and Central American migrants, we introduce the geopolitical and social context of the border city of Tijuana.

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Tijuana: A Welcoming City? Situated in the western part of the US-Mexico border, the corridor between San Diego (California) and Tijuana (Baja California) constitutes the most populated and the most transited border region between the two countries. During the twentieth century, Tijuana’s population soared from a few hundred to 1,210,820 residents by 2000 (Chávez, 2016). This demographic dynamism was closely related to northbound migration: many migrants from central and southern Mexico arrived at the border with the intention to arrange an unauthorized journey to the United States, while others were lured by the expanding border economy. During the Bracero Program that recruited nearly two million Mexican laborers with temporary contracts for US agriculture (1942–1964), many of these workers brought their families with them to border cities to establish their home closer to their place of work (Zenteno, 1995). After the program was cancelled by the US government, some ex-braceros managed to legalize their immigration status, while others returned to Mexico only to go North later undocumented. A third group of workers who had been enrolled in the Bracero program remained in Tijuana seizing on labor opportunities during the urban expansion and the modernization of the economy (Chávez, 2016). Indeed, shortly after the end of the program, the Mexican government instituted the Border Industrialization Program (BIP) which created an export-processing area that helped maintain the economic vitality of Tijuana. Between the 1970s and 1990s, the strong demand for work in the American economy and recurrent economic crises in Mexico gave rise to the continuous increase in the recruitment of irregular Mexican migrants in the United States. Tijuana was the main border crossing point into the United States, and California was the destination for most Mexican and Central American migrants (París et al., 2017). But not all the migratory flows were headed to California. Tijuana’s economy lured thousands of domestic migrants who were looking for jobs in its growing maquiladora 2 industry, its tourist sector, and its burgeoning commerce, stimulated by its proximity to the US economy.

2 According to Alegría (2012, p. 104) “the maquiladora is a diverse mix of industrial activities that include exportation, primarily by foreign companies—whose principle role is to produce goods for final consumption”.

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With Operation Gatekeeper launched by the US government in 1994, the construction of the border fence, the ramping up of the Border Patrol and military personnel, and the dramatic security buildup in the southwestern border of the United States, the flow of undocumented migrants moved eastward to more isolated regions. Simultaneously, the number of deportations to Mexico dramatically increased after 1996, when the US Congress passed several laws that expanded the power of the federal agencies to detain and deport non-citizens (Hagan et al., 2008). During the Obama administration (2008–2016), around 280,000 Mexican citizens were deported each year. The number of removals decreased at the beginning of the Trump administration, with near 185,000 removals of Mexican citizens in 2017, and 218,000 in 2018 (Guo & Baugh, 2019). More than 90 percent of them arrived at Mexico’s northern border cities. Expelled from their homes and workplaces and severed from their social networks, these deportees are often stigmatized as criminals by local authorities, the media, and other residents. They suffer systematic harassment by local police, as well as arbitrary arrests, extortion, and robbery. Albicker and Velasco (2016) found that hundreds of deportees are homeless, living in the streets, along the Tijuana River’s canals, and under the bridges. Through an analysis of media and dozens of interviews, they showed that these deported migrants are usually identified in local media and public discourses as drug addicts and criminals. In the same vein, in the region Juárez-El Paso, Padilla and Coronado (2012) illustrated the continuity in discourses depicting deportees as a menace to public security. During an important increase in removals of Mexican migrants in the 2000s, the Juarez mayor and other local authorities expressed multiple times in public discourses that “thousands of criminals were being deported to their cities representing a grave danger to society” (p. 208). Despite the anti-deportee climate, multiple CSOs provide services to deported individuals or migrants in transit who stay in Tijuana. Most of these organizations have established temporary or long-term alliances with Mexican and US political organizations, and they receive funds and donations from both sides of the border. Most shelters are part of Catholic or Protestant missions and have an assistance-oriented approach. Other CSOs, founded in the last ten years, have a more radical and less institutionalized profile. They promote demonstrations, host political and cultural events, participate in social networks, and articulate demands

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together with other social movements for human rights (París & Müller, 2016). The most traditional shelters, the Salvation Army, Casa del Migrante (Migrant’s House) and Instituto Madre Assunta,3 are coordinated through the Coalición Pro-Defensa del Migrante (Migrant Defense Coalition or COALIPRO). They have achieved strong recognition and receive multiple donors and volunteers from the local population, from the United States, and from other countries. Even if municipal administrations have regularly been quite averse to the presence of migrants and deportees in the city, they also usually support the work of these shelters with financial resources and goods, probably because they are aware that without their work there would be an accelerated growth of indigent people in the streets. Amidst the surge of deportations that took place during the Bush and Obama administrations (mostly 2003 to 2014), several CSOs began to provide shelter, food, and other basic services to deportees in Tijuana. Some of these organizations, like Border Angels, took more confrontational positions vis-à-vis the local government advocating migrants’ rights, demanding funds, and denouncing police harassment of deportees (París & Müller, 2016). Founded in 2010, Border Angels constructed networks with migrant rights activists in Mexico and in the United States; in 2013, members of the organization participated in the “Caravan Opening Doors for Hope” (Caravana Abriendo las Puertas a la Esperanza), a journey and demonstration through twenty-six cities in the United States. This caravan was key for Border Angels to establish a link with Pueblos sin Fronteras (Peoples without Borders or PSF), one of the main organizers of migrant caravans in Mexico (Müller, 2014).4 In contrast with strong civil society networks, there are very few public programs that attend to migrants and repatriated people. At the end of

3 Casa del Migrante and Instituto Madre Assunta were founded in the 1980s and 1990s, the first for migrant men and the second for women and children. Both are run by the Scalabrini, a Catholic congregation dedicated to the care of migrants across world regions. 4 Since 2010, a caravan known as Viacrucis migrante crosses through Mexico before the Holy Week; it is a religious and political demonstration. Until 2017, it gathered a few hundred migrants and activists and ended in Mexico City or in a city near the US border. In April 2018, the Viacrucis arrived at the Tijuana border with close to one thousand migrants and activists.

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2014, the State Congress passed the Law for the Support and Protection of the Rights of Migrants in the State of Baja California (Ley para la Protección de los Derechos y Apoyo a los Migrantes en el Estado de Baja California). This law created an administrative structure for municipal, state, and federal bodies and defined commitments among local agencies for the protection of migrants. In compliance with the law, in April 2016, the Municipal Migrant Support Office (Dirección Municipal de Atención al Migrante) was established in Tijuana, just two months before the arrival of thousands of Haitian migrants to the city. This small office, with three employees, works without a budget and depends entirely on the willingness of the current mayor (París et al., 2018). Its purpose is to construct a space of dialogue between civil society organizations and federal, state, and municipal institutions to coordinate policies to assist and protect migrants in Tijuana. Although discourses of local officials always represent Tijuana as a “city of migrants” (more than half of its population was born in another city or in another state of Mexico), the vast majority of these “migrants” are Mexican citizens. According to data from the 2010 census, only 4.7 percent (72,640 inhabitants) were foreign-born; of these, most of them (67,695) were born in the United States, and only 4945 persons (representing 0.3 percent of the population) were born in another country. The population from the United States is more than 70 percent composed by US-born children of Mexican parents returned or deported (ww.inegi. org.mx). In what follows, we discuss the reception conditions that await both Haitians and Central Americans upon their arrival in Tijuana.

Haitian Migrants and Asylum Seekers Trapped in Tijuana, 2016–2017 The presence of migrants from Haiti became evident in May 2016, when they began arriving in the city in small groups. By the summer, dozens of migrants arrived each day in Tijuana. Most Haitians entered Mexican territory using its southern border and obtained a twenty-day temporary permit. In Tapachula, Chiapas (a Mexican southern state), Haitian migrants organized themselves to rent buses and to make a journey by

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land of more than 2400 miles. Their aim was to reach the US-Mexico border to request asylum or humanitarian parole.5 In April 2017, a group of researchers from El Colef carried out fieldwork and administered a survey among 634 Haitians who remained in the shelters and in Protestant churches. The survey found that 90 percent of Haitian migrants came from Brazil, where they had lived anywhere between several months to five years. Almost one fourth (24 percent) had completed studies equivalent to high school; 5 percent had a university degree, and 2.7 percent were university students before undertaking the voyage. On average, the surveyed migrants had 9.5 years of studies, contrasting with the average education in Haiti of 5.1 years (París et al., 2018). While many migrants who had arrived in Tijuana by November 2016 were able to apply for asylum, many others got stranded in the city as a result of the backlog in the paperwork process in the hands of US officials from Customs and Border Protection (CBP). The CBP stated that they could only process a few dozen asylum applications a day, leading to hundreds of Haitian families waiting longer than they had originally expected. By then, the economic resources of most Haitians were exhausted while their stay was prolonged, thereby creating a vulnerable situation for thousands of Haitians who found themselves sleeping on the streets. The high number of Haitians seeking shelter while waiting to apply for asylum exceeded the capacity of long-standing CSOs. In October 2016, when the well-established shelters were overwhelmed, new emergency shelters opened, most of them in Protestant churches. Between July and December 2016, more than twenty-five new shelters and churches opened their doors to house and feed Haitian migrants. In the same time frame, the waiting period to cross into the United States for the purpose of requesting asylum increased from a few weeks to more than three months. In January 2017, faced with growing restrictions in the US over humanitarian parole and asylum, approximately 3500 migrants—over 90 percent of them Haitians—remained stranded in Tijuana (París et al., 2018).

5 The Municipal Migrant Assistance Office registered the arrival of a total of 18,730 foreigners between May 26 and November 30, 2016 (París et al., 2018). According to the INM, 17,078 Haitians entered Mexico in 2016 and 852 between January and April 2017 (http://www.politicamigratoria.gob.mx/es_mx/SEGOB/Boletines_Estadisticos).

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Haitian migrants were highly organized and acted collectively. In most of the churches that sheltered them in Tijuana, they coordinated themselves, buying and preparing food and ensuring preferential access to resources for families with minor children. The actions of pastors and congregations were essential, as was the transborder civil society, in coming up with the resources necessary for sustaining thousands of people’s access to basic services over several months. On weekends, it was common to see hundreds of individuals and some religious congregations from both sides of the border, bringing donations and helping inside of makeshift shelters as well as in the established shelters. Sometimes these solidarity initiatives exceeded the capacity of the shelters to process the assistance; this was especially true in the case of clothing donations that arrived in large bales from California, and eventually saturated the hallways and parking lots of many shelters. The Desayunador Salesiano del Padre Chava (Father Chava’s Dining Hall) was one key place where many of these donations from the northern side of the border arrived; a large hall that for more than twenty years has provided one meal a day to the homeless population in Tijuana, Father Chava’s Dining Hall turned itself into a temporary shelter for approximately four hundred migrants, mostly Haitians. In September, the Catholic order of the Salesians also transformed other buildings into shelters in the east of the city. Due to its proximity to the border, Father Chava’s Hall became a nodal point for the referral of migrants to other shelters. On September 13th, in dozens of buses paid by the migrants themselves, about two thousand Haitian migrants arrived from southern Mexico (París et al., 2018). The Salesian dining hall was overwhelmed in its capacity to attend to the migrants, administer the donations, and coordinate the volunteers; a certain atmosphere of chaos reigned. The sense of chaos and the lack of local policies to assure shelter and food to the newcomers led eight volunteers working at this dining hall to form the Strategic Committee for Humanitarian Aid (SCHA). Through their social networks, the SCHA organized volunteers while they coordinated donors. One of SCHA’s tasks was to regularly visit the shelters to identify their material and financial needs alongside coordinating the distribution of goods. The SCHA was never a formal association or CSO but it played an important role in framing solidarity with the Haitian migrants on social media, using the hashtag #TijuanaCiudaddeMigrantes. Their Facebook page had more than 2500 local followers (Silva & Padilla, 2020).

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The Municipal Migrant Support Office (MMSO) also facilitated coordination between shelters, institutions, and all levels of government, especially with the Instituto Nacional de Migracion (National Migration Institute or INM). The director responded to the flow of people arriving at the San Ysidro border by creating a system of appointments for asylum seekers, later known as metering, which initially was managed by the shelters and later by the Mexican Beta Group6 from the INM (Grupo Beta).7 To notify migrants about their turn to cross to San Ysidro (in the new system of appointments), a communication network was established through WhatsApp, with the Beta Group, the MMSO, and the coordinators of the shelters, churches, as well as the SCHA. In sum, the arrival of thousands of migrants, not only Haitians but also from other world regions, exceeded the material capacities to serve this community of both well-established CSOs, which had been serving the migrant community for so many years, and municipal authorities. Emergent organizations such as Protestant churches and the SCHA were crucial to provide shelter, care, and basic services to Haitians as their plans to apply for asylum had faded. In November 2016, the US government started its first deportations of Haitians who had crossed the border through San Ysidro, an event that led many Haitian families to become fearful about asking for humanitarian protection at the border. In January 2017, with President Trump’s inauguration and the surge of his antiimmigrant discourse, close to four thousand Haitians gave up on crossing the border and began to see Tijuana as a place to settle (París et al., 2018). The Mexican government issued one-year humanitarian permits to all of the Haitians. They began searching for places to live and work, establishing small businesses, and founding social organizations and cultural centers in Tijuana.

6 The Grupo Beta functions under the umbrella of the Mexican National Institute of Migration. Its mission is to protect human rights of migrants regardless their migration status. They offer water, medical aid, and information to migrants at risk. 7 This system, which later came to be known as “metering,” has been repeatedly condemned by US organizations as a violation both of US law and the international right to asylum. Human Rights First, “Crossing the Line. U.S. Border Agents Illegally Reject Asylum Seekers,” May 2017, http://www.humanrightsfirst.org/resource/crossingline-us-border-agents-illegally-reject-asylum-seekers.

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Caravans of Central American Migrants Arriving to Tijuana, 2018–2019 Between October 2018 and January 2019 about ten thousand Central American migrants entered Mexico and crossed its territory in a quest to arrive at the US-Mexico border to apply for asylum. Central American migrants crossing Mexican territory was not new; however, what was new this time was the en masse movement and its visibility (París & Montes, 2020). This mobility strategy was referred to by activists, scholars, and journalists as caravans. These caravans received wide coverage in the national and international media and on different social media platforms. US President Donald Trump multiplied alerts, threats, and tweets against caravan members and their intention to “invade the United States.” On November 11, the first caravaneros (caravan members) arrived: a group of eighty-five migrants, the majority of whom identified as LGBTQ. With the help of a social organization from Texas, they rented a house in a middle-class neighborhood alongside the ocean. Upon their arrival, they were ambushed by journalists and representatives of the neighborhood homeowner association. While the former, anxious to have the scoop, nervously brandished their microphones to pose their questions, the latter group protested and yelled, showing their disappointment at the arrival of Central American migrants in their neighborhood. For weeks, the LGBTQ migrants lived enclosed in the house that they rented, fearful because of their neighbors’ protests. By the end of November, approximately seven thousand Central American migrants had arrived in Tijuana. Like their Haitian counterparts, the majority of caravaneros arrived with the intention of applying for asylum in the United States. However, the journey to the north for the caravaneros had several setbacks not faced by their Haitian counterparts. First, they were not granted temporary permits as in the Haitians’ case, which would have allowed them to travel more safely and quickly. Second, their journey through Mexico was filled with a series of incidents: some had accidents (one young Honduran died after falling from a truck), others suffered from dehydration and fatigue walking hundreds of kilometers in the routes of southern Mexico, or even disappeared altogether, while still others experienced arbitrary detentions and ended up being deported to their countries of origin. Several persons reported having been beaten and tortured by agents of the INM (COMDHSM, 2019). These multiple

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traumatic experiences made Central American migrants distrustful of authorities not only during their journey north, but in particular once they arrived in Tijuana. As was the case in 2016, the arrival point for the caravaneros was Father Chava’s Dining Hall. Although the municipal government knew about the imminent arrival of thousands of caravaneros , they did not arrange a facility to accommodate them. The migrants decided to camp on the beach, walking six miles in a line to get there. They installed themselves in small tents, protected by blankets. The signs of the arduous and precarious journey of more than 2700 miles from Honduras to Tijuana was reflected in the bodies of most migrants. They looked exhausted, and many had respiratory illnesses owing to the variations of temperature; the month of November in Tijuana tends to be cold, and few were prepared with adequate clothes. Around a dozen representatives from social organizations reached out to migrants to offer transportation in buses facilitated by municipal police to take them to shelters. However, very few migrants accepted relocation. Members of PSF, an organization that had accompanied the caravan since its entrance into Mexican territory, rejected the proposal. Introducing themselves as the spokesmen of the caravan, they argued that the local authorities wanted to separate families. They proclaimed that they would only accept a place where every member of the caravan would be accommodated. While waiting for local authorities to decide what to do with thousands of members of the caravan that continued arriving in Tijuana, migrants settled around the lighthouse next to the border fence. On November 14th, the homeowner association of the neighborhood organized a meeting to discuss the presence of migrants on the beach. In this meeting the neighbors showed their utter disappointment with municipal authorities for granting the migrants the right to settle in their neighborhood. Some neighbors demanded the migrants’ eviction, invoking the conditions of insecurity generated by the presence of undesired foreigners. Shortly before nightfall, some of the neighbors marched onto the beach shouting insults, threatening, and throwing stones at the settled migrants. Lorena and Victor, a Honduran couple that had joined the caravan from the beginning in San Pedro Sula, considered that night to be the saddest and most anxiety-inducing moment in the whole journey they undertook through Mexico. Lorena described that night as follows, “I thought they would grab us that day. That fear… I told Victor we need to cover

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ourselves with blankets, because if he didn’t do it, they will kill us with stones” (Interview with Lorena, Tijuana, 2019).8 That same night, the local authorities gave orders to enable the Benito Juarez sports stadium to accommodate the migrants. This is a multi-use sports stadium located in the northern zone of Tijuana with the capacity to lodge two thousand people, but only seven hundred could be accomodated under the roof. The migrants kept arriving in large contingents. By November 28th, 6151 people from three caravans were crammed inside the stadium (El Colef, 2019). In this improvised camp, even drinking water was lacking, and the sanitary conditions were deplorable. Strong rains at the end of November flooded a part of the structure. Migrants were harassed by local police; several people from Honduras, El Salvador, and Guatemala were arbitrarily detained by the police, handed over to the INM, and then deported. In response to an attempt by hundreds of Central American migrants to force their entrance through San Ysidro, US authorities closed the border completely during a few hours on November 25 and blocked cargo trucks at other ports of entry. This was a blow to the local economy, which depends heavily on transborder flows.9 By early December, it was estimated that approximately two thousand members of the caravan had registered on a list of more than five thousand names, functioning as a virtual line for people waiting in Tijuana to request asylum in the San Ysidro Port of Entry.10 To make things

8 See Montes, Veronica (2019). Fleeing home: Notes on the Central American caravan in its transit to reach the US–Mexico border. Latino Studies. Vol. 17:4, pp. 432–439 for more details on this interview (https://link.springer.com/article/10.1057/s41276-01900214-x). 9 The local entrepreneurs association estimated that 150 million pesos, or 8.4 million

dollars, were lost in Tijuana commerce and tourism due to the closure of the border that single day (https://www.debate.com.mx/mexico/perdidas-millonarias-comercios-tijuanagarita-san-ysidro-migrantes-20181128-0203.html). 10 Since 2017, the metering system has been implemented in all the ports of entry at the US southern border. Each port communicates with Mexican officials to accept a certain number of asylum seekers every day. New arrivals have to register their names in notebooks managed by different actors in the Mexican border cities: the INM, civil society shelters, and the municipal government (European University Institute, Robert Strauss Center for International Security and Law of The University of Texas at Austin, Center for U.S./Mexican Studies of the University of California at San Diego, Asylum Processing and Waiting Lists at the U.S.-Mexico Border, December 2018).

