Constructing a Refugee:
The State, NGOs and Gendered Experiences
of Asylum in the Czech Republic
by
Alice Szczepaniková
A thesis submitted in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the degree
of Doctor of Philosophy in Sociology
University of Warwick, Department of Sociology
December 2008
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Table of contents
List of Tables, Figures and Pictures..................................................................................... 7 
Tables ..................................................................................................................................7 
Figures .................................................................................................................................7 
Pictures ................................................................................................................................8 
Acknowledgements ................................................................................................................ 9 
Declaration............................................................................................................................ 10 
Abstract................................................................................................................................. 11 
Abbreviations ....................................................................................................................... 12 
Introduction.......................................................................................................................... 13 
Research Focus..................................................................................................................15 
Research Process ...............................................................................................................18 
Intellectual and Personal Influences..................................................................................19 
Contributions .....................................................................................................................23 
Structure of the Study........................................................................................................24 
Chapter 1: Conceptualising Refugees: Structure and Agency ........................................ 28 
Introduction .......................................................................................................................28 
Conceptualising Refugees in the Refugee Studies Literature............................................29 
Empirically Grounded Studies: The Quest for Refugees’ Agency ............................... 32 
Refugees in Laws, Policies and International Society................................................... 35 
Towards a Strategic-Relational Approach to “a Refugee”................................................37 
“A Refugee” as a Relational Category.......................................................................... 41 
Bringing Structure and Agency Together: Refugee as Concept, Object and Label ..........42 
Organisation Studies Perspective: Refugee as Concept and Object.............................. 42 
Labelling Theory in Refugee Studies............................................................................ 45 
Gendering Refugee Systems and Labels ...........................................................................49 
Gender in Refugee Policies and Institutional Practices: Critical Consequences........... 50 
3
Focus on Masculinities.................................................................................................. 54 
Conceptualising the Refugee Camp...................................................................................55 
Refugees and Asylum in Central and Eastern Europe.......................................................59 
Central and Eastern Europe in Migration and Refugee Research ................................. 59 
Asylum Seekers and Refugees in the Czech Republic: What Do We Know? .............. 62 
Conclusions .......................................................................................................................64 
Chapter 2: Making Choices in the Field and in the Analysis........................................... 67 
Introduction .......................................................................................................................67 
The Appeal of Interdisciplinarity ......................................................................................67 
Selection of Research Participants and Methods of Generating Empirical Data...............70 
State Institutions............................................................................................................ 71 
NGOs and the UNHCR................................................................................................. 75 
Asylum Seekers and Refugees from Armenia, Belarus and Chechnya......................... 78 
Other Sources of Data ................................................................................................... 86 
Data Analysis.....................................................................................................................87 
Language and Translations............................................................................................ 88 
The Use of Policy Terminology.................................................................................... 90 
Research Ethics..................................................................................................................94 
Informed Consent.......................................................................................................... 95 
Power and Reciprocity in Research Relationships........................................................ 97 
Conclusions .....................................................................................................................101 
Chapter 3: Former Soviet Citizens Seeking Asylum in Central and Eastern Europe. 102 
Introduction .....................................................................................................................102 
Central and Eastern Europe as a Region of Asylum and Immigration............................102 
Heading Towards the European Union: Asylum and the Harmonisation Process in
Central and Eastern Europe......................................................................................... 105 
After the Accession: What Were the Impacts on Asylum Policies in Central and
Eastern Europe?........................................................................................................... 109 
Migration Routes and Driving Forces: Armenians, Belarusians and Chechens in the Czech
Republic...........................................................................................................................117 
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Armenians ................................................................................................................... 120 
Belarusians .................................................................................................................. 126 
Chechens ..................................................................................................................... 134 
Czech Refugee System at a Glance .................................................................................143 
Conclusions .....................................................................................................................147 
Chapter 4: The Politics of Asylum: Dynamic of the Legal-Political Construction of “a
Refugee”.............................................................................................................................. 149 
Introduction .....................................................................................................................149 
Asylum as a Political Instrument on Both Sides of the Iron Curtain...............................150 
Asylum as a Ticket into the World of “Civilised” Nations .............................................152 
From Labour Migrants to Asylum Seekers: A Story of a Policy Mismatch....................159 
Asylum as a Tool of Migration Management..................................................................169 
Undermining the Refugee System from Within: The Position of NGOs ........................173 
Towards a Common European Asylum System..............................................................175 
Conclusions .....................................................................................................................181 
Chapter 5: The Practices of Determination: Who Is “a Refugee”? .............................. 183 
Introduction .....................................................................................................................183 
Intricacies of the Refugee Status Determination Process ................................................184 
Setting and Actors of the Refugee Status Determination Process...................................187 
Asylum Seekers’ Knowledge about the Determination Procedure ............................. 188 
Actors in the Process of Refugee Status Determination.............................................. 190 
Moral Evaluation of Difference: Chechens versus Belarusians ......................................194 
Humanitarian Asylum as a Yardstick of Humanitarianism? ...........................................205 
Adding “Sex” as a Sign of Progressivity.........................................................................208 
Conclusions .....................................................................................................................213 
Chapter 6: The Role of the Camp in Refugee Reception and Settlement..................... 215 
Introduction .....................................................................................................................215 
The Uses of the Camp in the Czech Refugee System......................................................217 
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The Evolution of the Camp: From Initial Confinement to More Confinement........... 222 
Depoliticisation of the Camp: Institutional Actors’ Differing Agendas and Convergent
Outcomes..................................................................................................................... 229 
Production of Refugee Identities and Practices in the Camp...........................................240 
The Social Fabric of the Camp.................................................................................... 240 
Learning What It Means to Be a Refugee ................................................................... 246 
Socialisation into Illicitness ........................................................................................ 250 
Conclusions .....................................................................................................................256 
Chapter 7: Performing Refugeeness: Gendered Depoliticisation through NGO
Assistance............................................................................................................................ 260 
Introduction .....................................................................................................................260 
Refugee Depoliticisation in the Context of Humanitarian Assistance.............................262 
NGOs and the Performance of Refugeeness ...................................................................263 
NGO Assistance to Refugees in the Czech Republic ......................................................267 
Differentiating NGO Advocates: “Refugees’ Friends” and “Young Professionals” .. 269 
Feminisation of the Refugee Clientele ............................................................................274 
Everyday Mechanisms of Depoliticisation in Practices of Assistance............................277 
One-Dimensional Positive Representation.................................................................. 278 
Instrumentalisation for Self-Promotion....................................................................... 280 
Socialization into a “Trusted Client”........................................................................... 282 
Conclusions .....................................................................................................................285 
Conclusion .......................................................................................................................... 288 
Refugee System: A Strategic-Relational Analysis ..........................................................289 
Refugee System and the Production of Identities............................................................296 
Refugee Depoliticisation .................................................................................................302 
Gender and the Institutions of the Refugee System.........................................................304 
From Refugees to Citizens ..............................................................................................306 
Suggestions for Future Research .....................................................................................311 
Appendices: Interview Guidelines.................................................................................... 313 
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Appendix 1 General Interview Guidelines for State, NGO and UNHCR Representatives
.........................................................................................................................................313 
Appendix 2 Specific Interview Guidelines for DAMP Officials – Representatives of
Sections in the Prague Headquarters ...............................................................................314 
Appendix 3 Specific Interview Guidelines for DAMP Officials – Adjudicators and
Interviewers in Refugee Camps.......................................................................................314 
Appendix 4 Specific Interview Guidelines for RFA Workers in Refugee Camps .........315 
Appendix 5 Specific Interview Guidelines for NGO Workers.......................................315 
Appendix 6 Specific Interview Guidelines for UNHCR Representatives......................316 
Appendix 7 Interview Guidelines for Refugee Migrants................................................316 
Bibliography....................................................................................................................... 319 
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List of Tables, Figures and Pictures
Tables
Table 1 Overview of DAMP and RFA Informants Interviewed, 2005-2007........................ 72 
Table 2 Overview of Refugee Camps Visited, 2006-2007 ................................................... 73 
Table 3 Overview of NGO and UNHCR Representatives Interviewed, 2006-2007 ............ 77 
Table 4 Overview of the Eleven Core Informants and Their Characteristics, 2005-2007.... 82 
Table 5 Summary of the 34 Standard Informants (1-2 Interviews), 2006-2007................... 83 
Table 6 Main Countries of Origin of New Asylum Applicants in Central and Eastern
Europe, 2000-2007............................................................................................................... 116 
Table 7 Institutions of the Czech Refugee System and Their Responsibilities towards
Asylum Seekers and Recognised Refugees ......................................................................... 144 
Table 8 Evolution of the Czechoslovak & Czech Asylum Legislation, 1990-2007 ........... 178 
Table 9 Asylum Applications, Recognition Rates and Main Countries of Origin, 1990 -
2007 ..................................................................................................................................... 180 
Table 10 Asylum Seekers, Asylums Granted and Recognition Rates for Russian and
Belarusian Nationals in the Czech Republic, 2000-2007..................................................... 196 
Table 11 Recognition Rates for Russian and Belarusian Nationals in the Industrialised
World, 2001-2006 (%)......................................................................................................... 196 
Figures
Figure 1 Structure, Strategy and Agency in the Strategic-Relational Approach .................. 39 
Figure 2 Asylum Seekers Transferred to and from Central and Eastern Europe under the
Dublin II Regulation, January - July 2005........................................................................... 113 
Figure 3 New Asylum Applications in Central and Eastern Europe, 1990-2007 ............... 115 
Figure 4 Outline of the Czech Asylum Procedure .............................................................. 146 
Figure 5 Asylums Granted and Recognition Rates, 1990-2007.......................................... 156 
Figure 6 Legally Residing Foreigners, 1990-2007 ............................................................. 163 
Figure 7 Asylum Seekers and Recognition Rates, 1990-2007............................................ 166 
Figure 8 Asylum Procedure through the Structure of Refugee Camps, 2005-2007 ........... 221 
Figure 9 Development of the Refugee System: The Strategic-Relational Perspective....... 290 
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Pictures
Picture 1 Map of Central and Eastern Europe..................................................................... 104 
Picture 2 Visual Representations of Refugee Camps Promoted by the Refugee Facilities
Administration ..................................................................................................................... 235 
Picture 3 Aerial Photograph of the Vyšní Lhoty Reception Camp..................................... 247 
9
Acknowledgements
I wish to thank all the research participants who contributed to this study with their
time, thoughts and experiences. In particular, my gratitude goes to those with whom I
sustained long-term contact throughout this research and who helped me to gain
better understanding of the complexities of being a refugee. Thank you all for your
trust!
I would also like to acknowledge the institutions of the Ministry of Interior of the
Czech Republic that supported (or did not obstruct) my research activities:
Department of Asylum and Migration Policy and Refugee Facilities Administration.
Many people from nongovernmental organisations helped me to access my
informants and gave me some invaluable insights into the NGO world; my special
thanks to Lucie Ditrychová and Anetta Riglová.
My supervisors Annie Phizacklea and Caroline Wright patiently provided me with
critical guidance and continuous support throughout the research and writing process.
Also at Warwick, I strongly valued friendship and encouragement of my fellow
PhDs: Nibedita S. Ray-Bennett, Julia Jiwon Shin, Analía Meo and Dominic Pasura.
The Warwick Postgraduate Research Fellowship Scheme provided the main funding
for this research.
My work was inspired by numerous discussions and collaborations with my friends
and colleagues from and around the www.migrationonline.cz project. In particular, I
wish to thank Radka Klvaňová, Marek Čaněk, Jan Grill, Blanka Tollarová, Pavel
Čižinský, Kateřina Sidiropulu Janků and Fabian Georgi. I am also grateful to Tereza
Hadravová for her friendship and cheer throughout this project.
Without Jan, my dear husband, this would have been a much more difficult and
daunting process. The study benefited greatly from our numerous debates and from
his constructive feedback in the last stages of writing.
Finally, I dedicate this thesis to my mother and father who never stopped supporting
me.
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Declaration
I declare that the contents of this thesis are my own work and that no material
contained in this thesis has been submitted for a degree at another university.
11
Abstract
This study is an exploration of an institutionalised world that refugees inhabit in
today’s Europe. It argues that the institutional system that organises the reception of
refugees and their settlement in a receiving country is based on historically and
politically contingent constructions of “a refugee”. The research was conducted in
the Czech Republic – an emerging country of immigration and asylum at the semiperiphery
of the European Union. It draws on qualitative empirical data generated in
interviews and participant observations among state officials, intergovernmental and
nongovernmental workers, asylum seekers and refugees from Armenia, Belarus and
Chechnya. The thesis brings together the key actors that shape the construction of “a
refugee” and examines the key sites of the refugee system where this construction
takes place: asylum and immigration legislation, refugee determination process,
refugee camps and nongovernmental spaces of assistance and public representation
of refugees. “A refugee” is analysed as an idealised concept that underlies asylum
policymaking; as an object of governance that shapes institutional practices; and as
a lived and performed gendered experience that forms and transforms identities. The
dominant view of refugees as people of little or no choice is challenged by presenting
them as knowledgeable actors who act strategically in an unevenly contoured terrain
of the refugee system. Also the view of institutions as operating in a consistent and
unified manner is questioned. Their actions are described as often contradictory and
dissenting voices are incorporated into the analysis. Moreover, the institutions of the
refugee system are presented as tied together by mutually constitutive relationships
in the context of unequal power relations.
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Abbreviations
CEAS Common European Asylum System
CEE Central and Eastern Europe
CSO Czech Statistical Office
DAMP Department of Asylum and Migration Policy
ECRE European Council of Refugees and Exiles
ERF European Refugee Fund
EU European Union
NGO Nongovernmental organisation
RFA Refugee Facilities Administration
SIS Security Information Service
UNHCR United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees
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Introduction
“Asylum” and “a refugee” are powerful concepts that decisively structure people’s
lives. They acquire different meanings depending on who employs them: for
migrants, they are a ticket to enter; for governments, they are a reason to prevent
their entry; and for intergovernmental and nongovernmental organisations (NGOs),
they represent a means of subsistence and a raison d’être. To understand how these
diverse meanings are put into practice and with what consequences, it is necessary to
analyse “a refugee” and “asylum” as social relations. These relations are the subject
of this study.
We live in a world where control over one’s mobility has become one of the major
stratifying factors (Bauman, 1998). As if at the bottom of the social ladder, asylum
seekers are the ones who are “doing a lot of physical moving, but who are not ‘in
charge’ of the process” (D. Massey, 1994, p. 149). However, it would be simplifying
to see their conditions as determined solely in a top-down manner. In this sense, the
popular dualism between the “tourists” and the “vagabonds” (Bauman, 1998) can be
misleading and overly homogenising. If we do not want to reproduce the dominant
image of refugees as people of no choice and no voice, we have to situate them in
social relations that constitute their position in everyday reality. They should be seen
as strategic actors rather than pawns in the hands of large powers.
In theoretical terms, this study is an exploration of how the dynamics of structure and
agency plays out in the context of the refugee system. This system is
an interorganizational domain that includes the government, intergovernmental
bodies, NGOs and refugee organizations. They are involved in the formation and
14
implementation of policies and practices that relate to the right to claim asylum, the
procedure whereby asylum is awarded or denied and the organisation of the support
to asylum seekers and recognised refugees in a receiving country (Hardy, 1994,
p. 281). Some of the most basic aspects of refugees’ lives are decided within the
refugee system: Will they be allowed to claim asylum? Will their stories be
considered trustworthy? Will they be allowed to stay? Will they have to live in the
camp with limited privacy and strange people around? Will they be allowed to work
and earn their own living? Will they receive support to adjust to the new
environment? Will they be allowed to become citizens? Moreover, the refugee
system has a tendency to depoliticise refugees and to turn them into voiceless and
dependent objects of control and pity.
This study expands Hardy’s (1994) understanding of the refugee system and also
includes asylum seekers and refugees who do not act under a specific organisation.
Despite their position of extreme dependency, their strategic actions and experiences
are vital to our understanding of the system as a whole. Not only are refugee
identities constituted through the operation of the refugee system, but so are the
identities of the institutional actors involved. Therefore, their actions have to be seen
in light of social relations that constitute this system. In short, the aim of this study is
to explain how the refugee system operates, how it is experienced and how it is
shaped by different actors involved.
Moreover, the refugee systems do not operate in gender neutral terms. Refugee
women and men experience asylum differently as well as people of different
nationalities, ethnicities, age groups and social classes (e.g. Bloch, Galvin, & HarrellBond,
2000; Buijs, 1993; Hajdukowski-Ahmed, Khanlou, & Moussa, 2008; Indra,
15
1999b; Kay, 1988; Kibria, 1993). Also their “refugeeness” is perceived in gendered
terms: women tend to be constructed as blameless victims and men as dangerous
intruders and potential impostors (Malkki, 1995a; Pupavac, 2008). This study shows
how refugee policies and institutions operate in gendered ways, produce gendered
layers of insecurity and prompt gendered representations and performances of
refugeeness.
The key questions addressed by the research could be summarised as follows:
How is “a refugee” constructed through the refugee system?
How do state institutions, NGOs, asylum seekers and refugees shape this
process?
How are institutional, collective and individual identities constituted in the
refugee system?
How is the operation of the refugee system gendered?
Research Focus
Empirically, the study is situated in the Czech Republic and draws on the
experiences of asylum seekers and refugees from Armenia, Belarus and Chechnya.
Similarly to other post-communist states in Central and Eastern Europe (CEE) the
Czech Republic is neither a traditional country of immigration nor does it host
a large population of refugees. Nonetheless, it represents an interesting venue for the
exploration of the refugee system for a number of reasons. First, although the
majority of refugee situations are defined by extreme scarcity and humanitarian
emergency, conditions in advanced welfare states such as the Czech Republic are
more aptly described as that of “relative affluence” (Graham, 1999, p. 18). This
16
situation of lesser urgency allows a greater space for a detailed examination of more
mundane features of the refugee system and its modus operandi.
Second, between 1990 and 2007 a previously non-existing refugee system has
developed into a highly institutionalised and centralised domain which includes
a number of state, intergovernmental and nongovernmental actors. Throughout this
relatively short history, it has undergone a number of significant changes.
A dominant view of “a refugee” has been redefined and the realities of refugee
reception and settlement have also changed dramatically over time. Therefore, it
offers an exciting case for the exploration of a dynamic and contingent character of
the refugee system.
Third, similarly to the situation in other countries of CEE, the Czech refugee system
could be characterised as a clear expression of a country’s acceptance of the
international obligation to receive refugees. However, it has been carried out under
conditions of insufficient economic and institutional means and lacking political will
to bring it to the level offered by its Western European neighbours. Its membership
in the European Union (EU) and recent inclusion into the Schengen Area have
guaranteed the freedom of movement to its citizens but have also lead to the
strengthening of barriers for people seeking asylum in Europe. They are the ones
“getting stuck” in this semi-peripheral space. This is why the CEE region represents
a specific space of asylum. For years, it has been perceived as a “transit zone” rather
than that a destination by asylum seekers and refugees. However, this newly emerged
space has rarely been studied so far.
17
Fourth, there is a lack of established immigrant or refugee communities in the Czech
Republic. This increases incomers’ dependency on institutions governed by the
representatives of the majority population. That is why the Czech refugee system is
particularly interesting for the study of refugee depoliticisation and for thinking
about how asylum seekers and refugees could gain more power in influencing the
operation of the system to better respond to their needs.
The situation of citizens of former Soviet republics seeking asylum in Central and
Western Europe has rarely been examined in contemporary studies. That is despite
the fact that, the Czech Republic as well as Poland, Austria and Germany have
received large numbers of asylum seekers from the former Soviet Union in recent
years. Armenians, Belarusians and Chechens have been among the most numerous
groups of recognised refugees in the Czech Republic. While Armenian refugees have
been coming mostly in the early and mid-1990s, Belarusians and Chechens represent
more recent arrivals and have been the most common recipients of the refugee status
since 2002. Their life stories illustrate how dramatic political and socio-economic
transformations in the aftermath of the dissolution of the Soviet Union created
violent and oppressive conditions and prompted people to leave their homelands.
Their accounts of the Czech refugee system reveal the reluctance with which they
were received how they were perceived differently as potential refugees. However,
this study is not a traditional testimony of the settlement process of these refugee
groups. Rather than focusing on their ethno-cultural specificities, it traces common
patterns in their asylum experiences and thus provides a more general account of the
system. Moreover, with regard to the experiences of life in refugee camps and
18
relations with NGOs, gender appeared to be a more significant structuring force than
the ethno/national origin.
Research Process
The research process consisted of constant shifting between different actors and
levels of analysis. Fieldwork was carried out in the period between 2005 and 2007 in
Prague, Brno and several smaller towns of the Czech Republic. 29 semi-structured
interviews were conducted with representatives of the two key state institutions of
the Czech refugee system; five refugee camps in different parts of the country were
visited for interviews and participant observation; fifteen current and former
representatives of five key NGOs were interviewed together with two representatives
of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) office in Prague
and in-depth interviews were carried out with 45 asylum seekers and refugees from
Armenia, Belarus and Chechnya. A long-term contact was sustained with eleven
refugee informants for a period of 1.5 to 3 years and they were interviewed a number
of times. One or two interviews were conducted with the remaining 34 informants.
The empirical data analysed also included asylum and immigration legislation of the
past seventeen years, transcripts of parliamentary debates, policy documents,
statistics, annual reports, websites and the media production of the institutional actors
involved. Such a diversity of data, methods and levels of analysis enabled me to
integrate the roles and discourses of different institutional actors and the impacts of
their operation with and the perspectives and strategies of asylum seekers and
refugees in different stages of the reception and settlement process. Long term
engagement with a smaller group of refugee participants proved particularly useful
for generating rich and complex narratives as well as for making the research process
19
beneficial and meaningful for both sides. Informed by feminist discussions of power
and reflexivity in the research process (Stacey, 1988; Wolf, 1996a), I put special
emphasis on maintaining the reciprocal character of my encounters with asylum
seekers and refugees and, to some extent, also with state and NGO representatives.
One of the main contributions of this study, and one of its original features, is that it
brings together domains which are usually separated in the existing literature and
shows how they are interconnected in social reality.
