Mobile Citizenship: Spatial Privilege and the Transnational Lifestyles of Senior Citizens [1° ed.] 1138606405, 9781138606401

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“People’s increasing spatial mobility across national borders raises questions about citizenship as an institution anchored in a singular, territorialized, national jurisdiction. Fauser’s Mobile Citizenship makes a significant, nuanced contribution to scholarly debates on this topic. Through her detailed study of German retirement-lifestyle migrants in Turkey, Fauser carefully analyzes how the interaction of citizenship status, rights, practices, and affective belonging in different localities engenders and reinforces social inequalities transnationally. She argues that rights and access to resources are embedded in an unequal global citizenship hierarchy. At the top of this hierarchy is the citizenship of affluent countries from the global north. While abroad, northern citizens, regardless of their class position at home, are imbued with and empowered by the privileges associated with their national states of origin. Mobile Citizenship convincingly shows how the spatial privilege of migrants from the global north who reside in the global south is transforming bounded understandings of citizenship. Citizenship can no longer be seen as belonging to a singular, territorialized national state. Instead, it has become an institution that is portable, mobile, and multiple. Fauser argues against received Marshallian conceptions, exploring how contemporary transnational citizenship helps reproduce local, national, and global inequalities. This book should be mandatory reading for graduate students, as well as established scholars interested in the study of citizenship, its future, and its theoretical and practical implications in a transnational context.” Luis Eduardo Guarnizo, University of California, Davis, USA “Among several other works, Margit Fauser’s book is the most comprehensive work that is concerned with the emigration of German retirees and their transnational lifestyles in Alanya, a Mediterranean city in the eastern part of the Turkish riviera. Driving from the notion of ‘mobile citizenship’, Fauser adds ‘spatial rights’ to the conventional layers of rights of citizenship such as civil, political and social rights. Based on a long period of fieldwork, her book explores the condition of contemporary ‘mobile citizenship’ as well as the changing configurations of citizenship resulting from spatial mobility. This book also offers a great insight about the life style migration practices of German retirees who have reversed classical migration routes in terms of purpose and direction. I would like to welcome this book for many of its qualities, among many others, especially for its successful portrayal of the ways in which active and reflexive German retirees enact mobile citizenship by means of unequal power geographies and resources.” Ayhan Kaya, Istanbul Bilgi University, Turkey

Mobile Citizenship

Mobile Citizenship addresses the crucial question of how mobility reconfigures citizenship. Engaging with debates on transnationalism, citizenship, and lifestyle migration, the book draws on ethnographic research and interview material collected among retired lifestyle migrants moving south from Germany to Turkey to explore the practices and narratives of these privileged migrants. Revealing the ways in which these migrants relate to their old homes and to their new places, the author examines the social, political, and spatial dimensions of citizenship and belonging and argues that citizenship is key to understanding the privileges of transnational lifestyles. By taking up discussions emanating from studies on other privileged lifestyle migrations—around social welfare and well-being, social participation, and affective belonging, as well as class and racialized privileges— the book exposes particular comparative value and showcases similarities and differences across this emerging type of migration. Mobile Citizenship thus shows how citizenship allows for mobility, resources, and privilege yet is also replete with limitations and ambivalences. The book brings together perspectives on citizenship, space, and privilege and will appeal to social scientists with interests in lifestyle migration and citizenship and their interconnections with global and social inequalities. Margit Fauser is Professor in Migration, Transculturality and Internationalisation at Darmstadt University of Applied Sciences, Germany. She is the author of Migrants and Cities (Routledge 2012), the co-author of Transnational Migration (Polity Press, 2013), and the co-editor of Transnational Return and Social Change (Anthem Press, 2020).

Studies in Migration and Diaspora Series Editor: Anne J. Kershen Queen Mary University of London, UK

Studies in Migration and Diaspora is a series designed to showcase the interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary nature of research in this important field. Volumes in the series cover local, national and global issues and engage with both historical and contemporary events. The books will appeal to scholars, students and all those engaged in the study of migration and diaspora. Amongst the topics covered are minority ethnic relations, transnational movements and the cultural, social and political implications of moving from ‘over there’, to ‘over here’. Convivial Cultures in Multicultural Cities Polish Migrant Women in Manchester and Barcelona Alina Rzepnikowska Democracy, Diaspora, Territory Europe and Cross-Border Politics Olga Oleinikova and Jumana Bayeh Migration, Education and Translation Cross-Disciplinary Perspectives on Human Mobility and Cultural Encounters in Education Settings Edited by Vivienne Anderson and Henry Johnson Mobile Citizenship Spatial Privilege and the Transnational Lifestyles of Senior Citizens Margit Fauser Nordic Whiteness and Migration to the USA A Historical Exploration of Identity Edited by Jana Sverdljuk, Terje Mikael Hasle Joranger, Erika K. Jackson and Peter Kivisto For more information about this series, please visit: https://www.routledge. com/sociology/series/ASHSER1049

Mobile Citizenship Spatial Privilege and the Transnational Lifestyles of Senior Citizens

Margit Fauser

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 Margit Fauser The right of Margit Fauser to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fauser, Margit, 1972- author. Title: Mobile citizenship : spatial privilege and the transnational lifestyles of senior citizens / Margit Fauser. Description: Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2020. | Series: Studies in migration and diaspora | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020004541 (print) | LCCN 2020004542 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138606401 (hardback) | ISBN 9780429467684 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: World citizenship--Germany--Case studies. | World citizenship--Turkey--Case studies. | Older immigrants--Germany--Case studies. | Older immigrants--Turkey--Case studies. | Place attachment--Germany--Case studies. | Place attachment--Turkey--Case studies. | Transnationalism--Germany--Case studies. | Transnationalism--Turkey--Case studies. Classification: LCC JZ1320.4 .F38 2020 (print) | LCC JZ1320.4 (ebook) | DDC 323.6086/9109561--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020004541 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020004542 ISBN: 9781138606401 (hbk) ISBN: 9780429467684 (ebk) Typeset in Times New Roman by Taylor & Francis Books

Contents

List of figures List of tables Acknowledgments Series editor’s preface Introduction: transnational lifestyles and mobile citizenship

viii ix x xii 1

PART 1

Citizenship, space, and ageing

17

1

Citizenship in the age of mobility

19

2

Reverse spatialities

45

3

Locating retirement lifestyle migration

57

PART 2

Privileges of citizenship

89

4

Citizenship, welfare, and well-being across borders

91

5

Transnational lifestyles, citizenship practices, and local belonging

128

PART 3

Mobile citizenship in insecure times

169

6

Paradise lost?

171

7

Conclusion

184

Index

192

Figures

3.1 Alanya 3.2 Entrance gate of the Alanya Yabancılar Mezarlıg˘ ı (foreigners’ cemetery) 3.3 Banner of the Alanya municipality’s foreigners’ committee 3.4 Street sign to the German Sankt Nikolaus Gemeinde, the Norwegen Sjømannkirken, the Finnish kotikirkko, and the Dutch NIGA community 3.5 Alanya municipality billboard for cultural events 3.6 Poster of the Saint Nicholas community for a concert in honor to its 10th anniversary and the support of the municipality (posted on the municipality billboard) 3.7 Alanya, Atatürk Bulevarı

77 78 78

79 79

80 80

Tables

1.1 Facets and boundaries of the citizenship of migrants 1.2 Perspectives on citizenship in the age of mobility 3.1 Number of residence permits issued in Alanya between 1994 and 2013 (cumulative), according to nationality 4.1 Number of state pensions paid to German citizens abroad (1993–2018) 4.2 Germany’s social security agreements with countries outside the EU 5.1 Feelings of attachment with various groups (average scores)

28 33 73 95 96 136

Acknowledgments

I began this research in 2013 when I visited Alanya for the first time. There I met many people who were kind enough to talk to me and share their time with me, and many invited me to their homes. I also met others who were more skeptical about a study that focused on them as lifestyle migrants. None of them would have considered themselves privileged in any sense, and in many respects they are not. The German citizens I encountered in Alanya had not been particularly privileged in Germany and may be seen as “ordinary” citizens with jobs and families and private lives that rarely warranted particular attention from sociologists. Their privilege is relational and emerges through global asymmetries and the related hierarchies of citizenship. This fact not only makes their journey beneficial but also facilitates—and in fact allows for—their spatial relocation and mobility in the first place. Nevertheless, as local foreigners and citizens abroad, they confront many constraints, yet most have no wish to return to their home country. I hope I was able to present not only their views, joys, contentedness, and happiness but also the needs and challenges they face in my account of the ways in which these factors are shaped by global structural asymmetries. I am most grateful to all of them for allowing me to gain insights into their lives and experiences and to document my findings in this book. What is true for any empirical study still deserves special mention—that is, without the research subjects that protagonize our studies, our work would simply not be possible. The project for this book took shape during my association with the Collaborative Research Centre 882 “From Heterogeneities to Social Inequalities” at Bielefeld University, funded by the German Research Foundation (DFG). This study has been influenced in particular through my work within the CRC882 research project on “Inequality and Transnationality,” although my focus “reverses” the lens of research undertaken there, to use Sheila Croucher’s terms. A research grant from the Department of Sociology at Bielefeld University financed my first field trip, while the second trip took place within the framework of the CRC882 project. From Istanbul, Bianca Kaiser brought me into contact with relevant informants in the field when I first started this project. During my stay at Augustana College in Illinois, Peter Kivisto drew my attention to additional US American literature and debate that helped me

Acknowledgments

xi

narrow my focus within a wider field. Throughout the process of research and writing, Thomas Faist and the research group on the “Sociology of Transnationalization,” as well as the members of the Vlotho colloquium, gave me the opportunity to present and discuss earlier versions of what are now chapters of this book. I am indebted to all of them for their support and interest in this study. A number of people have either directly or indirectly influenced my work at different stages of my research and allowed me to think through several issues of this project. I would like to express a warm thank you to Remus Anghel, Basak Bileçen, Toni Cosciug, Ayhan Kaya, Gery Nijenhuis, Alejandro Portes, Eveline Reisenauer, Inka Stock, and Christian Ulbricht. I am particularly grateful to Karolina Barglowski for her careful reading of the draft manuscript and her detailed comments, which helped me streamline the final version of this book. Finally, I wish to thank Anne Kershen as the series editor and Alice Salt at Routledge for their great support in working with me on the publication of this book. Darmstadt October 2019

Series editor’s preface

People have been migrating for centuries, impelled by economic need and ambition, threat of persecution and forced removal. Recently, a new category has been added to the list, that of lifestyle mobility—particularly the migration of the older generation. These retirees seek a more relaxed environment in a warm and healthy climate—often in a coastal resort—which offers a good and economically viable quality of life. As the author of this book stresses, this movement of people has been under-researched and reported. There has been some work carried out on retirement mobility within Europe, where the trend has been for those from colder climes to migrate to warmer Western Mediterranean resorts. However, little or no attention has been paid to what has become a new phenomenon, movement from the Global North to the Global South—reverse migration. This book focuses on the lives of retired German senior citizens who have acquired residences and set up homes in Alanya, a resort town on Turkey’s central Mediterranean coast; migrants the author classifies as “privileged” in contrast to the traditional labor migrant or asylum seeker. This is a clear reversal of the migratory movement which began in the early 1960s, when, as its country’s economy expanded, Germany invited Turkish workers to become “guest workers”—many of whom have remained for far longer than the originally intended two years. The main aspect of the migrant experience examined in this volume is citizenship, more particularly the place of citizenship in the lives of the transnational German retiree migrants in Alanya. The author is concerned to explore how their citizenship and sense of belonging plays out in the everyday lives of these middle-class and lower-middle class migrants. How has their mobility impacted on their German citizenship and identity, what role does it play in their day-to-day decision making, what importance does it hold and how beneficial—if at all—is German nationality to the migrants and to their neighborhood and host nation? All migrants have to negotiate their place within a new locality. For economic migrants, there is the need to identify work and career opportunities. In the case of the refugee and persecuted asylum seeker, there is the yearning for safety and security away from the horrors of the homeland they have been forced to leave. The lifestyle migrants in this study had different priorities, which they researched in advance. In

Series editor’s preface xiii making the decision to move in their later years, they had to balance the positives with the negatives. These included evaluating the cost of living by comparison with that at home, the ease of porting pensions and benefits to the chosen place of retirement, the availability and quality of medical care and, for some though not all retirees, acceptance within the local community. Finally, and significantly, they considered the ease of maintaining links with their homeland—in this case, Germany. In effect, they were looking to become extraterritorial mobile citizens. As the author illustrates, the binary of Germany and Turkey produces a positive in all the situations referred to above. Pensions are readily portable for German citizens who conform to the standard requirements for those living overseas, whilst health care for the majority of Germans living in Alanya is supported by German Health Insurance. A positive by-product of living in Alanya is the warmer climate and the good health provision available for normal/general needs. A less obvious result of the move is the privileged and respected status of migrants and their economic purchasing power that brings a boost to the local economy. How does the role of citizenship in this context play out? While many of the German retirees in Alanya develop a sense of local belonging and a sense of feeling at home in their new locality, returning to Germany only as the right to benefits requires, none interviewed claimed Turkish identity or status. Retention of German citizenship is vital as, in the event of political unrest or economic disruption, it ensures a “right to return home,” though few of those interviewed exhibited any sentimental allegiance toward their place of origin. It is perhaps worth noting that these middle- and lower-middle class migrants cannot be compared to the wealthy global citizens of the 21st century who have multiple homes, variable allegiances and substantial extraterritorial financial security. The consequences of the migration of the elderly remain to be ascertained. There are negatives as well as positives in their new lives: local constraints and possible unexpected insecurities. An example of the latter—though not in the context of the German/Turkish study—is the conundrum of the status of British migrants overseas after Brexit. At the time of writing (August 2019), the terms of Britain’s departure from the EU still have to be determined. Dependent on the outcome will be the continuation of the status of the United Kingdom’s retiree migrants. What once was perceived as a positive may well become a negative, and the status of citizenship could become a questionable issue. This dilemma illustrates clearly the importance of secure citizenship and belonging in the life of the retiree migrant. The author has brought to attention a relatively recent phenomenon in the study of the movement of people, yet it is one which will become increasingly prominent as individuals in the developed countries enjoy increased longevity and affluence and seek to enjoy an enhanced quality of life in retirement. By reading this book, we are made aware of the positives and negatives of senior citizen migration. The volume is sending out a signal to those who study

xiv Series editor’s preface migratory patterns that they must now take account of this new phase in global migration. As such, this volume should have a prominent place on the shelves of migration studies. Anne Kershen Queen Mary University of London Summer 2019

Introduction Transnational lifestyles and mobile citizenship

Old and Far Away: German Seniors in Southern Turkey (HR October 24, 2010); Retirement Under Palm Trees (ARD January 19, 2013); and Sunset Years Under Palm Trees (BR September 24, 2017). These are the titles of documentaries that portray the lives of German senior citizens who have moved to the Turkish coastal city Alanya. In the past two decades, several thousand German retirees, attracted by the sun, sea, and lower living costs, have bought or rented homes in Alanya and have resettled there to enjoy a life that is “almost like paradise.” To help them feel at home and get along in an unfamiliar community, the city and local administrators have set up a Foreigners’ Committee to handle any problems and complaints. A popular Christmas market is held every year and is an important local event, which is rather unusual in a Muslim country. In addition, a foreigners’ cemetery was installed where Christians can be buried. These migrant residents can find a doctor who attends to them in German, and some shopkeepers and neighbors also speak and understand the language, a few having once lived in Germany. Like many other migrants throughout the world, German retirees do not break their home ties. They listen to news, information, and music on German television and radio, read newspapers from Germany, and shop at supermarkets that offer German products. They use the telephone and internet to stay in touch with family and friends in Germany, and many visit their old homes several times every year or may extend their stays there from one to several months. Some also keep their old apartments, and most at least maintain an address in Germany. Rather than being purely local, the retirement lifestyle of the German residents of Alanya is transnational. This group of German retirees in Turkey is a particularly suitable case for the study of mobile citizenship—that is, for probing how mobility reconfigures citizenship. The challenges of spatial mobility and migration to the classical notion of citizenship as bounded membership in a state is predominantly studied with a view to less privileged and often marginalized migrants from the Global South and their integration in the countries of the Global North. In turn, my study focuses on “privileged migrants”—emigrants from a resourceful state who are welcomed as foreign residents in their new place yet not typical of the group of affluent elites who are generally considered to engage in this search for a better

2

Introduction

quality of life and lifestyle abroad (Amit 2007; Benson and O’Reilly 2009; Benson and Osbaldiston 2014). This privilege surfaces with their movement from the Global North to the Global South, which reverses the more classical migratory flows. Hence, the case studied here showcases the need for transnational migration scholars to “reverse the lens” (Croucher 2009) in order to shed light on spatial movements in the direction opposite to those which have generally received more attention, such as the migration of Turks to Germany. Even though such reverse movements do not usually replicate the classical migrants’ local origins (Warnes and Williams 2006, 1263), they are informed and influenced by these previous migrations and by other linkages. Most importantly, they reverse existing, unequal power geographies. In their reverse migratory project, Germans who relocate to Turkey are adding to the array of existing transnational social spaces that have been created through personal ties, economic relations and business activities, cultural encounters, and, not least, a long history of political connections, cooperation, as well as conflicts between these two countries and their governments (Faist 2000; Faist and Özveren 2004; Kaiser 2004; Kaya 2007). Through the newly reversed lens, we can see that these migrations differ not only in direction but more importantly reverse the power relationship between the immigration country and the emigration country. As a consequence, this type of migration also differs in terms of the set and level of resources accessible to migrants so that their relocation normally proves advantageous. Simultaneously, the purpose of the migration is reversed. Turkish immigrants who came to Germany to find work, and sometimes refuge, usually hoped to return to Turkey when they reached old age. The Germans who have relocated to Alanya and other coastal areas in Turkey have spent their entire working lives in Germany and, upon reaching the age of retirement, decided to search for a healthier, more satisfying lifestyle in a warmer climate. This study sample also reflects a more novel type of migrant—that is, one derived from a group heretofore considered to be largely immobile, namely the elderly. By moving from the Global North to the Global South—according to the classifications by UN organizations as well as the World Bank (IOM 2013, 41–44), the German retirement lifestyle migrants in Alanya reversed the geographical spatialities of the predominant, more numerous, and generally better researched movements that migrants typically engage in. In this book, therefore, I adopted a transnational and spatial perspective in order to reconsider the structural asymmetries and individuals’ social positions that characterize more traditional movements. In so doing, my study is centered on the notion of “privilege” and thus sheds light on what might be viewed as the “invisible” side of social inequalities (Twine and Gardener 2013). To understand the local lives and transnational lifestyles of Germans in Alanya, I chose to focus on the concept of citizenship—because of its association with equality and inequality, marginality, or privilege—and on the ways in which it produces and reproduces privilege among these migrants. Conversely, this particular case of retirement lifestyle migration provides a novel prism through which to view and investigate contemporary reconfigurations of citizenship in the age of mobility and migration.

Introduction

3

Despite its inherent promise of equality, citizenship is highly differentiated, both within states and across the globe (Castles 2005). Within the (nation) state, it distinguishes citizens from non-citizens (i.e., the majority of immigrants) but also introduces more differentiated degrees of inclusion and exclusion that greatly stratify a population in formal and substantial ways (Kofman 1995; Layton-Henry 1990; Morris 2003). On a global scale, citizenship allocates individuals to nation states that have different degrees of power and wealth, resulting in a global hierarchy of citizenship (Castles 2005; Hindess 2000; Shachar 2009). Within this hierarchy, German state citizenship ranks at the top as regards restriction-free travel (Henley & Partners 2017) and concerning access to relevant economic, social, cultural, political, and other resources, both material and immaterial, thereby contributing significantly to its citizens’ life-chances. In acknowledging the connection between citizenship and social inequality, the roles of nation-state citizenship and legal status cannot be dismissed. Nevertheless, a deeper understanding of the transnational lifestyles of German emigrants requires a more complex approach. In order to understand the changing configurations of citizenship, multiple sites need to be taken into account: immigrant, emigrant, local, and supranational or interstate. These different sites create complex configurations within which mobile subjects act. Moreover, as individuals become mobile, various webs of rights become nested and entangled through both legal provisions and these individuals’ own agency (Faist 2001; Isin 2008). Conceptualizing mobile citizenship from transnational and multiple perspectives allows us to overcome immigration-country bias in studying migration and (im)migrants’ citizenship and requires an understanding that moves beyond a consideration of citizenship as simply a legal status because differentiated rights do not overlap with formal status, and social practices enact and claim citizenship in everyday lives and politics. Moreover, questions about whether and where migrants belong are relevant to the notion of citizenship and are crucial to an individual’s experiences of social inequalities and life-chances. In practicing citizenship across multiple sites, mobile individuals may give expression to the instrumental or affective values they associate with each site from among the available constellations (Bauböck 2010), or perhaps not act in a very straightforward manner. This book sets out to explore the condition of contemporary “mobile citizenship”—that is, the changing configurations of citizenship that emerge as a result of spatial mobility. At the same time, I aim to understand the emigration of German retirees and their transnational lifestyles by focusing on the role of citizenship at multiple sites in these processes. Those who engage in debates concerning citizenship have noted the growing importance of transnational and multiple citizenship. Theoretically, and for those concerned, the meaning of this trend is not yet clear. Some scholars in the field of transnational migration have argued that while migrants may become involved and integrated in their country of immigration they also remain attached to their country of emigration because of nostalgia or nationalist sentiments and in

4

Introduction

response to the social inequalities, racism, and discrimination they often face in their country of immigration (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1994; Glick Schiller and Fouron 2001; Portes 1999; Smith and Guarnizo 2007; Smith 2006). Examples of such cases include marginalized and disadvantaged migrants from the Global South who have migrated to highly industrialized countries. From a different angle, multiple citizenship is also the concern of research involving transnational elites of multi-passport holders. This scholarship identifies the instrumental strategies of elites from the Global South who seek protection and flexibility through the acquisition of a Western passport yet express no allegiance to their new country or their old one (Cottrell Studemeyer 2015; Harpaz and Mateos 2019; Ong 1999). Both these areas of study focus attention on mobile individuals from the Global South who seek to improve their social position through their engagement with multiple citizenship and thereby express extraterritorial or deterritorialized belonging. In contrast, the practices and perspectives of those who move from the Global North to the Global South shed a different light on unequal power geographies and their effect on the meaning of multiple citizenship and its role in the reproduction of social inequalities, including privilege. Thus, what can we learn about citizenship configurations by studying a group of migrants who have privileged citizenship status yet come from more “ordinary” social strata (i.e., middle and lower-middle social classes), who decided to move to a poorer country where they are well received as new residents and are endowed with local citizenship in their new place? In studying such a case, we can address the following questions: How do these migrants navigate their citizenship across multiple sites, and how does this undergird their privileged status? How do their practices entangle citizenships from multiple sites? What are the benefits of this relocation, and do they experience ambivalences and limitations, as do many other migrants? And finally, where do they belong? The nature of my research is thus empirical and conceptual. First, I aim to develop an understanding of the reconfigurations of citizenship in the age of migration and mobility and see what the case of retirement lifestyle migrants would reveal about it. Thereby, I intend to update the discussion on multiple and transnational citizenship and its relationship with social and global inequalities. Second, I chose a group of migrants who decided to relocate to another country for reasons other than for work or to seek protection. Lifestyle migration represents the quest for a better life that can be said to characterize mobilities and emigration from highly industrialized countries (Benson and O’Reilly 2009). Although scholarship in this area has concentrated on migrants’ desire to improve their way of life, it has often neglected their particular privilege to do so and has paid little attention to the fact that for the elderly such movement can also help overcome the constraints and increasingly fragmented experiences that come with ageing. In my study, I used a novel approach to the study of lifestyle migration, with a focus on citizenship, to understand this more privileged migration and the power asymmetries that shape it. In order to flesh out the meaning of these reverse movements,

Introduction

5

I consider how citizenship is connected to, expresses, and reproduces global, domestic, and local social inequalities. Lastly, by concentrating on a group of migrants that has remained largely invisible, the results of my study also offer a fresh view of the German–Turkish transnational space. Scholarship on citizenship is predominantly focused on policies, legal reform, and discourse, although research concerned with practices is currently growing. In the field of lifestyle migration, standardized surveys are used to document migrants’ motives for moving and information about their new local lives as they assess its advantages and disadvantages. In addition, a few long-term ethnographies provide detailed accounts of community life. The methodology I used to investigate mobile citizenship consisted of (shorterterm) “focused ethnography” (Knoblauch 2001) and in-depth interviews that took place in Alanya during three stays of several weeks, each between 2013 and 2018, after which I systematically analyzed and coded the data that had been collected. I also relied on other sources—expert interviews; online material; internet blogs and webpages from individuals, associations, and media of the German community in Alanya; reports from public institutions; legal texts; and similar data—to add to the insights gained from my on-site research and to understand the legal and institutional arrangements relevant to how migrants navigate citizenship across sites. (Chapter 3 includes a description of my research strategy in more detail.) Thus, I investigated mobile citizenship by analyzing the practices and perspectives of my research subjects as influenced by the multiple legal and social contexts and structural asymmetries of the relevant citizenship sites.

The “other side” of the German–Turkish transnational space The German–Turkish migratory space is the second most important in the worldwide movements from the Global South to the Global North and in the north to south direction, following World Bank classification (second only to the bidirectional corridor of accumulated migratory movement and settlement between the United States and Mexico) (IOM 2013, 62). In this vein, Germans in Turkey constitute “‘[t]he other side’ of the German–Turkish transnational space” (Kaiser 2004). Most migrants who are living in Germany come from Turkey; almost 1.3 million residents of Germany were born in Turkey and another 1.5 million are of Turkish descent (Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge 2017). Most of them came as labor migrants, arriving as “guest workers” in the course of the official recruitment that started in 1963 with the signing of an agreement between the two governments. Later, these migrants brought their families to Germany, and others came to seek refuge, especially after the coup d'état in 1980 and again after the more recent coup attempt in 2016, as well as during different phases of the Kurdish conflict. Meanwhile, many students and skilled professionals also emigrated from Turkey. Conversely, the number of Germans in Turkey has been growing from less than 10,000 to almost 15,000 holders of a residence permit between 2006 and

6

Introduction . . 2012 (Içduygu 2013, 62, Table 16; Içduygu and Sert 2009, 6). At the same time, experts estimate that there are some 90–100,000 Germans residing in the country, along with the same share of other EU nationalities (Kaiser 2012, 104), while the German embassy considered a range between 5,000 to 20,000 citizens in the country in 2013 (Düvell 2014, 93). UN statistics from 2019, in turn, show that more than 371,000 residents in Turkey come from Germany (United Nations Population Division 2019). The Turkish address-based register, introduced in 2007, shows that before 2013 more than 44,000 German citizens lived in Turkey. This number had grown to over 82,000 Germans by 2018 (Turkish Statistical Institute 2018). These variations reflect both statistical inaccuracies and the change and diversity of outmigration from Germany to Turkey (Kaiser 2012; Pusch 2013), which includes former “guestworker” migrants who have returned to Turkey or who shuttle between the two countries. Reverse migration also involves their children, who were born and grew up in Germany and who discovered Turkey’s major metropolis in their search for jobs, cultural life, and personal identity. In addition, a growing number of exchange students from German universities have chosen Turkey for their semester abroad or a degree program due to their curiosity about and interest in a dynamic society and to gain insights into Middle Eastern relations. Importantly, skilled professionals from Germany work in the many businesses and transnational companies that connect the two countries. Finally, German citizen retirees have moved to Turkey in search of sun and a better quality of life. In 2016, 11.5 percent of German citizens who left Germany for Turkey were 50 years of age or older (Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge 2017), most of whom are likely to be returnees. Still, German citizens rank highest according to Turkish statistics that include Northern European residence permit holders, property owners, and tourists (Bahar et al. 2009). Several thousand Germans have bought or rented second homes and live temporarily or permanently at the “Turkish Riviera,” with a high concentration living in the city of Alanya (Südas¸ and Mutluer 2006; see Table 3.1 in Chapter 3). For the past one to two decades now, Germans moving to Turkey constitute one of the streams that has made Turkey a country of immigration and Germany one of emigration (Fauser 2016; Kaiser 2004; Tolay 2015). A reference to “German migrants in Turkey” does not typically include those who originated in Turkey or their children who returned after living in Germany. Although the figure for German citizens is likely to include some of those, many will be Turkish citizens only, and a certain number holds dual citizenship, so that among the 15,000 Germans with a residence permit, those of Turkish descent are probably few. Estimates referring to Germans in Turkey generally focus on those without a prior familial connection to the country. The high number of these estimates, relative to official data, reflects a key privilege of German citizenship that allows entry to Turkey and a stay of up to 90 days without a prior visa request. This option is often used by so-called “visa runners,” who leave the country to receive a renewed entry stamp; however,

Introduction

7

recent legal reforms of the Turkish foreigners’ legislation have limited this practice (Kaiser and Kaya 2016). Immediate renewal is no longer possible, but migrants use other strategies, can easily request a permit, or become more mobile and travel more frequently, as will be covered later in this book (see the section “Mobility and residence” in Chapter 4). The scholarly literature on immigration and immigrants from Turkey is extensive. A plethora of books and many more articles have been published on different aspects of these migrants’ lives, including their integration and citizenship, and on the transnational spaces they have created between Germany and Turkey. Research institutions and associations deal with Turkish immigration either exclusively or as one of their major areas of study, and conferences regularly bring German, Turkish, and other international scholars together to discuss their findings. Turkish immigrants receive considerable attention from politicians in both countries, and the situation of Turks in Germany is a regular topic at governmental meetings. In contrast to this extensive attention, Germans in Turkey are barely recognized as a topic of research, as evidenced by the small number of articles that address their case. One reason for this neglect may be that the Turkish communities in Germany have grown over 50 years, whereas the Germans did not begin to settle on the Turkish coast until the 1990s, so their number is still small. Still, the small numbers and recent developments do not fully explain the scant attention these reverse movements have received. Sheila Croucher (2009) attributes this failure to recognize reverse migration to our “trained incapacity,” meaning our conventional notion that a migrant is typically a person who migrates from a less developed country to an advanced industrial one to seek work and sometimes refuge and who, upon arrival at least, is in a disadvantaged position compared with the established population. By and large, this person is also pictured as being young and male. Such an image is difficult to reconcile with the migrants who leave a richer country to seek leisure and a better lifestyle in a less developed one, who typically count on many advantages relative to the population in the place they move to and who are much older. Migration often attracts attention because it is a contested and conflictive issue. Public discourse tends to link migration to economic and cultural problems and, increasingly, to the import of political conflicts and terrorism. Politically, migration is addressed as a way to solve the problems it entails as well as contribute to migrants’ economic and cultural integration. Such a perspective can also be found in scholarly debates on the topic, although there is also a critical concern for the disadvantaged and marginalized. In contrast, the settlement of migrants from highly industrialized countries generally reflects a positive image, and the lives of those concerned are considered unproblematic. These reverse migrants are rarely seen as a burden and are often regarded positively because of their beneficial impact on local development. In contrast, a number of studies have pointed out that the presence of retirement migrants puts pressure on the local infrastructure; for instance, the demands they make on the community’s social and health services can negatively affect the area

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Introduction

where they reside and its wider population. These effects are particularly evident within the European Union (EU), where lifestyle migrants arrive in their destination countries as European citizens who have certain rights that grant them access to local services but often fail to comply with the corresponding regulations and obligations, such as residential registration or taxation (Coldron and Ackers 2007; King, Warnes, and Williams 1998, 108–109). While this gap has captured attention in some of the regional areas being affected by this practice, it rarely does outside of them. Thus, the relevance of migration and the problems associated with it are influenced by certain perspectives and incapacities that in turn reflect the power embedded in social discourse. The neglect of these migrants is part of the more general indifference typical of those with privilege and power—not only in the study of migration but also within sociology and other social sciences more generally, as well as in the wider social discourse. Likewise, those who leave more powerful countries (who are alternatively referred to as expatriates, sojourners, long-stay tourists, or amenity-seekers) are often not defined as (im)migrants. Sometimes their settlement is considered nonpermanent and thus escapes the conventional definition of migration. Nevertheless, the fact that lifestyle migration is enmeshed with touristic mobility, and these migrants tend to pursue transnational lifestyles that continue to connect them to their countries of origin, does not preclude their long-term or permanent settlement abroad nor does it omit this group from a comprehensive notion of migration. Moreover, those concerned do not consider their mobile projects in terms of immigration, and they usually distance themselves from what they consider typical immigrants (Croucher 2009, 18; Rojas and Sunil 2014, 263). In this regard, most researchers in this field will probably have had experiences similar to the one I had when I was introduced to a group of Germans at a restaurant. Not having had occasion to talk to them previously, the group had seen me before and heard about my project. I had mentioned my interest in exploring “the other side” of German–Turkish migration, although my intention was not to compare the two sides. One woman remarked that it was “a totally stupid idea” to compare the situation of Germans in Turkey with that of Turks in Germany. In general, such statements reflecting outright hostility toward “real immigrants” I found to be rare. As a matter of fact, some of the German retirees I interviewed expressed a greater understanding of the hardships many migrants face in Germany, although other interviewees were more critical of migrants, who, in their eyes, refused to adapt yet benefited from Germany’s generosity in allowing them to come for work or to seek protection. For the most part, the Germans in Alanya expressed a shared sense of entitlement to their special (privileged) condition, which also informed their claim to stay and settle there: the lifestyle migrant, unlike “the labor migrant or the asylum seeker, [wants] nothing from Turkey; on the contrary, he is bringing something” (namely financial resources, according to a comment on an internet blog) (see Chapter 5).

Introduction

9

There are many good reasons to study the hardships of those who migrate to find work or refuge and those who are marginalized. Delving into retirement lifestyle migration reveals important insights into the status and forces of privilege that constitute the “other,” invisible, side of social inequality. Such a study is empirically interesting and can enrich the scholarship that focuses on the German–Turkish transnational space and lifestyle migration. Moreover, this research promises novel theoretical insights for the debate on contemporary citizenship.

Analyzing mobile citizenship My study is premised on the assumption that citizenship is crucial to the understanding of privileged migrants’ relocation, their local life, and their transnational lifestyles. Indeed, citizenship shapes, facilitates, and is sometimes constitutive of their mobility and relocation abroad. Classically, citizenship is understood to be a legal status within a nation state. But recent debates concerning the study of citizenship stress that it should be reconsidered in terms of its transnational, multiple, and multilayered character—conceptualizations on which I elaborate in Chapter 1. For now, let us consider that mobile citizens are implicated in configurations of citizenship at multiple sites and layers: emigrant and immigrant, as well as local and suprastate or interstate. Instead of these sites merely coexisting, multiple citizenships located at different sites become intertwined, through legal provisions and the practices of mobile citizens (Bauböck 2010; Faist 2001; Isin 2008). In this vein, scholars in transnational migration have argued that migrants’ cross-border involvement, political intervention, and expressions of extraterritorial belonging can be enabled through local affiliation and networks at the place of residence (Guarnizo and Smith 1999). Conversely, cross-border ties, practices, and resources and goods from abroad can inform migrants’ sense of local belonging and facilitate their involvement with local society and politics (Ehrkamp 2005; Ehrkamp and Leitner 2003). It is perhaps unique to reverse migration that local life can also reinforce transnational lifestyles when it allows for the access to relevant resources, as this book will show. Included in the debate on transnational and multiple citizenship is the observation that migrants’ struggles and practices to achieve access to rights and resources and their sense of belonging need not be linked to or refer to the same site. In terms of making use of and mobilizing resources from Germany for constructing a local life in Alanya, one might ask the following questions: How do German retirement migrants mobilize resources across multiple citizenship sites? How do their practices entangle multiple citizenships? How does this shape their privileged status, and what contradictions and restrictions might they face? What is the site for, and what kind of belonging can we identify? With these questions and perspectives in mind, I investigated the mobile citizenship of lifestyle migrants who moved across reverse spatialities— namely German retirees in Alanya—along three key dimensions: social, political, and spatial. The social (welfare) and political (participatory) dimensions

10

Introduction

of citizenship are perhaps more firmly established, having been identified in the now classical work by T.H. Marshall as key components of modern citizenship (Marshall 1950, 10ff.). The spatial dimension of citizenship is crucial to mobility and the right to travel, to migrate, and to stay. In this age of mobility and migration, these rights are also relevant to the issue of inequality because they channel access to resources and thus life-chances (Castles 2005; Bauman 1998, 74). Spatial rights and the ability to be mobile have often been associated with economic resources and the global stratification of the labor force; however, social aspects related to health and well-being are also determinants of lifechances. Nira Yuval-Davis (1991, 61; 2006, 208) considers the spatial dimension a more “basic right” in comparison to other citizenship rights. I will show that this neglected dimension of citizenship, which, with respect to the immigrant site, is usually considered to be the right to enter, reside, and stay, is also shaped by the emigrant site. The right to free travel and access to advantageous resources that facilitate or allow for relocation are greatly tied to emigrant citizenship and also apply to the right to return, which can be of vital importance in times of insecurity. Such a perspective requires us to understand how individuals make sense of and use the right and ability to be mobile and other resources. In the empirical chapters of this book, I describe how different sites of citizenship can, through the agency of individuals, mutually enhance migrants’ access to resources, and thus privilege, and also sometimes restrict it, and how this can involve relevant limitations and paradoxes. In my exploration of mobile citizenship, I began by looking into the dimension of social citizenship as based on the notion of well-being suggested in social policy scholarship (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Cahill 1994). Here I document what relocating means to German retirees and how it contributes to a better quality of life, which is considered to be the main reason for their decision to migrate. I specify the different resources provided by Germany—above all, state citizenship, senior citizen’s pensions, and health care entitlements— and how these resources are deployed locally and, in turn, are aided by legal provisions of the immigration site (Turkey), by the interstate social security agreement between Germany and Turkey that came about during the earlier period of labor recruitment, and by local facilities and services. Using their spatial rights, German retirees can enlarge their access to resources—economic benefits, better health, more favorable climate, leisure, and health care—and improve their well-being. In spite of these numerous advantages, retirees also confront many complications, ambivalences, and insecurities because multiple citizenship is also differentiated, and often only partial, so that being at once an immigrant, an emigrant, and a foreign local resident creates restrictions that curtail access to resources and restrain a sense of belonging, an issue that I take up next—that is, political citizenship. Political citizenship is sometimes limited to electoral participation but includes the wider notion of a person’s civic engagement and intervention in politics and society. Here I broaden the view to also address migrants’ sense

Introduction

11

of affective belonging, both in terms of politics and as a more personal expression in everyday life (Antonsich 2010; Pfaff-Czarnecka 2011; Yuval-Davis 2006). This focus revealed how difficult it is to separate citizenship practices and the sense of belonging to a community, the everyday encounters and social relations, and expressions of place-attachment. I examined the emigrant, immigrant, and local citizenship practices and migrants’ sense of belonging on these different sites and was thus able to identify interventions and attachments, particularly toward Germany and Alanya, while learning that Turkish politics, formal status, and identity did not matter to these migrants. Yet, it turns out that privileged status also sets limits on local belonging. Lastly, I addressed the spatial dimension of citizenship. In this respect, citizenship allows for relocating and achieving a sense of well-being abroad and thus crisscrosses the social dimension. Moreover, the spatial right of the formal state citizen is reflected in the right to return. My analysis of the narratives and practices that revolve around Germans’ return hinted at the relevance of both health-related and political concerns. Yet, a careful analysis showed that, for these retiree migrants, this right represented the option to return, rather than the return itself, in that it granted flexibility and paradoxically would enable them to stay, in spite of the considerable insecurities posed by Turkey’s current political course. This issue spotlights the role of emigrant state citizenship and the spatial right to return, a surprisingly neglected aspect in the debate on citizenship.

Plan of the book The book is divided into three parts. Part 1 opens the debates that inform this book, which is designed to ultimately contribute to such discussions. Chapter 1 delves into contemporary scholarship on citizenship in this age of mobility and introduces key definitions and differentiations of the concept of citizenship. I explain my reasons for considering citizenship as constituting the elements of status, rights, practices, and belonging and acknowledge that these elements are not necessarily congruent with respect to one site of citizenship. I discuss some of the literature that has focused on immigrants and argue that the emigrant site needs to be taken into account more seriously. The chapter elaborates on the argument that migration and spatial mobility are challenging the notion of congruency that underlies the classical understanding of nation-state citizenship when migrants act across multiple sites of citizenship. Moving beyond the established arguments, I suggest that we consider how these multiple facets and sites become entangled, rather than conceptualize them as parallel and simultaneously coexisting. This approach follows from the argument that as people are becoming increasingly mobile their rights and practices are becoming mobile as well, causing the various webs of rights and obligations to become intertwined through legal provisions and the agency of migrants (Faist 2001; Isin 2008). Through their practices of citizenship across multiple sites, mobile individuals simultaneously express instrumental or affective values logged in at the different sites. Chapter 2 ties together perspectives on transnational and reverse migration,

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social inequality, and geographical space and introduces the notion of spatial privilege as an entry point to this project and the case under study. Chapter 3 critically scrutinizes the literature on lifestyle retirement migration. I discuss the concept of lifestyle as agency, choice, and constraint in the context of pluralized individualization and reflexive modernity (Beck 1986; Giddens 1991) but contend that lifestyle migration should be located within the hierarchy of citizenship that is typical to reverse spatialities. The chapter then moves on to locate retirement and ageing within these debates and points to the increasingly fragmented experiences of retirees together with an understanding of self-reflexive and active ageing that informs their choices as to how and where to age. The discussion is further complemented by a brief look at the role of travel and (third-age) tourism with respect to contemporary citizenship and the conditions of ageing, which sets the theoretical and empirical contexts in which my case study is located. In the third part of the chapter, I present my research site, the city of Alanya, or, as it is sometimes ironically referred to, “Al(m)anya” (with an “m” inserted in the Turkish word for Germany) because many Germans vacation and live there and thus leave their imprint on the urban landscape. Here, I have supplemented the text with some photographs of Alanya. Part 2 documents the empirical part of the study, which focuses on the social and political dimensions of citizenship. Chapter 4 deals with social citizenship, welfare, and well-being and analyzes how German retirees access, export, and mobilize relevant resources across the border, and how resources from Germany enable access to resources in Alanya, facilitated specifically by interstate arrangements between Germany and Turkey. In Chapter 5, I show the retirees’ ways of belonging and their citizenship practices and interventions in daily life and local politics and across the border. In turn, I identify these migrants’ more distant relationship with respect to the national site, specifically Turkey, but partly concerning Germany as well. In Part 3, I synthesize the empirical and theoretical discussions of the book and reconsider my findings in relation to these insecure times. Chapter 6 moves ahead in time and documents my return visit to Alanya in 2018—more than four years after I had collected the initial data. This trip allowed a comparison of my findings over time and an account of the German retirees’ lives in the face of considerable insecurities. At this moment, when Turkey is involved in a variety of political tensions and violent conflicts, as well as an increasingly complicated relationship with Germany, such an account is most timely. Here, I focus on the question of return and whether my respondents would stay or leave and their reasoning in either case. I show how German state citizenship can shield against the mounting insecurities facing these retiree migrants and, paradoxically, can make it easier for them to maintain their local life and stay abroad in these troubled times. Finally, the concluding Chapter 7 reflects on my findings and how they might contribute to the study of citizenship and its contemporary reconfigurations.

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References Ackers, Louise, and Peter Dwyer. 2002. Senior Citizenship? Retirement, Migration and Welfare in the European Union. Bristol: Policy Press. Amit, Vered, ed. 2007. Going First Class? New Approaches to Privileged Travel and Movement. Oxford and New York: Berghahn Books. Antonsich, Marco. 2010. “In Search of Belonging: An Analytical Framework.” Geography. Compass 4 (6): 644–659. doi:10.1111/j.1749-8198.2009.00317.x. . Bahar, Halil I., Sedat Laçiner, Ihsan Bal, and Mehmet Özcan. 2009. “Older Migrants to the Mediterranean: The Turkish Example.” Population, Space and Place 15 (2): 509–522. doi:10.1002/psp.528. Bauböck, Rainer. 2010. “Studying Citizenship Constellations.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 36 (5): 847–859. doi:10.1080/13691831003764375. Bauman, Zygmunt. 1998. Globalization: The Human Consequences. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beck, Ulrich. 1986. Risikogesellschaft: Auf dem Weg in eine andere Moderne. Frankfurt a. M.: Suhrkamp Verlag. (published in English as Risk Society: Towards a New Modernity). Benson, Michaela, and Karen O’Reilly, eds. 2009. Lifestyle Migration: Expectations, Aspirations and Experiences. Farnham: Ashgate. Benson, Michaela, and Nick Osbaldiston, eds. 2014. Understanding Lifestyle Migration: Theoretical Approaches to Migration and the Quest for a Better Way of Life. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Bundesamt für Migration und Flüchtlinge. 2017. Migrationsbericht 2016/2017. Berlin. Cahill, Michael. 1994. The New Social Policy. Oxford: Blackwell. Castles, Stephen. 2005. “Nation and Empire: Hierarchies of Citizenship in the New Global Order.” International Politics 42 (2): 203–224. doi:10.1057/palgrave.ip.8800107. Coldron, Keleigh, and Louise Ackers. 2007. “(Ab)Using European Citizenship? EU Retired Migrants and the Exercise of Healthcare Rights.” Maastricht Journal of European and Comparative Law 14 (3): 287–302. Cottrell Studemeyer, Catherine. 2015. “Geographies of Flexible Citizenship.” Geography Compass 9 (10): 565–576. doi:10.111/gec3.12247. Croucher, Sheila. 2009. The Other Side of the Fence: American Migrants in Mexico. Austin, Texas: University of Texas Press. Düvell, Franck. 2014. “Turkey’s Transition to an Immigration Country. A Paradigmatic Shift.” Insight Turkey 16 (4): 87–103. Ehrkamp, Patricia. 2005. “Placing Identities: Transnational Practices and Local Attachments of Turkish Immigrants in Germany.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 31 (2): 345–364. doi:10.1080/1369183042000339963. Ehrkamp, Patricia, and Helga Leitner. 2003. “Beyond National Citizenship: Turkish Immigrants and the (Re)Construction of Citizenship in Germany.” Urban Geography 24 (2): 127–146. doi:10.2747/0272-3638.24.2.127. Faist, Thomas. 2000. The Volume and Dynamics of International Migration and Transnational Social Spaces. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Faist, Thomas. 2001. “Social Citizenship in the European Union: Nested Membership.” Journal of Common Market Studies 39 (1): 37–58. doi:10.1111/1468-5965.00275. Faist, Thomas, and Eyüp Özveren, eds. 2004. Transnational Social Spaces: Agents, Networks and Institutions. Farnham: Ashgate. Fauser, Margit. 2016. “A View on the Reverse Map of Migration Between Germany and Turkey.” Turkish Review 6 (3): 116–124.

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Giddens, Anthony. 1991. Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Glick Schiller, Nina, Linda Basch, and Cristina Blanc-Szanton. 1994. Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nation-States. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach Publishers. Glick Schiller, Nina, and George Fouron. 2001. George Woke up Laughing. Long-Distance Nationalism and the Research for Home. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Guarnizo, Luis E., and Michael P. Smith. 1999. “The Locations of Transnationalism.” In Transnationalism from Below, edited by Michael P. Smith and Luis E. Guarnizo, 3–34, 2nd ed. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Harpaz, Yossi, and Pablo Mateos. 2019. “Strategic Citizenship: Negotiating Membership in the Age of Dual Nationality.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 45 (6): 843–857. doi:10.1080/1369183X.2018.1440482. Henley & Partners. 2017. The Henley & Partners Visa Restrictions Index 2017. Hindess, Barry. 2000. “Citizenship in the International Management of Populations.” . American Behavioral Scientist 43 (9): 1486–1497. doi:10.1177/00027640021956008. Içduygu, Ahmet. 2013. “Turkey and International Migration 2012–2013. Report Prepared for the Annual Meeting of the OECD Expert Group on Migration Paris, . November 27–29th 2013.” Içduygu, Ahmet, and Deniz Sert. 2009. “Country Profile Turkey.” Focus Migration 5. IOM. 2013. “World Migration Report 2013. Migrant Well-Being and Development.” Isin, Engin. 2008. “Theorizing Acts of Citizenship.” In Acts of Citizenship, edited by Engin Isin and Greg M. Nielsen, 15–43. London: Zed Books. Kaiser, Bianca. 2004. “German Migrants in Turkey: The ‘Other Side’ of the TurkishGerman Transnational Space.” In Transnational Social Spaces: Agents, Networks and Institutions, edited by Thomas Faist and Eyüp Özveren, 91–110. Farnham: Ashgate. Kaiser, Bianca. 2012. “50 Years and Beyond: The ‘Mirror’ of Migration - German Citizens in Turkey.” Perceptions XVII (2): 103–124. Kaiser, Bianca, and Ayhan Kaya. 2016. “Transformation of Migration and Asylum Policies in Turkey.” In The Europeanization of Turkish Public Policies: A Scorecard, edited by Aylin Güney and Ali Tekin, 94–115. London and New York: Routledge. Kaya, Ayhan. 2007. “German-Turkish Transnational Space: A Separate Space of Their Own.” German Studies Review 30 (3): 483–502. King, Russell, Anthony M. Warnes, and Allan M. Williams. 1998. “International Retirement in Europe.” International Journal of Population Geography 4 (2): 91– 111. doi:10.1002/(SICI)1099-1220(199806)4:2-91:AID-IJPG97-3.0.CO;2-S. Knoblauch, Hubert. 2001. “Fokussierte Ethnographie.” Sozialer Sinn 2 (1): 123–141. Kofman, Eleonore. 1995. “Citizenship for Some but Not for Others: Spaces of Citizenship in Contemporary Europe.” Political Geography 14 (2): 121–137. doi:10.1016/0962-6298(95)91660-V. Layton-Henry, Zig. 1990. “Citizenship or Denizenship for Migrant Workers?” In The Political Rights of Migrant Workers in Western Europe, edited by Zig LaytonHenry, 186–195. London: Sage. Marshall, Thomas H. 1950. Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Morris, Lydia. 2003. “Managing Contradiction: Civic Stratification and Migrants’ Rights.” International Migration Review 37 (1): 74–100. doi:10.1111/j.1747-7379.2003. tb00130.x.

