Statelessness and belonging: The case of Saharawis in Spain

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By Celia Garcia de Medina-Rosales, alumnus of the Migration Studies MA, University of Sussex (2021/22). Her dissertation was awarded 2022 JEMS Award for the best Migration Studies MA

Statelessness, defined in international law as ‘not being considered a national by any state under the operation of its law’, is receiving increased attention. UNHCR’s 2014 ‘iBelong’ campaign aims at ending statelessness by ensuring the right to a nationality, on the grounds that rights are derived from belonging to a political community by acquiring a national citizenship. Another perspective on statelessness looks at groups who have been dispossessed of their land, becoming citizens of states they don’t necessarily identify with. In academia, these are called ‘stateless diasporas’.

What then, does ‘belonging’ and ‘statelessness’ mean to people who are not considered formal citizens of any state where they live? What about those who are, but also identify as belonging to a country not recognised internationally? What role do the host state and society play in their experience, and does this influence their personal engagement with their origin country in the place they now live? Pondering over these questions, I interviewed 8 Saharawis living in Spain as part of my master’s dissertation. This piece highlights my key findings. 

Indigenous to Western Sahara, the Saharawis were colonised by Spain from 1886 until 1975. A year later, Morocco annexed the territory, and despite numerous UN resolutions for its decolonisation, 80% remains occupied. Thousands of Saharawis sought refuge in the camps of Tindouf (Algeria), now governed by the POLISARIO under the Saharawi Arab Democratic Republic (SADR). Due to colonialism, most of the diaspora lives in Spain. Those from the Occupied Territories generally possess the Moroccan citizenship. However, those born in the camps find themselves in a legal limbo; they’re not Algerian citizens, but Spain doesn’t recognise the SADR either. To regularise their situation, Saharawis must be granted stateless status and eventually obtain citizenship. This situation enables subjective understandings of statelessness to emerge, influenced by the Spanish state and society.

Spain’s citizenship regime is amongst the strictest within the EU, but exceptions based on historical reparations exempt certain Latin Americans and Sephardic Jews. Saharawis, whose situation is a direct consequence of Spanish colonialism, feel they should also belong in this group. Spanish citizenship is not only necessary to enjoy stability and basic rights including work, study, or move, it’s a matter of justice. Due to Spain’s non-recognition of the SADR, many Saharawis possessing stateless documents are met with doubt surrounding their origins, which can substantiate feelings of not belonging anywhere. Others reject the legal definition of statelessness because it erases their collective identity, given that ‘stateless’ in Spanish is ‘apátrida’: the absence of historical, juridical, and affective ties linking a person to a homeland.

Furthermore, Saharawis’ plight doesn’t necessarily end with a passport. Many aspire to visit Western Sahara but can’t because of the fear, restrictions, and intimidation of Moroccan authorities. Algerian-Spanish tense relations might also jeopardise Saharawis’ ability to travel to the Tindouf camps, a place some cited as also belonging to because they can practice their Saharawi culture which they hope to do in their homeland one day. Consequently, Saharawis find ways to negotiate their ascribed statuses. Said’s journey from fleeing the occupied territories with a Moroccan passport to being granted protection and a new citizenship abroad allowed him to voice his Saharawi identity, where he was previously just considered Moroccan. Mustafa applied for stateless status instead of taking the citizenship route, for, besides other practical things, the recognition of the Saharawi refugee camps as his birthplace instead of Algeria. 

Spain’s local institutions complexify feelings of statelessness and belonging through their immigration practices and degree of support of the Saharawi cause. Catalonia and the Basque Country lead as progressive autonomous regions. Amir, a nurse working in Bilbao feels a sense of attachment to the city because ‘for the national administration, [he‘s] stateless, but the civil servants see [him] as Saharawi’.

Belonging is therefore deeply social and shaped by the relationship that Saharawis have with Spanish people. Given Saharawi and Spanish interconnected histories, many reject exclusive identities. Bahia Awah introduced himself as a ‘saharo-spanish’ writer and anthropologist, which challenges the idea that Saharawis belong ‘here’ or ‘there’. This is further contested by Saharawis who decide to remain in Spain after participating as children in the Holidays in Peace scheme where they develop emotional bonds to their host families. Therefore, Saharawis’ sense of belonging in Spain often occurs before obtaining a Spanish passport. Feelings of statelessness and exclusion can also endure after obtaining citizenship due to racism and xenophobia within Spanish society.

‘it’s like a constant reminder that you don’t belong here’.

Nadia

The desire for Spanish citizenship is also to influence Spanish’s policies regarding Western Sahara. Others act before obtaining citizenship and use social media as a tool to articulate their distinct identity. However, the non-recognition of Saharawis by the Spanish still impacts their online engagement. During her citizenship application process, Nadia ‘needed to be careful with what [she] said… not to criticise the Spanish monarchy or share [her] political beliefs’. 