Intellectual and Personal Influences
Anthropological approaches to public policies (Shore & Wright, 1997a, 1997b;
Wedel & Feldman, 2005; Wedel, Shore, Feldman, & Lathrop, 2005) offer a number
of questions and perspectives that can be productively applied in the study of refugee
systems. Shore and Wright asked (1997a): “How do policies construct their subjects
as objects of power, and what new kinds of subjectivity or identity are being created
in the modern world?” (p. 3). Drawing on their insights, I study the institutions of the
refugee system always in relation to asylum seekers and refugees who constitute the
objects of their governance. Moreover, the anthropology of public policy alerts us to
the depoliticising and silencing potential of policies and institutional practices. It
calls for deciphering of taken-for-granted assumptions and normative claims which
are used to define and present problems in a specific way (Shore & Wright, 1997a;
Wedel et al., 2005). Such definitions are usually presented as being the only possible
in policy contexts but they should be seen as “enforcing closure or silence on other
ways of thinking or talking” (1997a, p. 3). Therefore, in this study, refugees’
conceptions about the institutions of the refugee system will be highlighted as well as
dissenting voices within these institutions.
20
There is an important distinction between the idealised conception of what a refugee
is and a more individualised matter of who is and who is not a refugee (Phillips &
Hardy, 1997, p. 160 emphasis original). Following this distinction, this study
examines how the concept of “a refugee” is constituted within the complex
institutional field of the refugee system and how “a refugee” is made into an object
through more practical aspects of the refugee status determination process. Writing
from the perspective of organisation and management studies, Hardy (1994; 2003)
and Phillips (1999; 1997) examined the refugee systems in Canada, United Kingdom
and Denmark. Their studies provide an analytical and conceptual framework for
examining the relation between the level of (under)organization of the refugee
system and the space it allows for different stakeholders (including refugees and their
organizations) to intervene and shape the core values and practices of the system
(Hardy, 1994). Moreover, their work has been instrumental in my analysis of the
production of refugee identity as closely linked to institutional identities.
The processes of refugees’ identity formation, transformation and politicisation can
be productively analysed by using the concept of the refugee label developed by
Zetter (1988; 1991; 2007). He argued that bureaucratic interests and procedures are
crucial determinants in the construction of the refugee label (1991, p. 41). His
analysis explained why refugees often resist conforming to this label. In this study, I
employ the notion of the refugee label as a materialised intersection between the
concept and the object of “a refugee”. In his more recent work, Zetter critically
assessed the proliferation of new categories of lesser statuses such as subsidiary
protection in light of governments’ aim to institutionalize the fragmentation of the
refugee label (2007). He emphasized that:
21
in the context of deterrence restrictionism and the fractioning of the refugee
label, those claiming refugee status are more likely to be forced to transform or
subvert the labels imposed on them because of the constraints and burdens
which these labels may produce. (p. 183)
This observation is highly relevant to the situation of asylum seekers and refugees in
the Czech Republic and Europe more widely. My emphasis on their strategic actions
should be seen as situated in this environment of restrictionism and fractioning.
Finally, this research has been influenced by my personal encounter with asylum
seekers and refugees in the Czech Republic. It started in the summer of 2000 when I
visited a reception camp Vyšní Lhoty as an undergraduate student of social work. I
still remember the mixture of fear and adventurous anticipation I felt when standing
in front of the camp gate, not really knowing what to expect from the strangers
locked up behind it. I also remember how my horizons were widened when I was
leaving the camp after my ten-day stay. When I returned back to the university in the
autumn, I found an advertisement of a local NGO looking for students to organise
“leisure-time activities” for asylum seekers in a residential camp of Zastávka u Brna.
I did not think twice and immediately applied for the position. For the following
three years I commuted to the camp on a weekly basis and organised sports, trips and
cultural events for asylum seekers. I returned to the camp in 2004 as a Master student
and carried out research about the transformation of gender relations in families of
Chechen asylum seekers who were then the dominant group of camp inhabitants
(see Szczepanikova, 2005a, 2006a).
When retrospectively analysed, these experiences helped me to challenge some of
the conceptions of the refugee camp and NGO assistance which I previously took for
granted. For example, I rethought the contradictory behaviour of social workers
22
working in the camps. On the one hand, they acknowledged that the work NGOs did
for asylum seekers in the camp was important, on the other hand, they often treated
NGO workers and volunteers as unwelcome intruders into their realm of power.
They did not like the fact that NGO’s work in the camp gave us the image of “the
good guys” while they themselves were more likely to be perceived as agents of
control and subtle repression.
Looking back at my work in the camp, I have realised how the contractual relations
between NGOs and the state administration pushed the former to take up the role of
refugee pacifiers. I got into a number of arguments with the camp social workers
over the nature of my activities there. For example, when I helped asylum seekers to
write a petition against the quality of food in the camp canteen, my organisation was
warned that it is not the kind of work for which it is paid. Once, I was openly told by
a camp social worker that the ideal programme I should organise for asylum seekers
is to do some sports with young men and make them tired so that they do not cause
any trouble in the evening when most of the staff is not there.
Also my experiences with the world of NGOs offered some retrospective insights
about their position in the refugee system. Despite realising the importance of the
work being done for asylum seekers and refugees and the enthusiasm of my
colleagues, I have recalled the impression that public presentation of our work was
more important than its actual substance. For example, I remember that after I once
forgot to take pictures on a trip with asylum seekers, the director of the NGO told me
half-jokingly: “The pictures are more important that the event itself.”
23
And finally, with regard to my encounters with asylum seekers, I have rethought my
(and others’) naive ideas about “helping refugees”. I have better understood why they
often did not show much interest and gratitude for the programs I organised. They
saw better than I did that I only offered them a short-term and rather ineffective
painkiller to their situation. I did not put enough effort to find out what was it that
they wanted to do. Moreover, I could have used my energy and enthusiasm to do
much more advocacy oriented work and to inform the camp inhabitants about their
rights and practical alternatives to their situation.
Contributions
This research provides an original contribution to the refugee studies literature in
a number of ways. First, it attempts to overcome dualism that characterises many
approaches to refugee issues: either privileging the determining character of
structural conditions engendered by laws and policies or examining refugees’ daily
realities with little attention to how they are structured by institutions and wider
socio-political forces. The study uses an analytical and conceptual framework in
which the institutions of the refugee system and the conditions they produce are seen
as in constant interaction with the objects of their governance. At the same time, it
incorporates their lived experiences and probes their potential to shape the system.
The findings presented here will be relevant for analysing public policies in the
making, for conceptual and empirical development of refugee studies as well as for
practical policymaking and NGO assistance and advocacy.
Second, the refugee system is approached with gendered lenses. The study shows
how the refugee label is constituted and experienced in gendered terms. As opposed
24
to most studies dealing with gender dimensions of displacement this analysis does
not only focus on the situation of women but also discusses how the experience of
being an asylum seeker and a refugee impacts on the construction of masculinities.
Third, the thesis scrutinises the institutions that have so far gained little attention in
the studies of refugee situations in Europe: refugee camps and local NGOs. The
former are analysed as a materialisation of an ambivalent approach towards refugees
switching between compassion and control (Fassin, 2005) and at the same time as
social spaces where refugees’ identities are produced and reproduced in the process
of socialisation. The latter are examined with regard to gendered performances of
refugeeness which are nurtured through daily practices of assistance. The study
shows how both refugee camps and NGOs contribute to depoliticisation of refugee
issues.
Finally, this study discusses the potential of the CEE region to provide refugee
protection in a wider European context – topics which have received only scant
attention in the scholarly literature. The research also brings to the fore experiences
of the refugee groups from the former Soviet Union which have not been extensively
studied despite their increasing presence in Europe.
Structure of the Study
Chapter 1 provides an overview of how refugees have been conceptualised in refugee
studies with regard to the interplay between structure and agency. The review
focuses specifically on the literature examining gender, refugee camps, CEE region
and the Czech Republic. A strategic-relational approach (Hay, 2002; Jessop, 1990)
is proposed to the study of the refugee system. The refugee system is defined as
25
a constant interplay between the strategically selective context and strategies of
individual and collective actors.
Chapter 2 explains the research methodology. Grounds for selecting different groups
of informants, gaining access to them and the settings of the interviews and
observations are explained. The process of data analysis is explained together with
various forms of translations involved in this study. The ethical dimension of the
research is highlighted with special attention paid to matters of power and reciprocity
in research relationships.
Chapter 3 maps the main developments in the process of harmonisation of asylum
and immigration policies of CEE candidate states and evaluates some of the changes
in conditions of reception and settlement after accession. It also brings the stories of
Armenian, Belarusian and Chechen informants to the forefront to demonstrate their
migration routes and driving forces of displacement. The chapter concludes with
an outline of the institutional structure of the Czech refugee system and the asylum
procedure.
Chapter 4 scrutinises the legal-political construction of “a refugee” in the short
history of the Czech Refugee system in the period between 1990 and 2007. The
analysis points out the changing rationale lying behind legislative and policy
changes. It connects developments in the asylum legislation with those in the sphere
of immigration policies and demonstrates how a restrictive change in immigration
law dramatically impacted on the refugee system and the underlying conception of
“a refugee”. It also reveals how the change affected the work of refugee-assisting
NGOs. The most recent restrictive changes in the asylum legislation and the
26
implications of the move towards Common European Asylum System (CEAS) are
also debated.
Chapter 5 analyses refugee status determination and presents it in light of
constituting “a refugee” as an object of the refugee system. By mapping different
institutional and informal actors involved in the process it shows that although it
appears as a highly centralised procedure, the state does not have full control over
determining who will be recognised as a refugee. Next, different perceptions of
Belarusians and Chechens are explained together with the consequences for their
positions as future refugees and citizens. The chapter assesses the institution of
humanitarian asylum which can be granted outside the framework of the 1951
Geneva Convention based on special consideration of asylum adjudicators. It is
argued that despite its importance in the system, it individualises and depoliticises
asylum claims. Finally, the role of gender in the refugee status determination
procedure is discussed. The chapter explains why a seemingly progressive addition
of “sex” as the sixth ground for persecution (alongside race, religion, nationality,
membership of a particular social group and political opinion as indicated in the 1951
Geneva Convention) can mean very little in the actual practice of determination.
Chapter 6 studies the roles of reception and residential camps in the refugee system.
It describes the evolution of the camp as a policy tool between 1990 and 2007.
Different institutional actors who come together in the camp are discussed together
with their different yet sometimes converging agendas. This convergence is
highlighted with regard to depoliticisation of the camp. Next, the social space
produced in the camp is examined. The camps are described as nodes of the refugee
system where people learn and negotiate the content of the refugee label. This, it is
27
argued, often leads to alienation and disenchantment not only with regard to the
refugee system but to the system of local legal norms more generally. The camps are
presented as an environment which nurtures illicit practices and has a strong
gendered dimension. The impact on refugee men is highlighted in the context of the
production of gendered layers of insecurity.
Chapter 7 focuses on the nongovernmental sphere of the refugee system and
examines gender micropolitics of NGO assistance to recognised refugees. The
production of refugee identities through assistance is analysed together with their
performative elements. The argument draws on Butler’s (1993) conception of
performances as being produced by power relations. NGO assistance in the Czech
Republic is described as a highly feminised sphere which creates specific gendered
expectations. The chapter shows that NGOs differ in their conceptions of refugees
and two ideal types of NGOs are distinguished: Refugees’ Friends and Young
Professionals. It concludes that through their informal and friendship-like assistance,
Refugees’ Friends type of NGO tends to depoliticise refugees by promoting their
one-dimensional positive representation, by instrumentalising them for selfpromotion
and by instilling values of submissive “trusted clients” in exchange for
services and benefits. Refugees’ critical reflections of their relations with NGOs are
privileged in the analysis.
The concluding chapter briefly examines how the construction of “a refugee” matters
with regard to the construction of “a citizen”. Besides, key findings and crosssectional
arguments are drawn together and some directions for further research are
indicated.
28
Chapter 1: Conceptualising Refugees: Structure and Agency
Introduction
Exploring the relationship between the actors and the environment in which they find
themselves is at the core of understanding migration and settlement processes.
Refugee situations, by definition, involve some level of compulsion and when
researched, external factors of displacement and organised settlement schemes have
been privileged over individuals’ active role in adjusting and shaping these
structures. My overarching aim in this study is to present a more nuanced, relational
approach to examining structure and agency in the context of refugee settlement.
In this chapter, I draw on studies of refugee situations from different contexts and
disciplinary perspectives to develop a conceptual framework guiding the analytical
thread of this study and to identify gaps in the existing literature. First, I discuss how
structure and agency have been explored in the refugee studies literature and present
the strategic-relational approach as a theoretical guideline for conceptualising the
interrelation between the two. Second, I present examples of studies that are
inspirational in rethinking the notion of “a refugee” with consideration of both
structure and agency. Third, I debate some of the arguments about the gendered
character of refugee reception and settlement processes that are particularly relevant
for the construction of “a refugee”. Fourth, I introduce the institution of a refugee
camp and contrast its studies from an African and Asian context with discussions
about refugee confinement in Europe. Finally, I briefly outline the scholarship about
refugees and asylum in CEE and identify the main gaps in the literature that this
study aims to address.
29
Conceptualising Refugees in the Refugee Studies Literature
Refugees have been largely excluded from attempts to theorise causes and
consequences of international migration. Traditionally, these endeavours were
preoccupied with describing and predicting “economic” – as opposed to “political” –
forms of migration and focused on “voluntary” – as opposed to “forced” –
movements of people across borders (e.g. Arango, 2000; D. S. Massey et al., 1993;
Portes, 1997). Studies of refugee populations have always been closely connected
with policy developments (Black, 2001, p. 58). Until the 1980s, descriptive and
historical accounts of particular refugee movements and their political and policy
consequences prevailed (Black, 2001; Malkki, 1995b). More theoretical studies tried
to categorise causes and forms of forced migrations (Kunz, 1973; Zolberg, Suhrke, &
Aguayo, 1986) or to incorporate refugees into general typologies of migration
(Richmond, 1988, 1993). They problematized simplistic dichotomies of economic
versus political by highlighting connections between economic conditions and
political persecution and stressing that refugee movements are inseparable from the
state of the economy (Richmond, 1988; Zolberg, Suhrke, & Aguayo, 1989).
A multitude of research into refugee issues has emerged since the establishment of
refugee studies as an institutionalised field of research in the early 1980s.1
It has been
carried out within a number of academic disciplines ranging from anthropology,
1
In Canada, the Refugee Documentation Project at York University in Toronto was established in
1981 and transformed into the Centre for Refugee Studies in 1988. In the U.S., Refugee Policy Group
was started in Washington DC in 1982. In Europe, the most influential institution in the field of
refugee studies has been the Refugee Studies Centre in Oxford. It was established in 1982 and in 1988
started publishing the Journal of Refugee Studies. By “refugee studies” I refer primarily to research
published in the Journal of Refugee Studies or by authors who have been associated with the Refugee
Studies Centre in Oxford or the Centre for Refugee Studies in Toronto. The series by Berghahn
Books, 25 volumes on “Forced Migration” and five volumes on “Migration & Refugees” to date, can
also be considered as part of this literature stream.
30
sociology, political science and international relations to psychology, history, law
and geography. Not all of this wide-ranging literature explicitly identifies itself as
within refugee studies and some authors have been rather sceptical about the
institutionalisation of knowledge production about refugees (e.g. Malkki, 1995b).
However, it could be said that most have given up on producing a “grand theory” of
refugee movements or settlement. Rather a strategy of “mid-range theories”
providing explanations of specific empirical findings has been advocated in
migration studies more generally (Portes, 1997) and for sociology of forced
migration (Castles, 2003).
In the 1990s a number of interesting debates about the use of the refugee category in
social science literature emerged. For example, Hein (1993) distinguished between
a realist and nominalist approach to sociological study of refugees. The realist
approach treats refugees as fundamentally different from other groups of immigrants.
Violence, flight and exile are their defining features, likely to produce specific group
identities and behaviours to be studied by anthropologists and others. According to
the nominalist conception “a refugee” is seen as meaningful only as a social
construction and a bureaucratic label. It is through state interventions that refugees
are produced and differentiated from immigrants; for example, by having different
rules of admission, access to welfare system and other mechanisms of incorporation
into host society (Hein, 1993, p. 55). Writing from an anthropological perspective,
the work of Malkki (1995b; 1997) presents a penetrating criticism of the literature
which could be categorised as belonging to the realist approach. She pointed out the
risk of homogenising and depoliticising refugees as a group of “uprooted people”
and emphasised that human displacement is always caused by a mixture of historical,
31
political and social forces that produce qualitatively different situations and
predicaments (p. 496). That is why refugees should not be treated as “a naturally
self-delimiting domain of anthropological knowledge” but rather as “a broad legal or
descriptive rubric” (p. 496) or a “mixed category of people sharing a certain legal
status” (p. 511). Similarly, Zetter, who was one of the founding figures of the
emerging field of refugee studies back in the late 1980s, saw its main concern in
examining how and with what consequences people become labelled as refugees
through public policy practices (1988; 1991). His theory of bureaucratic labelling
will be discussed later in this chapter.
Parallel to these theoretical debates has been an ongoing specialisation and practical
orientation of refugee studies. This is why it has been seen as atheoretical and
peripheral to major concerns in social sciences and criticised for its overdependence
on policy definitions and concerns (e.g. Black, 2001; Castles, 2003). Castles warns
us that such state of art leads to “reactive and narrow research that does not bring
about the accumulation of knowledge” (Castles, 2003, p. 26). Thinking of more
fruitful directions for the field, Black (2001) argues that the aim should be to
“participate in the development of social science, rather than leading refugee studies
into an intellectual cul-de-sac” (p. 66). Therefore, we should not dwell on
highlighting the distinctiveness of particular refugee circumstances but try using
them to illuminate more general theories. One such broad theoretical concern, which
is particularly pertinent to sociology, is to examine refugee situations in terms of the
dynamics of structure and action. As suggested by Castles (2007), the study of
effects of migration laws and policies on migrant behaviour and vice versa offers
a suitable venue for such explorations (p. 354). This study introduces the strategic-
32
relational approach to refugee studies as an analytical model for analysing the
interplay of structure and agency.
But let me first go back to the existing literature and explain how it informs this
research. I identify two general tendencies in the refugee studies literature and situate
them in the context of the structure and agency debate: 1) empirically grounded
studies accounting for the diversity of refugee populations, various strategies of
settlement and stressing refugees’ agency and 2) more conceptual studies concerned
with definitions of “a refugee”, and their treatment in politics, law, international
relations and national policies. I argue that there is still some way to go towards
a more integrated analysis of interconnections between agency and structure without
privileging one or the other.
Empirically Grounded Studies: The Quest for Refugees’ Agency
A number of authors have developed their empirical research about refugees in
a critical dialogue with theories in their “home disciplines”, most notably
anthropology (Colson, 2003; Harrell-Bond, 1999; Harrell-Bond & Voutira, 1992;
Indra, 1989; Malkki, 1995a; Marx, 1990; Voutira & Harrell-Bond, 1995). These
studies are well suited to account for the complexity and diversity of refugee
populations and capable of criticising previous models and typologies of refugee
movements. Moreover, they have widened the scope of focus from causes and forms
of refugee movements to refugees’ experiences of being helped by humanitarian
organizations and being turned into objects of control and care (de Voe, 1981;
Harrell-Bond, 1986). Others have also made an advance in correcting the genderless
33
character of the dominant accounts of refugees (e.g. Ghorashi, 2004; Indra, 1996,
1999b; Kibria, 1993; Ong, 2003).
Given the urgent and policy relevant nature of their subject, empirically grounded
refugee studies can resort to descriptive accounts of particular refugee groups in
particular locations, criticising state and international responses to refugee
movements and discussing refugees’ difficulties of integration in host societies.
While informative about specific realities of refugees’ lives in various situations,
these studies often remove their subjects from the wider structural contexts that gave
rise to their displacement in the first place. They then become too specific to speak to
wider social theories and too narrow to challenge or improve the conceptual
apparatus of refugee studies. One of the problems is that the concept of “a refugee” is
often treated as a given and uncontested starting point for the analysis. It acts as
a somewhat natural selection criterion for individuals, communities, organisations,
policies and representations to be examined, but is rarely approached as an ongoing
construction shaped by both wider socio-political forces and strategic actions of the
people concerned.
Based on the recognition that refugees have traditionally been deprived of voice and
active decision-making both in the hands of humanitarian helpers and researchers
(Rajaram, 2002) an increasing number of studies have focused directly on portraying
refugees as active agents. The edited volume Refugees and the transformation of
societies: Agency, policies, ethics and politics (Essed, Frerks, & Schijvers, 2004b) is
representative of this trend. The editors set off by putting the question of refugees’
agency into the centre of refugee studies:
34
Agency forms a sharp contrast to the more established approaches where
refugees are pictured as passive victims of violence and disaster, or as mere
recipients of relief aid. Making agency central is helpful to avoid undue
generalisations. There are regional, gender, age and other differences in
experiences and there are differential responses to forced displacement. (p. 2)
Following this approach, chapters in the volume provide an important revision of
some concepts and categories of forced displacement traditionally used in the
literature and in policies. They also “gender” the analysis of changing identities in
the process of displacement and stress women’s active engagements. Flight and life
in refugee camps is described not only in terms of losses and traumas but also as
creating new opportunities. Refugees are presented as active agents capable of selfdetermination
having the potential to forge social change. Although such
an approach rectifies some of the entrenched assumptions about refugees as passive
victims, preoccupation with agency as an end in itself has problematic implications.
As I have argued elsewhere (Szczepanikova, 2005b) this trend can be exemplified on
studies that intend to stress women’s agency. For example, Rajasingham-Senanayake
(2004) advocates women’s agency by describing “the new roles that women,
displaced and affected by the war, perform in their everyday activities in the north
and east of Sri Lanka” (p. 152). Also Sinha-Kerkhoff (2004) describes how women
living in camps in Bihar “do not use their agency on behalf of the religious, caste or
male community but rather on their own behalf as widows” (p. 92). In these and
other similar studies, various examples of people’s coping strategies in the situation
of the war and displacement are lumped together under the heading of “agency” and
described as something inherently good, equal to notions of empowerment. Agency
is seen as an attribute that one either has or has not. However, by being subsumed
under the optimistic label of “agency” refugees’ strategic actions are obscured rather
35
than illuminated. Moreover, there is a danger that employing “agency” in refugee
studies becomes a kind of a convention or a token keyword even though it may not
enhance the conceptual and explanatory framework. Showing that refugees are
“somewhat active” should not be a primary aim of research, because agency has no
autonomous existence in itself; it should always be conceptualised as socially and
materially grounded.
A number of studies explicitly articulate the concept of agency in relation to the
notion of structure using Giddens’ (1984) structuration theory as a reference point
(e.g. Al-Rasheed, 1994; Korac, 2003; Richmond, 1993). It has inspired authors to
consider refugees as individuals acting strategically to further their interests while
being both limited and enabled by the social structures in which they are situated.
However, a review of these studies indicates that they do not entirely succeed in
transcending the dualism of structure and agency and rather switch between putting
the emphasis on one of the two perspectives. Therefore, more is still to be done to
understand how refugees “appropriate their context and the consequences of that
appropriation for their development as agents and for that of the context itself” (Hay,
2002, p. 113).