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worse for thousands of Central Americans already stranded at the USMexico border, in December 2018, the US government announced that it would implement the so-called “Remain in Mexico” policy (later renamed Migrant Protection Protocols or MPP), under which non-Mexican asylum seekers would be sent back to Mexico to wait for their US immigration court hearings. The response of local authorities to the arrival of thousands of migrants in the city was not only ineffective but also promoted coercion and even violence against migrants, as the mayor and the chief of police publicly expressed xenophobic discourses. The participation of CSOs was absent, and neither was the traditional solidarity network to support the migrants activated. This lack of coordination between local authorities, CSOs, and citizens created a sense of chaos in the city. The reason for this lack of coordination was that local CSOs did not want to be associated with PSF, as this organization had been perceived as using the caravaneros to advance their own agenda. It was not until the migrants were moved to Benito Juarez stadium that some CSOs began coordinating to assist the migrants. One of these organizations was Enclave Caracol, an autonomous social space located just minutes from the border, which before the arrival of the caravaneros was serving around a hundred daily meals from Monday to Thursday to needy Tijuanenses and migrants. Upon the arrival of the caravan, meals were served in greater numbers, once a day, and the space came to operate as a temporary medical and legal clinic (Montes, 2019). In terms of legal assistance, Enclave Caracol supports Al Otro Lado (AOL), a binational organization founded before the arrival of the caravan, which provides direct migration-related legal services to diverse constituencies such as deportees, migrants, and refugees in Tijuana. AOL played a key role in coordinating dozens of volunteer migration lawyers and nonlegal professionals. These volunteers came not only from places close to the border, such as San Diego and Los Angeles, California but also from places as far away as Oregon and New York (Montes, 2019). The arrival of a new federal government to power in Mexico on December 1, 2018, seemed to bring some changes to the plight of the migrants. The new authorities of the INM, together with authorities from the national civil protection agency, opened a temporary, but much better equipped, shelter in the east of the city. However, less than half of the people accommodated in Benito Juarez accepted transfer to the new shelter because it was far from the border. Close to five hundred people

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stayed in the outskirts of the stadium and settled in warehouses, forming a self-managed camp. It was estimated that by December 7th about one thousand people had either returned voluntarily or been repatriated by the INM to their countries of origin. Others searched for jobs and housing in different neighborhoods of Tijuana or tried to move to other border cities (Colef, 2019). In sum, like the arrival of thousands of Haitians in the city in 2016, the assistance to the Central American migrants provided by the CSOs and the local authorities of Tijuana was overwhelmed by the large number of migrants arriving in the city in search of asylum in the US. However, in the case of the arrival of the caravaneros , the lack of coordination between CSOs, local authorities, and the solidarity movement from the transborder and local citizens prevailed. In this case, the framing relied upon by both the media and local authorities about the arrival of the caravaneros was based on depicting migrants as criminals. In 2016, Tijuana was discursively constructed within the frame of a “city of migrants,” whereas the frame around the caravaneros mirrored the one constructed in the US where migrants, particularly from Mexico and Central America, were depicted as a threat to national security and as an invasion of undesired people. In what follows, we examine the factors that marked the difference between the way in which both migrant communities were attended by CSOs, local authorities, and local citizens.

Frame Alignment Between CSOs and Public Institutions The concept of “frame alignment” was proposed by Snow, Rochford, Worden, and Benford (1986) to analyze which factors lead society members and public servants to support Social Movements Organizations (SMOs). The authors explain that in certain circumstances, the interests and values defended by SMOs may be complementary to interests of other social or political actors, leading to strategic alliances and to some important gains for organizations. According to Snow et al. (2019, p. 400), “Frame alignment processes encompass the strategic efforts of social movements actors and organizations to link their interests and goals with those of prospective adherents and resource providers so that they will contribute in some fashion to movement campaigns and activities.” We find that upon the arrival of Haitian migrants to Tijuana, CSOs and congregations were able to connect and align their interests with the

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Grupo Beta and the MMSO. This was in part due to the good relationships that these organizations maintained with the municipal, state, and federal administrations that regularly allocated resources to the shelters and facilitated spaces of dialogue about migration policies. Humanitarian frames developed by civil society and some local authorities could reach a wide resonance because they overlapped with religious beliefs widely disseminated by local Catholic and Protestant churches. Moreover, they were perceived as non-political and non-partisan frames. During the last week of May 2016, when hundreds of asylum seekers from different parts of the world were congregating in proximity to the border, waiting there days and nights until being received by USCBP, personnel from the Casa del Migrante, Instituto Madre Assunta, the MMSO, and other local institutions and human rights organizations gathered there to persuade migrants to go to the shelters. Local authorities and Grupo Beta organized a list of asylum seekers and agreed with the USCBP that they would cross the border in the order of arrival to Tijuana. On the one hand, the municipal government was interested in keeping migrants out of the streets and facilitating their crossing into the United States. On the other hand, shelters and CSOs wanted to protect families from risk and exposure to violence by waiting outdoors for days in one of Mexico’s most dangerous cities. Therefore, the more institutionalized shelters and CSOs collaborated with local and federal institutions related to migrants to put in place the list of asylum seekers (or the metering system). Local authorities also began searching for housing among Protestant congregations and distributing goods and food among shelters. By articulating their interests and goals alongside those of public institutions, CSOs were able to align the solidarity movement in Tijuana with multiple and diverse political and social actors. However, they also contributed to the legitimization of a questionable change to the asylum process, as people seeking asylum in the United States—even Mexican citizens fleeing persecution from their country—would henceforth be obliged to register with Mexican authorities, in order to cross the border and meet with US immigration officials. In contrast, with the flow of Central American migrants arriving in caravans, there was no coordination between federal and local government, nor with CSOs. By then, the municipal and federal authorities were from two different political parties and they had very little motivation

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to collaborate (at the federal level, the term of the ruling party— Partido Revolucionario Institucional or PRI—was just winding down). The MMSO had a minimum role most likely due to the anti-immigrant orientation of the mayor. In the case of civil society, the role of accompanying the caravans was overtaken by PSF. This organization had gained the trust of the caravaneros by journeying thousands of miles with them, distributing food and water, and renting buses for some stages of the route. Due to its radical and confrontational politics, this CSO has been criminalized by the federal government; it has no ties with local authorities in Tijuana, or with most traditional and CSOs forming part of the Migrant Defense Coalition or COALIPRO. However, PSF has connections with other binational organizations like Border Angels and Al Otro Lado. These organizations can get donors and volunteers from different parts of the United States, as well as a few Mexican and Central American activists. They have connections with the most radical solidarity organizations in the region, but it is distrusted by local institutional actors.

Humanitarian vs. Xenophobic Framings When powerful actors (like the president of the United States) promote certain frames, they are usually amplified by hegemonic media outlets and repeated by other politicians (Carragee & Roefs, 2004). While upon the arrival of the Haitians the framing constructed was a mixture of narratives interested in creating the image of Tijuana as a city of immigrants and encouraging solidarity to the newcomers, the framing upon the arrival of the caravaneros was heavily reliant on xenophobic and criminalizing narratives opposed to them. In both cases, the role of the media and powerful actors such as members of civil society and local and international authorities were crucial in the construction of these framings. Despite the lack of infrastructure and initial discoordination between CSOs and local authorities upon the arrival of thousands of Haitians, the response of local citizens was exceptional in terms of diversity of socioeconomic level, age, and social affiliation of the participants (Silva & Padilla, 2020). According to these authors, a sense of solidarity was generated and, most importantly, a symbolic construction of “being from Tijuana” was created. In this sense, citizens visualized themselves as Tijuanenses, promoting a collective identity and generating a kind of commitment to

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the city and to empathy for the other. The framing in this case revolved around the narrative of depicting Tijuana as a city of migrants, which aimed “to place the city as a benchmark for a migrant-friendly city” (Silva & Padilla, 2020, p. 26). The Strategic Committee for Humanitarian Aid was a key actor in the construction process of this framing of solidarity. The success it had as a convening group was based on its active presence on social media, but with concrete political action and outcomes. For the committee, “the FB group became a platform for social action that brought together the will and solidarity of local citizens” (Silva & Padilla, 2020, p. 28). In addition, the SCHA’s framing success was also based on their use of oral and written discourses in Spanish and English, and their understanding of border life. The committee perfectly understood the importance of information, not only so that the citizens knew what was happening but also to avoid issues of discrimination and xenophobia (Silva & Padilla, 2020). Although there were some racist expressions during the arrival of the group of Haitians, those had very low resonance in public opinion and went practically unnoticed among migrants and CSOs. It is worth noting that in 2016, local officials in Tijuana publicly expressed their concerns for migrants stranded in the city, but they never delivered openly antiimmigrant discourses. In local media, Haitians were represented as people from a very poor country that had suffered a terrible earthquake in 2010 and a devastating hurricane in October 2016. Therefore, they deserved humanitarian protection. In addition to these ideas concerning the “poor and suffering migrant,” Mexican officials maintained that the Haitians would enter the United States sooner or later. This idea was widely disseminated through social media and media outlets: Tijuana inhabitants thought that their solidarity would be needed only for a few months. In contrast, upon the arrival of the caravaneros the framing that prevailed was one based on a narrative of criminality, invasion, threat, and an anti-immigrant sentiment. In their study of the stigmatization of the deportees in Tijuana, Albicker and Velasco (2016) argue that this process of stigmatization has served as a fertilizer for the anti-immigrant sentiment that in recent years has increased and that has led to an ideology of transborder criminalization. For these authors, the anti-immigrant discourse “has a particular vitality in the (Mexican) border region due to the intensity of transborder interactions, as well as the density of infrastructure and institutions associated with border control as part of the local

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national security policies of the United States” (Albicker & Velasco, 2016, p. 123). The anti-immigrant climate played a crucial role in the framing of the caravanero as undesired, distrustful, and criminal. In their study of young caravaneros and their individual strategies once they decided to stay in Mexico City, Ruiz and Varela (2020) contend that the nationstate has created a stigma of criminality and gang membership that is attached to young Central American migrants. For these authors, these framings foster a narrative of “invasion” by foreigners of a criminal nature, which prevents solidarity with this group and creates the conditions for violent acts against migrants. Moreover, such framing revolves around the construction of a discourse highlighting the danger of “the invasion of the territory, the violation of sovereignty and of Mexican laws” (Ruiz & Varela, 2020, p. 117). On November 18th, there was an antiimmigrant march in Tijuana. “No to the invasion” was one of the slogans. Other slogans were “They are not migrants, they are terrorists,” “Get out Hondurans/here we don’t want you” (Pradilla, 2019, p. 235).11 The framing of criminality grew quickly due to the dissemination of fake news and decontextualized videos through traditional media outlets as well as through social media. In local news outlets, the caravaneros were “accused of being ungrateful, of throwing food, of creating scandals, of drinking and smoking weed and of dancing reggaeton” (Pradilla, 2019, p. 236). The mayor of Tijuana in a public conference said, “I don’t dare to call them [caravaneros ] migrants. They are a bunch of bums and marihuana smokers” (ibid.). This framing of criminality was also supported by the imaginary construction of the Haitians as the perfect model of a migrant: submissive, helpful, and grateful. Ordinary people on the streets and local authorities compared the caravaneros to Haitians by saying, “They [caravaneros ] should arrive in order, as the Haitians arrived. They [Haitians] are very different” (Pradilla, 2019, p. 240).

Final Remarks In this chapter, we discussed factors that determined the contrasting reception contexts of two migrant groups upon their arrival to the border 11 Around three hundred people participated in this march; however, it is worthwhile to look at this expression of hatred in perspective. Tijuana is a city of about 2 million inhabitants and about three hundred people attended this march.

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city of Tijuana: around 16,000 Haitian migrants during the second half of 2016, and more than 10,000 Central American migrants in late 2018. Building upon the analytical lens of framing, we showed that one factor was the construction of distinct narratives which generated opposite social attitudes and political actions toward these two migrant groups. Another factor was the coordination and frame alignment, or lack of them, between local authorities, long-standing and emergent CSOs, and local and transborder citizens. For decades, Tijuana has been a city of transit migration and deportation. Most migrants passing through or remaining in the city were Mexican citizens. The so-called repatriados (repatriated) were widely discriminated against and marginalized. However, shelters and CSOs providing humanitarian help to this population were usually perceived as depoliticized and benevolent actors. The arrival of Haitian asylum seekers in 2016 represented a new phenomenon in the city, not only because of the large number of foreign migrants who arrived in a few months, but also because of their visibility. Paradoxically, even if Haitians looked far different from most of the local population than the deportees, they were widely viewed with sympathy, and depicted as needy and grateful migrants. Moreover, there was a widespread idea that the Haitians would soon cross the border into the United States. Therefore, solidarity encompassed only a short-term effort from the population. Another factor that played a key role in the cultural resonance of solidarity movements was frame alignment. Not only were traditional CSOs that had been helping migrants for decades activated, but also new organizations such as the SCHA emerged. The SCHA served as a liaison between local authorities, emergent CSOs, mainstream media, and transborder citizens. It was pivotal to coordination across the border as well as at the local level as its participants were able to convey a unified discourse around the framing of solidarity which appealed to most Tijuanenses. Before getting to Tijuana, migrants’ caravans they were preceded by a broad media coverage about their slow journey through Mexico. Some news depicting Honduran migrants as underserving and rude went viral, like a Honduran woman rejecting a plate of beans in a shelter. Through xenophobic discourses, local authorities encouraged aggressions and hostility not only against migrants but also against some solidarity organizations viewed as foreign and confrontational.

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At the US-Mexico border, federal authorities repeated multiple times that migrants who came with the caravans would not cross the border into the United States. To make matters worse, they ramped up the militarization of the border and closed one crossing point. The federal government implemented policies that further militarized the region, expanded detention and enforcement practices, and unleashed relentless attacks on migrant families and on asylum seekers. These policies led to an increase in migrants and refugees stranded in cities on the northern border of Mexico in precarious conditions, prompting anti-immigrant feelings on the part of the Mexican population. Far from providing humanitarian help, Mexican authorities used the caravans as a scapegoat for the ongoing criminal violence in the northern border. During 2018, news about the caravans were the spark that ignited a wave of racist expressions in media outlets and social networks. The figure of the caravanero experienced a process of stigmatization similar to what Albicker and Velasco (2016) discussed in their work about deportees. Such stigmatization found fertile ground when powerful political authorities both in Tijuana and in the US used it to construct anti-immigrant frames. As Carragee and Roefs (2004) suggest, these frames tended to be amplified by hegemonic media outlets so that frame resonance favored political elites. Coordination between CSOs was absent as well as that between the municipal and federal governments. Initially, local institutions hindered the delivery of humanitarian help. However, new organizations and solidarity movements emerged embracing what Reggiardo (2019) refers to as radical solidarity, where the migrant is regarded as a social agent and where solidarity is seen as a possible tool of transformation.

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Benford, R. D., & Snow, D. (2000). Framing processes and social movements: An overview and assessment. Annual Review of Sociology, 26, 611–639. Bloemraad, I., Silva, F., & Voss, K. (2016). Rights, economics, or family? Frame resonance, political ideology, and immigrant rights movement. Social Forces, 94(4), 1647–1674. Carragee, K. M., & Roefs, W. (2004). The neglect of power in recent framing research. Journal of Communication, 54(2), 214–233. Chávez, S. (2016). Border Lives. Fronterizos, Transnational Migrants, and Commuters in Tijuana. Oxford University Press. Colectivo de Observación y Monitoreo de Derechos Humanos en el Sureste Mexicano (COMDHSM). (2019). Informe del monitoreo de derechos humanos del éxodo centroamericano en el sureste mexicano: octubre 2018febrero 2019. April 2019. https://vocesmesoamericanas.org/wp-content/upl oads/2019/05/InformeExodo_Final-web.pdf. El Colegio de la Frontera Norte (El Colef). (2019). La caravana de migrantes centroamericanos en Tijuana 2018–2019 (Segunda etapa). Report. Ferrera, M. (2016). The contentious politics of hospitality: Intra-EU mobility and social rights. European Law Journal, 22(6), 791–805. Guo, M., & Baugh, R. (2019). Immigration enforcement actions: 2018. Annual Flow Report. Department of Homeland Security (DHS). October 2019. https://www.dhs.gov/sites/default/files/publications/imm igration-statistics/yearbook/2018/enforcement_actions_2018.pdf. Hagan, J., Eschbach, K., & Rodriguez, N. (2008). U.S. deportation policy, family separation, and circular migration. The International Migration Review, 42(1), 64–88. Haynes, C., Merolla, J., & Ramakrishnan, K. (2016). Framing immigrants. News coverage, public opinion, and policy. The Russel Sage Foundation. Jasper, J. M. (2011). Emotions and social movements: Twenty years of theory and research. Annual Review of Sociology, 37 , 285–303. McDonnell, T. E., Bail, C. A., & Tavory, I. (2017, March). A theory of resonance. Sociological Theory, 35(1), 1–14. Montes, V. (2019). Fleeing home: Notes on the Central American caravan in its transit to reach the US-Mexico border. Latino Studies, 17 (4), 532–539. https://doi.org/10.1057/s41276-019-00214-x Müller, P. (2014). La contribución de las organizaciones de la sociedad civil a la defensa de los derechos humanos de los migrantes en la frontera TijuanaMexicali-San Diego. 1994–2014. Doctorate Dissertation, El Colef. Padilla, H., & Coronado, I. (2012). Migration and discrimination: Discourses regarding repatriations in Ciudad Juarez, Chihuahua, Mexico. Social Justice in the US-Mexico Border Region. M. Lusk et al. (eds.). Springer, pp. 199–213. París, M. D., Buenrostro, D., & Pérez, G. (2017). Trapped at the border: The difficult integration of veterans, families, and Christians in Tijuana. In M.

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CHAPTER 10

A Sanctuary City? San Jose’s Immigrant Reception and Social Integration Policies Abelardo Morales-Gamboa

Introduction San Jose, the capitalcity of Costa Rica, concentrates the largest domestic and foreign immigrant settlements of Central America. Immigrants and other ethnic groups are a key component of Costa Rica’s urban diversity. In 2011, more than 60% of foreign nationals resided in the urban area of central Costa Rica. In the city of San Jose alone, multi-ethnic groups and immigrants represented a quarter of the total number of residents. Immigrants, in particular, accounted for 17% of the capital’s population. In comparison, Afro-descendants represented slightly above 5% of the population, Asians or Asian descendants 1%, and indigenous persons slightly below 1%. Although immigrants are a culturally diverse collective, we can observe that 90% of them were from Nicaraguan origin. However, there is currently a lack of information about how immigrant profiles changed in the past decade, given that the last census was conducted in 2011, and new surveys have not been performed since then (INEC, 2012).