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Ong, Aihwa. 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Pfaff-Czarnecka, Joanna. 2011. “From ‘Identity’ to ‘Belonging’ in Social Research: Plurality, Social Boundaries, and the Politics of the Self.” In Ethnicity, Citizenship and Belonging: Practices, Theory and Spatial Dimensions, edited by Sarah Albiez, Nelly Castro, Lara Jüssen, and Eva Youkhana, 199–219. Madrid: Iberoamericana. Portes, Alejandro. 1999. “Conclusion: Towards a New World - the Origins and Effects of Transnational Activities.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 22 (2): 463–474. doi:10.1080/ 014198799329567. Pusch, Barbara, ed. 2013. Transnationale Migration am Beispiel Deutschland und Türkei. Wiesbaden: Springer VS. Rojas, Viviana, and Thankham S. Sunil. 2014. “US Retirement Migration to Mexico: Understanding Issues of Adaptation, Networking, and Social Integration.” International Migration and Integration 15: 257–273. Shachar, Ayelet. 2009. The Birthright Lottery: Citizenship and Global Inequality. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. Smith, Michael P., and Luis E. Guarnizo, eds. 2007. Transnationalism from Below. 7th ed. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Smith, Robert C. 2006. Mexican New York: Transnational Lives of New Immigrants. Berkeley: University of California Press. . Südas¸, Ilkay, and Mustafa Mutluer. 2006. “Immigration européenne de retraités vers la ‘Riviera turque’: le cas d’Alanya (côte méditerranéenne).” Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales 22 (3): 1–18. doi:10.4000/remi.3381. Tolay, J. 2015. “Discovering Immigration into Turkey: The Emergence of a Dynamic Field.” International Migration 53 (6): 57–73. doi:10.1111/j.1468-2435.2012.00741.x. Turkish Statistical Institute. 2018. “Migration Statistics. Foreign Population by Sex, Country of Citizenship and the First Year of Residence in Turkey, 2018.” http:// www.turkstat.gov.tr/PreTablo.do?alt_id=1067. Twine, France W., and Bradley Gardener, eds. 2013. Geographies of Privilege. London and New York: Routledge. United Nations Population Division. 2019. “Total Migrant Stock.” Warnes, Anthony M., and Allan M. Williams. 2006. “Older Migrants in Europe: A New Focus on Migration Studies.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 32 (8): 1257–1281. doi:10.1080/1369183060092761. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 1991. “The Citizenship Debate: Women, Ethnic Processes and the State.” Feminist Review 39: 58–68. doi:10.2307/1395439. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 2006. “Belonging and the Politics of Belonging.” Patterns of Prejudice 40 (3): 197–214. doi:10.1080/00313220600769331.

Part 1

Citizenship, space, and ageing

1

Citizenship in the age of mobility

Citizenship has today become a key concept in sociology, political science and political thought, anthropology, geography, and other social science disciplines. At the same time, it is a shared view that the concept and the reality of citizenship, and even the field of its study, are contested and fragmented if not divided (Bosniak 2006; Lister 1997; Yuval-Davis 1999). Manifold global dynamics, including the mobility of capital, goods, and not least of people, as well as the global diffusion of norms and ideas and the promotion of universal human rights, have contributed to complex contemporary reconfigurations of a once classical understanding of the state citizen. A variety of terms have been used to designate the different types of citizenship, which has taken on many different meanings. Global, postnational, nested, urban, extraterritorial, diasporic, transnational, and multilayered are just some of the attributes used to describe these more recent types of citizenship. Such variety has made citizenship studies a rich and diverse field, described by Engin Isin and Bryan Turner (2002) more than 15 years ago as too broad to be mastered by any single scholar. Nevertheless, this multiplicity of terms has also made for an often compartmentalized view of the contemporary reconfigurations of citizenship. In this book, I explore mobile citizenship based on a transnational and multiple understanding that places the social practices and perspectives of individuals at its center and considers their simultaneous involvement in multiple spaces, or sites, of citizenship. I do so because of citizenship’s close interconnection with equality and inequality, not only in local and national dimensions but also in global scope, across uneven geographies—a relationship that generates privilege for some but not for others. One way to introduce this perspective on citizenship is to cite T.H. Marshall’s influential definition: “[Citizenship is] a status bestowed on those who are full members of a community. All who possess the status are equal with respect to the rights and duties with which the status is endowed” (Marshall 1950, 28–29). Thus, citizenship comes with rights and duties possessed by members of a particular community who are considered and treated as equals. The first and fundamental aspect of the definition of citizenship—and, to my understanding, of mobile citizenship—lies in Marshall’s concern with equality, with inequality as its counterpart, although here I engage in a debate that is critical to

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Marshall’s (optimistic) perspective. When citizenship defines a status of equality for its members, disregarding gender, wealth and income, ability, or other social categories, it implies that the same status does not apply to noncitizens (Glenn 2000). Thus, citizenship demarcates the boundary between inclusion and exclusion, between equality and inequality, and the terms upon which this boundary is organized (Mackert and Turner 2017). In the field of migration, concern about this boundary has guided the research on citizenship policy and practice as instruments of integration and social cohesion. For a long time, the study of citizenship has been interested in the processes of inclusion; it is only more recently that scholars have recognized that citizenship is also a powerful mechanism of exclusion and social closure for those who are not citizens (Brubaker 1994; Glenn 2000; Kivisto and Faist 2007; Lister 1997; Mackert and Turner 2017). In this debate, migration scholars have argued that rather than a dividing line between citizens and non-citizens citizenship is highly differentiated (Castles 2005), stratified (Kofman 1995; Morris 2003) and reflects a continuum of rights (Layton-Henry 1990). In addition, in the eyes of many scholars, the growing social inequalities observed in Western states, along with welfare state retrenchment, are calling into question the notion of (equal) citizenship (Hall and Held 1989). Feminists, together with critics from the radical left, have stressed that the promise of “equality for all” has not been fulfilled, pointing to the fact that the exclusion and marginalization of women persists but that this is also true for racialized and ethnicized minorities as well as for people in the lower classes (Lister 1997, 30). This situation also reveals that formal status membership intersects with other social categories in producing inclusions and exclusions, as is evident in the crucial experience of the elderly, whose retirement has become increasingly fragmented with respect to the timing, conditions, and resources of their postwork lives, as will be discussed in Chapter 3. For those who contemplate leaving their home countries to relocate abroad, the wish to expand their personal purchasing power is an important and sometimes critical element in their decision. However, such relocation is subject to a second, global dimension of inequality related to citizenship because citizenship is also an instrument in territorial differentiation. The subject of closure to citizenship not only concerns some of those who reside within the territory of one state or political community but also distinguishes citizens of one state from the large number of people who reside elsewhere. Indeed, the global presence of the nation state has emerged together with the spread of state citizenship (Castles 2005). Citizenship allocates individuals to sovereign territories and states, thus reflecting the division of the world into national societies within an unequal world order. In view of this, Barry Hindess (2000) has referred to (the Western concept of) citizenship as “a conspiracy against the rest of the world.” Ayelet Shachar (2009) considers citizenship a global mechanism of inequality that has surfaced as more people become mobile. From a global perspective, a hierarchy of citizenship exists (Castles 2005) in

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which some people are more privileged than others because of their association with more powerful and resourceful states. This hierarchical aspect is critical to the understanding of lifestyle migrants who move within uneven spatialities and who, facilitated by their privileged citizenship, reverse the more typical movements from poorer countries to richer ones, thus enabled by their “spatial privilege” (see Chapter 2). But because citizenship is only one social category that shapes an individual’s position and practices, and because it is strongly premised on the notion of being a member of (and residing in) one community, a host of complications can interfere with the opportunities and benefits afforded by such spatial privilege. Returning to Marshall’s definition of citizenship, I now address the question of status and rights. Marshall refers to three key sets of rights—civil, political, and social—that over time have been expanded, in content and depth, in terms of what is covered by such rights and, in scope, in terms of the social groups who were considered full and equal members. Nira YuvalDavis draws attention to an even “more basic right” that underpins citizenship, from the perspective of immigrants in particular, namely the “spatial rights” to enter a (state) territory and to remain (Yuval-Davis 1991, 61; Yuval-Davis 2006, 208). The mobile citizenship perspective sheds light on the generally disregarded character of spatial rights that pertain to citizenship in the country of emigration. This can be seen, for example, in the degree of visa-free travel that a certain passport allows or in the right to return to one’s home country. Concerning the duties and obligations of citizenship, the most important of citizens’ duties (somewhat sidelined by Marshall himself) include paying taxes, participating in warfare, reproducing and working, and (not least) being loyal to one’s country (Turner 2001). However, as already discussed, the differentiated nature of citizenship rights indicates that status and rights are not the same. In addition, status and rights merely reflect the legal dimension of citizenship, albeit crucial factors, but citizenship is more than that. Recent sociological inquiry has specifically pointed to the dimensions of social practice (Isin and Nielsen 2008) and of affective belonging. I propose that citizenship be thought of as comprising several elements, or facets, in keeping with Linda Bosniak’s distinction (2006)—namely status, rights, practice, and belonging—that are interrelated but not always coextensive. Although these elements originated in different scholarly traditions, and some authors argue that their different meanings are therefore irreconcilable, it is the interconnection of these elements that makes their distinction particularly insightful. In my view, these different facets influence one another yet do not necessarily share the same space, time, or scope. Although rights inform citizens’ particular practices, the claims people make and their everyday struggles and negotiations do not necessarily correspond to the scope of their status or rights. This distinction holds true for situations within one country but also extends across territorial spaces. In later sections of this chapter, it will become clear that being a (legal) citizen and (affectively) belonging as a

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citizen do not necessarily overlap in one space (Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). In response to the question “What is citizenship?” I suggest the need for a multifaceted explanation. Defining citizenship as membership in a community has typically implied a perspective based on the nation state, as testified by a passport and other documents that furnish identification. In contrast, migrants are often members of more than one community and state, a perspective that is relevant specifically in transnational migration scholarship (Faist 2000; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1994; Pries 1999b). Still, migration research has predominantly concentrated on the situation of immigrants and on the conditions internal to the state—that is, on those residing within its territory (Castles and Davidson 2000; Isin and Turner 2007; Kivisto and Faist 2007; Kofman 1995). Focusing on those who come and stay has rarely been complemented by a consideration of “those who leave” (Green and Weil 2007), which is citizenship’s external dimension (Bauböck 2009; Brubaker 2010). Surprisingly, the simple fact that immigrants are also emigrants has been neglected, making the country of origin a crucial site in efforts to scrutinize citizenship. This outlook suggests that the status, rights, and other facets of citizenship anchored in the site of origin, as well as the cross-border practices and transnational lifestyles of migrants, are necessary for us to understand citizenship and the experiences of (privileged) emigrants. It will become clear that citizenship is carried across the border, albeit often not fully. In order to understand the opportunities and constraints that accompany spatial mobility, I stress the need to view emigrants more seriously in the current research and debate on citizenship. This approach would thus address the following questions: “Who is, can become, or remains a citizen?” “How are these boundaries operated?” and “How is citizenship related to territoriality and residency?” Moreover, contemporary citizenship scholars have debated the dynamic developments that are occurring both above and below the scale of the nation state. These developments have continued to add to the sites and spaces of citizenship in which individuals are involved (Bader 1999; Desforges, Jones, and Woods 2005; Isin and Nielsen 2008; Staeheli 2003b; Yuval-Davis 1999). Many scholars who have considered these other sites have argued that denationalized and postnational configurations have superseded the national and diminished the relevance of status as allocated by a state (Soysal 1994). Yet, for various reasons that I will detail in this chapter, it is more helpful to consider the simultaneous existence of multiple sites of citizenship (Bader 1999) and the fact that mobile individuals are simultaneously implicated in multiple citizenship constellations (Bauböck 2010). Rather than considering that individuals merely chose between citizenship options located at different sites, my approach follows on those arguments that consider that legal provisions and the agency of migrants are making for the “nested” (Faist 2001b) and entangled nature (Isin 2008) of the multiple sites of citizenship. Thus, in my concern with a group of migrants who bring important resources and entitlements with them when moving but who also acquire some new

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elements in their chosen locality and are subject to supranational influences and international and interstate regulations, I put emphasis on the relevance of multiple locations or sites of citizenship and their intertwinement. In this chapter, I will elaborate on the argument that multiple facets and multiple sites are crucial for our understanding of citizenship in this age of increasing mobility. Sometimes, various facets and sites have been considered to coexist simultaneously but in disconnected versions. But I suggest that we move beyond the established arguments and pay attention to the entanglement of such facets and sites, considering that when individuals become mobile they are entangling various webs of status, rights, obligations, practices, and belonging (Isin 2008). One of the main aims of this book is to analyze how various facets and sites of citizenship mutually reinforce, enable, or block one another and how this is viewed by those individuals who have become mobile. This, for its turn, will show how citizenship produces and reproduces social inequalities, and thus privilege, and how it sometimes restricts access to resources and creates contradictory positions.

Facets of citizenship Citizenship is most commonly understood as a formal legal status and is currently evidenced by means of a passport or national identity card. Recent sociological literature has stressed its character as a social practice (Isin and Nielsen 2008). Similarly, some authors have distinguished “the formal [citizenship that] refers to membership in the nation state and the substantive [citizenship that] refers to the array of civil, political, socio-economic, and cultural rights people possess and exercise” (Holston and Appadurai 1996a, 190). This distinction highlights the discrepancies and gaps that often exist between legal regulations and personal experiences (Brubaker 2010; Holston and Appadurai 1996a; Rosbrook-Thompson 2015). In a somewhat more nuanced understanding, legal scholar Linda Bosniak (2006) disaggregates citizenship into four distinct elements, or facets: legal status, rights, social practice, and the emotional dimension of affective belonging. A consideration of these different facets provides an opportunity to inquire about their relationship to one another and can help in understanding that they do not necessarily or always overlap, and perhaps hardly ever have (Bosniak 2001; Bosniak 2006; Sassen 2005). Such insights can help us rethink the notion of citizenship that merely equates rights and practices. As the individual facets come out of different historical–theoretical traditions, some experts in citizenship theory consider them divergent and incompatible concepts (Mackert and Turner 2017), while other authors see them as different dimensions that make up the concept of citizenship. Rather than limiting our analysis to simply status or practice, or assuming that the two are congruent, we can look into the complex interplay of these distinct facets, which I will now briefly discuss.

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The notion of citizenship as status originated in early Roman thought and denoted the privileges and obligations tied to such status. Today, this issue is largely considered a matter related to the political community of a nation state in which members enjoy legitimately recognized advantages to which other members (non-citizens) are not entitled. Connected to this interpretation is the second element, namely the entitlement to and enjoyment of rights. T.H. Marshall’s (1950) famous theory of citizenship builds on this liberal tradition. He shows how the realm of status has gradually evolved from civic to political and eventually to social rights, allowing the working class to be fully incorporated as a result of the 20th-century expansion of the (Western) welfare state. Marshall pointed to the interconnection between the role of the social (rights) dimension of citizenship and the development of welfare policies and institutions as a key basis for the modern political community of democratic nation states. At the heart of this theory are the persistent socioeconomic inequalities evident in modern capitalism that citizenship would resolve, or reduce, through political equality and social policy, leading to a certain standard of social welfare and protection. Another historical, and in fact earlier, source of citizenship is rooted in Greece (more specifically, Athens), particularly in the political writings of Aristotle, although I should clarify that these writings do not represent the historical realities of the Athenian city state. Rather than status or rights, this school favored another facet of citizenship: active social practice. Classically, it referred to the self-governance of a political and social community, whereas later republican writers emphasized the active political engagement of citizens. The 1990s saw a revival of this understanding in communitarian self-organization. In contrast to the concepts of self-governance, formal political participation, and social involvement, more recent sociological inquiry has suggested that citizenship be considered in terms of the struggles, claims-making, and political mobilization of marginalized and excluded groups, as well as their everyday practices and the “acts of citizenship” through which individuals and groups become political subjects (Isin and Nielsen 2008; Turner 1993). Migration studies that are based on this theoretical framework are generally concerned with vulnerable groups, particularly unauthorized migrants and refugees, and have situated the practices of these groups in exclusionary state settings that contrast with the agentic nature of migrants’ everyday negotiations (Anderson, Gibney, and Paoletti 2011; Shinozaki 2016). The concept of “acts” stresses the constitutive character of enactments by those who challenge their exclusion from citizenship status and rights, whether it be de facto or de jure. Other, more particularistic, instrumental, and even opportunistic practices are addressed in the scholarship regarding “flexible citizenship,” through which individuals strategize citizenship rights and statuses to their benefit (Cottrell Studemeyer 2015; Harpaz and Mateos 2019; Ong 1999). The fourth facet, which is also associated with Greek (in this case Stoic) scholarship, highlights the emotional or affective dimension of citizenship— the sense and experience of belonging to a community. Although the Stoic

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philosophers referred to the “community of the world” (Bosniak 2006, 20), affective belonging has become an important element in national movements and national identification ever since the concept of “nation” emerged. The dimension of affection and solidarity within a community stresses the fact that citizenship is not just a relationship between a state and a citizen; rather, it is also a relationship between and among the citizens themselves. It is this notion of collective identity and belonging that is the basis for solidarity and reciprocity commitments in the welfare state (Faist 2001b) and for the manifold political and social struggles articulated in the “politics of recognition” (Isin and Turner 2007). In this vein, Nira Yuval-Davis (2006) stresses the need to distinguish between personal belonging and the politics of belonging. The personal dimension of belonging is about emotional attachment and personal identities, about feeling safe and at home. The politics of belonging refers to political projects that are aimed at or claim to belong to a political community. This latter dimension is about the ways in which belonging, or citizenship, is constructed, justified, claimed, or resisted—in other words, how it is granted through formal status and other rights, and how it is practiced (Yuval-Davis 2006). Further elaborating on this distinction, Marco Antonsich (2010) argues that belonging in an affective and emotional sense (i.e., feeling at ease, at home, and safe) is deployed through territorial attachments on various scales, such as a place, city, or country. It may therefore range from local, provincial, or national to supranational or even global. Antonsich (2010) points out that the sense of belonging derives from five influential factors, namely one’s own biography; the social relations and ties a person maintains; cultural factors, such as language but also tacit codes and signs; economic security, which allows for stable material conditions; and not least, legal regulations that provide protection from violence and insecurity, including the prospect of being able to stay. Clearly, the two forms of belonging are closely related. Feeling at home is conditioned by power relations and the politics of belonging and can inform claims to social and political recognition, hence the interplay between belonging and the other three elements of citizenship: status, rights, and practices. Notwithstanding the strong historical, and sometimes contemporary, association between belonging and the nation or state, geographers and other authors who are interested in spatial issues and who study international migration as well as internal mobilities increasingly find local attachments and place-making to be the crucial angle to an individual’s belonging (Ehrkamp 2005; Rosbrook-Thompson 2015; Savage, Longhurst, and Bagnall 2005). Disaggregating status, rights, practices, and belonging reveals that these four facets of citizenship are often not completely congruent. Various processes related to globalization and the mobility of capital, goods, ideas, norms, and persons have contributed to reducing overlap, and the lack of congruence has already been at the heart of many contestations, both

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historical and contemporary. Among formal status members, the struggle for substantive inclusion is crucial to the development of citizenship that in the past expanded along gender, class, racial, and ethnic lines. Nevertheless, formal citizens in all parts of the world continue to face exclusions when it comes to substantive rights and entitlements. Conversely, substantive inclusion has expanded for non-formal citizens, as evidenced by the increase in migrants’ political and social rights. Whether a person also “belongs” in the affective sense is yet another issue. Formal status members, such as naturalized migrants or ethnic and indigenous minorities, may still not be considered to belong completely, nor may they feel they belong to the larger collective (Brubaker 2010). Thus, although the individual facets are closely interconnected, they do not necessarily correspond to one another in any linear way (Bosniak 2006, chapter 2). From a transnational perspective, it would appear that these four facets do not necessarily refer to the same site and space to the same degree, as will be discussed later in this chapter. According to the conceptualization of citizenship described above, status, rights, practices, and belonging can be seen as having multiple interconnections, at times reinforcing but also diverging from each other.

Citizens, immigrants, and emigrants Scholars, politicians, and ordinary citizens often notice that migration disturbs citizenship (Brubaker 2010, 68), an experience that is noted especially by those who move. Such disturbance occurs because citizenship is still so strongly prescribed according to the (idealized) classical version, which posits a congruency of territory, state, and (culturally defined) community (notably one that possesses full rights). Although this picture has always been idealized, changes within the past few decades have transformed the notion and reality of citizenship, sometimes bringing its tensions to the fore. These tensions concern reforms that will define whether and how residents who are born abroad and their children can gain citizen status, what other pathways there are to claim important rights, and whether (multi)cultural diversity is recognized as a basis for citizenship and the definition of community. Today, the citizenship of immigrants is the subject of a large body of scholarship, as is evident in the contents of the book by Castles and Davidson (2000) entitled Citizenship and Migration, which relates the experiences of immigrants in their journey toward becoming, being, mobilizing, and belonging as citizens. Notions such as “citizenship of non-citizens” (Bosniak 2006; Guiraudon 1998), denizenship (Hammar 1994), and postnational citizenship (Soysal 1994) have made a strong case for the substantial enjoyment of rights for non-status citizens. Denizenship stresses that the rights of longterm immigrant residents in many Western European states have to a large extent approached those of formal citizens (Hammar 1994). This has led scholars to consider that there is a continuum of rights attached to

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membership in a state rather than a sharp distinction between citizen and non-citizen (Layton-Henry 1990). Yasemin Soysal (1994) has conceptualized the equalization of citizens’ and non-citizens’ rights as postnational membership based on the argument that it is not equality within one (national) state community but rather universal personhood that is the principle grounding the expansion of immigrants’ rights, as has been institutionally anchored in the international human rights regime and supranational institutions, especially the European Union. This principle has thus limited the role of status membership, as well as that of the state, as the exclusive arbiter for conferring rights. Others stress the unequal nature of this process, pointing to the enormous civic stratification of rights for immigrants, not only as compared with formal status citizens but also in terms of the legal statuses available to migrants (Joppke 2001; Morris 2003). This view contributes to the notion of “citizenship for some but not for others” (Kofman 1995). Hence, migrants have acquired political, social, and cultural rights to different degrees (Kivisto and Faist 2007, 34–40). The literature on immigrants’ citizenship has also investigated migrants’ political participation, claims, and mobilization and their sense of belonging and identification (Bauböck 2006; Castles and Davidson 2000; Koopmans et al. 2005). In contrast to the predominant focus on immigrants, citizenship for emigrants has not been a major theme in citizenship research or its theory and has long been ignored in studies of (im)migration (Barry 2006; Brubaker 2010; Rubio-Marin 2006). This imbalance has often been attributed to the fact that migration scholarship is generated predominantly by the wealthier countries of immigration and concentrates on immigrants who tend to come from the poorer countries of emigration, thus reflecting the epistemological hegemony of knowledge production in highly industrialized countries. But this disregard of emigrants is also related to the more general focus on sedentary populations and concern about “permanent settled populations,” such as immigrants who would come, stay, and ultimately break their “home ties.” This perspective has overshadowed the interest in migrants who leave, remain tied to their country of origin, and develop transnational lives and may explain why, even in resourceful states, emigration in general—and emigrant citizenship in particular—has received scarce attention when compared to the interest in immigration from both academia and policy makers. It is worth stressing that a perspective on emigrant citizenship acknowledges migrants’ ongoing cross-border ties as well as their belonging, practices, rights, and statuses that keep them engaged with their states of origin. The transnational perspective in migration studies has included this view and also urges the need to pay attention to the multistranded relations that connect migrants to both the society and the state of emigration and immigration (Faist 2000; Faist, Fauser, and Reisenauer 2013; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1994; Pries 1999a). In the next section, I will consider this view when discussing the simultaneity of different sites and spaces of citizenship. Here, the focus is restricted to the condition of the emigrant. Similar to

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immigration, although differing in certain details, the citizenship of absent, non-resident, and mobile citizens challenges the idealized conception of territorially bounded state membership and the policies and beliefs based on this conception. Table 1.1 summarizes the immigrant and emigrant perspectives according to the four facets of citizenship described earlier. Emigrant citizenship expands the community of citizens beyond state borders (Itzigsohn 2000; Kivisto and Faist 2007, chapter 5; Levitt and La Dehesa 2003). This “external citizenship is the possibility of detaching the legal status and practice of citizenship (in terms of identity, but also engagement) from the territorially bounded nation-state” (Rubio-Marin 2006, 124). It transforms citizenship from a strictly bounded model toward a different understanding (Barry 2006). Notions such as extraterritorial (Collyer 2014; Escobar 2007; Fitzgerald 2000), diasporic (Laguerre 1998; Smith 2003a), external (Barry 2006; Bauböck 2009; Brubaker 2010), and sometimes transnational (Fox 2005) have been used to come to grips with the citizenship of emigrants. Some scholars who observed that practices, loyalties, and social lives no longer stopped short at a state’s border have taken this as an indication of deterritorialized identities and the erosion of the nation-state model (Appadurai 1998; Hannerz 2000). However, it is often more accurate to conclude that emigrant citizenship extends the (national) community beyond the territorial borders of the state and redefines the nation turned transnational (Boccagni, Lafleur, and Levitt 2016; Itzigsohn 2000). Much of the transnational literature has shown that both migrants and states have based their mutual claims on blood, descent, and ancestry to varying degrees (Glick Schiller and Fouron 2001; Ong 1999; Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). In

Table 1.1 Facets and boundaries of the citizenship of migrants Migrant citizenship

Immigrant /internal

Emigrant /external

Facets of citizenship Status

Rights

Practices

Belonging

National citizenship, incl. its acquisition at birth and through naturalization, in the country of immigration Formal citizenship of emigrants

Civil, political, social, and cultural rights of migrant citizens and non-citizen residents; (spatial) right to stay Rights of nonresident citizens, and non-status citizen emigrants; (spatial) right to return

Practices, acts, and mobilization

Collective identification with community of residents

Cross-border practices, exercise of rights, and emigrant claimsmaking and mobilization

Collective identification with community of origin

Note: Author’s own elaboration.

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addition, by attending to emigrants, the state extends its political-institutional power beyond its territorial confines. Thereby, state institutions and jurisdiction expand into the territory of another state so that individuals become subject to the laws of more than one state. This situation is of particular importance when one considers that intervention by the state of emigration to protect those abroad is not a right of the citizen but the state’s prerogative on behalf of its citizens (Barry 2006, 17f.; Fitzgerald 2006, 110). Hence, the inclusion of absent citizens throws territorial boundedness and exclusivity into question while also reaffirming the meaning and relevance of nation-state citizenship (Rubio-Marin 2006). The citizenship of emigrants can be seen as a historical novelty—a change in states’ discourse and action that evolved from articulating a suspicion about emigrants who were leaving, and withdrawing their citizenship, to encouraging their return, and now to embracing them as part of the transnationalized community and society even though they reside outside the state’s territory (Kivisto 2001; Smith 2003b). This is not to say that certain forms of the state–emigrant relationship, such as emigrants retaining citizenship or having a dual nationality, or the existence of political and social rights was something new. What is new is the expansion of the status and rights of emigrants, its global acceptance and its active promotion far beyond the previous and somewhat passive (or even absent) tolerance (Faist and Kivisto 2007; Fitzgerald 2006, 98). Throughout much of the 20th century, the major countries of emigration expected their citizens to return, so there was little need for the state’s attention (Guarnizo 1997; Smith 2003a). In earlier times, it was assumed that emigrants left their homelands to build new lives elsewhere. For example, during the first part of the 19th century, when German citizens emigrated en masse to the US, once they had crossed the border, presumably not to return, they were automatically deprived of their citizenship. It was only through the further nationalization or ethnicization of citizenship in Germany from the mid-19th century onward—along with the growing importance of citizenship as a political institution—that German emigrants were allowed to retain their citizenship (Brubaker 1994, 115–119; Fahrmeir 2007). Today, globalization has created new conditions for such mobility and the emigrants’ transnational lives and attachments, and it has changed states’ interests and discourses toward their emigrants. As transnational lives and lifestyles started flourishing at the end of the 20th century, Nina Glick-Schiller, Linda Basch and Cristina Blanc-Szanton (1992; 1994) were among the first to document how deeply interconnected was the financial support provided to families and local communities, the migrants’ investments in businesses back home, and their affective affiliation with their state and society of origin. Similarly, the enormous remittances that migrants send “home,” as well as the hopes placed in business investments and knowledge transfer, have led to a redefinition of citizenship and community by the countries of emigration. Many emigration states have appealed to migrants’ “economic patriotism” (Barry 2006, 36) and tried to attract their

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investments through incentive programs and matching funds, agreements with banks, and changes in the laws and have supported expert knowledge networks. In this vein, state–emigrant relations have been criticized as an expression of “market membership” (Goldring 2002, 69). This critique, shared by many scholars and activists, identifies a neoliberal model of state–(emigrant) citizen relations that prioritizes economic relationships, minimal intervention from the state, and a market-based exchange of goods and services, with limited initiatives toward political recognition and scarce attention and resources for the protection of absent citizens, and limited rights granted to this group. In so doing, states have often worked toward defining the emigrant community—or, more broadly, the diaspora—in terms of “blood and descent.” Countries as diverse as China, India, Ireland, Portugal, and Malaysia have strongly advocated an understanding of belonging that is based on blood ties as a way to link together dispersed populations who are living in many different geographical locations (Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). In light of these observations, transnational scholars have interpreted the cross-border expansion of citizenship as a part of national development projects or as the desire of developing nations for a place in the global economic system. Such interpretations have led to the impression that the expansion of emigrants’ rights was particular to poorer countries. However, the few studies that have examined a broader range of countries indicate that legal reform regarding émigré citizens is not exclusive to any particular category of states (Collyer 2014; Lafleur 2011). Similarly, factors that contribute to the expansion of emigrant citizenship in the comparatively richer states also reflect their efforts to accommodate globalization, compete for a global position, and promote global mobility and interconnectedness (ibid.). Alan Gamlen (2014) has suggested that such expansion is increasingly driven by global norm diffusion and epistemic communities, which, in the absence of comprehensive global governance of migration, promote decentralized solutions. Over the past 10 years or so, several commissions, meetings, and dialogues at the level of the United Nations and other global and interstate bodies have given way to a global notion of states’ responsibilities for their emigrants. To what degree this notion is actively recognized in resourceful states with smaller emigrant communities, such as Germany, is not yet clear. Overall, the more prosperous states seem more reluctant though, and emigrants from the US or Germany, for example, routinely criticize their “home state” for paying so little attention to them (Croucher 2009; Klekowski von Koppenfels 2013; Nieberg 2013). However, the protection of absent citizens in the context of global labor mobility, travel, and tourism is a factor that state agencies of the richer countries refer to as well, as will be shown in Chapter 4. Based on the literature, it is safe to say that emigrants’ rights generally correspond to minor forms of citizenship. Although empirical research has shown considerable increases in the number of migrants who maintain their citizenship and in the possibilities for dual citizenship (Faist and Kivisto 2007), it is noteworthy that these arrangements generally differ from having

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full-fledged resident citizens’ rights. Similar to denizenship (i.e., having rights as non-[status] citizen residents), emigrant citizenship (i.e., having rights as nonresident citizens) does not correspond to the status “equal with respect to the rights and duties” afforded to resident citizens. A variety of minor or partial forms of emigrant citizenship exist, such as the Turkish Mavi Kart (blue card), today reformed as Pink Card, the Overseas Citizenship of India, or the Mexican distinction between nationality and citizenship, all of which carry certain rights (but never all rights) and generally do not include the right to vote (Barry 2006, 46). Restrictions are also often imposed regarding the political rights of full-status citizens. Only about half the countries in the world allow absent citizens to vote (Collyer 2014, 64, Table 3; IDEA 2007), a right that is sometimes reserved for specific groups, predominantly state employees on international missions. In some countries, citizens lose their electoral right after a certain period of absence, as in the UK (Rubio-Marin 2006, 126) or in Germany, where the electoral franchise ends after 25 years of territorial absence. Furthermore, electoral procedures vary greatly across the countries of the world. In some countries, emigrant citizens can vote from abroad, whereas in others they must return in order to cast their vote on Election Day. In some countries, absentee votes are part of the general ballot; in others, emigrants elect particular non-resident constituencies (Collyer 2014). Intergenerational inheritance of citizenship also often differs for resident and non-resident citizens when ius sanguinis is conditional according to some territorial requirement. Exiled Chileans successfully lobbied their country of origin to abolish the condition of residency so they can now pass on citizenship rights to their foreign-born children (Bolzman 2011). In Germany, in contrast, reform of the citizenship law in 2000 restricted ius sanguinis, so children born outside the country to a German parent who was also born abroad are excluded from citizenship. Many more restrictions exist for social citizenship entitlements that are in part conditional based on residence and only partly allow cross-border portability. This subject is a major theme throughout Chapter 4. The foregoing “snapshot” reveals that the literature on the expansion of emigrant citizenship so far stems predominantly from a limited number of generally poorer countries. The research in this area has concentrated largely on the legal aspects, the practices and discourses of belonging, and migrants’ claims to political rights, to which states have often responded slowly. Other dimensions of citizenship have received less attention, in particular social and spatial rights. Rarely noted is the fact that formal state citizenship is the only mechanism, under international law, that guarantees an emigrant’s right to return home and entails a claim for state protection (Hannum 1987; Barry 2006, 21–22). Thus, by law, a person is guaranteed the chance to return home but only if that person’s emigrant citizenship has been maintained. This spatial right is a crucial and underestimated aspect of the debate on citizenship, as will be documented in the last of the three empirical chapters (see Chapter 6) on realizing the opportunity to return to a safe country in times of insecurity.

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When citizenship becomes mobile Crucial to understanding the contemporary reconfigurations of citizenship is a consideration of the different facets of migrants’ citizenship, from the perspective not only of immigrants but also of the citizen émigré (for a summary, see Table 1.1), although such an appraisal does not yet fully account for the conditions of migration and spatial mobility. I argue for the need to consider the multiplicities of citizenship in a way that integrates both its horizontal (immigrant and emigrant) and its vertical (national, interstate, local) configurations, together with their interconnectedness. Therefore, I suggest an approach to citizenship that considers its multifaceted and entangled nature across various sites and spaces. By adopting such a perspective, I show how the position, privilege, and uncertainty of retirement lifestyle migrants emerge from their simultaneous character as emigrants, immigrants, and local foreign residents who are also enmeshed in interstate arrangements. The debate concerning sites of citizenship tends to operate based on a zero-sum assumption. The concepts and types proposed tend toward either the still national site or an already denationalized version and are anchored in sites beyond, above, or below the state level (see Table 1.2 for an overview). The classical view considers that citizenship is and continues to be nationally bounded, that changes do not affect the core of the concept, and that the state remains its most important location. This understanding suggests the continued and strong congruence of the trinity of territory, state, and community, whether defined in ethnonationalist, civic, or explicitly multicultural (or multinational) terms. In normative fashion, political theorists have discussed and defended the national understanding, to which other versions pose a challenge. Some theorists stress that national affiliation is crucial to the (territorial) welfare state, which thus requires a bounded community (Bosniak 2001; Bosniak 2006, 23–28; Kivisto and Faist 2007, chapter 3; Miller 1995). Scholars have also suggested that other newly emerging types of citizenship are thinning out the concept and reality of citizenship (Jacobson 1997; Spiro 2007). Three broad positions challenge this perspective, calling into question the exclusivity or relevance of the national as the key site for citizenship. The first position is taken by transnational scholars who acknowledge that migrants often relate to both the immigration and the emigration country and who argue for the consideration of simultaneous membership in at least two polities. The transnational analysis of multiple citizenships reflects a horizontal perspective beyond states’ borders. A more vertical perspective can be seen in conceptualizations above and below the state. The second position considers that supranational and global developments have superseded the primary role of the nation state and that a national definition of the community of citizens no longer predominates. These arguments have frequently been characterized as postnational. The third position focuses attention below the national on substate scales and suggests the concept of urban or local citizenship, which stresses the importance of place and of the substantive elements of citizenship that emerge in the local arena through local institutions and practices.

Immigration state

Denizenship (Hammar 1994); internal citizenship (Brubaker 2010); multicultural citizenship (Kymlicka 1995); citizenship of aliens, citizenship of non-citizens (Bosniak 2006)

Status, rights, practices, and belonging, as citizens or non-citizen residents, in the immigration country

Site

Concepts

Description

Immigrant citizenship

Overlapping membership (Faist 2001a); transborder citizenship (Fox 2005; Glick Schiller and Fouron 2001); expansive citizenship (Bauböck 2005)

Citizenship

Congruence of state, territory, and bounded community

Diasporic (Laguerre 1998; Smith 2003a); extraterritorial (Collyer 2014; Fitzgerald 2000); external (Barry 2006; Brubaker 2010; Bauböck 2009)

Status, rights, practices, and belonging vis-à-vis the country of emigration

Simultaneous; status, rights, practices, and belonging in two states, to varying degrees

Immigration and emigration states

Transnational (simultaneous) citizenship

Bounded state

National

Emigration state

Emigrant citizenship

Table 1.2 Perspectives on citizenship in the age of mobility

Multiple sites and scales, interconnected; status, rights, practices, and belonging interrelated but not codetermined on all scales to the same extent (access to) rights, practices and belonging in the local arena; citizenship articulated through place Universal personhood; status conferred by state loses significance; rights rooted in universal norms, and suprastate institutions matter; site for practices and belonging unclear, or deterritorialized

Nested citizenship (Faist 2001b); multilayered citizenship (Bader 1999; Yuval-Davis 1999); multiscalar citizenship (Guarnizo 2012) Urban citizenship (Bauböck 2003a; Smith and McQuarrie 2012); local citizenship, citizenship in cities (Holston and Appadurai 1996a)

Postnational (Soysal 1994); denationalized citizenship (Bosniak 2001); cosmopolitan, world

Multiple, suprastate, substate, cross-state

Multiple

Subnational, city, place

Local citizenship

Supranational/suprastate or global, esp. international human rights

Postnational citizenship

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Drawing on these debates, I posit a transnational and spatial perspective that is concerned with the coexistence of a variety of spaces and sites for citizenship status, rights, practices, and belonging and, furthermore, sees these as interconnected. In part, the concepts of “nested (European social) citizenship” (Faist 2001b) and “multiscalar” or “multilayered” citizenship (Guarnizo 2012; Staeheli 2003b) have hinted at the role of multiple sites or spaces and provide useful additional support for this view. In order to develop this perspective, I next detail the relevance and insights of a transnational perspective and then move on to discuss further sites. I discuss and give examples for each site separately to show the benefits and limitations of each perspective. My argument, however, is that for a comprehensive picture and analysis of contemporary citizenship, they must be integrated into a multisited understanding. Transnational migration scholars have contributed an approach to multiple citizenship that may be considered a horizontal critique of the national perspective, stressing that migrants are involved both with the state and society of immigration and with the state and society of emigration. That there is simultaneity of their involvements, loyalties, and ties, thus affording them political and social membership in two or more societies and polities, is one of the most important arguments in the transnational literature (Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). Such multiple involvements create simultaneously overlapping memberships (Bauböck 2003b; Faist 2001a) and confirm the banal but important and often neglected observation that an immigrant is always also an emigrant. Although their position as emigrant may cease when all relations with the home state have been severed, many migrants continue to retain formal or substantive relations with their country of birth. This observation is at the center of transnational migrant research. When a migrant can be considered a citizen of the countries of both emigration and immigration simultaneously—either in the sense of formal status or through substantive rights, practices, and belonging—citizenship is multiplied. This condition is most clearly expressed in official dual-state citizenship, which can be considered a formal recognition of migrants’ transnational life-worlds (Faist 2001a; Fox 2005). Rainer Bauböck (2005) cited the notion of “expansive citizenship” to argue from a normative standpoint that citizenship in the age of global mobilities must be reconceptualized and expanded beyond fullstatus membership with respect to the rights of both non-citizen residents (immigrants) and non-resident citizens (emigrants). Yet it is not only the legal aspects but also the practices, experiences, and identification that involve individuals in various sites and spaces of citizenship. In their conceptualization of transnational simultaneity, Peggy Levitt and Nina Glick Schiller (2004) distinguish between ways of being and ways of belonging. “Ways of being” refers to the actual social relations and practices that individuals engage in, whereas “ways of belonging” refers to the identificational aspects of migration. Both ways can exist in bounded social fields or can be unbounded (i.e., reach across borders). The important point is that

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being and belonging need not go hand in hand (Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004, 1011). Although a person might be well connected to her family living in the country of origin and still retain citizenship status in that country, her sense of belonging might no longer rest in what used to be her homeland. Similarly, someone might be well integrated into diverse institutions in the country of immigration and enjoy many rights and entitlements there, especially in the social domain, but still might not have a profound sense of belonging to that country and instead might identify with her country of birth, or will perhaps not identify with either. Transnational scholars have presented two contrasting versions of the ways in which individuals engage in multiple citizenships. Nina Glick Schiller and George Fouron (2001; see also Glick Schiller 2005) show how Haitian migrants in the US make claims on both Haiti and the US—two states in which, to different extents, they have substantial rights and legal status. In addition, these Haitian migrants follow customs, norms, and values related to family life, social relations, marriage, dress, and other aspects that differ from the legal and cultural norms of the state or states with which they are connected. The authors emphasize the long-distance nationalist sentiments and practices that guide Haitians’ agency as emigrants while they simultaneously build a life in the US. In protesting their marginalized status and lack of protection by the state, many of their actions have called for the governments of both countries to recognize their social citizenship and provide health care and education, often addressing both governments through unified demonstrations in both countries on the same day. Introducing the notion of “transborder citizenship,” Glick Schiller and Fouron stress that when Haitians made claims on two countries, they did so by articulating only one (national, Haitian) identity. These authors attribute the persistent significance of nation states and the resurgence of nationalist sentiments to the tensions created by three factors: the economic globalization and transnational flows and investments, the division of the world into a hierarchy of state spaces that allocate different amounts of resources to their citizens, and the longing of these poorer and middle-class migrants to live a life of dignity and self-respect. In contrast to the previous analysis, Aihwa Ong (1999) studied Chinese upper- and middle-class individuals and families from Hong Kong who have adapted their business and family strategies to the requirements and opportunities of flexible capital accumulation by acquiring and making flexible use of multiple citizenships. This group successfully achieved political and personal security, highly valued education for their children, and business opportunities by taking up residence and eventually acquiring formal citizenship in Western states, particularly Australia, Canada, and the US. At the same time, their family, religious, and other cultural values and practices, as well as their business enterprises, have tied them to Hong Kong or China. And while China may lay claim to their loyalty, reminding them of the “flesh and bones” community to which they belonged, these individuals’ narratives reflect a

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sense of belonging that is detached from any nation-state project (Ong 1993; Ong 1999). The recent debate on instrumental and strategic citizenship reflects such a perspective (Cottrell Studemeyer 2015; Harpaz and Mateos 2019; Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 2019; Waters 2009). The analyses presented in this book permit conclusions about a further meaning of citizenship. Neither reflecting a sentimental, nationalist, and defensive meaning of citizenship nor strategic-instrumental practices, the German retirement lifestyle migrants I investigated represent yet another group that navigates multiple sites of citizenship and draws key resources from this engagement that undergird their spatial privilege. Yet, in many cases, their course does not follow an opportunistic strategy that was set forth at the outset. Rather, they responded to the opportunities and challenges of mobility and migration that individuals in their condition face as immigrants or emigrants, or local foreign residents. Retirement lifestyle migrants make use of their state pension and health insurance, facilitated by the particularities of the local health care system, but they also encounter limits to the portability of entitlements and resources. However, most of them can successfully withstand these often ambivalent and sometimes contradictory experiences. In addition, without emphasizing or rejecting a sense of belonging to their emigration country, these migrants rarely question their identity. At the same time, for the majority of my interview subjects, “being German” did not engender a wish to return. The scholarship that has advocated the forces of citizenship locations above the state level builds its argument on the expansion of (immigrants’ and other) rights on the basis of universal personhood. It has been pointed out that these universal principles are articulated through international human rights discourse and agencies and supranational institutions such as the European Union, as well as through other international and interstate arrangements (Soysal 1994). Against this backdrop, postnationalists consider that the (formal citizenship) status conferred by states is of diminishing relevance. Critiques have generally contended that the state remains relevant when it comes to determining statuses and identity. For instance, the status of European citizenship is available only to citizens of the EU member states, thus reinforcing the importance of the state. Furthermore, European suprastate norms and other global norms generally require national transposition. For example, although expansive (immigrants’) rights are often derived from global norms, they do not exist everywhere (Bast 2013; Joppke 2001). Moreover, despite the longstanding promotion of European identity, it has still not superseded national identification. Moving toward a multisited conception of citizenship in response to the question of whether the national version or the postnational version is the better descriptor of changing realities, the concept of “nested citizenship” sheds light on how much both versions are in fact related. With “nested citizenship,” Thomas Faist (2001b) emphasizes the multilayered nature of webs of rights that are organized across several scales and sites, including

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suprastate and state but also substate scales and local, urban, and regional sites. Looking at social citizenship in the EU, Faist argues that there is an interactive system with some (albeit few) rights at the suprastate level. Suprastate regulations have feedback effects that lead to the adaption of existing national social rights; these are interconnected with rights and institutions on other scales with which they coexist and interrelate (Faist 2001b, 46). That is to say, rather than merely introducing a new layer that supersedes other layers, suprastate citizenship (in the EU) is in itself organized across various sites. In fact, many social service entitlements “bite” on local infrastructures (Coldron and Ackers 2009, 575). This also implies that interstate portability of rights and entitlements is often deployed locally, making the local site a crucial one in the complexity of citizenship configurations and the experiences of migrants. Scholars in urban and spatial studies have forcefully stressed the renewed importance of the role of place and of the city for citizenship (Desforges, Jones, and Woods 2005; Holston and Appadurai 1996a; Holston and Appadurai 1996b; Staeheli 2003b). Although the nation-state project came along to dismantle urban citizenship, replacing it with national allegiance and institutions (Brubaker 1994, 42), cities have remained crucial arenas for the development of citizenship (Brubaker 1994, 42; Holston and Appadurai 1996a, 188). The various processes of globalization, not least global spatial mobility and transnational connectivity, have contributed to renewing the relevance of citizenship in cities. This development builds on the observation that formal citizenship of a state, as a legal status, is not always a guarantee or a precondition for the exercise and enjoyment of substantial civil, political, social, or cultural rights. Though they may be formal citizens, the ethnic, cultural, or sexual minorities as well as the poor are often excluded—de jure, de facto, and concerning their practices; other groups, such as non-citizen immigrants, are now included within the realm of citizens’ rights and practices. Urban scholarship stresses that the city is the crucial site for these experiences, and some conclude that this devalues the nation state as a site for citizenship (Holston and Appadurai 1996b). A smaller number of urban scholars have conceptualized citizenship in urban and local spaces based on a multiscalar understanding that recognizes legal and substantive elements from various sites and spaces (Ehrkamp 2005; Ehrkamp and Leitner 2003; Guarnizo 2012; Holston and Appadurai 1996a; Isin 2008; Staeheli 2003a). Through this framework, such scholarship shows the complex constructions that individuals engage in across local, immigration, and emigration sites. In her research in the somewhat deprivileged neighborhood of Duisburg-Marxloh in Germany, Patricia Ehrkamp (2005) gives an in-depth account of her migrant subjects of Turkish origin, who “place their identities” and sense of belonging in that neighborhood in a way that is informed and supported by their familial ties, social practices, and material goods and by media that tie them to Turkey, but they also engage in formal and informal, local and cross-border politics. At the same time, these

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individuals did not feel a strong sense of belonging to Germany and did not identify with German society or their state of immigration at large. This response does not necessarily imply a rejection of citizenship status that grants spatial rights and residential security along with the promise of equality (Ehrkamp 2005; Ehrkamp and Leitner 2003; Leitner and Ehrkamp 2006). Similarly, political theorist Rainer Bauböck (2003a) considers local affiliation, as compared with national belonging, to be more compatible with an individual’s cross-border attachments. Yet, it may be not only compatible but also supportive when local and transnational sites become intertwined through migrants’ practices of affective and political involvement. This discussion shows the nested arrangement of the legal facets of citizenship and the facets of practice and belonging. Importantly, these multiple sites coexist and interrelate. When an individual becomes mobile, especially when relocating abroad, the spaces of immigration and of emigration become intertwined, creating a complex and convoluted setting within which individuals can practice and express their sense of belonging and enact political and social citizenship, not least their spatial rights.

Conclusions Mobile citizenship points at the need to rethink citizenship in light of complex reconfigurations beyond state territory and legal status. “Citizenship—so long a symbol of rootedness, exclusivity, and permanence—has been discovered to be portable, exchangeable, and increasingly multiple” (Barry 2006, 18). Rarely has empirical in-depth research taken up the challenge posed by this discovery. The concept of mobile citizenship suggests a way to account for the multiple, interwoven forms of citizenship that emerge with individuals’ mobility. It considers the practices of mobile individuals and their expressions of belonging from their own perspectives and in relation to multiple sites and spaces of rights and status. In so doing, it focuses attention on citizenship’s social, political, and spatial dimensions. Spatial mobility of individuals brings together the horizontal character of transnational simultaneity (immigrant and emigrant) and the vertical forms of multilayered citizenship (local, national, and suprastate/interstate). Thus, with mobility, people’s rights and practices are also becoming mobile because individuals are “carrying these webs of rights and obligations with them and [are] further entangling them with other webs of rights and obligations” (Isin 2008, 15). Through legal provisions and the agency of migrants, the sites of citizenship become nested and entangled (Faist 2001b; Isin 2008). Mobile subjects’ practices take place within the complex configurations that are created across these different sites and may specifically express more instrumental or more affective values (Bauböck 2010), or perhaps neither of the two. The empirical chapters of this book aim to analyze how various facets and sites of citizenship become intertwined and how they mutually reinforce, enable, or block one another. Such a perspective can help us better understand the phenomenon of

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retirement lifestyle migration as an example of privileged migration and, in turn, can advance the theorization of citizenship in the age of mobility. This is only the first step toward an enormously complex field that will grow as global mobility increases and becomes more diverse.