Refugees in Laws, Policies and International Society
More conceptual studies have been preoccupied with discussing the concept of
“a refugee” from various disciplinary perspectives, most commonly political science,
international relations and law. These are very useful for situating “a refugee” in
international society, vis-à-vis the concept of the nation state and sovereignty
(e.g. Haddad, 2008; Loescher, 1993; Weiner, 1996); evaluating various impacts of
36
asylum and migration policies on people searching international protection
(e.g. Guiraudon, 2004; Joly, 1999, 2002); discussing moral dimensions and
possibilities of asylum and the refugee status (Carens, 1997; Gibney, 2004) and
trying to advocate a definition/interpretation which would facilitate and improve
protection (Goodwin-Gill, 1996, p. 4). With their broad focus and general conceptual
aims, these studies inevitably draw on secondary empirical accounts and rarely
explore the living connections between the person and the category, between
structures of law, policies and international relations and the people who become its
subjects.
Thus, the tension between the concern for wider societal structures that shape refugee
movements and experiences and the diversity of their human consequences persists.
That is why many of these accounts do not incorporate the perspectives of refugees
themselves and do not provide spaces for their critical interventions (Soguk, 1999).
As Nyers (2006) points out:
The prevailing attitude in conventional analyses of refugee movements is one
that provides no place for refugees to articulate their experiences and struggles
or to assert their (often collectively conceived) political agency. Refugees are
silenced by the very discourses that attempt to provide solutions to their plight.
This silence is not natural or inevitable but something that is produced by
power relations that require explanation and critical analysis. (p. xiv)
What seems to be missing is a perspective or a framework which would allow us to
see displaced people as embodied and diverse actors who continuously strive to
adopt the rules of the game to their own goals, yet are always already constrained by
these rules. That is, to see them not only as objects of political violence back home
and restrictive policies in their destinations but to take account of their strategic
37
actions and decisions in the sense that they continuously challenge and transform the
content of the refugee category.
Towards a Strategic-Relational Approach to “a Refugee”
As already noted above, Giddens’ theory of structuration (1984) has been a popular
framework in studies explicitly addressing the question of structure and agency in
refugee situations. However, its use has rarely gone beyond stating the need to
overcome the macro versus micro dichotomy in research and reiterating that social
structures not only constrain peoples’ actions but also enable them (Al-Rasheed,
1994; Korac, 2003; Richmond, 1993). This theoretical framework has encouraged
the study of both structure and agency as separate elements of refugee situations
rather than analysing them as intertwined and mutually constitutive. Similar
observation has been made by critics of the structuration approach who point out that
it does not provide guidelines on how to capture the agential and structural aspects of
a given situation simultaneously (Hay, 2002). Rather, by employing the notion of
“methodological bracketing”, the structuration approach suggests that analysis of the
former is to be temporarily suspended (bracketed) while the latter is examined and
vice versa (Hay, 2002). Thus, there is a danger of a “simple alternation between
structuralist and intentionalist accounts which can only belie the sophistication of the
structurationist ontology” (Hay, 2002, p. 120).
Therefore, I find the strategic-relational approach developed by Jessop (1990) and
Hay (2002) more promising and applicable to empirical research. The authors draw
on a critical realism perspective but propose to treat the distinction between structure
and agency as a purely analytical one, arguing that in reality both are present
38
simultaneously in any given situation (Hay, 2002, p. 127). In an attempt to
differentiate from structuration theory, Hay (2002) draws on a simple analogy: while
Giddens seems to conceptualise structure and agency as “flip-sides of the same
coin”, the strategic-relational approach perceives them as “metals in the alloy from
which the coin is forged” (Hay, 2002, p. 127). To overcome the structure-agency
dualism, both concepts are reformulated as always already mutually implicated in
each other. Thus, rather than speaking about structure and agency, the authors link
the two from the outset and refer to “a strategically selective context” and “a
strategic action”. The strategic-relational approach is schematically outlined in
Figure 1.
A) Strategic Selectivity of the Context
The strategic selectivity of the context highlights the fact that every environment “is
an unevenly contoured terrain” which “favours certain strategies over others as
means to realise a given set of intentions or preferences” (Hay, 2002, p. 129). This
strategic selectivity has a wider impact because over time a certain distribution of
outcomes can exhibit regularity and produce systematically structured outcomes. For
example, there was a long-term tendency among some Western states during the
Cold War to prefer granting asylum to refugees fleeing from the communist
countries in Eastern Europe or from Cuba rather than to those escaping right-wing
dictatorships. Although it was possible that the latter groups of refugees, such as
Chileans, Haitians or Salvadorans could be recognised as having a “well founded
fear of persecution” as indicated in the 1951 Convention, outcomes of refugee
applications were strategically selected by the countries’ inclination to utilise
refugees in their anti-communist agendas. This tendency is best exemplified and well
39
documented in studies of the influence of U.S. foreign policy on refugee admissions
between World War II and the late 1980s (e.g. Loescher & Scanlan, 1986; Zolberg et
al., 1989; Zucker & Zucker, 1989).
Figure 1 Structure, Strategy and Agency in the Strategic-Relational Approach
Source: Hay (2002, p. 131)
B) Strategic Action
The notion of strategic actions signals that actors are “capable of devising and
revising means to realise their intentions” (Hay, 2002, p. 132). They both “internalise
perceptions of their context and consciously orient themselves towards that context
in choosing between potential courses of action” (p. 129). Strategy is a key concept
here because it conditions the conscious and reflexive action of an actor. It is not
only informed by an assessment of the relevant context but it also impinges on it (p.
129). Strategies are not necessarily explicit in the sense of being products of
a rational choice; they can be intuitive, routine or habitual. Besides, they are not
always based upon accurate understandings of the context. The point is that they are
always oriented towards the context and once formulated they are being
Strategic actor
(individual or
collective)
Strategically
selective context
Strategic calculation:
formulation of strategy
within context
Strategic
action
Effects of action: enhanced
strategic knowledge;
strategic learning
Effects of action: partial
transformation of context
for future strategy
40
operationalised in action (p. 133). As Figure 1 shows, strategic action yields 1) direct
effects on the structured contexts and produces transformation however minimal or
unanticipated and 2) strategic learning on the part of the actors; i.e. it enhances their
awareness of structures and the constraints and opportunities they produce.
Subsequently, their next strategy is likely to be informed by this awareness.
An example from the refugee studies literature can illustrate this. People coming to
Europe in search of asylum have always made strategic decisions about where to
launch their asylum application. Various factors have been documented as playing
a role: geographical, cultural and linguistic proximities, social networks, existing
migrant or refugee communities, family ties, anticipated chances to be granted
asylum, types of rights or economic opportunities available to refugees (Crisp, 1999;
Middleton, 2005). Some of these factors already reflect the selectivity of contexts.
Due to various factors, such as a lack of travel documents, financial resources or
information, asylum seekers often do not succeed in getting to their preferred
destinations straightaway or they reassess and modify their migration strategy along
the way. Some consciously apply for asylum in one country in order to gain time and
resources to be able to make a later move to another country and reapply there,
others are rejected and have no choice but to move further. These strategic actions
are reflected in European asylum policies as the governments are trying to jointly
develop better control mechanisms to prevent refugees from choosing a country of
destination, based on the fear that this will make some countries “overburdened”
with asylum claims while others will only serve as a transit.
Pejorative terms like “asylum shopping” have found a stable place in policy
discourses. In order to prevent the secondary movement of asylum seekers around
41
Europe policy measures at a European level were devised; most notably the Dublin
Convention of 1990, later revised into the Dublin II Regulation of 2003. The
regulation introduces a rule that only one Member State is responsible for examining
an application for asylum and this decision should be respected in the whole of the
EU. If negative in one Member State, an asylum application will not be considered in
other states. The implementation of this regulation produces new constraints for
asylum seekers. As they learn about the transformation of the context a new set of
strategies emerges. Many do not claim asylum at the peripheries of the EU and try to
pass unnoticed on their way to countries with higher recognition rates (UNHCR,
2006a) or they prefer to remain illegalised rather than entering an asylum procedure
in fear of being transferred elsewhere under the Dublin II Regulation (ECRE, 2007a).
Others resort to self-mutilation in order not to be identified by the authorities
enforcing the Dublin II regulation. For example, Swedish officials have claimed that
five percent of the 26,000 sets of fingerprints they recorded since the system for the
digital identification and comparison of asylum-seekers’ fingerprints (EURODAC)
started operating in January 2003 were illegible, due to asylum seekers having
deliberately cut or burned their hands (Van Selm, 2005, p. 14).
“A Refugee” as a Relational Category
Drawing on the strategic-relational approach, I adopt a notion of “a refugee” as
a relational category that encompasses both a strategically selective context and
a strategic actor. At the level of the context, the abstract notion of “a refugee” guides
the operation of the complex institutional field of the refugee system. At the level of
the actor, refugees as individuals or a group negotiate constraints and entitlements
stemming from the institutionalised concept of “a refugee”, while at the same time
42
transforming it with their strategic actions. The aspect of change is important because
it indicates that being a refugee or an asylum seeker can differ greatly in different
periods of time even within one nationally defined refugee system. Finally, the idea
of an actor as a situated agent who interacts with an environment that is already preselected
to favour certain strategies over others stimulates an analysis of embodied
characteristics based on which refugees are positioned in hierarchies and power
relations. In this study, I am particularly interested in gender as a structuring
mechanism. Women and men are differently situated in the refugee system due to
their socially constructed positions both within their families and societies of origin
and because of the “gender selectivities” (Jessop, 2004) of the refugee system, which
tends to favour certain – gendered – expressions of refugeeness over others.
Bringing Structure and Agency Together: Refugee as Concept,
Object and Label
Below, I discuss two theoretical approaches applied in empirical studies which
represent inspiring moves towards conceptualising “a refugee” as a relational
category. They proved the most inspirational for my own approach; also because of
the questions they raised but left unanswered. While the first one comes from the
field of organisational and management studies and has gained little attention within
the refugee studies literature, the second has been one of the few theoretical
approaches firmly situated in this field of research.
Organisation Studies Perspective: Refugee as Concept and Object
In a series of articles published between 1994 and 2003, Phillips and Hardy present
their empirical research carried out in the United Kingdom, Canada and Denmark
43
and develop a conceptual apparatus for the study of the social construction of
“a refugee” in the complex policy domain of the refugee system (Hardy, 1994, 2003;
Hardy & Phillips, 1999; Phillips & Hardy, 1997). Although they put more emphasis
on the context, which they analyse through institutional discourses, than on refugees
as actors, their approach is useful for the study of highly institutionalised systems of
refugee reception and settlement in Europe and North America.
As noted in the Introduction, Hardy (1994) describes the refugee system as
underorganised because it tends to lack a clear, negotiated order and convergence
around key values; different actors pursue competitive rather than collaborative
strategies. She points to the fact that there are various levels of underorganisation. On
the one hand, there is the system in Denmark, which appears to be most organised in
terms of centralisation, convergent values, collaboration and demarcation of roles
between the government and NGO sectors. On the other hand, the systems in the UK
and Canada are characterised by the high heterogeneity of stakeholders with different
values who are more often in confrontational relations to each other. It is in the two
highly underorganised domains that less powerful actors such as refugee
organisations and forums can find more opportunities to influence the institutional
field. The Danish system appears to be most disenfranchising towards refugees
because it constructs them as clients rather than active constituencies (Hardy, 1994).
Phillips and Hardy (1997) propose a distinction between “a refugee” as a concept and
“a refugee” as an object. The concept answers the question: what is “a refugee”? in
its idealised sense (p. 167). It is constituted through discursive collaboration and
conflict among various bodies of the refugee system and has a direct effect on the
formation of an object, i.e. on the process in which the question who is “a refugee”?
44
is addressed. The authors situate the constitution of “a refugee” as an object in the
refugee status determination process where the state has the last word. However, they
argue that it is always informed by “a refugee” as a concept. This is where the less
powerful actors can intervene though participation in discursive struggles: “by
creating new knowledge and new identities” (Hardy, 2003, p. 483).
Interorganizational relations in the refugee system are conceptualised as power
relations in a Foucauldian sense (Hardy, 2003), i.e. power is not perceived as held by
a single entity over others. Power relations have a productive effect on the identities
and subject positions of actors. This applies to refugee as well as organisational
identities as both are constantly being negotiated. For example, discursive struggles
are fought over whether refugees are “genuine” or “economic/bogus”; and whether
they should be treated as “helpless clients” or “capable constituencies” (Phillips &
Hardy, 1997). These concepts are likely to influence the refugee status determination
procedure, the kind of protection accorded and the services provided to asylum
seekers and refugees. Not only is the position of refugees at stake but so are the
identities of immigration officers, asylum decision-makers, members of NGOs,
media and the public, who become defined through their relations to refugees (p.
169). For example, NGOs’ organisational identities as helpers of the weak could be
threatened if refugees were not seen as “genuine”. On the other hand, the state’s
actions to restrict access to asylum could provoke unfavourable reactions if they did
not present themselves as protecting the refugee system from “economic or bogus”
applicants.
In combining these different levels of analysis, the authors make an original
contribution to our understanding of the construction of “a refugee”. However, their
45
depiction of the state agendas seems somewhat simplified. The argument that:
“governments are primarily in the business of defending sovereignty by erecting
barriers to entry and reducing the number of asylum seekers” (Hardy, 2003, p. 482)
has been made by many over the years. Nonetheless, such a view does not keep up
with the emphasis on the complexity of the refugee system as complex, contested
and contingent.
Moreover, an organizational point of view that prioritizes the perspective of state
administration, NGOs or refugee organizations leaves little space for the examination
of refugees’ strategic actions as situated individuals and does not account for the
diversity among refugees that plays an important role in guiding the determination
practices and the application of the refugee concept in practice. In particular, the
gender dimension of the refugee system has been omitted by Phillips and Hardy.
Refugee women and men are not only being subjected to practices employed by
institutions dealing with them, but are themselves producers and performers of ideas
about what and who “a refugee” is in a given context. In this study, I will try to
demonstrate that this performance needs to be seen as linked to asymmetrical
distributions of resources and relational power. In the course of everyday practices of
the refugee system, “a refugee” is constructed along the lines of class, gender and
ethnicity and these constructions have an impact on their lived realities.
Labelling Theory in Refugee Studies
In the editorial introduction to the very first issue of the Journal of Refugee Studies
back in 1988, Zetter argued that: “‘Refugee’ constitutes one of the most powerful
labels currently in the repertoire of humanitarian concern, national and international
46
public policy and social differentiation” (1988, p. 1). He then went on to outline the
complexity of meanings that the label conveys and focused most prominently on its
potential to stereotype and institutionalise the status of displaced people and to create
and impose the state of institutional dependency upon them (p. 1). Accordingly,
Zetter argued, it is “exploration, analysis and definition of the label which establish
the raison d’être of JRS” (p. 5). Therefore, it should be situated at the centre of the
emerging field of refugee studies.
As the title of his widely quoted study Labelling Refugees: Forming and
Transforming a Bureaucratic Identity (1991) indicates, Zetter’s main concern is with
the question of refugee identity and how it is being shaped and reshaped in the
context of public policy and, in particular, through bureaucratic regulatory practices.
He is interested both in how refugees are socialized with certain identities and what
the impacts of these identities are in terms of control, regulation and the
opportunities they engender. Importantly, he analyses the formation of the label as
a set of “bureaucratically assumed needs” (p. 39).
Compared to Phillips’ and Hardy’s discussion of “a refugee” as a concept and
an object (1997), Zetter (1991) puts more emphasis on the materialistic meaning of
the label. He is concerned with people’s needs and how they are being defined in the
context of a distributional apparatus set up by governments, NGOs and
intergovernmental agencies. In the empirical application of labelling theory in his
study of a re-housing programme for Greek-Cypriot refugees in the southern part of
Cyprus that started in the 1970s (1991), he looked at its impact on refugees’
identities over an extended period of time. Zetter examined the rationale for
government-organised selective re-housing of refugees, which was based on their
47
material and family situation. He highlighted the programme’s long-term
consequences for urbanisation and faster economic development of the country as
well as for the self-perception of the refugees. On the one hand, the project was
a success because it provided large groups of people with good quality housing in
a relatively short time while targeting first those identified as having the greatest
need. On the other hand, Zetter showed that the refugee label generated a set of
ambivalent attitudes among the beneficiaries. The programme was based on nonparticipatory
allocation of housing, guided by stereotyping the identity of a diverse
group of mostly rural populations. They were resettled in large government estates
which, over time, turned out to be stigmatising urban spaces that alienated them from
the rest of the population. At the same time, the wider political significance of the
refugee label is also considered. Opposition to the division of the island on the part
of the Greek-Cypriots translates into emphasis on retaining refugees’ difference from
the local population. In other words, preserving their status of temporary guests to be
eventually repatriated to their homelands rather than permanent residents had
important political implications both for the refugees’ identities and for the GreekCypriot
government. Thus, Zetter demonstrated that the refugee label can generate
a highly politicised identity (p. 55). In sum, the label has a potential to form,
transform and politicise refugee identities.
Zetter’s application of labelling theory is useful because it combines a focus on the
world of institutions with its regulatory practices with the analysis of the impacts
they have on the social world of refugees. It creates space for a more nuanced debate
about issues that have always preoccupied scholars and policymakers dealing with
refugees: why does humanitarian intervention so often have divisive impacts? Why
48
do refugees refuse to conform to the image constructed of them by humanitarian
agencies? Why do certain forms of assistance produce (learned and imposed)
dependency? It also generates a number of new questions: How can labels be
subverted, transformed or exploited by refugees and other actors? Can they also be
empowering? The author himself recently restated the contribution of labelling
theory to refugee studies:
As opposed to other terms, for example, ‘category’, ‘designation’ or ‘case’, the
word ‘label’ better nuances an understanding which: recognizes both a process
of identification and a mark of identity; implies something independently
applied, but also something which can be chosen and amended; has a tangible
and real world meaning, but is also metaphorical and symbolic. (2007, p. 173)
The concept of the refugee label represents a step towards analytical linking of
structure and agency. In light of the discussion above, it could be redefined as
a materialised outcome of the interaction between “a refugee” as a concept and
an object.
However, in order to facilitate its empirical application, the approach would benefit
from some systematization. Moreover, despite the authors’ emphasis on refugees’
potential to challenge and work though the label, the notion of “labelling” implies
a unilateral classification of refugees “from above” rather than a dynamic process of
negotiation and interaction. Thus, it risks being interpreted as a one way action by
powerful institutions over a powerless refugee population. The refugee labelling
approach also begs for a more nuanced treatment of embodied diversity which is
a crucial factor in refugee identity formation, transformation and politicisation. Being
applied differently to refugee men and women, the label produces a set of gendered
constraints and opportunities as well as varied attitudes towards the label on the part
of refugees.
49
Gendering Refugee Systems and Labels
The notion of “a refugee” as a relational category accounts well for refugees as
gendered actors situated in selectively gendered structures. Building upon feminist
developments in studies of migration and asylum, I focus on two areas that have been
somewhat underdeveloped in the refugee studies literature: production of gendered
identities in institutional practices and the theme of masculinities and their
interaction with the refugee label.
There is now a substantial body of research showing that migration processes more
generally as well as individual migrants’ experiences are shaped by gender
ideologies in countries of departure and destination (e.g. Hondagneu-Sotelo, 1994;
Kelson & DeLaet, 1999; Kofman, Phizacklea, Raghuram, & Sales, 2000; Phizacklea,
2003; Phizacklea, 1983; Willis & Yeoh, 2000). A number of studies have also shown
that migrant notions and practices of gender and gender relations in families,
households and social networks are likely to be renegotiated in the process of
migration and settlement and result in the transformation of identities (e.g. Boyd,
1989; Brettell, 2002; Buijs, 1993; Curran & Saguy, 2001; Hagan, 1998; Lutz, 2004;
Pessar, 1994, 1999).
It is the latter body of literature that has been most likely to focus on refugees. The
experience of a radical redefinition of gender identities prior to and after the flight
has been recognised as an integral part of displacement and settlement (e.g.
Abdulrahim, 1993; Al-Ali, 2002; Eastmond, 1993; Franz, 2000; Indra, 1999b; Kay,
1988; Kibria, 1993; Nolin, 2006; Ong, 2003). These studies have pointed to the fact
that outcomes of displacement can be very different for men and women, creating
50
spaces for emancipation in some areas while isolating and disenfranchising them in
others. Women have been the prime subjects of these analyses which consequently
led many to emphasize that gender should not be treated as standing for women but
rather as a relational category signifying power relations (Indra, 1999a, p. xiv).
Others have exemplified that the diversity of refugees’ experiences, including social
and spatial mobility and security, cannot be captured by looking at gender only but
rather by examining how it intersects with different identities such as class, ethnicity
or nation (Franz, 2003; Hyndman & De Alwis, 2004; Kay, 1988; Pittaway &
Bartolomei, 2001).
Gender in Refugee Policies and Institutional Practices: Critical Consequences
The importance of gender in the refugee determination process has been established
in a number of legal analyses (e.g. Anker, 2002; Crawley, 2001; Oswin, 2001;
Spijkerboer, 2000). Women in particular have been seen as facing difficulties in
accessing protection. First of all, they are less likely to reach developed countries due
to the expectation of various gendered dangers connected with the journey and sociocultural
constraints on women’s mobility in their societies of origin (Bhabha, 2004).
Second, gendered forms of persecution that are more often suffered by women, such
as sexual violence, punishment for transgression of social norms or oppressive
patriarchal practices like domestic violence, forced marriage or genital mutilation,
are not always recognised as persecution in asylum procedures (Bloch et al., 2000).
Moreover, women do not have the same chance to be recognised as political actors in
the more traditional sense of the 1951 Convention, even when they face the same
types of persecution as men. This is because they tend to be associated with
a depoliticised private sphere and their engagements in politics are less visible and
51
less obvious. In other words, perpetuation of gender inequality on the basis of
public/private distinctions is central to gender bias of refugee status determination
(e.g. Bhabha & Shutter, 1994; Crawley, 1999, 2000, 2001; Freedman, 2008).
Besides, the institutional practices of refugee status determination often produce or
heighten the dependency of women on their male family members when their cases
are treated as that of dependants rather than principle applicants and they therefore
have little control over the proceedings (Bloch et al., 2000).