A. Morales-Gamboa (B) Universidad Nacional de Costa Rica (UNA), Heredia, Costa Rica © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_10

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The number of foreign nationals in San Jose has nevertheless increased due to the local market’s labor needs, especially with regard to services, such as paid domestic work, construction, and other formal and informal activities (Olivares, 2007). The question is thus raised whether their importance as a labor force and as members of the urban community translates into social and civic recognition. Despite social integration policies, there is currently limited evidence to show whether these efforts have permeated local society or San Jose’s public administration. In other words, while immigrant labor has been functionally integrated into the city’s economic activities, partial social and cultural inclusion strategies reveal that immigrants and other ethnic groups face obstacles in terms of access to their rights and inclusion in civic life. In modern societies, integration is the result of functional, moral, and symbolic integration into social life (Beriain, 1996). Functional integration does not only allude to the economy or the social division of labor; it rather refers to the broader pursuit of social objectives, and facilitated trade in goods and services. Meanwhile, moral integration refers to the process whereby individuals see one another as equals, and therefore subjects of rights, given that humans are “members of a universal moral community” (idem., pg. 121). Finally, “symbolic integration” refers to the collective construction of the meaning and constituents of collective identity (idem., pg. 121). When symbolic integration translates into maladjustment, separation, or exclusion, the community’s social fabric is torn, conflicts emerge, and crises arise. We are therefore interested in analyzing the relationship between migrants’ social integration and their participation in daily urban activities that are performed within the framework of the municipal government’s policies, and efforts led by civil society and other public institutions. Our purpose is to identify how municipal policies relate to other measures taken within the framework of Costa Rica’s immigration policy. In other words, the aim is to identify the city’s strategy to integrate foreign nationals into civic life. The relevance of this work does not only rely on the fact that San Jose is Costa Rica’s capital, but rather that its public policy impacts the configuration of the city’s social space and governance, given that San Jose is

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the urban core of the country’s Central Region.1 Local reception policies are partially related to the country’s political history of migration management. Effective reception policies translate into an individual’s active engagement in functional, moral, and symbolic integration efforts. Otherwise, urban space is rendered fragile. Since the 1990s, contrasting immigration management proposals have divided Costa Rican opinion. Society was divided into the “regulationists” and the “integrationists.” These two opposite proposals permeated both public policy and the discourse of social stakeholders (MoralesGamboa, 2008). Regulationists advocated for stricter immigration control measures, the removal of undocumented immigrants, and restricted access to public services for this population. Conversely, integrationists sought more inclusive legislation and policies, both in terms of labor market inclusion and access to social benefits. Throughout the following decade, regulationist views effectively influenced security and immigration control policies, ideas that were largely supported by the media and small xenophobic and anti-rights groups that related migration to the progressive deterioration of public services and increasing crime rates. On the other hand, while integrationists did not promote an open-door policy, they did support granting “legal” status to undocumented immigrants, enrolling them in the social security system, and making them eligible for public benefits. Integrationists had a stronger influence in public social institutions and humanitarian organizations (idem.) The dispute between both positions was settled in 2009 when a new Law on Migration was passed, becoming the first instrument in its field to dedicate a full chapter to social integration measures for the benefit of migrants. This measure represented an important step forward for integrationist views. The Law on Migration provided Costa Rica a new legal basis to address the challenges of immigration. Despite the setbacks the country had to face due to the absence of updated legislation, legal consensus, and social policies, the new Law and integration policies provided a framework of action for the central and local governments, and even civil society organizations, allowing them to address the particular challenges immigrant populations faced in their respective cities. Some of the central 1 The Central Region’s urban area, known as the Great Metropolitan Area (GMA), comprises the four main cities in the central region and a network of medium-sized cities. One of GMA’s cores is the Metropolitan Area of San Jose, a sub-system of cities surrounding the capital (Martínez, 2012).

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government’s actions in favor of immigrants included public and private programs to improve services and living conditions in immigrant settlements. The Ministry of Public Education launched educational programs against social rejection and xenophobia, promoting social integration instead. Meanwhile, the Ministry of Health adapted its programs to provide immigrants access to healthcare. Changes were also made in the judicial system to provide migrants access to legal assistance even when they had undocumented status (General Director’s Office of Migration and Citizenship, 2017). These changes, however, have not had a major impact on migrants’ social integration in San Jose. Mayor Johnny Araya Monge recognized during a local mayors summit that local governments lagged behind on the achievement of the Millennium Development Goals, which foresee that inequalities should be reduced, including those affecting migrants and other minorities living in San Jose. In this regard, Mayor Araya stated that “We [local governments] should frankly recognize that we are not doing enough to achieve the Millennium Development Goals, either due to a lack of resources and expertise, or to a lack of commitment” (Union of Ibero-American Capital Cities, 2018). These remarks from the Mayor of San Jose illustrate the importance of analyzing the relationship between urban management and migration policy. Due to the nature of Costa Rica’s political system, most public policies are coordinated and implemented by the Central Government’s Executive, especially those related to social integration programs. Migration policies are also regulated by the General Director’s Office of Migration and Citizenship, an office under the Ministry of Internal and Police Affairs, which is a public security institution. Despite the centralized nature of public policy design and execution, their outcome is visible at the local urban level, in the social dynamics of immigrants and locals. It is therefore at the local level that we can see to what extent society and the government have welcomed and integrated immigrant communities. This article is partially based on the information provided by a project conducted between 2015 and 2018 by a research team of the National University, the University of Costa Rica, and the Costa Rica Remote Education University: Dispositivos de la gobernanza desde abajo ante la fragilidad urbana, relacionada con la segregación socio-espacial y la violencia en el Área Metropolitana de San José, Costa Rica (unofficial translation: “Grassroots Governance vis-a-vis Urban Fragility and its Relationship with Social and Spatial Segregation, and Violence in the

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Metropolitan Area of San Jose, Costa Rica”).2 The project sought to identify and analyze the issues resulting from urban fragility in order to identify, systematize, and classify formal and informal social responses to the issues of social and spatial segmentation and exclusion, as well as exclusion from social security benefits, especially in some of the most socially vulnerable residential areas of the Metropolitan Area of San Jose (MAS). The insights provided by this study have been key to understanding urban space as an integrated system of infrastructures, social collectives, identities, forms of representation, and action strategies. Findings were also enriched by studies regarding the city’s connectivity, traffic, and mobility issues. In the writing of the present article, the information provided by the project mentioned above was updated, and additional sources were consulted.

San Jose’s Cultural Diversity and the Importance of Immigrants In the Central American context, Costa Rica has been an important country of destination, especially in terms of labor migration. Since the 1990s, Costa Rica has been the main country of destination of migration flows within Central America. According to the latest census information, 385,899 foreign nationals resided in Costa Rica in 2011, equivalent to 9.0% of the total population of the country. Nicaraguans represented the majority of this group (287,766), accounting for 74.6% of the total immigrant population residing in Costa Rica. Their proportional weight did not substantially change since the previous census was conducted in 2000 (76.4%). The rate of new arrivals, however, did fall from a yearly average of 7.5% (1984–2000) to 2.4% (2000–2011) (INEC, 2012).

2 The present chapter’s research team was formed by Abelardo Morales-Gamboa (coordinator), Isabel Avendaño Flores (University of Costa Rica) María del Carmen Araya Jiménez (University of Costa Rica), Julio Solís Moreira (Costa Rica Remote Education University), Pablo Coto-Murillo (Costa Rica Remote Education University), and Guillermo Acuña González (National University.) A large group of students also joined the research team, many of whom used this project as their graduation research project. This research project was funded by the National Council of University Directors of Costa Rica, and was inspired by previous discussions between the research team and international academics who participated in LMI Meso, the Mixed International Laboratory on Mobility, Governance, and Resources of the Meso-American Basin.

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Despite some changes in the nationality of immigrants arriving between 2010 and 2020, Nicaraguans continued to be Costa Rica’s largest immigrant community, as they were in the 1990s (Morales & Castro, 1997). A comparative analysis of the 2000 and 2011 census information shows that Nicaraguans are now present across Costa Rican territory. The proportion of Nicaraguan immigrants per Costa Rican inhabitants at the Nicaragua–Costa Rica Border is slightly higher than in the central region since the border is less densely populated. However, 60% of the total number of Nicaraguan immigrants live in the central region, where the main cities are located, notably the capital city. San Jose is the hub of Nicaraguan immigration. Despite a 7.5% population decline between 2000 and 2011, the total number of foreign nationals in this region remained stable, decreasing only by 1%. Their relative weight vis-à-vis the total number of inhabitants increased from 11.4% in 2000 to 17% in 2011. Despite the change in the geographical distribution of immigrants across Costa Rica, the city of San Jose concentrates more than 30% of the total foreign population of the province, and registers the highest proportion of Central American immigrants at the municipal level (see Fig. 10.1). Migration flows in the Nicaragua–Costa Rica corridor changed due to modifications in Costa Rica’s migration policy and political changes in Nicaragua. Migration into Costa Rica decreased between 2008 and 2012 but increased by 11.1% in 2019 with respect to 2012. The presence of Nicaraguans in Costa Rican society was increasingly evident, especially in view of their demographic weight and their presence in the labor market. In terms of age, Nicaraguans are largely between 26 and 40. Immigrants are one of the most important forces in the urban labor market of San Jose, replacing local workers who have shifted toward other fields as a result of social mobility, educational policies, and better employment opportunities. Nevertheless, while working conditions have improved for local and higher qualified workers, conditions are deteriorating in low-skilled positions, often performed by foreign workers. Conditions have worsened to the point that informal and precarious employment dominate the labor market, in both urban and non-urban areas. These circumstances aggravate the already disadvantageous conditions foreign workers face due to the lack of documented status, a low educational level, and scarce access to social benefits (Morales-Gamboa & Castro-Valverde, 2006; Robles & Voorend, 2013; International Labour Organization, 2016).

Fig. 10.1 Central American-born immigrants in Costa Rica per canton (2011) (Source Elaborated from INEC, 2012)

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Much as urban policy design does not explicitly consider immigrants and other ethnic collectives, immigrants are increasingly relevant stakeholders not only with regard to regular urban dynamics, but society’s underlying civic culture. However, immigrants’ social fragility has resulted in a weak civic consensus between them and other social sectors, affecting immigrants’ integration. Nicaraguan immigrants are the largest and most pluriethnic urban minority of San Jose. Even though mestizo Nicaraguans are dominant, the immigrant community is also marked by the presence of indigenous populations, such as the Miskito and other Afro-descendants from the Nicaraguan Caribbean, who remain largely invisible. Indigenous immigrants from the bi-national ethnic group Ngöbe Bugle of Costa Rica and Panama have increased their visibility in the city. Although less numerous than Nicaraguan immigrants, Afro-Costa Ricans remain a significant collective nevertheless. San Jose is the city with the largest presence of Afro-descendants outside the province of Limón. Moreover, Antillean immigrants from the Dominican Republic, Haiti, Jamaica, and the Lesser Antilles have settled downtown. Similarly, Asian descendants from continental China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong have arrived in San José, which concentrates the largest Asian population along with the cities of Limón and Puntarenas. The presence of other indigenous groups is less common, aggravating their social invisibility.

Immigration into Costa Rica and its Relationship with Central America’s Urban Fragility In the past three decades, urban development in Costa Rica boomed, along with inequalities, exclusion, and various forms of insecurity and violence. San Jose and Costa Rica’s Greater Metropolitan area show traces of spatial differentiation, associated with social and residential segregation and social exclusion. Immigrants are particularly affected by these issues due to their socio-economic status, employability, ethnicity, and culture. The term “urban fragility” was therefore coined in order to convey how weakened institutional practices hamper solutions to social integration issues. Urban fragility results from two factors: on the one hand, weak regulations, and on the other hand, undermined institutions struggling to address urban issues (Muggah, 2014). Fragile cities become discrete metropolitan units, and agreements thereupon render evident a decreasing capacity and will to deliver on the social contract (p. 345).

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This point is best illustrated by one of the world’s most fragile urban complexes, found in Central America: San Pedro Sula, Honduras (misnamed “the world’s capital of death”), which recorded the region’s highest murder rate in the mid 2010s (Muggah, 2017). Fragile cities have spurred emigration and internal displacement due to a combination of social inequality and violence perpetrated by organized crime (Betts, 2013). In October 2018, the first “migrant caravans” were formed in San Pedro Sula’s metropolitan area. According to UN officers, approximately 3000 Hondurans gathered and arrived at the Mexico–Guatemala border in an attempt to reach the United States (Enseñat, 2018). These are examples of how fragility leads to population displacements. San Jose does not show the same level of urban fragility seen in other Central American cities. Migration is therefore different from neighboring contexts. Despite a certain number of manifestations of fragility, such as insecurity and violence (see Muggah for further explanation about insecurity, violence, and a weak civic consensus), San Jose is a pole of attraction for immigrants. The urban fragility that can be observed is thus the result of the types of reception policies in place. An examination of reception strategies for migrants in San José can shed light on the limitations of existing legislation or the absence of new integration plans. Excluded and disempowered sectors, including immigrants, are most affected by fragility. Some of the issues resulting from urban sprawl are internal barriers and other forms of socioresidential segregation (Massey & Denton, 1988). Social exclusion, socio-geographical stigma, and denied rights increase as inhabitants are pushed out from the inner city into the periphery. Despite their demographic and economic significance, Nicaraguan immigrants concentrate in poor urban residential spaces (Sandoval, 2007). The most excluded population is confined to the most vulnerable territories, left out of civic life, and therefore, separated from the rest of the urban population (SolisMoreira & Coto-Murillo, 2014; vah Lidth & Schütte, 2010). Estimates show that Nicaraguans account for 40% of the population living in areas with precarious housing, infrastructure, and utilities (Morales-Gamboa & Castro-Valverde, 2006). In the early 2000s, the poorest Nicaraguans and Costa Ricans concentrated in old downtown neighborhoods and in new settlements in the periphery. Both groups would often be affected by overcrowded housing and deficient utilities (FUPROVI, 2004). Nevertheless, most Central Americans continued to reside in the main districts of the canton of San Jose due to their significant role in

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the city’s dynamics. Central Americans were mostly present in Uruca, Pavas, Merced, Hospital, Hatillo, and San Sebastián (Morales-Gamboa & Castro-Valverde, 2006; Olivares, 2007). This trend continued in 2011 according to the Population Census conducted that year. Despite the absence of updated studies in this regard, this geographical trend prevails, and most immigrants continue to live in these districts. According to other estimates, however, immigrants only account for 20% of the population in these areas (FUPROVI, 2019). The districts of Uruca and Pavas alone concentrated half of the immigrants in the canton of San Jose. Immigrant settlements seem to create two belts: a Westbound belt originating in the South, and another Westbound corridor originating in the North (see Fig. 10.2). Housing conditions in downtown San Jose attracted attention during the Covid19 crisis, when various sources shared information on the number of immigrants living in cuarterías . Cuarterías are old downtown buildings that have been subdivided into small units to accommodate migrants

Fig. 10.2 Central American-born immigrants in San Jose City per district (Source Elaborated from INEC, 2012)

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and other poor inhabitants. Due to the rapid transmission of Covid-19 in these areas, severe lockdowns were imposed, which were considered necessary to halt the spread of the virus. In 2011 an estimated 300 cuarterías could be found in San Jose. Current approximations vary from one source to another, since the number of cuarterías has not been rigorously counted, and its residents cannot therefore be accurately estimated. During a radio interview, the Head of the Municipal Police of San Jose estimated that cuarterías could amount to 550, and accommodate 11,000 people (Solano, 2020). Costa Rican indigenous and Afro-descendant minorities are also present in San Jose. Some integrate into other internal migrant groups, but others form multi-national ethnic groups. Costa Rican Misquito are likely to join the Nicaraguan Misquito,3 who notably concentrate in the neighborhood of Finca San Juan in Pavas, but also in other neighborhoods. A black Nicaraguan community is also present, and has recently been enlarged by Dominicans and Haitians. The latter two have also settled in the Merced district. The largest immigrant collectives after Nicaraguans come from Colombia, Panama, Central America, the Caribbean (Cuba, Dominican Republic, and Haiti), and Asia, especially China. The Chinese are not only immigrants, but rather constitute an important ethnic minority. The above sheds light on two interrelated aspects of urban fragility: geographical fragmentation and socio-residential segregation. Geographical segregation refers to urban exclusion manifested in geographical inequality. This form of segregation is evident in the two residential areas that concentrate the largest number of immigrants: the Merced district neighborhoods in downtown San Jose, and the periphery, especially La Carpio, the belt north of Uruca, and the belt on the west end of Pavas. Despite the absence of physical barriers to displacement to and from San Jose’s urban network, immigrant settlements are located in the outskirts of the city. Some are even close to river basins and canyons, at

3 According to Francisco Cordero Gené, president of Centro de Amigos para la Paz (unofficially translatable as “the Friends for Peace Center”), in December 2011 an estimated 2000 Misquito adults, children, and adolescents lived in Finca San Juan. Based on information provided by some sources close to the center, this number could be higher in the communities of San Carlos, Siquirres, and Puntarenas. The Misquito have formed at least one Costa Rican Misquito association, in the terms described by the Costa Rican Law on Associations.

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risk of landslides. Southern neighborhoods experience the same forms of geographical segregation. The inhabitants of these settlements have access to electricity, drinking water, education, public health services, and sometimes, private health services offered by non-governmental organizations. Geographical exclusion is related in the first place to poor-quality public and residential infrastructure. Second, an important number of inhabitants do not own the property they live in, and lack resources to make home improvements. Their precarious conditions are related to their undocumented immigration status. In contrast to poor Costa Ricans, undocumented immigrants cannot access public benefits to improve their homes and their families’ quality of life. As noted by Gómez, Guillén, and Salas in their study about the community of La Carpio (2018), immigrants’ greatest obstacles to urban integration are the cultural and symbolic barriers to their integration into the civic life of San Jose. Avendaño supported this observation when she analyzed the living conditions (both in the public and private spheres) of the Misquito population in Pavas. In this case, they were not only segregated for their immigration status, but their ethnicity. The Misquito face a series of symbolic barriers that result in self-exclusion, such as refusing to speak their native language in public, and hiding their indigenous origin and place of residence. For instance, inhabitants of Rincón Grande (Pavas) will often hide their place of residence due to fear that they will not find employment, given the stigmatization of this neighborhood (Avendaño, 2017). Xenophobia is one of those internal barriers, which create experiences of trauma for various communities, in addition to the indigenous population. La Carpio and Rincón Grande are only two among many examples of urban “racialization” and xenophobia. Deficient infrastructure, access to poor public services, and poverty in all its forms combine with stigmatization, rejection, and xenophobia (Sandoval, 2005). Vulnerability intensifies when an indigenous or Afro-descendant background combines with Nicaraguan nationality (Avendaño, 2017, pp. 221–222). Additional barriers to urban inclusion are constructed when societies are unable to develop relationships with different cultures. Interaction among different cultures changes from country to country, and from one society to another, and results from the historical processes that compose their shared history (Fernández, 2009, pp. 30–31). The actions perpetrated by a local extremist group in downtown San Jose on September 18, 2018 are one example of public expression of

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xenophobia against Nicaraguans. Fake news regarding Nicaraguans were circulating at a moment when numbers of Nicaraguan immigrants and asylum seekers were increasing, as a result of persecution by Daniel Ortega’s dictatorial regime. As a counter-response to this manifestation of xenophobia, thousands protested some days later to show their solidarity with Nicaraguans.