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Layton-Henry, Zig. 1990. “Citizenship or Denizenship for Migrant Workers?” In The Political Rights of Migrant Workers in Western Europe, edited by Zig LaytonHenry, 186–195. London: Sage. Leitner, Helga, and Patricia Ehrkamp. 2006. “Transnationalism and Migrants’ Imaginings of Citizenship.” Environment and Planning A 38 (9): 1615–1632. doi:10.1068/a37409. Levitt, Peggy, and Nina Glick Schiller. 2004. “Conceptualizing Simultaneity: A Transnational Social Field Perspective on Society.” International Migration Review 38 (3): 1002–1039. doi:10.1111/j.1747-7379.2004.tb00227.x. Levitt, Peggy, and Rafael de La Dehesa. 2003. “Transnational Migration and the Redefinition of the State: Variations and Explanations.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 26 (4): 587–611. doi:10.1080/0141987032000087325. Lister, Ruth. 1997. Citizenship: Feminist Perspectives. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Mackert, Jürgen, and Bryan S. Turner. 2017. “Introduction: Citizenship and Its Boundaries.” In The Transformation of Citizenship, edited by Jürgen Mackert and Bryan S. Turner, 1–14. London and New York: Routledge. Marshall, Thomas H. 1950. Citizenship and Social Class and Other Essays. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Miller, David. 1995. On Nationality. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Morris, Lydia. 2003. “Managing Contradiction: Civic Stratification and Migrants’ Rights.” International Migration Review 37 (1): 74–100. doi:10.1111/j.17477379.2003.tb00130.x. Nieberg, Thorsten. 2013. “Kurzdossier Deutsche im Ausland: Expatriates in Hongkong und Thailand [Brief Dossier Germans Abroad: Expatriates in Hong Kong and Thailand].” http://www.bpb.de/gesellschaft/migration/kurzdossiers/160460/deutsche-im-ausland. Ong, Aihwa. 1993. “On the Edge of Empires: Flexible Citizenship Among Chinese in Diaspora.” Positions 1 (3): 745–778. doi:10.1215/10679847-1-3-745. Ong, Aihwa. 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham and London: Duke University Press. Pries, Ludger, ed. 1999a. Migration and Transnational Social Spaces. Farnham: Ashgate. Pries, Ludger. 1999b. “New Migration in Transnational Spaces.” In Migration and Transnational Social Spaces, edited by Ludger Pries, 1–35. Farnham: Ashgate. Rosbrook-Thompson, James. 2015. “‘I’m Local and Foreign’: Belonging, the City and the Case of Denizenship.” Urban Studies 52 (9): 1615–1630. doi:10.1177/ 0042098014540347. Rubio-Marin, Ruth. 2006. “Transnational Politics and the Democratic Nation-State: Normative Challenges of Expatriate Voting and Nationality Retention of Emigrants.” New York University Law Review 81 (11): 117–147. Sassen, Saskia. 2005. “The Repositioning of Citizenship and Alienage: Emergent Subjects and Spaces for Politics.” Globalizations 2 (1): 79–94. doi:10.1080/14747730500085114. Savage, Michael, Brian Longhurst, and Gaynor Bagnall. 2005. Globalization and Belonging. London: Sage. Shachar, Ayelet. 2009. The Birthright Lottery: Citizenship and Global Inequality. Cambridge, Massachusetts: Harvard University Press. Shinozaki, Kyoko. 2016. Migrant Citizenship from Below: Family, Domestic Work, and Social Activism in Irregular Migration. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Smith , Michael P., and Michael McQuarrie. 2012. Remaking Urban Citizenship. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers.

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Smith, Robert C. 2003a. “Diasporic Membership in Historical Perspective: Comparative Insights from the Mexican, Italian and Polish Cases.” International Migration Review 37 (3): 724–759. doi:10.1111/j.1747-7379.2003.tb00156.x. Smith, Robert C. 2003b. “Migrant Membership as an Instituted Process: Transnationalization, the State and the Extra-Territorial Conduct of Mexican Politics.” International Migration Review 37 (2): 297–343. doi:10.1111/j.1747-7379.2003.tb00140.x. Soysal, Yasemin N. 1994. Limits of Citizenship: Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Spiro, Peter J. 2007. “Dual Citizenship: A Postnational View.” In Dual Citizenship in Global Perspective, edited by Thomas Faist and Peter Kivisto, 189–202. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Staeheli, Lynn A. 2003a. “Introduction: Cities and Citizenship.” Urban Geography 24 (2): 97–102. doi:10.2747/0272-3638.24.2.97. Staeheli, Lynn A. 2003b. “Special Issue Cities and Citizenship.” Urban Geography 24 (2). doi:10.2747/0272-3638.24.2.97. Turner, Bryan S. 1993. “Contemporary Problems in the Theory of Citizenship.” In Citizenship and Social Theory, edited by Bryan S. Turner, 1–18. London: Sage. Turner, Bryan S. 2001. “The Erosion of Citizenship.” British Journal of Sociology 52 (2): 189–209. doi:10.1080/00071310120044944. Waters, Johanna. 2009. “Immigration, Transnationalism and ‘Flexible Citizenship’ in Canada: An Examination of Ong’s Thesis Ten Years on.” Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie 100 (5): 635–645. doi:10.1111/j.1467-9663.2009.00569.x. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 1991. “The Citizenship Debate: Women, Ethnic Processes and the State.” Feminist Review 39: 58–68. doi:10.2307/1395439. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 1999. “The ‘Multi-Layered Citizen’.” International Feminist Journal of Politics 1 (1): 119–136. doi:10.1080/146167499360068. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 2006. “Belonging and the Politics of Belonging.” Patterns of Prejudice 40 (3): 197–214. doi:10.1080/00313220600769331.

2

Reverse spatialities

German state citizenship is among the most privileged when it comes to facilitating free travel. According to the Henley & Partners Visa Restrictions Index, produced in cooperation with the International Air Transport Association (IATA), German citizens are allowed entry into 176 countries throughout the world without having to request a visa (Henley & Partners 2017). This places German citizenship on first rank in a global comparison. Thus, the “spatial rights” associated with citizenship—that is, the “basic rights” to enter a (state) territory and to remain, which are usually pictured from the immigration site (Yuval-Davis 1991, 61; 2006, 208), are greatly tied to the emigration site and, as such, are unequally distributed across the world, reflecting the global hierarchy of citizenship (Castles 2005). Moreover, the citizens of more prosperous states typically have access to more advantageous economic, cultural, and social resources. Often these resources become valuable specifically when they are revalidated in a new place, owing to the unequal global distribution of wealth and power. In some cases, certain resources that are tied to citizenship entitlements, such as pensions or health care benefits, are also portable or can be mobilized from abroad. At the same time, whereas most of the more marginalized migrants struggle for both rights and a sense of belonging at the site of immigration, privileged groups such as lifestyle migrants are more likely to successfully negotiate spatial and social rights and entitlements, as well as political influence, vis-à-vis the state or city of immigration, sometimes to the detriment of established local groups (Gárriz Fernández 2011; Janoschka and Haas 2014b; Karkabi 2013; Smith and Guarnizo 2009). So far, migration studies have tended to focus predominantly on the poorer, marginalized individuals and groups who move from economically less developed countries to more developed ones, thereby neglecting those who move in the opposite direction. Compared with the 40 percent of the globe’s migrants who move from poorer to richer countries, only about 3 to 6 percent move from richer to poorer countries or from the Global North to the Global South—according to the classifications by UN organizations as well as the World Bank (IOM 2013, 41–44; 2018). Yet regional data and case studies from the past ten to fifteen years suggest that this minority share is growing.

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Population statistics for lifestyle migrants’ destinations in Mexico, Panama, and elsewhere confirm this growing global trend (Croucher 2009b; Dixon, Murray, and Gelatt 2006; Südas¸ and Mutluer 2006), which is similar to the reverse movements occurring in the German−Turkish space (see the Introduction to this book). North-to-south movements reverse the geographical direction of more established flows, sometimes within a particular transnational space, such as between Germany and Turkey or between the US and Mexico; more importantly, there is a reversal in the power relationship between immigration and emigration sites, as well as in the resources migrants have access to (Croucher 2009a, 2009b). Not least, the purpose of this migration is the opposite of that exhibited by those who migrate for work but hope to return to their home countries when they reach old age. Retirement and other lifestyle migrants whose pursuit is leisure rather than work, thus reflecting a cultural rather than an economic motive, are often depicted as the ideal expression of privileged movers (Benson and O’Reilly 2009; Janoschka and Haas 2014a; King, Warnes, and Williams 2000). A more comprehensive account of the role and reconfigurations of citizenship in these reverse movements should help clarify these altered geographies of power and the differential status of such migrants who benefit from “spatial privilege.” Spatial privilege—that is, access to spatial mobility, international relocation, and relevant resources—is to a large extent shaped by citizenship. At the same time, exercising spatial privilege creates challenges to citizenship. Being an immigrant, an emigrant, or a local foreign resident—a Yeni Alanyaları (a new resident of Alanya, Turkey), which is the focus of my research—confers limitations and ambivalences on the classical concept of citizenship and its legal reality with regard to status and rights as much as on citizens’ practices and their sense of belonging. By investigating these complex configurations of citizenship, the research presented in this book will provide a better understanding of the phenomenon of lifestyle migration and the choices, constraints, and structural contexts associated with it. Focusing on this particular type of migration will, in turn, allow a rethinking of contemporary reconfigurations of citizenship. This twofold purpose is at the heart of this book. After having detailed a comprehensive framework to citizenship in the previous chapter, in this chapter, I develop the concept of spatial privilege as an entry point to the study of lifestyle migration by senior citizens. To do so, I proceed in two steps: First, I reverse the classical transnational perspective and its account of global structural asymmetries, and second, I bring together concepts drawn from social inequality and spatial analyses to zoom in on the relationship that exists between privilege and geographical space.

Transnational projects and postcolonial predicaments in reverse In their field-defining monograph Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nation-States, Nina Glick Schiller, Linda Basch, and Cristina Blanc-Szanton (1994) presented a critique of

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the majority of migration studies that focused predominantly on the situation of immigration and settlement, especially in the US and Europe. In their critique, they forcefully argued for the need to expand this focus to include the crossborder relationships that migrants maintain with the state and society from which they emigrated. As a result, these authors introduced a critical view of global power asymmetries to the study of contemporary spatial mobilities and the agency of migrants within transnational social fields or spaces. Drawing on world-systems theory, they focused attention on the dynamics of capital penetration into postcolonial and peripheral economies, which has accelerated since the late 1970s and 1980s, along with the establishment of transnational corporations and the outsourcing of production sites from the global economic centers to the periphery. In addition, they identified a relationship between the movement of capital and goods toward the periphery and the migration and agency of people moving from the periphery toward the global centers (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1992; Sassen-Koob 1984). In line with this view, Alejandro Portes has pointed out that these migrations were “driven by twin forces that have their roots in the dynamics of capitalist expansion itself” (Portes 1996, 156). These twin forces are, on the one hand, the need for low-wage labor by the “first world” economies of the industrialized Global North and, on the other hand, the global market expansion to and capital penetration of the Global South, bringing with it productive investments as well as new products, cultural norms, and patterns of consumption. These dynamics have created a sense of relative deprivation owing to the gap between local aspirations and imported consumer goods and imaginaries. Moreover, new modes of production have disrupted traditional forms of production and have set free more people than are newly absorbed. Not only do these structural inequalities foster new migration, but the daily experiences of discrimination, racism, and marginalization that migrants face in their newly adopted residences have become key drivers for the development of transnational ties. Global economic processes that fuel transnationalism from above are thus paralleled by transnationalism from below (Smith and Guarnizo 1999), which is sometimes optimistically interpreted as “subversive popular resistance” (Guarnizo and Smith 1999, 5). Not surprisingly, the predominant focus in transnational migration research has been on the poor and marginalized who are moving from the global periphery of the world system to its centers. So far, the less numerous but growing (reversed) north-to-south migrations have received scarce attention even though migration in both directions is shaped by the same social, economic, and political relationships and institutional arrangements, some of which are derived from previous international migration. This reversal has also reversed the asymmetries of wealth and power between the sending and the receiving countries, which is reflected in the status of these migrants, in the rights and resources they have access to and can mobilize in their “old homes,” and in the ways in which they navigate access to resources in their “new homes,” where they are generally welcomed and granted certain rights and resources.

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Some scholars have described a relationship between global capitalism as a key context for migrations and for migrants’ transnational engagements and the finding that migrations are structured rather than arbitrary and diffuse. The generally observable large numbers of people within particular geographical spaces, and the corresponding flow of goods, money, ideas, and information that accompanies them, have informed the migration systems approach (Faist 2000; Massey et al. 1998; Portes and Walton 1981). Some variants of this approach take note of the linkages that preexist between two countries through colonial ties, trading networks, and security and military collaborations that involve exchanges of goods, services, information, and ideas. These linkages have greatly shaped many of the postwar migrations to North America and Europe, in particular those from (former) colonial territories to the United Kingdom, France, or the Netherlands. Yet asymmetrical relations have also shaped many other migratory movements (Faist 2000, 51). According to this approach, migration appears to be dynamic rather than static, in that it includes back-and-forth movements as well as circularity, not only of people but also of goods, money, information, knowledge, and ideas, not to mention reverse waves. Thomas Faist (2000, chapter 3) has pointed to the asymmetrical dependence that exists in the German−Turkish migration system. Although it does not explain the 1963 signing of the recruitment agreement between the two governments, prior linkages influenced the migration of Turks to Germany. The two countries have a long tradition (several hundred years) of mutual exchanges, cooperation, collaboration, and sometimes conflict. In the mid19th century, Germany served as a role model for modernization in Turkey, exemplified in part by the presence of German−Prussian bureaucrats and military officials in the Ottoman Empire. Prussian generals helped modernize the Turkish army, and the countries were allies in the First World War. On the basis of these historically friendly governmental relations, Germany began to recruit labor from Turkey. During the course of such recruitment, the asymmetries between the two countries became more pronounced. For many decades, Germany had been Turkey’s most important trade partner and in the 1960s was still the most relevant donor of development aid for Turkey (with only India receiving more such aid from Germany). The differences in wealth and economic power between Germany and Turkey are relatively large. In 1970, Germany’s GDP was $215.022 billion compared with Turkey’s $17.087 billion. Today, this difference has increased; in 2016, the German GDP was $3.478 trillion, while that of Turkey was $836.722 billion.1 The German Foreign Office states on its webpage that “Germany traditionally is held in high esteem in Turkey.”2 The 1963 bilateral agreement on the (temporary) migration of workers was meant to contribute to the economic recovery and growth of Germany, while Turkey’s government expected remittances and well-trained returnees. The recruitment period itself was set by German authorities, and the Turkish government was not consulted before it was ended in 1973 (Faist 2000, chapter 3). Thus, labor migrations have

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tended to prolong the existing asymmetrical relations and imaginations between the wealthy, immigrant-attracting countries and the less well-off, emigrant-sending (or emigrant-expelling) countries. This situation has significantly shaped the mobilities and lives of labor migrants. Now, German migration to Turkey is reversing this relationship. Persistent asymmetries are also evident in Turkey−EU relations and in the accession negotiation process (Kaiser and Kaya 2016, 106). Historical ties and existing asymmetries influence movement in the reverse direction, as well as the lives and imaginations of the Germans in Turkey and their local reception, as will be shown in the later chapters. Their lives are also influenced by personal and political connections and by institutional arrangements that have come about during the course of these two countries’ lengthy shared history.

Transnational geographies of privilege In their volume Geographies of Privilege, France W. Twine and Bradley Gardener advocate geographical and spatial analysis in the study of privilege (Twine and Gardener 2013a). The transnational agenda has generally been concerned with marginality and the practices that help migrants overcome this disadvantaged position. A study of privilege can serve as a way to understand the often masked forms of social inequality (ibid. xix). From a spatial point of view, this situation highlights the need to investigate not only the “black ghetto” but also the “white (gated) suburban community,” as well as the “residential tourist enclave” and other forms of mobility and relocation and the daily lives and experiences of more privileged individuals encompassed by the spatial expression of social inequalities. Privilege is therefore not merely a status, the result of economically, politically, and culturally structured hierarchies. Rather, the notion of privilege is associated with several, more complex characteristics. Privilege (Twine and Gardener 2013b, 8–10) (a) is a form of power that comes out of unearned benefits; (b) is often invisible and normalized, especially for those who hold it, as spotlighted in feminist scholar Peggy McIntosh’s famous essay on the “invisible knapsack” of white and male privileges (2010 [1989]); (c) is also multifaceted and emerges in specific contexts through interlocking, or intersecting, categories, such as class, race, gender, age, religious affiliation, and not least citizenship; (d) is relational and must be understood according to the question of who benefits and who is harmed and oppressed; and finally (e) is flexible, rather than operating within static categories, and varies across time and space, and because it is a matter of power relations, it is subject to resistance, struggles, and negotiations. Saying that privilege is multifaceted is to say that, like all social placements and positions, it is constituted through diverse social categories that interlock (McIntosh 2010 [1989]) or intersect (Anthias 2002; Cho, Crenshaw, and McCall 2013). The intersectional approach has called attention to the moment when different categories come together to produce a particular position (originating in black feminism), but

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it has been criticized for its rigid, and sometimes essentializing, conceptualization of social categories, which pays too little attention to the ways, processes, and policies through which categories and intersections emerge (Ahmed 2015, 29; Anthias 2012; Twine and Gardener 2013b, 11). In response, Floya Anthias (2012) suggests applying a “translocational lens” as a way to stress that social positions are produced through intersections of social structures and processes. These processes can contribute to the mutual reinforcing of social categories, but they also may not be merely additive or multiplicative. Rather, there is often a complex interplay between those categories which stabilize privilege and those which do not, which can sometimes relate to vulnerabilities. These “contradictory locations” reveal the ambivalent nature of an individual’s simultaneous social positions (Anthias 2012, 2002). For the (Western) migrant women in Catrin Lundström’s study, racialized (white) and class privilege and gendered vulnerabilities combined in complicated ways and gave rise to important social insecurities among her research subjects (Lundström 2014). The empirical case presented in this book will show that while German retirement lifestyle migrants count on a privileged state citizenship that facilitates mobility, many of them faced constraints related to class, age, or gender, which they tend to overcome, or minimize, by relocating. At the same time, privileged social categories are reproduced, whereas limitations also emerge for them as foreign residents in Alanya or because of their status as emigrants. Social position, whether marginal or privileged, varies according to particular spatial, temporal, and social contexts (Anthias 2012; Weiß 2005). Social categories and the material, social, and symbolic resources connected to them can receive different evaluations in different contexts and spaces or can unfold a particular form of social inequality or position at specific moments and in particular places. Thus, privilege plays out in space, and spatial materialities, qualities, and imaginaries consolidate, or challenge, privilege. A spatial analysis of privilege can therefore reveal its relations to material space and its (re)production through (citizenship and other) policies and politics on local, regional, national, and other scales, thus exposing the limitations of a nation-state framework. As a result, a transnational perspective is needed (Twine and Gardener 2013b, 6). In this vein, sociologist Anja Weiß (2005) offers a further helpful conceptualization in her discussion of the relationship between social inequalities and space that recognizes the transnational embeddedness of migrants. She distinguishes two aspects in the way spatial relations are interconnected with social inequalities and thus shape an individual’s social position: spatial autonomy and quality of space. Spatial autonomy refers to the freedom, or capability, to overcome space, to cross nation-state borders, to choose freely one space over another, or to decide not to migrate after all. Individuals possess this autonomy to different degrees. For our purposes, it is important to consider spatial autonomy’s close connection to citizenship while acknowledging that it can also relate to other categories of inequality such as class, education, race, skin color, ethnicity, gender, or age. This concept

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differs from that of motility (Kaufman, Bergmann, and Joye 2004)—defined as the capacity to be mobile and thus a type of capital (in the Bourdieusian sense)—in particular because of its attention to context, global hierarchies, and the particular value of resources and capitals, which differ across space. Spatial autonomy is related to the second aspect distinguished by Weiß, the quality of space, which can be seen as a reflection of uneven global geographies. Quality of space results from the unequal ranking of spaces on a world scale and shapes an individual’s social position as marginal or privileged. “As spaces offer opportunities and preclude options, the unequal rank of spaces to which an actor is materially, socially and symbolically attached is one important factor structuring social positions on a world scale” (Weiß 2005, 713). Quality of space is a function of what a particular space has to offer for an individual who is attached to it—for example, whether there is a strong welfare state or little state support. Thus, quality of space can be reformulated in citizenship terms as a result of the hierarchy of citizenship (Castles 2005). This quality can then be understood through the resources citizenship grants access to, within a state and on a global scale, including the world-scale value of the currency of a country, the quality of its educational institutions, social security, or consular protection offered by a state, along with many other advantages. Thus, quality of space, or of citizenship, can have two properties, especially in the context of spatial mobility. First, it is decisive in terms of the resources an individual can access, and second, spatial contexts are also crucial for the validation of resources. Therefore, spatial autonomy can be practiced as a way to enlarge access to or the value of resources. Less spatially autonomous migration can also lead to a devaluation of resources, as when educational credentials are not recognized. From the perspective of immigration, the question emerges as to the space a person can move to and whether she will be able to access its qualities. From the perspective of emigration, especially from a resourceful state, the focus is instead on the maintenance and portability of the qualities of the space for those absent as well as the possibility of a safe return. Hence, in the reproduction of privilege, it is important to have (continued) membership in a particular polity and welfare state—that is, emigrant citizenship as well as citizenship provisions located at other sites (e.g., local or interstate arrangements) that also institutionalize access. Furthermore, the production and reproduction of privilege are interconnected with other social categories and their valuation, so that being German in Alanya is an uncontested and favorable condition. A focus on (spatial) privilege shows the interconnections among structural asymmetries, social categories, and geographical space. Drawing upon postcolonial approaches, some scholars who investigate different forms of northto-south migrations have begun to elaborate on the role of racial privilege, or “whiteness,” and its relation to space and mobility (Amit 2007; Benson 2013; Fechter and Walsh 2010; Hayes 2015; Lundström 2014, 2013). For example,

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studies of Swedish women who had migrated to Spanish coastal towns and cities (Lundström 2013) and of Americans who migrated from the US to the Ecuadorian town of Cuenca (Hayes 2015) have shown how racialized identities become salient through movement to a new place as a relational position vis-à-vis various other local groups. Such evidence in the literature shows how racialized categorizations of whiteness play out in the self-images and subjectivities, as well as in the social relations, of lifestyle migrants and other expatriate migrants and in the images others have of them. In the narratives recounted in these studies, the term “whiteness” was frequently used as a synonym for Western-ness or European-ness, thus stressing its cultural meaning. “Whiteness” also explains in part the failure to notice those who as migrants are generally considered to be “racially different,” non-white, and underprivileged (Croucher 2009b, 7). Some authors have found that migrants are hardly aware of such privilege or fail to recognize it (Croucher 2009b)— an indication of its invisibility and normalization (Lundström 2013). Other studies reveal a greater awareness and show how migrants act on these distinctions, downplay differences (Hayes 2015), or actively engage in supporting marginalized local social groups (Benson 2013). The interplay of whiteness, class, and gender has also been studied. Catrin Lundström draws on Pierre Bourdieu’s notion of capital to argue that the transfer and conversion of economic and cultural capital are mediated by “white capital” (ibid. 2017). Her middle-class respondents who had moved from Sweden to Southern Spain were able to make use of this combined capital to their benefit, whereas individuals with lower income experienced downward mobility and financial constraints. Multiple contradictions can emerge for those lifestyle migrants and expatriate professionals who are not members of the upper classes, either at home or abroad—that is, those who are from the more “ordinary” lower-middle and lower classes. Although they may have certain privileges, not least because of their Western passport, which allows them to travel to and stay in poorer, developing countries, other social categories that are associated with them—social class or cultural capital—place them in a less privileged or even marginalized position (Green 2014; O’Reilly 2007; Lundström 2014). Using a similar perspective, Aihwa Ong discusses the opposite situation—namely how a high volume of economic and cultural capital and the value of a (second) Western passport are constrained by assessments of racialized identities. The resources of her Asian research subjects could not always be easily converted, because their particular features, skin color, accent, or tastes were assigned low symbolic capital in Western immigration countries (Ong 1999, chapter 3). More and more attention is now being paid to racial privilege; however, scholars have often ignored other social categories, or only mentioned them in passing. In studies of lifestyle and other north-to-south migrations, privileged citizenship is one of these neglected categories, being occasionally mentioned but never explored. This book takes up this challenge and aims to

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investigate how citizenship contributes to privilege, how other social categories play into this privilege, and how different sites of citizenship mutually enable and perhaps reinforce this position, or restrict it and lead to contradictions and limitations. By analyzing German lifestyle migrants who retired to the Turkish coast, I hope to shed light on the contemporary reconfigurations of mobile citizenship.

Conclusion, and an entry point When retirement lifestyle migrants move across reverse spatialities, they benefit from inverted power geographies. Spatial privilege describes the privileges that are associated with space—that is, the freedom to overcome space with respect to forms of mobility and (re)location, as well as the quality derived from a particular space, generally through the resources a person can access (Weiß 2005), including the reevaluation of resources in different places. These processes are shaped by histories and policies and are expressed through practices, perceptions, and imaginations. For this reason, privilege is often normalized and invisible (Twine and Gardener 2013b), in much the same way as Bourdieu (1989) has suggested with regard to the concept of symbolic violence and its associated misrecognition—that is, the naturalized aspects of social positions and practices concern not only those who are dominated but also those who are dominating. Citizenship is one important category that informs privilege or, conversely, marginality. At the same time, diverse social categories usually intersect in producing social positions, and these may reinforce each other. Yet categories may also be contradictory and result in ambivalent positions, such as when only some of the categories associated with a person constitute privilege while others reflect disadvantages; citizenship, class, race/ethnicity, gender, age, religion, and other categories enter into complicated, non-additive but intersecting relations. Spatial mobility, or the use of relative spatial autonomy, can allow access to resources that are otherwise not available or are worth less and can help overcome constraints and limitations, thus improving personal wealth, well-being, or quality of life. Western lifestyle migrants with a privileged state citizenship but a small pension who move to a developing country can build up their financial means, enjoy a more active life, and improve their well-being. Yet being an immigrant, an emigrant, or a local (foreign) resident challenges the classical concept of citizenship, its contemporary legal reality in terms of status and rights, citizens’ practices, and a sense of belonging. Thus, the exercise of spatial privilege feeds back into different facets and sites of citizenship. Thorough investigation of these dynamics will reveal important insights into the lives and practices of lifestyle migrants, as well as the opportunities and constraints they face, and provide new ways to consider the reconfigurations of citizenship in the age of mobility.

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Notes 1 See World Bank Open data, at https://data.worldbank.org/. 2 https://www.auswaertiges-amt.de/en/aussenpolitik/laenderinformationen/tuerkei-node/ turkey/228290 (last accessed February 15, 2019).

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Glick Schiller, Nina, Linda Basch, and Cristina Blanc-Szanton. 1994. Nations Unbound: Transnational Projects, Postcolonial Predicaments, and Deterritorialized Nation-States. Amsterdam: Gordon and Breach Publishers. Green, Paul. 2014. “Mobility Regimes in Practice: Later-Life Westerners and Visa Runs in South-East Asia.” Mobilities 10 (5): 748–763. doi:10.1080/ 17450101.2014.927203. Guarnizo, Luis E., and Michael P. Smith. 1999. “The Locations of Transnationalism.” In Transnationalism from Below, edited by Michael P. Smith and Luis E. Guarnizo, 3–34, 2nd ed. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Hayes, Matthew. 2015. “It Is Hard Being the Different One All the Time: Gringos and Racialized Identity in Lifestyle Migration to Ecuador.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 38 (6): 943–958. doi:10.1080/01419870.2014.943778. Henley & Partners. 2017. The Henley & Partners Visa Restrictions Index 2017. IOM. 2013. World Migration Report 2013: Migrant Well-Being and Development. IOM. 2018. World Migration Report. Janoschka, Michael, and Heiko Haas. 2014a. “Contested Spatialities of Lifestyle Migration: Approaches and Research Questions.” In Contested Spatialities, Lifestyle Migration and Residential Tourism, edited by Michael Janoschka and Heiko Haas, 1–12. London and New York: Routledge. Janoschka, Michael, and Heiko Haas, eds. 2014b. Contested Spatialities, Lifestyle Migration and Residential Tourism. London and New York: Routledge. Kaiser, Bianca, and Ayhan Kaya. 2016. “Transformation of Migration and Asylum Policies in Turkey.” In The Europeanization of Turkish Public Policies: A Scorecard, edited by Aylin Güney and Ali Tekin, 94–115. London and New York: Routledge. Karkabi, Nadeem. 2013. “Lifestyle Migration in South Sinai, Egypt: Nationalisation, Privileged Citizenship and Indigenous Rights.” International Review of Social Research 3 (1): 49–66. doi:10.1515/irsr-2013-0004. Kaufman, Vincent, Manfred M. Bergmann, and Dominique Joye. 2004. “Motility: Mobility as Capital.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 28 (4): 745–756. doi:10.1111/j.0309-1317.2004.00549.x. King, Russell, Anthony M. Warnes, and Allan M. Williams. 2000. Sunset Lives: British Retirement Migration to the Mediterranean. Oxford: Berg. Lundström, Catrin. 2013. Swedish Whiteness in Southern Spain. In Geographies of Privilege, edited by France W. Twine and Bradley Gardener, 191–203. London and New York: Routledge. Lundström, Catrin. 2014. White Migrations: Gender, Whiteness and Privilege in Transnational Migration. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Massey, Douglas R., Joaquín Arango, Graeme Hugo, Ali Kouaouci, Adela Pellegrino, and J.E. Taylor. 1998. Worlds in Motion. Oxford: Clarendon Press. McIntosh, Peggy. 2010 [1989]. “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.” Freedom and Peace, 8–10. www.nationalseedproject.org. Accessed 12 March, 2019. Ong, Aihwa. 1999. Flexible Citizenship: The Cultural Logics of Transnationality. Durham and London: Duke University Press. O’Reilly, Karen. 2007. “Intra-European Migration and the Mobility-Enclosure Dialectic.” Sociology 41 (2): 277–293. doi:10.1177/0038038507074974. Portes, Alejandro. 1996. “Transnational Communities: Their Emergence and Significance in the Contemporary World-System.” In Latin America in the World

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Economy, edited by Roberto P. Korzeniewicz and William C. Smith, 151–168. Westport: Greenwood Press. Portes, Alejandro, and John Walton. 1981. Labor, Class and the International System. New York: Academic Press. Sassen-Koob, Saskia. 1984. “Notes on the Incorporation of Third World Women into Wage-Labor Through Immigration and Off-Shore Production.” International Migration Review 18 (4): 1144–1167. doi:10.2307/2546076. Smith, Michael P., and Luis E. Guarnizo, eds. 1999. Transnationalism from Below, 2nd ed. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Smith, Michael P., and Luis E. Guarnizo, eds. 2009. “Global Mobility, Shifting Borders and Urban Citizenship.” Tijdschrift voor Economische en Sociale Geografie 100 (5): 610–622. doi:10.1111/j.1467-9663.2009.00567.x. . Südas¸, Ilkay, and Mustafa Mutluer. 2006. “Immigration européenne de retraités vers la ‘Riviera turque’: le cas d’Alanya (côte méditerranéenne).” Revue Européenne des Migrations Internationales 22 (3): 1–18. doi:10.4000/remi.3381. Twine, France W., and Bradley Gardener, eds. 2013a. Geographies of Privilege. London and New York: Routledge. Twine, France W., and Bradley Gardener. 2013b. “Introduction.” In Geographies of Privilege, edited by France W. Twine and Bradley Gardener, 1–16. London and New York: Routledge. Weiß, Anja. 2005. “The Transnationalization of Social Inequality: Conceptualizing Social Positions in a World Scale.” Current Sociology 53 (4): 707–728. doi:10.1177/ 0011392105052722. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 1991. “The Citizenship Debate: Women, Ethnic Processes and the State.” Feminist Review 39: 58–68. doi:10.2307/1395439. Yuval-Davis, Nira. 2006. “Belonging and the Politics of Belonging.” Patterns of Prejudice 40 (3): 197–214. doi:10.1080/00313220600769331.

3

Locating retirement lifestyle migration

In this book I analyze German retirement lifestyle migrants in Turkey and thus provide an account of reverse migration within the German–Turkish transnational space. In turn, I explore the reconfigurations of citizenship through the lifestyle migrations of elderly and retired persons from Germany. This type of migration is a particularly apt choice for an exploration of mobile citizenship, or so I argue, because it encapsulates the key paradigmatic shifts in the study of spatial mobility and migration that are occurring in the 21st century and can help reveal novel insights into contemporary citizenship configurations. My study of this migrant group is exemplary of a transnational perspective (Faist, Fauser, and Reisenauer 2013; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1994) because, in both formal and substantial ways, these individuals can be seen as part of two societies and spaces of citizenship. Furthermore, they reflect the “new map of migration” (King 2002) that emerged at the turn of the millennium as new forms of migration started surfacing across new geographies. In the case of lifestyle migration, we see the reverse of the more established and better researched types of migration that involve moving from the Global South to the Global North (Fauser 2016). Lastly, lifestyle migration speaks to the new mobilities paradigm (Sheller and Urry 2006), attesting to the key role of spatial mobilities both in contemporary society and in the everyday lives and lifestyles of many people. It is indicative of the intertwining of migration with travel and tourism that is also typical of this age of mobility; moreover, it involves a group that has long been considered the least mobile, namely the elderly. The focus on retirement lifestyle migration and the transnational lifestyles that senior citizens engage in can reveal the multiple sites of citizenship in which mobile individuals become involved. It can also show how these multiple sites become intertwined and contribute to spatial privilege, such as accessing spatial mobility and relocation and advantageous resources, but it can also disclose the limitations and ambivalences that emerge at immigrant, emigrant, and local sites. The term lifestyle migration refers to people who do not migrate for work or education, nor are they fleeing from war or persecution; rather, they are relocating in “search of a better lifestyle” and because their relative affluence allows them to do so they are considered privileged (Benson and O’Reilly

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2009b, 608; Hoey 2005; Janoschka and Haas 2014a). Various disciplines have applied different designations to describe the cross-border relocation of retirees; for example, terms such as expatriate retirees, international retirement migrants, and sunset migrants are used by social gerontologists, demographers, and researchers in the field of elderly mobility (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004; King, Warnes, and Williams 1998; King, Warnes, and Williams 2000), whereas the terms amenity(-seeking) migration, second home ownership, and residential tourism are used by scholars in geography, tourism, and spatial studies (Breuer 2005; Janoschka and Haas 2014b; McIntyre 2009; McWatters 2009). Meanwhile, the sociological concept of lifestyle, drawing especially on the work of Ulrich Beck (1986) and Anthony Giddens (1991) is now shared by researchers in many disciplines as a way of referring to this field of scholarship. The addition of lifestyle literature to this field has brought attention to people’s cultural practices, imaginations, and aspirations in life, as well as to their aesthetic evaluation of places and social and cultural landscapes when they are considering relocation and thereafter. Such concepts have for the most part been articulated within the theoretical context of late, reflexive modernity and have therefore focused on the cultural choices and, to a lesser extent, the constraints of (self-)reflexivity. Fewer accounts have addressed the roles of class and economic factors or other social categories and structures and the global asymmetries that characterize the reverse migrations of lifestyle seekers. Yet, to gain a comprehensive understanding of lifestyle (and retirement) migration, it is crucial to locate these movements within these very structural contexts and global asymmetries (see also Benson and Osbaldiston 2014). Thus, retirement lifestyle migration needs to be recognized as a part of the transnational and uneven geographies that shape privilege (see Chapter 2). I begin this chapter by providing some insights into the literature on (retirement) lifestyle migration, critically scrutinizing key theoretical premises and proposing that this type of migration be positioned within the structural contexts of social and global inequalities. Next, I consider the particular contexts of ageing and retiring and the ways in which contemporary ageing is associated with discourses on “active ageing” and the quest for an appropriate retirement lifestyle, which shape the relocation of the elderly. This discussion is then complemented by references to the recent changes in our understanding of leisure, consumption, travel, and tourism that embrace the notions of “third-age tourism” and its extension to include retirees’ search for a home abroad. The third part of this chapter describes the Turkish city of Alanya, where my study took place, and the methodological procedures involved in conducting the field research on which this book is based. It also describes how the chosen methodological procedures contribute to this field of study by revealing the perspectives and social practices of citizenship of this group of migrants, as well as their sense of belonging within the multiple legal and social contexts that become available to them as mobile citizens.

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Unpacking lifestyle migration Lifestyle migration as narrative and concept The notion of lifestyle as a theoretical framework has been proposed for this type of migration because the empirical analyses of many studies have identified a “common narrative through which respondents render their lives more meaningful” (Benson and O’Reilly 2009b, 609; Benson and O’Reilly 2016). The researchers who first started looking into these movements were concerned with who migrated, why they did so, and whether and how they became integrated in their new places of residence. At first, as far as the elderly are concerned, the somewhat neutral term “international retirement migration” was used to describe this new area of study (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004; King, Warnes, and Williams 2000; O’Reilly 2000; Rodríguez, Casado-Díaz, and Huber 2005). The term “lifestyle” then emerged as a more inductive reflection of the narratives expressed by the migrants involved in this type of movement and relocation. In general, the quest for something meaningful, better, and different in life was the single most important theme common to such migration, something that otherwise varies with respect to the age of the migrants, the places they chose to move to, and the individual meanings attributed to these various places and types of life they search for (O’Reilly and Benson 2009). “For lifestyle migrants, the choice where to live is consciously also one about how to live,” wrote Brian Hoey concerning the “moral narrative of noneconomic migration” and the connection between relocation and the remaking of the self (2005, 615). Thus, this form of migration is considered by some to be “privileged because it usually does not occur primarily for economic reasons” (Janoschka and Haas 2014b, 1) and may be said to correspond to Benson and O’Reilly’s description of “relatively affluent individuals, moving part-time or full-time, temporarily or permanently, to places which, for various reasons, signify for the migrants something loosely defined as quality of life” (Benson and O’Reilly 2009b, 621). Along these lines, a key element in the analysis of lifestyle migration is the social production and reproduction of cultural images that associate certain ways of life with particular places, a connection often promoted by the tourism industry and other mediatized imaginings (Benson and Osbaldiston 2014; Kordel and Pohle 2018; Torkington 2012). Whether seeking a rural idyll, an alternative cultural environment, or more touristic places along the coast, lifestyle migrants may associate relocation with a search for authenticity, reflected in a romanticized version of the natural and cultural landscapes they choose (Benson 2011; Kordel and Pohle 2018; Korpela 2009; Korpela 2010; Williams, King, and Warnes 1997). In particular, those who move to rural places report that they hope to find a slower pace of life, tranquility in peaceful surroundings, and more nutritious (non-processed) food (CasadoDíaz 2006; Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004; Hayes 2015; Kordel and Pohle 2018). Moreover, quantitative surveys and qualitative field research

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among lifestyle migrants in different localities have reported that an appreciation of local culture is a crucial aspect, whether it be Mexican culture (Dixon, Murray, and Gelatt 2006), the “Mediterranean way of life” (Rodríguez, Fernández-Mayoralas, and Rojo 1998), or “Turkish hospitality” (Südas¸ and Mutluer 2006). In addition, aspects of personal well-being are also major factors in lifestyle migration, as reflected in the importance placed on warmer and more favorable climates and improved health (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004; King, Warnes, and Williams 1998; Kiy and McEnany 2010; Sunil, Rojas, and Bradley 2007). As would be expected based on these findings, lifestyle migration is found “where aesthetic qualities including quality of life are prioritized over economic factors like job attainment and income” (Knowles and Harper 2009). Research in the area of lifestyle migration has focused on the migration of both older and younger adults from highly industrialized countries. As far as the elderly are concerned, the early literature documented the experiences of retirees from the US and Canada who moved to the Florida Sunbelt, either temporarily or permanently. More recently, the number of North Americans moving abroad has been growing, with expatriate communities being established in Mexico (Croucher 2009b; Kiy and McEnany 2010) as well as in Central and South America (Benson 2013; Dixon, Murray, and Gelatt 2006; Hayes 2014; Janoschka 2009). Similarly, for several decades, elderly Europeans have established themselves in Southern Europe (King, Warnes, and Williams 2000; O’Reilly 2000; Rodríguez, Casado-Díaz, and Huber 2005; Williams, King, and Warnes 1997) and more recently choose destinations farther afield, including Turkey (Balkır and Kırkulak 2009; Südas¸ and Mutluer 2006). Moreover, Southeast Asia is attracting growing numbers of retirees from Asia as well as from Europe (Benson and O’Reilly 2018; Toyota and Xiang 2012). Seemingly empirically driven, the key findings and perspectives derived from studies of this particular type of migration—for example, the individual quest, the importance attributed to personal fulfillment, and an exploration of one’s identity—resonate with sociological theorization of lifestyle (Benson and O’Reilly 2009b; Benson and O’Reilly 2016; Benson and Osbaldiston 2014). Research in this area has focused attention on the expanded free choices now available to individuals in late modernity (Beck 1986; Giddens 1991) whose cultural practices reflect individualized pursuits that may involve international relocation. Scholarship on the subject of lifestyle emphasizes the subjective meaning-making that takes place when people choose from a variety of options when determining how best to lead their lives and the importance of leisure and consumption in contrast to work and production. Less well recognized is the call for self-reflexivity and self-management that accompanies the expansion of free choices in late modernity and that are also crucial to the understanding of this type of migration. These issues are of particular importance to the movements of the elderly, which take place in a setting of “third ageism” and “active ageing” that requires planning in terms

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of the processes of ageing and retirement, as other transitions in the life course, as will be detailed later in this chapter. Whether the notion of lifestyle can be used to describe a specific category of migrants is debatable, however. It might be better understood as a research perspective that seeks to analyze the role of cultural practices, subjectivities, and moral concerns in a person’s life and self that could be relevant to many forms of migration (see also Benson and O’Reilly 2016). Still, an examination of lifestyle choices offers some elements that allow us to conceptualize the particular discourses and experiences of persons engaged in reverse migrations. Such a study should seek to understand the compulsion to choose a certain lifestyle and the attendant constraints, as well as the structural factors of class and economic considerations that are at play along with the global structures that enable and shape this type of migration. A short note on the sociology of lifestyle What does the reference to lifestyle in migration entail? The sociological concept of lifestyle considers contemporary society and its particular form of individualization to be an expression of the fundamental social, cultural, and economic changes characteristic of what Ulrich Beck (1986) and Anthony Giddens (1991) have called late, second, or reflexive modernity. This concept is premised on the generalized material improvements and deep cultural changes observed after the Second World War that altered traditional social structures, changed the organization of work and family life, and increased the role of consumption (Beck 1986; Bögenhold 2001, 830). From this perspective, individuals now enjoy a wider range of choices during their life-course trajectories, and consumer behavior has become a mode of self-expression, one that now also involves travel and tourism. Thus, the (late) modern subject defines herself through leisure rather than through work, through consumption rather than through production, and through culture rather than through class. Yet, according to this theorization, individualization is not simply the freeing or disembedding of the individual from social forms and norms. In his well-known account Risk Society (German org. 1986, Engl. 1992), Ulrich Beck argues that individualization simultaneously refers to a loss of traditional security and stability, to disenchantment, to new forms of control and reintegration, and to a new type of commitment—in other words, a “reembedding” of the individual (Beck 1986, chapter 5). It is to Ulrich Beck’s credit that he stresses the close connection between a person’s biography and the institutional patterns that structure the phases of that person’s life course, such as school, work, and retirement. These patterns make for institutionally channeled biographies not only of individuals but of entire cohorts. At the same time, biographies must be chosen and acted out. In this reading, clear and stable class and family structures and relations have become weak or have lost their power to guide an individual’s choices, leaving the individual as the

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key and sole agent in the planning and organizing of his or her biography and life course. As a consequence, “[b]iographies have become self-reflexive” (Beck 1986, 209). Individuals not only can but must make choices concerning their education, job, partner, and lifestyle (Beck 1986, 216). Similarly, Anthony Giddens describes modern self-identity as reflexive, driven by the need to “[find] oneself,” which is a result of processes that “the social conditions of modernity enforce on all of us” (Giddens 1991, 12). In short, “[w]e have no choice but to choose” (Giddens 1991, 81). Here, “[t]he self has become a reflexive project” (Giddens 1991, 32). In relation to the mobile projects of the elderly, the conditions of reflexive ageing and retiring are crucial, as we shall see. An important element that supports this drive toward reflexivity and action has been the expanding counseling industry, which offers advice on all aspects of life, from birth to child-rearing, career development, partnership, and marriage (Giddens 1991). Today, this industry is expanding into the realms of ageing and retirement. A whole array of magazines, websites, companies, and personal coaches now provides information and support regarding the crucial questions of how and where to age and which retirement lifestyle to pursue. Moreover, other intermediary industries such as those in the tourism, real estate, and care sectors play a crucial role in such decisions, especially since these industries have become increasingly transnationalized (Toyota and Xiang 2012). Third-age tourism and specialized offers for the elderly regarding medical and health services, as well as for international relocation, have also been on the increase. Thus, individual trajectories and biographies, although institutionally channeled, must also be created. This is particularly true at life’s turning points: Transitions in people’s lives are part of this and require an active stance through which the individual reconstructs himself connecting personal and social changes, in [the] absence of more clearly defined cultural patterns and rite[s] de passage that have been followed in earlier times. (Giddens 1991, 12) This concept has been reiterated by scholars who see lifestyle migration as the result of free choices that allow one to take a voluntary break from routines and also as a way to respond to the life-course transitions from youth to adulthood or from work to retirement (Amit 2007; Williams, King, and Warnes 1997). A number of studies have revealed that the elderly often choose international relocation after having experienced a dramatic or negative event, such as divorce or death of a lifetime partner or, more generally, after retirement, whether due to age, health issues, or redundancy. Such relocation often serves to turn personal hardships into a “new start in life” (Benson 2016; Breuer 2005; O’Reilly 2000). Although transitions offer insights into the notions of choices and constraints, the mobility of these migrants and their lives abroad also need to be located within the structural contexts that shape and channel an individual’s perspectives, choices, and practices.

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Class and economic factors Lifestyle migrants are predominantly portrayed as being affluent (Benson and O’Reilly 2009a), well-off, well-educated, from the upper-middle-income groups of society (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004, 360), and part of an elite (Amit 2007). Interestingly, although the research in lifestyle migration has been based on the discourses of its subjects, it has sometimes done so only selectively. In prioritizing lifestyle subjectivities and self-realization narratives, such studies have sidelined the role of social class and generally downplayed the relevance of financial factors involved regarding the economic benefits of moving abroad, even when these concerns have been reported by their own research subjects. The association of privilege, affluence, and choice has overshadowed the often contradictory and ambivalent intersections that emerge from the combined effects of social class, gender, age, citizenship, and other social categories and their valuation in particular spatial contexts. Together, these intersections tend to shape often divergent social positions, in particular those within different spatial contexts, as articulated by a framework of translocational positionalities (Anthias 2011, see chapter 2; Anthias 2012). It is therefore crucial to recognize how lifestyle choices, practices, and narratives intersect with economic factors (Benson and O’Reilly 2016, 29) and how they are embedded within the larger structures of inequalities and uneven transnational geographies, which not only allow for and reproduce privilege but also bring with them certain limitations. Challenging this perspective on affluent migrants have been more recent studies that specifically investigate low-income and working-class retirees and their mobile retirement projects, such as relocation to Southern Europe (Ahmed 2015; Benson and O’Reilly 2016). Some American studies even point to the impoverishment of many US retirees in the face of rising health care costs and a decreasing pension income that has forced them to find less costly places to reside in order to maintain their livelihoods (Ibarra 2011; Kiy and McEnany 2010, 3). Research on elderly Europeans in Southeast Asia has also identified many individuals and couples with lower incomes who face important financial and existential insecurities (Green 2014; Howard 2008). From his study on British retirees in Malaysia, Paul Green (2014, 749) argues that classifying migrants as privileged has disguised the extent to which workingclass citizens from highly industrialized countries have been moving and relocating abroad and has thus overlooked the marginality they can face. Empirical research has also pointed to the “classed” practices and identities of lifestyle migrants in their attempt to attain social distinction within their group (Oliver and O’Reilly 2010). In a similar vein, European scholarship in the 1990s found that patterns of settlement varied with the social and cultural capital of lifestyle migrants, with some being attracted to the vast rural landscapes of Tuscany while others chose newly planned and often gated enclaves, such as the urbanizaciones in Andalucía (Breuer 2003, 47; King, Warnes, and Williams 1998, 106; Williams, King, and Warnes 1997, 130). Thus, just as

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social position and economic privilege are relational, the experiences of lifestyle migrants also differ according to their social class and the resources available to them. A large number of older and recent empirical studies also show that economic considerations matter for relocation, and currency differentials are thereafter considered a relevant asset. Across the majority of surveys that have been carried out in this field, financial issues and the costs of living and of real estate generally rank among the top reasons for relocation. Among Americans in the Lake Chapala region of Mexico, for example, cost of living was reported to be a motive for migrating by 88 percent of 221 respondents (Sunil, Rojas, and Bradley 2007) and by 75 percent of 840 respondents in another study involving a larger set of Mexican destinations (Kiy and McEnany 2010). In a comparison of studies on lifestyle movements to Southern Europe, financial motives ranked second when the average responses in all places were taken into account, and in several of these places they ranked first. Casado-Díaz and her coauthors noted (in the early 2000s, when this article was written) that financial reasons and the advantages of such movements were often mentioned, even though at the time of their report the costof-living differential between northern and southern Europe was already considerably reduced (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004, 363). Earlier studies had also noted that in the 1980s Northern European retirees benefited from pensions worth up to five times more in Southern Europe than back home (Schneider 2010, 2; Breuer 2003). The British who moved to Spain during the 1990s relied on their strong currency as compared to the relatively weak Spanish peseta. Still in the early 2000s the pound was strong compared to the Euro, so British retirees could take advantage of costs that were two thirds of those in the UK (Ahmed 2015, 35). European and US American respondents also mentioned that living in warmer climates would help them save on heating costs (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004; Sunil, Rojas, and Bradley 2007). Hence, economic considerations unrelated to jobs and income mattered to respondents in terms of consumption. As will be documented in Chapter 4, a few of the interviewees in my study emphasized that they would find it difficult to live comfortably in Germany on their pensions, while others stressed that their lives would be much better in Alanya than in Germany. For all the respondents, moving abroad as senior citizens meant increasing their financial, social, and cultural resources. In the words of a British couple living in Spain who were interviewed by Keleigh Coldron and Louis Ackers, “We could not live off our state pension in the UK” (2009, 578). In his interview with Paul Green (2014, 754), “Ron” in Thailand provided the same argument, explaining that he neither could nor wanted to return to the UK, because he could not afford to live there despite his state pension and small savings. The same motives for moving or not returning can be found in the literature on North Americans moving south, whether to Mexico or to Central and South America (Dixon, Murray, and Gelatt 2006; Hayes 2014; Kiy and McEnany 2010; Sunil, Rojas, and Bradley 2007).