Before 2013, Saharawis were considered either Moroccan or Algerian. The stateless status identifies Saharawis, which Mustafa sees as a political tool of pressure on governors to be attentive to their demands as future voters. Other factors influencing their engagement includes the extent of the host family’s political involvement or Saharawi’s socio-economic positionality as adults: some have more time and financial resources than those in lower-wage sectors or where they can’t access activist networks. Improving one’s socio-economic and legal situation is not necessarily incompatible with mobilising for Western Sahara. Iman is part of an organisation of lawyers who help Saharawis with legal matters, but Spanish citizenship allowed her to study, learn languages and become an expert to also advance the case of Western Sahara in international law. As a university teacher, Bahia visibilises Saharawis within Spanish academia by organising fieldtrips to the camps and liberated territories.

Experiencing statelessness and exclusion also motivates Saharawis to change Spain’s socio-political landscape and formulate a new template for belonging. Mustafa’s Saharawi collective supports unaccompanied Moroccan youth because he strives for a Spanish solidarity that challenges ideas of loyalty and nationalism. Bahia’s essay ‘Lavapies’ suggests a non-hierarchical idea of belonging, independent from one’s ethnicity, passport, and class. Indeed, Saharawis’ condition is not detached from that of other migrants, which explains Nadia’s participation in last year’s protest following the Melilla massacre by Moroccan and Spanish forces, whose collaboration followed Spain’s support for Morocco’s occupation.

[Belonging is] the fight for the rights of people in a society [asking us to] imagine an administration where they don’t understand your language but try to understand you… these things are what make you feel part of something

Iman

Despite the limited sample, my research offers insights into the experience of Saharawis in Spain and their personal strategies to accept, redefine, or negotiate top-down categorisations of ‘stateless’, ‘citizen’, ‘Saharawi’ or ‘Spanish’, and how this influences their understanding of belonging in profound ways, shaping personal engagements. This lens, that centers their voices, needs to be privileged to comprehensively address the issue of statelessness. 

Posted in Migration Research

Somali women refugees in Ethiopia: Who knows best what works (or not) for them?

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Bole Michael, Addis Ababa. Credit: Jasmine Halki [original]; Licensed under CC BY 2.0

By Adamnesh A. Bogale, Gender and Migration Expert at the Organization for Social Science Research in Eastern and Southern Africa and a member of the Protracted Displacement Economies (PDE) team.

The number of Somali refugees in Ethiopia is 250,719, which represents 28.6% of all registered refugees in the country. There are relatively very few Somali refugees in the capital, Addis Ababa, with the vast majority in Dolo Ado (82%) and Jijiga (17%). Although the Government of Ethiopia has passed a law providing refugees with the right to engage in certain economic activities, and has made additional effort to support refugees in Addis Ababa, refugees in the capital are struggling to subsist. This blog post draws on interviews with a broad range of Somali women refugees in the Bole Michael area of Addis Ababa.

The particular challenges faced by women refugees

The experiences of Somali women refugees, both in their home country and enroute to Ethiopia, were nightmarish. None of them imagined they would ever have to flee their homes. They were exposed to dangers including gender-based violence on top of the daily struggles they faced to care for their family. A number of them had husbands and/or children who were dead or missing as a result of the conflict in Somalia, leaving them as traumatised heads of their households in a new country. Their displacement has left them vulnerable to loneliness, distress, anxiety and desperation. Hanan (all names in this article have been changed) lost her husband and two sons in Somalia, and then lost two daughters in the process of fleeing to Ethiopia. She said: “… I am only left with one sick son, whom I brought here with me, from a family of seven… I don’t see any hope.”

A combination of financial challenges and cultural norms means that women and girl refugees are barely able to manage. While they are grateful for peace and appreciate protection from forced return, the absence of an enabling environment for women refugees to create or get jobs is holding them back from flourishing. Moreover, as women and girls are burdened with the responsibility of caring for sick people in the household, they are unable to go out and look for jobs. Girls drop out of school to help their mothers in the house and to care for sick members as boys continue their studies. Sarah, whose father is sick, explained that this is what happened to her: “I had to take that decision for my two brothers to continue their education.”

No pathways out of poverty

While refugees certainly need a more comprehensive right to work, of equal importance is supporting them to access the labour market in practice. In particular, the lack of language skills on the part of Somali refugees is a real barrier to their prospects of obtaining employment. Policymakers pay little attention to creating an enabling environment for refugees’ self-reliance. Such limitations hinder refugees’ prospects of obtaining decent work and improving their income. This is particularly true for women, who face discrimination in both formal and informal sectors. As a result, unemployment remains a major challenge, causing significant psychological, social, and economic crises, which are disproportionately borne by women.