Critical legal scholars warn against propagating refugee women’s access to asylum
through an essentialist notion of “gender persecution” because it is likely to be
relegated to the “Third World” and explained by culture differences. Such
an approach risks producing dehistoricised images of women as victims who are
being saved by the “civilised West”, thus affirming western hegemony and moral
superiority over culturally different and inferior “others” (Crawley, 2001; Razack,
1995; Spijkerboer, 2000). This critique is aptly expressed by Razack (1995):
Women’s claims are most likely to succeed when they present themselves as
victims of dysfunctional, exceptionally patriarchal cultures and states. Hence
the successful applicant must be cast as a cultural other. [...] it is through
various orientalist and imperialist frames that women’s gender based
persecution becomes visible in the West. (p. 50)
There is some evidence that in the 1990s and 2000s, refugee women who made it to
developed countries such as Sweden, Canada, Switzerland or the Netherlands and
claimed asylum there had greater chances to succeed than men (Bhabha, 2004;
Spijkerboer, 2000). A number of factors could explain this: they tended to come from
countries that already had high overall recognition rates and they often had strong
cases (Bhabha, 2004, p. 237). Although discrimination that prevents women from
applying for asylum should not be forgotten, Spijkerboer (2000) shows that gender
52
stereotypes may also have some positive effects for women. They are more likely to
be recognised as refugees because they tend to be perceived as more vulnerable,
dependent and less adventurous then men (p. 194). This analysis of legal practices
encourages a view of law as more than a pre-given framework for the distribution of
rights and entitlements; it is also a field for the material production and reproduction
of identities and representations (Spijkerboer, 2000, p. 9). Thus, it is of crucial
importance to consider “the potential effects of our constructions and therefore ask
whether the identities we create are actually inhabitable by the people we create them
for” (p. 7). While Spijkerboer addresses this call to legal representatives in asylum
cases, the same caution applies to researchers and activists who work on behalf of
refugees.
Another related yet unintended consequence of a particular embrace of “gender” in
legal and policy discourses is when it becomes detached from other bases of identity
and social relations that produce inequality. In its most simplified form, gender is
simply added to policies and practices without posing any challenge to their overall
logic. Consequently, it becomes a part of organisations’ parlance and loses its critical
and analytic potential as well as salience in everyday organisational operations and
their potential to transform the situation of refugees. This has been exemplified by
Hyndman and de Alwis (2003) in their examination of humanitarian responses to
conflict and displacement in the North and East of Sri Lanka.
Gender is treated as a portable tool of analysis and empowerment that can be
carried around in the back pockets of both international humanitarian and
development staff. It has become part of the development and humanitarian
lexicon, to be employed when preparing proposals and evaluating programs.
(p. 213)
53
Indeed, similar emptying of the concept of gender and a certain level of tokenism in
its policy application have been observed with regard to processes of gender
mainstreaming in the EU and its implementation in CEE (Fodor, 2006). Moreover, as
pointed out in the legal scholarship, compartmentalization of gender can stereotype
women as culturally “othered” victims of patriarchal oppression in their “backward”
countries of origin. It also risks creating a dichotomy of “normal cases” versus
“gender or women’s cases” thus losing sight of the fact that gender permeates the
whole process of refugee determination (Spijkerboer, 2000) as well as settlement
assistance.
It is in this context that refugee women become constructed epitomes of vulnerability
and exploitability (Pittaway & Pittaway, 2004). Advocacy groups also perpetuate this
stereotyped image when trying to elicit sympathy towards refugees and re-balance
the overwhelmingly negative public image of refugees as abusers of the system and
as potential criminals. It is not by accident that women and children predominate in
refugees’ visual representations. This imagery associates refugeeness with
powerlessness and neediness (Malkki, 1995a, p. 11). Their identities are abstracted
into a positive image of blameless ethnical figures who seem to be the only ones
worthy of public attention and support: as traumatised, depoliticised, feminised
subjects (Pupavac, 2008, p. 272).
The present study follows this line of analysis and strives for a gender analysis in yet
understudied arenas of refugee situations. Rather than focusing on families and
households that have commonly been examined with gender lenses, I look at the role
of gender in the formal set up of refugee status determination and scrutinise its role
in the nongovernmental assistance structures of the refugee system.
54
Focus on Masculinities
The feminisation of refugee populations in media representations, legal and
organisational practices goes hand in hand with insufficient understanding of refugee
masculinities. The topic has started to be problematized in refugee studies only
recently. Although many accounts of refugee situations have treated refugees as
implicitly male, they have not addressed masculinity as such. Spijkerboer (2000) is
critical about the fact that articles on gendered forms of persecution or gendersensitivity
in asylum law are almost exclusively about women (p. 194). He stresses
that men’s access to protection can also be elucidated through a gender perspective:
concepts of masculinity may be used to dismiss claims of men because, like
female applicants, they are perceived as deviating from the male norm of the
classical refugee. (p. 195)
For example, especially non-white men may be seen as not being “manly enough”
and thus lacking the intellectual capacities needed to have dissident political ideas
(Spijkerboer, 2000, p. 195). Men are also more likely to be suspected of abusing the
system. As Pupavac (2008) demonstrates in her study of refugee representations, the
stereotype of a victimised refugee woman has its counterpart in a “threatening young
male” (p. 286). Indeed, in reports of “illegal” entries on European soil, we see mostly
men, being intercepted on boats in the Mediterranean or captured on the borders
while being smuggled into the country. They are the embodiment of a threat and the
uncontrollability of migration.
There seems to be an agreement that while emigration and exile have the potential to
offer new venues for constructions of femininities, masculinity is most likely to be
constrained and under threat (e.g. Kibria, 1993; Ong, 2003; Ui, 1991). In contrast to
the expanded opportunities and responsibilities for women, men’s spaces are being
55
reduced (Matsuoka & Sorenson, 1999, p. 235). Men are described as losing their role
as breadwinners together with their dignity and self-esteem. It is argued that
downward social mobility hits men harder than women because they have more
difficulties in adapting to new roles and in temporarily accepting lower occupational
positions than they used to have in their countries of origin. In her study among
Bosnian refugees in Vienna and New York, Franz (2003) concludes that men’s
identity seemed to be more intrinsically linked to their places of origin and the social
status they had lost than was the case for women (p. 101). Kay (1988) introduces
a class perspective in order to understand “the politics of gender in exile” among
Chileans in Britain. She differentiates between the classed experiences of men’s
powerlessness: middle class exiles lost a degree of personal influence and autonomy
and manual workers lost collective power which had arisen from the political and
organizational context of their labour in Chile (p. 6).
Describing men primarily through what they have lost, these studies are mostly
focused on refugee households or refugees’ participation in the labour market,
community and political life. In what follows, I will shift the focus and look at what
kinds of masculinities are constructed in interactions between refugees and the
institutions of the refugee system; refugee camps being the most fruitful areas of
such exploration.
Conceptualising the Refugee Camp
Studies of refugee camps are extremely diverse in terms of disciplines,
methodological approaches, geographical locations, the level of theorization and
interest in making policy recommendations. Most of them are located in the
56
developing world where the majority of the world’s refugees reside: in Africa and
Asia. A number of insightful studies have used detailed empirical data about life and
social relations in camps to critique practices of humanitarianism from the very
places where they seem to be unquestionably needed. For example, some authors
have demonstrated the gender dimension of displacement and insecurity (e.g.
Harrell-Bond, 1986; Hitchcox, 1993; Hyndman, 1998, 2000; Turner, 2004). Others
analysed camps as spaces where rich personal and collective histories are brought
together and/or as spaces of refugee resistance (Horst, 2006; Malkki, 1995a; Peteet,
2000, 2005).
Studies of refugee camps in Africa and Asia are characterised by a strong
ethnographic dimension while research of camps in Europe shows predominance of
theoretically driven analyses at most drawing on secondary accounts of life in
refugee camps and detentions.2
European camps are not treated as case studies for
empirical research but rather as a motif or an abstract venue for theorising about
borders, sovereignty and the state of exception or biopolitics. Refugees are talked
about as figures or bodies (e.g. Agamben, 1997, 1998; Diken, 2004; Diken &
Laustsen, 2003; Laustsen & Diken, 2005; Raj, 2006; Tyler, 2006). More detailed and
empirically grounded accounts from Europe are mostly about the dismal and brutal
conditions of European detention centres, where asylum seekers and rejected
applicants are kept indefinitely in prison-like conditions, often leading up to their
deportation (Bloch & Schuster, 2005; Fekete, 2005; Hughes & Field, 1998; Jackson,
2003; Steel et al., 2006). However, we know little about camps which represent more
2
Here I do not refer to a number of policy and NGO reports about detentions and refugee camps in
Europe but rather to studies that speak to wider academic audiences.
57
open and also more humane spaces where refugees reside “by choice” while waiting
for their asylum claim to be decided.
Studies of refugee camps located in Africa and Asia are useful in understanding the
social fabric of places where refugee populations are concentrated for extended
periods of time. Although rarely quoted in the “European studies”, they offer detailed
evidence of more general characteristics of refugee encampment that are also to be
found in European contexts. For example, they explain why one of the omnipresent
features of the camp life is widespread distrust by refugees of administration and vice
versa (e.g. Hyndman, 2000; Inhetveen, 2006; Voutira & Harrell-Bond, 1995).
A number of studies examine refugees’ dependency as produced and nurtured by the
camp environment yet often blamed on the individual refugees rather than the system
of assistance (Hyndman, 2000; Kibreab, 1993). When discussing the connection
between dependency and the high occurrence of mental health problems among
refugees in camps, Harrell-Bond (1999) asks an important question whether “one of
the major sources of debilitating stress is the very structure of the aid regime for
refugees?” (p. 139). The relevance of this knowledge about camp situations is not
bound to African or Asian contexts. Some of the features can be heightened by large
numbers of people living in camps for many years or even generations, but numbers
are not a prerequisite for the above observation to be applicable elsewhere, notably in
Europe.
Recent theoretically driven literature about refugee camps in European contexts has
been influenced by the writings of Italian philosopher Giorgio Agamben. He sees
a camp as an expression of the state of exception from the normal juridical order of
the sovereign nation-state (Agamben, 1997, 1998). In this line of reasoning, the
58
realities of refugees’ isolated lives in the camps can be seen as “at once excluded and
included, removed and at the same time captured” (1998, p. 110). In other words,
refugees are captured in a given political order of migration control and national
sovereignty but remain outside of the political community and outside the framework
of rights. Generalising the camp as “the biopolitical paradigm of the West” (1998, p.
181) has inspired some authors to think about practices such as the detention of
asylum-seekers as gradually becoming “the normative conditions of ‘our’ political
present [that] forewarn ‘us’ of ‘our’ securitized futures” (Tyler, 2006, p. 198).
Theorising refugee camps as spaces of exception and indistinction, Diken (2004)
goes on to describe them as “non-places”. He draws on Augé (1995) to argue that
both more open “accommodation centres” and closed prison-like detentions can be
considered as “non-places” because:
they do not integrate other places, meanings, traditions and sacrificial, ritual
moments but remain, due to a lack of characterization, non-symbolized and
abstract spaces (p. 82). As non-places, most refugee spaces are spaces of
indistinction: ‘a person entering the space of non-place is relieved of his usual
determinants’. (p. 103, cited in Diken, 2004, p. 91)
While it is important to situate refugee camps in wider processes of biopolitics
designed to govern and contain the lives of undesired “others” (Fassin, 2005),
treating refugee camps as “non-places” is a concrete example of what these
theoretical exercises risk: they fail to take account of the heterogeneity and
materiality of the social world of the camp.3
In this study, I consider these features as
essential to understanding how these institutions can function at all and how they
3
The fact that the authors commonly and consistently refer to a refugee as “he” is one of the
expressions of this simplified view of the camp (e.g. Agamben, 1997, 1998; Diken, 2004).
59
reproduce the refugee label. Refugee camps can be seen as nodes of the refugee
system where people learn and negotiate what it means to be “a refugee”.
Refugees and Asylum in Central and Eastern Europe
Scholarly literature about post-1989 refugee movements into CEE and the Czech
Republic specifically is scarce. Similarly, refugees from the former Soviet Union
coming to Central and Western European countries in the 1990s and the 2000s have
gained little attention in refugee and migration studies. I will refer to these specific
bodies of literature in Chapter 3 when I map the developments in more detail. Here, I
shall outline the main trends in the existing research about the region and then focus
specifically on the literature about refugees and asylum in the Czech Republic.
Central and Eastern Europe in Migration and Refugee Research
Since the early 1990s, there has been some interest in assessing the position of CEE
countries as a new and distinct migration space in relation to both West and East of
Europe. Two interconnected themes have dominated the literature: describing
emerging migration patterns in the region and assessing the development of asylum
and migration policies in the context of CEE countries’ integration into the EU.
Within the first theme, the region has been most commonly described as a transit
zone and a space of short-term circulatory movements of migrant workers from
neighbouring countries of Eastern Europe (Laczko, Stacher, & Klekowski von
Koppenfels, 2002; Okolski, 2004a, 2004b; Wallace & Stola, 2001b). The transit
characteristic is particularly important for conceptualising refugee movements. It
depicts a pattern of using CEE countries as a point of entry to Western Europe by
migrants and asylum seekers. Studies describe how CEE became a transit zone for
60
migrants from the former Eastern Bloc, some of whom could make use of visa-free
entry. Larger transit refugee movements came especially from the former Yugoslavia
in the early 1990s and from Chechnya in the early 2000s. Alongside these
migrations, more organised undocumented movements of migrants from Asia and
Africa have taken place (Stola, 2001). The argument about CEE countries being “just
a transit zone” where migrants do not really intend to stay has been politically
manipulated. Recently, Düvell (2006) provided a critical analysis of this “transit
discourse” in CEE and demonstrated how it has become “a code word for ‘illegal
immigration’ and for unwanted refugees, and as such has acquired a criminological
profile” (p. 24).
Macro-level characterisations of migration flows in the region are useful in situating
it geopolitically vis-à-vis Western European countries and their expectations towards
developments of policies of migration control in CEE. This is the topic of the second
broader body of literature about CEE. In this context, it has been described as
a “buffer zone”. The term refers to its geopolitical role in absorbing inflows of
people – both asylum seekers and other categories of migrants – from East and South
and thus protecting Western Europe from feared excessive influx associated with the
regime change in CEE, dissolution of the Soviet Union and relaxing border controls
in the early 1990s (Geddes, 2003; Guiraudon, 2004; Wallace, 2001; Wallace,
Chmouliar, & Sidorenko, 1996). The position of CEE countries vis-à-vis the old
Member States and the processes of policy transfer and harmonisation in the spheres
of asylum, immigration, visa and border controls have gained considerable interest in
the scholarly community, especially within political science and legal studies
(Anagnost, 2000; Byrne, 2003; Byrne, Noll, & Vedsted-Hansen, 2002; Geddes,
61
2003; Grabbe, 2006; Lavenex, 1998, 1999, 2001b, 2002; Lavenex & Ucarer, 2002;
Vachudová, 2000). I will draw on this literature in more detail in Chapter 3, here I
shall briefly characterise it as addressing two themes: First, the implications of the
harmonisation process for the rights of asylum seekers and immigrants have been
examined (Byrne, 2003; Byrne et al., 2002; Lavenex, 1998, 1999, 2001b, 2002).
Second, the dynamics of transfer of policy, experience and responsibilities between
the “old” Member States and CEE have been discussed including to what extent the
new policy instruments were imposed on CEE countries and how much space they
had to prioritise their policy agendas (Anagnost, 2000; Geddes, 2003; Grabbe, 2006;
Vachudová, 2000). While the area of pre-accession negotiations and influences has
been widely discussed, comparatively little has been written about developments in
the CEE region after obtaining EU membership.
Overall, the studies in both thematic groups have mostly relied on the official
statistical data and policy documents. Refugees and asylum seekers are dealt with as
one aspect of diverse migration flows and a policy matter where a common EU
approach has been pushed forward and required sometimes unilateral
accommodation on the part of CEE countries. Dealing with a rapidly changing field
of inquiry, the majority of studies tend to be more descriptive than explanatory. Few
draw on more detailed empirical findings about the lived realities of migrants and
asylum seekers and therefore, much less is known about their perspectives on the
region as a potential space of immigration and asylum and about their strategies of
seeking protection as asylum seekers and about the process of settlement.
62
Asylum Seekers and Refugees in the Czech Republic: What Do We Know?
The existing literature about the situation of asylum seekers and refugees in the
Czech Republic can be classified into four groups. First, research solicited by
Ministries that provides important empirical data – mostly based on surveys – but in
its instrumentality lacks any analytical and theoretical contribution which would
make it more than a snapshot into the situation of refugees at a given time (MLSA,
2007; Uherek et al., 2005). As aptly characterised by Castles (2003), these policydriven
and narrowly-focused projects are designed to provide answers to immediate
bureaucratic problems rather than to look for their fundamental causes and offer
more challenging solutions because “the recommendations that emerge are chosen
from a narrow range of options acceptable to the commissioning body” (p. 26).
Second, NGO reports, analyses and guidelines based on day to day experiences of
working with refugees and asylum seekers have been more incisive in their critique
of the system. Most are concerned with legal matters and their implications for
refugees (e.g. Čižinský, 2006; Hradečná, Honusková, & Rozumková, 2008;
Hronková, Hradečná, & Hejná, 2002; Kučera, 2007; Pořízek, 2004; Pořízek &
Skalková, 2005; Riglová & Dastlík, 2006; Uhl, 2006; Větrovský, 2006b). This
literature is very useful for understanding the details and intricacies of the asylum
procedure but is understandably purpose driven and sometimes strategically selective
in argumentation. A smaller body of NGO studies deals with issues of social work
with asylum seekers and refugees and attempts to professionalise this
underdeveloped field in the Czech Republic (Dymešová, 2003; Riglová & Dastlík,
2006). Others tried to mediate refugee experiences and acquaint the wider public
with the conditions of asylum seekers and refugees in the Czech Republic (Centre for
63
Migration, 2001; Roubalová, 2003, 2005; Roubalová, Günterová, & Kostlán, 2005;
Szczepanikova, 2006b).
Third, a small group of younger researchers, among whom I would also include
myself, are interested in various aspects of refugee movements and settlement and in
exploring different methodological and theoretical approaches to their study (Janků,
2007; Klvaňová, 2009; Szczepanikova, 2005a; Tollarová, 2008; Topinka, 2006a).
Unlike the government-solicited reports (often carried out by academic institutions)
where quantitative analyses of one-off survey data predominate, these emerging
studies are based primarily on qualitative data generated over longer periods through
interviews and participant observation. It is largely due to the initiative of these
scholars that migration and refugee issues are becoming established as a subject of
social science research in the Czech Republic.4
Fourth, rare accounts of refugee experiences are produced by refugees themselves as
magazine or electronic articles (Edilbieva, 2007; Simonyan, 2003) and as literary
works (Boroda, 1999). In many respects, these are more apposite and telling than any
of the mediated narratives. Rather than tailoring stories to the objectives of NGO
advocates and journalists, people with first-hand experience of the asylum procedure
and the system of nongovernmental assistance have a unique opportunity to bring out
a more nuanced and complex account of what it means to be an asylum seeker or
a refugee in the Czech Republic. Narratives that move beyond a display of suffering,
thankfulness for being accepted and/or readiness to become a good member of the
society, and are able to combine writers’ position as insiders to the system built
4
Within Law Studies, a number of analyses of refugee law – both international and the EU – have
been published in recent years and the topic has certainly raised more interest there than in any other
academic discipline (Honusková, 2006; Jílek, 2005; Jílek & Šturma, 1997).
64
around them yet outsiders to the society they enter are particularly valuable. This is
what Boroda (1999) so skilfully achieved in his tragicomic book about his time in
a Czech refugee camp in the mid 1990s. However, the scarcity of such penetrating
testimonies may indicate that the Czech public sphere is not yet sufficiently
supportive and welcoming of these voices.
Although asylum seekers and refugees in the Czech Republic are being written
about, there persists a dearth of in-depth analyses that would interconnect their
experiences with the analysis of structural conditions of their reception and
settlement. Simply put, discourse about refugees is divided between politicians and
NGOs. The former know rather little about the matter and depend on the expertise of
appointed policymakers from the Ministry of Interior, who persistently defend
themselves from criticisms by NGOs and human rights advocates for being too
restrictive with regard to asylum seekers and too negligent with regard to recognised
refugees. The two sides build their own institutional identities on differentiating
themselves from each other by pointing to the other side’s deficiencies and
incompetence. Yet, there is very little inward criticism and reflection. The
representatives of the state see themselves as too significant and powerful for that
and the NGOs as too vulnerable. Thus, a more holistic and balanced analysis of the
institutional (both governmental and NGO) structures of the refugee system is
needed and this study should be seen as a step in this direction.
Conclusions
Although the dynamics of the structure and agency lies at the heart of understanding
and theorising of refugee situations, the above discussion of the literature indicates
65
that there is still room for advancement in this area. The present study addresses a
number of gaps in the existing literature.
The study introduces the strategic-relational approach (Hay, 2002; Jessop, 1990) to
the refugee studies. By presenting the notion of “a refugee” in relational terms it
emphasizes that the study of refugee situations should involve both an analysis of the
strategically selective context (i.e. the institutional field of the refugee system) and
the actions of those who constitute it or are constituted by it (i.e. refugees,
representatives of the state and NGO sectors). Rather than stressing refugees’ agency
as an essentially positive attribute, it presents refugees as strategic actors who
struggle to overcome various constraints stemming from the present politics of
asylum and migration control in Europe, while at the same time accommodating to
this context and transforming it. Such an approach provides a more nuanced view of
the circumstances that shape their social position.
This research contributes to debates about the relationship between institutions and
human agency in the context of refugee settlement. It examines the process of social
construction of refugees in the context of the refugee system. The analysis draws on
two approaches. First, Phillips and Hardy (1997) made an important distinction
between “a refugee” as a concept and an object. Hardy (2003) stressed that the two
are being constructed in interaction with each other and shaped by power relations in
the refugee system. However, the authors miss out the importance of individual
refugees’ contributions to what and who is “a refugee” as well as the deeply
gendered character of these interventions. Although the refugee system is depicted as
a complex institutional field (Hardy, 1994), less attention is paid to the extent to
which the state itself is fragmented in its approach to asylum and migration. Second,
66
Zetter’s labelling theory (1991) is particularly useful in assessing how
bureaucratically assumed needs constitute refugees’ identities and how they can be
transformed and politicised in concrete situation of settlement. His notion of the
refugee label can be studied as a materialised intersection of the processes that
construct “a refugee” as a concept and an object. Rather than privileging the
bestowing of the label in the context of top-down relations in which asylum seekers
and refugees’ are situated vis-à-vis the institutions, I will highlight their active roles
in transforming and shaping the label.
The study advances the literature about the gendered character of refugee status
determination and settlement. It stresses the need to examine gender as more than
a synonym for women and to study it outside the context of refugee households and
families. The analysis scrutinises the role of the institutions of the refugee system in
sustaining particular gendered performances of refugeeness.