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More frequent among my respondents, as well as in the majority of the relevant literature, are narratives that relate economic assets to the quest for a better life. In their study of Swiss and British migrants in Spain, Andreas Huber and Karen O’Reilly also reported that their respondents were “moving to get more for their money” (Huber and O’Reilly 2004, 329 see also Hayes 2014 and Sunil, Rojas, and Bradley 2007, 489). Anya Ahmed has documented a similar comment made by one of her interview subjects on the Costa Blanca: “I mean, managing an old-age pension in England you’re just barely existing, where out here you’ve got a life. It’s plenty out here” (Ahmed 2015, 36). In her research on Japanese retirees who moved to Malaysia, Mayumi Ono found that mobility had in all cases increased their financial security and sustainability and also attracted those who could not afford to live in Japan (Ono 2008; see also Toyota and Xiang 2012). In my study, the words of one interviewee could represent the many when she explained that moving to Alanya allowed her to enjoy “the freedom to live the way I want …, starting with the costs.” Lifestyle migrants’ references to the economic benefits of relocating abroad to live more cheaply reflect a (self-)image of someone actively engaged in life, including the process of ageing. This image resonates with the theory of reflexive modernity and the encouragement of individuals to strive for and make use of their freedom to choose the best possible way of life. At the same time, they are able to take advantage of spatial privilege, and their move is facilitated by state citizenship, portable material, less tangible resources, currency differentials, local recognition, and elements of local citizenship that are particularly salient when one is moving across uneven geographies. Citizenship, privilege, and reverse spatialities In the previous chapter, I introduced a perspective on privilege and reverse spatialities as the entry point for exploring contemporary citizenship, and I chose retirement lifestyle migration as a specifically insightful field for this exploration. Because lifestyle migrations take place within uneven transnational geographies that affect migrants’ status—and, in contrast to the numerous established and more often studied spatial movements, they move in the reverse direction—structural contexts are crucial to understanding this type of movement (Croucher 2009a; Croucher 2009b). The articulation of aesthetic and individualistic lifestyle choices must therefore be reconsidered from the perspective of the privileges associated with global power and wealth differentials. The spatial privilege to choose to move and relocate (or to stay) and the qualities and resources of a particular space and polity, state, or locality (Weiß 2005; see Chapter 1) are strongly tied to citizenship and are distributed unevenly across the world’s population. In general, reverse migrations are known to enhance the resources of those who move, and for many, this knowledge is a factor in their decision to relocate. Yet, even within such a framework, not all social categories associated with a person constitute a

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privileged position, although the circumstances vary across space. Other social categories (such as class, race/ethnicity, gender, age, or religion, to name those most relevant to this study) can enhance a favorable position or reflect disadvantages or limitations. At the same time, as emigrants, immigrants, and local foreign residents, these migrants’ position differs from that of resident citizens (see Chapter 1). In making use of spatial privilege, individuals relate to, and thereby interconnect with, multiple sites of citizenship; however, they also regularly encounter limitations that result from the complex configurations of mobile citizenship.

Lifestyles of ageing, mobility, and relocation Self-reflexive and active ageing Because lifestyle migration is located within the wider socio-structural and cultural contexts characteristic of contemporary society, these contexts have a particular influence on ageing and retiring (Oliver 2008). With the cultural turn in ageing studies (Featherstone, Hepworth, and Turner 1999; Gilleard and Higgs 2000), a debate has emerged concerning the role of lifestyle, individualism, consumer culture, and the significance of social structures for and within the processes of getting older, at least in terms of ageing in highly industrialized countries. Now, the study of ageing has moved away from a predominantly medical–biological understanding toward a greater engagement with sociological theories and perspectives (Gilleard and Higgs 2000; Katz 2000). Several social, demographic, and cultural processes have contributed to making ageing “not what it used to be” (Gilleard and Higgs 2005, preface). Gerontologists and scholars in the field of retirement migration point to the increased number of “young old” people who are more healthy and physically mobile than were the elderly of the past; to the increase in life expectancy and the improvement in the quality of human ageing (Baltes and Smith 2003); and to the higher average incomes during one’s working life (and thus higher pensions and savings) in the second half of the 20th century. This trend has been accompanied by the lower age of retirement and an increase in (voluntary and involuntary) early retirement, paralleling the general growth of international travel, tourism, and work for this generation. In addition, family relations have changed, with divorce, elderly singles, and second marriages or partnerships becoming more common, while generational relations have also changed, with many family members no longer living in close proximity to each other (Oliver 2008; Williams, King, and Warnes 1997). Specifically, the “baby boomers”—the generation for whom retirement lifestyle migration has become a broader phenomenon (Benson and O’Reilly 2009b; Dixon, Murray, and Gelatt 2006; Warnes and Williams 2006)—are the first generation to grow up in a postwar consumer culture. This context has not only shaped their social identities throughout this group’s life course but has extended to the process of ageing (Blaikie 1999; Gilleard and Higgs 2000).

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Reflecting these trends, ageing studies have generally discarded the earlier, more negative picture of old age as being associated with ill health, frailty, passivity, withdrawal, and (not least) dependency. In the 1980s, approaches such as “structured dependency” criticized the forced withdrawal of retirees from active (work) life in response to social policies and for the corresponding stigmatization of the elderly as “useless” (Townsend 1981; Walker and Maltby 2012). More recent approaches offer a variety of perspectives, some of which are explicitly located within the reflexive modernity paradigm, as well as other approaches to culture, lifestyle, and social structures. In this vein, Andrew Blaikie identifies a fragmentation and blurring of the institutions and experiences of retirement from the mid-1970s onward. The first decades of the postwar era had seen the consolidation of social citizenship in the welfare state, including old-age provisions. It was during this phase that the notion of senior citizenship emerged. Subsequent fragmentation since the 1970s has resulted (again) in an increase in the heterogeneity of retirement age, pension incomes, and other conditions, while in this context the lived experiences of growing older are becoming more diverse. This change has been accompanied by a growing need to organize and “customize” one’s own retirement (Blaikie 1999, 65; Featherstone, Hepworth, and Turner 1999). Thus, while the experience of ageing and retirement is now available to a growing share of the population, these processes have also become more heterogeneous, ambiguous, and differentiated, requiring individuals to make use of their choices. Analyses of the policies, media, and self-images that articulate perspectives on ageing, which rely on a variety of data sources such as popular literature, policy documents, and newspapers, reveal a portrayal of the “ideal retiree” as one who assumes responsibility for planning her or his retirement and older life and thereby also exercises free choice over lifestyle decisions (Biggs 2001; Blaikie 1999; Rudman 2006). The resulting image is one of an “active, autonomous, responsible modern retiree” (Rudman 2006). Increased fragmentation can be observed in relation to early retirement, for example, which was greatly supported throughout the 1980s (Rudman 2006, 182; Walker and Maltby 2012). With the welfare state reforms of the 1990s that were observable in Germany as in other Western European countries, the policies on once more generous early retirement significantly changed and were frequently replaced by active labor market policies that now also focus on the older population. The literature on retirement lifestyle migration contains many narratives of people who left the labor market early, were made redundant and received financial compensation, or became unemployed and could not find another job or found jobs that were unrewarding or for which they were overqualified, that did not meet their previous income levels, or that involved working under bad conditions. Others had access to only very small pensions or had to work in their retirement because of having had low-paying jobs that allowed only minimal social security contributions or because their participation in the labor market was interrupted. Under such circumstances, moving abroad appeared to be a strategy that made retirement possible and

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more amenable (Hayes 2014, 1959; O’Reilly 2000). These same issues came to light in some of the narratives in my study (see Chapter 4). Those I spoke to from the tourist sector in Alanya noted a decline in the purchase of real estate by German citizens compared with a decade earlier when early retirement was being generously supported. Whether this change implies that more people now rent an apartment or that fewer retirees are moving abroad or are simply moving farther away to less expensive destinations remains an open empirical question. In parallel to institutional changes, the cultural image of ageing has shifted from social withdrawal and frailty toward “health, liberation and ‘refurbishment’” (Blaikie 1999, 73), which is reflected in the “current imagery of a retirement lifestyle [that] evokes a transition to a new life, rather than a continuation of the old” (ibid.). An important element in this shifting perspective from inactive old age to active third age is the growing insignificance of agespecific roles. This has resulted in modes of self-presentation, fashion, and leisure practices being widely shared across generations (Featherstone and Hepworth 1999, 372). “Popular perceptions of ageing have shifted … when older citizens are encouraged not just to dress young and look youthful, but to exercise, have sex, diet, take holidays, and socialize in ways indistinguishable from those of their children’s generation” (Blaikie 1999, 74). Correspondingly, the self-images of older people today, especially in the Western world, rarely make reference to age. Scholars investigating the narratives of those concerned reveal that their research subjects hardly ever speak of themselves as elderly persons but rather as “older adults” (Graefe, Van Dyk, and Lessenich 2011). It is not just that ageing and old age are now considered in more positive terms but rather that individuals in their 50s and 60s and older do not consider themselves to be old, delegating this phase to sometime in the future. “Agelessness” is seen as an increasingly shared experience, associated with an orientation toward activity (Graefe and Lessenich 2012; Kaufman 1993). In her US American sample, Sharon Kaufman found that “activity-oriented values have had the greatest influence on the formation of my informants’ identities in late life” (Kaufman 1993, 19). She sees the source of this orientation in the values that are characteristic of the American culture in which her informants grew up, namely achievement, success, productivity, work, self-reliance, and individual initiative. Although the specific meanings of these values are likely to be particular to (national but also other) cultural contexts, empirical studies of the process of ageing in other countries have revealed similar self-images yet with some differences. A study of German retirees, for instance, also showed how informants perceive themselves as generally ageless (Graefe, Van Dyk, and Lessenich 2011). Nevertheless, the more active and self-conscious engagement in self-management, reflexivity, and prevention tends to be a characteristic of those who are better positioned socio-economically and better educated (Graefe, Van Dyk, and Lessenich 2011, 303–304). This finding shows that even though certain orientations are shared, social categories and inequalities also play out in how people give

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meaning to and act differently during the process of ageing. Thus, ageing can no longer be seen as one coherent stage for all members of one particular age group or cohort. In this vein, Christopher Gilleard and Paul Higgs (2000) argue that “[o]nly in the late twentieth century has the idea emerged that human agency can be exercised over how ageing will be expressed and experienced” (p. 3). Characteristic of reflexive modernity, though, is that this idea not only can but must be acted upon. The revised concepts of ageing described above are associated with the shift in meaning from old age to third age and are connected to notions of activity, leisure, and the active search for postwork identities. Demographer and sociologist Peter Laslett (1987) introduced the concept of third age as a “new division in the life course” that comes about with the knowledge of one’s increased life expectancy as a shared social experience, one that is already rather predictable in younger adulthood. This sets the stage for an era of “personal achievement and fulfillment” (Laslett 1987, 134–135). The concept of a third age offers a positive perspective on ageing that rejects the earlier stance toward the “useless old” and highlights ageing as a phase that offers more opportunities and room for individual choices. Rather than an explanatory framework, the concept of a “third age” makes reference to historical trends that promote more active lives for retirees and calls for its adoption both individually and politically. Similarly, active, positive, and successful ageing have become key references in the theory, policy, and narratives of ageing. In the 1950s, gerontologists exploring activity theory introduced the notion of “successful ageing” to describe the close connection found between social and physical activity and personal well-being (see Katz 2000, 136). From its beginning as an empirical finding, this notion has led to the normative invocation to engage in active behaviors and lifestyles as a way of achieving good health and a better quality of life as one ages. Activity here serves as a strategy to adjust the process of ageing. Drawing on the “MacArthur Foundation Study of Aging in America,” John W. Rowe and Robert L. Kahn’s book Successful Aging (1999) greatly popularized this approach. The book’s front cover promises the reader to learn “how the way you live—not the genes you were born with—determine health and vitality.” The authors suggest that everyone can alter the process of ageing by adopting a particular lifestyle. Throughout the book, they encourage an active approach to ageing and consider its success an outcome of individual choices, comprehensive planning, and dedication. Similar to some aspects in the debate regarding the sociology of lifestyle, the concepts of third ageism and successful ageing have also led many to criticize this individualistic discourse on lifestyles, which is premised on privatized consumption and an individualistic moral imperative, because it dissociates the process of ageing from the realities of disease and decay, thereby deflecting attention from the frailty that can come with old age. The idea that healthy and happy ageing is possible for all if only we could self-manage our everyday lives responsibly tends to shift such responsibilities (as well as the failure to succeed)

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to the personal realm rather than making it a societal concern (Katz 2000; Rudman 2006). Critics also point out that this individualistic discourse downplays or even ignores the persistent inequalities and the role of class and gender that come into play as we age, as well as cultural differences in the ways ageing is understood. Moreover, the physical, social, and everyday activities referred to in these activity-promoting studies are not explicitly defined, but the advocates of this approach implicitly support “traditional moral virtue[s]” that adhere to typical middle-class values, ignoring such activities as drinking or gambling (Katz 2000, 143). Not least, gerontologists have pointed to the consumerist ideology underlying much of the discourse on active ageing and the activity approach (Biggs 2001; Katz 2000). While the above criticisms are relevant and identify the limitations of these concepts, certain developments do resonate with this agenda, including the contemporary lifestyles of the elderly, their self-identity, and the ways in which ageing is addressed in social policies and in the media and by the intermediary industries that cater to them, as well as by peers and others. Reflexive ageing and the spatial mobility of the elderly take place within a changing environment in which becoming older is articulated along with the notion that retirement and ageing must be planned, prepared for, and actively practiced. In the words of a selfdeclared coach in lifestyle retirement strategies, growing older should not be taken for granted and we should recognize that “ageing is a privilege” (Cascio 2015). Tourism as social citizenship, consumption, and third-age activity Retirement lifestyle migrations are closely related to changes in the fields of travel and tourism, which provide options for leisure activities to a growing number of people living in industrialized countries, and increasingly to the elderly. Lifestyle migration is generally seen as “tourism-informed mobility” (Williams and Hall 2002) and as “a natural progression from the boom in mass tourism” (King, Warnes, and Williams 1998, 97). Firstly, this connection is associated with the promotion of particular cultural images of certain places and their availability as goods of consumption. Second, it reflects the recognition that lifestyle migration falls somewhere between sedentary migration and mobile tourism, akin to the “mobility paradigm” (Cresswell 2006; Sheller and Urry 2006) in referring to the simultaneity, blending, and interlocking of diverse forms of mobility. Indeed, lifestyle migration may be seen as a continuum, ranging from extended seasonal stays of several months to second-home ownership and long-stay tourists to permanent residency (Williams, King, and Warnes 1997). In addition, these various forms of migration go along with the transnational ties and practices that involve home, family, and citizenship in the country of origin. Such combinations of movement and settlement are related to fundamental changes in the areas of travel and tourism that have taken place since the late 19th century and, more clearly, after the Second World War. In the past few decades, one such change has been enormous growth in the “third-age tourism”

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sector. Until recently, researchers’ interest in the spatial aspects of ageing was centered on the home and living environments, nursing homes and residences, and community networks (Kaiser 2011, 16; Katz 2000). Meanwhile, new “spaces of age” (Katz 2005) are receiving attention as elderly persons relocate after retirement, increasingly across borders (Ackers and Dwyer 2004; Oliver 2008; Warnes and Williams 2006). Of those who settle abroad to enjoy their retirement, not all were previously tourists there, although many were. In addition, a large number have traveled elsewhere, while others have worked in different countries. In any case, for all their trajectories, the key changes in tourism have influenced the accessibility and meaning of international travel and relocation. In this regard, Bianchi and Stephenson (2014) have focused on tourism as part of the evolution of social citizenship in Western societies. These authors show how travel and tourism was transformed from an elite affair into an activity of broader publics in the 19th century and eventually into a right for all citizens during the postwar era; today, travel and tourism are increasingly considered goods for consumption. By the Second World War, the idea that travel and holidays were “good for one” had become widely accepted as a necessary counterpart to work and as a value in and of itself within the normative system of advanced capitalist societies and part of the social (policy) dimension of citizenship (Bianchi and Stephenson 2014, 31; Urry 1997). This shift is reflected in the granting of paid holidays to workers, such as through the 1938 UK Holidays Pay Act and the 1963 German Bundesurlaubsgesetz (federal law on vacation). Today, only the United States and a small number of other industrialized countries have no legally guaranteed paid time off. According to Article 24 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, “Everyone has the right to rest and leisure, including reasonable limitation of working hours and periodic holidays with pay.” Against this background, John Urry, in Tourist Gaze, argues that a “[h]oliday had become almost a marker of citizenship, a right to pleasure” (Urry 1997, 27). Conversely, nonparticipation in tourism has been described as an indicator of exclusion and deprivation (Bianchi and Stephenson 2014, 31). Since the 1960s, the notion of tourism as citizenship has led to the promotion of “tourism for all,” which has involved its extension toward previously less represented social groups, including the socially disadvantaged, the disabled, and seniors. In this context, what is now called “third-age tourism” has greatly expanded. The “First International Forum on Tourism for the Senior Citizen,” organized by the World Tourism Organization and the Secretaría General de Tourismo of Spain, took place in Mogán in the Canary Islands in 1993 (Singh 1993). In 2013, the Izmir Health Tourism Association (IZSATU) in Turkey organized the first “World Health & 3rd Age Tourism Congress.”1 The trend in tourism described above is increasingly being connected to issues in the fields of health and medical care—industries that occupy growing market shares. Historically, aspects related to wellness, such as the availability of therapeutic spas, have been important components of travel and vacation residencies at the coast and in mountain regions. Today, such salutary sites are no longer

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limited to general wellness or to people afflicted with respiratory illnesses, for which specific places still offer healing or improvement. More and more, medical tourism is being designed to provide “normal” medical assistance at prices far below those demanded in customers’ home countries. From the perspective of the countries from which these medical tourists come, this care option can be seen as a way of outsourcing and offshoring health services in order to uphold their citizens’ social right to health care (Bianchi and Stephenson 2014, 33). At the same time, a growing number of countries are developing health and medical industries of their own to attract short-term health tourists and long-stay residents, specifically those elderly persons who are considering relocation abroad. Several Southeast Asian countries such as Thailand and Malaysia are at the forefront of these developments (Toyota and Xiang 2012). Changes in the health care sector and the development of medical tourism are also of interest to a country like Turkey. In Alanya, one has access to a high-quality, generally cheaper health care system that includes both public and private facilities (see Chapter 4). Uneven transnational geographies can make such benefits possible. For retirement lifestyle migrants, moving across borders presents an opportunity for them to balance lifestyle aspirations with the constraints of reflexive ageing, as well as to balance economic considerations with concerns about health care access, thereby maximizing their advantages. In the Turkish–German migratory space in particular, interstate provisions that emerged during the period of “guest worker migration” facilitate the portability of some of the reverse migrants’ social citizenship entitlements. Nevertheless, German retirees in Alanya can also face multiple limitations as citizens residing abroad (i.e., as emigrants, immigrants, and foreign local residents), as the results of my analyses, drawing on the empirical research presented next, will show.

Al(m)anya—German lives on the Turkish coast The case explored in this book is of German citizens, most of whom are retirees, who reside in Alanya, a city on the Turkish coast and the most important destination of German retirement migrants in Turkey. Located 130 kilometers east of Antalya, Alanya is one of the newer destinations for lifestyle migrants relocating from Europe to Turkey (Balkır and Kırkulak 2009). The city developed into a tourist destination for Germans in the early 1990s and subsequently became a place of second-home ownership of tourist residences and later led to the long-term and permanent settlement of some German retirees. Because of the many Germans dwelling in Alanya, the media, locals, and scholars refer to this city sometimes rather ironically as cücük Almanya (“Little Germany”). Today, Alanya has become more multicultural, considered by the Lonely Planet to be “a densely populated tourist haven for predominantly Dutch and Scandinavian sunseekers,”2 although Russian citizens are now the largest foreign group residing here, thus relegating the German residents to second rank.

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During its development as a tourist destination, Alanya was transformed from a small village of several thousand inhabitants into a hub for visitors. Approximately 300,000 inhabitants live along the 70-kilometer Mediterranean coast. The city hosts between 2 and 3 million tourists every year and is home to more than 15,000 Europeans, according to Alanya’s website.3 Statistics from the local police department reveal that German citizens applied for and received almost 5,000 residence permits between 1994 and 2013 (see Table 3.1). However, these numbers include permits for stays of different lengths, of which the longest (before the legal reforms of 2014) lasted five years, so it is not known how many renewals by the same person are included in the data and how many permits are currently valid. National statistics for the whole country reveal that about 15,000 Germans held a Turkish residence permit in 2012. Yet these data are not disaggregated to the municipal level, and this rather low number contradicts that of the experts, who estimate that there are around 90,000–100,000 Germans currently living in Turkey. Similarly, the Turkish address-based register reveals that before 2013 more than 44,000 German citizens lived in Turkey. This number had grown to over 82,000 Germans by 2018 (Turkish Statistical Institute 2018). These discrepancies stem partly from statistical factors but also from variations in the definition of “residence,” which relies either on formal permits or on whether the person spends a considerable . part of the year in Turkey, so part-time residency is included (Bahar et al. 2009; Içduygu and Sert 2009; Kaiser 2012). In any case, the German community in Alanya comprises several thousand people who rent or own property and who live there permanently or on a long-term basis; many more Germans spend several weeks or months each year at one of the many hotels. Although the majority of German residents are elderly and retired, there are also younger residents who are married to Turkish citizens or who came to work or to set up a business (sometimes both). In addition, returning Turkish “guest workers” and their children who were born or grew up in Germany have settled in Alanya (see also Nudrali and O’Reilly 2009; Südas¸ 2011). Alanya is a particularly welcoming place for European residents. The temperature hardly ever falls below 5° Celsius, and the average winter temperatures range between 10° and 20° C, whereas in July and August it can become very hot, reaching 35° to 40° C or more—one of the reasons some of my respondents spend the summer months in Germany (see details Table 3.1 Number of residence permits issued in Alanya between 1994 and 2013 (cumulative), according to nationality Year

GER

RUS

DK

N

UA

2004 2007 2010 2013

929 2,802 3,734 4,933

43 858 4,375 8,816

31 2,269 3,711 4,745

81 543 1,074 1,907

19 307 1,007 1,817

GE

UK

136 12 34 – – 654 398 332 – – 966 882 721 602 – 1,696 1,346 1,369 1,141 1,089

NL

AZ

S

69 488 670 966

Sources: 2004–2010 (Yig˘ it 2010, 152–153); 2013, Yabancılar Büro Amirlig˘ i.

KS

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below). Many of them had not been to Germany in the past few years, while others visit their families for one week several times a year. Efforts have been made to welcome those Germans and other European retirees who have relocated to Alanya. For example, a cemetery for non-Muslims, the Alanya Yabancılar Mezarlig˘i (foreigners’ cemetery), was installed in the mid-1990s; a German–Turkish association was founded in 1998 by special permission of the ministry in Ankara to help the local German(-speaking) residents adjust to their life in Turkey; and a German Ecumenical Christian Association consisting of two branches, one in Alanya and one in Antalya, was officially registered in 2003 under Turkish law and is considered a sign of religious tolerance that observers attribute to the EU accession negotiation process. Since 2009, the city has organized an annual Christmas market in December in collaboration with foreign residents and local associations and businesses. For the past three years, the Müfti, the local Muslim authority, has invited the foreigners’ communities to an iftar, an evening meal to break the fast during Ramadan. In addition, a municipal foreigners’ committee was set up in 2004 to represent foreign resident communities. The committee serves as a channel for informing the foreigners; as a place for members of these communities to voice problems and complaints; and as the collaborative organization of cultural events. Because of the tourist industry, and the German–Turkish migration history, local officials, shopkeepers, and neighbors often speak German, which greatly facilitates daily communication. Some of my respondents, although not a majority, have taken the initiative to learn Turkish and have fared quite well, and others expressed regret at their limited advances (in the words of one of the respondents, “at my age”—a typical response within the German community in Alanya) (Bahar et al. 2009, 511). Approach, data, and methods Citizenship is often addressed from a legal or policy perspective. I used a qualitative, reconstructive approach, within multiple legal and other structural contexts, to investigate the configurations and entanglements of citizenship based on the perspectives and practices of retirement lifestyle migrants. The data for this study came from ethnographic and interview material collected during three stages of field research, each lasting two to six weeks, in Alanya, Turkey. The initial and main data collection took place in 2013 and 2014 and was then complemented by a return visit in 2018.4 By comparing newer data with the earlier findings, I was able to introduce a modest temporal perspective, although my revisit was specifically geared toward capturing the changes that might be observed as a consequence of the increasingly conflictive and controversial domestic political situation in Turkey and as regards its relationships with Germany and the EU (see Chapter 6). In-depth narrative interviews were conducted with 17 persons (6 men and 11 women), both individually and in pairs, and I interviewed some of them more

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than once during the different stays and often engaged with all of them in more informal conversations. The participants were selected on the basis of their German citizenship and local residency in Alanya. Residency was defined as having a residence permit (ikamet) and remaining in Turkey throughout (almost) an entire year, during which the person would most likely have become more involved or embedded in the local society, as opposed to someone who regularly stayed for only three months (the threshold set in other studies of retirees abroad). Although at first I interviewed both retirees and non-retirees, I soon decided to concentrate on retirees because their non-working status and senior citizenship promised to be particularly fruitful for further inquiry. Therefore, most of the sample consisted of retirees, but two had a business in Alanya and one had settled there because of marriage. It should be noted that I use the term “retiree” in a somewhat broader sense for those participants who no longer work, including three cases with different forms of early retirement, which in legal terms differ from formal retirement at a certain stipulated age. Although the narratives of those who worked or had a business differed in certain respects from those of the retirees, they all shared many similarities, particularly with regard to local belonging and its limits. The recorded interviews lasted at least one hour, but the meetings with the interviewees lasted several hours or more, and I often met with them again. The narrative interviews themselves were loosely guided by my interest in the respondents’ social connections and engagements “here and there”; their everyday life and well-being; the key dimensions of citizenship, politics, and participation; their health status; services and access; and their considerations or plans in terms of spatial practices and rights, moving, staying abroad, or returning to Germany. The interview material was transcribed and coded using Atlas.ti software to systematically identify (i.e., code) the themes and meanings articulated and to compare codes across the interviews and develop concepts based on the results according to grounded theory strategy (Glaser and Strauss 1967; Strauss and Corbin 1996; Strübing 2008). The participants ranged in age from 45 to over 80 years, with only three of the respondents below age 60. The sample included married persons and those in a partnership; others lived alone and were widowed or divorced. Some of the interviewees had a tertiary education, while others had had vocational training, but it was difficult to deduce social status from this information. With regard to employment status, the narratives revealed cases of interrupted employment, phases of unemployment, further qualification and training, changes in jobs and positions, and care duties; for some, divorce and widowhood affected their status along the life course. Concerning income, it is noteworthy that three relied on less than €1,000 per month, four received a maximum of €1,500 per month, and two others had at their disposal between €2,000 and €2,500 per month; other participants chose not to respond to this question. Overall, the respondents can be considered members of the lower and (low and mid-range) middle classes, according to the German classification.5 Although no baseline exists for assessing this

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sample relative to the overall German population in Alanya, and the aim here was not to determine representativeness, the sample probably reflected the average characteristics of this community. These characteristics also corresponded to opinions expressed during my research, namely that the Germans (and other Europeans) in Alanya were anything but super-rich and were generally from more modest strata. This evaluation is also in line with key features of the responses obtained in other studies among retirement migrants at the Turkish coast (Nudrali and O’Reilly 2009; Südas¸ 2011; Unutulmaz 2006), although the samples in these studies cannot claim representativeness either. Other data and methods included “focused ethnographies” (Knoblauch 2001); in particular, participant observation at events and gatherings of social associations and meetings and in numerous occasional and informal conversations at these meetings, at lunches, and during shared day trips, all of which were documented in extensive field notes. Informal conversations with other retirees provided interesting comparative material; for example, some did not have a residence permit (ikamet), either because they were not eligible or because they preferred not to apply, which allowed me to discern the particularities of my core sample of research subjects and to understand that these are fluid categories that may change according to changes in personal circumstances or legal conditions. Although not all the interviewees were active in the German community or were members of associations, and some of those who were members rarely attended the gatherings, my results are biased toward the better connected whom I was able to access. In addition to the study sample, I conducted eight expert interviews with key members of the German community, local authorities, and hospital staff in Alanya. I also consulted documents, websites, and legal texts from institutions relevant to the different sites of citizenship under consideration. Obviously this study did not allow for, nor aim at, statistical generalizations to be made based on the results. The subjects were not chosen on the basis of their representativeness, not least because the total number of persons in the German community in Alanya and its overall composition was unknown. My intention was not to start from specified hypotheses regarding the relationship between certain individual characteristics of the subjects and their experiences of citizenship. Instead, the study was undertaken to learn about and understand the practices of citizenship and sense of belonging from the perspective of the research subjects themselves and the meanings they attributed to their experiences. The aim was to contribute theoretical concepts that would emerge from and be grounded in an analysis of the data. According to grounded theory methodology (Strauss and Corbin 1996), this is achieved by comparing findings across data and thus developing codes and categorical concepts, continuously adding new data through new interviews and other material, to the extent that concepts are sufficiently elaborated (i.e., until they reach theoretical saturation). Although further elaboration and refinement of the results is an open-ended process (see Barglowski 2018), saturation reflects the comprehensiveness of a

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concept in relation to the developing theoretical framework and the ways in which that concept helps explain or answer the specific research question being asked. For instance, a cross-cutting theme that emerged from the respondents’ narratives was their insecurities, both when describing their dealings with public institutions and concerning their lives as seniors and deciding whether to stay in Alanya or to leave; while more variation can definitely be found in terms of specific situations, what is shared is the insecurity experienced and the development of strategies to face this. Similarly, the notion of being a “permanent guest,” equivalent to being a “local foreign resident,” was a shared self-description (nuances notwithstanding) that included both the advantages and limitations of their local belonging. In addition to my own data, I used other studies to contrast my findings or to point to similarities across contexts, drawing on studies carried out in Spain, Mexico, Thailand and other countries, especially among German, Swedish, British, and US citizens. Against this backdrop, analyzing the narrated experiences of lifestyle migrants as emigrants, immigrants, and local foreign residents provided a rich account for understanding their case and for rethinking contemporary citizenship, and this should prove useful for other scholarship on lifestyle migration, specifically that involving migrants moving from the Global North to the Global South.

Figure 3.1 Alanya

Figure 3.2 Entrance gate of the Alanya Yabancılar Mezarlıg˘ ı (foreigners’ cemetery)

Figure 3.3 Banner of the Alanya municipality’s foreigners’ committee

Figure 3.4 Street sign to the German Sankt Nikolaus Gemeinde, the Norwegen Sjømannkirken, the Finnish kotikirkko, and the Dutch NIGA community

Figure 3.5 Alanya municipality billboard for cultural events

Figure 3.6 Poster of the Saint Nicholas community for a concert in honor to its 10th anniversary and the support of the municipality (posted on the municipality billboard)

Figure 3.7 Alanya, Atatürk Bulevarı

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Notes 1 http://izsatu.org/health-tourism-in-turkey/ (last accessed July 9, 2015). 2 https://www.lonelyplanet.com/turkey/mediterranean-coast/alanya (last accessed October 17, 2018). 3 www.alanya.bel.tr (last accessed September 11, 2013). 4 My field research in 2013 was supported by a small grant from the Faculty of Sociology, Bielefeld University, and in 2014 was enabled through my participation in the Collaborative Research Center (CRC) 882 on “Heterogeneities and Social Inequalities” within the project “Transnationality and Inequality” (PIs: Prof. Dr. Thomas Faist and Prof. Dr. Oliver Razum), which included the testing of a survey questionnaire in Alanya. Although my analysis here does not involve data from that project, my second research stay was made possible through my participation in it, and the many discussions within the project and the CRC greatly influenced my research interests and the conceptual debates I engaged in. 5 Institut der deutschen Wirtschaft, using German Socio-Economic Panel data, http:// www.arm-und-reich.de/verteilung/mittelschicht.html (last accessed March 14, 2019).

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Part 2

Privileges of citizenship

4

Citizenship, welfare, and well-being across borders

Retirement lifestyle migration has been defined as a quest for a “better quality of life” (O’Reilly and Benson 2009; see Chapter 3). It is generally conceptualized as an individual quest and a practice of self-reflexive subjects both free and forced to choose, who act as consumers of landscapes, places, and cultural images. However, this quest is also intertwined with the complex configurations of citizenship that characterize the uneven transnational geographies across which lifestyle migrants move. Through these movements, retirees’ practices and perspectives involve and interconnect multiple sites of citizenship—local, immigrant, and emigrant, and interstate or supranational. Against this backdrop, I will now examine how, in their quest for a certain quality of life and well-being, German retirees in Alanya negotiate and benefit from citizenship and experience its limitations, predominantly in relation to its social dimension. According to T.H. Marshall (1950, 11), the social element [of citizenship] [refers to] the whole range from the right to a modicum of economic welfare and security to the right to share to the full in the social heritage and to live the life of a civilized being according to the standards prevailing in the society. The institutions most closely connected with it are the educational system and the social services. Social citizenship is thus related both to securing at least a minimum standard of living and to sharing in what society has to offer all its citizens (i.e., a redistributional component) (Ackers and Dwyer 2002). Classically, this social dimension includes health care, education, and other social services; unemployment schemes and workers’ pensions; and at least minimal protection from poverty. As was mentioned previously, the factors that define civilized life in industrialized countries today include free time, leisure, (paid) vacation, and travel (Bianchi and Stephenson 2014; see Chapter 3). Scholars who debate contemporary social citizenship and social policy have specifically highlighted the connection to well-being, suggesting that social citizenship be defined “in terms of [one’s] ability to access the range of resources and conditions promoting social well-being” (Ackers and Dwyer 2002, 14). Based on this definition, a wider field of social policy becomes relevant.

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Michael Cahill (1994) proposed a “new social policy” that would encompass the dimensions of communicating, viewing, traveling, shopping, working, and playing as relevant areas of a person’s social life, and thus as dimensions of social policy. In their study of retirement migrants, Louis Ackers and Peter Dwyer (2002, 25) focused on social citizenship and wellbeing to which they added that climate was also a relevant factor, not only because of its role in leisure (playing) and travel but also because of its relation to health in cases of chronic arthritic, cardiac, or respiratory conditions and, more broadly, because milder climates allow for or facilitate physical mobility and social interaction. In their study, as well as in mine and many others’ studies, the respondents assigned great value to these elements in their quest for a better quality of life abroad. Therefore, these authors considered not only the formal provisions of social citizenship that influence a person’s well-being but also how they interact with or shape access to other resources such as climate or leisure. In the case of lifestyle migrants, the resources of one country can make possible access to resources in another country. According to this reasoning, the results of my analysis, as presented in this chapter, reveal not only the migrants’ experiences and conditions regarding pensions and their portability and access to health care but also the legal environment and resources that allow them to move and stay abroad and thus improve their well-being. It will become clear that the spatial right to stay, which is a prerogative of the country of immigration, is interconnected with state citizenship and social rights and entitlements from the country of emigration. Notably, a retiree’s pension not only provides financial security through a regular income but can also be used to obtain status as a legal resident. Moreover, by moving across reverse spatialities to less costly places, migrants increase the returns on their pension, thereby enlarging their access to resources and maximizing their emigrant (senior) citizenship and, by implication, their well-being. To summarize, relocating abroad allows lifestyle migrants to expand their resources beyond the economic, particularly with regard to health, climate, and (not least) leisure and activity. In line with the bulk of migration studies, scholars concerned with the relationships among migration, welfare (states), social citizenship, and social protection have been concerned predominantly with the immigration side, investigating immigrants’ access to social welfare rights and entitlements (Bommes and Geddes 2000; Sainsbury 2012), including studies of the elderly as well as labor migrants, who “age in place.” More recently, this research has started to cover more varied movements of the elderly (Warnes and Williams 2006). In the research on retirement migrants, a small number of empirical studies investigating local health care access have identified legal, social, and cultural barriers to care but also positive evaluations by Northern European retirees concerning Southern European, particularly Spanish, health care services (Betty and Cahill 1999; Hardill et al. 2005; Kaiser 2011; Legido-Quigley and McKee 2012). Topics on the research agenda now also include the ways in which Southeast Asian countries are aiming to attract European retirees to

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health care facilities and senior residencies (Bender, Hollstein, and Schweppe 2017; Toyota and Xiang 2012). Thus far, the existing scholarship hardly takes emigrant citizenship seriously, nor does it offer in-depth investigation of the multisited nature of citizenship provisions and practices. An exception is the work done by Louis Ackers, Peter Dwyer, and Keleigh Coldron regarding European citizen retirees who move within the EU (Ackers and Dwyer 2002, 2004; Coldron and Ackers 2007, 2009). In line with the general debate on transnational and European social policy, these authors point to the tension between generally “fixed laws” and the “fluid lives” of (elderly) migrants. At the same time, while pointing out that social protection is determined largely by national regulation in spite of European citizenship, the authors show how retirement migrants make use of both their European and their national rights and, by doing so, exploit dual and sometimes false residences to achieve the best set of benefits and to maximize their social well-being, generating “a kind of ‘synthetic citizenship’” (Ackers and Dwyer 2002, 32; Coldron and Ackers 2009, 576). In my examination of migrations that take place across reverse spatialities and to destinations outside the EU, I found not only that the respondents used coexisting provisions but also that multiple sites of citizenship became entangled through legal provisions and the individual’s agency (see Chapter 1). Focusing on the practices and perspectives of lifestyle migrant retirees within the legal frameworks of immigrant, emigrant, local, and interstate sites, I identified entanglements that meant that citizenship of one country could allow access to the resources of another country or locale abroad (e.g., economic, leisure, climate, or health and care resources). Such entanglements facilitate the sheer possibility of relocating. Being a German retiree gives one access to the financial but also legal means to settle in Turkey. The option to relocate is also shaped by the particular nature of (senior) citizenship and therefore depends not only on a person’s citizenship status but also on other social categories that influence a retiree’s resources, implying that not everyone can resettle but, conversely, that even some with a small pension income can do so. Furthermore, the narratives concerning these migrants’ access to pensions and health care entitlements tended to reflect confusion, insecurity, and misinformation, sometimes as a result of unclear or contradictory legal provisions and ambivalent experiences. Against this backdrop, I have found that such practices, rather than actively synthesizing instrumental or tactical uses of multiple citizenships (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Ong 1999), often appear less straightforward and are often responses to the circumstances. In this vein, my analysis revealed how lifestyle migrants engage with multiple sites of citizenship, act to ensure or maximize their benefits, and normalize those practices which simultaneously reflect experiences of constraints and insecurities. I argue that such practices are expressions of spatial privilege and the option to be mobile and enlarge one’s set of resources across uneven geographies but also of the limits

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and ambivalences that result from (but also give way to) transnational lifestyles. Hence, the first section of this chapter focuses on the issues of financial security and other resources connected to the pension, detailing the contextual frameworks and the retirees’ experiences. Next, I focus on access to health and care and the ways in which retirees negotiate their specific set of needs, preferences, and entitlements across the border. The chapter concludes by pointing out how Germans who have relocated to Alanya “keep one foot at home” in order to secure their privileged status in response to their opportunities, constraints, and sometimes contradictory experiences and the resulting insecurities.

Mobility and residence Retirement migration is considered to be aided by portable state and private pension schemes (Champion and King 1993: 54, cited in O’Reilly 2000, 7; Ackers and Dwyer 2002, 125), but such portability is often seen merely in terms of the financial security it provides. In this section, I will show that the retiree’s pension, beyond providing the everyday means for living abroad, is also an important path toward residential security for Germans who have relocated to Turkey. Furthermore, while the pension makes relocation possible, relocating abroad also serves as a means of overcoming the constraints of having a small income in one’s home country. By living abroad, retirees can improve the quantity and quality of their resources not only in economic terms but also in a way that increases their sense of well-being. Moreover, although, as one aspect of European social policy research, legal portability has been subjected to academic scrutiny, few studies have investigated the actual practices of portability. Based on my study subjects’ narratives, their approaches to accessing entitlements are diverse and involve more than one path. For example, it is not the portability of rights that concerns pensioners but rather the portability of cash and the availability of online banking that facilitate retirees’ moves. In the conclusion of this chapter, I address the problems related to transferring pensions and other entitlements, which reflect retirees’ insecurities, earlier experiences, and misinformation—factors that lead them to “keep one foot in Germany.” Pensions without borders, and their limits In order to adapt to the growing increase in spatial mobilities, the German statutory pension insurance scheme (Deutsche Rentenversicherung) offers information about “pensions without borders.” This effort is explicitly intended to provide social security to its mobile citizens who move to another country, either temporarily or permanently, thus enabling the mobility of social security and pensions as well. The pension scheme’s website and corresponding brochure explicitly mention three groups: professionals who are seeking work abroad, those who are sent by their companies, and pensioners who wish to relocate outside Germany.1

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Table 4.1 Number of state pensions paid to German citizens abroad (1993–2018) 1993 1998 2003 2008 2013 2018

116,083 137,510 160,685 191,703 221,114 240,467 (3,190 to Turkey)

Source: Deutsche Rentenversicherung (2019).

Indeed, cross-border pension payments are considerable and have been growing in the past few years. This is true for both citizens and non-citizens who receive their pensions from the German statutory pension scheme. It is worth noting that this scheme represents the most important mechanism for providing social protection to the elderly (i.e., 65 years of age or older) in Germany, 90 percent of whom receive a state pension that covers 74 percent of the gross output of all protection systems in old age. Only 3 percent of the retired population receive “basic protection in old age” (Grundsicherung im Alter) (Deutsche Rentenversicherung 2016, 13–14). In the year 2018, 1,75 million—that is, around 7 percent of the total number of pensions in Germany—were paid to residents abroad (Deutsche Rentenversicherung 2019). Non-citizens residing outside Germany received almost 9 out of 10 of all the cross-border pensions (86%), while the remaining 14 percent were paid to German senior citizens. These figures indicate that the vast majority of pensions paid to those residing outside the German territory are being received by former immigrants who have since returned to their home countries. Thus, German citizen emigrants—including naturalized immigrants, expatriate professionals who continue to live abroad, and those who move abroad in old age—constitute a minority. However, in the 25-year period from 1993 to 2018, the number of pensions the German statutory pension scheme paid to German citizens abroad has more than doubled, from 116,083 to 240,467. Over 3,000 pensions are received by Germans in Turkey (see Table 4.1). The portability of social security rights and entitlements has been facilitated through increased coordination between the social security systems within (and in part beyond) the EU. EC-Regulation 883/2004 introduced the principle of equal treatment for those who move and relocate within the EU, doing away with earlier reductions in the amount of pension payments. The EU directive 2011/98, which supports the status of third-country nationals, was transposed into German law in 2013 and resulted in largely universalized pension payments for recipients abroad independent of their nationality or country of residence (Deutsche Rentenversicherung 2013; Günther and Heinisch 2013; Sona 2017, 58). In addition to supranational EU law, other international agreements, especially the social security agreements

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that Germany currently has with more than 20 countries around the world, regulate transnational social protection and equal treatment for foreigners to the level of German citizens. The signatory states today range from Australia, Brazil, and India to Kosovo, Morocco, and the Philippines. The first of these agreements was signed in the 1960s and 1970s with countries from where labor migrants were recruited, including several countries that are now members of the EU. Although during the 1990s only one social security agreement came into force, 11 new agreements have been signed since 2000 (see Table 4.2). The Ministry for Labor and Social Affairs explicitly mentions that the reasons for signing such social protection agreements are the economic connections between Germany and other countries, not only through labor migration and the presence of migrant workers, but also through international tourism. The oldest of these social security agreements is with Turkey, which entered into force in 1965 during the period of labor recruitment. This agreement covers citizens from both countries who are residing or staying in the other country and concerns pension transfers as well as health and accident insurance. Portable health insurance covers both tourist stays and permanent residency. Having been signed originally with a view to labor migrants and their eventual return to Turkey, the agreement secures equal treatment for German citizens who engage in reverse movements. However, there are certain limitations to the portability of both pensions (to be detailed next) and health care entitlements (to be explained in the section on health care access). Legal regulations for pension payments abroad (i.e., portability) are largely regulated according to the German Social Code VI on Statutory Pensions (Articles 110 to 114). According to Article 110, temporary absence requires no further consideration, which is different from the case of recipients who “habitually reside abroad,” for whom a number of limitations apply; however, because of the social security agreement, some of these limitations are reduced for those relocating to Turkey. Therefore, pensioners from Germany who move to Turkey receive their full pension, although several limitations still apply: Table 4.2 Germany’s social security agreements with countries outside the EU 1960–1970 1980 1990 2000

Turkey (1965), Yugoslavia (1969),* Israel (1975), US (1979) Morocco (1986), Tunisia (1986), Canada/Quebec (1988) Chile (1996) Japan (2000), China (2002), Australia (2003), South Korea (2003), Macedonia (2005), Brazil (2013), Uruguay (2015), India (2017), Albania (2017), the Philippines (2018), Moldova (2019)

Source: Federal Ministry for Labor and Social Affairs, Overview of Social Security Agreements, as of 1 January 2019.2 *Today separate agreements exist with Bosnia-Herzegovina, Kosovo, Serbia, and Montenegro.

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First, pension payments that reflect social assistance—such as certain invalidity pensions or Basic Protection in Old Age (Grundsicherung im Alter)—are not portable across the border. Basic protection is meant to secure a minimum living standard in the country and is thus territory-bound and is premised on “habitual residence in Germany.” Whereas absences of up to 12 months were not considered problematic in the past (Zeller 2011), the recent legal reform of 22 December 2016 introduced a new paragraph into the German Social Code XII on Social Assistance that defines a narrower time frame. Article 41a now specifies that when the absence extends beyond four weeks, payment stops until the person returns. Invalidity pensions that are granted exclusively for health issues are portable, but this is not the case for pensions that depend in part on a labor market situation that does not allow the recipient to find a suitable job (Social Code VI, Article 112). In addition, pensioners abroad usually do not receive the state’s partial payment for health insurance if the policy is private or coverage is voluntary. Residing in Turkey, however, does allow migrants to apply for this payment as long as the insurance company is supervised by a German or European member state (Sozialverband VDK 2012, 11). Second, there exist restrictions with regard to the taxing of pensions. Since 2005, all pensions have been subject to taxation, starting at a rate of 50 percent that gradually increases every year by 2 percentage points until the year 2040, when 100 percent will be taxed. The tax-free threshold of a bit more than €8,000 annually does not apply to pensions paid abroad.3 In addition to the public pension scheme, other funds also have some limitations. Although private insurance schemes are usually not problematic and benefits can be exported, this does not fully apply to the state-supported private insurance scheme. In 2001, the German government introduced a new scheme (known as Riester Rente after the name of the minister who introduced it) in order to supplement statutory pensions and encourage more private responsibility for old-age protection. Here, the amount of state support that a person receives must be fully paid back when it is transferred across the border outside the EU (Die Welt, 22 April 2014). Lastly, in order to receive a pension while residing abroad, recipients must annually provide proof that they are still alive (Lebensbescheinigungen). For residents in Turkey, such proof can be issued by an official Turkish institution, such as the Muhtar (the local provost), or by a German institution in Turkey, the embassy, or consulates. In any case, the recipient must appear in person and present an identity card. Requests for public insurance are free, whereas an application for private insurance costs €25.4 In addition to this rather complicated and partly disadvantageous legal situation for residents abroad, we will see in the following analyses that concrete experiences with insurance bureaucracies contribute to the complexity and insecurities faced by German retirees who reside abroad. But how is a resident abroad—an emigrant—defined?