Samia is a woman refugee in Bole Michael who gets minimal support through humanitarian aid agencies and government assistance. She said: “I only receive so little from UNHCR [the United Nations Refugee Agency], which is not by any means enough to survive. My family and I barely make it each month. On top of this, I have a sick child whom I have to care for… it is a miracle if we eat twice a day.” There are many refugee women like Samia. All of them deserve pathways out of poverty.

The need for respect and tailored interventions

While humanitarian and government interventions are viewed favourably by refugees, our engagement with Somali women refugees has demonstrated that such interventions could be tailored to address the specific needs of women refugees. The Somali women refugees also talked about the negative mindset of others toward refugees. As Saida summed up: “…the labelling and disrespect is taking us down. …we too are humans, aren’t we?”

Women refugees are the most vulnerable; at the same time they are the most resilient – against all odds. Our discussions with these women refugees showed that they need to be listened to in order to understand their concerns, unique challenges, aspirations and strengths.

It also appears that neither third country resettlement, a process which is characterised by enormous delays leaving refugees in limbo for many years, nor return to Somalia are options for the refugees trying to build their lives in Ethiopia. We have to address women refugee issues in a way that engages with complexity and nuance. This is not a task that any one actor can achieve; rather it requires collaboration between various stakeholders, with women refugees always in the lead. As we bring stakeholders together, we will seek to engender collaboration, with women refugees’ voices at the centre of any initiatives.

This blog was originally posted in Protracted Displacement Economies (PDE) website. PDE is a project funded by UK Research and Innovation through the Global Challenges Research Fund (grant reference number ES/T004509/1).

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Posted in Migration Research

Entangled identities of second-generation Gurkha Nepali’s in the UK

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Safina Bull, University of Exeter, BA Liberal Arts 2022

The paradox of belonging to two places, but at the same time not belonging to either, is something that many people face in a migratory context. Negotiating one’s entangled, intersecting identities is a complex process of defining, consciously and unconsciously, who you are and who you are not. My research with second-generation Nepali youth in the UK illustrates well such entangled identities, and of how people negotiate multiple belonging. Focussing on young Nepalis from Gurkha Army families in the UK, I find that the ways in which Nepalis have been incorporated in the Gurkha Army (as part of the Gurkha infantry or outside of it), and their social and economic capital has a clear impact on how their children born and raised in the UK experience their belonging to Nepal and the UK.

Nepal is a multi-ethnic state composed of 100 different ethnic groups and that has adopted in law (until 1963) the Hindu-based caste-system which has shaped social inequalities  and has left a lasting impression on Nepali society. The recruitment to the Gurkha Army from the British Army has followed a caste selective pattern since the 19th century, and the soldiers have traditionally been recruited from a handful of ethnic groups. Many of the recruits were men from poor ethnic groups who were used as cheap mercenaries. This caste-based recruitment pattern influenced the settlement in the post-Nepalese postcolonial diaspora in the UK, where these ‘ethnic minorities’ have become 9 times more represented than in their natal Nepal (Gellner, 2019). It is important to note that ‘caste’ is based on different ethnic groups in Nepal and the word for both is the same (‘jat/janajati), however, caste is stratified from ‘higher’ to lower’ or ‘pure’ and ‘impure’ people, whereas I use ethnicity to speak about the general Nepali population.

Despite the involvement of Gurkha soldiers in the British Army they have been systematically segregated from mainstream British society. The army’s restriction of the integration of the Gurkha infantry reduced the ability of these soldiers to gain the social capital of language and understanding of the nuances of British society, significantly reducing their opportunities for integration and social mobility in the UK. Due to the lack of social capital, many of the first-generation stuck to the ‘safe space’ of people ‘like them’. These spaces enabled the first-generation to maintain values and customs, based on memory and sustained links with their community of origins in Nepal and to pass them on to their children, who not only receive but also transform this cultural capital according to their own transnational activities between Nepal and the UK.

My research shows that the first-generation Nepalis’ opportunities for upward social mobility and integration in British society was importantly shaped by their opportunity to accrue social capital and become proficient in English while servicing in the UK. The stories of from second-generation Radhika and Maya’s (names changed) parents’ stories are illustrative in this respect. Whilst speaking to Radhika and Maya, I found out that they both knew each other but do not keep in contact much anymore.