This research contributes to the scarce literature about refugee camps in the
European context. It shifts the attention from detention centres to more ambivalent
spaces of “voluntary” confinement and reveals their social and material diversity.
Moreover, refugees’ gendered experiences are discussed and the camps are presented
as materialised examples of refugees’ treatment in today’s Europe.
Finally, this study charts a new terrain in research about asylum and refugee
settlement in CEE and the Czech Republic specifically. It combines a detailed
empirical study informed by refugees’ perspectives and critical interventions with
conceptual debates and innovations.
67
Chapter 2: Making Choices in the Field and in the Analysis
Introduction
Following the theoretical framework outlined in the previous chapter, I now address
the methodological concerns of this study. I explain its interdisciplinary character
and discuss the research process as a set of choices that were made with regard to
generating empirical data, managing research relationships and adopting the
language of the analysis. I pay particular attention to questions of power and
reciprocity in research relationships.
The Appeal of Interdisciplinarity
As a complex and multifaceted social phenomenon, migration has provoked
scholarly interest in a wide range of disciplines. However, it has been widely
acknowledged that this research often remains segmented by disciplinary boundaries
rather than engaging in a more integrative and interdisciplinary enterprise (e.g.
Brettell & Hollified, 2000b; Castles, 2007; D. S. Massey et al., 1993). Speaking more
specifically about the sociology of forced migration, Castles (2003) emphasized that
the field must understand itself as “a component within an interdisciplinary
undertaking” (p. 22). This is obviously not a new proposition. The idea of bringing
together different disciplinary approaches to produce a more general understanding
of refugee situations and behaviour lied at the heart of the refugee studies project
back in the 1980s (see Zetter, 1988). The reiteration of calls for interdisciplinarity
indicates that this remains to be more of an objective than a reality. Clearly, it is easy
to proclaim but difficult to carry out and there are few guidelines and examples on
how it can be done productively. In an introduction to a recent edited volume
68
International Migration Research: Constructions, Omissions and the Promises of
Interdisciplinarity Bommes and Morawska (2005) argue that interdisciplinary efforts
should aim at:
the acquisition, exchange, and expansion of mutual knowledge about particular
disciplines’ epistemological assumptions, theoretical positions, primary
research concerns, and methods of gathering and analysing evidence. (p. 3)
More concretely, Brettell and Hollified (2000a) suggest that an interdisciplinary and
more comprehensive approach to migration can be achieved by a combination of
different units of analysis, such as laws and state policies, institutions, individuals,
families and households (p. 10).
Drawing on these appeals, this study presents an interdisciplinary and multi-level
exploration of the workings of the refugee system in the Czech Republic. As
a system designed to carry out reception and integration of refugees in the host
society it is more than a set of institutions and individuals or groups affected by their
actions and policies. In line with the strategic-relational approach outlined in the
previous chapter, I approach the refugee system as a dynamic process in which
various actors engage in strategic actions that affect the context of the system and
also shape the future actions of those who are involved. In other words, to understand
the refugee system in its complexity, it is not only necessary to include the
perspectives of different players – in this case state institutions, NGOs and refugees –
but to explore mutually constitutive relations between them as they develop over
time. Therefore, I am primarily interested in how asylum seekers and refugees are
constructed by the institutions designed to control and assist them and how they
reflect and act upon these constructions. I also explore relations of power and
interdependency among the actors.
69
Having these broad questions in mind, I began by asking myself how to approach the
topic in a holistic manner, which would be within my capacities as a single
researcher. Rather than applying a ready-made theoretical and methodological
toolkit, this research requires an interdisciplinary approach realised through a variety
of methods. Because I was interested in social processes lying behind the formulation
of laws and policies, their interconnection with the construction of meanings and
practices (individual and institutional) and different actors’ understanding of their
actions, my first choice was to employ a mainly qualitative methodology. Within
sociology and anthropology, qualitative empirical research about refugees in
European and North American contexts has predominantly focused on the processes
of settlement and community formation (e.g. Franz, 2005; Hopkins, 1996; Kibria,
1993). While such studies provide important insights about refugees’ gendered
experiences, the roles of institutions in the refugee system are often sidelined. On the
other hand, studies examining institutions and asylum policies rarely include
refugees as active participants in the research and treat them more as objects of these
policies rather than relevant subjects of knowledge production (e.g. Tazreiter, 2004).
It is also due to the fact that this topic has been commonly examined within political
science and law where participatory research methods are less common.
This study attempts to render institutions, their representatives, asylum seekers and
refugees as the key participants in the research process. The combination of
methodological approaches is well suited for unpacking the dual nature of the social
reality of the refugee system. The use of ethnographic methods attends to
individuals’ agency, their abilities to be reflective and to challenge the conditions
they are in (Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995). More structured methods of
70
interviewing representatives of institutions, analysing policies, legal documents and
statistics enable me to see actors in constant interaction with structural opportunities
and constraints on their actions.
Selection of Research Participants and Methods of Generating
Empirical Data
Fieldwork was carried out (with some interruptions) between 2005 and 2007, the
most intensive research period being the summer of 2006 and the first nine months of
2007. In line with the above outlined holistic multi-level approach to the study of the
refugee system, I studied three groups of actors:
A) Key state institutions responsible for refugee reception and integration, both
operating under the Ministry of Interior:
1) Department of Asylum and Migration Policy (DAMP) responsible for
formulation of asylum and migration legislation, decision making in the
asylum procedure, allocation of the European Refugee Fund (ERF), allocation
of integration flats to recognised refugees within the State Integration
Programme and supporting selected activities of NGOs from the ministerial
budget
2) Refugee Facilities Administration (RFA) responsible for running refugee
camps and the integration programme for recognised refugees residing in
integration centres
B) Main NGOs assisting asylum seekers and refugees throughout the asylum
procedure and the integration process and local representatives of the UNHCR office
in Prague
71
C) Asylum seekers and recognised refugees from three national groups: Armenians,
Belarusians and Chechens
Let me now briefly describe each group of actors with regard to the selection of
interview partners, the research setting, the generation of empirical data, gaining
access and the strategy of preserving anonymity. My interviews with state, NGO and
UNHCR representatives had a similar structure: each of them had a set of general
questions followed by a set of questions covering specific topics related to the
interview partner’s position and spheres of responsibility. A general interview
guideline which I used is outlined in Appendix 1. The interviews lasted from 45
minutes to 2.5 hours. In most cases, the interview partners agreed for them to be
digitally recorded. The process of generating empirical data with asylum seekers and
refugees is described further on.
State Institutions
I conducted 29 semi-structured interviews with the representatives of DAMP and
RFA. Table 1 summarises the interviews conducted with the representatives of
DAMP and RFA. I started off by interviewing five DAMP officials in their
headquarters in Prague. They represented the following sections of the institution:
integration of recognised refugees, the asylum procedure, country of origin
information, asylum legislation and the EU and International Law section. 5
In
general, I was interested to find out about different roles of DAMP in the refugee
system, officials’ self-presentation, sources of legitimacy for their actions, relations
with other institutions of the refugee system, attitudes to NGOs and the UNHCR as
5
I conducted an internet search about the interview partners prior to each of these interviews, looking
for what statements they have made in the media, what reports they have written or in what national
and international meetings they have participated.
72
well as their views of asylum seekers and refugees as objects of their work (for
a more specific interview guideline see Appendix 2).
Table 1 Overview of DAMP and RFA Informants Interviewed, 2005-2007
Name of organisation Positions of informants Women (17) Men (12)
DAMP
(11)
Heads of sections – Prague 4 1
Asylum adjudicators and
interviewers – camps
1 5
RFA
(18)
Heads of refugee camps 2 3
Social workers 6 Receptionists
1 3
Art centre workers 2 Former
employees 1 Next,
I wanted to capture the everyday nature of DAMP’s and RFA’s work and
therefore I visited five refugee camps run by RFA where I conducted the remaining
interviews and participant observation (see Table 2). The setting of a refugee camp is
important not only for its specific functions in the refugee system and a particular
social fabric (see Chapter 6), but also because it is the only space where different
actors come together and interact with each other. While in the camps I interviewed
DAMP interviewers and adjudicators to learn more about the practice of the asylum
procedure (see interview guideline in Appendix 3). As for the RFA representatives, I
spoke to camp directors as well as to RFA workers, who were in the most intensive
daily contacts with asylum seekers such as social workers, art centre workers and
receptionists, who provide 24-hour services ranging from lending sports equipment
to dealing with medical emergencies and conflicts among the camp inhabitants.6
I
inquired about the everyday running of the camp, services provided to its inhabitants,
6
Prior to each visit to the camp, I searched for information about instances of asylum seekers’ protests
or controversies regarding the relations with the local Czech population.
73
relations between the workers and asylum seekers/refugees as well as about workers
attitudes towards NGOs operating in camps (see interview guideline in Appendix 4).
When in the camps, I was accommodated in RFA guest rooms which are part of, or
in the close vicinity of asylum seekers’/refugees’ accommodation. Thus I had almost
unlimited access to the informants at different times of the day. I could also observe
the dynamics of social life in the camps as it changed in working hours, during
evenings and over weekends when there were only few RFA workers.
Table 2 Overview of Refugee Camps Visited, 2006-2007
Type of refugee camp Length of stay
1. Reception camp Vyšní Lhoty 6 days – 2006
2. Residential camp Kostelec nad Orlicí 6 days – 2007
3. Residential camp Zbýšov u Brna 4 days – 2007
4. Residential & Integration centre Havířov 4 days – 2007
5. Integration centre Jaroměř 2 days – 2007
The semi-structured character of the interviews with state officials provided some
level of comparability of the responses but also gave room for the interviewees to
talk about their experiences in terms of their own frames of reference and to air their
current preoccupations. Thus, it made the interview process more meaningful to them
and generated rich empirical data. The most interesting responses relating to how
asylum seekers and refugees were perceived and talked about were elicited in
discussions of various dilemmas encountered while pursuing the aims of
organisations. For heads of various sections of DAMP it was mostly the tension
between the existing shape and capacities of the Czech refugee system and the
constant inflow of requirements of the EU as translated into various regulations and
74
directives that had to be transposed into the Czech asylum legislation and
implemented on the ground. As opposed to the common assumption that European
states primarily aim at reducing the entries of asylum seekers, some DAMP and RFA
representatives were rather worried about the ongoing decline in the numbers of
asylum seekers coming to the Czech Republic, which resulted in the pressure to
downsize the number of employees in their sections. For asylum adjudicators
working in the camps the key dilemma was the tension between the limited and
uncertain character of information about asylum seekers on the one hand and various
external pressures, such as political demands for a particular response to a given
group of asylum seekers, on the other. For those facilitating integration by allocating
flats to recognised refugees, their central concern was a constant shortage of
municipalities willing to make their apartments available to DAMP and what was
seen as “unrealistic” expectations of refugees towards state assistance with
accommodation. RFA representatives were, in most cases, well aware of the negative
effects of asylum seekers’ and refugees’ long-term stay in the camps. On the other
hand, they were confronted with the experience of people entering the asylum
procedure and the refugee camps for various purposes lying outside the framework
of the 1951 Geneva Convention. Thus their dilemmas were: whom are we serving in
the camps and with what consequences? Most of my interview partners both from
DAMP and RFA saw NGOs either as their unjust critics and problem-makers or as
potential subcontractors of services that the state cannot or does not want to provide.
As to the relation between DAMP and RFA, some reflected on differences with
regard to the approach to asylum seekers, who were seen as “cases to be sorted out”
by DAMP and “clients to be assisted” by RFA.
75
Despite my initial worries about potential obstacles in gaining access to informants
and camps, I experienced only a few minor limitations and in general a welcoming
and open attitude to my research. I believe that my affiliation to a British university
might have added some respectability to my research project. Although state officials
and camp workers were not always able or willing to independently reflect on their
actions, they were rather generous with time allocated to our interviews. While the
majority were willing to be named, some preferred to be described only in generic
terms by their position in the organisation. I therefore decided to adopt this method
of identification for all the interlocutors quoted in the study.
NGOs and the UNHCR
As with the state institutions, I approached NGOs7
with a number of broad questions
in mind: What do they actually do for asylum seekers and refugees and how do they
see their role in the system of reception and integration? How do they construct
refugees and asylum seekers as objects of their assistance? What are their relations
with the state and to what extent are they independent actors of civic society? (see
interview guideline in Appendix 5). I conducted thirteen semi-structured interviews
with NGO workers including mostly lawyers and social workers as well as two
interviews with former NGO employees now working in academia (see Table 3).
These interviews were carried out either in their work place or outside in cafes. The
latter location proved to be better in terms of concentration – our conversation was
not disturbed by co-workers or clients – but due to their tight schedules, it was
sometimes more suitable to carry out the interview within the organisation.
7
There are also a number of NGOs associated with Roman Catholic and Evangelic churches in the
Czech Republic that provide a wide range of social and educational services to a variety of clients
including refugees. These organisations were not the subject of this research.
76
Our interviews predominantly focused on NGOs’ activities and their capacities to
influence the refugee system, both in terms of everyday treatment of asylum seekers
and refugees and with regard to asylum and alien legislation. NGO representatives
expressed frustration and powerlessness in relation to state actors. They saw them as
dominating the legislative sphere and rarely entering into a dialogue with civic
society. A number of concerns were raised regarding the distribution of finances, be
it from the national budget or from the EU. At the moment, these resources are
controlled by the Ministries and distributed under conditions of increased
administrative burden for NGOs and pressure to collaborate rather than oppose and
criticise state actions. As for the construction of asylum seekers and refugees,
a dilemma of helping them to become more independent while avoiding sustaining
their dependency on institutional assistance was often voiced by NGO
representatives. Needless to say, NGOs are not a homogeneous group. They have
internal differences and conflicts; they compete for funding and do not always share
each others’ visions of working with refugees and collaborating with the state.
Discussion of some of these differences proved useful in shedding light on each
organisation’s self-presentation and position in the nongovernmental section of the
refugee system.
77
Table 3 Overview of NGO and UNHCR Representatives Interviewed, 2006-
2007
Name of organisation Women (14) Men (3)
Berkat 3 1
Centre for Integration of Foreigners8 1 1
Counselling Centre for Refugees 3 Organization
for Aid to Refugees 2 Society
of Citizens Assisting Migrants 1 1
UNHCR 2 Former
NGO workers now in academia 2 I
also conducted participant observation at various public events organised to present
refugees’ and migrants’ presence in the Czech Republic in a positive light, to inform
the public about NGOs’ work with these groups and thus to improve their public
image for fundraising. These took the form of cultural events consisting of music,
dance and theatre performances and tasting of food prepared by refugees and other
migrants. I was primarily interested in the kinds of refugee images and figures
presented to the public and in the level of asylum seekers’ and refugees’ involvement
in organising these events.
As for the UNHCR, two semi-structured interviews with Prague representatives
proved to be useful in gaining a “third” perspective on the operation of both state
institutions and NGOs. We discussed their present (diminishing) roles in controlling
the standards of refugee protection in the Czech Republic as well as past
developments (see interview guideline in Appendix 6).
Gaining access to NGO and UNHCR informants was relatively easy. 9
It was
facilitated by the fact that I was not a complete newcomer to the field. As mentioned
8
While the other four organisations work with both asylum seekers and recognised refugees, this
NGO only deals with recognised refugees.
78
in the introduction, I worked for the Society of Citizens Assisting Migrants for three
years prior to this research and have been publishing articles and studies on the topic
since 2004. Compared to the representatives of state institutions, the NGO and
UNHCR interview partners were more relaxed about expressing their personal views
about their organisation’s work and impacts.
While Table 3 indicates the real names of NGOs, using them when quoting from
their representatives in the text could compromise the anonymity of the workers who
wished to remain anonymous. I have therefore decided to allocate each organisation
a pseudonym in the form of a letter ranging from “A” to “E”.10
The two UNHCR
representatives did not request anonymity; I refer to them by the position they
occupy in the office.
Asylum Seekers and Refugees from Armenia, Belarus and Chechnya
Why did I choose to focus on the three different national groups? Research about
refugees is dominated by single national group studies. While such focus is
beneficial for detailed accounts of patterns of settlement, adaptation or community
building, it is less advantageous with regard to unpacking more general features of
asylum seekers’ and refugees’ relations with the institutional structures of reception
and integration. Including different national groups enables a comparison of how
different groups are constructed, based on the politics in their countries of origin,
ethnicity or religious affiliations. I included three national groups from the former
Soviet Union because it is the region that has, so far, been rarely studied as a source
of contemporary refugee flows. Yet, large numbers of its inhabitants have chosen to
9
Only one of the addressed NGOs refused to participate in the research.
10
The order of letters does not match the order of organisations listed in Table 3.
79
settle in the CEE region or “got stuck” there on their way to Western Europe, either
as immigrants or asylum seekers. In the Czech Republic, citizens of all fifteen
republics which once constituted the Soviet Union11
have been represented among
asylum seekers between 1990 and 2007. Altogether, 37,867 persons from the region
have applied for asylum (DAMP, 2008b) and they constitute 44 percent of all asylum
seekers. Also 44 percent of all asylums granted went to this group. Armenian,
Belarusian and Russian (majority Chechens) asylum seekers were the three biggest
groups of recognised refugees from the former Soviet Union and among the five
most numerous groups of recognised refugees in total.
How did I select the research participants? In order to capture people’s experiences
in the different stages of refugee reception and settlement, I included both asylum
seekers and recognised refugees in the study. It was difficult to involve those whose
asylum claim was rejected because they often leave the country or go underground.
However, I managed to contact some rejected refugees who later gained permanent
residency and settled in the country. Constructing a representative sample of asylum
seekers and refugees in the Czech Republic would be a difficult task since there are
few data available about their characteristics other than nationality, gender and age
and therefore an appropriate sampling frame is missing. Apart from the aim to
include a similar number of people from each of the three national groups, my
selection of research participants was guided by two criteria: 1) I was looking for
diversity in terms of social class, age, family situation, employment status, place of
residence in the Czech Republic and experiences of reception and settlement; 2) I
11
The former republics of the Soviet Union are: Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Estonia, Georgia,
Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Latvia, Lithuania, Moldova, Russia, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Ukraine and
Uzbekistan.
80
searched for people who were interested to share their experiences with me and from
whom I could therefore expect richer data. The latter indicates that the final group of
research participants was generated though a process of mutual selection. Such
an approach was beneficial for gaining depth and complexity of information.
How did I gain access to refugees migrants? To ensure greater heterogeneity of the
research participants, I utilised five different channels: 1) meeting them in the
refugee camps visited during fieldwork (fifteen people); 2) refreshing contacts with
people I knew based on my previous NGO work and my journalism activities (ten
people); 3) recommendations by NGO workers or getting to know people at various
events organised by NGOs (ten people); 4) recommendations by other informants
(i.e. snowball technique) (eight people) and finally 5) recommendations by other
researchers (two people). These particular points of access generated a specific group
of people who tended to have stronger connections with the institutions of the
refugee system (NGOs and refugee camps). It was only through the two latter
channels that I managed to meet people with a history of little institutional exposure.
This is another reason why my informants do not represent the larger asylum seeker
and refugee population in the country. However, this “bias” was beneficial or even
necessary for the focus of this study, which is the relationship between institutions
and their refugee “objects”. Ways of gaining access to informants are also reflected
in the slight overrepresentation of Chechen asylum seekers and refugees and the
slight underrepresentation of Armenians. The former were among the most common
asylum seekers in 2003 and 2004 and also highly represented among the few who
were granted asylum between 2005 and 2007. They were also more present in
refugee camps and more likely to seek NGO assistance during my fieldwork.
81
Armenians, on the other hand, represent an “older” and more settled group of
refugees who were not only more likely to avoid close links with refugee institutions
due to the availability of social and family networks (see more on this topic in
Chapter 3) but they were also less likely to see themselves as refugees.
To better characterise my empirical data, I divide the informants into two groups:
core and standard interlocutors. As Table 4 indicates, there were eleven core
informants (seven women and three men) representing six households with whom I
sustained long-term contact (between 1.5 and 3 years) and whom I met and
interviewed a number of times (3 to 18 times). Spending time together in their
flats/camp rooms or accompanying them in their various activities, I also conducted
participant observation and engaged in informal conversations. Six of the core
informants had university education, four completed secondary school and one had
primary education. Four resided in two small towns in the northern and south-eastern
part of the country; seven remaining participants lived in Prague. The remaining 34
interlocutors were interviewed either once or twice. The rationale for this division
was that long-term contact would provide a longitudinal perspective on how people
cope with being asylum seekers and refugees, how their position in the society
changes and how their views evolve over time. These prolonged relationships
generated more in-depth and complex narratives than one-off interviews. They also
gave me an opportunity to extend the research encounter into a more ordinary
interpersonal relationship built on mutual trust and reciprocity. For obvious reasons,
these relationships could only be maintained with a limited group of people – those
who were willing to share their experiences with me in more depth and who were
accessible for multiple meetings.
82
Table 4 Overview of the Eleven Core Informants and Their Characteristics, 2005-2007
Pseudonym Nationality Age Gender Arrived in
the CR
Residence status* Family status No. of meetings/
interviews
Period of
contact (years)
Gayane Armenian 40-50 Female 1999 Czech citizen Married – 2 children 16 2
Hasmik Armenian 18-20 Female 1999 Czech citizen Single 10 2
Katya Belarusian 20-30 Female 2003 Asylum seeker Rejected (appeal) Married – 1 child 7 1.5
Olga Belarusian 20-30 Female 2000 Recognised refugee Married – 2 children 8 2
Anna Belarusian 30-40 Female 2003 Recognised refugee Married – 3 children 7 1.5
Ilja Belarusian 30-40 Male 2001 Recognised refugee Married – 3 children 3 1.5
Salman Chechen 20-30 Male 2006 Asylum seeker Refugee Married – 2 children 9 2
Lolita Chechen 20-30 Female 2006 Asylum seeker Refugee Married – 2 children 8 2
Rustam Chechen 20-30 Male 2004 Asylum seeker Rejected (appeal) Married – 1 child 6 1.5
Kheda Chechen 30-40 Female 2004 Recognised refugee Czech citizen Married – 3 children 18 3
Aslan Chechen 30-40 Male 2004 Recognised refugee Czech citizen Married – 3 children 10 3
* “ ” indicates change of status during the period of contact.
83
In order to achieve more diversity in terms of social class, age, place of residence and
asylum experience, I have also included a larger group of “standard” informants (see
Table 5). Their age ranged from 18 to 73, they resided in ten different cities and
towns and represented of all education levels. The group comprised of people with
stable jobs, casual workers, unemployed, students and pensioners. Some of the
themes recurring in my discussions with the core informants were consequently
explored with this wider group of informants and vice versa. I was trying to confirm
whether these were experiences shared by others as well as looking for dissenting
voices. In this way, I believe that I managed to achieve both diversity and depth of
information.