Legal Modifications and their Integration Objectives Immigrants are an important subculture in the city. Being in the productive age range, a large proportion of them represent a strong labor force for Costa Rica, and allow the country to benefit from Nicaragua’s demographic bonus. By contrast, immigrants’ social and symbolic inclusion has lagged behind. As mentioned above, public policy changes have considerably contributed to fragility. The latest Law on Migration redefined how immigrants can engage in Costa Rican society and politics. Two important steps toward improving social inclusion and reducing urban fragility were the addition of a chapter on social integration in 2011, and the creation of a State policy on the subject in 2017. The policy’s core principles explicitly mentioned the objective to “promote the regularization and integration of immigrants and other communities into Costa Rican society” [translated quote] (General Law on Migration and Citizenship 8764, Title II, Art. 6). Since local governments were not explicitly mentioned as part of the policy’s set of actions and performing actors, the role of district authorities in fostering migrant-inclusive policies is ambiguous, even if the law foresees the objective to increase engagement between immigrants and local civil society organizations. As central immigration authorities refined the social integration policy, inter-institutional responses were articulated to provide a holistic response to the needs of migrants and refugees. Cultural diversity was promoted as a means to prevent racism, racial discrimination, and xenophobia, as well as to fill gaps related to social integration and challenges of the labor market (General Director’s Office of Migration and Citizenship, 2018). These responses recognized the role local governments play in the execution of integration policies and the acknowledgment of cultural diversity. As part of its specific actions, the State policy foresaw the need to develop programs and projects in partnership with local governments in order to promote the integration of migrants, refugees, and asylum

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seekers into community organizations (idem..). Another important matter was to recognize the right of immigrants to take part in local associations, such as Community Development Associations (ADC). Economic resources were specifically allocated to promote immigrants’ participation in these organizations. Participation was one of multiple steps toward the acknowledgement of the immigrant community’s social diversity, and multi-ethnic and pluri-cultural origins. The new law also allowed immigrant rights organizations to participate in the National Migration Council (CNM) and the Permanent Forum on Immigrants and Refugees (El Foro), a forum among institutional representatives, non-governmental organizations, and immigrant collectives. Moreover, the Law recognized the importance of migrant organizations, immigrant rights organizations, and local social organizations and unions that supported both. Nevertheless, the Costa Rican Constitution continues to prevent foreign workers from becoming union board members, despite their importance for the country’s labor force. Challenges to an articulated migration policy include the limited roles and responsibilities local governments have regarding social integration, and the fragmentation of Costa Rica’s municipal system. Much as the metropolitan area—including the city of San José—is organized into a complex urban system, there is not a public body or institution with legal or political jurisdiction to coordinate integration efforts across the GMA, since the metropolis is not articulated into a single administrative unit. Each municipality performs its duties only within its geographical jurisdiction. Despite multiple areas of collaboration among municipalities, joint efforts in the field of integration are uncommon and non-binding. Implementation ultimately depends on the will of local governments. Due to its nature, the government of San Jose does not have special powers to address migration or integration issues. This is one of the reasons why the public agenda at the municipal level does not consider matters related to the presence of migrants in cities. Nevertheless, the political weight of foreigners living in San Jose is not negligible. In the 2020 municipal election, Mayor Johnny Araya Monge was elected with less than 21,000 votes. Although he received twice as many votes as his rival, only 10% of registered voters voted for him, the rate of abstentionism being 75% (Supreme Electoral Tribunal, 2020). Although the turnout rate among foreigners is unknown, immigrants and their families have enough political leverage today to define the outcome of a municipal election. They

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are, however, among the population that abstains from voting. Abstentionism is revealing of the poor engagement in local elections and politics on the part of the immigrant community. It also explains to a great extent the absence of local actions pursuant to the Millennium Development Goals, acknowledged by the Mayor of San Jose as the initiatives that would help recognize diversity and multiculturalism. This consideration was formalized by virtue of an agreement passed by the San Jose City Council on February 2011, whereby San Jose would be “respectful of human rights, and free from all forms of racism, xenophobia, or discrimination for reasons of ethnicity, religion, nationality, gender, health condition, sexual orientation, or other forms of marginalization and exclusion” [translated quote] (Garrido, Unspecified). The local government thereby subscribed to the Declaration that set the basis for the 10 Action Items adopted by the Latin American and Caribbean Coalition of Cities against Racism, Xenophobia, and Discrimination (Latin American and Caribbean Conference of Cities Against Racism, 2008). Although there are currently no reports on the specific measures adopted by the government of the city of San Jose to bind the authorities to said agreement (Garrido, Unspecified), municipal actions have been opaque in two ways. First, the local government shows little political will and invests poorly in programs targeting immigrants and other ethnic collectives, especially the poorest ones. Second, their living conditions remain largely invisible and their role as urban stakeholders unacknowledged. Visibility also creates effects contrary to what is expected from integration and citizenship goals. For instance, the population of the cuarterías grew dramatically in July 2020 as a result of the Covid-19 pandemic. The existence of such places contrasts with the objectives of the program called Regeneración y Repoblamiento de la Ciudad de San José (translatable as “Regeneration and Repopulation of the City of San Jose”). The program seeks to optimize the city’s population replacement rate, change San Jose’s image, and attract medium and higher income residents (Jiménez, 2020). Nevertheless, there are voices in the city’s political arena that support immigrants’ participation in local civic organizations. Participation is regulated by the Law on Migration, which—as mentioned above—foresees funding for integration efforts. Allowing immigrants to participate in community development associations acknowledges the role many immigrants played as local leaders, who enabled the creation of local

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networks across different neighborhoods and communities, organizations, and executive bodies formed by Costa Ricans and foreigners, even before the Law on Migration was passed. These actions stand out from other policies that acknowledge the role of immigrants as stakeholders, but which do not explicitly address immigrants. Such is the case of the housing improvement program launched by Fundación Promotora de la Vivienda (translatable as “The Housing Promotion Foundation”) in 2008, which articulated efforts with the local government through its public housing institutions. However, the local government’s role was often limited to issuing permits to allow interventions. Until 2018, intervention projects concentrated on utilities and infrastructure, for instance, streets and recreational spaces. They also improved sanitary and public security conditions. Before the social integration policy was implemented, integration projects had been conducted at the local level in neighborhoods with a considerable number of immigrant residents. For instance, in 2008, the General Director’s Office of Migration and Citizenship and other central government institutions, international organizations, and private foundations coordinated the Entre vecinos project (roughly translatable as “The Project among Neighbors”). Although Entre vecinos was a central government initiative, it targeted local communities, notably some neighborhoods in the outskirts of the San Jose Metropolitan Area. Entre vecinos is an initiative seeking to strengthen community engagement in order to build capacities among various community organizations: movements of community associations, grassroots organizations, local councils operating in the framework of an institutional program, or citizens with a stakeholder role. These efforts are based on the recognition of identities, cultural diversity, and the human rights of the communities’ inhabitants (DINADECO, 2018, pp. 43–44). Despite the limited engagement local governments showed in Entre vecinos, this effort set an example of how to bring together local stakeholders, immigrants, residents, and community organizations. National government institutions continued to successfully implement this and other programs. Since 2010, migrants have shown a more active participation in public programs. For instance, between 2010 and 2014 the National Energy Company (CNFL) promoted a community engagement program in areas at high risk of fires caused by rundown electrical installations and misuse of electricity. Local leaders and residents, among them a notable number of immigrants, volunteered to help authorities repair

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electrical installations. This project did not only change the idea local leaders had regarding the use of electricity and risk prevention, but it helped them recognize the impact of joint efforts with local residents, including immigrants. During an interview with the author in 2013, a CNFL officer expressed that apart from improving the power supply infrastructure, parallel activities were organized to show residents how to make a better use of electricity. Nevertheless, activities performed in San Jose are still not integrated. In 2020, city-level activities are still not formally incorporated into the inter-institutional mechanism foreseen in the central government’s integration policy. However, immigrants have a significant presence in public spaces since they are part of the city’s dynamics. Immigrants are present throughout a corridor connecting multiple downtown plazas, squares that have gained a symbolic significance for immigrants and the city itself. For instance, Braulio Carrillo square, known as Parque de La Merced, San Jose’s Central Park, Soledad square, and their surrounding streets and avenues form a hub with a bi-national urban landscape, combining formal and informal businesses, nostalgia product shops, and costume jewelry stores. Postal service shops offering parcel services to Nicaragua have been opened close to Braulio Carrillo Park and other recreational spaces where immigrants gather on the weekends. However, recreational areas were closed due to the Covid-19 pandemic, so frequent visitors had to improvise strategies to meet in other places. The resulting rearrangements in the use of public space have rendered immigrant activity invisible again, but represent new manifestations of what is currently called “San Jose’s urban life dynamics” (Solis-Moreira & Coto-Murillo, 2014). For the past 25 years, the local government had implicitly allowed the immigrant community to gather in public plazas. Meetings with friends, family, or fellow nationals in public spaces became an urban tradition. The municipality permitted these weekend gatherings in the heart of San Jose until lockdown restrictions were passed due to the pandemic. These spaces were relatively safe for both foreigners and locals due to the presence of the municipal police. The municipality’s role was only to watch over the area, and to allow people to gather freely in the plaza. The police were, however, less tolerant toward street vendors who would informally sell Nicaraguan street food or other typical Nicaraguan goods. Street vendors who wanted to formalize their operations had to apply for a “gathering permit” before the municipal authorities. Despite these restrictions, plazas continue to be places where immigrants gather and which have been fairly

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well embraced by the city’s residents and stakeholders. An interesting journalistic and photographic report by W. Miranda Aburto and E. Rivas described this urban space as follows: The official name of La Merced Park is Braulio Carrillo Park. Nobody in San José, however, refers to it by its real name, not even because honorable Braulio Carrillo was Costa Rica’s Head of State twice, and consolidated Costa Rica’s institutional system. The park is simply referred to by the name “ La Merced” or “ parque de los nicas” [“ nica.” being an informal term for “Nicaraguan”]

“ La Merced” refers to the presence of the church of Our Lady of Mercy [“ merced” meaning “mercy”], and the overarching presence of its single Neogothic tower, standing above the park on the West. For decades, Nicaraguans migrating into Costa Rica have occupied “Parque de los nicas,” and spiced it with “ vigorón” [a Nicaraguan salad], “ enchilada” [a deep-fried, meat-filled pastry], “ chancho con yuca” [spiced pork with salad], and even “ nacatamal.” [Nicaraguan tamales]

It is unclear when nicas made this park their bastion in San Jose’s old downtown, but this is estimated to have happened around 1978. The parish decided to make December 7 th an official holiday in honor of the Nicaraguan “Gritería”.4 Few things are as Nicaraguan as the Gritería [translated passage]. (Miranda Aburto & Rivas, 2019)

Social integration is spontaneous in the neighborhoods where most immigrants live—such as Merced, Pavas, and Uruca—and where immigrant identity is already a part of life. This process is the result of approximately three decades of regular interaction between locals and immigrants, and its resulting relationships, networks, and associations. Interaction is also facilitated by the permanent or sporadic influence of private organizations, civil society organizations outside the community, or government agencies that implement integration projects in barriadas. Immigrants 4 Translator’s note: This catholic celebration of the conception of Virgin Mary is held in Nicaragua on December 7th, and is named after the tradition that at 6 p.m. devotees gathered outside catholic churches shout the question “Qué causa tanta alegría?” (What causes so much happiness?) and others respond with “La concepción de María” (Mary’s conception.) “Gritería” may be roughly translated as “the shouting.”

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progressively engaged with local networks thanks to integration initiatives that emanated from the population, or public programs, such as Entre Vecinos, neighborhood improvement programs, or other efforts developed by neighbors’ associations. The outcome of these actions is a sort of “bi-national civic culture.” A Nicaraguan leader from La Carpio pertinently described that “here [in La Carpio] we have a tico-nica form of organization [tico being the familiar term for Costa Ricans, and nica, for Nicaraguans.] We [Nicaraguans] share with ticos a little bit of our culture and experiences, and we learn from them how things work here. We have all learned from one another” [translated quote] (author’s interview to a local leader, 2016). Between 2018 and 2019, the municipality of San Jose implemented two small-scale infrastructure development projects in the peripheral neighborhoods with the largest presence of Nicaraguans: one in the neighborhood of Los Laureles, in Rincón Grande, in the district of Pavas, and the other in the neighborhood of Veinticinco de Julio in Hatillo, in southern San Jose. These projects represented the first official interventions that explicitly incorporated immigration into the project components. Although the project was implemented by the municipality, it was funded by the International Organization for Migration (IOM). These efforts consisted in rehabilitating, recovering, and building new public spaces, such as community centers and sports facilities, embellishing public spaces, and improving streets and sidewalks. As a means to further social and cultural integration, IOM and community organizations—not only the municipality—exhorted residents to participate in the projects’ tasks (IOM, 2019). However, the municipality has not continued to perform these interventions, even if they explicitly sought to ensure that young immigrants would be integrated into society. Rather, all public spaces, such as plazas, sports fields, and recreational spaces, were closed due to the Covid-19 pandemic. As a result, residents could not enjoy the new infrastructure made available in their neighborhoods. Fragile urban integration can be countered by strengthening the community’s capacities to develop alternatives based on a civic culture. Immigrants play a significant but minimized role in Costa Rican society, economy, culture, and diversity. Public initiatives and mechanisms should be implemented to bring locals, foreigners, and other collectives together, and ensure that new migrant-friendly policies help settle potential conflict and build a new social consensus among the city’s stakeholders. Nevertheless, policies implemented by the central government, international

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organizations, and private foundations seem to be weakly articulated with local efforts.

Conclusions It may be concluded that San Jose is not a sanctuary city. Although significant changes were made to immigration legislation between 2009 and 2011, providing room for social integration efforts, gaps in public policy persist, and immigrants remain largely invisible and ostracized. Gaps are a manifestation of urban fragility, a weakened social fabric, poor engagement, and limited consensus among urban residents. Nevertheless, migrants are key in the city’s dynamics: they represent a strong labor force for the urban goods and services market, and enliven the city and its neighborhoods. In addition, they have progressively found their way into social and civic organizations, as well as neighborhood associations that bring together both old and new generations of residents. Evidence shows that investment and development of integration programs and initiatives are lower than the economic, social, and cultural contribution immigrants make to the city of San Jose and its metropolitan area. However, challenges to integration extend beyond the labor market, translating into a series of physical, social, and symbolic barriers that fragment urban spaces and the places of residence of the immigrant community. Issues associated with social and territorial segregation have aggravated social stigma and xenophobia, especially in the context of the Covid-19 pandemic. Despite signs that a new migrant-friendly civic culture is emerging in civil society, Costa Ricans remain polarized due to phobias and political and religious differences regarding social issues, the combination of which spur xenophobia against immigrants.

References Avendaño, E. (2017). Construcción del espacio comunitario y familiar de la Población Indígena Miskita en Pavas, 2016: Idioma, trayectorias de vida y perspectiva de Iglesia Morava. Seminario Movilidades, Territorios y Procesos Socioculturales, Escuela de Sociología, Universidad Nacional. Beriain, J. (1996). La integración en las sociedades modernas. Anthropos Editorial.

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Betts, A. (2013). Survival migration: Failed governance and the crisis of displacement. Cornell University Press. DINADECO. (2018). Fideicomiso Fondo Social Migratorio: Marco Nacional Migratorio para Costa Rica. DINADECO. Enseñat, M. (2018, November 13). Cronología de las caravanas de migrantes: un mes de su partida. Retrieved October 1, 2020, from American Network for Refugees Legal Aid: https://www.ralra.org/l/cronologia-de-las-caravanas-demigrantes-un-mes-de-su-partida2/. Fernández, M. (2009). Antropología de la convivencia: Manifiesto de antropología urbana. Cátedra Teorema. FUPROVI. (2004). Diagnóstico para la inmigración nicaragüense en seis asentamientos del Área Metropolitana de San José. Fundación Promotora de Vivienda. FUPROVI. (2019). Situación de Vivienda y Desarrollo Urbano en Costa Rica 2018. Fundación Promotora de Vivienda. Garrido, L. (Unspecified). Políticas locales contra el racismo, la discriminación y la xenofobia en Latinoamérica y el Caribe. Estudio de los casos de Belo Horizonte (Brasil),Bogotá (Colombia), Montevideo (Uruguay),Quito (Ecuador), San José (Costa Rica). Intendencia de Montevideo. Retrieved December 20, 2013, from https://montevideo.gub.uy/sites/default/files/Politicas%20c ontra%20discriminacion%20-%20SINTESIS_0.pdf. General Director’s Office of Migration and Citizenship. (2017). Diagnóstico del contexto migratorio de Costa Rica 2017 . Dirección General de Migración y Extranjería. General Director’s Office of Migration and Citizenship. (2018). Plan Nacional de Integración de Costa Rica 2018–2022. DGME. Gómez, A., Guillén, D., & Salas, G. (2018, July 23). Morfología, vida urbana y segregación socioespacial: La Carpio, San José, Costa Rica 2017. Geofacies. Revista estudiantil de Geografía. Costa Rica. Retrieved May 5, 2020, from https://medium.com/revista-geofacies/morfolog%C3%ADa-vida-urbana-ysegregaci%C3%B3n-socioespacial-la-carpio-san-jos%C3%A9-costa-rica-2017c35749104445. INEC. (2012). X Censo Nacional de Población y VI de Vivienda 2011. Instituto Nacional de Estadística y Censos. International Labour Organisation. (2016). La migración laboral en América Latina y el Caribe. Diagnóstico, estrategia y líneas de trabajo de a OIT en la Región. OIT, Oficina para América Latina y el Caribe. IOM. (2019, November 5). IOM Costa Rica. Retrieved November 20, 2019, from https://costarica.iom.int/news/recuperaci%C3%B3n-de-espacios-p% C3%BAblicos-trav%C3%A9s-de-estrategia-comunitaria-para-comunidadesde-la.

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Jiménez, A. (2020, August 4). Universidad de Costa Rica. Retrieved from www.ucr.ac.cr/noticias/: https://www.ucr.ac.cr/noticias/2020/08/04/vozexperta-mas-alla-de-las-cuarterias-una-san-jose-exclusiva-y-excluyente.html. Latin American and Caribbean Conference of Cities Against Racism. (2008). Latin American and Caribbean Conference of cities against racism, discrimination and Xenophobia. UNESCO. Retrieved February 11, 2011, from https:// unesdoc.unesco.org/ark:/48223/pf0000163117_spa. Martínez, T. B. (2012). Plan Regional Urbano de la Gran Área Metropolitana de Costa Rica: avances y desafíos. Cuadernos de Vivienda y Urbanismo, 5(9), 70– 87. Retrieved from https://www.researchgate.net/publication/320224601. Massey, D., & Denton, N. (1988). The dimensions of residencial segregation. Social Forces, 67 (2), 281–315. Miranda Aburto, W., & Rivas, E. (2019, August 25). La Merced, el parque de los nicas en Costa Rica. Confidencial. Retrieved August 21, 2019, from https:// confidencial.com.ni/la-merced-el-parque-de-los-nicas-en-costa-rica/. Morales, A., & Castro, C. (1997). Inmigración laboral nicaragüense en Costa Rica. Friedrich Ebert Stiftung, FLACSO, IIDH, Defensoría de los Habitantes. Morales-Gamboa, A. (2008, August). Inmigración en Costa Rica: características sociales y laborales, integración y políticas públicas. Serie Población y Desarrollo, 85. Morales-Gamboa, A., & Castro-Valverde, C. (2006). Redes transfronterizas. Migración, empleo y pobreza entre Nicaragua y Costa Rica. FLACSO. Muggah, R. (2014). Deconstructing the fragile city: Exploring insecurity, violence and resilience. Environment and Urbanization, 26(2), 345–358. https://doi.org/10.1177/0956247814533627. Muggah, R. (2017, June). A humanitarian response to Central America´s fragile cities. In H. P. Network (Ed.), Humanitarian exchange. Retrieved June 10, 2018, from https://odihpn.org/magazine/humanitarian-responsecentral-americas-fragile-cities/. Olivares, E. (2007). Migraciones y segregación espacial: el asentamiento de la población nicaragüense en el Cantón Central de San José, Costa Rica. Estudios demográficos y urbanos, 22(3). Retrieved April 4, 2008, from https://www. redalyc.org/jatsRepo/312/31222304/html/index.html#fn29. Robles, F., & Voorend, K. (2013). Migrando en la crisis: La fuerza de trabajo migrante en la economía costarricense, construcción, agricultura y transporte público. International Organization for Migration and Ministry of Labor and Social Security. Sandoval, C. (2005). La Carpio: La experiencia de segregación urbana y estigmatización social. Instituto de Investigaciones Sociales y Escuela de Comunicación Colectiva.

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Sandoval, C. E. (2007). El mito roto. Inmigración y emigración en Costa Ricva. Editorial UCR. Solano, M. (2020, July 16). Entrevista con Marcelo Solano y Mauricio Villalobos. Hablando Claro. (V. Ibarra, Interviewer) Hablando Claro con Vilma Ibarra. San Jose. Retrieved from https://www.hablandoclarocr.com/index.php/pro gramas/1270-16-julio-en-san-jose-unas-15-mil-personas-viven-en-400-cuarte rias-y-3-mil-en-condicion-de-calle-condiciones-muy-complicadas-en-mediode-una-pandemia-con-marcelo-solano-y-mauricio-villalobos. Solis-Moreira, J., & Coto-Murillo, P. (2014). Convivencia urbana en San José. Un estudio sobre las prácticas cotidianas y las representaciones de las y los habitantes de Barrio Cristo Rey y Barrio Escalante (2011–2013). CIDCE-UNED. Retrieved from http://biblioteca.clacso.edu.ar/Costa_Rica/cicde-uned/201 70628054956/pdf_858.pdf. Supreme Electoral Tribunal. (2020, February 3). Elecciones municipales 2020. Resultados. Retrieved from https://www.tse.go.cr/Resultados2020/#/alc aldes. Union of Ibero-American Capital Cities. (2018, November 7). El Foro Iberoamericano de Gobiernos Locales destaca el protagonismo de lo local en el cumplimiento de los retos globales. Retrieved May 24, 2020, from https://ciu dadesiberoamericanas.org/el-foro-iberoamericano-de-gobiernos-locales-des taca-el-protagonismo-de-lo-local-en-el-cumplimiento-de-los-retos-globales/. vah Lidth, M., & Schütte, O. (2010). GAM(ismo): Cultura y desarrollo urbano en la Gran Área Metropolitana de Costa Rica. Cuaderno de Ciencias Sociales (155).