Although this is about the second-generational experiences and their struggles or ability to ‘balance’ their multiple identities, the focus on their perceptions of their first-generation parents is important as they equip the second-generation with means to successfully balance their identities. However, this knowledge and support is directly related to the first generations’ class belonging within the UK society, and as we see in the case of the Gurkha experience, is based on caste. Maya’s father, who is still employed by the British Army, initially joined the British Gurkha Army in the ‘niche’ division of admin. This division was not integrated into the Gurkha communities of infantry. Rather his role involved interacting with ‘officers in the higher ranks’. There was also a generational history as his dad had served in the Gurkha Army, allowing him to access a higher level of education in Nepal than most people from his ‘gaun’ [village]. This allowed for his career progression within the British Army division, and therefore moved to the UK earlier than other Nepali Gurkha soldiers. He had the finances to invest in Maya’s education and she was able to attend private schools in the UK. Maya’s father was able to learn English and acquire a familiarity with British society, which enabled him to progress within the British Army and not to be confined to only interacting with other Nepalis.

Maya’s descriptions of her father’s career offer insights into her family’s transnational identity through their ability to break cultural boundaries by means of their social capital. Maya highlights the “selective acculturation” whereby the second-generation is rooted within their parent’s ethnic identity through language and values, whilst “cushion[ing] the move of both generations” into the ‘British’ ways, most common “among middle-class immigrants” (Levitt & Waters, 2002: 17). Furthermore, Maya’s father’s social and economic capital has allowed for the creation of a new ‘imagined’ belonging of Maya’s parents within the UK and a movement into the British class-system. Maya highlights this social and economic mobility through the fact that her parents “look posh” as they started dressing in “red chinos” when she began private school, which highlights her mother’s ability to decipher the appropriate dress code required to match their social mobility. Maya and her parent’s understanding of the nuances of ‘belonging’ to middle-class British society through clothing provides insights into the parents’ acculturation and integration into the country of destination.  

Radhika’s family had a very different experience, and it is clear by the way in which Radhika speaks about her family. She has less pride about her family and their experiences in the UK, and criticises them – especially in comparison to the way in which Maya spoke. Her father’s involvement in the Gurkha Army followed the ‘usual’ pattern of infantry mercenaries as he was from a ‘poor’ “gaun [village]”. In Radhika’s words he was faced with either “do nothing and be nothing” or to join the army. Owing to Radhika’s father’s position within the army, and thus his lack of English proficiency and social knowledge of the UK, they stuck to the ‘safety net’  of a predominantly Nepali community in Swindon when moving in 2006 after they were granted permanent residency and retirement for his service in the army – as with majority of the Nepalis in the UK. Radhika states that her parents “wouldn’t really socialise with English people outside of work context” and they would speak English only in case of necessity. Due to their lack of social capital and language knowledge, their opportunities for upward social mobility in the UK have been limited. In contrast to Maya’s father, Radhika’s father is retired from the army and is a security guard, “the common jobs of Nepali dads” and her mother is a cleaner, “another very common Nepali job”. Parts of the first-generation Nepali diaspora, as described by Radhika, engages in boundary work by operating in primarily Nepali spaces where they can speak the language and maintain their culture and customs. However, according to Radhika, this has hindered their integration and belonging in wider British society. Had they made an active effort, they could have been “modern” like Maya’s parents, acknowledging the fact they “live in Britain”, and not confined themselves to the Nepali cultural bubble, argued Radhika. I found that contrasting these two experiences were most interesting as Radhika used Maya’s upbringing as a comparison to what her family was not, as Maya’s ‘mobile’ parents lived in non-Nepali areas with more “pressure to kind of integrate with everybody else” (Radhika). This also provides a subtle commentary of what her parents could have been if it had not been for the ‘social bubble’ of the Nepali communities.

Maya’s case illustrates how the first generation ‘successful’ integration in the recipient society might enable the second generation’s ability to navigate multiple identities successfully. Maya explicitly talked about her strong emotional attachment to Nepal through her “proud history”, which is transmitted by her parents. She interacts with the Nepali side of her identity through the ‘balancing-act’ whereby she can “pick and choose” what elements of her cultures that believes make up her identity. This does not necessarily mean there are forms of strong material connections with Nepal (e.g. sending remittances or regular visits). Maya says that the most significant part of her ‘British’ identity was being born in the UK and having a British passport. But her British identity was also formed by going to a private British school, being surrounded by a diverse group of people, taking a gap year before going to university, and having a friendship group which does not only consist of Nepalis. These experiences gave her  the freedom to form her ‘separate’ identities and values. Yet, Maya’s allegiance to Nepal illustrates the importance interaction with her parents in maintaining traditions, foods, and music.

Whilst Maya’s parents have retained many of the cultural or social traits of their ethnic group, they have adapted their values through ‘selective acculturation’ where some norms of the community are retained and there is a “lack of intergenerational conflict”, and therefore “cushions the move of both generations” into the British ways (Levitt & Waters, 2002, p 17). The social and financial capital of her family are influential in enabling them to break the boundaries of caste maintenance through the creation of a transnational identity, which contributes to a supportive atmosphere for the development of Maya’s transnational identity.