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Defining residence abroad The conditions for access and portability of social security are premised on the distinction between temporary absence, whether for work or tourism, and “habitual residence abroad” (i.e., permanent emigration). This distinction is based on the assumption that those who are away for some purpose will return after a short absence and will thus continue to be registered residents and to participate in the social security system with no change. Those who relocate abroad are expected to take up residence in their new location and to deregister in Germany. Although they may remain in the social security system and transport many benefits, there will be some limitations. However, the ways in which permanent residence and temporary stay are defined, as well as when and whether a person is required to register, deregister, or report the situation, varies both between Germany and Turkey and within German regulations. For retirement lifestyle migrants, these stipulations can create confusion and insecurities but also loopholes and benefits. The following brief overview of the most important rules will show that, in fact, these stipulations are often more flexible than the social policy literature would suggest (see also on the Dutch case Gehring 2016, 331). In the German Social Code I, Article 30, paragraph 3 (2), “habitual residence” is defined by the “circumstances that allow for recognizing that a person stays at a place not only temporarily.” Although the law does not mention a time frame, it is assumed that any stay of up to 1 year is to be considered temporary. Stays that last between one year and two years are subject to a case-by-case review, and longer stays cannot be considered temporary (Seiler 1994, 79; Sona 2017). Other indicators that are usually considered, according to information from the pension scheme, are whether someone maintains the center of his or her life in Germany and plans to return or whether he or she has canceled her health insurance or relinquished her car or apartment (Zeller 2011). We have already seen that in the case of Basic Protection in Old Age, the time frame set for one’s stay abroad is only four weeks. Whether or when formal residence registration or deregistration is considered an indication of habitual presence or absence is not mentioned in the law or in advice offered by German institutions. Formal residential registration in Germany is regulated by the Federal Registration Law. Article 17, paragraph 2, of this law dictates deregistration when a person relocates outside Germany and does not maintain a home in Germany. Deregistration must take place within two weeks, which is the usual period allowed for new registration within Germany. Article 54 stipulates that non-compliance constitutes an administrative offence that may involve a fine. Deregistration means that a new passport must be obtained from the embassy or consulate at the place of residence, that the person cannot register a car in Germany, and that he or she will be deleted from the voter registry. If the person wishes to vote, she must reregister six months prior to any federal or European election but will no longer have the right to vote in local elections.

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Some of the interviewees in my study continued to have an apartment in Germany, either owned or rented, or at least an address of family members or friends where they were officially registered. This group tended to visit Germany more regularly, although this was not the case for all those who remained registered. Others had deregistered at some point during their stay abroad. Both these groups constituted roughly about half the sample, but how representative this percentage is of the distribution of German citizens in Turkey, or in Alanya, cannot be determined because the baseline is unknown. Although the legality of this practice of retaining registration in Germany is not always clear, my respondents, as well as most of those who commented on expatriate websites about the residential obligations of Germans abroad, did not consider this practice of continued registration to be illegal. No matter what their residential status in Germany, however, all the interviewees who received a pension deposited it in a German bank account. At the same time, all the interviewees in my sample were legal residents of Turkey. Rules for residential registration in Turkey One of the privileges of German citizenship is an entry visa at the Turkish border that allows for a touristic visit of up to 90 days; longer stays are considered residency and require a permit (ikamet in Turkish). Article 11, paragraph 1, of Turkey’s Law on Foreigners and International Protection sets out the visa requirements for a stay of up to 90 days and its limitations within a period of 180 days. The latter provision did away with the option of renewing a visa by leaving and reentering the country (so-called “visa running”), which, as has been confirmed by my respondents, was a fairly common practice before this law entered into force in 2012 (Kaiser and Kaya 2016, 105). Article 33, paragraph 1c, explains the rulings on cancellation, rejection, or non-renewal of short-term visas for persons who have been absent for more than 120 days within the previous year. In other words, one can be a resident of Turkey and return to Germany for a maximum of about four months within a year without a problem. This reform has taken some residents by surprise, and I heard about German retirees who had forfeited their residence permit after staying in Germany longer than four months because they were hospitalized. Residence permits are valid for different periods of time. Since 2014, a person can request permanent residency after living in Turkey without interruption for a minimum of eight years. Short-term visas (Article 31) can be issued for one- and two-year periods and can be requested by homeowners, or for a variety of other reasons, such as for work and business, education and language instruction, health treatments, or tourism. In 2013 and early 2014, when most of my interviews took place, the maximum duration of a residence permit was five years. As in most countries in the world, financial autonomy is required when applying for and renewing residence permits. The Directorate General of Migration Management,5 a unit of the Turkish Interior Ministry, explicitly mentions on its information website the “Pension Identification Card and Pension Certificate for

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Retirement Salary” as evidence for meeting the financial requirements. Although savings, assets, or other forms of income and wealth can be relevant, pension income will suffice for those retirees with few other resources who apply for formal residency. This had not changed with the legal reform. Therefore, even those with limited means can use their pension to gain legal status in Turkey, whereas those without a pension who have limited financial resources may not be eligible for this status. In addition, those who fear reductions in their pensions because of portability regulations in Germany may also prefer to, or be forced to, rely on other strategies. Becoming a local resident For the German retirees in Alanya, receiving a pension was important because it allowed them to move and settle in a new place. But the legal portability of pension entitlements was not what mattered most to my study participants, nor did they ever mention this topic during our interviews or other conversations. Perspectives on becoming a local resident in terms of residential registration could be categorized into three types: One view was held by migrants who had an ikamet and was reflected in the in-depth interviews I conducted with my study sample, who pointed out that obtaining an ikamet was fairly easy; a second view was held by those elderly mobile respondents who did not wish to access formal residential status; and the third view was held by those who could not stay in Turkey. The latter two types, which were not represented in my core sample because of the selection criteria I had imposed, were identified by means of a broader ethnographic approach that involved numerous informal and often ongoing conversations, and the material collected in this way can be used for the purpose of comparison and to gain a better understanding of the wider community of German retirees. Obviously, these three categories are fluid because over time and in light of changing personal, health-related, or legal circumstances, individuals may change their residential status as a matter of choice or compulsion. Hans, who was in the group who had an ikamet, explained how easy it was for a retiree with an ordinary pension (even if it was small by German standards) to receive a residence permit in Alanya. In fact, several interviewees made a similar observation. In Hans’s words, a residence permit is not a problem for a European … if you can prove either that for every month that you want the permit you have $500 US in a Turkish bank account … or that you are a pensioner and you receive a pension regularly. In the same vein, Wolfgang explained, Yes, we have a permit, for five years—that’s the longest term you can get at the moment. But this is absolutely no problem; you just have to renew it every five years.

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Renate, speaking about the German retiree community, observed, Now, I have never heard of anyone who had real problems in receiving a residence permit. In such conversations, the interviewees sometimes referred to friends and neighbors, and sometimes their children who wished to join them, who had found it difficult, if not impossible, to obtain a work permit. Some also related stories about Germans who worked without a permit, got caught, and were fined and are now subject to a no-entry warrant. German citizens who came to Alanya in the course of marriage frequently told me that so far it has been impossible to get a work permit. In this vein, the retirees stressed that they could not live in Alanya if they did not have their pension, not merely for financial reasons but as a prerequisite for permission to stay. Importantly, the retirees explained to me that their ikamet not only reflected the right to stay but also gave them access to a number of local entitlements. In this sense, they mentioned its role when requesting a landline telephone, in registering a car, and in obtaining a Turkish driver’s license (which is necessary if one stays in the country for more than six months). Moreover, the ikamet entitles one access to the local cemetery and to be buried there under the same conditions as those for local Turks, at very low cost. The Alanya cemetery has a special section reserved for (Christians or) foreigners, and my interviewees said they would prefer to be buried there rather than having their remains sent back to Germany (see Chapter 6 for a detailed analysis). In addition, the ikamet provides for health treatment that is (almost) on a par with that of the Turks—that is, through the combined benefits of portable entitlements and prices for local residents that differ from those for tourists, as we will see below. Thus, the ikamet is a key element in local citizenship, and some of the interviewees, foreign residents, and experts from the municipality and welfare sector seemed to consider it proof of their (albeit often partial) local belonging. As noted above, not all Germans in Alanya request a residence permit, either because they choose not to or because they cannot meet the requirements. In fact, those who have an ikamet reflect the group who reside in Alanya more or less permanently and usually stay no more than two or three months a year in Germany. Many of my study subjects visited Germany for only a few weeks, and several had not been there within the past two years or more. In addition to the many short-term tourists to Alanya, many other German citizens stay there for several weeks or months every year as longstay tourists and second-home owners, returning to Germany on a regular and frequent basis, so they have no need of a residence permit. Until a few years ago, one could renew a 90-day visa simply by leaving the country and returning with a new entry stamp (a practice known as “visa running”). Typically, this could be accomplished by going on a boat trip to Cyprus for one day and then reentering Turkish territory. In 2012, an

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amendment to the visa regulations put an end to this common strategy (Kaiser and Kaya 2016). The new regulation allows tourist stays for a maximum of 90 days within a period of 180 days, so that immediate reentry is no longer an option. As a result, German hotel tourists and second-home owners told me that they would now come to Turkey less frequently and stay for shorter periods of time, spending the rest of their travel time at other tourist destinations (Field notes, October 8, 2013). Legal provisions are often not clear or change rapidly, resulting in unexpected consequences for individuals who lack the required documents or information. For example, reforms that affect migration legislation, specifically the Law on Foreigners and International Protection approved in 2013, changed the rights and obligations of foreigners and, according to my interviewees, complicated their choices in some ways. This law introduced a longterm permanent residential permit for those who had lived in the country for at least eight years and a short-term permit valid for one year; this was later supplemented by a two-year permit. Thus, relatively frequent renewals are necessary when an eight-year stay cannot (yet) be proven. Moreover, the revised law states that foreign residents cannot be absent for more than 120 days within a single year. For some Germans, these legal changes have resulted in the forfeit of an existing permit because they had to stay longer in Germany, often because of hospitalization or for other reasons. Those who are now considering applying for permanent residency complained that the law still does not clarify how absences are counted and presences confirmed (Field notes May 22, 2018). Hence, because such legal reforms affect how they may access residential status, lifestyle migrants must weigh their strategies based on the opportunities and constraints and, within this framework, choose to be more mobile or more immobile. While retirees who receive a pension (even those with low incomes) can use this right to obtain legal status, others cannot apply for a residence permit for a variety of reasons. For example, Gabriele is in her mid-50s, the mother of three adult children, and twice divorced. She owns a small apartment in a village close to Alanya that she bought many years ago at a low price. After living there for a couple of years on some small savings, she began shuttling back and forth to Germany from Turkey, remaining in each country for varying periods of time. Trained as a sales assistant, her employment was often interrupted because of her children. In this generally low-paying labor market segment, she is currently unemployed and cannot find a new job in Germany. She got her last job through an employment agency but found that the conditions there (work on weekends and a low salary) were unacceptable. With no chance of receiving a work permit in Turkey that would allow her to seek employment in the tourist industry, she continues to live on her remaining meagre savings with no income. Therefore, she cannot afford to stay in Turkey and is unable to apply for a residence permit. As a citizen of Germany, Gabriele is eligible for means-tested social assistance in the form of Unemployment Benefit II (Arbeitslosengeld II, known as Hartz IV).

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Although she already received such assistance in the past, it offered little money and also pressured her to accept any job. Unable to remain in Alanya, she now faces an uncertain future. At the time of our conversation, Gabriele was trying to sell her apartment and was about to leave for Germany (Fieldnotes, Alanya, October 18, 2013). Because of the pensions they receive through their German social citizenship, migrant retirees find it very easy to become local residents in Alanya. Some choose not to register in Turkey, while others have lost their residential status and opt for greater mobility and usually shorter stays. This pattern is also evident among those who require long-term or intensive medical care and therefore have to return to Germany (see Chapter 6). Others cannot register because they are not (yet) officially pensioners and have no other assets. As was the case for Gabriele (described above), they may be forced to return to Germany. Maximizing senior citizenship Spatial mobility is made possible and even facilitated when retirement lifestyle migrants receive a pension or have assets or other sources of wealth. In turn, such mobility and relocation can enrich their quality of life and well-being by providing financial benefits and access to other resources. In Chapter 3, I pointed out that rather than being affluent retirees, lifestyle migrants who relocate across reverse spatialities strive to augment their resources (and thus to maximize their (senior) citizenship), accumulated on the basis of contributions made within the welfare system of their home country and exported to another country. For a certain share of this population, moving abroad also provides a means of overcoming the financial constraints of old age. Although few of the German retirees I interviewed would put economic motives at the forefront of their decision to move to Turkey, some of them did, and, in general, such considerations mattered to all of them to some extent. Let us take Hans as an example of someone who moved to Turkey when faced with the need to retire early: In the late 1980s, Hans and his wife bought an apartment in Alanya, where they later spent their vacations, yet they had planned from the beginning to move there at some point. He explained their reasoning in the following way: Yes, we said we need something for our old age where the climate is better. I don’t want a fractured pelvis because of glazed frost. I don’t want rheumatism because of the cold. I really don’t want cold-induced rheumatism. Well, and then, in addition, back then, living costs here [in Turkey] were extremely cheap … And then we bought this apartment. Back then, it cost 30,000 D-Mark. Although they had originally planned to move at formal retirement age, they had in fact left Germany more than ten years prior to reaching this threshold.

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Hans recalled this moment as being largely unpleasant. Because his wife’s business had deteriorated, she had to close it down and stop working long before she was due to retire. Soon after that, Hans, who was working in public administration, came into conflict with his superiors. After being tested for psychological problems, he was eventually forced into early retirement. Although he briefly considered filing a lawsuit over his dismissal, Hans and his wife decided to leave these bad experiences behind and relocate to Turkey. At that time, almost ten years before my conversation with him, Hans and his wife were both in their early 50s. At present, the couple counts on Hans’s (early) retirement pension, some savings, and rental income from an apartment they own in Germany—financial resources that allow them to live comfortably in Alanya. Across the board, the lower cost of living and the chance to buy real estate or rent an apartment at a comparatively low price were major themes voiced in the interviews. Many interviewees stressed the fact that other Southern European destinations had become too expensive over the past one to two decades. Some pointed out that they could not afford to live in Spain, and others believed they would get more for their money by living in Turkey, especially with respect to the location, size, facilities, and amenities of houses and apartments there. In my research concerning these German retirement lifestyle migrants, I discerned three pathways to their settlement in Alanya. One was taken by retirees who came to Alanya as tourists and bought an apartment, first as a vacation home but often with the clear intention to spend more time or even relocate there in old age. The second path was followed by retirees who had come to Turkey for the first time at a relatively old age, enjoyed their stay, and immediately started looking for a place to rent or buy. Perhaps more surprising is the third path, taken by people who had been planning their move for a longer time and had considered various options. Some had traveled around the Mediterranean region, carefully assessing the possibilities in up to 12 countries before deciding. This last approach was one I encountered repeatedly. Monika and Klaus described how they had traveled for many years with their caravan during their vacations in order to find a place where they would like to retire. And then we were searching. We said we will look for something around the Mediterranean. Something more stable. A holiday apartment or a house. And then we made a plan to have a look at all countries around the Mediterranean Sea (laughs). Then it was Turkey’s turn. Well, we had seen several countries and said “Oh my god … Portugal.” KLAUS: Yes, the last was Portugal, as a counterpoint. MONIKA:

The couple then explained why they disliked Portugal so much. Although “people on the street” were nice, they were not satisfied with the economic situation, the landscape was deforested, with many trees having been burned

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down, and the country was already too “touristy” and expensive. They were offered “a small hut” in very bad condition for 110,000 D-Mark. Eventually, their travels led them to Turkey—staying first in a hotel and then later traveling in their caravan to other nice places that were close to Alanya. They loved the landscape and the people. On one of their visits, the couple camped on the rocky coast. The friendly owner happened to be selling a piece of land, so they bought it. There was an old house on the property, but it was “a ruin.” The entire purchase cost only 10,000 D-Mark, and they enjoyed rebuilding their new home. Even if most lifestyle retirees would be able to make ends meet if they remained in Germany, several interviewees pointed out the constraints this would involve and some would depend on state support, social welfare, or assistance. Brigitte, for example, left Germany 18 years ago with her husband after both had become unemployed and probably received some redundancy compensation, although she did not go into many details. After selling everything they owned, including their home and their car, they left for Turkey. Since then, the couple has been living on savings and carefully managing their expenses. For her part, if she returned to Germany, Brigitte would have to request support from the state. However, her husband, having just reached official retirement age, recently traveled to Germany to apply for the benefits he is entitled to, which will provide a steady though rather low income, and, with their current resources, they will be able to continue leading the life they want in Alanya. Ingrid, who was approaching 80 years of age, had long been familiar with Alanya through her work-related travels. She had considered buying property there when the part of the city she now lives in was first being built up. About 30 years ago, a friend of hers who had asthma decided to buy an apartment in Alanya because he found that his condition improved when he was there and because the public hospital had already established a department that specialized in respiratory illnesses (an issue I will return to later). Thus, Alanya appeared to be an option for Ingrid as well yet for other reasons: It was out of financial issues, because I knew, I have a mini-pension and on my pension I can live here in the future. … And in Germany this would not have been possible. So it was the simple thought: “Here I can live … without being a burden on someone.” I became unemployed when I was 47 and started late to pay into the pension scheme because of the long training period [for her new job]. Well and one can calculate how much one will get. Because of her interrupted employment history, as well as being divorced and having raised three children as a single mother, it was clear to her that continuing to live in Germany on her pension would prove difficult. For women in particular, divorce or widowhood, together with being employed only parttime or intermittently to allow for child-rearing, often results in their

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receiving low pensions. This is sometimes exacerbated by unemployment and difficulty reentering the labor market under less than ideal circumstances. For Ingrid, settling in Alanya meant she could improve her economic situation and enjoy her life as a retiree: We want to go to the beach, we want to swim and enjoy the sun. We want to hike. That is our aim why we are in Turkey. Living in Turkey is appreciated because the costs of many everyday goods and services are cheaper than in Germany and especially because it allows one to enjoy life and engage in many leisure activities. From the in-depth interviews and conversations with others, I learned that a great emphasis is placed on how rich the social life is in Alanya and that they had many more social contacts here than back in Germany. Many of them have a circle of friends with whom they play cards or go hiking. Some residents travel throughout Turkey; they enjoy seeing other parts of the country, going on excursions, and taking day-trips to the country’s many natural and cultural sites of interest. In addition to such activities being arranged among themselves, retirees can also rely on local networks such as the German–Turkish Association hür türk or the German Ecumenical Association (see Chapter 5) or take advantage of offers made by travel agencies that cater to foreign tourists and residents. In addition, as emphasized by several of the interviewees, public transport, entrance fees for museums, and tickets to concerts and other cultural events are comparatively inexpensive. To summarize, moving to Turkey has allowed these migrants to overcome the constraints of ageing and retiring that are related to changing health needs, smaller pensions, and fewer social contacts, thus according (senior) emigrant citizens a better quality of life abroad through spatial mobility. In contrast, sitting around at home in Germany because the weather is cold and rainy and pursuing an active social life is expensive is not considered a desirable lifestyle during one’s retirement. In this vein, Christa stressed what she found appealing about living in Alanya: “The freedom that I have here, to live the way I want. I don’t have this like that in Germany, starting with the costs.”

Health care practices between “here and there” Although relocating abroad holds the promise of a better quality of life and a general improvement in well-being, it also has repercussions with respect to retirees’ social rights and their entitlements to health care and other aspects of social citizenship. How does their position as emigrants, immigrants, and local residents shape the health care practices of Germans living in Alanya? The few studies that have looked into retirement migrants’ access to health care have noted the challenges these mobile citizens face when confronted with laws that are generally premised on a fixed population (Ackers and Dwyer 2004; Coldron and Ackers 2007). Scholars in this field have also

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shown a particular concern for cross-border moves to Southern European welfare states, where health care facilities are generally considered to be less well equipped than those of their Northern counterparts (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Warnes and Williams 2006, 1266). This scholarship has generally argued that migrants must often adapt their strategies and generally seek to secure access to home country entitlements, negotiating their health care benefits flexibly, and sometimes manipulate their residential registration to these ends (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Coldron and Ackers 2007; Gehring 2016). Yet, some rights and entitlements are portable, often depending on the destination, while others are maintained for emigrants abroad, as is the case with health care access for Germans residing in a foreign country. Moreover, legislation and experiences with official institutions are often felt to be confusing and emigrants are sometimes also misinformed. As for the services they receive, retirement migrants do not necessarily consider local health infrastructures to be ill-equipped or deficient (for Spain see Betty and Cahill 1999). The following analysis will show that Alanya’s health services are favorable to (privileged) foreign retirees, especially to Germans, because of the existing portability regulations. In addition, the Turkish health care system has recently been improved, with the modernization of health services and quality standards, including privatization and internationalization; the development of medical tourism; and not least it generally offers lower costs. Before detailing retirees’ practices and perspectives with regard to health care, I will describe the relevant German and Turkish regulatory frameworks that influence them. Emigrants and the German health care system Most German recipients of a statutory pension are insured through the German statutory health insurance scheme and continue to be insured when they settle abroad, be it within the EU, in the European economic space, in Switzerland, or in one of the countries that have a social security agreement with Germany that covers health care (Deutsche Verbindungsstelle Krankenversicherung—Ausland 2013). Health insurance is to be paid in relation to one’s pension income at the same level as those who are employed (currently 14.5 percent of the [pension] income), with half contributed by the pensioner and half by the statutory pension scheme. This arrangement applies to 17 million retirees in Germany; only about 800,000 are privately insured (Süddeutsche Zeitung, 1 August 2017), and whether or not private insurance coverage is portable depends on the insurance company. Public health insurance can be exported to Turkey based on the social security agreement through which those who stay abroad do so only temporarily (i.e., tourists), and those who “habitually” reside in Alanya have access to the Turkish public health insurance scheme, SGK (Sosyal Güvenlik Kurumu). Expenses are later reimbursed in a lump sum through the German insurance policy according to the average costs and the number of entitled beneficiaries. For the year 2016, the

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total coverage of returned labor migrants, of the family members in Turkey of migrant workers in Germany, and of German citizens amounted to €4.4 million (Deutscher Bundestag 2018). In the case of temporary stays in Turkey, insured persons receive a T/A 11 health care certificate from their insurance company in Germany, which has to be registered with SGK before they can avail themselves of medical services in Turkey. Nevertheless, the T/A 11 covers treatment only in cases that cannot be postponed until the person can return to Germany (Deutsche Verbindungsstelle Krankenversicherung—Ausland 2016). Persons staying abroad permanently receive a T/A 20 health certificate, which must also be registered with SGK and permits access to the full benefit package of the Turkish public health system. Both certificates allow for treatment at public clinics and in hospitals, as well as in SGK-registered private facilities, where treatments require higher co-payments on the part of the patient. Since costs are covered only to the extent of comparable care in Germany, all information booklets issued by public health insurance providers and other institutions strongly recommend that additional traveler’s or other health insurance be obtained to cover possibly higher costs. In addition to the portability of entitlements, migrants who remain in the public health system in Germany can access treatment there even if they are living abroad permanently and have a habitual residence outside Germany (Kaiser 2011, 260).6 In other words, it is legal for German migrants who now live in Turkey to receive treatment during a stay in Germany regardless of whether or not they continue to have an official or habitual residence there. This situation differs from that in other countries, where researchers have identified “abusive practices”—that is, practices considered to be at the margins of or outside the law, such as absent retirees using false residences in their country of origin in order to maintain access to the full spectrum of health services provided there. This seems to be a rather common practice in the UK, where social rights are generally residency-based (Ackers and Dwyer 2004). The Turkish health care system Since 2003, and to a greater extent since 2008, Turkey has undergone fundamental health care reform as a result of its Health Transformation Program (HTP). Scholars observing the reforms instituted through the HTP and other social reforms argue that these changes have led to a shift from a Middle Eastern model toward a Southern European welfare model, yet with some remarkable differences (Aybars and Tsarouhas 2010; Bug˘ ra and Keyder 2006; Grütjen 2008). The main characteristics of the reformed health care system concerning the roles of the state, the family, and the market are the following: First, with its state-organized and universal character, the system aims to “provide equal, accessible and high-quality health care services to the whole population” (Tatar et al. 2011, 15). The HTP introduced universal coverage and a single insurance agency, the Social Insurance Institution (SSI) (Sosyal

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Güvenlik Kurumu [SGK] in Turkish), which combines the previously more fragmented sources of funding. The reforms have greatly expanded health care access and introduced community health centers, while hospital capacities and the number of doctors’ visits have grown. The HTP is based on a system of mandatory health insurance funded by contributions from income tax, complementary payments from employers, and state financing for those who have very low incomes or are unemployed and for children under the age of 18. Foreign residents can now also participate in the public system and register with SGK, although there are some doubts about whether such registration is mandatory, as we shall see. Germans who remain in the German public health system can register with SGK under the conditions of the social security agreement with Turkey. The second key feature of the Turkish health care system is the central role of the family, which is akin to other Southern European welfare models and unlike that in Germany. In the case of Turkey, the concept of family extends beyond the Western or European nuclear family model to include the “family and kin solidarity model” (Grütjen 2008). As we will see, this model presents some challenges for the Germans in Alanya, whose understanding of the role of a patient’s family is based on the German model. In Turkey, there is hardly any specific eldercare, and family members are usually expected to provide aftercare and even to support the patient during the hospital stay itself. Third, as for the role of the market in the new system, health care in Turkey is being increasingly privatized and is subject to budgetary discipline, not least owing to the recommendations of international financial institutions, in particular the World Bank, who greatly supported the reforms (Atun 2015; World Bank 2018). State–private partnerships in hospital management are growing while the number of state-employed health personnel is decreasing, and strong emphasis is placed on cost-effectiveness and on support to private providers (Aktan, Pala, and Ilhan 2014; Aybars and Tsarouhas 2010; Bug˘ra and Keyder 2006; Grütjen 2008). Critics say that the reformed system is “far from perfect” because it leaves portions of the population without coverage, especially many of those working in the informal sector. The growing privatization is also leading to increases in co-payments, in complementary health insurances, and in out-of-pocket payments that not everyone can afford (Aktan, Pala, and Ilhan 2014). In addition, there remain stark regional disparities, with the poorer, rural, Eastern regions benefiting less than the more prosperous ones, including the coastal tourist areas (Sulku 2012). This last point is clearly evident in Alanya, which is served by several large hospitals, both public and private, as well as numerous private clinics, all of which offer services to the local population as well as to foreign residents and the growing number of medical tourists. The growth of the medical tourism industry is an important aspect of the increased privatization within the Turkish health sector. In a period of only a few years, Turkey has become one of the primary international destinations

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for patients from abroad (Erdog˘ an and Yilmaz 2012). This development is supported to a great extent by state policies and the newly created Health Tourism Department within the Ministry of Health. In 2017, the Economic Ministry launched a “Health Services Export Strategy and Draft Action Plan” to further develop the medical tourism industry in Turkey. Private sector investments have been facilitated, while the state also promotes its own medical facilities to become part of the market. Such offers are geared toward patients who come from countries that do not offer particular treatments or offer only lower-quality services; who request procedures that are unavailable or prohibited in their own countries; and, not least, who find cheaper solutions in Turkey. The Turkish offerings emphasize additional amenities, such as comfortable hotels, established travel routes, including a dense network of airplane connections, and a host of tourist and leisure activities that can sometimes be combined with the patient’s medical and health treatments (expert interviews 2018, A18-EI3, A18-EI5; see also Erdog˘ an and Yilmaz 2012). Local context Alanya is well equipped with a high-quality medical infrastructure. There are numerous individual physicians and a large number of private clinics that offer special programs to those who come for specific treatments as well as tourists and foreign residents who are in need of medical services during their stay. In addition, there are several large hospitals, both private and public. In general, their services include checking the patient’s insurance coverage as well as providing information in different languages. The local public hospital, which is the largest hospital in Alanya, created its International Patient Department in 2013. In 2017, the originally named Devlet Hastanesı (State Hospital) was renamed Alanya Alaaddin Keykubat University Education and Research Hospital on the basis of a contract with the Alaaddin Keykubat University, which will allow its expansion into additional medical areas and the adoption of new quality standards. As part of this process, the hospital also moved into a large, modern building complex that offers both inpatient and outpatient care. The second largest hospital, the Bas¸kent University Hospital, which is private but SGK-registered, opened an International Patient Department at the end of 2000. Representatives from both the private and the public hospitals stress that their International Patient Departments were initially designed to serve foreign tourists and residents in Alanya but were now expanding to include offers of larger-scale medical tourism to clients from abroad (expert interviews 2018, A18-EI3, A18-EI5). For this purpose, these departments are equipped with interpreter services that include German, English, and often several Scandinavian languages, Finnish and others.

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Practices with regard to health and care in the local context Given the extent of portable entitlements and the ability to access local medical services in Turkey, what are the perspectives and practices of German retirees? How do they assess their health condition as well as their access to and the quality of local health services? How do German residents in Alanya negotiate their health care package? And do they prefer receiving medical treatment in Germany and, to this end, maintaining formal residency there, as the literature on the health strategies of migrant retirees in the South has suggested (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Coldron and Ackers 2007; Gehring 2016)? When speaking about the advantages of living in Alanya or other reasons to move there, the German retirees regularly referred to enjoying better health because of the warmer climate. Many interviewees stressed that their visits to the doctor were much less frequent now than when they still lived in Germany. Especially those with either asthma or rheumatism emphasized how much better they felt when staying in Alanya. If we consider that health is an important aspect of social well-being, their relocation has provided access to resources in one country that augment the emigrant (senior) citizenship entitlements of another country. In addition to the benefits of a warmer climate, the availability of local health services was a crucial issue in migrants’ narratives about their health. Those retirees who had prepared for their relocation far in advance made reference to the local health infrastructure as one reason they decided to buy property in Alanya and eventually settle there permanently. When I asked Renate how she had chosen Alanya, her response was as follows: There were several things. First of all, the infrastructure, because, in and around Alanya, many Europeans live. And life in the city and the infrastructure have already adapted to the foreigners. In the hospitals they speak English and German. Similarly, Peter and his partner had considered many places in the Mediterranean region and had visited them, becoming informed about health care facilities, insurance, and the possibilities and costs of purchasing real estate. Peter explained their eventual decision this way: And then we said, here in Alanya, this could be the right thing. And of course we had informed ourselves about the health care services, about everything related to that. And then in 2001 we bought the apartment. The examples of Renate and Peter show that it is not only the salutary “natural” climate but also the existence of and access to a high-quality medical infrastructure that was relevant in their decision-making and to their everyday life abroad. My interviewees responded very positively to Alanya’s health infrastructure and medical services also because of the many specialized

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treatments available. I heard that several of the local hospitals employed world-renowned specialists in different fields and that, in general, the doctors and staff, diagnostic procedures, and treatments were considered very good. Interviewees also pointed out that the doctors often spoke English or German, some had also studied in Germany. Furthermore, both the private and the public and SGK-registered hospitals had interpreters that could be called in when necessary. What is more, Turkish health care was appreciated not only for its quality but also because it was “more humane.” Compared with the German health care system, which was generally perceived to be “cold” and “distant,” personal treatment in Turkey was thought to be friendlier, with more thorough examinations accompanied by comprehensive explanations given by the doctors. Comparative assessments made by the interviewees included frequently negative experiences that they and their friends had had in German hospitals, such as long waiting lists, false diagnoses, and unsuccessful operations that had sometimes made their condition worse. In contrast, all the narratives detailed positive experiences with the Turkish doctors and staff. Monika and Klaus recalled one of those situations: For example, my husband, two and a half years ago he had a stroke. We had not immediately understood this. Only after two days a friend of ours went to the hospital with us … . He spoke fluent Turkish and could handle this. They immediately treated it as an emergency case. KLAUS: I can be lucky that I was not in Germany. MONIKA: They quickly connected him to everything. KLAUS: It was interesting. All the examinations that exist, there you go through right away [im Eilschritt]. While I know from others, who told me, in Germany, they went to have a nuclear spin tomography, they had a long waiting time. MONIKA: And then, for all the examinations done in the public hospital, we paid 150 lira. MONIKA:

At the time, Monika and Klaus did not yet have insurance in Turkey, and they later received only 50 percent of their expenses from their German insurance. Nevertheless, as they pointed out, the costs were still low, except for the tomography, for which they had to pay an additional €400 at the privately owned Anadolu Hastanesı (Anadolu Hospital) because the state hospital then was not equipped with this technology. Since in their experience higher out-of-pocket payments are an exception and most co-payments are comparatively small, their overall assessment was favorable considering the high-quality standards and effective workings of the Turkish mix of private and public health care institutions. At the same time, private clinics and hospitals in particular were considered to be driven by profit maximization, with the costs and fees even for minor issues being generally high. Wolfgang described a visit to a private clinic that was similar to that described by many others: “I paid €50 before seeing a

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doctor. I do not think this is OK.” In addition, doctors at private hospitals reportedly recommend unnecessary treatments and operations, and there are rumors of corruption at certain hospitals and clinics (see also Gehring 2016). Numerous stories were related about Germans who had to undergo an emergency treatment in Alanya, so they were sent to a private hospital by ambulance and were barely able to cover the costs because they lacked insurance coverage. Some had to borrow several thousand Euros from friends. In spite of these more negative narratives, their overall assessments of access, treatment, and costs for health services in Alanya were favorable. Nevertheless, negative experiences also led to insecurities. Regarding the strategies adopted by the German local residents to obtain access to health care, all the interviewees residing in Alanya said they had used and may continue to access health care facilities in both Germany and Turkey. Whereas some scholars have contended that retirement lifestyle migrants’ pattern of mobility and residence depends on their health care preferences (Ackers and Dwyer 2002; Coldron and Ackers 2007; Gehring 2016; Warnes and Williams 2006), my findings indicate the opposite—that is, their mobility patterns influence their access to health care. I identified two distinct patterns of health care access that corresponded to particular mobility and residential patterns. One pattern reflects those migrants who have settled in Alanya, who travel to Germany less regularly or not at all, and who predominantly use the local health services in Turkey. As we shall see, some members of this group were required to deregister from the (municipal) registry of inhabitants in Germany. Because the majority of them were publicly insured, they exported their entitlements to Turkey, but there were also those who exported their private German insurance or who paid for additional private insurance in Turkey. The other pattern of access reflects those migrants whose insurance covered only temporary stays in Turkey because they were still registered in Germany and visited there more regularly, including trips for medical checkups. Still, it was clear from their narratives that these retirement migrants had more than one option when choosing how to access their health care. Whether and when they used out-of-pocket payments, whether they relied on Turkish or German insurance, whether their insurance carrier was public or private, and whether they got reimbursed for their expenses or used a health care card were decisions that did not appear to be very straightforward and often changed over time, as did the particular ways in which they organized their health care access. When Klaus had his stroke, he combined out-of-pocket payments and travel health insurance to cover the costs of care. In the meantime, the couple entered the Turkish public health system based on the bilateral social security agreement between Germany and Turkey and that they attribute to their insurance company.

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We have the [German public insurance company]; they have an agreement with Turkey and now we are also insured [through the public health system] in Turkey … . And we can go to a doctor anywhere in Germany, since we have our health care card from the [German public insurance company]. We are also insured in Germany, and here. That is sometimes important … . And well, it does not cost anything, because of the agreement with the [German public insurance company]. We pay contributions only in Germany. From our pension they deduce the contributions. KLAUS: [It is] compulsory. Automatically. Naturally, you have to request this. The health insurer wants to see that we really live in Turkey; the ikamet is not enough. They want to see the deregistration from Germany, that we are not registered in Germany. Then they want proof that we are registered here and a certification by the local provost that we really live here. … [It is bureaucratic] If you know this, it is not an issue, but, to be honest, I also had to … At the beginning … MONIKA: It took us ten years to learn this. MONIKA:

Similarly, Helga also stressed that her German health insurance carrier “forced me to give up my residential registration; otherwise, they would not give me the T/A 20 certificate.” With this certificate, she receives the Turkish health care benefit package. In the in-depth interviews I conducted, all the retirees said they had a residence permit in Turkey, but not all of them had deregistered in Germany or were willing to do so. In particular, those who kept an apartment in Germany and regularly stayed there for a few weeks or months relied on other strategies. Christa was one such case, and her story resembled that of many others. She maintained her old, low-rent apartment in Germany where she went three to five times a year, usually for a week, during which time she also visited her general practitioner or a specialist if necessary. When she was in Turkey and needed some urgent treatment, she paid out-of-pocket or used the SKG registration and was reimbursed through her health insurance, which covered temporary stays abroad as part of the social security agreement between the two countries. Her explanation revealed the complicated procedures and contradictory experiences that call into question how much migrants can rely on the export of entitlements: This [health care certificate] is only unproblematic when you do not live here permanently. To me the health insurance … I have received a health care certificate. Even though the man had explained to me that I was not entitled to it. But I never used it. And the man to whom I talked because of this bill [for treatment in Turkey], he insinuated that if my habitual residence was here [in Turkey], I was obliged to have an insurance here. And then I told him that I was not stupid. Since they withdraw €160 every month from my pension toward my health insurance, I couldn’t see

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why I should have health insurance here. … And, as he said, I was not entitled to a certificate because I would be here, not on vacation, but permanently. I told him, I live, I have my habitual residence, [in Germany], but I would be most of the time … [in Turkey]. Well, I also have had another woman at the same health insurance; she gave me a health certificate for a whole year. It always depends with whom you happen to deal. Because they are living abroad, my interviewees regularly encountered complications when dealing with German institutions, although to different degrees. Yet some also found that exporting their entitlements was relatively uncomplicated. For example, they were able to receive a health care certificate that was meant for touristic stays, even comparatively extended ones, and it was sent to them by email. By registering their German T/A 11 certificate and receiving a Turkish SKG card, Jutta and Dieter were able to get their prescriptions and regular checkups for their hypertension at one of the local hospitals. Although they regularly visited their physician and dentist in Germany, they spoke very positively about the Turkish health care system, referring to its high standards and effective, efficient functioning. They also considered the electronic exchange of information between hospitals and pharmacies and use of similar technologies in other areas to be superior to the German health system. Using local health care services can sometimes also result in beneficial protection. Elke usually lives three months in Germany and three months in Turkey and travels back and forth. Her friend Ingrid stays in Germany only a few months during the summer. Both friends described their health care access in Alanya as unproblematic and beneficial. We get, at home we get, of course we all have a supplementary [traveler’s health] insurance, but it is valid for only six weeks. And because we stay a quarter of a year or so we took a health certificate from our health insurance. And with this we go to SGK and have it registered. And then we can go to the local public hospital. INGRID: For free. There I even get, I did not even have to pay for my glasses, for which I have to pay in Germany. I was very surprised, really. ELKE:

Some respondents stressed that every foreigner staying longer than a certain period of time must now register with the Turkish insurance scheme SGK. In fact, as of the HTP reforms of 2012, membership in this scheme has become mandatory, although to what degree this applies to foreigners is less clear, and the website of the German consulate reiterates this ambiguity. SGK and the Turkish foreign minister have declared that foreigners can voluntarily register but do not have to, which has led experts to be wary of a certain degree of legal insecurity in this respect.7 Still, foreigners can now participate in SGK, suggesting that the Turkish state is according some elements of social citizenship to foreign residents. Especially for those without insurance,

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this opportunity opens up the possibility that they can enter the Turkish system. For Brigitte, who is not yet formally a retiree, did not have health insurance previously, and was paying for necessary treatments out-of-pocket, the Turkish health reform made it possible to register with SGK by paying a comparatively low monthly fee, which she and her husband now do. More generally, all the interviewees referred to the low costs of certain treatments that were not covered by their insurance or for which they had to contribute a share. Hans said the following when speaking about a friend: Even if he pays everything here for his prosthodontic services, it would still be cheaper than what he would have to pay as a co-payment in Germany. Ingrid, who frequently mentioned her limited budget in relation to other aspects of daily life, spoke of her experiences with the costs of health care services: For instance, I was there [in the hospital] for one night, on the drip, [and underwent] all kinds of examinations. There I paid 30, 31, or 32 lira [around €10 to €15, depending on the currency rate at the time]. … Yes, or with my tooth, I had lost a crown. If I had gone to the local public dental clinic, then I should, I probably would not have paid anything. Because the implants are also very cheap there. Now, did not know where the public dental clinic was. Well, and then you also do not count every penny. And then I went next door. I went. I paid 50 lira for my crown. My daughter lost a crown in Germany and her co-payment was €60. As a result of health reforms in Germany, co-payments for treatments and medicine have been increasing, and patients have become cost-sensitive. Thus, when retirement migrants do the calculations, it turns out that health care in Turkey is cheaper. The ability to receive health care is further facilitated by the combined effects of the export of entitlements from Germany and the conditions available to local residents. In general, private clinics and hospitals in Turkey tend to charge high fees to foreigners, the majority of whom are short-term tourists or medical tourists. However, when talking about health care access and its workings, many interviewees emphasized that local foreign residents were differentiated from international tourists and were treated basically on a par with the Turkish residents. Angelika described the situation this way: Well, the fees per day are not different [from those in Germany]. I think for Turks, they pay much less … if they go to a clinic here. … If you go to a hospital here, it is essential that you show the ikamet and say “I am a resident,” so you’ll get different prices … If I say I am now a tourist and I came here two weeks ago and then I have, let’s say, a perforated appendix, then of course you pay German prices here. … If I say, I am now, I live here, I have an ikamet, yes, then he says “good” and then I get a totally different price.

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The ikamet is used to document local residency, and, as was confirmed by an expert from a local hospital, it allows foreigners to receive treatment at prices equal to those offered to other (Turkish) members of the local community who are enrolled in the country’s health care system (expert interview 2018, A18-EI3). Beyond merely financial issues, although these are also important, this equal treatment seems to reflect certain recognition that foreign migrants (at least partially) belong. In fact, the interviewees prided themselves on this favorable distinction between international tourists and foreign local residents. For retirement migrants, the combination of their legal local residency and their ability to register with SGK through their German insurance plan—and the bilateral agreement between Germany and Turkey and the recent internationalization and development of health tourism—may be considered an auspicious context for their local health practices. Although the German retirees in Alanya were usually satisfied with the medical treatment they received in local hospitals, they noted some remarkable differences that were considered detrimental when compared with the German health care system. Namely, there was little or no nursing care, aftercare, rehabilitation, or domiciliary help, which meant that such elements of patient care were left to family members. This “family-centered” system sometimes led to serious problems for foreign retirees. As Ingrid pointed out, When you have to go into the hospital here, you somehow need friends who will do the care work. Similarly, Peter explains, Well the provisions are pretty good here, only, you need to know that there is, for example, no rehab. Instead, the assumption is that the person who has undergone surgery will return to the fold of the family and will be taken care of there. I have seen this, with that friend I told you about. He had heart surgery. Almost five hours of open heart. After ten days, they sent him home to his family. … The nurses come in the morning to measure blood pressure and temperature; after a while you get breakfast. But other than that, they basically do not provide more care. That’s what the family is supposed to do. Unlike the family-centered approach of Turkish health care, the family members of retirement lifestyle migrants, most of whom have remained in Germany, are not able to take on the role of caregiver, nor do the German patients expect them to do so. To some degree, informal caregiving is provided by partners or, in a few cases, the children of the patient if they also reside in Alanya, as well as by friends and neighbors. At German get-togethers, a patient might be heard thanking friends for their support during a recent illness. The local German Christian Ecumenical Association also provides some social work, and there is now a group of volunteers that organizes hospital visits. In general, however,

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representatives from the local hospitals have observed that their foreign patients hardly ever receive visitors and rely on little support during and after the treatment. As a consequence, public and private hospitals, as well as the German consulate, regularly collaborate in arranging for patients to be transported to their country of origin (expert interviews 2018, A18-EI3, A18-EI4; see also Chapter 6). Retirees who require intensive, long-term treatments are often forced to return to Germany, an issue that will be addressed in the next section. Many complain about the lack of nursing homes or other forms of domiciliary help or home-nursing that would allow them to stay in Alanya when they can no longer take care of themselves. This matter does not just concern a lack of local resources; specifically, the export of benefits for intensive care outside the EU is not legally possible (Faist 2001; Sieveking 2000, 2007). Apparently geared toward accommodating German and other foreign retirees in Alanya, an announcement was made in a local, German-speaking online newspaper that the Canevi International Nursing Home would be inaugurated on 29 April 2008 (Alanyabote, 23 September 2008). However, there are no accounts of its existence, and only one person I talked to said that this initiative had failed, possibly owing to the costs involved and the fact that German insurance would not cover such long-term care abroad. In the retirees’ view, their inability to export these entitlements was unfair, and they stressed that having a nursing home in Turkey would still be much cheaper for the German health system than one in Germany. Accessing health care in Germany Germans residing abroad can access the German health system without difficulty (Kaiser 2011, 260).8 Thus, the retirees who were formally deregistered could use this option during home visits or, if they preferred, specific treatments in Germany. The respondents who were still registered and who visited Germany more regularly also tended to see their doctors in Germany in addition to using the local health care services in Alanya when necessary. Those who regularly received their health care in Germany considered this option to be preferable for several reasons: In Turkey they had to deal with the language barrier and so they were more comfortable with their physicians in Germany, who they had known for many years, and in some cases their insurance coverage abroad was limited. Peter usually went to Germany for medical consultations, although he had also used the Turkish health services: With regard to certain issues, I would, because of the still existing language barrier, prefer to do something in Germany. But concerning the medical abilities, I have no doubts here. Thus, while interpreter services are appreciated, a translator may not be available at every visit or may be unable to make it to the appointment in

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time. Also, perhaps because medical issues are sensitive for most people, being able to communicate with the doctor in the same language was important to some of my interviewees. Moreover, they preferred to see doctors they know (having been patients sometimes for several decades) and who know them and are familiar with their illnesses and health conditions. This is why Jutta said that if her dentist in Germany retires she will have to decide where to find one to replace him. Furthermore, although export is legally regulated for retirees in the public scheme, some professional groups cannot export all their benefits, especially if these retirees had been civil servants, for whom the state pays 70 percent of their health care assistance in retirement only for treatment received in Germany; for the remaining 30 percent, they require private insurance and can usually be reimbursed for treatment abroad as well. Thus, Wolfgang visited his doctors during his regular stays in Germany because “it is cheaper to fly back than to look for health insurance in Turkey.” Nevertheless, he was confident about the standards in Alanya and has had positive experiences there too. This assessment often changes when long-term treatments become necessary, as Monika and Klaus observed: Many leave; many leave when they are ill or when they have cancer. Then they go back to Germany. Even though the provisions for treating cancer are as good here as in Germany. But then, they do not trust the Turkish doctors. KLAUS: Then they realize that they are in a foreign country and that they have to communicate somehow. If I now go to stay in the hospital, I cannot expect that there will always be an interpreter. MONIKA: It is that … If you have to go to the hospital here, you need friends who can help care for you. MONIKA:

Because of a mixture of familiarity, language, insurance coverage, and care expectations particular to the German and Turkish health care systems, Germans retirees tend to return to their home country for long-term treatment (see Chapter 6). Indeed, many feel that this choice is not a voluntary one, that sometimes others make it for them. Some stories are told about others who became frail yet refused to return. For instance, a landlord who rented an apartment to an elderly Swiss lady told me how he personally accompanied her back to Switzerland, in collaboration with the Swiss consul, because the tenant had been forced to leave in light of her advanced dementia and had refused to return in time. Similarly, Hans also observed that many Germans are leaving as they get older and their health problems increase, but he fears that not all of them choose to do so freely: Well, I mean, simply: when Daddy becomes demented, then the son simply takes him home … and puts him into a nursing home in Germany.

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Keeping one foot at home In organizing their well-being and social citizenship across borders, Germans in Alanya combined the transfer of resources and the portability of entitlements from their home country (facilitated by the interstate agreements) with access to local resources, including a more favorable climate, leisure, health and health care services, and out-of-pocket payments for medical treatments that are generally cheaper as compared to Germany. In parallel, they continued to have access and make use of health care services in the home country and were therefore able to organize a largely beneficial package and a more satisfying quality of life. By leveraging their pension (certificate) to ensure their residential security, they were able to access spatial rights in the immigration country through (social) citizenship from the emigration country. Furthermore, financial resources from their home country, related in part to citizenship, allowed them economic benefits and access to other resources abroad, maximizing the benefits of their (senior) social citizenship, which, for some, allowed them to overcome the constraints they faced. Thus, for retirement migrants, their pension, even if small, can be turned into better health in warmer climates, a more active life and opportunities for leisure activities, a better quality of life, and greater well-being by adopting a transnational lifestyle. The transnational literature has argued that many migrants throughout the world, particularly the more marginalized and often poorer labor migrants, “keep feet in two worlds” (Levitt 2003). While they become integrated in the society and institutions at their place of immigration, many of the less privileged migrants stay in close touch with their places of emigration by continuing to support family members and their local communities through financial and other resources. The emigration states, in turn, actively encourage such contributions (Barry 2006; Goldring 2002; Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004; see also Chapter 1). Those retirement lifestyle migrants who are more privileged also tend to remain tied to their home country. Different from the more marginalized migrant groups, emigrants from resourceful countries do so in their attempt to be mobile, to relocate and stay abroad, and to access and mobilize relevant resources. To ensure their spatial privilege—that is, their mobility and access to a variety of resources from multiple sites—this group also keeps one foot at home. Are these migrants synthesizing their rights and entitlements to create an “individually tailored” package that will maximize their benefits and result in what might be called “synthetic citizenship”? European social policy researchers have pointed to the consequences of territorial welfare states and the fixed realities of (social) citizenship that contrast with the mobile lives of migrants (Ackers and Dwyer 2004, 2002). Facing numerous constraints, retirees who moved within the EU were sometimes found to be aware of their social rights and limitations and could therefore make “informed choices” in order to manipulate the boundaries of their rights in places of both their residence and their origin (Ackers and Dwyer 2002, 32; Coldron and Ackers 2009, 576).