CHAPTER 11

Lima as a Welcoming City for Venezuelan Migrants? Transformations, Tensions, and Challenges in a New Urban Destination Isabel Berganza Setién and Cécile Blouin

Introduction1,2 The arrival of Venezuelans in Lima has transformed the city. They arrived over a short period of years, the fruit of an unprecedented exodus, and are now present in its neighborhoods, streets, businesses, and schools. Undoubtedly, this migratory phenomenon has made the reality of this 1 We thank Alexander Benites Alvarado, member of the academic area of the Institute for Democracy and Human Rights of the Pontifical Universidad Católica del Peru (IDEHPUCP), for support in bibliographic review. We also thank the editors and reviewers for their comments and revisions on this article. 2 This chapter has been translated from Spanish to English by Emily Button.

I. Berganza Setién (B) Universidad Antonio Ruiz de Montoya, Lima, Peru e-mail: [email protected] C. Blouin Durham University, Durham, UK © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_11

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urban space more diverse, dynamic, and complex, a space that already faced enormous challenges and which in countless cases operated as a place of exclusion for different groups. The literature on the Peruvian migration phenomenon has been focused since the 1980s on the emigration of Peruvians due to the internal armed conflict and the serious economic crisis that the country experienced (Izaguirre et al., 2017). This is due to the importance of emigration in the last 40 years, which, although it has experienced a decline since 2010, is still an important migratory reality for the country (Berganza Setién, 2016; INEI et al., 2018). From a historical perspective, academics’ interest in immigration has been constant in regard to the beginning of the Republic and until the early twentieth century, with respect to Chinese and Japanese migration (Maguiña, 2010). However, studies on immigration to Peru for the second half of the twentieth century and the twenty-first century are scarcer. This is because of the low rate of immigration up until the early 2000s (Izaguirre et al., 2017). According to official figures, until 2003 the number of foreigners in the country did not exceed 20,000 people. This figure doubled in 2007, reaching 40,446 people, and by 2012 the number of foreigners reached 89,320 (INEI and OIM, 2013). Between 2007 and 2017, there were a total of 152,631 foreigners with resident status in Peru. Of this total, 24.6% were from Venezuela, 15.3% from Colombia, 7.3% from Spain, and 6.8% from the United States (INEI and others, 2018). At the end of 2017, a total of 37,600 Venezuelans resided in Peru (INEI and others, 2018). The very marked growth of the migratory flows of the Venezuelan population in 2018 and 2019 positions Peru as the second-highest recipient country for this population. According to data reported by the Coordination Platform for Venezuelan Refugees and Migrants (R4V), as of the last update on March 5, 2020, more than 866,000 Venezuelans reside in Peru. Of these, 482,571 are requesting asylum and 1225 people have been recognized as refugees (ACNUR & OIM, 2020). As can be seen, this mass migratory flow has occurred over a very short period of time. The reasons behind this migration are complex and occur in the context of a political, socio-economic, and humanitarian crisis (Gandini et al., 2019). This panorama, new for Peru (particularly the capital), poses a series of challenges for migration policy. At the same time that the Venezuelan population arrived in Peru, a national migration policy began to emerge

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that seeks to respond to immigration from a human rights perspective. This policy underwent numerous changes and setbacks in a very short time and lacked a clear strategy regarding the integration of the migrant population. In the city of Lima, the arrival of the Venezuelan population presents new challenges. How do migrants fit into the urban space? How have the local authorities reacted? Can the regulatory framework and the functions possessed at the local level promote the integration of foreigners? Does it make sense in the case of Lima to speak of a hospitable city? The construction of urban policies has made little progress on this issue, and the implementation of measures to exclude this population seems to be the most visible response from various local authorities. To answer these questions, this chapter proposes a reflection on the challenges of integration3 in the city of Lima through the lens of national and local migration policy, analyzing in particular the role of local policies with respect to the dynamics of inclusion and exclusion of the migrant population. Regarding the methodology, this chapter is based, firstly, on the surveys carried out during 2018 and 2019 at the Institute of Public Opinion of the Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (IOP) on the perception of the Peruvian population toward the Venezuelan population.4 We also include results from previous studies on integration based

3 The authors of this chapter have very recently, and more extensively, examined the theoretical consideration of this term. On the one hand, Berganza Setién and Solórzano Salleres (2019) have dealt with the conceptual discussion on social integration and established the dimensional bases from which it can be measured, in relation to the immigration of Venezuelans in Peru. On the other hand, Blouin (2019) has approached the concepts of inclusion and integration in migratory studies, in her analysis of Venezuelan migrants in Lima. It is important to note that the concept of integration is complex and has been widely discussed in the literature (Ares Mateos & Fernández García, 2017; Bell Adell & Gómez Fayrén, 1999; Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019; Dedeoglu, 2014; Fangen et al., 2012; Morales, 2011; Pardo, 2008; among many others). It emphasizes that integration must involve various dimensions (Blanco, 2001) and levels (Penninx & Martiniello, 2006). It also involves several agents, such as the host society, the migrant population, and public institutions (Penninx & Garcés-Mascareñas, 2016). 4 Survey 2020 (Metropolitan Lima): November 29 to December 8, 2019 to men and

women from 18 years of age. Multi-stage semi-probabilistic. 680 people surveyed. 95% confidence level. Survey 2019 (Metropolitan Lima): November 18 to December 6, 2018 to men and women from 18 years of age. Multi-stage semi-probabilistic. 400 people interviewed. 95% confidence level. Survey 2018 (National level) from August 15 to September 9, 2018. Multi-stage semi-probabilistic 1400. People interviewed. 95% confidence level.

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on qualitative fieldwork through interviews and focus groups conducted in the city of Lima.5 The chapter is structured in three main parts. The first part presents the migration regulations and institutions at the national level from a critical perspective. Later we will consider the local legislation that provides a framework for city policies, and the challenges involved. In a third section, we analyze the reactions at the local level toward Venezuelan migration.

Integration from the Legal Context: The Changing Migration Policy Toward the Venezuelan Population in Peru The normative and comprehensive public policy on migration is very recent, as people have historically migrated from Peru, rather than to Peru. Therefore, immigration was not part of this country’s public agenda (Berganza Setién, 2016; Izaguirre et al., 2017). The 1991 Foreigner Law was the legal framework of reference for the management of migration in the country for more than twenty years. The lack of regulation is explained by the political situation in the country at the time. Peru was experiencing a particularly violent internal armed conflict, which generated a large-scale forced internal displacement (Comisión de la Verdad y Reconciliación, 2002). In addition, the serious socio-economic crisis generated a significant emigration of Peruvians to the global North and to the countries of the Southern Cone (INEI and others, 2018). This explains public actors’ lack of interest in immigration issues between the 1990s and 2000s. Likewise, civil society organizations were more concerned with issues regarding victims of the conflict and the defense of democracy. It is not until 2009 that the Ombudsman’s Office began to look at the issue of immigration and promoted a reform of this outdated regulatory framework (Defensoría del Pueblo, 2009). In the years that followed, civil society organizations, the Ombudsman’s Office,

5 See: Blouin (2019) and Berganza Setién and Solórzano Salleres (2019). In the case of the study by Berganza and Solozarno, the field work was carried out between the months of September to December 2018 and 20 people were interviewed in Lima. In the case of Blouin’s study, field work was carried out in February 2019 and 4 focus groups (from 6 to 9 people) were held with the Venezuelan population in the city of Lima.

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and the Migrant Workers Committee6 promoted a comprehensive reform of migration policy in the country (Comisión Andina de Juristas, 2015; Comité de Protección de los Derechos de todos los Trabajadores Migratorios y de sus Familiares, 2015; Defensoría del Pueblo, 2015). After a failed attempt to reform the law in 2015,7 in January 2017 the Legislative Decree on Migration (hereinafter the Migration Law) and its regulations were adopted, proposing a more comprehensive vision of migration, and incorporating certain human rights principles, such as the non-criminalization of irregular migration (Article VII). This Law, which is similar to that of 2015, responds to the obligations under international law to protect foreigners, as well as the calls of jurists concerned about the incorporation of a human rights approach in Peruvian migration policy (Izaguirre et al., 2017). However, it is necessary to point out that the Migration Law and its regulations were not issued by the Legislative Branch, but rather were debated and approved by the Executive Branch. This has important impacts on the rights of migrants and especially on the aspect of discretion in application and implementation of the laws (Acosta et al., 2019). Although the Migration Law recognizes categories of migrants in situations of vulnerability and reinforces the need to protect them through mechanisms that formalize their status (Blouin & Button, 2018; Blouin & Freier, 2019), it does not completely abandon a vision of national security, especially with respect to immigration control. In this sense, similar sanctions to the previous Foreigner Law are maintained and some gaps are left in matters of procedural guarantees against expulsions (IDEHPUCP, UARM, Encuentros, 2017). On the other hand, although the Migration Law aims to “contribute to the integration of migrants and guarantee the rights of all nationals and foreigners in Peruvian territory” (Article 3), it can be seen that the Law limits the recognition of these rights to health, education, and work under equal conditions (Article 9). These rights are not accompanied by concrete measures to include the migrant population in the programs and plans developed by the State in these matters. This reflects a vision 6 Peru is a party to the Convention on the Rights of All Migrant Workers and Members of Their Families, the main specialized international instrument on migrant persons since 2005. 7 Legislative Decree No. 1236. For an analysis on the reform of the law, see Izaguirre et al. (2017).

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of migration that prioritizes the control of entry, stay, and departure of foreigners. Peruvian migration policy, like many others in the South American region, is, in that sense, a “control policy with a human face” (Domenech, 2013). With respect to labor, unlike the Migration Law, legislation on labor integration has not been modified since 1991 and reflects a logic of national labor market protection. Thus, the Law on Hiring Foreign Workers limits access to employment of foreigners to 20% of a company’s payroll.8 Regarding the protection of the right to health, although the migration policy establishes that access to free health insurance for the migrant population should be promoted regardless of migration status, such provisions have not yet been developed. Currently, to join the Comprehensive Health Insurance (SIS),9 the migrant population must have a residency card.10 It is necessary to mention the special treatment the Venezuelan population has received from a normative point of view. Four days before the approval of the Legislative Decree on Migration, an expedient mechanism for migratory formalization was adopted for the Venezuelan population: the Temporary Residence Permit (PTP).11 This PTP was adopted three different times during 2017 and 2018 (Acosta et al., 2019), first expanding its temporal scope, and then restricting it. The PTP grants Venezuelans a permit to work and reside in Peru for a period of one year. According to several scholars, this initial welcoming response to the Venezuelan population sought to demonstrate a political rejection of the Venezuelan government (Acosta et al., 2019; Freier & Castillo, 2020).

8 The laws establish some exceptions such as people married to Peruvians (see Article 3 of the Law). 9 The Comprehensive Health Insurance is a health insurance aimed at all Peruvians and foreigners residing in Peru who do not have other current health insurance. Among its plans is a free one whose objective is to protect people in vulnerable situations. 10 Article 76 of the Regulation of Law 26344 Framework Law of Universal Health Insurance. 11 It is worth mentioning that a PTP was also approved for foreign persons, mothers, or fathers of Peruvian children who are minors and children of legal age with permanent disabilities. Supreme Decree No. 001-2017-IN of January 3, 2017.

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This is also reflected in the creation of the Lima Group,12 an ad hoc intergovernmental group, to discuss the situation in Venezuela in general, and migration in particular, and thus to generate a united regional bloc. This space, clearly opposed to the Maduro regime, was created at the initiative of Peruvian President Pedro Pablo Kuczynski. Although the PTP mechanism was considered a benevolent measure, it has a number of shortcomings in its implementation. The migration documentation provided by the PTP does not ensure formal labor integration.13 This is due to the prevailing context of the informal labor market, discrimination, the limits to hiring imposed by legislation, and the multiplicity of possible documents that grant a migratory status, among which are refugee applicant, PTP holder, or worker with a residency card (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019; Blouin, 2019; Blouin & Freier, 2019; Koechlin Costa et al., 2019). This complexity not only impacts migrants, it also shows the ignorance on the part of employers regarding the current laws on hiring foreigners and regarding the Migration Law itself (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019). The specific treatment that the Venezuelan population was receiving underwent a change in August 2018 when the Peruvian government decided, firstly, to limit the validity of this temporary mechanism and, secondly, to require Venezuelans to present their passport in order to enter Peruvian territory.14 This generated uncertainty and difficulties for the Venezuelan population that was intending to migrate (Blouin & Freier, 2019; Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019). Although there are exceptions to the passport requirement, these are applied on a discretionary basis since there is no clear procedure (AI, 2020). Taking into account the characteristics of the PTP, an ad hoc and temporary instrument, it was easy for the Executive to limit this mechanism through a change in legislation at the same level (Acosta et al., 2019). This change in policy coincides with a major political crisis in the country that led to the resignation of Pedro Pablo Kuczynski and the promotion of Martin

12 For an analysis of this initiative as well as the Quito Process see Acosta, Blouin, and Freier (2019). 13 This situation is confirmed in other South American contexts. See: Freier and Zubrzycki (2019) for the Argentine case and Malo (2020) for the Ecuadorian case. 14 Up until now, Venezuelans have entered with their identity card.

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Vizcarra, then-Vice President, to the presidency.15 At the same time, there was an increase in the flow of Venezuelans in 2018, which generated a feeling of invasion among the public, especially with respect to employment and the perception of insecurity (IOP, 2019). In June 2019, another restriction was put in place with the implementation of the visa requirement for persons of Venezuelan nationality. These measures respond to a growing context of rejection by the national population, which is fueled by the media and political discourses that increasingly link crime to migration (IOP, 2018, 2019, 2020). The percentage of people who believe that many Venezuelans arriving in Peru are engaging in criminal activities went from 55% in 2018 to 81% in 2019. In the same period of time, the percentage of citizens who are afraid of Venezuelans has doubled (2018: 24%; 2019: 52%) and those who consider the Venezuelan migrant community as unreliable or dishonest increased considerably (2018: 39%; 2019: 61%) (IOP, 2020). Regarding the protection of refugees, Peru has had specific legislation on the matter since 2002. The Refugee Law and its Regulations, following international standards, detail the definition of “refugee,” their rights, and the procedure for determining refugee status. It is worth mentioning that Peru, like most of the countries in the region, incorporates both the traditional definition of refugee contained in the Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees and the expanded Cartagena definition.16 This definition is particularly relevant in the context of Venezuelan migration, which is characterized by particularly serious human rights violations in Venezuela (Blouin et al., 2020). Although the legislation provides guarantees, in practice there have been a series of restrictions on the right to asylum over the last year. For example, in June 2019 an admissibility procedure was implemented in the northern border that seeks to limit access to Peruvian territory for persons of Venezuelan nationality. This measure, which has not been formally communicated and

15 https://ojo-publico.com/645/pedro-pablo-kuczynski-renuncio-la-presidencia-delperu-tras-crisis-politica-por-caso-odebrecht. 16 The Cartagena definition establishes that “the definition or concept of refugee recom-

mended for use in the region is one that, in addition to containing the elements of the 1951 Convention and the 1967 Protocol, also considers as refugees those who have fled from their countries because their life, security, or liberty have been threatened by generalized violence, foreign aggression, internal conflicts, massive violation of human rights, or other circumstances that have seriously disturbed public order.”

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was put into practice a few days after the imposition of the visa requirement, responds to a policy of closing the borders to this population (AI, 2020). Regarding the institutional framework, two actors at the national level are responsible for the issue of migration: The National Superintendency of Migration (SNM), which is attached to the Ministry of the Interior, and the Ministry of Foreign Relations (MREE). SNM has authority within Peruvian territory and the MREE has authority abroad through its network of consulates. It also has jurisdiction over refugee matters (Article 5 of the Migration Law). Additionally, SNM is responsible for controlling entry to and exit from Peru, as well as for granting migratory status, in most cases. The MREE has authority in other cases, including the granting of humanitarian status. The role of other actors who are more linked to integration issues is still incipient. The Regulations of the Migration Law mention the State sectors responsible for matters of health, work, and education and their responsibility in guaranteeing migrants the exercise of these rights. However, to date, there are no clear efforts to include migrants in existing health and education plans. This, in practice, has generated a series of barriers to access these rights (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019; Blouin, 2019). Regarding the regional and local level, the Migration Law refers only once to the role of regional governments, pointing out the need to coordinate actions with SNM to supervise accommodations that house foreigners (Article 183 of the Regulation of the Law of Migrations). In addition, Peru has a National Migration Policy 2017–2025, which seeks to articulate the efforts of the different sectors with jurisdiction over migration matters. This Policy, the first on the matter, is based on the protection of individual rights and the fight against discrimination on the basis of migratory status. However, as Berganza affirms, this instrument is an initiative of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and does not include the participation of the Ministry of the Interior, of which SNM and the Foreigner Police are part, which are key institutions in the treatment of migrants in the country. As a consequence, the emigration and return of nationals are prioritized throughout the National Migration Policy (Berganza, 2019). The following section will address legislation regarding government functions at the local level as well as its impact on the development of local laws.

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Migration Policy at the Local Level: The Case of Lima After analyzing national regulations and their impact on Venezuelan migration, it is necessary to look at policies at the local level as they are a “sounding board” for both the migratory reality and the limitations of the politics of recognition that depend on the other levels of the State (Thayer Correa & Durán Migliardi, 2015, p. 137). Thus, cities are located in a strategic position from “inside” the nation-states to ensure compliance with laws. This position also allows them to adopt urban policies that go beyond the limits prescribed by national legislation and that may even go against the inclusion of migrants (Darling, 2017). The majority of the Venezuelan population resides in Lima (SNM, 2018). Taking into account the policy changes and their impacts on the number of people in an irregular migratory situation, as well as the dynamism of this population between the districts of the city of Lima, it is difficult to obtain up-to-date and reliable data on the distribution of this population between districts. However, some sources shed light on the places of greatest concentration. One survey directed at the Venezuelan population residing in the country (ENPOVE, 2018) establishes that almost 36% live in East Lima,17 30% in North Lima,18 19.5% South Lima,19 while 14% live in Central Lima (INEI, 2019).20 These results are reflected in the studies of the International Organization for Migration (OIM, 2019a, 2019b), which show that North Lima and East Lima have the largest populations. These districts, which were built by internal migrants, have historically been impoverished and marginalized (Blouin, 2019; Matos, 1984). Another interesting aspect is that, although the migrants mostly live in certain municipalities of metropolitan Lima, there is no ghettoization. Instead, these migrants have the national population 17 This is comprised of the districts of Ate, Santa Anita, Chaclacayo, Lurigancho, La Molina, Cieneguilla, San Luis, and San Juan de Lurigancho. 18 This is comprised of the districts of Ancón, Carabayllo, Comas, Independencia, Los Olivos, Puente Piedra, San Martín de Porres, and Santa Rosa. 19 This is comprised of the districts of Lurín, Pachacamac, Pucusana, Punta Hermosa, Punta Negra, San Bartolo, San Juan de Miraflores, Santiago de Surco, Santa María del Mar, Villa el Salvador, and Villa María del Triunfo. 20 This is comprised of the districts of Lima Cercado, Breña, Jesús María, Lince, Barranco, San Isidro, San Miguel, Magdalena del Mar, Pueblo Libre, San Borja, Miraflores, La Victoria, Rímac, and Chorrillos.