Table 5 Summary of the 34 Standard Informants (1-2 Interviews), 2006-2007
Residence
status
Armenians (11)
Households: (7)
Belarusians (11)
Households (7)
Chechens (12)
Households (9)
Women (6) Men (5) Women (5) Men (6) Women (8) Men (4)
Recognised
refugees (19)
2 2 4 4 6 1
Asylum
seekers (10)
1 1 1 2 2 3
Rejected
asylum but
obtained
permanent
residency (5)
3 2 - - - The
kinds of questions asked are listed in an interview guideline in Appendix 7. This
guideline was followed both in the case of core and standard informants but in the
former case, many of the questions were debated in a more extensive way. I always
encouraged informants to go deeper into issues of greater concern and to highlight
what was important to them. Despite the fact that occasionally I might have had
84
a better idea of the official structures and procedures of the refugee system, I tried
not to act as “an expert” and continuously stressed the importance of my informants’
knowledge and experiences. I emphasized that their definitions and interpretations of
these structures were crucial for understanding how the system actually works. The
themes which I was most interested in were different aspects of asylum seekers’ and
refugees’ experience of the asylum procedure and reflections on its functioning; their
time spent in refugee camps; and relations with state institutions and NGOs. The
ambivalent roles of institutions in asylum seekers’ and refugees’ lives were best
illustrated when they described various struggles to be recognised as a refugee, to
find accommodation outside the camp, to learn the Czech language, to find
employment and to be treated as equal members of the society.
Most of the interviews and meetings with the research participants took place in their
households or their rooms in refugee camps. All interviews were carried out by me,
either in Russian, the language in which most of the informants were fluent, or in
Czech (based on participants’ preference). Most of the interviews were digitally
recorded and transcribed, together with field notes from participant observations
carried out in refugee camps, people’s households, during NGO events and on
various other occasions.
Approaching the process of reception and settlement as fundamentally gendered, I
was determined to spend equal amounts of time with both men and women, to
analyse constructions of refugees as gendered figures and scrutinise gender as a key
factor in asylum seekers’ and refugees’ interactions with institutions. Although the
gender ratio of my informants is relatively balanced with 19 men and 26 women
interviewed altogether, the actual “doing of gender” (West & Zimmerman, 1987)
85
throughout the fieldwork made my interactions with women, with a few exceptions,
more intense and unreserved than those with men. I see two possible reasons for this;
first, women were usually my entry points to asylum seekers and refugee households.
As I will discuss in more detail in Chapter 7, women of all three national groups
were more likely to be in close contact with NGOs and social workers in refugee
camps and therefore were the first ones to be recommended to me by them as
research participants. Second, when entering their households it seemed more
“comfortable” for everyone that I developed some contact with the women first.
However, it was not always possible to transfer the same kind of openness to
interviews with their husbands. The contact with five single men represented among
the informants proved to be easier in this respect. Therefore, it has to be
acknowledged from the outset that women’s views are somewhat privileged in my
account because I got to know more about them.
Thus, being a woman was one of the crucial influences on the production of
knowledge in which I have been engaged. Also my double location – being Czech
yet living and studying in the United Kingdom – impacted on how I was perceived
by my informants in at least three ways. First, as an educated Czech person with
good knowledge of the working of the refugee system and contacts to people within
various institutions of the system, I was perceived as a potential source of
information and connections. I was also often asked about the conditions of migrants
and refugees in the United Kingdom and whether it was worth trying to search for
work there. Second, despite the fact that my position in my host country, i.e. the
United Kingdom, differed in many respects from theirs, the informants sometimes
addressed me as someone who knows how it feels to be a foreigner, to live in
86
a strange environment and far away from the family. Third, the fact that I had to
leave the Czech Republic after finishing my study, which I had announced at the
outset of the research, made my departure from the field somewhat easier because it
was part and parcel of the expectations my informants had.
Due to the fact that many informants had close links with institutions of the refugee
system, namely the NGOs, I decided to pay particular attention to preserving their
anonymity. With the exception of Chapter 3, I refrained from naming asylum seekers
and refugees with pseudonyms because, if put together, bits and pieces of
information about their lives and the resonance of their voices could make them
identifiable in the “small world” of the Czech refugee system. I also decided not to
identify quotes in terms of the nationality of the speaker unless it was of particular
importance to my argument in order not to create grounds for potentially false
generalisations about the characteristics of the groups. As mentioned above, my aim
was to filter out the impacts of ethnicity and nationality rather than to dwell on the
specificities of each group because these would make problematic generalisations
due to the relatively small number of participants.
Other Sources of Data
Interviews were complemented with the study of various reports, policy documents
and statistics produced by DAMP and RFA. Besides, I studied NGO websites, annual
reports and contributions to the media. With regard to political discourses about
asylum and refugees, I analysed transcripts of parliamentary speeches in which
legislative changes in the Asylum and Alien Acts were debated.
87
Throughout the text I refer to various statistics documenting the numbers and
nationalities of asylum seekers and other migration flows. I cite recognition rate as
a measure of asylum seekers’ success in being accepted as “genuine” refugees. The
reliability of these data should not be taken for granted. In the case of the Czech
Republic, DAMP and the Alien Police – institutions whose main aim is to control
migration – are the key sources of migration and asylum statistics and they tend to be
selective in what they decide to publish. As argued by Wallace (2001a), such data
may reflect administrative priorities more than actual migration (p. 38). The same
applies to ministerial policy reports where these statistics are interpreted and put into
the context of policies. Apthorpe (1997) reminds us that the language of policy
functions as an exercise of power; “often the primary aim of policy language is to
persuade rather than inform” (p. 43). Indeed, migration and asylum statistics are
presented in a way which tends to legitimize past and new policy measures.
Therefore, my approach to them is that of critical scrutiny rather than accepting them
at face value.
My own fieldnotes represented another important source of data. I recorded my
observations, thoughts and feelings after each meeting and interview and after
attending NGO events. Not only were these notes a means of preliminary analysis of
the data and a way of making connections between different observations, they also
guided my next steps in generating empirical material.
Data Analysis
Rather than leaving the transcription of the interviews till the end of the fieldwork, I
tried to transcribe all the interviews as soon as possible. Due to time constrains, some
88
of the interviews carried out in Czech were transcribed with paid assistance of a local
anthropology student. This practice of ongoing transcribing proved very valuable.
Transcribing or reviewing the transcripts proved to be a good opportunity to reflect
on the data, look for emerging patterns and regularities and produce first analytical
and conceptual memos. Thus, the analysis of data was not a distinct stage of the
research but rather an ongoing endeavour.
Once fieldwork was finished, all the interviews transcribed and fieldnotes typed, I
read them a number of times and tried to come up with a set of descriptive as well as
analytical codes indicating key themes, views and patterns related to my broader
research questions. Next, I coded the texts by using the Atlas.ti software. To avoid
an abundance of codes, I divided the data into three groups: state, NGOs & UNHCR
and refugee migrants. Each of the groups was coded separately.
The process of coding helped me to look for recurrent themes in the data and enabled
me to quickly bring together and compare views and experiences of different
informants. However, to maintain a holistic account of individuals’ narratives, I
found it important not to see the data as fragmented into attached categories but
rather as situated testimonies. Therefore, I reread unmarked transcripts as a whole
time and again in different stages of the analysis and related them both to my
emerging analytical framework and to the relevant literature. As I progressed with
analysing and writing, I kept finding new aspects and relations in the data.
Language and Translations
The question of language and translation requires a note of its own. In this text, I
figure both as a researcher and a multiple translator. At a more general level, the
89
research itself could be seen as a translation of different people’s strategic actions
and experiences into a coherent academic narrative (Temple, 1997, p. 612). When
translating the words of my informants from Czech or Russian to English I aimed at
capturing what I considered as closest to the respondent expressions rather than
insisting on the literal meaning of the words used. Russian played a special role
throughout the research process. For many years, it has been the prime language used
among asylum seekers in refugee camps and elsewhere. The legacy of the Soviet
education system allows people from diverse countries like Chechnya, Armenia,
Georgia, Belarus, Kazakhstan or Ukraine to communicate with each other without
major problems. For Chechens and Armenians, whose languages are highly specific
and not akin to the Slavic family of languages, their knowledge of Russian was
particularly important as a facilitator when communicating with others and when
learning Czech.12
With the exception of my Belarusian informants, many of whom
adopted Russian as their primary language, interviews in Russian meant that we were
both using a second language. This helped to equalise the communication.
However, there is more to translation in the research process than moving between
different languages. For me, it was also about moving between groups of actors who
employed language in a very different way. For example, government officials often
adopted the language of laws and policies to avoid formulating and disclosing more
personal views. They spoke about how things should be, according to the rules set
out by them, rather than how they actually were. Also NGO workers often described
their actions in the language of policies which they have adopted when writing up
grant applications and annual reports. Terms like “labour market integration”, “self-
12
Both Belarusian and Czech are Slavic languages.
90
sufficiency” (versus dependency) or “community” were rarely discussed or
problematized by them. Asylum seekers and refugees also operated with a distinctive
terminology when describing their journey through the asylum procedure. According
to Tollarová (2008), numerous neologisms used by refugees reflect their lack of
information and orientation in the legal procedure and their widespread use points to
the fact that people’s information sources are other refugees and migrants rather than
official structures of the refugee system (pp. 99-100). Throughout the fieldwork, I
encountered terms like “first” and “second negative”, which indicated rejections in
different stages of the asylum procedure, or “yellow passport” that referred to
subsidiary protection.13
Many asylum seekers rarely mentioned the word “asylum”
but rather used the term “positive” or “passport” as a desired outcome of their
application. In the course of the research process I found myself “translating”
between these languages when making sense of people’s narratives and when
attempting to mediate the views and experiences of one group of actors to another.
The Use of Policy Terminology
Black (2001) warns us that by conveying academic respectability to the term
“refugee” in scholarly literature, one contributes to the false perception of the
naturalness of the category (p. 63). The language used to categorise foreigners and
locate them in society is neither neutral nor apolitical. With regard to those seeking
protection abroad, it has been widely documented that in Europe and elsewhere the
term “asylum seeker” has become increasingly associated with costs and burdens on
13
Subsidiary protection is a measure of protection that was implemented in the Czech legislation in
2006 based on an EU directive. It describes a temporary residence permit that is granted to those who
are not identified as refugees yet cannot be returned back to their countries of origin due to various
insecurities. As opposed to those who are granted asylum, subsidiary protection implies lesser support
and does not provide permanent residence.
91
the part of receiving states and with abuse and fraud on the part of those seeking
protection. This association has pushed aside the right for protection and assistance,
let alone the international human rights obligations of receiving countries lying at the
heart of the international refugee system (e.g. Nicholson & Twomey, 1999). When
studying the conditions of people labelled as asylum seekers and refugees, the field
of inquiry is inevitably constructed by policy (Schmidt, 2007). Thus, one must be
particularly cautious about adopting the policy language without critical reflection
because it can have a normalising effect and inadvertently collude with forces of
exclusion and criminalisation. On the other hand, inventing new “unladen” terms
may lead to confusion. My approach here is to treat bureaucratic categories as sites
of exploration; they gain a life of their own as people try to fit into them, expand or
subvert them by their strategic actions. Below I wish to clarify my use of some of the
key politicised terms in this study.
I use the term asylum seeker for all those who arrived at the borders of the Czech
Republic or made themselves visible on its territory and claimed to be in need of
protection. Asylum seeker is a narrower category than a refugee because people
within this category have not yet been recognised or rejected as such. Their status is
defined by waiting, examination and uncertainty. When writing about refugees, I
refer to those who have been granted asylum through the administrative process of
the asylum procedure. Their refugee status implies that they receive permanent
residence permit and access to the State Integration Programme which assists them
with learning the Czech language, finding employment and accommodation outside
the camps. Thus, in line with the official asylum discourse, I see asylum seekers and
refugees as those who conform to legal requirements of the statuses. To bring the two
92
groups of people together in the analysis, I use the term refugee migrants. This
indicates that although both groups go through the asylum procedure, some will be
rejected and treated as migrants to whom the state has no protection responsibilities.
Many of those rejected asylum seekers will then move to the category of illegalised
persons. I deliberately use this expression rather than more common terms such as
illegal, undocumented or irregular migrants in order to stress the process of legal
production of migrant “illegality” and the creation of the conditions of deportability
(De Genova, 2002).
Finally, the notion of a refugee camp that I use in the text requires some
qualification. I remember being corrected at times by colleagues at academic
conferences saying that in the European context we do not speak about camps,
because these are located in developing countries where they house thousands of
people for extended periods of time, often in harsh living conditions. In Europe, I
was told, we have reception or accommodation centres. Indeed, this is also the
language currently used in legal and policy documents both at the national14
and the
EU level. For example, the Council Directive laying down minimum standards for
the reception of asylum seekers15
defines an accommodation centre as “any place
used for collective housing of asylum seekers”. I see two main reasons for not
adopting the language of policies and legal documents.
14
Interestingly, the first Refugee Act of the Czech Republic from 1990 used the term “refugee camp”.
As the legislation became more complex and also integrated into the EU structure this wording
disappeared, and in the new Asylum Act from 1999 it was substituted by “asylum facility”,
“reception”, “accommodation” and “integration centre”.
15
2003/9/EC of 27 January 2003
93
First, the use of the term “refugee camp”16
corresponds with the everyday discourses
of refugee migrants, some lower-rank camp employees, NGO workers and the
general public. It is an expression that is comprehensible to almost anyone, although
different actors think about the institution and its function differently. The camp
(lager) as a particular social and material space and “camp life” (lagernaya zhyzn’)
as a particular stage of the asylum procedure figured prominently in the narratives of
my informants. It was often modified to refer to various aspects of their experiences.
For example, some younger informants compared their stay in the reception camp to
“summer camps” where they used to go as children and meet their peers from all
around the Soviet Union. Indeed the main reception camp in the Czech Republic –
Vyšní Lhoty – is located in the mountainous area of Northern Moravia and it
encompasses a volleyball court, a football pitch, children’s playground, kindergarten,
art centre, woodcarving workshop and library. Those who enter the centre for the
first time are often still hopeful that their asylum claims will soon be recognised and
that this temporary confinement is a necessary and short-term measure towards
a better life. Others, especially in times of depression and disillusionment in the later
stages of the asylum procedure, likened their experiences to those in “concentration
camps”. While this is obviously an exaggerated comparison, it reflects the level of
frustration accumulated during the stay in the camp, feelings of degradation and
a sense of being stripped of former identities and reduced to a camp inhabitant.
Finally, some younger asylum seekers, mostly men, likened refugee camps to
“criminal camps”, referring to illicit activities that were taking place there and the
kinds of underworld social networks being established.
16
In Czech it is uprchlický tábor and in Russian lager dla bezhencev.
94
Second, by strictly differentiating between “refugee camps” in the developing world
and “accommodation centres” in Europe one risks casting the “refugee problem” and
practices of mass encampment as a “Third World phenomenon” that has no place in
the developed and “civilised” world. As a consequence, the commonalities that these
technologies of managing mass displacement (Malkki, 1995b) and confining
undesired foreigners have – despite vast difference in scale and material conditions –
can easily be overlooked. Besides, it should not be forgotten that the origins of “a
refugee camp” are rooted in European history. As Malkki (1995b) describes, refugee
camps emerged during and in the aftermath of World War II as “a standardized,
generalizable technology of power” that made it possible to expose groups of people
to medical and hygienic programmes and quarantining, perpetual screening and the
accumulation of documentation (p. 498); in other words, refugee camps became
institutionalised as practices of care and control. Since today’s refugee camps in
Europe still fulfil most of these functions, I consider it appropriate to keep using the
term.
Research Ethics
In this section I will discuss how relationships with research participants were
enmeshed in ethical considerations. The choices made in the research process are
also that of clarifying and maintaining standards of ethical conduct and considering
the possible effects of our involvement in people’s lives. My decisions have been
guided by the Statement of Ethical Practice of the British Sociological Association
and, at a later stage, I have also consulted the Ethical Guidelines for Good Research
Practice of the Refugee Studies Centre published in Refugee Survey Quarterly in
95
2007 (Refugee Studies Centre, 2007). Moreover, the proposal for this research was
subject to the ethical scrutiny of the University of Warwick.
I have already referred to the question of guaranteeing confidentiality to most of the
research participants. I decided to take special care to preserve refugee migrants’
anonymity because the sphere of refugee issues in the Czech Republic consists of
people who know each other. Therefore, some refugee migrants who have had closer
relations with NGOs could be identified even based on generic identifications such
as gender, ethnicity or age should the pieces of their narratives be put together.
However, the issue of privacy in refugee or migration context is a more complex one.
By approaching people as strategic actors and revealing some of their individual
strategies to access rights in a restrictive environment of migration control one risks
servicing the agents of surveillance and providing them with “ammunition” to fight
these “subversive actions”. Rather than revealing migrants’ actions for the sake of
showing them (De Genova, 2002), my aim was to situate them in the context in
which they were seen as the only possible way to go.
Below, I address two issues that emerged as most salient throughout the research:
securing informed consent and relations of power and reciprocity in the research
process.
Informed Consent
I have not sought written consent from the research participants. In the case of more
formal one-off interviews with state, NGO and UNHCR representatives, their
willingness to be interviewed served as a sufficient expression of consent. To obtain
permission for my visits to refugee camps, I was always asked by RFA to provide
96
an outline of my schedule there and a rationale for the research. I spent more time
introducing myself and explaining the nature of the research to standard refugee
migrant informants and then I asked for verbal agreement. This seemed more
appropriate than a written consent because, at the same time, I guaranteed their
confidentiality. It could be easily misinterpreted if I would subsequently hand out the
form and ask for their signature.
With regard to the core informants whom I met for a number of times, I was aware
that obtaining consent could not be seen as a once-and-for-all question to be sorted
out at the beginning of the contact. During periods of prolonged fieldwork research
participants can easily forget that they are being studied (BSA, 2004, p. 3).
Therefore, I saw their consent as a process and a subject to ongoing renegotiation.
Referring specifically to research among refugees, Mackenzie et al. (2007) write
about the difficulties of constructing an ethical consent process and obtaining
genuinely informed consent. One of the key obstacles they identify is refugees’
mistrust of the motives and independence of a researcher and a worry about how any
information they provide will be used. Moreover, participants may have unrealistic
expectations of the benefits of the research, believing that researchers can have the
power to influence legal or resettlement processes (Mackenzie et al., 2007, p. 303).
To mitigate these risks, the authors advocate an iterative model of consent arguing
that:
ethical agreements can best be secured through a process of negotiation, which
aims to develop a shared understanding of what is involved at all stages of the
research process. (p. 307)
Even though my approach might not have been as thorough as suggested above, I
carefully explained the nature of the research and my expectations from the
97
participants as well as their freedom to withdraw from the process any time they
wished. As our relations became more informal, I would occasionally remind them
that apart from being a friend or a good listener, I was also in a position of
a researcher. I did this by rephrasing some of the information they shared with me in
the form of a more general observation which could appear in my study. I would also
sometimes present them with my interpretations of their (or others’) experiences and
ask what they thought about them. This technique proved useful and some of these
discussions also generated particularly interesting data.
Power and Reciprocity in Research Relationships
I agree with Bommes and Morawska (2005) that the recognition of researchers’
“‘creative’ impact” on the investigated subjects has the capacity to enhance scholarly
work by “making it more trustworthy and [...] more amenable to accurate
interdisciplinary ‘translations’” (p. 4). The research methods used in this study call
for continuous reflection on the character of power relations with the research
subjects. Feminist debates about qualitative methodologies provide some guidance
about how to grapple with these issues (e.g. Stacey, 1988; Wolf, 1996b). Stacey
(1988) emphasised that despite its many advantages and particular suitability for
feminist research, an ethnographic research process based on close human
relationships places research subjects at risk of being manipulated and betrayed by
the ethnographer. The potential for the exploitation of power disparities is especially
pertinent with regard to studying groups that are considered underprivileged,
marginalised or have lesser rights in society. Asylum seekers and refugees are one
such group and a number of researchers have called for more participatory and
reciprocal methods of researching them and “with them” (Dona, 2007; Huisman,
98
2008; Temple & Moran, 2006). Others stress that the danger of exploitation and
power abuse should not be exaggerated because it strengthens the construction of
refugees as powerless victims (Lammers, 2007; Uehling, 1998). It is therefore
necessary to reflect on the structural inequalities and the kinds of positionalities they
produce and to ask how they can be mitigated rather than reinforced through the
research process.
The issue of reciprocity figured prominently in my research. Tazreiter (2004)
describes how the asylum procedure compels people to make their intimate worlds
public:
A person seeking protection must in a sense lay bare a personal history in
a public confessional: first in a formal legal process, and less directly in various
public settings such as NGO forums held to facilitate public awareness and to
gather support, or in media interviews. (p. 214)
Researchers are just another category of investigators who seek access to these
personal histories. Refugees are often described as a group that has no voice in the
public sphere. However, I find it very problematic when researchers adopt a view
that when researching refugees they are “helping them” by the very act of being
interested in their stories and “making their voices heard”. Because of their close
links with NGOs and their visibility and accessibility in refugee camps, some of my
informants had previous experiences of being interviewed by the media or taking
part in various research projects, mostly carried out by students. Many of these
experiences were described as a disappointment. Refugee migrants felt they were
being used with no benefit and they had no control over how their information was
utilised (see also Mackenzie et al., 2007).
99
Therefore, my concern was not to make the interlocutors feel that I take their
agreement to share their experiences with me for granted. In the case of one-off
encounters, I usually offered some form of material compensation for the interview
time.17
In the case of the core participants, I made it clear from the beginning that I
was ready to “give back” the same amount of time that they spent talking to me in
whatever form of assistance they chose. This offer was not always utilised, but after
some time I was occasionally asked for little favours such as finding specific
information, providing a piece of advice, translating or lending money. I was aware
that giving can exacerbate inequalities if the informants see themselves constantly on
the receiving end. Therefore, I took efforts to explain that these were not unilateral
acts of help and stressed what are the actual and potential benefits I gained by doing
the study, which would have been impossible without their participation. For
example, I told my informants about my conference presentations where I quoted
from their narratives in front of international audiences and about the stipend I was
receiving to carry out this project. I also continuously discussed with them my
general observations and arguments as they developed in the course of the research.
