“Dreamed I saw a building with a thousand floors,
A thousand windows and a thousand doors:
Not one of them was ours, my dear, not one of them was ours”

– W.H. Auden, Refugee Blues

I remember driving down the highway once, listening to a talk-back radio show. The topic was migration, and the presenter’s question went something like this: “So, is it time to turn off the tap? What do you think? Let us know!” This metaphor of ‘the tap’ really got to me — and not in a good way. It was an open invitation – maybe even an attempt — to be divisive and polarising. The idea of the ‘tap’ suggested a flowing influx; something that might need to be ‘turned off’ if it were perceived to be flowing too freely. This does not come close to capturing the nuance of migration. There are those migrants who have lost everything and faced unimaginable hardship. Then there are those who are looking for a better life, those who are coming to fill labour shortages, and even those who might just be looking to pursue a dream or a specific opportunity. In debates about migration, some things frequently get lost. What we end up hearing can be something of a polarised debate between two extreme positions – a ‘turn it on, turn it off’ kind of debate. I will suggest that the state of the recipient country, inter-generational differences, and the mindset of those migrating, are further factors that are important when considering migration. 

There are typically what are called ‘push’ and ‘pull’ factors in any decision to migrate. ‘Push’ factors are essentially the things that might drive someone away from a place (things like conflict, lack of employment, a shortage of housing) and the ‘pull’ factors are those things that attract people to the new location (a secure lifestyle, being close to family, or better opportunities, for example). The ‘push’ and ‘pull’ factors will likely be very clear to those who are making a choice to migrate to a new place. They will have a good understanding of what it is they are leaving, why they are leaving it, and of what is attracting them elsewhere. Second or third generations may lack this first-hand understanding, which is something I’ll come back to.

When discussing migration, one of the first things we need to do is to distinguish between refugees, migrants and asylum seekers. In short, refugees are fleeing a direct threat to life – that is to say armed conflict or persecution, whereas migrants are seeking to improve their lives or prospects. An asylum seeker is effectively someone whose claim for refugee status has yet to be established. We can further differentiate between forced and voluntary migration. Forced migration has an element of coercion, compulsion or of displacement due to disaster. I would argue there is a third category that sits somewhere between forced and voluntary migration. That is to say, there are situations where migration is both a choice, but not an entirely happy or freely chosen ‘choice’.  ‘Forced’ would be too strong a word. There are situations where the push factors are such that to stay would potentially risk putting one’s health and wellbeing at risk.

In a 2019 article titled The End of Asylum, Nanjala Nyabola sets out the “growing global backlash” against those seeking asylum. As this ‘inviolable right’ is becoming subject to growing restrictions, people are effectively left in situations where they are living in limbo. Nyabola cites one example of such a hardening approach in the border-crossing policies between the U.S. and Mexico. The idea of international protection being afforded to those fleeing war or persecution was established in the UN Declaration of Human Rights adopted in the 1948 UN General Assembly. It said that “everyone has the right to seek and to enjoy in other countries asylum from persecution.” The idea is also one of inviolable protection – a right to be free from arrest or persecution. What is happening now, as it was in 2019, is that this right is being rolled-back and eroded, in light of what are seen as unsustainable levels of migration, or anti-migrant sentiment.

Nyabola describes a situation where increasing numbers of those seeking asylum become stuck in camps – effectively living in long-term limbo as asylum seekers, without the full protection that refugee status affords. There is a further category of people that are not mentioned here, but that are worth considering: those who stay behind. Arguably, even the ability to leave as an asylum seeker is something of a privilege. Many people, for reasons of health, age, disability or lack of means, will not have this option. So, in that sense, those who are able to leave are in fact a subset of the greater population. They might be the more well-connected and better resourced. Protecting the rights of those fleeing is all very well, but at what point does it become as important, if not more so, to look at the wider situations that are causing people to move? Is offering asylum enough, or does there need to be more concerted effort towards supporting solutions in the places that people are leaving? 

When there were fewer and more discrete events that people fled, it was perhaps easier to accommodate those who were fleeing them. When conflict and crises exist on multiple fronts simultaneously, how long can this relocation keep up? Some, like Nyabola, argue that the solution is for more countries to step up – particularly the richer countries, and that it is unfair to expect poorer countries to shoulder the burden of taking in more refugees. The following is a second example of such an opinion:

“The world would be a considerably fairer place if every country took their share of refugees fleeing war, persecution, violence or environmental destruction. Many nations have a political incentive – due to anti-migrant sentiment—to act selfishly and close their borders.”