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as neighbors (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019). This is also found in the IOP survey carried out in Lima in 2019, in which 74.4% of Lima residents surveyed affirm that they have neighbors of Venezuelan nationality (IOP, 2020). In Peru, local governments are decentralized and, following the principle of subsidiarity, it is recognized that the government that is closest to the population is that which is most suitable to exercise the competence or function. The decentralization process that began in 2000 has taken place in an accelerated manner and has not allowed the installation of clear powers and capacities in regional and local actors. In addition, the lack of transparency or monitoring, and the low level of citizen participation in regional and local spaces, generates important challenges for the strengthening of this process (Controloría General de la República, 2014). Local governments enjoy political, economic, and administrative autonomy in matters within their functions. Law No. 27972. Organic Law of Municipalities, of May 27, 2003, establishes these functions. In the present case, the city of Lima does not constitute a single municipality, like the rest of the cities in the country. The capital of the Republic has a special regime of specific functions of the Metropolitan Municipality of Lima; however, each of the 43 municipalities that make up the city has its own functions when it comes to addressing the policies entrusted to it; some of them are exclusive and others are shared with the Metropolitan Municipality. This peculiar situation of the city of Lima means that some of the policies that correspond to the municipalities and that could affect the integration of Venezuelans are not unitary, since each district municipality can establish them according to its criteria and the specific problems of its territory. It is worth noting that immigrants are not mentioned in the Law of Municipalities. However, there are some functions that correspond to the district municipalities, exclusively or shared with the Metropolitan Municipality, that are related to the living conditions of the population and that refer to variables that can contribute to the integration of Venezuelans that live in Lima. Local authorities do not have immigration control functions under any circumstances and it is not their responsibility to define the entry, stay, or expulsion of a foreign person. However, the Regulations of the Migration Law establish the possibility of cooperating with other public entities for activities regarding “immigration verification and inspection,” which consist of reviewing the immigration status

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of a foreign person (Article 164). Within this framework, various Municipalities of Lima have signed agreements with SNM to carry out these tasks.21 The Municipalities have functions related to housing, health, local economic development, and education. Thus, they have the authority to develop direct and indirect support activities for business activity through training and financing. This aspect is key to thinking about the integration of Venezuelans, since one of the great challenges highlighted by various studies (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019; Blouin, 2019) for these processes is the labor inclusion of immigrants in the formal sector and in jobs where basic labor rights are respected. One of the limitations that stands out is, for example, the lack of knowledge of medium or small entrepreneurs about the procedures for hiring the migrant population. Municipalities also have functions related to the implementation of local programs to combat poverty and social development, such as the Glass of Milk program, which provides food to vulnerable groups such as pregnant women and children under 6 years of age.22 All of these actions and programs, in theory, are intended for the entire neighborhood; however, they have been designed with local residents in mind and not with the need to promote the coexistence and integration of resident foreigners. In this sense, it can be observed that municipalities do not have a leading role in migration issues and that there is a need to expand their functions to expressly include the migrant population (Blouin, 2019). In addition to this, it is important to point out that access to a series of services provided by local authorities depends on the person’s migration status. For example, migrants cannot access free health insurance if they do not have residency status in Peru. Thus, people with PTP or applicants for refugee status cannot access the free health insurance system because they do not have residency,23 despite being able to meet the vulnerability criteria, since a residency card is currently a requirement.

21 See the case of the Municipality of the Victoria: https://peru21.pe/lima/georgeforsyth-venezolanos-migraciones-y-municipalidad-de-la-victoria-firman-convenio-para-fortal ecer-control-migratorio-noticia/, Ver el caso de la Municipalidad de Miraflores: https:// www.miraflores.gob.pe/convenio-migraciones-miraflores/. 22 Article 82 of Law No. 27972. 23 For a description of these legal barriers, see: Blouin (2019).

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To date, Peru has not developed policies that include the protection of the migrant population at the local level. It is only after the arrival of large numbers of Venezuelan migrants that the need to incorporate them into existing policies has begun to be perceived.

Responses of Local Authorities Regarding Venezuelan Migration: Between Isolated Measures and Restrictive Policies In Peru,24 especially Lima, although it is not possible to speak of comprehensive urban policies that include the migrant population, isolated measures can be found that seek to either include or exclude the population. At the municipal level, actions have been taken to fight discrimination and to promote cultural integration and job placement. We have identified scattered measures such as non-discrimination campaigns (Blouin, 2019). Thus, there is the program “Knocking Down Xenophobia” (“Tumbemos la Xenofobia” in Spanish) created by a group of three NGOs in Tumbes, a city that is located on the border where the Venezuelan population enters, which seeks to eradicate the discrimination suffered by migrants.25 These actions are necessary at the local level, bearing in mind that the structural discrimination factor affects the entire process of inclusion for the migrant population. For example, in Lima the practice of refusing to rent housing based on nationality is explicit, with posters that mention “Venezuelans are not allowed to rent this accommodation” (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019). Note that the efforts to include the migrant population are promoted by international organizations and various NGOs—not by municipal authorities.

24 In this part, we include the experience of other cities and not only of the capital to understand in a more comprehensive way the inclusion/exclusion process that is taking place in the country. We also include some relevant examples referring to regional governments. 25 Tumbemos la Xenofobia En Tumbes se activa programa para combatir la xeno-

fobia contra venezolanos. Available at: https://larepublica.pe/sociedad/1360034-tumbesactiva-programa-combatir-xenofobia-venezolanos/; Tu causa es mi causa Lanzan campaña para promover la solidaridad e integración entre peruanos y venezolanos. Available at: https://www.tvperu.gob.pe/noticias/regionales/lanzan-campana-para-promover-la-sol idaridad-e-integracion-entre-peruanos-y-venezolanos.

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On the other hand, a series of integration fairs have been organized in various districts of the capital by NGOs and Venezuelan-based organizations. However, few of them have municipal participation (Blouin, 2019). One example is the “Creating Together” Fairs (“Creando Juntos” in Spanish), which are promoted by the United Nations System in Peru in coordination with local NGOs. These fairs have been developed in various municipalities nationwide. The objective is to promote meeting spaces between Venezuelan and national people through artistic and cultural activities.26 At the labor level, in 2019 a competition for the development of businesses aimed at migrant and Peruvian citizens was promoted in San Martin de Porres, a district of Lima where a large percentage of the Venezuelan population resides.27 In this case, the participation of the municipal authority in promoting the said project stands out. The labor issue is certainly one of the most urgent issues to address. The vast majority of the Venezuelan population hold jobs in informal conditions, which in many cases entail precarious working conditions such as long hours, below-minimum wages, and daily pay (Berganza Setién & Solórzano Salleres, 2019; Blouin, 2019; Koechlin Costa et al., 2019). This maintains Venezuelan migrants in highly precarious situations and has repercussions on their ability to integrate into the city, because of, among other things, an absence of time for leisure and/or friendships. Despite these timid advances, at the local level, there have been discourses and practices that are averse to the reception of the Venezuelan population in the last two years. These have been multiplying, especially in 2019, as have the negative opinions of the local population (IOP, 2020). It is possible to differentiate between 4 levels of negative responses toward the Venezuelan population. First, in the context of the nationwide municipal elections in October 2018, there were reactions and positions on the part of political actors about Venezuelan migration in Lima. These reactions are part of a strategy to seduce public opinion, making the foreign population a scapegoat for the city’s structural problems such as insecurity 26 See, for example: Feria “Creando Juntos” en Piura, Perú: actividad de ingreso libre que une a culturas hermanas. Available at https://www.acnur.org/noticias/press/2019/ 2/5c71d1324/feria-creando-juntos-en-piura-peru-actividad-de-ingreso-libre-que-une-a. html. 27 https://www.pe.undp.org/content/peru/es/home/presscenter/articles/2019/emp rendimientos-que-unen--emprendimientos-que-transforman.html.

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and informality. Two of the candidates for the metropolitan municipality of Lima, Ricardo Belmont and Daniel Urresti, and one candidate for the Municipality of Magdalena, Renato Vilca, made public statements of rejection regarding the Venezuelan population.28 Second, some municipal and regional authorities have given openly xenophobic speeches and have sought to apply drastic measures against the Venezuelan population. For example, the mayor of the city of Huancayo, which is located in the central highlands of Peru, issued a public statement rejecting the Venezuelan population in 2019, using the phrase “Huancayo, free of Venezuelans” and declared that the municipality was working on an ordinance to limit the hiring of foreign people. An ex officio investigation was opened by the Public Ministry for the crime of discrimination and incitement of discrimination.29 In the case of Lima, the mayor of the Municipality of Agustino, faced with an increase in motorcycle taxis in his district, declared that any foreign motorcycle taxi driver will be taken to SNM for the review of their immigration status in October 2019. The Ombudsman’s Office publicly denounced these statements for encouraging xenophobia.30 Subsequently, personnel from the municipality, together with the Foreigner Police, carried out operations in order to, among other things, review the immigration status of drivers.31 In the same month of October 2019, in San Juan de Lurigancho (another district in the capital), the mayor publicly declared his rejection of the Venezuelan population, which he described as “lumpen” and criminals, urging their return to Venezuela. These xenophobic statements have

28 For the case of Ricardo Belmont, see: https://peru21.pe/politica/ricardo-bel mont-critican-candidato-alcaldia-lima-mensaje-xenofobo-venezolanos-422650-noticia/. For Daniel Urresti, see: https://elpopular.pe/actualidad-policiales/2018-08-26-daniel-urr esti-manifiesta-polemica-propuesta-migracion-venezolanos-video. For the case of Renato Vilca: https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=2758024594234059. 29 https://www.elespectador.com/noticias/el-mundo/alcalde-peruano-emite-orden-

para-dejar-su-ciudad-libre-de-venezolanos-articulo-847460. 30 https://larepublica.pe/sociedad/2019/10/19/venezolanos-en-peru-municipalidadde-el-agustino-senala-que-no-permitira-que-extranjeros-manejen-mototaxis-xenofobia/. 31 El Agustino: realizan operativo contra mototaxis informales. Available at: https:// larepublica.pe/sociedad/2019/12/03/el-agustino-realizan-operativo-contra-mototaxis-inf ormales-extranjeros-venezolanos-video/.

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also been rejected by the Ombudsman’s Office in the press.32 This climate of discrimination is also observed in the surveys carried out by the IOP. In 2019, almost 60% of those surveyed claimed to have witnessed discriminatory comments toward Venezuelan migrants in public institutions whereas in 2018 this percentage was 36% (IOP, 2020). For their part, in two regions of southern Peru, Cusco and Ica, an attempt was made to require mandatory registration of Venezuelans at the municipal level. In October 2019, the Provincial Municipality of Ica announced the mandatory registration of Venezuelans via social networks. However, no law was adopted in this regard. In November 2019, this measure was suspended because the Ministry of Justice and Human Rights questioned the legal basis for this registration.33 In the province of Pichari (Cusco), the Citizen Security Committee (CODISEC) of the said province also established the registration of Venezuelans in October 2019. This measure was put in place after the decision of the Self-Defense Committees of Pichari to expel the Venezuelans from this town was rejected.34 Third, in the same time period, local authorities have reportedly participated in SNM operations in the city of Lima to verify the migratory status of foreigners. This is the case in two districts: La Victoria and Miraflores.35 To this end, as mentioned above, collaboration agreements have been made between municipal authorities and SNM to promote migration control through various initiatives, including joint migration verification and inspection operations to detect people with irregular migration status. The role of municipalities is to provide the logistical conditions for the national authorities to carry out these control activities. On some occasions, these actions have been denounced in networks 32 See the case of the Municipality of San Juan de Lurigancho: https://www.msn. com/es-pe/noticias/peru/san-juan-de-lurigancho-defensor%C3%ADa-condena-declaraci ones-de-alcalde-álex-gonzáles-sobre-venezolanos/ar-AAJjEiX. 33 https://iapp.org/news/a/se-suspende-empadronamiento-de-venezolanos-en-piscopor-falta-de-norma-que-sustente-la-recopilacion-de-datos-personales-de-extranjeros-enperu/. 34 https://elcomercio.pe/peru/cusco/cusco-asamblea-vecinal-de-pichari-manifiestamedida-discriminatoria-contra-ciudadanos-venezolanos-venezolanos-en-peru-noticia/. 35 See the case of the Municipality of Miraflores: https://peru21.pe/opi nion/xenofobia-e-incertidumbre-noticia/ and the case of the Municipality of the Victoria: https://peru21.pe/lima/george-forsyth-venezolanos-migraciones-y-munici palidad-de-la-victoria-firman-convenio-para-fortalecer-control-migratorio-noticia/.

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for not being established by law and for being directed to a particular population.36 However, other important actors of civil society, such as the Venezuelan Union, signed an agreement in September 2019 with the Ministry of the Interior to “contribute to combat crime and public insecurity in Peruvian territory.”37 These actions have contributed to the climate of fear and mistrust towards the Venezuelan population in the last year. The signing of these agreements with municipalities is particularly worrisome considering that this function is not established in the Law of Municipalities and that it feeds fear and stigma toward the migrant population. And while the statements of the Inspection Manager38 of the Municipality of Miraflores seek to appease the masses by recognizing that the municipality does not have immigration control functions and that it only seeks to safeguard the rights of people in these operations, this type of action and its reporting in the media is troubling.39 In this sense, we observe that the restrictive nature of migration policy is reinforced by local authorities. This is because the contact that the population of a district may have with an authority that is supposedly closer to them is linked to migration control and not to the desire to promote integration. Finally, another level in negative local responses to the Venezuelan population occurs when the authorities adopt a normative framework contrary to human rights. In Cusco, the Regional Government even adopted an ordinance to limit the hiring of foreigners, describing the dismissal of Peruvian workers for the immediate hiring of foreign workers as a “very serious offense” (Article 1). In a city like Cusco characterized by tourism and the presence of foreigners for more than a decade now, this measure is a clear sign of rejection of a particular nationality, the Venezuelans. This ordinance is unconstitutional and constitutes a serious

36 https://elcomercio.pe/lima/seguridad/control-migratorio-en-miraflores-que-hay-det ras-de-las-intervenciones-a-extranjeros-noticia/. 37 https://andina.pe/agencia/noticia-mininter-y-union-venezolana-acuerdan-combatir-

delincuencia-el-peru-764300.aspx. 38 The Municipalities carry out inspection tasks within the framework of their functions (Article 74 of Law No. 27972). For example, they control the constructions within their territorial scope. 39 https://elcomercio.pe/lima/seguridad/control-migratorio-en-miraflores-que-hay-det ras-de-las-intervenciones-a-extranjeros-noticia/.

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violation of the rights of migrants.40 In this case, then, the phenomenon of “bottom-up scaling” described by Darling (2017) is observed where local and regional authorities attempt to adopt more restrictive laws than those at the national level. In the Peruvian case, the lack of a comprehensive integration policy from a local level is observed. We see that sometimes the restrictive policies of the central government are bolstered with enforcement operations. On other occasions local governments go even further, with the adoption of laws that are contrary to higher-ranking laws or exercising powers which are not within their purview, such as through migrant registration, limitations on hiring, and even expulsions. In addition, several of the local governments have focused on responding to migration from a criminal perspective and have not adopted measures toward the integration of Venezuelans.

Conclusions This chapter has addressed the policies that the Peruvian State has adopted at the national and local level for the integration of Venezuelans. As a first challenge, we observe that the novelty of the immigration issue in Peru and its municipalities makes it difficult for public actors to understand and take measures for the integration of the Venezuelan population by local governments. As a second challenge, migration policy does not treat integration as a central issue but rather concentrates above all on migration control. Furthermore, the regulatory framework is complex, confusing, and changing depending on the political context. At the local level, the regulatory framework grants local governments authority in matters that are involved in the integration of foreigners; however, this framework does not explicitly mention the migrant population. This creates significant legal loopholes. Added to this, the particularity of Lima with its different district authorities and a central authority generates additional complexity in relation to the distribution of powers.

40 See the statements of the Ministry of Labor and Promotion of Employment: https://gestion.pe/economia/mtpe-le-pone-alto-cusco-fijar-sanciones-contratar-ven ezolanos-273762-noticia/; https://gestion.pe/economia/cusco-mtpe-sanciones-contratac ion-extranjeros-defenderemos-nuestra-posicion-tc-273779-noticia/.

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Likewise, it is observed that far from seeking coexistence between the local and migrant population, local authorities have on many occasions incited hate speech and rejection, which is already present in public opinion and fueled by the media and the restrictive policies themselves at the national level. These speeches appear in 2018 with the municipal elections and became more prevalent throughout 2019. In the specific case of Lima, this city has received the highest number of Venezuelan migrants in the country. A large part of this population lives in districts historically populated by internal migrants. There is no residential segregation by nationality, instead the migrant and local population live as neighbors. Faced with this, the actions of the local authorities have not been uniform. There have been isolated initiatives that seek integration, most of which arise from international organizations or NGOs with or without the participation of local authorities, and also actions that promote exclusion through migration control actions. However, the unifying characteristic is that they are sporadic and lack in-depth planning and an approach based on local integration policy. Therefore, it is necessary to reflect on the importance of generating local policies that seek to promote the integration of immigrants in the city of Lima. This does not involve, however, developing efforts solely directed at one nationality, but rather reinforcing existing policies for access to rights so that they are inclusive of the immigrant population in general. One orientation is that the governing authorities in migration matters reinforce their coordination with the authorities that watch over the various dimensions of the integration process (work, health, education, cultural aspects, etc.) and, on the other hand, that the latter consider the inclusion of foreigners in their policies and develop coordination mechanisms with local authorities. Likewise, identifying and confronting the xenophobic discourses and practices that emanate, on many occasions, from the local authorities themselves, is another challenge to gradually generating a truly inclusive city.

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Alternativo al Comité de Protección de los Derechos de Todos los Trabajadores Migratorios y de sus Familiares. http://cdn01.pucp.education/idehpucp/wpcontent/uploads/2017/09/11234252/11-09-final-informe-alternativo-alcomite-de-proteccion-trabajadores-migratorios.pdf. Accessed 8 Aug 2019. Instituto de Opinión Pública de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (IOP). (2018). Creencias y actitudes hacia la inmigración en el Perú. http://repositorio.pucp.edu.pe/index/handle/123456789/133523. Accessed 19 Feb 2020. Instituto de Opinión Pública de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (IOP). (2019). Creencias y actitudes hacia los inmigrantes venezolanos en el Perú Febrero 2019. http://repositorio.pucp.edu.pe/index/bitstream/han dle/123456789/165996/IOP_1118_01_R1.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y. Accessed 19 Mar 2020. Instituto de Opinión Pública de la Pontificia Universidad Católica del Perú (IOP). (2020). Cambios en las Actitudes hacia los Inmigrantes Venezolanos en Lima-Callao 2018–2019. http://repositorio.pucp.edu.pe/index/handle/ 123456789/169459. Accessed 19 Mar 2020. Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática (INEI). (2019). Condiciones de vida de la población venezolana que reside en Perú. Resultados de la “Encuesta dirigida a población venezolana que reside en el país ENPOVE 2018”. Instituto Nacional de Estadística Informática. https://www.inei.gob.pe/media/ MenuRecursivo/publicaciones_digitales/Est/Lib1666/libro.pdf. Accessed 5 May 2020. Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática (INEI), Organización Internacional para las Migraciones (OIM) (2013). Estadísticas de la Emigración Internacional de Peruanos e Inmigración de Extranjeros, 1990–2012. https://peru.iom.int/sites/default/files/Documentos/ Estadistica%20de%20Emigracion%20e%20Inmigracion%20Peru.pdf. Accessed 5 May 2020. Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática (INEI), Organización Internacional para las Migraciones (OIM), Superintendencia Nacionales de Migraciones (SNM) y Ministerio de Relaciones Exteriores (MREE). (2018). Estadísticas de la Emigración internacional de peruano e Inmigración de extranjeros, 1990–2017. Instituto Nacional de Estadística e Informática. https://peru. iom.int/sites/default/files/Documentos/EST19902017.pdf. Accessed 5 May 2020. Izaguirre, L., Busse, E., & Vásquez, T. (2017). Discursos en tensión y oportunidades de cambios: la nueva ley de migración en el Perú. Ramírez Jacques. Migración, Estado y políticas. Cambios y continuidad en América del Sur. La Paz: Vicepresidencia del Estado Plurinacional de Bolivia. Presidencia de la Asamblea Legislativa Plurinacional.