On the contrary, Radhika’s example illustrates that, because of her father’s caste and especially the fact that he had limited opportunities to acquire higher education (like Maya’s father), he went into the army as infantry like most Nepalis. The segregation from divisions within the army did not give him the opportunity to move away from his comfort zone, nor learn English or about British society. Therefore, he never gained any social capital nor the cultural capital from education and interaction with other British soldiers. Owing to this and his subsequent class belonging in the UK, Radhika’s parents do not possess the means to help guide her conflicting identities without judgement, as they have never been anything other than Nepali. Unlike with Maya’s experience, in the long-term Radhika’s situation can – from the way she spoke about her parents – cause intergenerational conflict and ultimately create a distance between the parents and children.

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Posted in Migration Research

The politics of Syrian refugees’ economic impact

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A street in the densely populated suburb of Nabaa, Bourj Hammoud
A street in the densely populated suburb of Nabaa, Bourj Hammoud

Claude Samaha is Lead Researcher at Basmeh & Zeitooneh and a member of the Protracted Displacement Economies (PDE) team. 

Policymakers in Lebanon argue that displaced people, particularly Syrian refugees, are one of the causes of the country’s failing economy. Syrian refugees are often blamed for the lack of electricity, water, jobs and even bread.

At a conference in Brussels in May, Lebanon’s Minister of Social Affairs, Hector Hajjar, declared that hosting Syrian refugees has had negative economic consequences for Lebanon. He accused Syrian refugees of benefiting from “state-subsidized services” and being responsible for “the loss of many job opportunities for the Lebanese… without contributing… taxes.”

A key focus of Hajjar’s comments on services relate to energy subsidies. In reality, however, Lebanon had experienced blackouts for years before Syrian refugees arrived. As Zachary Davis Cuyler argues, ‘the 1975–1990 civil war witnessed the large-scale physical destruction of infrastructure. Postwar reconstruction did not deliver functional refineries or reliable electricity’.

Lebanon’s energy regime became characterised by a set of interconnected vested interests that enabled it to persist despite its inefficiencies. These vested interests include politicians who received kickbacks on high-cost electricity purchases from Turkish mobile power barges, fuel importers who formed a close-knit cartel, and politically connected private generator owners whose wealth and power grew in the gaps created by the state’s shortcomings. Thus even if no refugees moved to Lebanon, blackouts would still occur as a result of decades of utter mismanagement, and the level of energy subsidies would still be an issue of contention.

Hajjar’s comments on employment imply that cash assistance allows Syrians to work for lower wages, pricing out the Lebanese workforce in certain industries. Yet refugees are underemployed, and those who do work are underpaid. Our surveys in displacement-affected communities show that refugees’ employment does not exceed 25%.

The truth is that the economic crisis has amplified poverty among both refugees and ‘host’ communities. Resources and jobs have become increasingly scarce. Due to the economic crisis, hundreds of businesses have closed or reduced personnel over the last two years, and wages have been cut for many of those who do continue to be employed, exacerbating poverty and hardship.

According to the United Nations, nine out of ten Syrian refugees are impoverished. Salah (not his real name), originally from Homs but now living in Tripoli, said: “We have a very bad financial situation… I don’t have a fixed job and I’m currently not working. We don’t have water or electricity… We are unable to buy meat, oil, and milk.”

According to our qualitative interviews, the vast majority of displaced people prefer to be relocated to other (third) countries. Human rights organisations such as Amnesty International are clear that Syria is not a safe place to return to, as returnees may be subjected to intimidation or even direct violence. As Saddam (not his real name), originally from Homs but now living in Bekaa, explained: “Our relatives went back to Syria and were threatened and detained… One of our friends was detained in Homs for several months… He’s not mentally well anymore.”

The current official narrative is that refugees are an economic burden. As a result, attitudes toward refugees have changed locally, and inter-communal relations are getting worse, particularly since the start of the economic crisis. Hate speech and falsehoods being spread by some Lebanese media only aggravate this negative situation.

Syrian refugees are being used to detract attention from the Lebanese government’s failure to deal with the economic crisis. They are also being used as a card in an international aid poker game with potentially US$3.2 billion at stake. In other words, the Lebanese and Syrian governments, as well as the donor community and other great powers, address displacement through the lens of their own limited political objectives.

Refugees did not cause Lebanon’s current financial crisis. The country’s elites are responsible for that. As Sahar Atrache highlights, contrary to popular belief, Lebanon has benefited from the presence of refugees. Along with substantial levels of international aid injected into the economy, refugees have contributed to the development of novel approaches to promoting sustainable livelihoods. Syrian and Palestinian refugees have contributed to the establishment of businesses that not only address a range of community needs but also enrich the local culture.