Although more could have been done to increase their active participation in the
research, my experience of building relationships based on reciprocity concurs with
Lammers’ (2007) observation that readiness to enter into a personal relationship
based on sharing and giving is a necessary precondition for the generation of trust
and thus also for an open conversation (p. 77). I also plan to go back to the core
informants, discuss some of the arguments of the thesis with them and think about
17
For example, I copied a book of Chechen fairytales and gave it to Chechen families, most of whom
had small children and were worried about them losing the command of the Chechen language. To
others, I brought other small gifts and occasionally assisted with search for information or contacts.
100
their implications and possible benefits for asylum seekers and refugees more
generally. I will ask them to highlight those issues which should, in their view, be
communicated to state institutions and NGOs.
The question of reciprocity also resonated in my encounters with state officials and
NGO representatives. With regard to the former, I was asked to provide the general
results of my study. Rather than simply sending in the dissertation (in English) which
would likely not be read, I will offer DAMP and RFA a personal presentation of the
findings. For that purpose, I will try to translate and select those observations and
arguments that could be of a practical relevance to their work.
NGO workers not only reserved their time for our interview but they also helped me
to establish contacts with some of the asylum seekers and refugees. When
formulating some of the critical arguments about their role in the refugee system
(especially in Chapter 7), I was well aware that this might be interpreted as
ingratitude or even betrayal. It is rarely mentioned that by depending on NGOs as
mediators to informants, researchers risk placing themselves under a pressure not to
critically scrutinise their operation. My way out of this dilemma is to organise
a meeting for those who will be interested in the results of my study and to phrase the
criticisms in the most constructive way possible and be available for their reactions.
In this way, I hope to initiate a discussion about the questions of refugee active
involvement in NGO work, their representation, and some of the unintended
consequences of “helping”. Due to time constraints these meetings could not be
accomplished prior to submission of this dissertation but will be pursued shortly
after.
101
Conclusions
As this chapter aimed to demonstrate, the analysis presented in this study is a product
of an interdisciplinary and multi-layered research process. It involves different
groups of research participants and multiple sources of data. I tried to demonstrate
that the empirical data generated for this study were not treated as neutral or
transparent representations of the reality; rather I see them as produced socially
(Hammersley & Atkinson, 1995).
Research into refugee situations is inevitably framed by policy discourses and
considerations. Rather than taking them as a given framework, this study treats them
as objects of scrutiny. Such an approach requires reflexivity about seemingly
objective sources of data such as statistics and policy reports as well as conscious use
of language that has been appropriated by policymakers.
A number of ethical questions emerge from research among refugee migrants as well
as when “studying-up” more powerful players in the refugee system. Apart from the
“standard” theme of confidentiality and consent, I highlighted the question of
reciprocity as a crucial aspect of building a research relationship based on trust and
mutuality. As I demonstrated above, this can have different implications for different
groups studied. However, there is one ethical duty that applies across these
differences: feeding back the findings of research to participants in a meaningful
way. Therefore, I have recognised that my responsibilities to research participants
have not ended with the fieldwork and I have outlined how I plan to communicate
the research results back to them.
102
Chapter 3: Former Soviet Citizens Seeking Asylum in
Central and Eastern Europe
Introduction
Having described the theoretical framework and methodological strategy of this
study I now turn to its geopolitical location, i.e. the CEE region, and discuss it as
a space of immigration and asylum. To do so, I bring together debates about the
development of European asylum policies, statistical accounts of refugee movements
and the perspectives of asylum seekers from the former Soviet Union. The first
section looks at the process of harmonisation of CEE asylum and migration policies
with the EU approach and the subsequent impacts of EU accession on the four CEE
countries: Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland and Slovakia. The second section takes
a different perspective and examines the forces of displacement and migration routes
of three selected groups of asylum seekers and refugees: Armenians, Belarusians and
Chechens in the Czech Republic. It is through their life stories that the differences
within and between the groups are best examined. The last section introduces the
complex institutional structure of the Czech refugee system and the asylum
procedure thus providing essential background information for the analysis to come.
Central and Eastern Europe as a Region of Asylum and
Immigration
A brief look at the map of Europe (see Picture 1) shows that the four Central
European countries that used to be part of the Eastern Bloc, Poland, Czech Republic,
Slovakia and Hungary, constitute a dividing line between the geopolitical West and
103
East of Europe.18
When considered as a whole, the region has a 2,958 km long
border with the East and South European states of Belarus, Ukraine, Romania, Serbia
and Croatia and a 2,200 km long border with the Western European countries of
Germany and Austria. The Czech Republic occupies a specific geographical position
because it does not have borders with any Eastern European states while it covers
over half the western border.19
Its geographical location makes it the most likely
transit area for those moving East to West. To enter the Czech Republic, most
migrants from the East have been coming through a relatively porous border with
Slovakia, established as an international border after the division of Czechoslovakia
in 1993. Poland, with its long border with Ukraine and Belarus, represents the most
likely entry point for migrants and refugees from the countries of the former Soviet
Union. Hungary was the key destination for migrants and refugees from Romania –
mostly ethnic Hungarians – and from the former Yugoslavia during the wars in the
early 1990s.
18
I refer to the situation after the reunification of Germany in 1990.
19
A 466 km long border with Austria and an 810 km long border with Germany.
104
Picture 1 Map of Central and Eastern Europe
Source: Adapted from http://geology.com/world/europe-physical-map.shtml
A large increase in refugee movements in the region in the early 1990s has been
discussed widely in the literature (Fullerton, Sik, & Tóth, 1995; Joly, 1996;
Vachudová, 2000) and are attributable to a number of interconnected factors. First,
after the end of the Cold War, border controls were relaxed (exit visas were
abolished and restrictions on issuing passports removed) and opportunities to migrate
increased dramatically in the countries of the former Eastern Bloc. Besides, on their
way towards a market economy, a number of countries experienced economic and
political crises and substantial sections of the population plunged into poverty and
insecurity. Second, violent aftermath of the political changes displaced large
numbers of people, most notably from former Yugoslavia and different parts of the
105
former Soviet Union. Third, the dire economic situation combined with political
instability often heightened discrimination and repression of various minorities
(national, ethnic, religious) and compelled them to make use of the increased
freedom of movement and seek protection elsewhere. With the end of the Cold War,
these incomers from the East have lost their political appeal and have become
increasingly seen as an unwanted burden in Western Europe.
The process of European integration started soon after the regime changes in the
region and dominated most of its policy developments in the area of migration and
asylum influence. The next two sections look at this process in more detail.
Heading Towards the European Union: Asylum and the Harmonisation Process in
Central and Eastern Europe
When CEE countries set off to join the EU in the early 1990s, immigration and
asylum were no longer “strictly the preserve of the national state” (Overbeek, 1995,
p. 30). The intensification of cooperation among members of the Organisation for
Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and member states of the Council
of Europe started in the mid-1980s (Overbeek, 1995), but it took until the late 1990s
for questions of free movement, immigration and asylum to become central to the
“European project” and so shape much of the preparations for its enlargement.
Following the 1997 Amsterdam Treaty (in force since May 1999),20
asylum and
immigration were moved from the intergovernmental “third pillar” to the “first
pillar” where EU institutions play a larger role. In a subsequent meeting of the
European Council held in Tampere a first set of binding laws establishing minimum
standards were agreed, together with the aim of establishing CEAS (ECRE, 2005d).
20
Treaty of Amsterdam, Official Journal C 340 of 10 November 1997.
106
Since then, the EU has been operating as a supranational bloc, jointly working to
control mobility of migrants and asylum seekers within and beyond their territorial
borders (Leitner, 1997, p. 124).
How were the capacities to provide international protection in CEE influenced by the
process of European integration? While the promise of EU accession pushed CEE
countries to adopt asylum legislative measures in line with international law and to
gradually improve its reception conditions (Grabbe, 2006) a less promising side of
harmonisation has included adherence to the lowest possible standards. This feature
lies in the adoption of restrictive measures limiting access to asylum and not doing
enough to secure fair and efficient standards of asylum procedure or to improve
conditions for refugee integration. The unilateral incorporation of CEE countries into
mechanisms of “burden sharing” has been particularly criticised. Soon after 1991,
a number of readmission agreements21
were concluded between Western European
states and CEE countries. This led to the creation of “a series of ‘nets’ to catch and
send back illegal migrants” (Stola, 2001, p. 91). According to many, the international
readmission system has become the basis for CEE’s role as a buffer zone (Boer,
1995; Guiraudon, 2004; Stola, 2001; Wallace et al., 1996). Moreover, the
introduction of the so called “safe third country” rule, which was implemented in all
CEE countries by the end of the 1990s, allowed for the return of asylum seekers to
a country they crossed prior to entering the state where they applied for asylum – if it
was considered to be “generally safe”. All CEE countries were considered as safe
even though there was not sufficient assurance that asylum seekers’ claims would be
21
These intergovernmental agreements allow for those migrants caught crossing the border
undocumented (or captured within the country after crossing the border in such a way) to be sent back
to the last country through which they came.
107
adequately decided there. Because CEE countries also concluded readmission
agreements with their eastern neighbours, immigrants and asylum seekers could be,
in some cases, moved even further east to more precarious conditions. Lavenex
(1998) has called this a practice of “passing the buck”. In other words, she argues
that the aim of this policy was not to share the responsibility for asylum seekers but
rather to shift it away. She summarised the result of EU-CEE cooperation in the
following terms:
The aim of co-operation in refugee matters has not been to establish a common
European asylum system, but to reduce immigration pressure and to
compensate for the perceived losses of internal security in the wake of the full
freedom of movement inside the Union. (2001a, p. 868)
In the meantime, a number of other measures to prevent the entry of asylum seekers
and other groups of immigrants have been introduced in CEE, in line with EU
developments of the 1990s and early 2000s. These have included: introduction of
visas for a number of countries from which refugees originated, carrier sanctions,22
improved border surveillance and increasing use of detention (Hughes & Liebaut,
1998). Thus, the impact of EU integration on the capacities of CEE countries to offer
protection to refugees has been rather ambivalent, as summarised by Levy (1999):
Candidates for membership in the EU are receiving a crash course in the
ambiguities of European and global asylum policy through their signing of the
Geneva Convention of 1951 and the human rights legislation of the Council of
Europe while concurrently integrating the acquis communautaire of the
European Union which may threaten their recent adherence to these solemn
commitments. (p. 18)
But how were these policy changes negotiated between the prospective CEE
members and the “old” EU Member States? While Geddes (2003) argues that asylum
22
Under this provision, carriers which transport a passenger who does not have a proper passport or
authorization to enter the country have to pay a fine, and also have to assume responsibility for
accommodation, repatriation and other related costs (AI, 1997, p. 1).
108
policy in CEE has arisen almost entirely as a result of the requirements of EU
accession and that EU policy models dominate, Grabbe (2006) provides a more
nuanced view. She emphasises that the EU often set only broad parameters for its
asylum and immigration agendas and that rather than directly specifying a policy
model or institutional solution, issues and problem areas were called to CEE
policymakers’ attention (p. 185). Her analysis encourages more attention to
interactions between policy formations at a national level and the EU or
intergovernmental negotiations.
When discussing the process of harmonisation it is important to acknowledge the
parameters of this context from the perspective of CEE countries. What stakes did
they have in negotiating their migration and asylum policies with the “old” Member
States and bringing them to EU standards? First, the EU framework was filling in the
lacunae in the sphere of migration and asylum policies and institutions,
underdeveloped prior to 1989 (Grabbe, 2006). Inexperience and uncertainty was
matched with determination to avoid the negative externalities of increasingly
restrictive Western policies (Lavenex, 2002, p. 717). Importantly, policy transfers in
the areas of border control and migration and asylum policies were accompanied by
financial transfers from the “old” Member States.23
Second, harmonisation with the
immigration and asylum policies of EU Member States was discussed in the context
of a promise of unrestricted access of CEE nationals to the EU territory. At that
time the freedom of movement was seen as an immediate positive result of the
political change and thus of great political importance to CEE transition
23
For example, in the case of the German – Czech agreement, 60 million Deutschmarks was
transferred to improve the country’s ability to “fight against illegal immigration” (Lavenex, 1998, pp.
133-140).
109
governments. Third, the prospect of EU membership had a symbolic and persuasive
value for CEE policymakers – both convincing them to adopt the changes and
helping them to convince politicians and the general public that they are legitimate
and necessary. As I will demonstrate in Chapter 4, the EU framework has proven to
be a useful tool of persuasion and silencing (especially with regard to NGO
opposition) even when rather indigenous changes in asylum and migration legislation
were made.
While asylum has had a rather low political profile in CEE, visa policies turned out
to be a more contentious area where CEE countries resisted imposition of the EU
agenda (Grabbe, 2006). EU Member States demanded that CEE countries comply
with common visa policies, especially with regard to Eastern Europeans such as
Russian and Ukrainian citizens. But in CEE a visa regime with its eastern (noncandidate)
neighbours was seen as potentially breaking vital socio-economic and
political ties (Grabbe, 2006). While the Czech Republic and Slovakia started
requiring visas from Russians and Ukrainians in 2000, Hungary and Poland resisted
the EU’s demands for visa restrictions, and imposed such requirements only shortly
before accession in 2003 (Grabbe, 2006, p. 168).
After the Accession: What Were the Impacts on Asylum Policies in Central and
Eastern Europe?
What did joining the EU bring to the CEE region in the area of refugee protection?
As of May 2004, the provisions on asylum that stemmed from the Amsterdam Treaty
became directly applicable in CEE. These were:
110
a) Dublin II Regulation24
established criteria and mechanisms for determining
which Member State is responsible for considering an application for asylum
submitted by a national of a third country in one of the Member States;
b) Reception Conditions Directive25
defined minimum standards of the
reception of asylum seekers in Member States;
c) Qualification Directive26
set minimum standards with respect to the
qualification of nationals of third countries as refugees;
d) Asylum Procedures Directive27
specified minimum standards on procedures
in Member States for granting or withdrawing refugee status.
Besides, the Treaty also outlined the establishment of minimum standards for giving
temporary protection to displaced persons who cannot return to their country of
origin, which was later formulated into the Temporary Protection Directive.28
While the Dublin II Regulation applied to CEE countries from the first day of their
membership, each of the directives set a deadline for its incorporation in national
legislation. The main areas of regulation covered by the directives concern the
following: decision-making procedure to launch, extend or end temporary protection
and conditions of stay of displaced persons including access to the normal asylum
procedure; provision of housing, education and health for asylum seekers awaiting
their decision; introduction of subsidiary protection for those who are seen as falling
outside the scope of the 1951 Geneva Convention but nevertheless still in need of
international protection (for example victims of war); access to legal aid during the
asylum procedure and the conditions of effective judicial scrutiny of asylum
decisions. The deadline for the implementation of the directives was December 2007.
However, it is already clear that a number of Member States, including some CEE
24
Council Regulation (EC) No 343/2003 of 18 February 2003
25
Council Directive 2003/9/EC of 27 January 2003
26
Council Directive 2004/83/EC of 29 April 2004
27
Council Directive 2005/85/EC of 1 December 2005
28
Council Directive 2001/55/EC of 20 July 2001 on minimum standards for giving temporary
protection in the event of a mass influx of displaced persons
111
countries, have not transposed even the earlier directives in time.29
This uneven
development, together with persisting differences in conditions for asylum seekers in
the EU Member States (e.g. Pro Asyl e.V., 2005), indicates that completing the
construction of the CEAS by 2010 – as set in the Hague Programme of 2004 –
remains a challenge.30
As indicated above, the most immediate effect of EU accession in CEE – both for
asylum seekers and policymakers – was the implementation of the Dublin II
Regulation in 2004. It was designed as a mechanism for allocating responsibility to
process an asylum claim to a single Member State. The underlying (albeit erroneous)
presumption behind the Regulation is that an asylum seeker will receive equivalent
access to protection in whichever Member State a claim is lodged. The state is
identified as responsible for examining an asylum application (in order of priority):
1) when it hosts an asylum seeker’s close family member who was recognised as
a refugee or whose application for asylum is being examined; 2) when it has
previously provided the applicant with a residence permit or a visa; or 3) when the
applicant enters the territory of a Member State waiving the visa requirement (ECRE,
2007c, p. 11). In practice, the Regulation applies as follows: if state A arrives at the
conclusion that state B is responsible for the claim, it will send a request to the latter
to take charge of or to take back the asylum seeker. If, after considering the request,
state B agrees to take over responsibility, the asylum seeker will be transferred there.
29
For example, a year after the deadline for transposition of the Qualification Directive expired,
UNHCR (2007) reported that thirteen Members States (among them Hungary and Poland) have not
finished its legislative implementation (p. 21).
30
In July 2007 the European Commission adopted The Green Paper on the future Common European
Asylum System. It was designed as a starting point for a consultation process with a number of
institutional actors including both governments and NGOs on what form the next stage of the CEAS
construction should take.
112
Time limits are set for all these proceedings. However, each Member State may
decide to examine the application even if, under the above criteria listed, it is not its
responsibility (ECRE, 2007c, p. 11). Broadly speaking, the Regulation has three
aims: 1) ensuring that every asylum claim within the EU is examined; 2) preventing
multiple asylum claims within the EU; and 3) preventing secondary movements of
asylum seekers within the EU. Thus, it imposes a “one-chance-only” principle and
significantly limits refugees’ ability to choose a destination according to their own
preference.
The assumption about the equal treatment of asylum seekers across the EU is false
because the implementation of the Regulation took place in the context of highly
diversified asylum regimes and integration capacities for recognised refugees both
within the “old” Member States and within CEE (see ECRE, 2005b; Pro Asyl e.V.,
2005). Accompanied with restrictions on the movement of asylum seekers within the
EU, these discrepancies result into what has been dubbed a “protection lottery”
(ECRE, 2005a, p. 6). In other words, the outcome of one’s asylum application
largely depends on the country in which it happens to be processed.
When looking at the numbers of people who were actually transferred under the
Dublin II Regulation to or from CEE in the first six months of 2005 (see Figure 2), it
seems clear that there has been significant diversification among the countries:
Poland and Slovakia have been the largest receivers of Dublin cases while the Czech
Republic was the only country that sent away more people than it received. As
indicated by the report of the Czech Ministry of Interior (MI), the majority of asylum
seekers sent from the Czech Republic were Russian nationals (mostly Chechens) and
they were sent to Poland and Slovakia (MI, 2006, p. 85). Although there are not
113
enough data available to see whether this is going to be a long term trend, it could be
an indication of moving the “buffer zone” towards the eastern border of the EU
through which the majority of asylum seekers have been coming since the early
2000s.
Figure 2 Asylum Seekers Transferred to and from Central and Eastern Europe
under the Dublin II Regulation, January - July 2005
Source: Based on data from UNHCR (2006a, pp. 71-72)
In practical terms it means that an ongoing decrease of asylum applications in the
Czech Republic and some Western European countries can be at the expense of
overburdening the Polish asylum system.31
For an overview of numbers of asylum
seekers in CEE between 1990 and 2007 see Figure 3. Thus, rather than sharing
responsibilities, the impact of the Dublin II Regulation seems to be their shifting
towards the outer borders of the EU. Moreover, a report of the application of the
31
For example, at the beginning of January 2005, 3,132 asylum seekers were living in fourteen
facilities in Poland which, according to UNHCR, were designed to hold only around 2,750 people
(Esser & Gladysch, 2005, pp. 13-14).
66
284
850
70
291
5
63
6
0
100
200
300
400
500
600
700
800
900
1000
Czech Republic Slovakia Poland Hungary
Incoming transfer Outgoing transfer
114
Dublin II Regulation in 20 Member States published by the European Council of
Refugees and Exiles (ECRE) demonstrates that the Regulation acts as an incentive
for states to increasingly use detention when securing the transfer of the so called
“Dublin cases” (ECRE, 2007c, p. 169). From the point of view of asylum seekers
this indicates that they are getting stuck at the margins of the EU. Since most Russian
nationals who are being transferred to and from CEE under the Dublin II Regulation
are from Chechnya, they represent the group that has been most severely affected by
its application in the enlarged EU. Despite trying to continue to other European
countries – most likely to those with better conditions for reception and integration –
their movement is being restricted (Esser & Gladysch, 2005; Maciejko & Olszewska,
2007). The conditions to which Chechens have been exposed in Europe as
a consequence of the Dublin II Regulation have been strongly criticised by a number
of reports (ECRE, 2005c, 2007b, 2007c; Esser & Gladysch, 2005; Norwegian
Refugee Council, 2005). Their plight signals how rather than “harmonised,” Europe
has turned out to be a highly uneven place to be.
115
Figure 3 New Asylum Applications in Central and Eastern Europe, 1990-2007
Source: Based on data from DAMP (2008b) and the UNHCR (2002; 2006b; 2008b; 2008c)
Data about numbers of new asylum applications launched in CEE countries show
that each of them has had slightly different ebbs and flows. For example, the increase
in Czech asylum applications in 2001 was disproportionate to the developments in
other countries; it will be explained in detail in Chapter 4. The Czech Republic is
now the country with the lowest number of new asylum applications but Slovakia has
experienced the most significant fall of applications after entering the EU. It is most
likely to be attributed to asylum seekers’ accommodation to the Dublin II Regulation
– i.e. trying to cross the country without being intercepted and apply for asylum
where there is greater chance to be recognised. Only in Poland, have the numbers of
asylum seekers been growing significantly since 2005, due to arrivals and returns of
asylum seekers from Chechnya and increasingly other parts of the Northern
0
2,000
4,000
6,000
8,000
10,000
12,000
14,000
16,000
18,000
20,000
Czech Republic Slovakia Hungary Poland
116
Caucasus. Hungary experienced a peak in applications towards the end of the 1990s
due both to the conflict in Kosovo in 1998-1999 and because it lifted the
geographical limitation in its asylum law that allowed only reception of refugees
generated by events in Europe (Hárs, Sik, & Tóth, 2001). As Table 6 indicates,
various groups of asylum seekers resort to different paths into and through the CEE
region. This is especially clear with regard to the predominance of Ukrainian asylum
seekers in the Czech Republic – a group that has not topped the list in any other CEE
country. As I will discuss in Chapter 4, this indicates that when acting in the context
of limited opportunities, migrants and asylum seekers adapt their strategies to the
differences in refugee and immigration systems and these strategies can develop into
relatively stable patterns of behaviour over time.
Table 6 Main Countries of Origin of New Asylum Applicants in Central and
Eastern Europe, 2000-2007
Year Czech Republic Slovakia Hungary Poland
2000 Ukraine Afghanistan Afghanistan Russian Fed.
2001 Ukraine Afghanistan Afghanistan Russian Fed.
2002 Ukraine China Afghanistan Russian Fed.
2003 Russian Fed. Russian Fed. Afghanistan Russian Fed.
2004 Ukraine India Georgia Russian Fed.
2005 Ukraine Russian Fed. Vietnam Russian Fed.
2006 Ukraine India Vietnam Russian Fed.
2007 Ukraine Pakistan
Serbia-
Montenegro
Russian Fed.