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Still, laws often appear to be less fixed than one would expect (see also Gehring 2016). With the growing spatial mobility of workers, professionals, tourists, and (increasingly) retirees, the citizenship and social rights and entitlements are starting to adapt to these mobile conditions. In the case of Germany and Turkey, their bilateral social security agreement dates back to 1965. It was signed with the labor migrants who went to Germany from Turkey in mind, but today it also benefits German citizens who have migrated to Turkey. Yet the situation for the non-resident citizen—the emigrant—is still not the same as that for the resident citizen. Several legal limitations complicate the experiences of emigrants, and they cannot export all their entitlements and often face, or fear that they will face, disadvantages in other respects. Because several provisions are conditional based on a particular residential pattern and generally distinguish between short-term stays abroad and permanent emigration they do not adequately reflect the transnational lifestyle of retirement migrants. In this setting, rather than having been strategically planned, my respondents’ transnational lifestyles and their practices of mobile citizenship reflected situated and flexible adaptations to opportunities and constraints, confusion, misinformation, and the fear of losing entitlements. My conversations with German lifestyle migrants in Alanya indicated the daunting complexity of legal regulations they encountered, their sometimes contradictory experiences, and a certain degree of misinformation, as well as occasional disinterest. Although some of the retirees I interviewed were rather well-informed and generally knew their rights and obligations, others were hardly aware of their entitlements or had been misinformed, with some of their accounts bearing little resemblance to the legal provisions or the information and recommendations that had been offered by the state institutions. Many were confused about terms such as formal citizenship, registered residence, habitual residence, and postal address, resulting in unclear and sometimes contradictory narratives. Hence, even though these study subjects were residents of Alanya, they remained citizens of Germany and maintained other links to their home country as well. Some of my respondents kept a registered residence in Germany, whether by maintaining a home of their own or merely registering the address of their children, other family members, or friends. Others decided to deregister, keeping only a postal address, sometimes as a way to export their health care entitlements. All kept a bank account in Germany for official payments. When reflecting upon, explaining, or justifying particular actions, such as transferring their pension to a German bank account while residing in Turkey or requesting a health care certificate for temporary absence despite being away most of the year, none seemed concerned that these practices might test the boundaries of legal regulations. In light of conditions that were often not fully applicable to their way of life, their explanations were deemed “natural” strategies designed to safeguard against risks and insecurities.

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Some of the retirees’ benefits were exported while others were kept in Germany. In particular, the portability of the pension emerged as a transfer not of rights but of cash, in spite of interstate social security provisions. Like many of the interviewees, Christa explained why and how she accessed her pension in Germany: For some time they reduced it. This is why I do not have [it transferred]. And when I need money, then I just get it from [my German account]. I do online banking, and if I have to pay for something, I pay online. Every month I withdraw the money I need from my account. When I go to Germany, I just take everything from the account with me. All the retirees kept their pension entitlements in Germany, and not a few associated this with formal citizenship. Brigitte, who was no longer a formal resident of Germany, connected her pension to her German citizenship. She stressed that she would never give up this citizenship because she would then lose a substantial part of her pension. Similarly, when I asked Monika and Klaus whether they had considered becoming Turkish citizens, or if this would perhaps be a beneficial option for them, Monika replied that they did not want to give up their German citizenship, implicitly acknowledging the German principle of dual-citizenship avoidance. The need to keep German citizenship, in turn, was seen as a way to ensure one’s social rights and entitlements. Well, no, [becoming a Turkish citizen] is out of the question. Absolutely not. Well, we receive a pension and we would also face difficulties. It is already terrible enough that we are no longer registered in Germany. MF: You are not registered anymore? MONIKA: No. And then with the pension, this is sometimes a bit complicated. MF: Yes, and you receive your pension on a bank account here? MONIKA: No, no, into our German bank account. … And then I receive a company pension from [a former public employer]. Not much: €86. … This is really not the world. But every now and then, this situation causes difficulties, because they [the authorities] still can’t understand that we have a postal address with my son in [city] but are not registered in Germany. And this is very difficult for the authorities to note. They do not get this into their computer. KLAUS: They do not get their own laws into it. MONIKA: That’s the problem in Germany; it is the law that says if you are absent for more than a quarter of a year, you must deregister. KLAUS: Yes [and laughs]. But they do not understand. MONIKA: And I regularly tell them, Why? I say facetiously, “I am not allowed to register here, I say: I am a lawful citizen, so I have to deregister.” KLAUS: Yes, then they get an X in their feet. MONIKA: Yes, but then, it finally always works. MONIKA:

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Divergent regulations and contradictory experiences are also an important subject on expatriate websites and other portals that provide information and recommendations for Germans who wish to lead a mobile life or to relocate abroad.9 In the face of such complex situations, fears emerge about the possibility of losing their entitlements. Across the board, retirement lifestyle migrants opt for strategies that will ensure (continued) access to the full spectrum of social rights and entitlements, which keep them tied to Germany. In this vein, the interviewees stressed that their mobility should not impinge on their welfare rights, for which they had contributed to the economy and social security system; this response was similar to that identified in other research concerning German citizens abroad (Nieberg 2013, 7). Hence, having to navigate the complicated landscape of regulations and requirements, and having mixed experiences, was reflected in their insistence that, as senior citizen émigrés, they were entitled to certain rights. Also, receiving a pension from Germany, or having a residence there while also living in Turkey as a local resident, and making one’s obligatory contributions were “different things,” as Ingrid put it: But I do have, in fact, I am, I have my habitual residence in Germany, where I have my bank account. … That I also have a bank account and pay my taxes here [in Turkey], well, this is a different thing. German retirees often conceive of their transnational lifestyles that connect them to Germany and their local lifestyles in Alanya as being unconnected. Yet these individuals’ mobility and practices are entangled in rights, resources and entitlements from multiple sites of citizenship, meaning that retirement lifestyle migrants, in their combined roles as emigrants, immigrants, and local residents, gain access to a variety of resources (but also face constraints). As they strive to maintain the rights, entitlements, and resources available to them from multiple sites, their transnational lifestyles are reinforced.

Notes 1 http://www.deutsche-rentenversicherung.de/Allgemein/de/Inhalt/2_Rente_Reha/01_ rente/01_grundwissen/05_rente_und_ausland/ 01a_grundlagen/01_grundlagen.html (last accessed July 15, 2014). 2 http://www.bmas.de/DE/Themen/Soziales-Europa-und-Internationales/Internationa l/sozialversicherungsabkommen.html (last accessed February 25, 2019). 3 https://www.deutsche-rentenversicherung.de/Allgemein/de/Navigation/2_Rente_Reha/ 01_Rente/04_in_der_rente/01_rentenbesteuerung/00_01_rentenbesteuerung_wie_bes teuert_wird_node.html (last accessed October 9, 2018). 4 Website of the German consulate in Antalya, https://tuerkei.diplo.de/tr-de/ver tretungen/generalkonsulat1 (last accessed June 15, 2014). 5 https://e-ikamet.goc.gov.tr/ (last accessed November 8, 2017). A short-term visa also requires health insurance, for which the webpage stipulates “The foreigners included in the scope of bilateral social security agreements must have confirmed their status in provincial social security units and attach this e-signed/signed and stamped/ sealed document to application documents.”

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6 Sentence of the Federal Social Court (Bundessozialgerichtshof) 2005, https://www. krankenkassen.de/ausland/Leistungen-bei-Aufenthalt-im-Ausland/rentner-krankenkas se-behandlung-ausland/ (last accessed March 13, 2019). 7 http://www.izmir.diplo.de/Vertretung/izmir/de/03-Antalya/Krankenversicherung_20in_ 20der_20T_C3_BCrkei.html (last accessed July 16, 2014). 8 Sentence of the Federal Social Court (Bundessozialgerichtshof) 2005, https://www. krankenkassen.de/ausland/Leistungen-bei-Aufenthalt-im-Ausland/rentner-krankenkasse-behandlung-ausland/ (last accessed March 13, 2019). 9 See for example https://wirelesslife.de (last accessed March 13, 2019).

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5

Transnational lifestyles, citizenship practices, and local belonging

The previous chapter described how German retirees settled in Alanya—a place that, in the words of one of my interlocutors, “has adapted to the foreigners”—by buying or renting apartments or houses there. Some of the retirees I studied gave up a home and formal residence in Germany; others, for a variety of reasons, maintained a residence back home (see Chapter 4). In their everyday lives, the vast majority of these migrants continued to use the German language, listened to news and information on German television and radio, read German newspapers, and shopped at supermarkets that offered German products. When they needed to visit a doctor, they were attended to in their language, aided by translator services in many hospitals or clinics and by the fact that some of the doctors had studied in Germany. All these factors make them a visible presence in the urban landscape of Alanya. At the same time, my interviewees retained close social ties with friends and family in Germany. They are in touch with them by telephone and through the internet, and some regularly stay in their old homes for several weeks or months every year. Given the ease of living in Alanya as a German (senior) citizen, it is perhaps not surprising that all the Germans I met cannot imagine giving up their German citizenship. Nevertheless, the majority of them have no plans to return to their home country (see also Chapter 6). In 2006, the web-based magazine Spiegel Online published an article subtitled “Insights into a German Parallel World” that referred to the Germans in Alanya as having “left their home [Heimat] as retirees or unemployed to try their luck at the Turkish Riviera. Yet, they never really arrived” (Spiegel Online, 10 December 2006). In 2009, the daily newspaper Der Tagesspiegel included an article entitled “Almanya in Alanya” that asked whether the Germans might resemble a “Parallelgesellschaft oder Multikulti” (a parallel society or multicultural entity) and offered observations and interviews that spoke to the former rather than the latter (Der Tagesspiegel, 4 January 2009). Several years later, in 2014, the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung wrote about “the paradise in the parallel society” enjoyed by the German citizens who had migrated to Alanya (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 23 May 2014).

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Such assessments resonate with the empirical research on retirement and other lifestyle migrations that portrays individuals who seek to improve their lives and well-being by moving to warmer climates and for whom local or national politics in their new places of residence rarely matter because they are leading active social lives and socialize within co-ethnic networks. In short, such studies have documented the limited local integration of these migrants, who make few contacts within their adopted local communities and do not become involved in local political affairs (Gustafson 2008, 467; Rodríguez, Fernández-Mayoralas, and Rojo 1998, 198; Warnes and Williams 2006, 1271). At the same time, these migrants were found to be well served by both the local social infrastructures and their own communities, whether they had moved to Spain or Panama (King, Warnes, and Williams 1998, 102; Van Noorloos 2013, 572). Researchers concluded from this observation that, for lifestyle migrants, deeper involvement with the local community was “a bonus not a necessity” (Huber and O’Reilly 2004, 347). Because their new lives tend to be anchored in the “non-geographic sites of symbolic (co-‘ethnic’) communities” and in “segregated residential areas,” their identities are described as delocalized, while their notion of feeling at home does not refer to a particular place but instead is based on their active lifestyle, leisure pursuits, and new friendships within their co-ethnic communities. From their studies of British and Swiss retirees living in Southern Spain, Andreas Huber and Karen O’Reilly concluded that the delocalized community attachments of these migrants, their strong ties to friends and family in their countries of origin, and access to media and information from those countries, as well as the availability of fast and inexpensive travel, offered these elderly residents the “illusion of being at home” on the Spanish coast and led them to “put little value on place” (Huber and O’Reilly 2004, 348). In this vein, some lifestyle migrants become discouraged when their initially chosen paradise begins to deteriorate as a result of overdevelopment; they then decide to seek another paradise, reflecting what researchers refer to as “landscape nomadism” (McWatters 2009; Van Noorloos 2013, 583). João Sardinha (2014, 179), for example, describes an English couple who first resettled in the Algarve (Portugal) but, when confronted with urban growth, ongoing construction, and lapsed security in this rapidly developing coastal region, decided to move to the still untouched, “authentic” hinterland of Central Portugal. With regard to these lifestyle migrants’ influence on the local community, researchers have noted their impact as consumers. As a consequence of their settlement, real estate and land prices are rising, and the local architecture, landscape, services, shops, and restaurants have adapted, with the frequent acceptance of foreign currencies such as dollars and euros. Iranzu Gárriz Fernández (2011) shows how in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico, this process led to the displacement of the older, local business establishments from the center of town to its periphery, to be replaced by those catering to, and often owned by, foreigners. Lifestyle migrants’ local involvement is seen less as an

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expression of local citizenship and more as evidence of “who has the power to acquire property, reconfigure private and public space, and influence local decision-making” (Smith and Guarnizo 2009, 618), as well as “an instantiation of neocolonial consumer domination rather than multicultural political formation” (Smith and Guarnizo 2009, 617). As far as cross-border personal or political involvement is concerned, several studies have focused on the personal ties that bind lifestyle migrants to family and friends in their countries of origin. The cross-border political practices of emigrants are usually not the subject of European research, and when they are they have been found to be minimal (Gustafson 2008). Yet, this finding is in stark contrast to the case of US-American retirees in Mexico, who tend to be deeply involved in cross-border political activism (Croucher 2009b; see below). All in all, the literature suggests that retirees abroad engage in a footloose lifestyle that differs from the integrationist paradigm, in which newcomers become members of the local (and, by implication, national) community in their new place, adapt to its language and customs, and share a sense of belonging to it. Instead, the identities of lifestyle migrants, their sense of belonging, and their practices are seen as homeland-oriented or delocalized. Not least, the predominant assessment of this type of migration reflects certain globalization theories that suggest a diminishing relevance of place and communal intimacy—overridden by the consumption of goods and landscapes typical of late (reflexive) modernity, with its global flows and spatial mobilities (for a discussion see Savage, Longhurst, and Bagnall 2005). Although the lifestyle migration literature does not usually address theoretical concepts of citizenship, what is of interest here is the affective facet of citizenship (i.e., a migrant’s sense of belonging to a community and place, or country) together with the political dimension of citizenship (see Chapter 1). The citizenship facet of belonging is often somewhat more narrowly discussed to reflect a person’s political identification; however, researchers’ interest in the field of retirement lifestyle migration can be associated with a broader theorization of belonging (Antonsich 2010; Fenster 2005; PfaffCzarnecka 2011; Yuval-Davis 2006) and focuses on the more personal or everyday forms of place-attachment as well as a sense of home. As we will see, these two dimensions of belonging are closely interconnected. Political citizenship not only concerns the rights and practices of participation in the political process (Marshall 1950, 11)—that is, in formal politics and elections—but also embraces people’s wider citizenship practices through social or civic engagement with society. Against this backdrop, I will now explore mobile citizenship with respect to the relationship between transnational lifestyles and local belonging among the German retirees in Alanya. Indeed, transnational research seeks to consider how migrants’ involvements with their places of immigration and of emigration are related and how both these processes may coexist or perhaps mutually support each other (Kivisto 2003). To do so, we must understand how migrants practice citizenship and express belonging within a constellation of various sites

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of citizenship (Bauböck 2010) that are nested in, and entangled through, legal and institutional arrangements, and the agency of migrants (Faist 2001; Isin 2008). Using the concept of mobile citizenship, I consider how these multiple sites of citizenship status and the retirees’ rights, practices, and belonging become intertwined with an individual’s mobility. I include not only multiple national sites, namely those of emigration and immigration, but also local and supra- or interstate sites. Although some of the research cited above dealt with migrants’ sense of home and belonging, ranging from neighborhoods to their national identification and European identity (Gustafson 2001; Huber and O’Reilly 2004), it has not focused attention on these different sites or considered the relationship between them. Transnational scholars concerned with urban space have argued that cross-border practices and belonging often build on local identifications (Guarnizo and Smith 1999), while other researchers have noted an inverse relationship. Attachment to a place and a sense of home and belonging, in addition to local political engagement, can be greatly facilitated through a migrant’s cross-border ties, practices, networks, and organizations (Ehrkamp 2005). In this regard, place is neither always irrelevant to lifestyle migrants nor merely a container that matches their lifestyle choices. In particular, social geographers have advanced an understanding of place not simply as a platform for social relations and identity that is “there” and can be chosen but as one that is produced and reproduced in social processes, relations, and discourse (Ehrkamp 2005; Janoschka 2009), and affects both the material qualities of place and the symbolic meaning and imaginaries attached to it. Therefore, lifestyle migrants’ perspectives and their political and social practices of involvement, intervention, and belonging deserve to be explored. How do migrants make a place their own, and how is this related to, aided by, or blocked by emigrant citizenship and local context and governance? Not being integrated does not necessarily mean being detached from place, nor do the persons involved necessarily see themselves as such. In addition, multicultural recognition as an individual experience, even when it reflects the “consumer power” of privileged migrants, can prove favorable to belonging. After exploring what it means to be German in Alanya with regard to emigrant belonging and citizenship practices, and what this implies about migrants’ feelings of attachment to various communities at different sites (both locally and across the border), I will examine the roles of immigrant institutions and civic practices and of local governance in forging local citizenship and how these actions may actually discourage foreigners from becoming politically involved. Third, I will focus on the everyday lives of German retirees and how they make a place their home, because feeling at home, safe, and at ease is a crucial aspect of belonging. What emerges from this analysis are different versions of local daily engagement that sustain the notion of feeling at home, as described in the interviewees’ own words. Fourth, by evoking the “permanent guest” metaphor, I discuss the limits of

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such belonging, citing practices that sustain the privileged migrants’ sense of both entitlement and difference, as well as practices that aim to minimize such differences in the search for local belonging. Finally, in the last section of the chapter, I reflect on German lifestyle migrants’ partial belonging in the local context, which in certain ways appears privileged—especially when compared with many other categories of migrants in the world and when considered visà-vis the local population—but is also limited by their privileged status.

Being German in Alanya Emigrant belonging and practices Somewhat ironically referred to as cücük Almanya (“Little Germany”), Alanya displays an urban landscape that has to some extent been “Germanized.” In the streets, signposts and announcements are in German but also in English and Russian. With the help of translators and physicians who previously studied in Germany, medical doctors, clinics, and hospitals use German when offering their services (see Chapter 4). In addition, customers in shops are addressed in German, and real estate agents and car and motorcycle rental agencies display their offers in German; some of these businesses are in fact run by Germans who have also settled in Alanya. German products are sold at the internationalized German supermarket chains that have established themselves in and around Alanya over the past 10 or 20 years. When Germans get together, they exchange information about where to buy (German) butter or bread or may recommend a trustworthy mechanic or handyman whose work meets German expectations. Bakers and mechanics are often praised for being German or for having been trained in Germany. German television is available via satellite, and the internet and exported print newspapers provide additional sources of information and ways of keeping in touch. None of the migrants I met in Alanya seemed to feel strange about being a German citizen, speaking German, watching German television, or having close ties with their fellow Germans here or abroad, while living in another country where they feel at ease, appreciate local life, and can express a sense of home. Nira Yuval-Davis (2006, 202) has pointed out that issues of belonging and identity become more salient when these are threatened. German belonging is almost never contested in Alanya, and German citizens are generally treated favorably here; at the same time, they are not particularly encouraged to express any national sentiments, which is reflected in their natural confidence in being German in Alanya. Being able to express one’s own identity is crucial to developing feelings of home and belonging (Antonsich 2010, 650). Although not specifically emphasized, the social identity of my research subjects can be considered German. Renate, who was more outspoken than most of the other interviewees, testified to her identity by saying, “I am

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German, and this is what I will always remain.” As she explained, she closely follows German politics and usually also votes, although this practice is becoming less important to her. And yet, in the next sentence she stated that she also follows Turkish politics and is interested in the political course of Turkey, not least because it may affect her personally. Indeed, Renate has no intention of ever returning to Germany and reflected on her relationship with Germany in an increasingly distant tone, as did several other interviewees. For example, when asked why they did not vote in the last parliamentary election, Klaus and Monika responded as follows: Well, in the last year we actually realized that we are more attracted to this place. Germany is pretty remote (abgemeldet) to us already. It is slowly becoming more and more remote. MONIKA: Yes, Germany has become “alien” to us (Deutschland ist uns fremd). That whole way of life is becoming more and more unfamiliar. But that’s also ok with me. KLAUS:

Renate, Klaus, Monika, and many others described how on their visits to Germany they observed more and more aspects they disliked and said how glad they were upon arriving back at the airport in Antalya and when seeing Alanya’s Red Tower (Kızıl Kule) come into view. For some interviewees, leaving their home country was prompted by their dissatisfaction with work relations, the bureaucracy, or party politics in Germany, although this did not necessarily take the form of political disinterest or abstention from voting there. In spite of growing more estranged from Germany, these retirees did not usually strive to become more Turkish even though they now considered Alanya their home. In fact, most of them said they would prefer to stay in Turkey and eventually be buried there (see Chapter 6). Almost everyone I interviewed, as well as others during occasional conversations, reported that they followed German news and politics, generally through German media, but formal participation or informal involvement was less likely. Roughly half these retirees had voted in federal elections in the last few years—a figure that includes both those who are still registered in Germany and those who are officially registered abroad and must therefore request an absentee ballot. Votes from abroad are not counted separately, but estimates suggest that only about 10 percent of Germans whose official residence is outside Germany actually participate in elections (Die Welt, 5 August 2009). German citizens have the right to cast their votes externally provided that they have been away from the country for less than 25 years (Deutscher Bundestag 2016). Still, exercising this right can be rather complicated because votes are not cast at the consulates but must be posted to the electoral office in the town where the voter last resided prior to relocating. In order to vote from abroad, one must register with the Federal Electoral Register. This type of registration is not automatic once a citizen has deregistered his or her residence in Germany and must be requested in advance of every

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election. The request formula is available online but has to be signed and sent in its original form by postal mail to the municipal office at his or her last residence. This office issues a ballot (Wahlschein) and sends the paperwork for postal voting to the voter’s address abroad. After filling in the voting sheet, the voter must send it back again via post.1 Those interviewees who had used absentee voting complained that the procedure was very complicated, an opinion shared by other German expatriate voters in other parts of the world (Die Welt, 5 August 2009; Nieberg 2013). Several of the retirees reported that they were eventually unable to cast their votes because the mail containing the requisite paperwork never reached them. In my (small) sample of retirees, those who regularly visit Germany and maintain an official address for residency purposes vote somewhat more frequently than the others do. Usually, they either plan to travel to Germany in time for the election or arrange to vote by post from their address in Germany; some have asked family members to request postal voting for them. In fact, postal voting has become routine over the past few decades. Legal reforms have simplified this method, and since 2009 voters no longer have to provide a written justification. In 2013, about one fourth (24.3%) of the German electorate chose this option, a share that has grown from less than 5 percent in 1957 and was still below 10 percent as of 1990 (Bertelsmann Stiftung 2016). Such growth reflects the fact that mobile voters are taking advantage of the more flexible electoral options. In a representative survey among German voters, 21 percent said they would vote by post if they were on vacation at the time of the election; another 17.6 percent said they would do so if unable to get to the polls on election day; and 19.3 percent said it was more convenient and thus a better option for them (Bertelsmann Stiftung 2016). Hidden within these figures is the growing share of voters who in effect reside abroad most of the time, as is the case for my respondents. Thus, both registered and deregistered Germans in Alanya make use of their right to vote in their home country, although not all of them do, and voter turnout among emigrants tends to be relatively low. As is the case in similar lifestyle communities, their engagement in further political activities is lacking (Gustafson 2008). This attitude may have several explanations: these citizens often assume that their individual involvement is not really necessary (Die Welt, 5 August 2009). Many also feel less committed to their past life in Germany, while others show the sense of dissatisfaction that motivated them to relocate in the first place. Beyond these more personal reasons, German institutions also fail to encourage such participation; voting procedures for emigrants are complicated; and branches of the German political parties barely exist outside Germany. Such party organizations tend to be located in Washington, DC, in Brussels, and in a few other cities, where the employees of official German political and economic institutions reside (Die Welt, 5 August 2009).2

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In contrast, in her study of lifestyle emigrants from the US, Sheila Croucher (2009a; 2009b) suggests that a key factor in explaining why American émigrés in Mexico display strong political activism is the opportunity structure that was created by the long-standing historical trajectories of US parties’ extraterritorial branches. Her research subjects vote across the border, raise money for electoral campaigns, meet with US candidates in Mexico, organize and attend rallies, participate in public debates concerning US political issues, and engage with the US Democrats Abroad, the Republicans Abroad, or the Daughters of the American Revolution. For German emigrants, institutional opportunities other than external voting rights do not exist, which has resulted in their scant political participation. At the same time, being German in Alanya is a largely uncontested status that is neither particularly threatened nor specifically encouraged. Some of my interviewees are becoming more detached from Germany whereas others continue to feel involved in their home country’s affairs. Still, for both groups, these attitudes coexist with attachment to Alanya. Dual attachments How then would the Germans in Alanya describe their attachments? Are their feelings of belonging directed to their country of emigration or to Alanya and, by extension, to the local population or more exclusively to the German expatriate community? In order to sort this out, I measured their closeness to different social groups by means of overlapping circles (using the model tested by Van Bochove, Rusinovic, and Engbergsen 2010). This measure shows two circles that appear in seven stages, ranging from two entirely separate circles to increasingly overlapping circles to two completely overlapping circles. The degree of overlap allowed me to visualize feelings of attachment that ranged from “not at all” (separate circles) to “very strong” (completely overlapping circles). The retirees were asked to respond to the multipart question “How strongly do you feel attached to Germans in Germany/Germans in Alanya/Europeans in Alanya/the local (Turkish) population?” For reasons of practicality and because of time constraints, only part of the sample (15 retirees) responded to this question. Obviously, the results are by no means representative of all Germans in Alanya, whose actual numbers and characteristics are unknown. Nevertheless, the results confirmed other findings from my study. Table 5.1 shows the average results of the circle test, which revealed that the highest degree of attachment was between the retirees and “Germans in Germany.” Most likely, the fact that the subjects in my sample spent most of their lives in Germany and it is where close family members and some friends continue to live influenced their sense of attachment. Interestingly, the choice “Germans in Alanya” received lower scores than did “Germans in Germany.” This result may be an indication that, in spite of having close friends among the local Germans in Alanya, the retirees felt somewhat of a distance from

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Responses (n=15)

Germans in Germany Germans in Alanya Europeans in Alanya Local (Turkish) population

4.0 3.5 2.8 3.7

the larger German community, particularly with regard to the behavior of some of its members. This is in line with the results of a survey undertaken by Balkır and Südas¸ in the Antalya Province of Turkey (Balkır and Südas¸ 2014, 132, Table 6). In that study, slightly more than 14 percent of the interviewed Germans responded that they would prefer to live in a neighborhood with local people, while only 7 percent said that they preferred to live with people from their own country. The large majority of the sample was indifferent. Of the circle scores, the lowest were in the category “Europeans in Alanya,” to whom most of my interviewees did not feel particularly attached and with whom the majority of the German community also seemed to have little personal contact. Considering the social composition both of my sample and of the German community in Alanya more generally, this result is likely to be an effect of, or at least to have been influenced by, their limited English language skills. Attachment toward “the local (Turkish) population” appeared comparatively strong, being the next highest degree of attachment after “Germans in Germany.” Although research has suggested a more romanticized and “illusionary” view of emigrants’ closeness to the local population (Huber and O’Reilly 2004), these results not only account for lifestyle migrants’ sense of local affiliation but also show how they wish to think of themselves. At the same time, the retirees made it clear that they do not consider themselves Turkish, nor do they feel regarded as such by the local population, as will become clear throughout this chapter. In fact, all the respondents firmly differentiated their sense of feeling at home in Alanya and their national attachment to Turkey (or the lack of it). In sum, this exercise showed that the retirement lifestyle migrants in my study felt a dual attachment to Germany and to Alanya.

Citizenship practices and local governance German retirees in Alanya remain German citizens and do not aspire to become Turkish nationals. This excludes them from full membership in their place of residence, and not least from voting rights. Yet citizenship is not expressed exclusively at the national site or merely through one’s formal status. In some important respects, the rights and entitlements, social practices, and sense of belonging that constitute the notion of citizenship emerge in their locality, Alanya. In that sense, German residents’ citizenship locally is fostered by migrants’ institutions and interventions, together with the local

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governance initiatives—an aspect that is often neglected in the research on lifestyle migrations. In addition to the links between migrants’ institutions and actors in local governance, links to institutions and networks in Germany, as well as pathways that have been established as a result of the historical relations between Turkey and Germany, represent the multiple sites and complex webs through which the elements of German residents’ local citizenship are forged. The German migrants’ institutions in Alanya serve religious purposes, seek to facilitate integration and daily life, and engage with the local society through charitable involvement and the support of stray animals. Overall, however, there are not many German civic institutions in Alanya, which is similar to findings in other places in Southern Europe, showing that German retirement lifestyle migrants rarely organize associations abroad or involve themselves in them and instead enjoy more private social contacts (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004, 375). In contrast, US-American expatriates in Mexico count on a large number of patriotic, cultural, and philanthropic associations (Croucher 2009b; Kiy and McEnany 2010), and the British lifestyle migrants in Southern Spain are active in many British clubs and charity events (Casado-Díaz, Kaiser, and Warnes 2004; Haas 2013; Huber and O’Reilly 2004). Still, a low level of associationism is also exhibited by other foreign groups in Alanya, as well as by the Germans living in Akyaka (in Mug˘ la Province) (Hübner 2010), by the British living in Didem (in Aydın Province) (Nudrali and O’Reilly 2009), and by the Dutch in the Antalya region of Turkey (Gehring 2016). A variety of factors related to the community and the context can explain this phenomenon. First, the majority of German and other European foreigners are relatively old, which can limit their capacity to organize. The lack of associationism is further intensified by the fact that many members regularly go back and forth between Germany and Turkey; others have to return to Germany for health reasons, with those who spend most of their time in Turkey in the minority. Second, in the past, foreigners were prohibited from forming associations (albeit not any longer), and religious activities by foreigners in Turkey are legally restricted. Moreover, Turks are perceived to be suspicious of foreigners’ activities in this regard and tend to reject their involvement in politics (see also Durgun 2014). Not all the activities of lifestyle migrants are well received, and some have led to confrontations. At the same time, Alanya’s local government and administration are generally receptive to the foreign resident communities and cooperate with existing immigrant institutions and networks. Together, these institutions have opened the way to foreign residents expressing their own culture and to encounters and mutual exchanges with locals, in addition to promoting social integration and access to entitlements, working toward key aspects of citizenship in the local place, and to some extent reducing the need for more pronounced activism.

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Immigrant institutions and practices The German–Turkish Friendship Association hür türk The oldest and still the most important German organization in Alanya is Hürriyetçi Türk-Alman Dostluk Cemiyeti (Freiheitlicher Türkisch-Deutscher Freundschaftsverein [Liberal Turkish–German Friendship Association]), commonly referred to as “hür türk.” The official goal of this association is to support Germans in Alanya; to serve as a meeting place for Germans, German-Turks, and Turks; to organize cultural events; and to solve daily problems of the foreign residents of Alanya. Hür türk arranges joint lunches and dinners; cultural festivities with dancing or music that are often related to Turkish culture and tradition, as well as Christmas celebrations; day trips and longer excursions across Turkey; and other events. At its monthly meetings, current problems are addressed, changes in laws that affect foreigners or involve public institutions are communicated, and other information is shared. Every now and then experts from the local administration, hospitals, health insurance agencies, electricity companies, and other institutions relevant to foreigners are invited to these meetings, and the association puts much effort into assuring that there are regular exchanges with a variety of local institutions and private actors. Through its excellent relations with the local and regional public administration, hür türk was also able to contribute to several improvements with respect to bureaucratic complications of foreigners’ lives. For example, requesting a residence permit originally had to be done at the police station in Antalya. Since the requisite forms were in Turkish, foreign residents who did not understand the language well enough would pick up the forms, bring them to Alanya where they were translated or filled in with the help of translators (sometimes through associations), and return them personally to the Antalya office whence they were sent on to the ministry in Ankara. Oftentimes, when the foreigners went to pick up the permit they found out that it had not yet arrived from Ankara. To try to remedy this situation, hür türk invited the governor of Antalya Province to a meeting, which was attended by about 150 Germans, and convinced him that permit requests could also be made from Alanya. Eventually, a local office was set up in Alanya—at first within the police station; in the meantime, a migration office had been established in the context of the Turkish migration legislation reforms. Several other initiatives, such as facilitating access to the SGK (public health insurance) and creating a cemetery for foreigners, have come out of the German–Turkish association, and problems have often been solved through joint collaboration with the municipality. Although the membership of hür türk ranges between 80 and 180 (according to different sources), the association reaches out to a wider audience through its activities and initiatives, while some of its initiatives benefit the larger German community and sometimes the communities of other foreigners.

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The association’s emergence is owed to the German–Turkish migratory history and to an existing institutional path. The group follows the model (and adopted the name) of an initiative begun in 1979 by German Chancellor Helmut Kohl and Turkish Prime Minister Süleman Demirel, who introduced this type of friendship association in Germany, where it originally consisted of about 50 local subunits, some of which still exist. In Alanya, it was founded on the initiative of a former Turkish migrant who had studied in Germany and worked in Switzerland. When he returned to Alanya after more than 20 years, he became an entrepreneur in the tourist sector and vice-mayor of the municipality. In this position, he was regularly in touch with Germans, who addressed their needs to him, from which the idea to form an association emerged. Eventually, a group of German and Turkish collaborators formally founded the association in 1998. Its creation required special permission from the government in Ankara because at the time, unlike today, associations of foreigners were prohibited. It is likely that by following the historical German–Turkish model of the hür türk association, this process became easier. Representatives from the association also believe that their initiative helped to convince the Turkish government to consider the need for foreigners to be able to form organizations in Turkey. Hür türk offers a shared space for German residents in Alanya and supports their daily lives and local integration. Newcomers to Alanya point out that, for them, it was an important way to familiarize themselves with local life and gave them a chance to meet other Germans; other members have been participating for many years. The association also acts to remove administrative hurdles and to help foreigners claim their rights, such as gaining access to health insurance or obtaining residence permits, and to expand their rights and entitlements, including the installation of a cemetery for (nonMuslim) foreigners (see below). Moreover, it sets up cultural events and informative meetings to pass on information about traditions, habits, and local festivities, thus enabling the German residents to participate more actively in the life of the community—a key element of (local) citizenship. The Saint Nicholas Christian Community Another important institution in the life of the German community is the Saint Nicholas Christian Community (Christliche Gemeinde Sankt Nikolaus). Commonly referred to as “the Church,” this association has mainly religious purposes and is one of two branches that together form one ecumenical association; the other branch is located in Antalya. The church’s activities include worship services on Sundays and holidays and on rare occasions when there are weddings or baptisms, and sometimes funerals, as well as individual pastoral care, including home and hospital visits by the priest. The Christian community also organizes some social work and addresses social needs when requested, yet given its scarce resources, such support must be limited. There is a volunteer patient care group that visits Germans who are otherwise alone

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in hospitals and sometimes at home. An important contribution of the church involves the work of a second group of volunteers that takes care of maintaining the Christian cemetery in Alanya, visiting the grounds regularly to clean the premises, do necessary gardening work such as planting new flowers and watering the plants. Moreover, the church is an important meeting place, providing lunch after the Sunday service and holding a weekly coffee-andcake gathering, at the church café (Kirchen-Café). At the Café, (usually female) members donate their homemade cakes, and the men and women set up tables and chairs for socializing and to raise funds to cover the costs of the Community. In addition, the church community also organizes other events such as excursions and concerts. The Christian community is an important institution in the local life of German residents but is not exclusively for strict believers. Some of the residents told me that they do not attend Sunday service and are not “really religious,” but they do visit the church café and attend other events. In 2003, the Saint Nicholas Christian Community was formally recognized under Turkish law when cultural and religious institutions were becoming more accepted as part of the EU negotiation process. This association is connected to the German Catholic and Protestant churches and their establishment in Turkey, with their headquarters in Istanbul, where the German Protestant community celebrated its 175th anniversary in 2018. In spite of their long tradition, German-speaking Christian communities in Turkey still operate within a legal “grey zone.”3 They are not recognized as legal entities and cannot sign contracts, have a bank account, or buy property. These restrictions sometimes complicate the operations of the Saint Nicholas association and of similar communities in the country, revealing the narrow space in which they must function. Furthermore, missionary activities are prohibited, and there is a general tendency within the community not to draw attention to itself that is shared by other religious minorities in Turkey. The Saint Nicholas and other German-speaking Christian communities are largely financed through their own funds and member contributions, but they also receive support from the German churches. For the Alanya branch, the German Protestant Church (Evangelische Kirche Deutschlands [EKD]) sends a priest who usually stays ten months, from September to June, and is then replaced by another priest. This position is filled by priests who have already retired in Germany. The Antalya branch retains a Catholic priest who stays there continuously and also pays a monthly visit to Alanya for the celebration of Catholic worship. Interviews with community members, informal talks, notices on websites, and views expressed by other church outlets speak to the tolerance and recognition of the community shown by local authorities and the local society. The relationship with the city authorities and municipal officers is described as excellent and supportive. Moreover, the church has not been harassed or assaulted by anyone, a fact emphasized in many conversations. For several years, Sunday services were held in a municipal cultural center,

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indicating support on the part of the municipality. Currently, the church also receives police surveillance in response to a difficult security situation, which is greatly appreciated by the Christian community (see Chapter 6). At the same time, the church is careful to avoid any impression that it is engaged in missionary activities, which are prohibited in Turkey. Members are very sensitive to this issue, which may explain why there is only a small sign to guide visitors from the main street to the side street where Saint Nicholas Church is located. When using different media to announce church activities, the organizers are careful not to arouse suspicion from the locals. Apparently there were some problems in 2013, when it became necessary to find a new facility for the church. Many owners of buildings were not too eager to rent them to the church, fearing that friends and neighbors would disapprove. Lifestyle migrants feel that their religious affiliation and the church are well accepted, yet they also sense that this sets them apart from the local population and requires thoughtful handling. In sum, in its role as a local immigrant institution, the existence of Saint Nicholas Church is facilitated by cross-border resources and the historical presence of German churches in Turkey and by recognition and support from local institutions. Thus, German retirees in Alanya can express their identity as part of the local cultural citizenship, but they are mindful of the limitations. Conflictive involvements: local charities and animal shelters Other institutions add to the citizenship practices and belonging enabled by the two major associations described above. Several formal and informal initiatives are or were engaged in charity work for schools or persons in need, as well as support for animal shelters, showing involvement with the local community beyond the lifestyle migrants’ own circles. However, this involvement is generally somewhat contested and has resulted in little collaboration between German residents and locals and has sometimes led to conflicts. The Germans have engaged in charity work through a number of informal social networks and at least one formally registered association. These initiatives organize bazaars, flea markets, and coffee-and-cake gatherings to raise money and sometimes collect clothing and other materials for local schools, children, the disabled, and persons in need, or in support of animal shelters. Even though these activities derive from a concern for the local community, they take place largely within the community of German residents, sometimes in conjunction with other foreigners but hardly in collaboration with locals, to the regret of some of my interviewees. Susanne, who was very active in a charity organization, was concerned about this: There is still this distance. I realize that when we organize a bazaar, I mean a kermes, we still have too many Europeans; I have to say it like that. It would be better for our events and at the association … It should be more diverse. Normally, the Turks, the natives, should overrun us, but there is always this distance.

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Given their involvement, those who participate in such charitable activities lament the scarce collaboration and recognition on the part of the local population. Over the years, rumors about intransparent money handling and fraudulent practices have persisted. In particular, many informal initiatives have sought to avoid the complicated registration and financial procedures, which has led to criticism by the local government. Eventually, in 2016, several well-established bazaars through which these initiatives collected their funds were prohibited, and the local government’s support and recognition generally decreased. Jutta, who was active in the same charity as Susanne, also felt that their involvement was no longer appreciated. The association also functioned to confront doubts on the part of local government that there were actually poor people or people in need in Turkey. In this context, the only formal charity association initiated by the Germans that I encountered in 2013 was closed down in 2016. Another widespread voluntary engagement concerns stray animals, especially dogs and cats, an effort that I was told few locals share. Germans have introduced several private animal hotels and shelters in and around Alanya. This includes what is today the official local animal shelter, for which volunteers worked long and hard to win the collaboration of the municipality of Alanya. German retirement lifestyle migrants’ civic engagement for the protection of animals shows the linkages that exist between local and crossborder networks in this citizenship practice but also some of the tensions visà-vis the local population. Local volunteer work by Germans who donate time and money is crucial to the survival of the existing animal shelters, and many of these residents engage in more informal ways of protecting animals, by providing vaccinations or food. Fundraising is organized locally as well as in Germany, and local initiatives in Alanya also collaborate with organizations for animal protection in Germany. Tierhilfe Süden (Animal Help South), for example, is an organization based in Germany that helps and protects stray animals in southern and southeastern tourist destinations by mobilizing Germans who live in those regions and trying to win over the local population to achieve its goals. It has financed one of the animal shelters in Alanya for several years, to provide castrations, veterinarian treatment, food, and animal keepers. Interviews and conversations with German residents, the webpages of activists or the shelters themselves, and some newspaper articles generally complain about the disinterest of locals and often outright conflict with segments of the local population, and they lament the scarce support on the part of the municipality. Over the years, the municipality of Alanya has responded to foreign residents’ pleas and has become an important collaborator. The city’s webpage announced favorable reception to the newly opened shelter on the part of the foreigners’ committee who went to visit the new facility. Nevertheless, activists think that responses fall short of the needs of the facility and are inadequate in terms maintaining certain standards. Through the activists’ engagement, local attitudes are becoming more sensitive to the fate of animals, and school classes regularly visit the shelter’s

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facilities. Still, it is not uncommon for locals to criticize the interference of foreigners and their regular complaints about local solutions to confront the situation of stray animals (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 23 May 2014). Participation in local politics The Germans in Alanya are involved in institutions of their own that work to facilitate daily living and integration, provide space for social and religious meetings and activities, and support local issues. Although not always uncontested, such groups reflect practices of citizenship, particularly those anchored in the local site. However, when I asked the interviewees whether they would participate in local elections if they could do so, they tended to be rather hesitant, with only a few clearly responding in the affirmative. According to a survey taken in Antalya Province, to which Alanya belongs, 25 percent of the participating Germans said they were willing to vote in Turkish local elections (Balkır and Südas¸ 2014, 132, Table 6). Many of the retirees I spoke to felt they could not judge local affairs well enough, not least because of the language barrier and their lack of knowledge and experience concerning Turkish politics. This corresponded to the local residents’ attitude toward foreigners’ participation in formal politics, with survey data revealing considerable reservation (and often rejection) on their part (Balkır and Südas¸ 2014, 136, Table 7). In this context, the interviewees’ general point of view was that foreigners were expected to keep out of politics in Turkey. Many said they would not participate in a demonstration or other protest action either in favor of or against an issue, because they did not want to interfere with internal Turkish politics or even local affairs. Despite their lack of interest in formal political participation and local voting, German foreign residents still greatly influence local decision-making and clearly expect their views to be taken into account. Local governance, adapting to European residents In addition to the immigrants’ own institutions, the local government, administration, and other institutions in Alanya have been decisive in forging local citizenship among the German residents. Without Turkish citizenship, German citizens are formally excluded from political decision-making and also do not claim voting rights. Yet with or without their active intervention, the city has greatly adapted to its resident foreigners. As the statement at the beginning of this chapter made clear, this observation is not just a reflection of these residents’ visible presence in the urban landscape. For example, garbage has disappeared from the streets, and stray animals are rarely seen where they used to linger in the coastal zones. Streets are now lined with paved sidewalks, much praised by my interviewees, who remembered when the walkways were so high and unsecured that they feared they would fall when attempting to cross the street. Some foreigners

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specifically mentioned that in the last few years Alanya has become wheelchair-friendly, an aspect that is also alluded to in the German and English versions of the city’s website. Now bicycle lanes run parallel to the bigger inner-city streets, and the bus schedules are published in the foreigners’ magazines, with digital displays at the bus stops announcing arrival and departure times. Furthermore, one can now request a residence permit or register for public health insurance in Alanya, as noted earlier (see also Chapter 4), thus facilitating foreigners’ access to their rights and entitlements. Cultural festivities reflect greater local diversity, and Christian residents have their own cemetery beside the Muslim precinct. All these advances and refinements are facilitated by various actors in the local government, who actively support the integration of foreign residents and pursue a generally multicultural agenda. This, among many other indications, is evident in the use of language. Even at meetings of the foreigners’ committee (see below), English is spoken, sometimes mixed with German, and many public cultural events involve conversations in both German and English. In fact, efforts to keep foreign residents informed are generally explained by the fact that they do not understand Turkish, and it would be difficult for them to learn it, considering their ages, so such support helps them get along. At this moment, the city’s official website and announcements are available in Turkish, German, English, and Russian. The foreigners’ committee In 2004, the municipality initiated the formation of a foreigners’ committee. Its Turkish name, Yeni Alanyalılar Meclisi, refers to a council of the new inhabitants of Alanya. Its German name (“Ausländerbeirat”) also appears on banners together with its name in Turkish and English. Similar initiatives were taken by German cities beginning in the 1970s, and one can assume that the installation of a committee in Alanya was informed by these and other European examples. The foreigners’ committee is the only one of its kind in Turkey as a whole. In the absence of formal participatory rights, such committees are key in enabling elements of citizenship locally (Andersen 1990). To set up the council, the municipality sent letters to about 2,000 foreign residents, using addresses from the municipal register and the local water and electricity companies and the like. A surprising number of these foreigners (more than 600) responded to the invitation and attended the open meeting. One of the attendees, Claudia, reported that 30 representatives were selected—herself among them—based on previous encounters with the mayor. Over the years, the composition of the council has changed as new members have joined and earlier members have left. Membership works through cooptation or requests on which the council decides. In 2013, there were German, Norwegian, Danish, Irish, English, Polish, Dutch, Swedish and Finnish members, and the city officials hope to count on representation for all the European residents of Alanya. At a meeting of the council I attended in

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2013, the responsible officials stressed the need for nationalities not yet represented to participate, referring specifically to the French, Belgians, and Austrians, as well as the rapidly growing number of Russians. In fact, four German representatives and one each from the other groups were there, and there was mutual agreement that new members were needed who could represent other nationalities. In the accounts of public officials and European residents, any mention of other foreign migrants resident in the city is surprisingly absent. Yet, citizens from Azerbaijan or Kyrgyzstan figure among the top ten groups who have residence permits (see Chapter 3, Table 3.1). Concerning the political attitude toward foreigners, however, actors in the local government focus exclusively on the “European residents,” referring to them as yeni Alanya’ları in Turkish (the new Alanya inhabitants). These foreign residents are described as modern and with a certain expectation for a well-managed infrastructure, which the city aims to meet. In 2018, this discourse was also evident regarding a larger group of recently settled Iranians, who also had representation in the foreigners’ committee in Alanya. Experts from the city administration and from the local hospitals, as well as German residents, referred to this group as being well-off and “particularly modern”; for example, the women were not veiled (unlike, I was told, the typical impressions one might have about Iranians). Moreover, the inclusion of both Russians and Iranians within the social category of “European” also affirms that this is not a geographical location but a cultural one. The foreigners’ committee serves three main functions. First, it serves as a forum where foreigners can voice their problems and suggestions, which are then acted upon by local officials. It is also the platform through which the local administration reaches out to foreign residents to inform them about legal and administrative requirements and reforms, thus reducing barriers to integration. Along these lines, the city also invites officials from the regional or national administration and government to meet with the local foreign residents and to advocate for further improvements on their behalf. Lastly, the committee is one key element in the city’s multicultural agenda and the promotion of cultural diversity; both foreigners and local officials I interviewed, as well as some academic researchers, stress that this practice contrasts with the situation in many other places in Turkey. It will become clear in the following discussion that both infrastructural modernization and the display of cultural diversity are not targeted exclusively at foreign residents but are part and parcel of Alanya’s touristic development strategy. In its more or less regular monthly meetings, the foreigners’ committee considers problems that have been expressed and provides information about current legal changes and local events. Matters such as complaints about the inadequate collection of garbage, broken street lights, and the lack of security around road construction are discussed at these meetings (see also Unutulmaz 2006). And the municipality actively takes care of solving such problems. Moreover, the officials who are present at the meetings encourage committee members to report any issues that may be an inconvenience to foreign residents.

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In this way, lifestyle migrants are granted special influence in the management of the urban landscape and infrastructure, in turn helping to promote a modern image of the city that will be attractive to foreign residents and tourists. In the committee meetings, city officials also bring attention to any legal and institutional changes in Turkey, Antalya Province, or Alanya that can have an impact on foreigners. Such information is not communicated exclusively by the city administration but also by collaborating local public actors. For example, in January of 2015, the kaymakam (the district’s Chief Officer) invited the German-, English-, and Russian-speaking communities to three different meetings (each of which lasted two to three hours) with an official from the migration management administration in Ankara to inform them about and discuss the recent migration reforms. At the meeting with the kaymakam, for example, some Germans complained about being required to have Turkish health insurance to obtain the new residence permit. They made it clear that this requirement was not a problem for retirees in the German statutory pension scheme who export their benefits and register with the Turkish scheme but was more difficult, or at least more costly, for German pensioners who were former civil servants and were therefore not part of that system. On this occasion, as at other times, the officials took note of any difficulties resulting from legal changes and requirements. In numerous cases, local officials, sometimes in cooperation with immigrant institutions, especially hür türk, contributed to bureaucratic improvements for foreign residents. In addition to the exchanges with representatives from immigrants’ institutions, the foreigners’ committee organizes information hubs for foreigners. Twice a week, volunteers from the European communities (mostly members of the council) hold office hours in a municipal building to attend to other foreigners and their problems in either German or English. Problems dealt with during these hours pertain to real estate and housing, including bills for electricity, water, or gardening and maintenance services, as well as to residence permits and other bureaucratic challenges. Local multiculturalism and consumer influence German and other local foreign residents of Alanya have influenced local politics and infrastructure, not least as a result of their initiatives and complaints to local government. In addition, the city’s multicultural approach allows migrants to maintain their identity and thereby helps them to feel at home in the local community. The display of local multiculturalism in Alanya is an important element in the cultural politics of the city as a tourist attraction for international visitors, homeowners, and investors, which is no different from other cities that are involved in the urban and cultural tourism industries (Hall and Rath 2007). Such an approach is crucial to an entertainment strategy designed to ensure that tourists and residents do not “get bored,” as one of the experts from the city put it (expert interview 2013, A13-EI3).