The blog was originally posted on the Protracted Displacement Economies website. PDE is a project funded by UK Research and Innovation through the Global Challenges Research Fund (grant reference number ES/T004509/1).

Posted in Migration Research

The UK’s hypocritical and heartless approach to displacement and migration

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Photo Credit: Metin Ozer, Unsplash

Sunit Bagree is Communications Manager for Protracted Displacement Economies (PDE), a project funded by UK Research and Innovation through the Global Challenges Research Fund (grant reference number ES/T004509/1). This is a joint PDE-Sussex Centre for Migration Research blog post.

Referring to small boats crossing the Channel, the UK Home Secretary, Suella Braverman, has claimed that she is intent on “stopping the invasion on our southern coast.” This is the type of language traditionally employed by the far-right. It is worth noting that Braverman made this comment just the day after an extremist threw petrol bombs at an immigration centre in Dover.

The Home Secretary ignores several basic facts. First, research suggests that the majority of people crossing the Channel in small boats are likely to be refugees. Second, provided they make their presence known to authorities, asylum seekers who arrive via unofficial routes are protected under international refugee law. Those who are not asylum seekers still have rights under international human rights law. Third, out of 31 European countries, 18 had more asylum applications per capita last year than the UK. And it is not like Europe is particularly generous: 83% of the world’s refugees are hosted in the Global South.

What is particularly ironic is that British foreign policy can drive armed conflict and, as a result, forced displacement. Recent examples include the UK’s arming of the Saudi Arabian-led coalition responsible for devastating attacks in Yemen and its co-financing of liquid natural gas projects that are fuelling violence in Mozambique’s Cabo Delgado region.

This is not the first time that senior British ministers have used xenophobic, dehumanising language. For example, in July 2015, David Cameron, then Prime Minister, spoke of “a swarm of people coming across the Mediterranean.” Less than a fortnight later, the then Foreign Secretary, Philip Hammond, used the term ‘marauding’ in relation to African migrants in Calais hoping to come to the UK. 

I was associated with a letter published in the Guardian in response to Hammond’s comments. The letter argued: ‘It is not “marauding” African migrants, but the UK and other wealthy nations that are threatening living standards and causing poverty for people in Africa and across the world’. While acknowledging that most of the migrants arriving in Europe (and many of those trapped in Calais) were people fleeing war and persecution, the letter deliberately refers to those who were simply fleeing poverty. In doing so, it touches on some – and only some – of the economic and climate injustices perpetrated by the UK.

But UK policy on displacement and migration does not have to be hypocritical or heartless. It is entirely possible for domestic and foreign affairs to be conducted in ways that are far more ethical. Moreover, while there are certainly differences between the UK and countries in the Global South affected by protracted displacement, our research indicates that there are also some clear parallels. For example, all countries need to move beyond a simplistic approach to economics.

Take unpaid care work. Our surveys demonstrate that, on average, people in countries affected by protracted displacement spend seven hours a day on caring for those they live with. In the UK, there are around 13 million people caring for an ill, older or disabled family member or friend. Yet, around the globe, unpaid care work does not achieve the recognition it deserves in economic accounting and policymaking. Carers, who are disproportionately women, often struggle as a result.

Or take mutual aid. On average, 30% of people in countries affected by protracted displacement give or receive financial support and 40% give or receive non-financial support. Indeed, over half of all respondents in our research locations in Africa and Asia have more than one neighbour from whom they can ask for help. In the UK, there are an estimated 4,300 mutual aid groups, with 3 million volunteers helping people in their local community. Yet economic policymakers around the world largely fail to understand mutual aid and create a supportive environment for mutual aid groups.

No one is to ‘blame’ for being a refugee – those who have not had to flee from persecution should understand that they are simply fortunate. Creating sufficient safe, legal routes for asylum seekers to come to the UK (and other Global North countries) would decimate the business model of the organised criminal gangs that traffic vulnerable people.

And all (or virtually all) of us are migrants or the descendants of migrants. Instead of throwing around ridiculous insults, Braverman and the rest of the UK government should reflect on our common humanity, and work to realise the potential of all people in line with the UK’s international obligations and pledges.

Posted in Migration Comments

On navigating academic networking – lessons learnt 17 years on

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Dr Sarah Scuzzarello is Lecturer in Migration and co-coordinator of the IMISCOE Standing Committee Gender and Sexuality in Migration Research (GenSeM)

Recently been asked to talk at the IMISCOE PhD Academy about academic networking, I realised that, despite working in academia for 17 years, I had never really given this too much thought. I have just been doing it, I suppose. The invitation was therefore a great opportunity to stop and think about why it matters and what networking is (not) to me, but also about what I’ve done to create a solid network of international colleagues.