– David Lammy

In general terms, I would agree with this. Yet migration can bring its own problems. One issue is the in-country situations of the nations that migrants enter. Looking at the opening lines of Auden’s poem ‘Refugee Blues’, we get an immediate sense of inequality:

“Say this city has ten million souls,
Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes:
Yet there’s no place for us, my dear, yet there’s no place for us.”

Setting aside the specific historical context in which the poem was written, the issue of inequality is a common one. It is still with us today, and is very much evident in some of the richer, so-called ‘developed’ countries that some would argue are ideally placed to take in more refugees. So, how does that work? If the in-country inequalities are such that ‘some are living in mansions’ while others are ‘living in holes’, how does this idea of refugee resettlement really work out in practice? Suppose members of the indigenous population of a place live in poverty, or those who’ve lived a lifetime in a country are struggling? Any kind of refugee resettlement necessarily involves investing in those newcomers so that they have a standard of living that is comparable and reasonable in relation to others. But what is that standard?

No doubt many in such host countries would say they would be happy to keep living in their cars, or their holes, if it means others can escape a war zone and be given half a chance. Yet at the very same time there are those who are living in mansions. While such countries may take in refugees, and seek to afford them a decent standard of living, it is possible to see how this could simply be a form of window-dressing while in-country inequality continues to grow. In the long-term, this might not make for the most harmonious cultural integration.  It could well lead to resentment, frustration and the adoption of populist anti-migrant rhetoric. I would suggest that those rich countries that are well-positioned to take in refugees, need to work just as hard to ensure that their levels of domestic inequality are drastically reduced. It would seem that welcoming new people with one hand, handing out a loaf of bread to the folk that are struggling with the other, while accepting that rich-listers will continue to build 5-star luxury resorts and a runway for their private jet, is not a healthy concoction.    

The mindset of migrating adults vs. their children

When talking about push and pull factors, I mentioned that for adult migrants, they are generally quite clear about what these factors are. Young children of migrants generally don’t have any sense, at least not in a first-hand kind of way, of either the ‘push factors’ in the old place, or what is perceived to be better about the new one. They will be unaware of the kind of balancing act that the parents or older generation have made on their behalf. While they might have some memories of the old place, and may be told about it by their parents, this won’t be the kind of experiential knowledge and clarity that the parents possess. They will find themselves in the new place essentially as if they belong there, and don’t know any different – but with a recent history of migration on the part of their parents. 

While we might hear about culture shock, integration and multiple identities, or even of people being between cultures or operating across cultures, the psychological realities of migration for adults versus their children, or the first generation born in a new country, are fundamentally different experiences. I think it is worth differentiating between the experiences of adult migrants and their offspring.

Holding on and Letting Go

Holding on and letting go is something that lies at the heart of the migrant’s experience. It is essentially the question of how much to ‘hold on’ to the old place, and the identity that was formed there, and how much to ‘let go’. Any adult migrant necessarily has an identity that was shaped by the place where they grew up and spent their formative years. This may mean they are attached to the ‘old country’ in a way that is hard for their children, if they have any, to feel or experience. The children will grow up in the new place, with varying levels of understanding of the old place and its culture. Adult migrants might find themselves frequently looking back at the old country — reading the news from there, for example, maintaining old friendships and connections; staying connected with their culture of origin. Children may not experience this urge at all, being located firmly in the new place – physically and psychologically.

Adult migrants might seek out the local members of their culture of origin in a new place, and wish to socialise and interact with them. Their children may likewise become socialised into this community of origin, particularly if their parents aim for them to remain connected to their culture. Such diaspora communities can enrich new cultures where they become well integrated into the social fabric of the new place. However, for the children of migrants, the main aim might be to blend in with the new place, and not to be regarded as different, foreign or in any way discernible from other children. Children may just want to blend in more than anything.

Crossing cultural divides

Some cultures are clearly more similar to each other than others. If we look at Europe, for example, there are many cultural differences across countries within Europe, but there is also a common essence, or what might be called a European identity. We could say the same for other continents. I think it is fair to say that migration between places that are relatively similar, will generally be easier than between those that are radically different. This means that those crossing bigger cultural divides will potentially need to be prepared to experience greater challenges of integration. This idea of preparedness is key. Being aware of what kinds of challenges might lie ahead, could make it much easier in a psychological sense.

References:

Auden, W.H. (1939) ‘Refugee Blues’.

Lammy, D. (2020). How our need to belong can make tribes or break society. Constable, London, G.B.  

Nyabola, N. (2019) ‘The End of Asylum: a pillar of the liberal order is collapsing – but does anyone care?’, Foreign Affairs.