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A sign of cultural recognition is evidenced by the cemetery that was established specifically for foreigners in the second half of the 1990s. It is referred to interchangeably as the Foreigners’ or Christian Cemetery by local officials, city residents, and German and European foreigners. Located next to the Muslim cemetery, the Christian cemetery has an entrance portal designating it as “Alanya Yabancılar Mezarlıg˘ ı” (foreigners’ cemetery). Its installation had been suggested by the German–Turkish association hür türk (expert interview 2013, A13-EI1), and an early member of the association had originally taken care of cleaning the cemetery and watering and planting flowers, but nowadays maintenance is organized by volunteers from the German Christian Association. Residents with an ikamet can be buried there according to the conditions that apply to all local residents. Although there are some reports about earlier debates on raising the prices for burials of foreigners, two of the interviewed experts pointed out that foreign residents were entitled to the same treatment as local residents because they contributed to the local economy and paid their taxes and thus should be subject to the same conditions as everyone else. Still, such debates show that the equal treatment of foreigners is not entirely uncontested by the local population and politicians. Multiple cultural events provide for migrants’ cultural expressions, a display of diversity, and local encounters. Since 2009, the Christmas market in December has been an important annual event in Alanya. The erection of a Christmas tree and the offering of Glühwein (a warm spiced wine) create the typical festive Christmas atmosphere known to Germans and other (Northern) Europeans. The emergence of this tradition is attributed to the German community, and today the Christmas market is organized by the foreigners’ committee in collaboration with many associations of foreigners from different countries, as well as with more informal groups and local Turkish organizations who participate in the event and offer their own traditional foods and handicrafts. In addition, the diverse associations and private businesses, including the local hospitals, display their respective promotional materials. According to many reports and the local press, the Christmas market is always considered a great success and a key event of the city and is attended by foreigners and locals alike. Other cultural events include concerts and art exhibitions. For example, the foreigners’ committee was involved in organizing the exhibition “International Art of Alanya” that took place in 2013. It was meant to display the international character of the city and invited the participation of all local resident artists, both Turkish and foreign, who displayed their work. At the start of the event, the mayor, the district’s Chief Officer, and the Finnish Consul gave their opening speeches, and a Finnish group presented a folk dance. Concerts by the German Christian Association or the Norwegian community, as well as many other such events organized by these and other groups, are regularly announced at the committee’s meetings, on municipal billboards, and in foreigners’ local print magazines. Local multiculturalism is also evident in the presentation of the Muslim religion as open and tolerant. The local Muslim authority, the Müfti, regularly attends events

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given by the Christian communities; among other festivities, he assisted at the inauguration of the new facilities of the German ecumenical Saint Nicholas community in Alanya in 2013. Openness toward other cultures is also portrayed in one of the local mosques; the facade of the building has a rotating digital display of verses from the Qur’an in several foreign languages. In the past three years, the Müfti has also invited the foreigners’ communities to an iftar (an evening meal to break the fast during Ramadan), which is always attended by 400 to 500 people. Elements of German residents’ local citizenship are forged through a complex web that spans multiple sites. This web is created by actors in local governance, together with migrants’ institutions (and often in collaboration with them), links to institutions and networks in Germany, and some institutional pathways that have been set up during the course of the long historical relationship between Turkey and Germany. The social integration of German residents and their access to rights and entitlements are thereby promoted, and foreign residents make use of certain spaces to express their own cultures and to encounter locals. Through such connections, the German residents, along with other foreigners, exercise considerable influence on the urban landscape and politics. Although foreign citizens cannot vote, the local politicians attend to their needs and pride themselves on their supportive response. Over the years, researchers have reported several occasions on which local electoral candidates presented their program to the foreigners’ communities and in public speeches explicitly referred to the support from the European residents (Südas¸ 2014; Unutulmaz 2006). Not least is such influence due to these residents’ economic consumer power, resembling other cases of “economic citizenship” (Karkabi 2013; Smith and Guarnizo 2009) or “market citizenship” (Goldring 2002) that rest on cross-border investment, financial transfers or remittances, and local consumption, although political rights are not on the agenda and certain actions by migrants are met with legal restrictions and social constraints. Nevertheless, the migrants’ presence and influence can also marginalize locals. Sezgi Durgun (2014) documents local voices in Alanya that range from praising the economic benefits these migrants provide to seeing their “invasion” as being detrimental to the local population. Hence, local citizenship undergirds German retirees’ spatial privilege to relocate abroad, export and deploy resources and entitlements locally, and simultaneously access the resources and qualities of their chosen place of relocation. Still, these foreign residents are both influential yet not fully recognized as equal citizens. In the following sections, we will see that this tension is also reflected in—and indeed closely intertwined with—their everyday experiences and practices.

Making home in everyday life “We do have a feeling of Heimat [home].” With this and similar comments, my interviewees described how they felt about Alanya and about living there, highlighting that this, their chosen place, is home to them.

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Scholars who theorize about the wider notion of belonging have distinguished two dimensions. The first dimension is associated with the politics of belonging that set the boundaries of the political community and is therefore the affective dimension of citizenship, which is frequently related to national, ethnic, or religious categories. The other dimension is the personal, intimate, private expression of belonging in everyday life. This personal dimension gives expression to the feeling of being “at home,” at ease, and safe (Antonsich 2010; Fenster 2005; Pfaff-Czarnecka 2011; Yuval-Davis 2006). Whereas the politics of belonging refers to inclusion and exclusion, the opposite of personal belonging would be isolation and loneliness (Antonsich 2010, 649). Nevertheless, both dimensions are actually closely connected, and those authors who make an analytical distinction between the two have in fact shown how closely intertwined they are in empirical realities, where both dimensions mutually influence each other. Thus, although the personal dimension of belonging reaches beyond the scope of what is usually discussed in the context of definitions of citizenship, these fluid connections make this dimension particularly insightful. This inquiry also resembles that posed in studies of retirement lifestyle migration regarding the topics of home, rootedness, and place-attachment from neighborhood to city or country (Gustafson 2008; Huber and O’Reilly 2004). Marco Antonsich (2010) argues that the personal feeling of belonging to a place is shaped by an individual’s biographical trajectory, social relations, language and other cultural factors, financial security, protection from violence and insecurity, and, conversely, residential security. In this age of globalization and increased spatial mobility, these factors are connected to perspectives according to which home and belonging can no longer be exclusively conceptualized in terms of a person being “born and bred” in a place. Rather, “people reflexively judge the suitability of a given site as appropriate given their social trajectories” (Savage, Longhurst, and Bagnall 2005, 12), as expressed in the concept of “elective belonging.” It is therefore possible for a person to belong to a new place even if that person originated elsewhere (Pfaff-Czarnecka 2011). As lifestyle migrants choose a place to live that corresponds to their notion of how to live (Hoey 2005), their sense of belonging is closely related to this residential choice, as well as to the ways in which they are able to negotiate and “make home.” In contrast, in her exploration of everyday belonging, Tovi Fenster cites one of her Bangladeshi immigrant respondents who does not consider London his home— even though he has resided there for more than three decades—because he did not choose to live in that city and is there with his family “merely” for economic reasons (Fenster 2005, 251). His limited resources prevent him from moving elsewhere or returning home, and he feels that now he is neither British nor Bangladeshi. The interviewees in my study chose to relocate to Alanya, in some cases after long preparations and traveling across several Mediterranean countries, and in other cases after many years of vacationing in Alanya, often staying in

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their own apartment. Some of my subjects quite spontaneously decided at the time of their first visit to settle in Alanya (see Chapter 4). Many of the interviewees considered Southern Europe to be too expensive or less attractive. Compared with other locations in Turkey, Alanya offers many amenities to foreign residents and has adapted to them. In other parts of the country, however, the atmosphere was often less welcoming, with infrastructures that did not appear to respond to the needs and expectations of European retirees. In some of our conversations, the interviewees reported instances of hostility, as occurred when Hans visited a town where “they threw stones at us.” Their new lives are also compared to their lives and personal belonging in Germany. “I feel at ease here. In Germany I am alone,” Ingrid explained, referring to her life in Alanya. She related this feeling to her contacts in the apartment where she lives and to other neighbors in the surrounding area, where a few Germans but mostly Turkish families live, as well as to her many social relations and activities with German(-speaking) friends and acquaintances in the city. In their narratives, many of the interviewees referred to the respect with which they were treated in their new place of home, attributing it to a greater appreciation of them as older adults, whereas in Germany they were sometimes treated disrespectfully and felt ignored, no longer considered useful. Monika described her experiences as follows: For example, when I take the S-Bahn [metro in Germany], I have to make sure I can get in. And in Turkey, for example when I take the dolmus¸ [minibus], they let me get on first, and I’ve never had to stand in a dolmus¸; someone always gave me his seat. A greater acceptance and more respectful treatment of the aged was a common theme in the interviewees’ explanations about why they liked their new place and was similar to accounts given by other retirement migrants in Europe and North America (Huber and O’Reilly 2004, 338; Rojas and Sunil 2014, 268). Conversely, experiences of loneliness, disrespectful treatment, and restricted resources can underlie feelings of not being able to live the life one wants—that is, when “homeland ceases to be ‘Heimat’” (Huber and O’Reilly 2004, 338)—and can motivate one to search for a better life and place abroad. Although scholars (Haas 2013, 1383) have noted that retirement lifestyle migrants sometimes need to confront a twofold rupture with respect to both retirement and migration, I found the opposite: that emigration allows them to confront the rupture caused by ageing and retirement. Naturally, my findings are biased toward migrants who were able to rebuild their lives in their new place. Some interviewees told of other Germans in Alanya who did not make new friends and were alone and in some cases returned to Germany, often after losing their lifetime partner. But many of those I talked to had no intention of going back and, in fact, wish to be buried in Alanya, such as Renate, who said:

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That’s what people find entirely normal. … People who have lived here for 20 years, for example, they want to be buried here. … Many are, like myself, in the meantime rooted here. … Of course you need social contacts in Germany too, but more so abroad; otherwise you grow lonely. How this shared feeling of being at home is understood and enacted takes different forms. Becoming Turkish, though, was not one of them. The retirees I talked to distanced themselves from both a Turkish identity and formal Turkish citizenship. Instead, feeling at home was in some cases related to adapting to their new lives as much as possible, enjoying the cultural differences and maintaining strong social relationships with the locals. In other cases, however, feeling at home meant living a “German life” that would be similar to the one they had prior to relocating but in a warmer climate and that would be more active but with little cultural closeness and scarce personal contact with the locals. Between these two extremes was a third type of local attachment, one that was positive toward the place and life in Alanya but was somewhat more distant, with weaker ties to the locals. These three versions will now be presented in more detail, although it should be noted that these are idealized, or stylized, types synthesized from my empirical analysis. Individual narratives often reflected elements of at least two of these types. Making ourselves at home In Peter’s words, “we rapidly started making ourselves at home”—that is, as soon as he and his wife arrived in Alanya, indicating their proactive approach to setting up a new life there. In fact, while he was still in Germany, Peter had already begun learning the Turkish language and, after his arrival, continued to do so more intensively. Today he claims to speak Turkish fairly well and has no trouble engaging in conversations. The couple actively made contact with locals, benefiting from a reunion with an acquaintance from Turkey whom Peter had met through his job in Germany. This man referred the couple to his friends and family, as well as to reliable services that could help them with their relocation. Meanwhile, they created contacts and made friendships with both Turkish and German residents in Alanya and with some people from other countries. In addition, they are regularly visited by old friends from Germany, some of whom also bought a house in Alanya. The couple has a very active life, is well anchored in the German community, and is involved in volunteering. In a similar vein, Monika pointed out that the “doors are open, but you need to go through them” in order to establish contacts. This proactive approach included recognizing and accepting cultural differences, even when they contrasted starkly with German habits; in this vein, she and her husband learned that many of the women wear headscarves and that men do not shake hands with the older women in their neighborhood. These narratives resonate

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with the personal efforts that are part of the conceptualizations of home, “Heimat,” and place-attachment (Gustafson 2001, 378; Huber and O’Reilly 2004, 330). Seeing a need for adaption, these respondents were often critical of the behavior and expectations of Germans who would “try to bring Germany to Alanya.” Those who invested more actively in making themselves at home stressed that cultural differences and local peculiarities have to be accepted, that cultural practices and procedures are what they are. As Susanne put it, “It is really a special mentality. But as I said, we like it here.” Enjoying local culture—at a distance An appreciation of local hospitality and friendliness is a relevant factor in explaining why lifestyle emigrants feel at home in Alanya. Angelika explained that when she bought her first apartment there she was living in an area where the majority of inhabitants were Turkish. She wanted to avoid the tourists so she could experience “real local life.” Although she barely speaks Turkish, her relationship with the neighbors was friendly and warm, and she was able to communicate well enough with just a few words and gestures. She was invited to breakfasts and lunches and, like many other retirees, recounted numerous occasions when her neighbors brought her special dishes or cakes— a habit that some Germans have picked up in return. Overall, the German residents emphasized the friendliness and hospitality they experienced, as well as the support they often received from their neighbors, such as helping them contact the electricity company to solve a problem or carrying heavy shopping bags upstairs for them—a sign of respect for the elderly that was much appreciated. The migrants also had to learn that “you never give back an empty plate” and that when you invite your neighbors to visit, they stay for many hours rather than leaving soon after they have finished their coffee as had been expected. For some, such differential experiences were welcomed and enjoyed, while others, despite appreciating the different atmosphere, remained at a distance from their neighbors, did not have Turkish friends, and spoke only a few words of Turkish. The lack of language skills was often cited as a major barrier to making “real friends.” However, other cultural elements mattered too. In Angelika’s opinion, “Perhaps you have to adapt, but there are things I do not want to adapt to.” Across many interviews, the retirees repeatedly mentioned the difference between the “Turkish mentality” and their own. Negative experiences were often reported as well. Some foreigners believed that they were occasionally being cheated, especially in financial terms, in shops and sometimes even when asking for a favor from a neighbor. Many conflicts emerged around housing and among the inhabitants of residences where maintenance costs, gardening, water, and electricity were shared. Often, these residents pursued different interests, had different ideas, and counted on different amounts of financial resources, which was why Angelika later moved into a house that included other foreigners as well as some Turkish inhabitants.

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It is important to note that not speaking Turkish did not necessarily mean one could not have contact with the locals. As a result of both touristic development and the history of Turks migrating to Germany and other European countries, many locals speak German or English. Neighbors, public officials, shopkeepers, restaurant employees, and many others serve as interlocutors and mediators and occasionally become friends. Feelings of closeness and trust were often not based merely on having a common language. They were also built on a shared understanding of how things are done. Some locals had been to Germany as labor migrants or had grown up there, such as Angelika’s new neighbor, who sometimes helped her surmount bureaucratic hurdles, and thus mutual understanding was facilitated because these former immigrants “brought something German” with them. “… And actually I did not integrate” Many of my interviewees stressed that in spite of feeling at home in Alanya they had not become “Turkish.” For some, this attitude extended to not maintaining friendships or close personal contact with Turkish people. Christa stated firmly that she did not integrate, using active terms, making it clear that although she had friendly relationships with locals she preferred not to have close ties with them, since habits, social relations, and cultural practices were so different. However, this stance did not preclude her activism for animals’ well-being and rights. Through such engagement, she was strongly embedded in local networks and friendships, mainly with Germans but also with a few Turks who shared her concerns. But not considering oneself integrated does not reflect delocalization. Rather, retirees such as Christa (“in spite of a smaller pension”) referred to their nice homes, the favorable climate, their enjoyment of a more active life, and above all the freedom to live the way they want.

Practices of privilege and the limits of belonging: “We will always remain guests” Across the board, my interlocutors stressed that, while Alanya was their home, they will always remain guests there. This understanding is presented simultaneously as their own view and what they sense is the view of the locals. In fact, it is a telling description of the local position of lifestyle migrants. A guest is usually someone who has been invited to visit but leaves after a while; use of the words “will always remain” implies that the situation is permanent. Rather than reflecting the identity of the Turkish national, the native local, or the transient tourist, this view partly blurs and partly creates the boundaries between insiders and outsiders, between belonging and non-belonging, and addresses being a citizen or a resident and different from a tourist. Always remaining a guest is to never fully belong but is not the same as not belonging at all. “Permanent guest” expresses the notion of the (privileged) local foreign

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resident, and it is closely intertwined with “Europeanness” and speaks to the interchangeable use of the terms foreigner, European (rather than German), resident, and guest by lifestyle migrants and local experts alike (see also Balkır and Südas¸ 2014; Durgun 2014). Moreover, it reflects migrants’ privilege and the constraints that go along with it. In short, the European or foreign resident as guest summarizes the tension that exists between privilege and (local) belonging. In fact, the notion of the permanent guest, and its associated attributes, is loaded with ambivalences, contradictions, and strains and is reflected in how privilege is practiced, experienced, and (at times) resisted. Other research on practices of privilege has indicated that lifestyle migrants are largely unaware of such privilege, are comfortable with it (Croucher 2009b; Lundström 2013), or consciously reflect on it and try to fit in; for example, by doing charitable work in the face of local social inequalities (Benson 2013; Hayes 2015). In my research, I have found that, on the one hand, the portrayal of the European underlies the notions of economic power and cultural advancement that inform the sense that one is entitled to reside and stay in Alanya; on the other hand, (privileged) economic and cultural attributes can also lead to a feeling of non-belonging or only partial belonging, and in response, certain practices are aimed at minimizing the difference between these two portrayals as a way to approach local belonging. Awareness, claims, and contradictions of privilege Being able to relocate to Turkey was seen by the retirees as the result of their having accumulated sufficient funds over a long working life by contributing to a pension scheme or savings account that then allowed them to bring corresponding resources to Alanya. Coming from middle, lower-middle, and low classes in the German stratification system (see Chapter 3), some of my interview partners had worked until they reached retirement age (some into their 70s), while others had left the labor market early owing to health and economic factors. None of them considered themselves “privileged.” Therefore, they were frustrated that locals believed them to be wealthy, stressing that “they do not see that we worked hard in order to have a vacation” and that “we sometimes had to have two jobs to get along.” Through tourism and international relocation, Alanya has become economically developed over the past few decades. Many new jobs were created, and the infrastructure was improved considerably. Lifestyle migrants are aware of these changes. German retirees sometimes complained about the rapid development because it had changed the character of the city, although they noted it had also led to many advantages for them as much as for the local population. Obviously, the boom in tourism and the real estate market would not have been possible without the contributions of foreign tourists and residents. The fact that local officials welcomed the migrants and made it easier for them to obtain residence permits and other support indicates that

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they recognized these contributions. The confidence and sense of entitlement that characterizes Germans’ settlement in Alanya clearly comes to the fore when these newcomers are compared with other migrant groups. During an internet forum on changes to Turkish legislation pertaining to foreigners, a debate emerged concerning whether and how such changes might affect the situations of various types of migrants. Some of the commentators considered that lifestyle residents were not being sufficiently taken into account, while others argued that the new legislation significantly improved the status of some groups, in particular those who come to work, and that this should be acknowledged as a gain. One participant expressed the following: The resident does not want anything from Turkey other than his residential permit. … He brings money for his maintenance. … The resident wants, unlike the labor migrant or the asylum seeker, nothing from Turkey; on the contrary, he is bringing something that Turkey urgently needs: money. And therefore, I think, one cannot compare these two things. (Alanyahome 2015) This perspective was shared by the interviewees in my study—that is, their condition cannot be compared with that of other migrants. In fact, they rarely considered themselves to be migrants. If privilege is thought to result from unearned benefits (Twine and Gardener 2013), lifestyle migrants conceive of their relatively favorable position not as a privilege but as a result of the contributions and entitlements they receive from one country that they bring with them to the benefit of the local community in another country. In this vein, foreign residents often complained that the locals considered them to be “rich,” with a “dollar-face,” as Susanne put it. Identified as European, they are considered wealthy or at least able to afford to pay a little more, and they themselves feel they frequently pay more for things than the locals do. Some say jokingly that the price is the same for everyone, but they pay according to the value of the euro while others pay in Turkish lira (a difference of threefold in 2013). Thus, the retirees felt they were regularly being cheated in restaurants and shops, when purchasing real estate, and in paying more for home maintenance relative to the amount contributed by others who shared the dwelling. All these contentions were frequently brought up during the interviews (for similar findings from Alanya see Unutulmaz 2006, 13; Durgun 2014). These complaints about disadvantageous pricing were even discussed at the foreigners’ committee meeting (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 23 May 2014). Being defrauded in this way was not only considered unfair and a betrayal on financial grounds but disrespectful to them as a foreigner, a reflection of denied belonging. In turn, receiving local prices can be seen as evidence of belonging. In this vein, having an ikamet (residence permit) and the advantages that come with it signal membership in the local community, which gives form to this feeling of belonging. In this way, the formal aspects (through the permit) and the

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substantial aspects of migrants’ experiences align. Showing the ikamet at the doctor’s office and thus confirming one’s formal residence allows one to pay “almost local prices” that are comparable to what Turkish locals would pay and are less than what tourists pay (see Chapter 4). Along these same lines, the narratives revealed how the retirees were treated as a customer at a particular shop or at a restaurant in ways that distinguish them from tourists because the person is known to the shop owner or the restaurant personnel, has an established relationship with them, shows them more respect, speaks better Turkish (or at least makes an effort to do so), and generally “fits in” better, and thus is charged lower prices. Rather than being merely an economic asset, this advantage represents the recognition that the person belongs to the local community, at least to some extent. This partial recognition is reflected in the three different prices charged to tourists, to foreign residents, and to Turkish citizens, which has also been identified among British retirees in Mug˘ la (Bayir and Shah 2012, 19). Thus, foreign residents’ local experiences bring together a confidence in their position and resources, their claim to equal rights, and their awareness of special treatment. My respondents expressed a way of local belonging that rests on the notion of being guests in a privileged sense. As Monika described it, In our village, where they know us [and] where we also somehow belong—but we would never say that we are Turkish or so—we are still guests and are treated as guests, and being treated as guests is a preferential treatment. With this statement, Monika made a clear distinction between the local and everyday attachments where she resides and a Turkish national identity. This distinction points to the scalar difference in her sense of belonging, which was similar for all the interviewees. Monika felt that she belonged to her neighborhood (a smaller village location outside Alanya) and that this was recognized by her neighbors too. At the same time, her statement showed that belonging in the sense of being a guest emerged from the privileges she enjoyed when compared with others, particularly the locals. The retirees were aware of the benefits gained from the favorable treatment and support they received from the city bureaucracy and from neighbors, in stark contrast to the less welcoming way Turkish labor migrants were treated in Germany as a few would mention. Being retirement migrants whose contributions were considered beneficial to the local community, they were treated differently compared with other migrants. Like the US Americans in Mexico in Sheila Croucher’s (2009b) study, the respondents in my study were unaware of or comfortable with the local experience of their privileged status. This confidence was built on (relative) economic and cultural characteristics that they believe are well received by and often beneficial to the locality. Nevertheless, this differential status also sets them apart from the local community and limits their local belonging. In response, they engaged in certain practices

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aimed at minimizing this limitation and at approaching belonging. The following sections delve into some of the cultural tropes that undergird this process and then show how these migrants worked toward minimizing the difference and thus resisted their privilege. Different mentalities: cultural tropes and barriers The notion of “mentality” is related to the tension between the experiences of privilege and local belonging. In my research, being European emerged as a cultural (ethnicized or racialized) category that was reflected in the references to a certain “mentality” that were frequently employed during my interviews with German citizens. One cannot exclude the possibility that there is an implicit understanding that all Europeans are blond and light-skinned, although in contrast to the findings among other Western migrants (often in non-Western countries), who tend to refer to physical traits or somatic differences (particularly “whiteness”) (Lundström 2014; Hayes 2015), the respondents rarely alluded to physical characteristics and differences in appearance. As a social category akin to ethnicity, “mentality” appears to be closely interconnected with other categories—in particular language, religion, and social class. Interestingly, the expressions used were “European mentality” or “we Europeans.” Much rarer were references to German mentality or habits that are particular to Germans. This choice of words reflects the narrative targeting “European residents” that is dominant in the local context. German citizens identify with these categories in spite of having scarce contact with residents from other European countries in Alanya. In most of my interviews and in many other conversations, the descriptions of European and Turkish mentalities differed greatly. Explanations of my respondents’ self-understanding, how they perceived the local population, and how they believed they were perceived revealed the positioning inscribed in these narratives (Armbruster 2010), often implying somewhat hierarchical relations and thus revealing a sense of privilege, although this was rarely explicit. Albeit less pronounced and embedded in a different historical and political context, these narratives resonate with the “neo-colonial” tropes identified among other similar groups involved in north–south migration. Such narratives generally portray the European, or Western, self as modern, individualized, rational, and entrepreneurial, in contrast to the local culture of natives in Mexico, Namibia, Spain (Armbruster 2010; Croucher 2009a; Janoschka 2008; O’Reilly 2000, 161; Rodríguez, Fernández-Mayoralas, and Rojo 1998), or Turkey. An important element in this “self-Westernisation” (Armbruster 2010, 1243) was the focus on “self-determined freedom, selfdirected through thought and action, discipline, or drive and ambition” (Armbruster 2010, 1239). The individual emerges as the principal agent of his or her own life, which echoes the heightened ambition of a self-reflexive lifestyle that motivates this type of migration. Yet, this not only reflects my respondents’ self-understanding and a certain sense of privilege and

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confidence about their position. It also serves as a cultural barrier that clearly marks the boundary of their local belonging and their status as a guest. When asked why they moved to Alanya or what they liked about their lives there, the interviewees mentioned a variety of aspects, among them Turkish hospitality and the friendliness of the locals. Some narratives contrasted these qualities with the atomistic, or at least more distant, social relations in Germany that were increasingly disliked by many of my respondents. At the same time, the retirees saw Turkish social relations, and especially family relations, as being very close, often too close. In fact, there were many aspects of this type of bond that “we do not understand,” as Ingrid and Elke both stressed in a joint conversation. Local practices seemed not only to be operating within a different cultural frame but their visions and values often seemed inexplicable, incoherent, or irrational to these interviewees. For example, the locals’ emotional bonds with their children are strong and sometimes manifest in financial support. Several interviewees believed that such practices inhibited adult children from taking care of themselves and leading independent lives, with excessive family support often being interpreted as curtailing children’s self-initiative. As the migrants observed, locals’ interference often led to a child’s heightened sensitivity about what their family, as well as their neighbors, might think of them and their actions, thus discouraging them from doing what they really wanted to do. Examples ranged from not smoking in public or feasting at Ramadan and even maintaining unprofitable business activities, which were subject to a mix of social control and support that limited individualization and self-responsibility. Although Germany and Europe have undergone profound cultural transformations over the past few decades, Turkey is still “like in Germany after the war,” as one interviewee put it—a time when German society was more conservative and less free and individualized and was characterized by high levels of social control. However, many referred to a more relaxed way of life in Turkey in contrast to Germany, where everything is carefully planned and subject to fixed rules. Despite the fact that the retirees appreciated that their neighbors would not complain about a person’s undesirable habits, which would have garnered scorn in Germany, conflicts did emerge in response to what my respondents considered negligence. One particular and ongoing matter of dispute in apartment houses and residential areas concerned the appearance of the facilities and gardens. Narratives outlining daily problems often related to the local residents’ neglect of shared public spaces; Europeans, however, upon discovering untidy or run-down sites, would immediately take the initiative to repair it, clean it up, or plant new flowers. A parallel to these differences between the German population and the natives can be found in the economic realms of business and profit-making. Alanya has developed rapidly over the past several decades, owing predominantly to the growth in tourism and the associated real estate boom. This prosperity has meant that some local families have become rich. Many interviewers referred to the city’s uniform business model and the lack of entrepreneurial understanding, such

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as placing similar businesses in close proximity to one another—this in contrast to the European model, with its strict planning and development of projects that help orient people’s lives: “we need a goal, life must be manageable,” Renate pointed out. Yet several respondents commented that, as regular clients, they were treated almost like friends and were given discounts in shops, restaurants, or car rentals. Such generosity was generally interpreted more as a cultural element of Turkish hospitality than as a reasonable way to treat one’s valued customers. Hence, in addition to their relative economic power, the retirees’ cultural differences and somewhat subtle understanding of cultural advancement informed their sense of entitlement to reside and stay in Alanya and be taken into account. The ways in which they were treated in terms of local politics and by the city administrators suggest that European foreigners were associated with “modern”—and thus desirable—achievements. However, retirement lifestyle migrants also feel that their different mentality, habits, language, and religion set them apart and keep them from fully belonging. Manfred, who has some close Turkish friends and who is not a member of the German Christian community, insists: You will never belong as a foreigner. You cannot achieve this. … We are and will remain yabancı (a foreigner). But I think this also has to do with Islam. We are Christians and we do not have the “true faith.” Indeed, the difference in religions was frequently mentioned in interviews and went beyond such things as simply being a member of the Saint Nicholas community. The Muslim religion was generally seen as conservative and less modern(ized). For instance, German residents think it is cruel and archaic to slaughter animals during the Festival of Sacrifice, and some have repeatedly requested that such practices be prohibited in Alanya, although some also criticize this request for being disrespectful of local customs. In turn, having a different religion was clearly experienced as limiting their recognition as part of the local community. Similarly, language was considered to be a barrier, not just by those who spoke hardly any Turkish. Even those interviewees who could speak Turkish very well and maintained a business or had other frequent interactions with locals or had local friends believed that the language barrier could jeopardize belonging. When foreigners were invited to festivities or conducted business affairs, the locals were surprised to hear them speaking Turkish. A typical response of local populations to migrants groups throughout the world, this reaction made them feel that their efforts to fit in were not appreciated or not sufficient to overcome this barrier. More generally, in spite of being invited to family lunches and weddings, the interviewees stressed that, as outsiders, they found it difficult (if not impossible) to “get into Turkish families.” Also, when dealing with locals in matters of administration or business, European residents have been reminded that “this is Turkey” (“Burası Turkiye”), as Hans described his experiences.

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Some interpreted this response as an excuse for certain malfunctionings as compared with the high standards maintained in Germany. Simultaneously, it was understood to be a signal that foreign residents should comply rather than complain. The privilege of being able to relocate and live abroad is greatly naturalized by a migrant’s sense of entitlement to the place, which in turn is reinforced by the economic power and certain cultural features associated with their Europeanness, yet still it poses limits to local belonging. This somewhat paradoxical stance has also emerged in research on the viewpoint of the locals (Balkır and Südas¸ 2014; Nudrali and O’Reilly 2009). According to survey data from 500 locals in Antalya Province (Balkır and Südas¸ 2014), EU citizens are considered to be honest, entertaining, and hardworking. European residents are also recognized for having contributed to a number of economic and cultural improvements in their locality, particularly by promoting economic prosperity (28.7%), multiculturalism, and tolerance (20.2%) and a more democratic setting (10.3%). At the same time, locals feel that immigration has led to the degeneration of certain values (46.9%), and a majority of locals reject the idea that foreigners should be allowed to vote (because it is not beneficial or is inconvenient [61%]) or to buy property, which is perceived negatively by 63 percent of respondents. In addition, a majority of locals (61.6%) prefer not to live where many foreigners live. Thus, in spite of appreciating the foreigners’ positive influence in terms of the economic and cultural characteristics associated with Europeans, many locals express reservations as to their local belonging. Qualitative studies also document contradictory opinions and individual ambivalences toward European residents. While the money they spend is considered an asset for the local economy, many locals are critical of the purchasing power of foreign residents, which exceeds their own and allows these immigrants to influence the urban landscape and local politics. Some native residents fear that they will become “second-class citizens” compared with the privileged status of foreigners and that “they will put their own flag on our territory,” as one of Sezgi Durgun’s local respondents in Alanya put it (2014). Moreover, the purchase of land is a relevant economic factor, but the selling off of land is also seen as a threat to national security interests and territorial integrity that resonates with the general debate going on in Turkey today (Balkır and Südas¸ 2014; Durgun 2014; Nudrali and O’Reilly 2009). Furthermore, certain elements of European culture are seen positively but at the same time locals feel that Europeans lack family and community values, as indicated by their move abroad in the first place (Nudrali and O’Reilly 2009). Managing the image of the good guest “We are guests and we have to behave like guests” is a comment I heard repeatedly from my conversation partners. The recent literature on North American lifestyle migrants in Central and South America has identified certain practices, such as learning the language, behaving “properly,” and getting

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involved in charity work to benefit the local community, as ways to minimize the (racialized) privileges of a “gringo identity” (Benson 2013; Hayes 2015) and can be used to work toward belonging. In my research, I identified two interconnected responses to the notion of being a guest in a foreign country. On the one hand, it implies a rejection of preferential treatment. On the other hand, it engenders “proper behavior” on the part of oneself and of others (meaning other Europeans). Both strategies aim to minimize the difference between “Europeans” and “locals,” thereby reaffirming and actively constructing these categories. When narrating stories of how they were received and treated in Alanya, the interviewees often stressed how they avoided being treated better than others. For example, if invited to jump the queue at the bank counter, they would refuse to pass over the locals just because they were foreigners, just as they would be willing to wait their turn at the doctors like everyone else. Even more frequent was the wish to accept the role of guest and act accordingly. “I am a guest in this country and I am here by my own choice. So I have to see how I get along,” Renate said. In other cases, interviewees emphasized that it was they, as foreigners in a foreign country, who had to adapt, similar to what was expected of foreigners in Germany. Although Europeans adapt differently to local habits, speak Turkish to varying degrees (more often than not, little or not at all), and to different degrees have contact with locals, it was generally understood that one should at least try to speak a little Turkish, respect the local rules, and comply with local norms. Referring to an invitation to an event at the school of her Turkish neighbors’ son, Ingrid said And then it was so hot, July or August. I wanted to put on a blouse instead of a tank top. But no, no, I “did not have to”. … But for me that’s fine … I put on the blouse nevertheless. … You know, as a foreigner, I am conceded a lot. Lifestyle migrants have a notion that they are being granted certain freedoms that for others would not be easily tolerated. However, many prefer to comply with local cultural norms. Appropriate dress is a crucial issue that is often associated with the fact that Turkey is a Muslim country. Not only is this a matter of self-discipline, but it also calls for the disciplining of others. Frequent comments are made regarding the improper clothing of Europeans, who would go barely dressed to the supermarket, thus disregarding local sensitivities about nakedness. Other stories are told about foreigners who would ride the bus dressed in their bathing suits. This issue is even debated in meetings of the foreigners’ committee, where the topic has led to heated debate about what should be done to sanction such improper behavior on the part of Europeans. Some members of the committee told of situations where they intervened, confronting those who were “behaving badly.” This led some committee members to call on city officials to sanction such behavior, a claim

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that was met with surprise from city representatives. Officials did not seem particularly concerned with foreigners wearing bathing suits on the bus. Perhaps more importantly, pointing to a democratic culture, the representatives seemingly did not want to convey the impression of an authoritarian and overtly moralistic society that polices people’s behavior, especially not that of Europeans. Some of the German lifestyle migrants described their feelings of shame when faced with such situations. Use of the German term “fremd schämen” was insightful in this context. It is a paradoxical term because it means being ashamed because of the behavior of others. Because people would have no reason to be ashamed of those unlike themselves, the term in this setting refers to members of their own group who act badly. It is, thus, an affirmation and a construction of groupness. It homogenizes “Europeans” into one group that is easily recognized by locals, thus revealing the intimate relationship between the concept of guest and European as ethnized cultural categories that are premised on unnamed features of appearance, dress, and language. European residents dread being mistaken for just another “ignorant” tourist or a badly behaving resident, which could hamper the good relations and welcoming climate from which lifestyle migrants benefit. Following on from this concern are the attempts to control the image of a respectful European. Because “if we behave as guests, this will be [positively] recognized,” as Klaus summarized his approach.

The privilege of partial belonging German retirement lifestyle migrants exhibit a natural confidence in their condition of being emigrant citizens residing abroad. The German émigrés in Turkey do not deliberate about their national identification too much. Unlike groups of lifestyle migrants elsewhere (Croucher 2009b, 2009a; Haas 2013; Huber and O’Reilly 2004), they do not form many patriotic associations or clubs that aim at preserving cultural habits and traditions. Speaking German, watching German television, and having mainly German-(speaking) friends is portrayed as natural and does not call for any justification despite the fact that my research participants live abroad. These retirement migrants also usually follow German news and political issues through (German) newspapers and the internet, and about half of my sample continues to vote. Several of the interviewees felt distant from their country of origin, which either motivated their relocation in the first place and/or has increased with their absence; therefore, German belonging can be seen as rather detached and more delocalized. Whatever their stance toward their country of origin, no one I met could imagine giving up their German citizenship, although they hardly expressed this attitude in emotional terms or through affection for national belonging. Rather, it was about securing their rights and entitlements, and thus access to resources (see Chapter 4), together with the option to return in the face of insecurities or ambivalent experiences, as we shall see in Chapter 6.

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Emigrant citizenship and German belonging go hand in hand with practices reflective of local citizenship. Immigrant institutions and local governance initiatives are forging local citizenship, migrants’ access to rights and entitlements, and their local involvement and sense of belonging, facilitated by cooperation with local actors and historical German–Turkish institutional pathways and contemporary cross-border support and resources. Nevertheless, such efforts have opened only a narrow space for migrants, and their local involvement is not without contestation and conflict. As with other places that aim to attract lifestyle migrants as part of economic modernization projects (Karkabi 2013), such interventions are enabled by a form of “economic citizenship” premised on privileged migrants’ resources and consumption rather than being a political multicultural creation (see also Smith and Guarnizo 2009). This poses limits to lifestyle migrants’ involvement but can nevertheless sideline the interests and concerns of (other) local citizens. In this setting, lifestyle migrants’ views are taken into account, and they are able to express their own identity and develop a sense of belonging while also noting its limitations. Concerning the personal dimension of belonging—that is, the emotional attachment to place and community as an everyday experience (Antonsich 2010; Fenster 2005; Yuval-Davis 2006)—German retirees express their attachment to the locality and a sense of feeling at home. However, the making of home is practiced in very different ways, ranging from a lot of involvement and contact with locals to hardly any at all. Still, all those I talked to said they felt at home in Alanya. At the same time, all felt some distance from the national identification and habits, traditions, and mentality they considered to be specifically Turkish, as evident in the statement “we would never say that we are Turkish,” a sentiment shared by all the interviewees. Their self-references as “permanent guests” and “(European) residents” reflect their particular condition and distinguishes them from established Turkish citizens as well as from transient tourists. In a way, this attitude is similar to the belonging mode of “local and foreign” that Rosbrook-Thompson (2015) identified among migrants and migrants’ descendants in a socially divided district of London. However, theirs is a form of marginalized belonging; socially and geographically at the margins of London, they are attached to local place yet distant from English or British national identity and formal citizenship. Yet, it is an accepted mode of belonging, as Rosbrook-Thompson stresses. The condition of lifestyle migrants in Turkey is also one of “foreign and local” yet from a privileged position. Moving across unequal geographies, and thus reversing the spatialities generally associated with migration, lifestyle migrants carry particular social categories of privilege—“Europeanness” (as an ethnicized or racialized cultural category), or Germanness, class, and status citizenship among them—that can produce and reproduce privilege (Fechter and Walsh 2010; Hayes 2014; Lundström 2017; Weiß 2005), not least because privileged social categories often become specifically valuable or only emerge in a new spatial context, where they are validated.

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With this privileged position as a “European resident” and “permanent guest” comes considerable influence on the urban landscape and politics but also limitations regarding a sense of local belonging. Like other similar groups of migrants, Germans in Alanya are usually unaware of or comfortable with their privilege (see also Croucher 2009b; Lundström 2013). Their economic resources and cultural position as modern Europeans with an actively self-determined mentality support their notion of entitlement and their right to be taken into account, be granted residential status, and have an influence on infrastructure and the like. Yet differential treatment also signals their particular position in the local community that limits belonging. In response, my analysis identified several practices on the part of migrants that aimed to minimize such differences and limitations, including adapting to local habits, circumstances, and language and what is considered adequate behavior and dress, thus showing compliance with local norms in behaving as a good guest.

Notes 1 https://www.bundeswahlleiter.de/bundestagswahlen/2017/informationen (last accessed September 11, 2017). 2 See also the webpage of the German conservative party CDU https://www.cdu.de/a uslandsdeutsche (last accessed March 16, 2019). 3 https://www.evangelisch.de/inhalte/152874/29-12-2018/175-jahre-evangelische-gemein de-deutscher-sprache-der-tuerkei-ein-besuch-istanbul (last accessed March 7, 2019).

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Part 3

Mobile citizenship in insecure times

6

Paradise lost?

“I live in paradise here!” said one of my conversation partners in explaining how much he enjoyed his life in Alanya.1 Several years ago, three different pathways brought these retirement lifestyle migrants from their homes in Germany to Alanya, on the coast of Turkey. The first pathway was taken by those who had stayed in Alanya on vacations, bought an apartment, and eventually relocated there after retiring. The second was taken by those who had already been retired for several years and, on their first time vacationing in Alanya, spontaneously decided to stay. The third pathway was taken by those who had traveled around the Mediterranean searching for a place to retire. Every one of the retirees I interviewed at that time was comfortable and largely satisfied with their decision to move to this city and with life on the Turkish coast. So, having accidentally found or actively searched for their “paradise,” would they ever consider leaving such a place? During my initial research trip in 2013, the retirees in my study sample were already discussing the prospect of staying on or leaving Alanya, often alluding to personal health and political circumstances within the same sentence. Since then, Turkey has struggled with political and economic crises at home and international diplomatic crises vis-à-vis European countries (especially Germany) and the US. The proximity of the war in Syria and the crisis of the (European) refugee system have also caused controversies. Together, these crises have, according to the German media, led to a “tourism crisis” (ZDF 2016). Nevertheless, when I revisited my research site in 2018, more than four years later, the majority of those whom I had met and interviewed earlier had remained in Alanya. The rest, I was told, had left for health reasons or out of loneliness or had died; those respondents who had stayed reported that they knew no one who had left for any other reason. According to the generalized local view, none had left for political reasons or out of fear, but this is difficult to prove. In this sense, it is important to stress that the insights to be presented in this chapter are based on conversations and follow-up interviews with those German residents who had stayed in Alanya and with whom I discussed how they felt about their life there now in light of their insecurities with regard to health, ageing, and the increasingly conflictive political landscape.

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In this chapter, I will address the critical question of retirement lifestyle migrants’ return to their home country. Although the question of return is a relevant aspect of migration theories, the research on retirement migration has largely concentrated on the migrants’ motives for relocating and the quality of life after they have moved abroad; their return is rarely explored (Warnes et al. 1999, 725–735). Some social gerontologists and demographers have argued that retirement migrants return home when their health has deteriorated because the local health care services are of lower quality or not fully accessible for these migrants (Breuer 2003; Breuer 2005, 318; Warnes and Williams 2006, 1267; Warnes et al. 1999). In Chapter 5, I discussed the views of some authors who suggest that when touristic overdevelopment leads to the deterioration of the local natural landscapes and social relations, lifestyle migrants may engage in “landscape nomadism” in search of another paradise (McWatters 2009; see also Sardinha 2014). Because the place-attachment of these migrants is generally considered to be weak, this explanation is widely shared. However, in this book, I show how lifestyle migrants are making themselves at home abroad and are developing a sense of local belonging on their own terms, aided by multiple sites of citizenship. Moreover, not only have few authors addressed the reasons why retirement lifestyle migrants may decide to leave their paradise, the possible role of economic or political factors also remains unexplored. By focusing on the question of return from the perspective of mobile citizenship, we can try to understand the full power of (German) emigrant citizenship for residents abroad. So far, we have explored the diverse forms in which multiple facets and sites of citizenship become intertwined. Emigrant, immigrant, local, and supranational/interstate sites facilitate retirees’ transnational lifestyles, and together these sites forge local citizenship rights, entitlements, practices, and a sense of belonging. But in addition, emigrant citizenship in particular is crucial to the migrant’s ability to return. A detailed analysis of the practices and narratives of return will shed light on the value of migrants’ ability to go back to their home country, which is made possible by the “spatial right” of the (emigrant) citizen (Barry 2006; Hannum 1987). This right is even more conspicuous at this time of growing political controversies in Turkey and the country’s conflictive relationships with Germany and the EU. According to my analysis, the spatial rights that are tied to more privileged citizenship are concerned as much with the possibilities of relocating abroad as they are to the possibilities of returning home, to a safe country. Among other issues, my analysis will reveal how emigrant citizenship emerges as an insurance policy that safeguards the option to return and, paradoxically, enables the migrant to remain abroad during insecure times. Hence, this chapter may be seen as a postscript to this book project, and its analysis has become particularly urgent in light of the profound changes that have occurred in the five years since I first interviewed my study subjects, the German retirees. Two elements, one methodological and one

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empirical, have been included here that are absent from the available literature and will allow us to theorize further about retirement lifestyle migration and the mobile reconfigurations of citizenship. The methodological element concerns time. The original data were collected in 2013 and 2014 and have now been complemented by additional data gathered when I revisited Alanya in 2018. By comparing the earlier findings with the new data and observing the temporal changes, this approach adds a processual perspective to my analysis. The empirical element is particular to this case, namely Turkey’s changing political landscape and its relationship to Germany and the EU, which has become more conflictive over these past four years. Although these changes are case-specific, political conflicts or economic crises are, in one way or another, also relevant to other places where lifestyle migrants choose to reside and therefore deserve closer scrutiny in those areas of research as well. I begin this chapter with a brief description of the recent changes in Turkey’s political landscape. Next, I detail the narratives that explain the respondents’ wish to stay, and even to be buried, in Alanya. Nevertheless, this desire to remain is accompanied by concerns about their personal health as well as political changes that might force them to leave. After that, I show how, in 2018, the German retirees who have remained in Alanya have responded to the more conflictive political situation in Turkey. Closer attention is then given to their strategies for responding to this and other insecurities, namely the ways in which they safeguard their option to return, which paradoxically serves as the means by which they are able to stay. I conclude by pointing to the role of return as a crucial yet underestimated right that is tightly connected to emigrant citizenship.

Turkey’s changing political landscape Turkey has undergone considerable transformations in the five-year span between my first and last field trips there. Yet even before I began my study, especially since 2011, during the third term of Recep Tayyip Erdog˘ an as prime minister—and therefore several years before he became the republic’s president in 2014—most observers pointed to the country’s growing conservatism and the attenuating political tensions in Turkish politics and society. As early as 2013 and 2014, during my field trips, several of my interviewees voiced concern over the increasing nationalization and Islamic conservatism in Turkey. The political situation in Turkey and its relationship with Germany have since become increasingly strained. The Gezi Park protests against growing authoritarianism were met with violent repression, especially in 2013, leading to multiple arrests and deaths. Since 2015, the Kurdish conflict has resurfaced as well, accompanied by the use of violence by the Turkish state and Kurdish groups and was further aggravated by Turkey’s military attacks on Kurdish regions in Northern Iraq since January 2018. In July 2016, the country saw an attempted coup d'état that led to the arrests, dismissal, and prosecution of tens of thousands of teachers, judges,

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journalists, politicians, and many others whom the government associated with the alleged uprising. Several political reforms and a new constitution resulted in the installation of a presidential system in 2017, which increased the centralization of power and intensified the already conflictladen climate. Among those detained in Turkey are several German and German-Turkish journalists and human rights activists. Other German citizens have been stopped at the Turkish borders, and some have been denied entry for security reasons. Germany has granted asylum to some of those who fled from Turkey. Turkish politicians have been barred from campaigning among their extraterritorial voters in Germany. In January 2016, a suicide attacker with links to ISIL killed eight German tourists in Istanbul’s historical center. In 2017, the German Foreign Office revised its travel information on Turkey twice but did not issue a formal warning. However, it did warn that false arrests were possible even in tourist regions and that consular aid was not always available. This information met with severe protests from Turkish state officials, who responded by warning Turkish citizens against traveling to Germany because of possible racist incidents and verbal attacks there. In 2016, as the movements of refugees across the region and toward Europe became more numerous and noticeable, Turkey and the EU reached an agreement. This EU–Turkey deal has been severely criticized by international refugee and human rights organizations for its failure to fully recognize refugees’ needs and rights. The visa restrictions for Turkish citizens have not yet been lifted as had been promised. As early as 2016, between 2,000 and 3,000 Germans left Turkey (Deutsche Welle 2016), and the number of tourists has decreased as well. German media frequently reported on Turkey’s “tourism crisis” and what some commentators have called “life in the dictatorship” (ZDF 2016). Such information is also heard and read by the Germans in Alanya.