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Koechlin Costa, J., Solórzano Salleres, X., Larco Drouilly, G., & Maldonado Mujica, E. (2019). Impacto de la inmigración venezolana en el mercado laboral de tres ciudades: Lima, Arequipa y Piura. OIM, OIT, MTPE https://peru.iom.int/sites/default/files/Documentos/IMPACTOIN M2019OIM.pdf. Accessed 19 Mar 2020. Maguiña, S. E. (2010). Un acercamiento al estudio de las inmigraciones extranjeras en el Perú durante el siglo xix y las primeras décadas del siglo xx. En: Revista Tierra Nuestra UNALM, 8(1), 65–96. http://revistas.lamolina.edu. pe/index.php/tnu/article/view/100. Accessed 5 May 2020. Malo, M. (2020). Access to formal employment and mobility: Colombian and Venezuelan forced migrants in Ecuador (Refugee Law Initiative LI Working Paper No. 42). Matos, J. (1984). Desborde popular y crisis del Estado: El nuevo rostro del Perú en la década de 1980. Primera edición. IEP. Morales, L. (2011). Conceptualizing and measuring migrants’ political inclusion. In L. Morales & M. Giugni (Eds.), Social capital, politial participation and migration in Europe: Making multicultural democracy work? (pp. 19–42). Palgrave Macmillan. OIM. (2019a). Monitoreo de flujo de población venezolana en el Perú DTM Reporte 6. Septiembre 2019. OIM. OIM. (2019b). Monitoreo de flujo de población venezolana en el Perú DTM Reporte 5. Abril 2019. OIM. Pardo, M. (2008). La inmigración y el devenir de las sociedades multiculturales: Perspectivas políticas y teóricas, en Susana Novik (Comp.). Las migraciones en América Latina. Políticas, culturas y estrategias (pp. 153–171). Buenos Aires: Catálogos. Penninx, R., & Garcés-Mascareñas, B. (2016). The concept of integration as an analytical tool and as a policy concept. In B. Garcés-Mascareñas & R. Penninx (Eds.), Integration procces and policies in Europe: Contexts, levels and actors (pp. 11–29). IMISCOE Research Series, Springer. Penninx, R., & Martiniello, M. (2006). Procesos de integración y políticas (locales): estado de la cuestión y algunas enseñanzas. Reis: Revista española de investigaciones sociológicas, 116, 123–156. Superintendencia Nacional de Migraciones (SNM). (2018). Informe Migratorio. Características sociodemográficas de ciudadanos venezolanos que tramitaron su Permiso Temporal de Permanencia- PTP en el Perú, febrero 2017-noviembre 20189. https://www.migraciones.gob.pe/comunicaciones/publicaciones/ Caracteristicas-sociodemograficas-de-ciudadanos-venezolanosNov2018.pdf. Accessed 23 Mar 2020. Thayer Correa, L., & Durán Migliardi, C. (2015). Gobierno local y migrantes frente a frente: nudos críticos y políticas para el reconocimiento. Revista del CLAD Reforma y Democracia, núm, 63, septiembre-diciembre, pp. 127–162.

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Normative Framework References Convención internacional sobre la protección de los derechos de todos los trabajadores migratorios y de sus familiares Adoptada por la Asamblea General en su resolución 45/158, de 18 de diciembre de 1990. Convención sobre el Estatuto de los Refugiados Adoptada en Ginebra, Suiza, el 28 de julio de 1951 por la Conferencia de Plenipotenciarios sobre el Estatuto de los Refugiados y de los Apátridas (Naciones Unidas), convocada por la Asamblea General en su resolución 429 (V), del 14 de diciembre de 1950. Declaración de Cartagena sobre refugiados Adoptado por el “Coloquio Sobre la Protección Internacional de los Refugiados en América Central, México y Panamá: Problemas Jurídicos y Humanitarios”, Cartagena, Colombia (19 al 22 de noviembre de 1984). Decreto Legislativo Nº689. Ley para la contratación de trabajadores extranjeros, 4 de noviembre de 1991. Decreto Legislativo de Migraciones Nº 1350, 07 de enero de 2017. Decreto Supremo N° 007-2017-IN, que aprueba el Reglamento del Decreto Legislativo N° 1350, 27 de marzo de 2017. Decreto Supremo Nº 015-2017-RE, que aprueba la Política Nacional Migratoria 2017–2025, del 27 de abril de 2017. Ley Nº27891. Ley del Refugiado, Diario Oficial El Peruano 22 de diciembre de 2002. Ley nº 27972. Ley Orgánica de Municipalidades, de 27 de mayo de 2003. Ordenanza Nº 163-2019-CR/GRC.CUSCO. Declaran la necesidad pública la priorización de la mano de obra regional-local en la convocatoria de nuevos puestos de trabajo y califican como infracción muy grave el despido de trabajadores peruanos para la inmediata contratación de trabajadores extranjeros 22/07/2019. Plan Nacional de Derechos Humanos 2018–2021, Decreto Supremo N° 0022018-JUS. Resolución de Superintendencia Nº 000270-2018 Dispone la exigencia de presentación del pasaporte vigente para el ingreso regular de las personas venezolanas desde el 25 de agosto de 2018 24 de agosto de 2018. Resolución de Superintendencia Nº 000177-2019-SNM Disponer que a partir de 15 de junio se requiera a todas las personas venezolanas que entren al país, presenten Pasaporte ordinario, o Visa, dependiendo de la calidad migratoria 12 de junio de 2019.

CHAPTER 12

Conclusion Laurent Faret and Hilary Sanders

The chapters in this volume all address the challenges posed by the presence of migrant populations in urban environments, and the way local policy actors answer the various questions that this presence raises. Despite a diversity of situations, the same interrogations are at stake from Canada to Chile: how can local decision-makers act on what has become a major social and political issue throughout the Americas, in areas as diverse as security, access to health, education and housing services, urban economic development, and the peaceful coexistence of increasingly diverse ethnic and national-origin groups? What place in the city can be given to these populations over the long term, in terms of veritable participation in urban life, from an economic, socio-cultural, or political perspective? As was highlighted in the introduction to this volume, cities are at the forefront of the arrival and settlement of foreign populations. In

L. Faret (B) Geography, University of Paris, Paris, France e-mail: [email protected] H. Sanders American Studies, University of Toulouse-Jean Jaurès, Toulouse, France e-mail: [email protected] © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7_12

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parallel with questions concerning the legal status of the foreign populations in their midst—over which they ultimately have little control—cities have to deal with issues that are both more immediate and more pragmatic, including those of the daily life of any urban population, with its issues of access to the city and its resources, its labor market, its amenities, and its opportunities. From North to South America, initiatives by urban leaders are marked by cross-cutting approaches, some driven by local actors animated by a desire to strengthen the political affirmation of an inclusive city, others by a more or less opportunistic response to growing social demands for action. In this concluding section, we consider some of the main aspects that can be highlighted upon juxtaposition of the case studies developed in the volume. Although the book is not comparative in nature, the aim of this section is to point out patterns of commonalities and distinctions beyond situated contexts, and to initiate a reflection on the dialectical and evolving relationships between migration, the city, and public action. Central to the book has been the need to locate reception policies in their dual environments, that of migration dynamics, on the one hand, and of the structural conditions that allow for urban action, on the other. These two parameters undergird the meaning and scope of hospitality measures, and thus the framework in which the questions of reception are posed. Clearly, the migratory processes of the last decade are in constant evolution, and the urban presence of populations is more complex than in the past. The classic forms of settling and incorporating populations that choose their destination voluntarily, forms that remain prevalent and relatively stable in some contexts (such as the United States and Costa Rica), do not correspond to the dynamics of others. In Peru, some of the migrants fleeing Venezuela do not consider Lima as a long-term destination. In Mexico, the persistant questions around populations in transit toward the rest of North America have become more politically fraught. In Canada, the migrant presence of recent years is linked both to restrictive U.S. policies and to the influx of refugees from the Middle East, particularly from Syria. In Chile, the conditions of reception of foreign populations have undergone a profound reevaluation following the arrival of significant numbers of Haitian migrants. These trends are important in regards to public policies, as they influence the way the general public perceives migration and foreign populations more broadly, as well as the timing and overall relevance of political initiatives. They are also factors that lead civil society organizations to push for urgent action, or to adjust

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the focus of their lobbying efforts, according to their agenda. We know how much the acceptability of measures depends on the conjunctural context in which they take place. As the authors point out in many chapters, the media coverage of migration events has played a significant role in shaping public opinion. To a large extent, the movements of migrant “caravans” constitute the backdrop for the reception of Central American populations in Tijuana in recent years. Canadian public awareness of the situation of Syrian refugees precedes the positions taken by decisionmakers in Montreal. President Trump’s anti-immigrant discourse and the measures implemented at the national level motivate positions taken in New York or Tucson. The sudden arrival of impoverished Venezuelan families in the streets of Lima in 2018 has tested the political will of Peruvian authorities to welcome these refugees. The specificity of these situations of mobility, and their optics, have strongly influenced public action, and will most likely continue to do so. But in all contexts an important challenge is the impact of local measures and policies over time versus the evolutionary nature of migratory dynamics: discrepancies exist between perspectives that require long-term anchoring and programs that respond to very specific contexts. The structural conditions of urban action, which are also fundamental characteristics of cities, present fundamental dissimilarities. These conditions include the authority that urban governments can and are willing to exercise in their regional and national environment and the existence of legislation or jurisprudence limiting their autonomy in the realm of migrant reception, but also the historical trajectory of cities vis-à-vis immigration, the effects of political transformations specific to local elective systems or to power relations between actors that pass through other mechanisms of legitimization. From this perspective, our case studies cannot be decoupled from these institutional environments. While systems of federated states or forms of decentralization are present throughout the Americas, the autonomy of local actors varies greatly. Whereas U.S. cities have assumed responsibilities that directly impact migrant populations, in Latin America centralized government remains strong in many cases, constraining the freedom of municipal leaders. In addition, and as the authors in this volume show, at intermediate scales representing other levels of government (Canadian provinces, Chilean regions, Peruvian departments, Costa Rican districts…), specific positions on migration have emerged, calling for closer collaborations between territorial jurisdictions. At the same time, while cities such as New York

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and, to a lesser degree, Toronto, Tucson, or Tijuana have had to position themselves on migration issues for several decades, the issue of a significant international presence in the city is much more recent in Lima or Mexico City. As municipal leaders in these Latin American cities are more experienced with the incorporation of migrants from the interior of the country, formal, diversified measures for international migrants are necessarily less developed. In addition, the conditions under which urban action is undertaken depend on the possibilities for participation by a variety of social actors. In some cases, decision-making systems or the monitoring of measures leave little room for civil society, even if relative progress has been made almost everywhere, often through struggles and negotiations. The clientelism of the positions adopted, the political opportunism of certain statements, or the unexplained disappearance of measures that appeared relevant are part of the panoply of forms of intervention or laissez-faire action in the cases presented in the volume. In connection with these general dimensions, our case studies confirm several familiar themes that emerge from research on local responses to migration. In the first place, it is evident that national governments and local authorities have fundamentally different priorities in regards to the management of migrants. Responsible for national security and the sovereignty of its territory, the State must at least attempt to control the movement of populations across borders, and it maintains the authority to confer or deny legal status to these migrants, in accordance with domestic expectations and regional geopolitical dynamics. From the perspective of local government, however, distinctions between citizen and foreigner, much less between legal permanent resident and unauthorized migrant, are not necessarily relevant to the pursuit of the more pragmatic goals of public health and safety. This tension can apply both to the benefit and to the detriment of migrant protection; city authorities can prioritize the delivery of services and the prevention of victimization among migrants over exclusionary national imperatives, as in cities with more or less robust sanctuary policies such as New York or, more recently, Mexico City. On the contrary, they can choose to emphasize public order upon the arrival of migrants whose entry and transit within the national territory is tacitly or openly accepted by the State, but who are categorized as unwelcome “Others” by local populations, as in the case of Lima, Peru, or in response to Central American migrants in Tijuana, Mexico. In contexts of hostility to migrants, racial, ethnic, and cultural factors can have more salience to

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receiving populations than those relating to legal status, as in San José or Santiago. Also common to many studies of local migration policy, as well as to urban and public policy more generally, is a focus on the discrepancies that inevitably exist between official discourse and observable practice. Indeed, public agents do not always execute policies as envisioned by elites, or lack the funding or clear instructions that would allow them to do so. The cases of Toronto, Mexico City, and Santiago are emblematic of the substantial gap that often separates policies that theoretically offer protection to migrants from their manifestations in day-to-day interactions with representatives of municipal authorities. As Hudson demonstrates in the case of Toronto, designating a city as a sanctuary can be a hollow act of messaging that is not supported by a political will to establish municipal policies that could create conflict with regional and national governments. In Mexico City, the banner of sanctuary city was promoted in the context of returning Mexican migrants, which had little to do with local efforts in receiving migrants from other countries. In these contexts, urban leaders try to reap the benefits of a label that signals the cosmopolitan character and progressive orientation of the city, without mobilizing the necessary resources to realize their stated objectives. Furthermore, references to sanctuary implicitly conceptualize migrant protection as a moral imperative, making policies particularly ripe to accusations of hypocrisy. This phenomenon is exemplified by the case of Montréal, Canada, where criticism of the shortcomings of the city’s policy led to the adoption of a name that is more representative of its substance. The limitations and failings of policies intended to provide sanctuary to migrants can often find their source in a more fundamental flaw in many attempts to manage migration, which is misunderstanding about migration processes among public authorities. In particular, lack of precision about the distinctions between various categories of migrants is common, in both official discourse and actual institutions of migration governance. Atak highlights the confusion between the status of refugees and that of undocumented migrants perpetuated through the use of the vague term “newcomers” in debates and resolutions in relation to Montréal’s sanctuary policy. In Mexico City, the association of policies for irregular migrants with those intended to re-integrate Mexican nationals deported from the United States (retornados ) is also revealing of the conceptual haze surrounding the beneficiaries of programs of migrant protection. The same distortion is at stake in Lima, where the recent

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influx of Venezuelan population has made the category of international migrant more complex and ambivalent. Clearly, the needs of these specific populations are easily overlooked in the objectives and mechanisms of policies constructed on such imprecise definitions. In many situations, insufficient knowledge about the diversity of foreign populations and migration dynamics is a limitation, and blurred categorizations can be counterproductive for the measures developed. In cities with great pressure on the social programs developed for disadvantaged populations, as in Tijuana, San José, or Lima, “migrant” can function as a distinctive category, creating stigma or the perception of undeserved entitlements, according to various populations’ eligibility for public aid. However, from the perspective of local government, it is possible that this confusion is deliberate at times, allowing authorities to assuage demands for action in regards to vulnerable migrants without legal status, while creating programs that offer assistance more appropriate to highly skilled workers, whose economic contribution is more immediate. The “Welcoming Cities Initiative” implemented in Austin, Texas, is a case in point. Another point of convergence that emerges from the cities studied in this volume is the reactive nature of many local migration policies and initiatives, which are adopted in the context of a conversation on a national or even international level. Certainly, parts of municipal government and civil society in cities like Tucson have struggled to resist the restrictive orientation of state and federal immigration laws through local policies of protection. Indeed, the sanctuary movement, which originated in Tucson, was largely crafted as a rebuke of federal immigration laws, as well as foreign policy. Outside the United States, while national debates about migration remain relevant, support for policies of migrant protection is influenced by factors on a still larger scale. Leaders of Canadian cities responded to the unfolding crisis of Syrian refugees blocked from entry into most European countries, as well as the increasingly xenophobic discourse and exclusionary immigration policies from the Trump administration in the United States, by making declarations of solidarity with migrant populations with whom the public expressed sympathy. The policies that ensued clearly attempted to distinguish the city’s position on migration issues from unpopular examples abroad. The communication of a message of hospitality in Mexico City, faced with escalating threats from the United States of increased deportation of Mexican nationals, follows a similar pattern. The influence of U.S. immigration policy decisions on local migration dynamics can be observed particularly clearly

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in Tijuana, Mexico, situated along one of the busiest and most highly regulated border crossing points in the world. Nevertheless, as París and Montes show in their development of the concept of the “resonance” of restrictive immigration policy models, in a city like Tijuana where the transit of migrants is dependent on decisions made in the United States, municipal authorities and local populations can either adopt a similar frame of reference as its more powerful neighbor, or support a counternarrative of solidarity with migrants, depending on the social, political, and logistical circumstances. Elsewhere in Latin America, other international points of reference also hold sway among municipal leaders, and influence the circulation of policy models. Global discussions or European efforts on sanctuary policies have had an impact in Costa Rica, Mexico, or Chile, among other places. In those cases, the international context gives opportunities for local policies, as the engagement of some United Nations divisions such as CEPAL or UNESCO on the matters of inclusive cities has gained importance. Traditional exchanges between Latin American city leaders and their counterparts in Europe also provide a platform to share experiences and strategies in migrant reception, although the transposability of models is a dimension that remains insufficiently analyzed. Given local migration policies’ permeability to external factors beyond city leaders’ control, frequent fluctuation in cities’ responses to the presence of migrants is unsurprising. Indeed, the case studies show that the temporality of local migration policies is a significant element of analysis in most cities in the Americas, which resist classification into immutable categories as welcoming or restrictive urban environments. The permanence of the United States’ massive undocumented population, leading to fairly stable migration policies of protection in certain large, progressive cities, is not widely representative abroad. Especially in regions facing a sudden influx of migrants seeking refuge, the goals of migrant protection, urban development, and public safety can come into conflict, or require prioritization. This is true of Mexican border cities that become the sites of blocked transit migration, or of Canadian cities confronted with the unexpected arrivals of irregular migrants from the United States. The management of migrants becomes a politically sensitive issue, leading to the readjustment of directives to municipal departments and of relationships with regional and federal authorities, as well as humanitarian organizations, particularly when newly elected administrations arrive in power. The case of Austin, Texas, is illustrative of the manner by which

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successive city governments, while trying to maintain a semblance of coherence and continuity in the city’s image as both cosmopolitan and humane in regards to migrants, frequently waver in their commitment to protect undocumented immigrants, considered less desirable to the development of the city’s knowledge economy. In countries with little experience in receiving migrants, vacillation between protective and exclusionary local policies toward newly arriving foreign populations is particularly striking. The embryonic policies that emerge are truly experiments in migration management at the local level, by actors often more familiar with the dynamics of emigration than immigration. Many Latin American countries that have long histories of sending migrants abroad, to the United States or other prosperous nations in the Western hemisphere, have only recently passed major legislation on immigration that updated their national legal framework to account for the increasing presence of irregular migrants, both long-term residents and those in transit. Costa Rica and Mexico are examples of this trend, where national legislation was adopted in 2009 and 2011, respectively. In the first case, Morales points out that measures promoting social integration were incorporated into law for the first time with this reform, but also that governmental actors in the urban area most directly concerned, San José, did not take full advantage of the opportunity by translating the legislation into the city’s municipal code. In Mexico, Faret recalls that the political autonomy of the nation’s capital was obtained very recently (formally in 2017), creating significant new instruments, but that this institutional framework has yet to become fully effective. In the case of Chile, Arellano and Orrego observe that disagreements between governmental agencies over their respective powers and responsibilities in the management of migration effectively prevented the enactment of reform for several years amidst increasing Haitian and Venezuelan immigration, leading to the eventual adoption of more restrictive legislation in 2018. Despite these relative commonalities, this study highlights that the ultimate form that local migration policies assume is largely constrained by institutional factors, including the manner in which national, regional, and local governments interact, and the degree of overlap in their respective powers in regards to migration. In the United States, the political autonomy given to individual states provides an arena in which local governments can establish and maintain an extraordinarily contentious relationship with the federal State, by international standards. Lawsuits