Ultimately, networking is about linking up with people you can collaborate with in a spirit of mutual respect and reciprocity. An academic career in social sciences often mean spending many lonely hours in front of a screen. You want to create a group, not necessarily large, with whom you can discuss, debate and exchange ideas about your research and with whom you can work towards concrete projects and activities. Two things are important here. First, to work a network must build on mutuality and respect. Sometimes one is put in positions of doing all the work in a collaboration. This can be fine, in as far as this is reciprocated later on. If not, that collaboration is not mutual or respectful and perhaps one should reconsider it. Second, a network does not have to be big. Rather, a close-knitted community of like-minded colleagues works often better and is more manageable, less dispersive.

The key to understand academic network, I think, is to see it as a verb (to network) and not a noun (a network). It is something you do, work at, and contribute to – not something you own. Perhaps most important, it is something that takes time to build.


Networking is therefore a carefully measured activity we engage in (sometimes getting it wrong). It is not something that happens at random, or easy to do while one flutters from one person to another at conference receptions exchanging business cards. And it is not about perfecting the art of small talk. Realising this is important I think especially for first generation academics or minoritized groups who often find themselves having to navigate a whole new social vocabulary of (often white, middle-class) academia. And it was crucial to me, whose first language is not English, to realise that I didn’t have to crack that posh accent to be taken seriously. I needed to be myself. Also, networking does not only mean to reach out to Professor Big Shot in hope they will find your work interesting and offer to co-author. While vertical networking happens over time (i.e. senior colleagues are part of your network), to network with your peers (horizontal networking) is crucial. Other Early Career Researchers (ECRs) can tell you about other departments (useful as you look for jobs), are usually willing to co-author or co-organise (although remember the reciprocity aspect of networking) and can be incredibly supportive in the darkest hours of academia. Remember however, that to a large extent you decide who will be part of your network. Do not feel pressurised to collaborate with people you, for whatever reasons, do not feel comfortable with. You can, and should, choose.

Some things have been particularly helpful for me in networking. First, join an association where you are likely to meet colleagues with whom you share research interests. It takes time to find the associations where your research will be critically and constructively received. Furthermore, the research you do might change somehow over time and you might have to change the association you join. For example, I have been active in the ISPP in the past but, as my researched turned more towards political sociology and migration, IMISCOE has proven to be a good fit. Once you have found one or two associations that feel like ‘home’, you should get involved. At the beginning of my career, I started by organising panels (alone or with colleagues), offering to chair and to act as discussants, and I would always present a paper (I still do). My former supervisor was good at getting me out there, including me in this kind of activities, and eventually in writing projects. If you are not as fortunate, you should propose panels with another ECR (horizontal networking). Engaging in their PhD or ECR network is another way to meet like-minded people that you might want to make part of your network. The PhD IMISCOE Academy and the IMISCOE PhD network are great platforms in this sense, as are the ECR groups within the Standing Committees (GenSeM has a very active group, that gets together virtually for writing retreats on a regular basis).

Second, ensure you follow up with the people you met at conferences, seminars, workshops or similar. This does not mean emailing everybody you’ve met, but only those you had meaningful conversations with. When appropriate, you can also think of ways of initiating a collaboration. Keep things in proportion here. You could offer to co-write a blog post on the topic you discussed, or to organise a panel at the next conference – which are manageable goals.

Third, consider developing a social media presence. Choose a platform that works for you and decide how personal you want it to be. I have a Twitter account that is strictly professional (bar the odd rant) and other, more personal, platforms. A social media profile only works if you are willing to be regularly active and have something interesting to say so I would not invest in it unless you’re willing to spend some time on it. I have found social media to be a good vehicle to talk about my work, especially as I am not the most extrovert person and I find the pressure of socialising a bit overwhelming at times.

This takes me to the last point. Networking can be hard work, physically and emotionally, and regardless of career stage. It takes time and effort and sometimes it does not work. To start a conversation can feel awkward, but as time passes you’ll find your way of doing it. Networking can feel daunting especially because it takes time for a network to bear fruit, and sometimes it does not work. But over time, you’ll notice that people will reach out to you – to give a talk, examine a viva, open a conversation about a research opportunity. And then is hopefully when you will be able to open doors for others too.

Posted in Academic Life

Not a burden: Somali refugees transform Dollo Ado into an onion export zone

Posted on by Sarah Scuzzarello — No Comments ↓

Fekadu Adugna is Project Coordinator at the Organization for Social Science Research in Eastern and Southern Africa and a member of the Protracted Displacement Economies (PDE) team.

Dollo Ado is a district in south-eastern Ethiopia bordering Somalia to the east and Kenya to the south. As of February 2022, Dollo Ado’s five refugee camps host 199,360 refugees from Somalia. The camps were established between 2008 and 2010 to host refugees displaced in southern Somalia due to armed conflict and recurrent drought. Southern Somalia has been suffering from a resurgence of armed conflict since 2008. The conflict is mainly between the Government of Somalia (supported by the African Union Mission in Somalia) and the extremist non-state group Al-Shabaab.