Living, and dying, in paradise During my interviews with my respondents, in both 2013 and 2018, when the conversation touched upon whether they planned to return to Germany at some point in the future, everyone said they had no intention to return. Some stressed that they would never go back, while others said they would stay “as long as possible.” Here are some of their answers: [On returning to Germany] – Increasingly less [likely]. (Klaus, in 2013) – Not at all. … Back to Germany? Never. (Monika, in 2013) [On staying in Alanya] – [I will stay] as long as possible. (Ingrid, in 2013) – If the situation in this country does not change. (Angelika, in 2013)

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– [I will stay], that is, as long as I am healthy enough and the political situation is bearable. (Christa, in 2013) – We left this question open. We will stay as long as we like it here. … If this becomes a war place or if Erdog˘ an kicks us out … [or] if life becomes unbearable for us [we will leave], but this is not what I expect. [Me neither]. (Jutta and Dieter, in 2018) Thus, some could not imagine returning; others said that health or political insecurities might force them to leave. Similarly, some surveys involving retirement lifestyle migrants who were living in European destinations have documented their wish to stay abroad (Hardill et al. 2005; Kaiser 2011; Warnes et al. 1999). In Claudia Kaiser’s study of German retirees on the Spanish Island of Mallorca, 78 percent responded that they wanted to stay forever and 16 percent answered that they may return to Germany (“perhaps”) (Kaiser 2011, 278). My respondents not only wanted to stay, but most said they wanted to be buried in the foreigners’ cemetery in Alanya, which was installed in the mid-1990s. Peter said ironically, “Yes, it is so much nicer here. A cemetery with a view to the sea.” Similarly, Ingrid explained: When I die here, I told my son, I want to be buried here … . Perhaps even more people will visit my grave [here] than [if it were] in Germany. Most probably. My son was really shocked and then I looked at him and said, “Yes, who is going to take care of the grave, who will come, who has the time? No one.” And there is Renate’s statement (in Chapter 5) in which she wishes to be buried in Alanya because she has social contacts and is rooted there: People who have lived here for 20 years, for example, want to be buried here. … Many in fact feel, like myself, in the meantime, rooted here. The interviewees who said they wanted to be buried in Alanya attributed this decision to the fact that this locality was their home, sometimes more so than their home in Germany was. Some added that there was no reason to be buried in Germany. Sometimes, but rarely, they mentioned costs, since transport back to Germany along with the funeral and the grave is quite expensive there, whereas burials in Alanya for holders of a residence permit (the ikamet) are almost free. Although it is likely that there are people who prefer to be buried in the cemetery of their natal town in Germany, the long-term, permanent residents of Alanya with whom I spoke did not voice such a preference. In one exceptional case, after her husband had died in a hospital in Germany, one of my interviewees had the funerary urn sent back to Turkey, where the deceased was given a Protestant funeral and was buried at the local cemetery in Alanya. He had expressly articulated this wish, having rejected

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the idea of being buried in the family grave in Germany. In order to accommodate a person’s last wish, and to avoid difficulties when the casket arrives, the Christian community has posted a consent form on its website for those who wish to be buried in Alanya. Looking at the case of retirees who would only return to Germany under unpleasant circumstances gives us some insight into the fear associated with such an outcome. In relating these instances, those to whom I spoke were referring to friends who had lost a life-time partner, become severely ill, or who had become lonely and sought their old life “back home.” In general, such cases were cited to stress that this was not what my interviewees imagined for themselves. In fact, their friends who had returned to Germany were now complaining and almost regretted their decision. Those who had returned for health reasons often spoke to their friends in Alanya by phone about planning to come back to Turkey when their health improved. In Chapter 4, we saw that deteriorating health is indeed a key reason for retirement migrants to return to their home country, but it is one that is fearfully referred to and experienced as beyond their control and not what they would want to choose.

Local foreign residents in insecure times Changes in personal health and in the political and sometimes economic situations in Turkey were topics that my respondents talked about in our conversations in 2013 and that hinted at a certain insecurity about their future lives. Some explicitly mentioned health or politics as a potential reason for returning to Germany. However, in May of 2018, when I asked how their lives were at that moment and whether the current situation—the state of exception after the coup d'état attempt, the terrorist attacks, the war in Syria, the refugee situation, or the political tensions between Turkey and both Germany and the EU—had changed their lives and feelings, they insisted that nothing had changed for them. When analyzing the narratives and practices that I collected in 2018, I found that the peculiar, and privileged, position of the foreign local residents had resurfaced (Rosbrook-Thompson 2015; see also Chapter 5). These retirees emphasized their status as foreign residents who remained aloof from Turkish affairs and politics yet felt oddly protected in this tense domestic and international setting. In addition, they noted their unique insights into Turkish affairs as local residents and were often opposed to the views that were being articulated in the German media and by their family and friends back home. As a consequence, those I talked to in 2018 found no reason to return to Germany; however, it is important to note that I was able to talk only to those who in fact did stay. The most important reason the interviewees gave as to why they were able to continue living their lives as before in spite of the domestic and international political tensions was that as foreigners they were neither involved in

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nor affected by such disruptions. Along these lines, the municipal and local authorities were applauded for being particularly sensitive to their needs in times of crisis. For example, the Saint Nicholas community is now protected by police during religious services and meetings, which is regarded as a sign not of insecurity or a threat but of an effort by the local authorities to be watchful and willing to protect the community. In an interview broadcast on the Catholic radio station Domradio, the priest, when asked about the life of the Christian community in an Islamic country, said the following: When our community was founded 12 years ago, those who wanted to found the community received support from Ankara, to be granted legal status. It was not the legal status of a religious minority, but at least an association according to Turkish law was founded with the name Saint Nicholas Church. … This allows us to practice our Christian faith without interference. … We also realize that the local authorities attach importance to a dignified burial of Christians. And since March [2016], the Christian community has been receiving police protection for all its ceremonies without request. This is the case all over the country. Our people of Saint Nicholas appreciate this very much and find it comforting. In sum, we do not face any obstacles. (Domradio 2016) In the same vein, my respondents in Alanya told me that the relations between the Christian Association and local officials, and between foreigners and the local society at large, have not deteriorated and that they actually felt particularly welcome given the continued support in times of crisis. These German respondents further emphasized the fact that they kept out of matters that did not concern them. In Chapter 5, we saw that the majority of German residents is not interested in local electoral participation and generally shares the view that foreigners should stay out of Turkish affairs. Several narratives showed that this position was more pronounced five years on. Many were extremely cautious about expressing their political opinions. In order to avoid raising suspicion among their neighbors and other locals, some of them dared not mention Turkish President Erdog˘ an’s name when talking in public, even when speaking on their private balconies; instead, they used a random German surname. The fact that this practice is alluded to in online blogs indicates that it is a fairly widespread strategy, although several of the blog comments revealed that other Germans consider this response to be ridiculous and unnecessary because freedom of opinion still exists. This is a good example of the debate among lifestyle migrants concerning how foreign residents should behave and how they should respond to political tension and its consequences in their own lives. However, there is general agreement that Turkish politics is an internal affair in which foreigners should not intervene, even if they are permanent residents.

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A further indication of the position of privileged foreigners can be seen when one compares their treatment with that of refugees. On at least one occasion when a boat bearing a group of refugees from Syria arrived on Alanya’s coast, the 154 passengers were given food and drink, after which a bus took them to other Turkish provinces. While many had heard about this event, no one I talked to found it strange that Syrian refugees were not allowed to stay or settle in the tourist areas along the Mediterranean coast. The reason given by everyone who commented on it was that refugees were poor and might beg for money, thus disturbing the tourists. Through this narrative, the retirement lifestyle migrants emphasized that their particular status as a welcomed group differed from that of other immigrant groups. Germans in Alanya actively claim this status too, which sets them apart from other types of migrants who come to Turkey for political or economic reasons, since they bring with them something that is needed, namely their money (see Chapter 5). To varying degrees, this special condition of foreign local residents is also explained by the fact that they see things differently from their vantage point. Several of my respondents were supportive of the political course Turkey was taking or at least thought there had been some positive developments. Others were more critical of the increasingly authoritarian style of government, the security situation, and the treatment of minorities in the country. Those who had a less favorable view of the recent developments would still point to some promising aspects, which in their view were hardly reported in German media or were presented in a distorted fashion. In general, this complaint extended to sharp critiques about Germany’s media coverage and official political statements that portrayed an overtly negative picture of Turkey and its government and president. Opinions about the political and security situations were often not shared by my respondents, because the Germans in Alanya generally emphasized that no foreign visitor would have to fear detention. This impression differed from that given by the German media, which had reported several cases of German citizens who were detained and arrested at airports and in the country. In this vein, many of the respondents lamented the fact that their families, tourists, and others in Germany did not understand the current situation or their lives in Turkey. Several expressed their disappointment that friends and family no longer visited them and in some cases had even cancelled a planned visit. Evidence of the difference between the respondents’ views and German official politics can also be seen with respect to travel within Turkey. The German foreign ministry and the website of the German consulate in Antalya issue warnings about traveling to certain areas of Turkey, mostly the Kurdish territories and near the Syrian border but also the historical multicultural city of Mardin. In the spring of 2018, at a meeting of the German–Turkish association hür türk, the members discussed a journey to Mardin for the fall of that year. When the plan was presented, no one seemed concerned or made mention of security issues, and whether or not the attendees would participate depended on the total costs and their own budgets.

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Thus, while Germans in Alanya stress their status as local residents, they usually see themselves as (welcomed) foreigners. To varying degrees, they are critical of or distance themselves from German perspectives and politics, yet they still see their German state citizenship as an “insurance policy” (even though they rarely depict it as such), in that it safeguards their option to return to Germany and thereby paradoxically enables them to stay in Turkey in spite of the insecurities, as will be discussed next.

Emigrant citizenship as an insurance policy Even during my first field trip in 2013, my study subjects not only stressed that they wanted to stay in Alanya but also believed that their health situation and the economic and political instabilities in Turkey might make it necessary for them to return to Germany at some point. In the narratives as well as in many less formal conversations, the country’s increasing Islamization and nationalization were recurrent topics. Still, on revisiting Alanya in 2018, I met with many of the German migrants I had interviewed almost five years earlier. Those whom I did not meet again had either died or had left because there were no satisfactory solutions available to deal with their deteriorating health. Paradoxically, however, the place-attachment of those who stayed was facilitated by their emigrant citizenship, although the respondents rarely acknowledged this in so many words. Rather, their strategies for retaining or arranging for a residence back home indicated that they wished to keep their options open regarding a return to Germany. In contrast, their right to return to their country of citizenship is part of the normalization of privilege that is a key characteristic of the experiences of these individuals and their unacknowledged position (McIntosh 2010 [1989]; Twine and Gardener 2013). Some of my respondents had maintained an official address in Germany, and they also still had an apartment back home. Surprisingly, some of those who had sold their house in Germany and had bought or rented a house or apartment in Alanya began to rent or buy an apartment in Germany again several years after they had relocated. For example, during our long conversation, Peter stated that he and his partner had bought their apartment in Alanya after carefully preparing for their relocation abroad and visiting several potential sites in Mediterranean countries. They had chosen Alanya because of the housing prices, the infrastructure, and the existing health care facilities, and because they had liked the city during their stays. Peter told me that he wished to be buried in Alanya and that he had indeed already made preparations for this; however, he was afraid that it would not be possible to address any complications resulting from deteriorating health in his preferred place of living, especially if he needed long-term treatment. Much later in the conversation, Peter stated that several years after relocating to Alanya, he and his partner had secured an affordable apartment in a housing cooperative in Germany. This decision was in response to the increasing Islamization of Turkish politics, which seemed to imply the need for an exit strategy.

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Similarly, a woman who had just settled in Alanya suggested to her readers in an internet blog that it would be wise to find a place to rent in Germany “considering the many problems in Turkey” right now. Jutta and Dieter, whom I interviewed in May of 2018, told me how much they enjoyed their spacious apartment in Alanya, which they had bought some years earlier. They had sold their house and car in Germany, rented a container to store some of their belongings, and brought with them only the most important appliances for everyday use in Turkey, as well as a few keepsakes. In our recent conversation, they said that they had no reason to leave Alanya despite the fact that they were critical of the political situation in the country. Over the past five years, they had stayed with close friends during their visits to Germany, where their children and other family members live, but they no longer wanted to inconvenience them. Shortly before our conversation, they had started renting an apartment in Germany for when they stayed there. At the same time, they said “we are a bit worried about how the politics are developing here [in Turkey].” In fact, they had considered selling the apartment in Alanya, yet they repeatedly stressed that this did not mean they wished to return to Germany. Instead, their plan was to rent an apartment in Alanya in order to be “more flexible” and be able to depart on the spur of the moment. Because of the slump in the real estate market due to the political situation and because of increasingly unfavorable exchange rates, they had to keep the apartment, at least for the time being. Even so, as Jutta added, “If I have to, I’ll give up the apartment.” The couple stressed that they felt at home there and that the situation in the country seemed to be stabilizing. When asked whether they were planning to stay or return, they replied that they had agreed to leave it open and wanted to keep their life “light” so they would not be burdened by lots of belongings should they decide to move. This was Jutta and Dieter’s way of saying that they were making the choice not to make a choice and that the flexibility of their lifestyle would allow them to respond to future opportunities and challenges. Similarly, when in 2013 I asked Christa whether she was planning to stay in Turkey or return to Germany at some point, she had told me she would stay: … that is, as long as I am healthy enough and the political situation is bearable … . Of course, I have my place in Germany that I won’t give up. M: So you have an apartment or an address? I have a small apartment. … And then, it is like, the apartment is really nicely furnished, and if I really wanted to go back, if I even wanted to or had to, [and if] I would not have an apartment and needed to find something quickly and to buy furniture and everything else that is necessary. … All my friends said, “Keep the apartment.” That’ll always be my refuge. In 2018, Christa was 83 and still living in Alanya. She decided to keep her apartment in Germany, where she goes three times a year for about a week each time. This, she says, is made possible through her old rental agreement,

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which has kept her rent low, and her modest lifestyle. Also, her rent in Alanya is low, as are the living expenses in Turkey. She would only leave her home in Alanya if her health deteriorated to a point where she could no longer live her independent life. Although she is not particularly happy with the recent developments in Turkish politics, she emphasized that it barely affects her as a foreigner. When talking about her German “refuge” during our earlier conversation, she had added a sentiment expressed by many others: “You never know what will happen.” As local foreign residents, the Germans in Alanya believe that their lives there will remain unaffected by political changes and turmoil. To different degrees, they also expressed concern that this might change, and they responded to this insecurity by working toward having a return option. However, only one of my interviewees expressly attributed her secure position of being able to leave Turkey at any time to her German citizenship. Brigitte and her husband had sold their apartment and the car they owned in Germany. Unlike other respondents, they relinquished their formal address and relocated to Alanya to build a new life in the sun. They continue to keep in touch with a few friends in Germany whom they visit every two or three years, if at all. Brigitte has little interest in German affairs and speaks somewhat unfavorably of her home country, of politicians, of work life, and of social relations in general and does not vote. However, when I asked her in 2013 about her citizenship and whether she would ever consider taking up Turkish citizenship—in which case she would probably have to renounce her German citizenship—Brigitte stated firmly that she would never do so, because “if a civil war breaks out here, we will be flown out.” Brigitte’s statements, like those of many others, are reflective of a certain perception of insecurity in Turkey. However, she was the only respondent to explicitly mention the benefits of having German citizenship. Although she no longer has a home or official address back in Germany, she regards her German citizenship as insurance should an outbreak of violence in Turkey require her to leave. For the majority of my interviewees, however, having such a refuge reflects their natural confidence in the return option, one that is legally premised on formal citizenship but not explicitly mentioned in their conversations. Rather than being strategically planned, return is the unnamed spatial right, the privilege to return to a safe country that paradoxically allows these migrants to stay abroad.

Return as a last recourse: the neglected dimension of citizenship The lifestyle and retirement migration literature has barely looked into when and why individuals leave their chosen paradise. The few existing considerations identify personal health, local social and care services, and overdevelopment as motives for doing so (Breuer 2005; McWatters 2009; Warnes et al. 1999). The role of political, or economic, (in)security has thus far not received attention. Yet when discussing whether they would consider leaving Turkey, the Germans in

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Alanya referred to their fears of deteriorating personal health and political instabilities, often in the same sentence. Nevertheless, return was usually not the preferred option. Even in face of deteriorating personal health, some of these migrants opted for staying, as long as the decision was their own. This resonates with the findings of Irene Hardill and her collaborators, who showed how British retirees in Southern Spain try to stay, seek help for entering a Spanish nursing home where some English is spoken, and search for additional financial means when their own resources do not suffice, aided by their European citizenship and British charities (Hardill et al. 2005). The circumstances for Germans in Turkey differ from those in the EU, and severe health issues can force them to leave. Political instability is another factor my interviewees considered, although the current international and internal political tensions and conflicts were seen as having no direct bearing on foreigners. Being a foreign resident allows them to live a peaceful local life, given the privileged treatment and protection they receive. This is one element of the paradoxical situation in which being an emigrant citizen facilitates residence abroad. The second element is the comfort of knowing that one can return—even that one “will be flown out”—in case there is an outbreak of violence, as Brigitte had explained in our interview. International law and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights have simultaneously affirmed that “[e]veryone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country” (article 13 UDHR). The right to return, thus, is the prerogative of the (emigrant) citizen (Barry 2006; Hannum 1987). Unlike Brigitte, my conversation partners were usually not considering the role of citizenship for their return and rather mentioned that they were keeping a home in Germany, and sometimes had acquired an additional residence there, after relocating to Turkey. Whereas returning to one’s country of origin is tied to citizenship, for privileged emigrants this safeguarding of the return option comes “naturally,” signifying the normalization of privilege that is a key characteristic of the experiences of the privileged and their unacknowledged position (McIntosh 2010 [1989]; Twine and Gardener 2013). Thus, the spatial privilege, enabled by the spatial rights and other resources accorded by one’s German state citizenship, informs the possibility to emigrate and relocate abroad, as discussed and detailed in the previous chapters. This chapter shows that it also allows one to stay abroad in times of crisis and be treated as a welcomed foreign local resident in the chosen locality. At the same time, it allows one to return to the country of origin when necessary. The option to return, based on the citizen’s right to do so, thus emerges as an unduly underestimated element in the study of citizenship.

Note 1 Some material covered in this chapter has previously been published as Fauser, M. 2020. “Emigrant Citizenship, Privileged Local Belonging and the Option to Return: Germans on the Turkish Coast.” CMS 8 (7) https://doi.org/10.1186/s40878-019-0155-.

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References Barry, Kim. 2006. “Home and Away: The Construction of Citizenship in an Emigration Context.” New York University Law Review 81 (11): 11–59. Breuer, Toni. 2003. “Deutsche Rentnerresidenten auf den Kanarischen Inseln? [German Retiree Residents on the Canary Islands?].” Geographische Rundschau 55 (5): 44–51. Breuer, Toni. 2005. “Retirement Migration or Rather Second-Home Tourism? German Senior Citizens on the Canary Islands.” Die Erde 136 (3): 313–333. Deutsche Welle. 2016. “Deutsche in der Türkei zwischen Trotz und Angst [Germans in Turkey Between Defiance and Fear].” Accessed April 29, 2018. http://www.dw.com/ de/deutsche-in-der-türkei-zwischen-trotz-und-angst/a-36610221. Domradio. 2016. “Katholischer Auslandsseelsorger zur Situation in der Türkei [Catholic Priest for Communities Abroad on the Situation in Turkey].” Accessed December 11, 2018. https://www.domradio.de/themen/weltkirche/2016-11-17/katho lischer-auslandsseelsorger-zur-situation-der-tuerkei. Hannum, Hurst. 1987. The Right to Leave and Return in International Law and Practice. Dordbrecht: Martinus Nijhoff Publishers. Hardill, Irene, Jaqui Spradberry, Judy Arnold-Boakes, and Maria L. Marrugat. 2005. “Severe Health and Social Care Issues Among British Migrants Who Retire to Spain.” Ageing and Society 5 (25): 769–783. doi:10.1017/S0144686X05004034. Kaiser, Claudia. 2011. Transnationale Altersmigration in Europa: Sozialgeografische und gerontologische Perspektiven. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. McIntosh, Peggy. 2010 [1989]. “White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack.” Freedom and Peace, 8–10. www.nationalseedproject.org. Accessed March 12, 2019. McWatters, Mason R. 2009. Residential Tourism: (De)Constructing Paradise. Bristol: Channel View Publications. Rosbrook-Thompson, James. 2015. “‘I’m Local and Foreign’: Belonging, the City and the Case of Denizenship.” Urban Studies 52 (9): 1615–1630. doi:10.1177/ 0042098014540347. Sardinha, Joao. 2014. “Lifestyle Migrants in Central Portugal: Strategies of Settlement and Socialisation.” In Contested Spatialities, Lifestyle Migration and Residential Tourism, edited by Michael Janoschka and Heiko Haas, 174–189. London and New York: Routledge. Twine, France W., and Bradley Gardener. 2013. “Introduction.” In Geographies of Privilege, edited by France W. Twine and Bradley Gardener, 1–16. London and New York: Routledge. Warnes, Anthony M., and Allan M. Williams. 2006. “Older Migrants in Europe: A New Focus on Migration Studies.” Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 32 (8): 1257–1281. doi:10.1080/1369183060092761. Warnes, Anthony M., Russell King, Allan M. Williams, and Guy Patterson. 1999. “The Well-Being of British Expatriate Retirees in Southern Europe.” Ageing and Society 19 (6): 717–740. doi:10.1017/S0144686X9900759X. ZDF. 2016. “Deutsche Auswanderer in Türkei [German Expatriates in Turkey].” Accessed December 11, 2018. https://www.zdf.de/nachrichten/heute-in-europa/videos/auswa nderer-in-der-tuerkei-100.html.

7

Conclusion

In this concluding chapter, I recapitulate some of the main themes of this book and discuss their implications for the theorization of contemporary citizenship. Current debates regarding the concept of citizenship have unraveled its transformation from the previously exclusive and territorially fixed understanding of nation-state membership toward more complicated configurations that have made it portable, mobile, and increasingly multiple (Bader 1999; Barry 2006; Bauböck 2010; Harpaz and Mateos 2019). This multiplicity raises two major concerns. The first concern, vividly discussed in contemporary debates on citizenship, refers to the sentimental and strategic values that mobile individuals associate with citizenship, and thus the questions of whether and how the value of rights and resources is connected to an affective sense of shared belonging. The second concern addresses the connection between citizenship and social inequality and asks whether and how citizenship contributes to the promise of equality or rather produces and reproduces social inequalities. In this work, I have suggested a conceptualization of mobile citizenship that considers the various sites of citizenship (emigrant, immigrant, local, and suprastate/interstate) and that seeks to understand the ways in which these sites become entangled, together with a notion of citizenship that moves beyond its merely formal, legal aspects to involve its more substantial elements. More specifically, I distinguished four facets that make up the composite of citizenship; namely, status, rights, practices, and affective belonging (see Chapter 1; Bosniak 2006). Within this framework, I have analyzed how the different facets of citizenship on different sites can enable, reinforce, or block one another and how this produces and reproduces social inequalities. In order to explore the reconfiguration of contemporary citizenship, I chose a more novel type of migration, that of retirement lifestyle migrants, as a form of privileged migration from the Global North to the Global South (Croucher 2009; Janoschka and Haas 2014). While some scholars in lifestyle migration research have started to address more comprehensively the privileges that are associated with lifestyle migration, they have sometimes assumed that these mobile individuals are from an advantaged, affluent social class; more recently, researchers have been focusing on racialized social

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categories, specifically related to “whiteness” (Benson 2013; Lundström 2014). Yet the role of citizenship in producing privilege has been largely ignored. Responding to the constraints of ageing, the increasing fragmentation of retirement, and the call to a self-reflexive and active lifestyle that now accompany this stage of life (Blaikie 1999; Featherstone, Hepworth, and Turner 1999; Gilleard and Higgs 2000; Katz 2000), retirement lifestyle migrants mobilize a variety of resources across sites. By relocating, they exploit their privileged position in the global hierarchy of citizenship (Castles 2005), which is associated with advantageous spatial rights and economic, social, cultural, and political resources, and they also benefit from the entanglement of emigrant, immigrant, local, and interstate arrangements that together build up their mobile citizenship. I therefore focus attention on the more “ordinary” social strata from middle and lower-middle classes, in terms of economic and cultural capital, yet who are (senior) citizens from a resourceful state in the Global North and engage in reverse migration to the Global South. The German citizen retirees in Turkey that I investigated negotiate citizenship across multiple sites largely to their benefit. Yet, I claim that their perspectives and practices reflect neither sentimental attitudes nor particularly strategic plans. Instead, one might consider their approach as the “natural,” confident, and largely normalized practices of privileged citizens who are a responding to changing situations. The retirement lifestyle migrants, the subjects of my research, successfully made use of their privileged emigrant citizenship status, the spatial rights, and the associated resources, some of which were portable across the border or could be mobilized from afar, while others were activated upon their (shortterm or permanent) return to their home country, Germany. Such resourcefulness, in turn, enabled these senior citizens to access social, political, and spatial (citizenship) resources abroad, including economic benefits, a favorable climate, health, leisure, activity, and well-being, as well as health care services and (not least) residential status (see Chapter 4). At the same time, for some (but not all), their sense of German belonging became more detached from their home country. Typically, they did not express particular national sentimental nostalgia, while generally being German in Alanya is largely unquestioned. Moreover, as foreign residents in Turkey, these German migrants lacked voting rights but still exercised considerable influence on the urban landscape and local politics by virtue of their consumer power, which forged a form of local (economic) citizenship in the context of the touristic development strategy of their chosen locality (see Chapter 5). Their position was further strengthened by the long-standing historical ties that exist between Germany and Turkey, including interstate arrangements and well-established institutional pathways. Against this backdrop, the German retirees in Alanya developed a sense of local belonging, albeit without claim to Turkish identity or status. Nevertheless, their sense of belonging—as (privileged) foreign local residents—distinguishes them from established Turkish citizens as well as from transient outsiders, as exemplified by the tourists who briefly populate this city.

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Yet retirees’ relocation also disrupts the classical notion of citizenship, specifically in the national welfare state, and thus poses a challenge to the relatively fixed and territorially bounded life-course progression from contributor to claimant, which is premised on the progression from worker and caring parent to retiree and dependent senior (Ackers and Dwyer 2004, 463). It is from this bounded notion and from the laws and resources that are still often fixed that constraints emerge. At the same time, citizenship provisions have to a certain extent been adapted to the mobility of workers and of retirees, facilitating the export of and access to relevant resources from abroad. Still, the existing provisions are accompanied by manifold ambivalent and contradictory experiences, which lead to feelings of uncertainty among emigrant retirees. Moreover, the fragility of their status as foreign local residents—a status that is at risk of ending in the event of changing conditions such as deteriorating health or unstable political circumstances—also generates insecurities. The wish to escape political instability and insecurity has been identified as a reason why Turkish elites feel the need to access privileged Western citizenship and, to this end, arrange for their children’s birthright to acquire US citizenship (Balta and Altan-Olcay 2016). In contrast, German citizens in Turkey can draw on their right to return “home” with great ease and without the need to strategize. In this current phase of political controversies in Turkey and its conflictive relationship with Germany and the EU, the option to return informs a sense of security that, paradoxically, enables these retirement migrants to remain abroad (see Chapter 6). Taken together, such fears and feelings of insecurity tend to reinforce the value of German citizenship for retirement migrants and thus strengthen the transnational lifestyles that connect their local lives to their old homes across the border. Being neither strategically planned nor straightforward, their practices appear to reflect the natural confidence of a privileged emigrant who is able to successfully cope with changing circumstances, benefit from opportunities, and resist constraints. This expression of normalization is a significant feature in the experiences and practices of privileged individuals, who are generally unaware of their position as such (McIntosh 2010 [1989]; Twine and Gardener 2013). Thus, they may be seen as natural, confident, and privileged emigrant citizens. This condition differs from that identified in existing scholarship concerning multiple and transnational citizenship. Schematically, different strands in this scholarship have characterized the sentimental transnational migrant and the strategic transnational elite, thus allowing for different combinations of sentimental and strategic values that individuals attach to citizenship from different sites. Although this understanding is often limited to nation-state citizenship, and thus dual nationality, other explanations of citizenship as providing more differentiated rights should also be taken into account. In this vein, transnational migration scholarship makes the case for recognizing that many migrants are interested in being politically involved in both the country of immigration and the country of origin. In addition, many have business

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dealings or own property in both countries, but involvement is sometimes restricted to persons with citizenship status. Above all, many contemporary migrants sustain meaningful family, social, and other types of relationships across two countries (Faist, Fauser, and Reisenauer 2013; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1994; Smith and Guarnizo 1999; Smith 2006). Transnational scholars have thus argued that multiple citizenship should be conceived of as simultaneously overlapping membership (Faist 2001). Formal dual citizenship, then, reflects the legal and political recognition of transnational social life-worlds of migrants (Faist 2001; Fox 2005). Yet empirical research is still inconclusive as to the question of whether or to what degree the “ways of being” (a citizen) and the “ways of belonging” (as a citizen) are congruent or differ across sites (Levitt and Glick Schiller 2004). Indeed, transnational migration researchers have often shown that migrants retain a nostalgic sense of affection toward their countries of origin and act (and often perceive themselves) as long-distance nationalists or extraterritorial members of their home states (Glick Schiller and Fouron 2001; Goldring 2002; Smith 2006). These researchers posit that migrants’ homeland attachments are responses to the social inequalities they encounter in the country of immigration, such as marginal positions in fragmented labor markets, unequal treatment, and racial discrimination (Itzigsohn and Giorguli Saucedo 2002; Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc-Szanton 1994; Portes 1999). In contrast, research on the citizenship practices of transnational, or global, elites proposes another perspective. A growing research field is now focusing on upper and upper-middle class individuals from less powerful countries in the Global South who are acquiring passports from countries in the Global North. The results have so far revealed a trend toward flexible, strategicinstrumental, and generally opportunistic approaches to citizenship (Cottrell Studemeyer 2015; Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 2019; Ong 1999). To achieve their goal, these transnational elites rely on the existing and currently expanding opportunities available for non-residents through strategic (short-term) residency, birth tourism (Balta and Altan-Olcay 2016) ancestry (Harpaz 2013), and investor citizenship (Bauböck 2018; Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies 2019). Using these pathways, a growing number of individuals are strategically and instrumentally responding to global inequalities and the existing global hierarchy of citizenship. Most prominently, Aihwa Ong (1999) has attributed the striving to obtain Western passports to the forces and opportunities of flexible, post-Fordist accumulation and its global expansion as a characteristic of late capitalism. Seeking economic and educational opportunities, spatial rights, and (not least) the symbolic value of a Western passport, transnational elites try to escape the limited opportunities and political and economic uncertainties of their home states, thus creating “flexible citizenship” for themselves. Scholars in this field have further argued that citizenship in such cases is typically not tied to multiple allegiances to two states but instead identifies a sense of belonging that is deterritorialized. For example, Evren Balta and Özlem Altan-Olcay (2016) show how upper-class

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Turks strategically access US-American citizenship birthrights for their children as an insurance strategy against (historical and contemporary) political and economic insecurities in Turkey and as a route toward educational possibilities, employment opportunities, and tax advantages, as well as to potentially escape military conscription in Turkey. At the same time, the authors identify a form of community affiliation where US-American citizenship is a way of expressing an identity that is hardly territorial and serves as “membership in a transnational network of mobile elites” (Balta and Altan-Olcay 2016, 951), which allows them to attach their rights and (international) recognition, or that of their children, to their feelings and cultural practices as “global citizens.” In this way, Western citizenship can also serve as a counter-narrative and identity in the face of the nationalistic discourses of their own governments, parameters to which these classes do not wish to subscribe (Balta and Altan-Olcay 2016; Ong 1993; Ong 1999). In sum, citizenship here becomes a strategic resource, unrelated to residency and valued for its spatial rights, thus creating flexible options and, not least, expressing a deterritorialized identity. In public and academic debates, multiple citizenship regularly raises fears about its implications with regard to citizens’ loyalty when immigrants, emigrants, and other dual citizens are not forced to choose a single, exclusive citizenship but share either a stronger sense of belonging toward the other country or no particular belonging at all. Some scholars consider that multiple citizenship, rather than boosting individuals’ allegiances, reduces the affective value of each of them (Spiro 2007). Critics have also suggested that it can undermine formal political equality by bestowing more political franchise on dual citizens than on persons with a single citizenship (Spiro 2017), whereas others contend that individuals never have more than one voice within a single state (Bauböck 2009). Citizenship theorists have further expressed concern that multiple citizenship has introduced new inequalities within the citizenry, when some citizens count on additional citizenships that give access to more resources (Shachar 2009, 130f.; Spiro 2017). However, multiple citizenship does not create this inequality but instead introduces the global inequality that is expressed in the hierarchy of passports into national and local contexts. Rather than producing social inequalities, it gives expression to the persistent global inequalities that are reflected in that hierarchy. Thus, rather than reflecting a single trend toward one particular configuration, the contemporary reconfigurations of citizenship in the age of mobility reflect global and internal social inequalities as much as they reproduce them, thus interacting with existing social categories. Yet such processes also involve more complicated intersections and can lead to contradictory statuses, especially within transnational spaces (Anthias 2012). Thus, citizenship and its resources intersect with other social categories, such as social class, age, gender, race, and ethnicity, which are valued differently in different places (see Chapter 2; Lundström 2017; Ong 1999, chapter 3). Accessing a more privileged citizenship can reinforce an existing privileged position that is held by those who have more economic and cultural resources.

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Racialized identities, in turn, can either further enhance or restrict the deployment of resources, so there may also be “a limit to social mobility in the West” for privileged and wealthy multipassport holders from the Global South, as Aihwa Ong has shown (Ong 1999, 18, and see chapter 3). Conversely, for those with privileged citizenship but more “ordinary” social statuses, using their spatial privilege to move from the Global North to the Global South can improve their social position, especially abroad. While state citizenship is a facilitator, it is also influenced by social class and, in the case of my own research, the status of a recipient of a (state) pension and is further supported by other favorable social categories, such as “Europeanness” (see Chapters 4 and 5). Consequently, the lifestyle migrants from the “ordinary” social strata in the Global North reflect a different configuration of citizenship when compared with both marginalized migrants and mobile elites from the Global South. As “privileged” emigrants, they make use of the spatial privilege of their emigrant citizenship and are able to access certain resources abroad, further entangling the rights and resources from one site with those from other sites. They hardly exhibit sentimental allegiance toward their home country and are rarely interested in getting politically and affectively involved in the immigration country, yet they do express a sense of feeling at home in their new locality. They also do not resemble strategic and instrumental “global citizens,” although some share a more deterritorialized sense of belonging. Aided by their rights and resources, as well as their entanglements with various sites, their practices and transnational lifestyles tend to reproduce a more privileged status, while they express a natural confidence in enacting mobile citizenship. The consequences of the migration of the elderly and their enactments of mobile citizenship remain to be clarified. Their practices and claims to (greater) portability of rights and entitlements disrupt the territorially bounded and intergenerational progression from contributing worker to claiming retiree. This shift may further challenge the affective value of shared belonging on which citizenship has thus far been premised, or it may have already resulted from such a process. This book documents how the mobility of privileged citizens has started to transform the bounded understanding of citizenship that is tied to state, territory, and national belonging toward a notion that has become portable, mobile, and multiple and is still experienced as a natural condition. The longer-term implications of this process, which has been initiated by emigrants with privileged citizenship, remain to be explored.

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Index

affective belonging see belonging age see retired persons; retirement agency and legal entitlements in relation 93 Alanya (Turkey): becoming resident in 100–103; belonging, German residents’ sense of 148–153, 185; charitable and community service initiatives by German residents 141–143; Christian presence in 74, 79f; climate 73; cücük Almanya (‘Little Germany’) 72, 132; cultural events for migrants 74, 79f, 80f; cultural tropes 157–160; development as tourist destination 72–73, 154; dual attachments of German retirees 135–136; Dutch migrants in 72, 98, 137, 144; economic factors in German lifestyle migration 103–106; facilities for migrants 74; Finnish migrants in 144, 147; foreigners’ cemetery 74, 78f, 147; foreigners’ committee 74, 78f, 144–146; German residents’ wish to be buried in 174–176; German retirees in 1, 72–77; German retirees’ sense of belonging 132–136; German retirees’ ties with home 120–123, 128; Germans as ‘good guests’ 160–162; German-Turkish Friendship Association 138–139; guest workers returned from Germany 73; health care practices of German retirees 110–119; health care system 110; home, German residents’ feelings of 148–153; integration, German residents’ level of 153; local culture, German residents’ involvement in 152–153; local government adaptations for German residents 143–144; local institutions for German residents 138–143; local

multiculturalism 146–148; Norwegian migrants in 147; parallel society, existence of 128; partial belonging by German residents 162–164; pathways for German settlement in 171; political involvement by German residents 133–134, 143; population 73; privilege and belonging in relation 153–164; research on German retirees in 74–77; retirees returning to Germany 171–182, 186; Russian migrants in 72; Saint Nicholas Christian Community 80f, 139–141, 147; ‘second-class citizens’ fears of Turkish residents 160; transnational lifestyle and local belonging in relation 130–132; views of 77f, 80f; Yeni Alanyaları (new resident) 46, 145 allegiance see attachment Aristotle 24 asymmetries see inequality attachment see belonging autonomy, spatial 50 being and belonging distinguished 34 belonging: being distinguished from 34; citizenship, and 21, 24–25, 130; cultural tropes, and 157–160; dual attachments 135–136; everyday life, and 148–153; facilities and cultural events for migrants 74; home, and 25; identity, and 132; integration, migrants’ level of 153; local culture, migrants’ involvement in 152–153; loyalty, and 188; mentality, and 157–160; migrants’ sense of 148; migration, and 28; mobile citizenship, and 131; multiculturalism, and 128, 146–148; parallel society, existence of

Index 128; partial belonging 162–164; personal belonging and political belonging distinguished 25; privilege, and 153–164, 185; ‘second-class citizens’ fears of native residents 160; sentimental transnational migrants 186; transnationalism, and 129–132; see also home Bourdieu, Pierre 52 capitalism: strategic transnational elites, and 187; transnationalism and 48; ‘white capital’ 52 Chile, migrants’ citizenship rights 31 China, Hong Kong migrants and multiple citizenship 35 cities see space, spaces citizenship: agency and legal entitlements in relation 93; belonging, and 21, 24–25, 130; civil rights, and 21; congruity or incongruity between facets of 25–26; content and structure of book 11–12; cross-border expansion of 30; definition of 19–24; elements (facets) of 21, 23–26; emigrant citizenship as insurance policy 179–181; equality, and 3, 19; ‘expansive citizenship’ 34; Greek (Athenian) thought on 24–25; immigrants and social citizenship 92; inequality, and 3, 5, 19–20, 188; legal status within nation states, as 9, 23–24; lifestyle migrants’ practices 136–148; lifestyle migration, and 65–66; local citizenship see local communities; loyalty, and 188; migration in relation to 2–4, 20, 22, 26–31; minor forms of citizenship for migrants 30–31; mobile citizenship, conditions for 32–38; mobile citizenship, study of 1–3, 9–11, 19, 131, 184–189; mobility in relation to 2–4, 186; multiple citizenship 3, 9, 34–35, 93, 188; nation states, and 9, 20, 22, 32, 186; ‘nested citizenship’ 36; perspectives for research on 2–5, 32–33; political citizenship 10–11; political rights, and 21; privileged migration, and 9, 53, 185, 189; privileged state citizenship 50; retirement lifestyle migrants, and 36, 50; return to home country, migrants’ 171–182, 186; Roman thought on 24; sentimental transnational migrants 186; social citizenship 91–92; social practice, and 24; social rights, and 21; spatial rights of 172, 185; spatiality, and 10, 11,

193

22–23, 32, 34, 37; Stoic thought on 24–25; strategic transnational elites 186–187; territorial differentiation, and 20; transnationalism in relation to 3, 9, 35; variety of concepts of 19, 32; well-being, and 10, 92 civil rights, citizenship and 21 class: lifestyle migration, and 63; privileged migration, and 52; strategic transnational elites 186–187 colonialism see postcolonialism communities see local communities consumer power see economic impact of lifestyle migration culture see belonging developed countries see Global North developing countries see Global South economic factors in lifestyle migration 63–65 economic impact of lifestyle migration 129, 185 elderly persons see retired persons emigration see migration equality: citizenship and 3, 19; see also inequality; privilege Erdoğan, Recep Tayyip 173–174 ethnography: ethnographic research on migration 5; ‘focused ethnography’ 5, 76 European Union: citizenship 36–37; lifestyle migration within 8; portability of social security rights and entitlements 95; Turkey, relations with 172, 174 Finland, migrants in Alanya 144, 147 gender and privileged migration in relation 52 geography see space, spaces Germany: Alanya (Turkey), migrants in see Alanya; attitudes to migrants 8; cities and citizenship in relation 37; citizenship rights 45; economic relationship with Turkey 48–49; emigrant access to health care system 107–108, 118–119; German mentality 157; guest workers from Turkey 5, 73; history of relationship with Turkey 48; migrants’ citizenship rights 31; migrants’ maintenance of ties with 120–123, 128; migrants’ political involvement 133–134, 143; migration

194

Index

from Turkey 5, 37; migration to Turkey 1–2, 5–9; migration to USA 29; pension portability and lifestyle migration in relation 94–97; pension taxation 97; proof of expatriate pensioner’s survival (Lebensbescheinigungen) 97; residence abroad, definition of 98–99; retirement lifestyle migrants in Turkey 72–77; Social Code VI on Statutory Pensions 96–97; Social Code XII on Social Assistance 97; social security agreement with Turkey 96; social security agreements 95–96, 96t; state pensions paid to citizens abroad 95t; statutory pension insurance scheme (Deutsche Rentenversicherung) 94–95; travel rights 45; Turkey’s political changes, and 173–174; see also Alanya Global North: expansion of migrants’ citizenship rights 30; migration to Global South (reverse migration) 2, 45–46; strategic transnational elites from Global South 187, 189 Global South: migration from Global North (reverse migration) 2, 45–46; migration to Global North 45–46; strategic transnational elites in Global North 187, 189 globalisation and transnationalism in relation 48 ‘good guests,’ lifestyle migrants as 160–162 Greek (Athenian) thought on citizenship 24–25 guest workers 5, 73 Haiti, migration to USA 35 health: emigrants and German health care system 107–108, 118–119; health care practices of retirement lifestyle migrants 106–107; migrants’ return to home country for health reasons 174–176; Turkish health care system 108–118; see also well-being historical examples of migration 29 home: belonging, and 25; everyday life, and 148–153; identity, and 132; making oneself at 151–152; migrants’ feelings of 148; migrants’ financial links with 29; migrants’ return to home country 171–182, 186; migrants’ sense of 131; migrants’ ties with 1, 120–123, 128;

migrants’ use of resources from 9, 10; privilege and home ties in relation 186; see also belonging Hong Kong see China identity and belonging in relation 132 immigrants: citizenship, and 26–27; definition of 8; financial links with home 29; hardships of 8–9; hostility towards 8; local institutions for 138–143; privileged migrants, study of 1, 9; social citizenship 92; ties with home 1; see also migration inequality: citizenship, and 3, 5, 19–20; multiple citizenship, and 188; perspectives for research on 2; privileged migration and power asymmetries in relation 4; spatiality, and 50–51; see also equality; privilege integration see belonging ‘landscape nomadism’ 129 legal entitlements and migrants’ agency in relation 93 lifestyle migration: agency and legal entitlements in relation 93; citizenship, and 65–66; citizenship as insurance policy 179–181; citizenship practices 136–148; class, and 63; concept of 59–61; definition of 57; definition of retirement lifestyle migration 91; dual attachments 135–136; economic factors 63–65; economic impact on local communities 129, 185; German retirees in Alanya (Turkey) 72–77; ‘good guests,’ migrants as 160–162; health care, and 107–119; home, sense of 131; home ties, maintenance of 120–123, 128local communities, and see local communities; maximisation of economic resources 103–106; mobility and residence in relation 94–106; multiple citizenship, and 93; parallel society, existence of 128; pension portability, and 94–97; pensions and spatial mobility in relation 103; privilege, and 65–66; reaction to overdevelopment of chosen location 129; resource maximisation, and 103–106, 185; return to home country 171–182, 186; reverse spatiality, and 65–66; ‘second-class citizens’ fears of native residents 160; sentimental transnational migrants

Index 186; social citizenship, and 91–93; sociology of lifestyle 61–62; strategic transnational elites 186–187; study of 9, 36, 57–77, 184–185; survey methods 5; terminology of 58; tourism, and 70–72 local communities: citizenship and local governance in relation 136–137; economic impact of lifestyle migration 129, 185; ‘landscape nomadism,’ and 129; level of integration by migrants 130; lifestyle migrants’ reaction to overdevelopment 129; local government adaptations for migrant residents 143–144; local multiculturalism 146–148; political involvement by migrant retirees 130, 133–135, 143 loyalty see belonging Marshall, T H 10, 19, 21, 24, 91 mentality, belonging and privilege in relation 157–160 Mexico: cross-border political activism by US retirees 130, 135; economic impact of lifestyle migration 129 migrants see immigrants migration: attitudes to 8; belonging, and 28; citizenship in relation to 2–4, 20, 22, 26–31; class, and 52; definition of 8; ethnographic research 5; gender, and 52; historical examples of 29lifestyle migration see lifestyle migration; minor forms of citizenship for migrants 30–31; perspectives for research on 2–3, 22; privileged migration and power asymmetries in relation 4; race, and 52; reverse migration (Global North to Global South) 2, 45–46; rights, and 28; sentimental transnational migrants 186; social practice, and 28; spatial rights, and 172; spatiality and 9–10, 45–53; status, and 28; transnational perspective on 27; transnationalism and reverse migration in relation 46–49; see also immigrants; lifestyle migration mobility: ability to be mobile 10; citizenship in relation to 2–4, 186; content and structure of book 11–12; migrants’ return to home country 171–182, 186; mobile citizenship, conditions for 32–38; mobile citizenship, importance of concept 38; mobile citizenship, study of 1–3, 9–11, 19, 32–33, 184–189; motility and

195

spatial autonomy distinguished 51; pensions and spatial mobility in relation 103; residence, and 94–106; right of 10; spatial mobility 3, 38–39; tourism and lifestyle migration in relation 70–72; travel rights 45 motility see mobility nation states, citizenship and 9, 20, 22, 23–24, 32, 186 Netherlands, migrants in Alanya 72, 98, 137, 144 Norway, migrants in Alanya 147 participation see belonging pensions: pension portability and lifestyle migration in relation 94–97; proof of recipient’s survival 97; spatial mobility, and 103; taxation of 97; see also social security politics: citizenship and political rights in relation 21; local political involvement by migrant retirees 130, 133–135, 143; loyalty, and 188; migrants’ return to home country for political reasons 174–176, 186; political belonging and personal belonging distinguished 25; political changes in Turkey 173–174; political citizenship 10–11 Portugal, ‘landscape nomadism’ by English expatriates 129 postcolonialism and transnationalism in relation 46–49 power: asymmetries 4; privilege as 49 privilege: awareness of 154–157; belonging, and 153–164, 185; characteristics of 49; citizenship and privileged migration in relation 9, 53, 185, 189; claims of 154–157; contradictions of 154–157; cultural tropes, and 157–160; lifestyle migration, and 65–66; mentality, and 157–160; partial belonging, and 162–164; perspectives for research on 2; political insecurity, and 176–179, 186; power, as 49; power asymmetries, and 4; privileged migrants, study of 1, 9; retirement lifestyle migrants 50; spatial privilege 46, 51–53; strategic transnational elites 186–187; transnationalism, and 49–53 race: capital, and 52; privileged migration, and 52 reflexivity, retirement and 66–70

196

Index

residence: becoming locally resident in Turkey 100–103; German definition of residence abroad 98–99; mobility, and 94–106; Turkish registration rules 99–100 resources: maximisation by retirement lifestyle migrants 103–106, 185; migrants’ use of resources from home 9, 10 retired persons: active ageing 66–70German retirees in Turkey see Alanya; maximisation of economic resources 103–106; privileged state citizenship of 50; proof of survival 97; resources from home, mobilisation and use of 10; social citizenship 92; spatial rights, use of 10; well-being 92; see also pensions; social security retirement: inequality, and 9lifestyle migration see lifestyle migration; privilege, and 9; reflexivity, and 66–70 return, right of 171–182, 186 rights see citizenship Roman thought on citizenship 24 Russian migrants in Alanya 72 ‘second-class citizens’ fears 160 security: emigrant citizenship as insurance policy 179–181; privilege and political insecurity in relation 176–179, 186 senior citizens see elderly persons sentiment see belonging social security: bilateral agreements 95–96; portability of rights and entitlements within EU 95; see also pensions social structures: citizenship and social practice in relation 24; citizenship and social rights in relation 21; migrants’ involvement with local communities 129; migration and social practice in relation 28; new approaches to social policy 92; parallel society, existence of 128; social citizenship 91–92; sociology of lifestyle 61–62; transnational social spaces 2; see also equality; inequality; local communities; privilege space, spaces: cities and citizenship in relation 37; citizenship and spatiality in relation 10, 11, 22–23, 32, 34; citizenship and territorial differentiation in relation 20; German-Turkish

transnational space 5–9; inequality, and 50–51; lifestyle migration and reverse spatiality in relation 65–66; migration and reverse spatialities 9–10, 45–53; pensions and spatial mobility in relation 103; quality of space 51; spatial autonomy 50; spatial mobility 3, 34, 38–39; spatial perspective on migration 2; spatial privilege 46, 51–53; spatial rights of citizenship 172, 185; spatial rights, use of 10, 45; transnational geographies of privilege 49–53; transnational social spaces 2, 34–35; see also mobility; nation states; tourism Spain, migration from Sweden 52 status see citizenship Stoic thought on citizenship 24–25 Sweden, migration to Spain 52 taxation of pensions 97 territory see nation states; space, spaces tourism and lifestyle migration in relation 70–72 transnationalism: belonging, and 129–132; capitalism, and 48; citizenship in relation to 3, 9, 34; German retirees in Alanya 1; German-Turkish transnational space 5–9; globalisation, and 48; multiple citizenship, and 35; postcolonialism, and 46–49; privilege, and 49–53; reverse migration, and 46–49; sentimental transnational migrants 186; strategic transnational elites 186–187; transnational perspective on migration 2–3, 22, 27; transnational social spaces 2, 34–35 travel see mobility; tourism Turkey: becoming locally resident in 100–103; cultural tropes 158; economic factors in German lifestyle migration 103–106; economic relationship with Germany 48–49; European Union, relations with 172, 174; German migrants returning to Germany 171–182, 186; German retirement lifestyle migrants in 72–77; guest workers in Germany 5, 73; health care practices of German retirees 106–119; health care system 108–118; history of relationship with Germany 48; migrants’ citizenship rights 31; migration from Germany

Index 1–2, 5–9; migration to Germany 5, 37; partial belonging by German migrants 162–164; political changes 173–174; rules for residential registration 99–100; Russian migrants in 72; social security agreement with Germany 96; Turkish mentality 157; see also Alanya United Kingdom: ‘landscape nomadism’ by English expatriates 129; migrants’ citizenship rights 31

197

United States: migration from Germany 29; migration from Haiti 35; political involvement by migrant retirees in Mexico 130, 135 urban areas see space, spaces voting see politics well-being: citizenship, and 10; social citizenship, and 92; see also health