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between the national government’s Department of Justice and sanctuary jurisdictions, spurred by threats to withhold federal funding from these localities, are common. They are often settled by court decisions that run counter to the ongoing immigration policies of the Executive Branch, allowing local governments to continue defying State demands for increased collaboration in immigration control, with judicial support. This constant tension over authority in the governance of migration, in particular over the protection of deportable migrants from identification by federal authorities, is reflective of a broader conflict between progressive states and cities (proportionally under-represented in federal government) and increasingly restrictive national policies relating to public surveillance and security. It is this political polarization, combined with a conducive institutional framework, which has allowed sanctuary cities to become more prevalent in the United States. A particular point of divergence among national contexts can be found in the role of the police. Canada, the United States, Mexico, and many other countries in Latin America have largely delegated public security to regional and local law enforcement forces, whereas immigration remains regulated by national agencies. However, the argument made by sanctuary jurisdictions in the United States, that entanglement between immigration enforcement and criminal justice is detrimental to public safety in that it discourages irregular migrants from reporting crimes to law enforcement, has not gained traction abroad. Municipal governments throughout the Americas, even in cities with official sanctuary policies, have not chosen to translate the theoretical separation of roles into clear directives to law enforcement officers, instructing them to refrain from reporting individuals who cannot prove their legal status to immigration authorities. Generally, such collaboration is mandatory in the case of irregular migrants who are the object of a criminal investigation, but is largely a matter of voluntary, proactive communication on the part of police officers in most other situations. As underlined by Hudson, only by considering irregular status as a crime in of itself can such a practice be justified. Yet it is the refusal of this logic that ostensibly defines sanctuary cities such as Toronto, which promise to deliver public services to all, regardless of legal status, and thus implicitly affirm their legitimacy as residents. This contradiction is central to the tenuous status of cities that claim to be welcoming and hospitable to migrants, while assisting national agents in identifying “aliens” eligible to be expelled. Urban situations in Mexico, as the chapters on Tijuana and Mexico City

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show, present different patterns. Police operations directed toward undocumented populations are less frequent in cities in comparison with what occurs on migration routes, where security and legal mobility are more and more intertwined. Nevertheless, this relative tolerance of migrants in urban areas does not translate into safe havens, and local police officers frequently take migration status into account during routine operations, even though the law prohibits officers from inquiring about legal status. In many cases, such situations generate extortion or other forms of corruption as a regular basis of interaction, and efforts to combat these practices are still of limited effect. In this respect, Sanders suggests that local governments can avoid some of the conservative backlash and the conflict over rule of law created by sanctuary policies by decriminalizing or creating a civil procedure for low-level offenses: the debate over whether or not to «protect» an undocumented immigrant accused of an infraction ends at the moment when said infraction is no longer a criminal offense. Furthermore, it is significant that in Canada and much of Latin America, local governments have generally avoided conflict with national governments, eschewing policies related to irregular migrants involved with the criminal justice system and focusing on non-controversial strategies such as improving access to accurate information about immigration law, individual rights, and available services. Urban leaders often maintain close relationships with national immigration authorities, usually located in the same large cities that attract the largest number of migrants, and turn to them for guidance and funding, when possible. Even in the case of the Chilean Sello Migrante program, which specifically aims to assist irregular migrants with regularization of their status, municipal policy does not directly contradict or obstruct national strategies. Indeed, this label that signals the immigrant-friendly political orientation of the city is awarded by the national government itself, allowing it to maintain a clientelistic relationship with participating municipalities. The absence of municipal identity cards outside sanctuary cities in the United States is illustrative of this aversion to jurisdictional conflict in most contexts. Indeed, the need for government-issued identity documents to access public or private services (like banks and money transfer operations) is a crucial issue that limits cities’ ability to pursue the goal of improving access to services for irregular migrants. In Canada, as the cases of Toronto and Montréal highlight, most essential public services are not administered by municipalities, but at least partly by regional or

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national authorities that require formal identification, often a provinceissued driver’s licence. In Latin America, although various forms of identification are considered valid by law, the national electoral card is regularly required for many day-to-day operations, and the matter has been a frequent point of tension between civil organizations and local governments. The former regularly argue that a municipal ID would be a more effective form of protection for migrants than specific programs aimed at this population, however ambitious those programs may be. However, the latter are reluctant to produce such documents, exposing themselves to the risk of jurisdictional illegality, as was the case in Mexico City in 2019, where a local identity card program was abandoned. Whether during administrative procedures or interactions with police authorities, with or without formal identity documents, concern about possible abuse or mistreatment remains high for newcomers or longerterm migrants, who often apply representations transported from their countries of origin. This is another transversal dimension that manifests itself with varying intensity across the case studies: the trust placed in local and national government representatives by migrants themselves. Not surprisingly, it is in countries where impunity, corruption, and abuse by public authorities are the most rampant that mistrust is strongest. In some cases, local programs for migrants are avoided by eligible persons, as a result of such negative experiences. Distance from authorities is particularly noticeable in contexts where discrimination is part of the daily experience of racialized populations in cities, as is the case of Haitians in Santiago or Nicaraguans in San José. Moreover, distinctions between different authorities and their intricate territorial and bureaucratic organization remain unclear to many. Fear of national immigration agents does not disappear simply because another governmental official from a separate jurisdictional level delivers a speech of hospitality. From the perspective of the migrant, they are both agents of the State. Finally, limits to local governments’ ability to shield the most vulnerable of migrants, those with irregular status, remain considerable across the Americas. The threat of deportation, the fear of abuse, and the uncertainty of future possibilities for mobility compound struggles involving entangled vulnerabilities. The political capacity and willingness of urban stakeholders to address these issues in a long term and stable perspective is a central point, especially when national strategies for preventing the entry of unwanted migrants and deportation regimes are still on the rise. Given that insecurity and poverty in many regions of origin continue

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to generate human mobility, migration will remain a visible and pressing policy question for local governments in the future. As highlighted in this volume, the outcomes will depend on several elements: accurate information provided to policymakers, a pluralistic perspective including civil society, and the accumulation and appraisal of previous experiences, among others. These are the conditions for stable and consistent measures, for sufficient awareness within public services, and for collaboration between territorial jurisdictions, as well as for non-discriminatory daily practices by all actors involved. On a more general level, outrageous statements and populist or xenophobic positions that feed on and fuel sentiments of fear and social withdrawal will have to be countered. In many aspects, the local arena is a particularly appropriate scale at which to address these issues, as urban environments have historically been sites of effective multiculturality, co-presence, and the shared construction of both knowledge and communities of destiny.

Index

A Abbott, Greg (Governor), 65–68 Access T.O., 86–89, 91–94 ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), 32, 33 Activism, 108, 116, 121 Araya Monge, Johnny, 240, 250 Arizona, 19, 21, 24, 25, 28, 32, 33 Arpaio, Sheriff Joseph (former sheriff of Maricopa County, Arizona), 26 Assistance, 191, 195, 196, 201, 290 Asylum, 3, 5, 6, 11, 13, 14, 262, 268

B Bachelet, Michelle, 156, 171, 172 Bloomberg, Mike (Mayor), 145 Border, 268, 273, 288, 291 Border Action Network, 23 Border city, 211, 212, 215, 232 BorderLinks, 22 Brewer, Jan (former governor of Arizona), 27

Buffer countries, 3 Bureau d’Intégration de Nouveaux Arrivants à Montréal (BINAM), 110, 116–119, 122, 123 Bush, George W. (President), 53

C Canada Border Services Agency (CBSA), 82, 84–86, 95, 97 Caravaneros , 223, 224, 226, 227, 229–231 Caravans, 211–213, 218, 223, 225, 228, 229, 232, 233, 287 Carrasco Contreras, Juan (mayor of Quilicura), 172 Central America, 237, 241, 242, 245–247 Central American migrants, 184, 185, 188, 212, 213, 215, 216, 223–225, 227, 228, 231, 232, 288 Chicano movement, 21

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2021 L. Faret and H. Sanders (eds.), Migrant Protection and the City in the Americas, Politics of Citizenship and Migration, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-74369-7

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INDEX

Citizenship, 3, 4, 8, 157, 158, 160 Ciudad hospitalaria, 183, 184, 192, 193 Civil society movement, 2 Civil Society Organizations (CSO), 286 Clientelistic policy, 175 Colibri Center for Human Rights, 24 Community, 238, 242, 244, 247, 248, 250–256 Comparison, 214 Conflict avoidance, 76, 78, 96 Consensus, 239, 244, 245, 255, 256 Constitution of Mexico City, 190 Control and detention operations, 185 Corbett, Reverend Jim, 22 Costa Rica, 237–244, 249, 250, 254–256, 286, 287, 291, 292 Covid-19, 92, 96 Creative class, 45, 63, 69, 70 Criminalization, 121 Criminal justice, 132, 133, 135, 137, 138, 142, 144–149, 293, 294 Cuarterías , 246, 247, 251 Customs and Border Protection (CBP), 30, 37, 38 D De Blasio, Bill (Mayor), 134, 137 Decentralization, 3, 287 Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals (DACA), 135, 140 Department of Citizenship and Migration (Chile), 155, 156, 160, 168 Deportation, 131, 132, 136, 137, 139, 141–144, 147–149, 290, 295 Disaggregated data, 85, 96 Discrimination, 87, 91, 116, 261, 267, 269, 273, 275, 276, 295 District, 245–247, 249, 255, 287

Driver’s license, 53, 54

E Ebrard, Marcelo, 189, 191 Education, 80, 82, 83, 86, 87, 93, 94, 285 El Salvador, 3, 185, 188, 193 E-Verify, 27 Exclusion, 262, 263, 273, 279

F Father Chava, 221, 224 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 142 Federal District (DF), 189, 190 Federalism, 82, 83, 85, 86, 94, 95, 99 Federation of American Immigration Reform (FAIR), 26 Fife, Reverend John, 22, 23 Foreign policy, 5, 290 Framing, 212–215, 221, 227, 229–232 Functional integration, 238

G Global city, 133 Globalization, 7 Greater Metropolitan area (GMA), 239, 244, 250 Greater Mexico City region, 183 Grijalva, Raúl (U.S. Representative), 21, 28 Guatemala, 185, 188 Guiliani, Rudy (Mayor), 144

H Haiti, 3, 155, 160, 161, 163, 165, 167, 170

INDEX

Haitian migrants, 211–213, 219–221, 227, 232, 286 Haitian populations, 163 Hamilton, Greg (Sheriff), 57, 58, 61 Health, 79–81, 83, 88, 89, 92, 96, 285, 288 Hernandez, Sally (Sheriff), 58, 66, 68 Honduras, 3, 185, 188, 193 Hospitality, 12, 184, 185, 190–192, 194, 204, 205, 286, 290, 295 Housing, 79, 82, 83, 88, 90, 93, 285 Huésped (guest), 190 Humane Borders, 23

I Identification, 48, 52, 53, 59–61, 65, 293, 295 Identity document, 195, 196, 198, 294, 295 Illegal Immigration Reform and Immigrant Responsibility Act (IIRIRA), 49, 134 Immigrant rights associations, 135 Immigrant settlements, 237, 240, 246, 247 Immigration/emigration, 184, 185, 188, 193, 200, 287, 290–295 Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), 30, 37, 38 Immigration enforcement, 47, 54, 56, 61, 66, 110, 120, 293 Immigration laws, 168, 290, 294 Immigration legislation, 256 Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA), 48 Informality, 9 Institutional racism, 178 Integration, 76, 79, 83, 84, 86, 89, 292 Integrative policy, 2

299

International Organization for Migration (IOM), 156, 161, 166, 170–172 Invisibility, 4, 13, 184, 185, 195, 200

J Jurisdiction, 77, 82–84, 87, 88, 94, 95, 107, 113, 115, 122, 287, 293, 296

K Knowledge economy, 133, 292 Koch, Edward (Mayor), 133, 134 Kuczynski, Pedro Pablo, 267

L Label, 12, 45, 106, 125, 193, 289, 294 La Carpio, 247, 248, 255 Language access, 134 Latin American migrants, 163 Law, 265–267, 269–271, 276–278, 292–295 Leffingwell, Lee (Mayor), 55 Legal, 239, 240, 250, 286, 288–290, 292–294 Legislative and constitutional reforms, 183 Ley de Interculturalidad, Atención a Migrantes y Movilidad Humana (LIAMMH), 184, 189, 190 Lima, 261, 263, 264, 267, 270–276, 278, 279, 286–290 Local authorities, 213, 215, 217, 224–229, 231, 232, 263, 271, 272, 276, 277, 279, 288 Local government, 239, 240, 249–253, 271, 278, 288, 290, 292–296 Local initiative, 156, 158

300

INDEX

Local leader, 251–253, 255 Local policies, 183, 199, 202, 285, 290–292 López Obrador, Andrés Manuel, 189 M Magnus, Chris (police chief, TPD), 31, 32 Mancera, Miguel Ángel, 189, 193 Matriculas consulares , 51, 52, 65 Mexican Commission for Refugee Aid (COMAR Mexico), 204 Mexican migrants, 216, 217, 289 Mexico City, 183–191, 193–195, 197–200, 202–205, 288–290, 293, 295 Migrant Protection Protocols (MPP), 226 Migration-development nexus, 133 Migration policy, 262–266, 270, 277, 278, 289 Military dictatorship, 158 Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MINREL), 156, 161, 171, 172 Ministry of Foreign Relations (MREE), 269 Ministry of the Interior, 269, 277 Minutemen, 53, 54 Missing Migrant Project, 24 Mobility strategy, 223 Montréal, 105–112, 114–125, 289, 294 Municipal, 238, 242, 250, 251, 253, 287–289, 291, 292, 294 Municipal governments, 159, 290, 293 Municipal ID, 59, 60, 295 Municipal identification (ID) card, 118, 119, 125, 134 Municipalities, 270–272, 274–278, 294

Municipal Migrant Support Office (MMSO, Tijuana), 219, 222, 228, 229 Municipal policies, 237 Muslim ban, 76 N Napolitano, Janet (former governor of Arizona), 25–27 Narratives, 229–232, 291 National Migration Institute (INM Mexico), 187, 197, 220, 222, 223, 225–227 National Superintendency of Migration (SNM), 269, 270, 272, 275, 276 Naturalization, 83 Neoliberal model, 158 Neoliberal policy, 8, 12 New York City Mayor’s Office for Immigrant Affairs (MOIA), 132, 133, 135, 138–140, 145 New York Police Department (NYPD), 133, 136, 142, 144, 145 Nicaragua, 3, 237, 241, 242, 244, 245, 247–249, 253–255, 295 Nicaraguan immigrants, 242, 244, 245, 249 9/11, 131, 134 Nogales, Arizona, 19 No More Deaths/No Más Muertes, 23 Non-status migrants, 76, 78–82, 84, 86, 93, 94, 96, 98, 106–109, 111–125 Northern Triangle, 3 O Obama, Barack (President), 60, 61, 65

INDEX

Operation Gatekeeper, 23 Operation Hold-the-Line, 23

P Pearce, Russell (former Arizona State Senator), 27 Perry, Rick (Governor), 51, 55 Personal Responsibility and Work Opportunity Reconciliation Act (PRWORA), 49 Peru, 261–266, 268, 269, 271–276, 278, 286, 288 Peruvian territory, 265, 267–269, 277 Piñera, Sebastián, 172, 175, 177 Pinochet, Augusto, 158, 162 Police, 134–139, 143–148, 293–295 Political autonomy, 189, 292 Political Constitution of Chile, 158, 176 Precarious living conditions, 166 Precarious status migrants, 79 Priority Enforcement Program, 138 Privacy, 76, 85, 95, 97 Program for the Assistance of Migrants and their Families (PAMF), 191, 192 Public space, 253, 255

Q Québec, 105, 108, 110, 113–116, 125 Quilicura, 156, 157, 161, 163, 165, 167, 169–172, 177

R Radical solidarity, 213–215, 229, 233 Reception, 212, 213, 219, 231, 286, 287, 291 Referendum, 27, 39

301

Refugee(s), 5, 11, 14, 186, 190, 204, 262, 268, 286, 287, 289, 290 Regularization, 169, 173, 174, 294 Resonance, 212–215, 228, 230, 232, 233, 291 Restrictive policies, 273, 278, 279 Return migration, 190, 192, 193 Revitalization, 7 Riker’s Island, 136 Roberto Villaseñor (ex-police chief, TPD), 28 Romero, Regina (mayor of Tucson), 36, 39, 40

S Sanctuary city, 106–112, 114, 118, 120, 121, 123, 125, 289 Sanctuary Movement (for Central American refugees, 1980s), 20–23, 290 San Diego, 215, 216, 225, 226 San Jose (Costa Rica), 237, 238, 240–242, 244–248, 250, 251, 253–256 Santiago de Chile, 10, 12 Santiago Metropolitan Area, 162, 163, 178 S.B. 1070 (Support Our Law Enforcement and Safe Neighborhoods Act, or “Show Me Your Papers” Act), 27, 28, 32, 36–38 Secure Communities, 135, 136, 146, 147 Securitization, 77, 82 Security, 90, 95–97, 99, 285, 288, 293, 294 Segregation, 157–159, 162, 165, 167, 176, 178 Sello migrante (Migrant Seal), 156, 166, 168–177, 294

302

INDEX

Service de Police de la Ville de Montréal (SPVM), 106, 107, 119–122, 124, 125 Session, Jeff (Attorney General), 137 Sheinbaum Pardo, Claudia, 189 Shelters, 214, 215, 217, 218, 220–222, 224–226, 228, 232 Social and labor integration, 237 Solidarity, 212–215, 221, 226–233, 290, 291 Sonoran Desert, 23 Southside Presbyterian Church (Tucson), 22–24, 29, 33 State, 265, 269, 270, 278, 287–290, 292, 293, 295 Status checks, 118, 120, 122 Strategic Committee for Humanitarian Aid (SCHA), 221, 222, 230, 232 Surveillance, 119, 293

T Temporary Protected Status, 140 Temporary Residence Permit (PTP), 266, 267, 272 Third-party referral, 119, 124 Tijuana, 212, 213, 215–233, 287, 288, 290, 291, 293 Transborder solidarity, 213 Transit, 3, 8, 12, 13, 286, 288, 291, 292 Transit migration, 184, 232 Trump, Donald, 132, 133, 137, 138, 147, 148, 217, 222, 223, 287 Tucson, Arizona, 19, 24, 287, 288, 290 Tucson Families Free and Together (referendum campaign, 2019), 33, 34

Tucson Police Department (TPD), 29 Tucson Samaritans, 23 U Undocument, 131, 132, 134, 135, 137, 139, 140, 142, 144–148, 289, 291, 292, 294 United States (US), 185, 187, 188, 192–194, 212–214, 216–220, 222, 223, 225–233, 286, 289–294 Urban experience, 185, 199 Urban fragility, 240, 241, 244, 245, 247, 249, 256 Urban fragmentation, 158 Urban incorporation, 183, 194, 201 Urban policy, 261 U.S. Border Patrol, 23, 33 US-Mexico border, 212, 216, 233 V Venezuela, 155, 160, 161, 286, 287, 290, 292 Venezuelan migrants, 263, 268, 273, 274, 276, 279 Violence, 185, 188, 191, 199, 204 Vulnerability/Vulnerable, 4, 13, 115, 123, 185, 194, 199, 241, 245, 265, 272, 290, 295 W Welcoming City, 216 X Xenophobia, 170, 240, 248, 249, 251, 256