‘Host’ community members and refugees harvesting onion near Malkadida camp, Dollo Ado

This blog post highlights the role that Somali refugees play in stimulating the farming economy in Dollo Ado. Contrary to the common assumption that refugees are passive recipients of aid and a burden to the ‘host’ community, Somali refugees in Dollo Ado are significantly contributing to the transformation of the local economy. This shows how much refugees can contribute to economic progress if provided with the right opportunities.

Refugees’ background and agricultural skills

Most of the refugees in Dollo Ado camps were displaced from the fertile agricultural areas of Juba and Shebele in southern Somalia, where the Rahanwein clan practice an agro-pastoral way of life. When they arrived in refugee camps in Dollo Ado, these refugees found themselves between two big rivers: Ganale and Dawa, which had never been utilized for irrigation. Ganale River is situated in around two to four kilometres away from each of the refugee camps (except Bokolmayo camp), and it is very suitable for irrigation.

The refugees have entered into arrangements with the ‘host’ communities to access land. Two of these arrangements are renting land and sharecropping. Refugees who have financial capacity rent land from the ‘host’ community, purchase water engines that pump water from the river to the farm, and initiate irrigation. Those who cannot afford to rent land use burjuwas – a sharecropping arrangement common in Somalia. Under this arrangement, the landowner contributes land and the landless contribute labour. The remaining agricultural inputs (such as seed, fertilizer and insecticide) are contributed by both parties.

The collaborations centre around onion farming, which was not previously undertaken in the region. From the outset, the refugees and their ‘host’ partners wanted to produce at a large scale and sell in local markets and beyond. Indeed, in 2019 and 2020, they sold their produce as far as northern Ethiopia. The successful ventures generated tens of thousands of birr. For example, Mohammed (all names in this article have been changed) is a 58-year-old refugee who lives in Buriamino camp with his two wives and 23 children. In 2018, he was among the first refugees to enter into a sharecropping arrangement with a ‘host’ family. Together they worked to irrigate two hectares of land. Mohammed earned 78,000 birr (US$1519) in the first harvest. He has continued to make a relatively reasonable amount of money since then.

The ‘host’ community are taken by surprise

This region, which had entirely depended on the purchase of vegetables (as well as cereals and fruits) from other regions of Ethiopia and neighbouring countries, has suddenly become a source of vegetables for different parts of the country. Before the agricultural initiatives described above, the clans inhabiting the region had engaged in pastoralism or hoe-based cultivation. They had never been involved in irrigation agriculture, and were taken by surprise when they realised that their land could be such a productive asset.

Kemal belongs to the lineage of the head of the Garimaro clan. He owns over 50 hectares of land, which traditionally had been used for grazing. In 2018, a refugee man asked to use a hectare of his land for onion farming. Kemal agreed and said the refugee man could cultivate as much as he could afford. The man cultivated around three hectares. He produced onions that fetched about 600,000 birr (US$11,684). Kemal said: “when I saw the land I gave him fetches that amount of money, I was taken by surprise, and now I am among the leading farmers. I purchased two water engines, and I am considering buying a car.”

“I have to learn”

Adan is another member of the ‘host’ community benefitting from the agricultural practices introduced by refugees. He is a 45-year-old resident of Buriamino, a small town next to a refugee camp. Adan served in the Ethiopian National Defence Force, and he was deployed to South Sudan as a member of the Ethiopian contingent of the United Nations Mission in South Sudan. Speaking about the impact of refugees on his life, Adan said:

“When they [refugees] produce onions and earn that amount of money… I said to myself, ‘I have to learn’. I cultivated a piece of land… I had a small amount of money from my stay in South Sudan which I used for seed, and other inputs. I produced onions and managed to harvest 350 quintals [a quintal is about 80 kg]. I sold a kg for 18 birr, so fetched over 500,000 birr in total, and bought a pickup car. The car is [popularly] known as the car bought by onions!”

Following these success stories, many people around the camps, including civil servants and workers of humanitarian agencies, have engaged in irrigation agriculture. Beyond the neighbouring ‘host’ communities, wealthy business people from Dollo Ado and elsewhere have begun to rent land and start cultivation. New knowledge and technology have been introduced to the region, which has suddenly made land an important asset, and attracted many new economic actors to the region.

This blog appeared originally in the PDE website PDE is a project funded by UK Research and Innovation through the Global Challenges Research Fund (grant reference number ES/T004509/1).

Posted in Migration Research

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The views and opinions expressed here are solely those of the individual authors and do not represent the Sussex Centre for Migration Research (SCMR).