Source: Based on data from UNHCR (2006b; 2008b; 2008c)
117
To sum up, the body of literature describing and analysing asylum and migration
policy developments in CEE prior to and after they joined the EU provides
an essential background for thinking about the region as a whole and the overall
influence of EU harmonisation and accession on its policy orientation towards more
restrictive measures. Asylum statistics, together with more detailed reports about the
situation in individual countries and impacts of particular policy measures such as
the Dublin II Regulation, indicate that alongside the harmonisation process there is
ongoing differentiation of CEE countries as spaces of asylum. Thus, I argue that
more attention should be paid to CEE policymakers’ and politicians’ utilisations of
the concept of “a refugee” – situating it firmly within the EU framework yet often
putting through more indigenous policy agendas based on specific geopolitical and
institutional objectives. Also more attention needs to be paid to migrants’ and asylum
seekers’ accommodation to changing conditions of mobility in CEE.
Migration Routes and Driving Forces: Armenians, Belarusians and
Chechens in the Czech Republic
Almost half of my informants – refugees, asylum seekers and the representatives of
the Czech refugee system – were in their late thirties or older at the time of our
encounter. This means that at least up until their early adulthood, they lived in the
system of so called “really existing socialism” be it in one of the Soviet Union’s
republics or in the satellite communist regime of Czechoslovakia. While their lives
might have differed in many respects, there were also a number of similarities, in
particular the prevailing conditions of political and social stability controlled by the
state. For some, this stability was stifling and oppressive, for some it was reassuring
and prosperous, while others simply tolerated it. However, different developments
118
after the collapse of communist regimes in CEE and the dissolution of the Soviet
Union set these conditions worlds apart.
The Czech Republic peacefully separated from its Slovak neighbour in 1993 and its
citizens have not been hit by the transition to market economy as hard as in other
post-communist countries. While the independence of other socialist republics that
constituted the USSR, such as Armenia or Belarus, seemed inevitable, Russia was
determined not to allow changes in its own territory. Three years after declaring its
independence, Chechnya – formerly an autonomous republic of the Russia Soviet
Federative Socialist Republic – came under heavy bombing by Russian forces at the
end of 1994. Tens of thousands of Chechens lost their lives in two subsequent brutal
wars with Russia that raged until the 2000s and were followed by the establishment
of an authoritarian state installed by Moscow. Meanwhile, Armenia – formerly one
of the most prosperous and educated societies of the USSR – was hit by a disastrous
earthquake in 1988, plunged into severe economic crisis in the early 1990s and
entered into ethnic conflict with neighbouring Azerbaijan. Of the three countries,
Belarus seems to be closest to the situation in the Czech Republic. Under the
authoritarian government of President Alexander Lukashenka, some level of
economic and political stability has been preserved and the society has been spared
of an armed conflict. However, in terms of deficient political and civic liberties, it is
probably more similar to communist Czechoslovakia in the 1980s.
Before I describe some of the driving forces that have brought asylum seekers from
Chechnya, Armenia and Belarus to the Czech Republic, it is important to
acknowledge that various links between the societies could have played a role in
influencing asylum seekers’ decisions about their destination. For example, a number
119
of former Soviet citizens who later filled Czech refugee camps as asylum seekers
previously visited Czechoslovakia as tourists. They cherished their memories of
excursions to Prague or vacations in the spa town of Karlovy Vary. Had they been
told under what circumstances they would return a few years later, they would
probably have laughed in disbelief. One of my Chechen informants underwent his
military service in Czechoslovakia32
in the 1970s and his memories of the country
and society he got to like made him chose it as a destination when fleeing war-torn
Chechnya with his family in 2003. Some asylum seekers – women in particular – still
recalled the names and addresses of their childhood Czechoslovak pen-friends with
whom they exchanged letters within the framework of an organised socialist
friendship (druzhba). These anecdotal examples indicate that the Czech Republic, as
a country of asylum, was not necessarily an entirely new and unfamiliar place. In
their new roles as people on the run, some asylum seekers chose to flee to the Czech
Republic because they saw it as a democratic European country which, although not
as economically advanced as neighbouring Austria or Germany, speaks a Slavic
language similar to Russian. They also hoped that its people would better understand
their plight based on a shared experience of the culture and politics of the Eastern
Bloc. Some of the recognised refugees argued that this “common ground” makes
them feel more at home than in the advanced capitalist countries of Western Europe.
However, the kind of reception they experienced in the Czech Republic was not
always very welcoming. Dark haired Armenians complained about being taken for
Gypsies and treated with disrespect. Chechens were being addressed as Rusáci33
and
32
The Soviet army occupied Czechoslovakia from the suppression of the Prague Spring in 1968 until
1991.
33
Rusáci is a pejorative word for Russians.
120
referred to as the followers of Russian occupants in Czech lands. Belarusians, who
are the least distinguishable as foreigners due to their Slavic appearance, recounted
being looked down at by Czechs as a cheap labour force from the East. The next
section introduces each group’s driving forces for migration based on the examples
of the life stories of my informants.
Armenians
When Gayane, now in her forties, decided to leave her medium-sized hometown in
1999, emigration had become a common response to political instability and
economic hardships in post-Soviet Armenia. Prior to the collapse of the Soviet
Union, Armenia experienced a tragic combination of a disastrous earthquake in
198834
and an outburst of interethnic violence that followed from a dispute between
Armenia and Azerbaijan over the Nagorno-Karabakh border region. The violence
later turned into a full scale war lasting until a ceasefire in 1994 but not being
resolved until today. It left about twenty thousand dead on both sides while creating
a refugee crisis with hundreds of thousands of people displaced (Waal, 2004, pp.
194, 285). After the earthquake, Metsamor Nuclear Power Station was closed.
Alternative energy and other supplies were in intermittent supply due to
an Azerbaijani and Turkish territorial blockade as a consequence of the military
confrontation. Cut off from energy, most Armenian industries ceased to function. As
put by Dudwick (1997): “By 1993, economic life in Armenia had hit rock-bottom”
(p. 82). For example, according to a report commissioned by the United Nations
International Children’s Emergency Fund (UNICEF), by mid-1993 as many as one
million out of a 1.7 million strong labour force were either formally unemployed or
34
The earthquake killed over 25,000 people and left some 500,000 homeless (Dudwick, 1997, p. 106).
121
on involuntary leave (Dudwick, 1995). Accompanied with relaxed border controls,
this situation led to widespread emigration. By 1995, it is estimated that over
800,000 people had left Armenia, as much as one fifth of its population. The majority
have settled in Russia and other countries of the former USSR and some fifteen
percent have moved to Western Europe and the United States (Freinkman, 2002, p.
32). Despite an ambitious economic programme sponsored by the International
Monetary Fund, which resulted in positive economic growth rates between 1995 and
2003, emigration of Armenians has steadily continued although not at such
a dramatic rate (ICMPD, 2005). Remittances sent by migrants have become
a substantial source of income support (Gevorkyan, Gevorkyan, & Mashuryan,
2008).
Gayane left her home together with her younger brother Artur and travelled to the
Czech Republic, where their older brother had already lived and worked for three
years. She was a divorced mother of two children of school age. A number of factors
compelled her to make the move. She was harassed by her ex-husband and did not
feel protected by the local police who considered his violent behaviour towards her
and the children within the norm. She was also frustrated by a small-town mentality
and a high level of social control, particularly imposed on women like her; she had
surpassed local gender norms by divorcing her husband and leading an independent
life outside her family house. Gayane dreamed about giving her children good
educational opportunities and realistically estimated that she could hardly afford to
do so from her single income. Besides, her brother who was already “in Europe”
seemed to be doing alright and promised to help her get started. It was not until
a year after she arrived that she claimed asylum. Legislative changes in the new
122
Alien Act of 1999 made her residence precarious and temporarily illegalised her
status in the country. Since she was determined not to return back home, she sought
help from an NGO who advised her to apply for asylum.
There was this change of law and I had to pay health insurance for me and my
children for the whole year and also I needed to show a lot of money in my
bank account. When I came here, I did not want to apply for asylum, I did not
even know what it was. I thought I could simply work and live. I did not want
any help from anybody. I am a hardworking person; I just wanted some peace
for myself and my children. With the help of my brother, I started my own
business; it was a cleaning firm. I got my trade license and started working. It
went well but then I suddenly needed to show more money in my account, my
children were going to school and needed a lot of things and that health
insurance was very expensive. So when I could not show the money, I was
worried that I would have to return back. That’s when I applied for asylum.
[Gayane, private accommodation, September 2006]
After an asylum procedure of over a year, Gayane and her children were granted
asylum based on humanitarian considerations in 2001. She has become one of 8,542
Armenian asylum-seekers who were granted refugee status or other kind of
humanitarian protection in 31 industrialised countries throughout the world by 2002.
This group represented eleven percent of all Armenians who applied for asylum
between 1993 and 2002 (UNHCR, 2003, p. 28). Germany received the largest share
of asylum applications in this period, followed by the U.S., Belgium and the
Netherlands (UNHCR, 2003, p. 27).
In a few years time, Gayane managed to bring over her mother and also Artur was
joined by his Armenian bride. After four years of being recognised refugees, Gayane
and her children successfully applied for Czech citizenship. This finally gave her
an opportunity to invite to the Czech Republic her long-term love from Armenia,
a former neighbour Edgar. After seven years of separation and fourteen years of
an unfulfilled relationship, they got married in 2006. Even after more than a decade
123
in the Czech Republic, Gayane has not been able to obtain employment in line with
her professional qualification as an accountant. She works as a saleswoman and
receives little above the minimum wage. Despite her strong wish to do so, she has
not been able to save enough money to visit Armenia to see her father’s grave; he
died while Gayane was in the Czech Republic.
Although unique in many respects, Gayane’s story is also typical of the last decade’s
refugee migration from Armenia to the Czech Republic. Their moves have been
compelled by a mixture of more or less politicised forces. According to the DAMP
official responsible for information about countries of origin, Armenian asylum
applicants reported intimidation and threats by law enforcement agents as well as
less formal, mafia-like groups seizing control in a volatile socio-political
environment. Others attempted to avoid serving in a corrupt and under-resourced
army. Discrimination based on ethnicity, 35
religious affiliation 36
and sexual
orientation were listed as reasons to leave and, in a minority of cases also oppressive
gender norms and family relations. Altogether more than 3,300 Armenian nationals
applied for asylum in the Czech Republic between 1990 and 2007 and 205 were
granted asylum (DAMP, 2008b). Their recognition rate between 1993 and 2007 was
estimated at 6.1 percent (CSO, 2008c). The largest group of Armenians (1018
applicants) entered the asylum procedure in 2001, probably in reaction to the new
restrictive Alien Act (see Chapter 4). Alongside asylum seekers and recognised
refugees, there were over 1,500 Armenian nationals living in the Czech Republic
based on long-term or permanent residence permits at the end of 2007 (CSO, 2008a).
35
This relates particularly to Azeri and Yezidi minorities but also concerning Armenians from
Nagorno-Karabakh and ethnically mixed families.
36
This relates especially to Jehovah witnesses.
124
My observations as well as other studies of Armenians in the Czech Republic
(Klvaňová, 2006; Maroušek, 2001) indicate that many of these immigrants had
previously applied for asylum. Typically, they were rejected and later managed to
legalise their stay in another way.37
Zara’s is one such story. Now in her fifties, she left Yerevan in 2001 together with
her son Arman. Although he had already undergone his army service, he was
conscripted again, for another two years. She did not have enough money to “buy
him out”, as many richer families were doing in Armenia at that time, and Arman
was determined not to go through this experience again.
In Armenia, the law is only a piece of paper; you can buy it if you have enough
money. They wanted us to pay 3,000 USD to buy him out of the army. [Zara,
private accommodation, August 2007]
They decided to come to the Czech Republic because Zara’s niece was living there
and offered some help. After their one-week tourist visa expired, they were advised
by other Armenians to apply for asylum. Their asylum procedure lasted long enough
that after five years, Zara applied for the residence permit which allowed her to
permanently settle in the country. She is now determined to save enough money to
start a small family business together with Arman. After years of precarious working
conditions in the cleaning and restaurant sectors, Zara dreams of becoming “her own
boss”.
Meri and Mikhail, a young couple who have been living in the Czech Republic since
1999, did not have the patience to spend a number of years in the insecurity of the
asylum procedure. Their two children were about to enter school and they wanted to
37
For example they could apply for the permit after a minimum of two years in the asylum procedure
and a four-year continuous documented stay in the country (Alien Act 326/1999, par. 67). Or else,
they could also marry a Czech citizen.
125
provide them with a stable future. After they left Armenia in the worst stages of
economic and political crisis in the early 1990s they spent some years in different
European countries. But their dream of starting a new life in Europe has become hard
to sustain because they were not able to get a stable legal status, either as refugees or
as labour migrants. When they found themselves in the Czech Republic, it was not
really a place of their choice. After years of travelling and occasional periods of
undocumented stay, filled with “fear of every police officer we met on the street”,
they were simply too tired to travel any further. By then, they were fluent in a few
languages and had a number of family members scattered around different European
countries. They applied for asylum but, quickly realising how little chance they had
to obtain it, the couple looked for other ways to stabilize their status in the country.
The only option at hand was for each of them to marry a Czech citizen and thus gain
permanent residence in the Czech Republic.38
Once obtained, it gave them much
longed-for legal stability and they soon opened a small family business.
We have realised that if we wanted to settle in Europe, there were only two
ways for us: asylum or marriage. We could have gone to live in Moscow, I had
some friends there who would help, it would be easier, but we were young and
we wanted everything, we wanted Europe. [Mikhail, private accommodation,
September 2007]
After years of hard work and no holidays their business has started bringing
a moderate profit; finally, they started planning their first trip back to Armenia. But
they have no desire to return permanently; after all, most of their family is now
settled in Europe and the remaining close relatives have recently joined them in the
Czech Republic. As opposed to recognised refugees who risk losing their refugee
38
This practice is sometimes called “sham marriage”. Meri and Mikhail had heard about this
legalising strategy before from other migrants and therefore they did not get officially married.
126
status if re-entering their country of origin, the permanent residence permit allows
Meri and Mikhail to visit Armenia prior to obtaining Czech citizenship.
While most of the asylum seekers who arrived in the mid 1990s were fleeing ethnic
conflict caused by Armenia’s war with Azerbaijan, by the late 1990s and the early
2000s entering the asylum procedure had become part of an immigration strategy for
many. It has been enacted in the context of limited opportunities for other
immigration routes. Although not always fitting the Geneva Convention of a refugee,
Armenian asylum seekers were compelled to leave by a number of intertwined and
often politicised forces. As opposed to the other two groups, Armenians are the most
likely to facilitate immigration of other family members and to draw support from
extended family networks (see also Klvaňová, 2006; Uherek et al., 2005). Partly due
to the existence of this support, most of my Armenian informants did not spend
extended periods of time in Czech refugee camps. Five out of eight households
included in the research left for private accommodation right after the end of the
mandatory two or three weeks in the reception camp. Despite the hardships they
encountered throughout settlement, they present themselves as industrious people
who have always been able to adjust to different living conditions in emigration.
Belarusians
While Armenian immigration to the Czech Republic is predominantly a matter of the
1990s and 2000s, Belarusian exile has a longer history. Belorussian émigrés – mostly
exiled politicians, intellectuals and students fleeing the Russian Revolution of
October 1917 – started coming to Czechoslovakia soon after it was established as
an independent state in 1918. Prague was also a temporary residence for members of
127
the Council of Belarusian Democratic Republic who declared Belarusian
independence in 1918 but were soon pushed into exile by the Bolsheviks, who
announced the formation of the Belorussian Soviet Socialist Republic in 1919.
Although the then Czechoslovak political regime did not officially support
Belarusians’ national movement for independence, Belarusians were generally
welcomed in the country, could organise themselves in societies and students were
granted stipends at Czechoslovak universities (Kolenovská, Hlybouski, Plavec, &
Veselý, 2005). After World War II, a number of Belarusian immigrants were handed
back to the USSR by the newly established Czechoslovak communist regime, where
they were often killed or imprisoned (Kolenovská, 2007). In 1995, the headquarters
of the Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty were moved to Prague and members of the
Belarusian section of broadcasting were among the founders of the first post-1989
Belarusian association in the Czech Republic – Skaryna39
(Kolenovská et al., 2005,
p. 26).
Many recent Belarusian arrivals decided to apply for asylum in the Czech Republic
due to its government’s sympathy for their past and present political struggles as well
as its geographical proximity and relative ease of access.40
The biggest group applied
in 2001 (438 applications) and 86 percent of all asylum applications up to 2007
(altogether 2073) were launched thereafter (DAMP, 2008b). This movement
emerged mostly as a reaction to the Belarusian presidential elections of 2001 that
were accompanied by a clampdown on opposition politicians and activists. Between
1990 and 2003 altogether 18,200 people applied for asylum in the industrialised
39
It was named after a Belarusian scholar Frantzisk Skaryna who translated the Bible into Belarusian
while living in Prague at the beginning of the 16th century.
40
Until 2000, Belarusians were not required to apply for a visa to enter the country.
128
world (UNHCR, 2004b, p. 45). The Czech Republic received the fourth highest
number of asylum applications after Germany, Sweden and Belgium (UNHCR,
2004b, p. 45). The largest groups of recognised refugees live in Germany and the
U.S. (UNHCR, 2004b, p. 45). In the Czech Republic, recognition rates for the period
between 2000 and 2007 have been estimated at 13.6 percent and of the three groups
discussed Belarusians have had the greatest chance to be recognised as refugees in
the Czech Republic (CSO, 2008c). By 2007, 297 Belarusians had been granted
asylum in the Czech Republic (DAMP, 2008b). Next to asylum seekers and
recognised refugees 3,732 Belarusian nationals were registered as residing in the
country at the end of 2007 (CSO, 2008a).
If asked what the reason for their flight from Belarus was, most asylum seekers and
refugees would give a simple answer: Lukashenka. Alexander Lukashenka became
the country’s President in 1994, when the first post-Soviet democratic presidential
elections took place. Soon after, he amended the constitution to allow for extended
presidential powers and prolonged his term in office until 2001. The next presidential
elections were accompanied by state-sanctioned attacks on the independent press and
peaceful demonstrators. Repression of political opponents increased and access to
most media was blocked for the opposition candidates. There was also a lack of
transparency in ballot counting and none of the observing intergovernmental
organizations recognised the elections as free and fair (HRW, 2002). Nonetheless,
Lukashenka used his disputed victory for further consolidation of power and he was
re-elected in 2006 in further flawed elections (HRW, 2007).
Despite his authoritarian style of ruling, a number of authors argue that Lukashenka
still has considerable popular support, if partly for the lack of viable alternatives to
129
be found among fragmented opposition movements (Ioffe, 2004; Marples, 2005).
The economic situation in Belarus has not been spectacular but, compared to other
post-Soviet countries, it has delivered the most stable quality of life to its citizens.41
This was largely due to the import of cheap Russian oil (Ioffe, 2004). Based on
a recent report by the World Bank, Belarus has the third highest GDP per capita
among CIS countries, following Russia and Kazakhstan (Mansoor & Quillin, 2007,
p. 121). It is also one of the few CIS countries where immigrants outnumber people
who are leaving the country (Mansoor & Quillin, 2007).
Since the late 1990s, the Belarusian regime has been ostracised by both the U.S.42
and the EU (with strong support from Czech politicians). The key reasons are not
only a poor human rights record with regard to political opposition or free media, but
also alleged sales of weapons to countries like Iran and Iraq and, above all, its
geopolitical and economic orientation towards Russia (Ioffe, 2004). The negative
international visibility of the Belarusian ruling regime and the position of
Lukashenka as an “international pariah” (Marples, 2005) facilitated the view of
Belarusians as political refugees. It is expected that strengthening of the Lukashenka
regime after the elections of 2006 may further intensify repression towards the
political opposition (Jaroszewicz & Szerepka, 2007).
A DAMP official responsible for countries of origin information summarised
Belarusian asylum seekers’ claims in the Czech Republic as falling into the
following categories: journalists and human rights activists who have openly
41
For example, Ioffe (2004) shows that in 1999 Belarus’s GDP was at 83.6 percent of its 1991 level,
while it was 62.5 percent for Russia and 44.7 percent for Ukraine (p. 91).
42
In 2005, US president George W. Bush included Belarus as an integral part of the so-called ‘Axis of
Evil’ at hearings in Washington (Marples, 2005, p. 895).
130
criticised the state authorities; political opponents and members of youth groups
whose political opinions and actions are perceived as a threat by the authorities;
young men who claim to be draft evaders or deserters from the harsh conditions in
the Belarusian Army; and religious minorities.43
She also added that a substantial
group of people make use of Belarus’ international reputation and claim asylum to
facilitate their immigration process.
The stories of my interlocutors mirror the diversity of forces that have been driving
Belarusians to the Czech Republic in the 2000s. On the one hand, there are members
of oppositional political parties such as Ilja or Sergey, both in their early forties, who
arrived with their families in 2001. Back in Belarus they finished university and
alongside being engaged in politics, established themselves as successful
businessmen. Having to leave their previous positions represented a great social
slump. Both men remained politically active throughout their asylum procedures as
well as after being granted asylum. Ilja joined a Belarusian association in Prague and
has been working towards bringing together Belarusian activists and raising the
visibility of Belarusian matters in the Czech Republic. Sergey, on the other hand,
soon became disenchanted by the local political activities of his fellow countrymen
and geared his energy towards more solitary online journalism/activism. His
knowledge of information technology also helped him to start earning a decent living
soon after he could legally work. Politically active Belarusians in the Czech Republic
are a heterogeneous group fragmented by ideological differences and by mutual
suspicion. This mistrust is enhanced by the widely acknowledged presence of
43
Similar reasons have also been outlined in a UNHCR report providing background information on
asylum-seekers and refugees from the Republic of Belarus (2004b, p. 5).
131
Lukashenka’s undercover envoys in the country, who report back on local dissidents.
A typically cautious attitude was expressed by Vasyl, a man in his sixties who
claimed to have had an experience of Belarusian secret agents while living in
Poland44
:
We feel safe here, but we always try to control with whom we communicate;
we are particularly careful when interacting with other people from Belarus.
[Vasyl, private accommodation, September, 2007]
Although Belarusian politics has increasingly been dominated by urban intellectual
men who have been best situated to exploit the context of rising class and gender
inequalities, a number of women have resisted being pushed into the private sphere –
a tendency described as “redomestication” by Gapova (2004, p. 98). Irina, a woman
in her fifties who is a professional historian, was not a member of any political party
but her activities organising former Belarusian émigrés from around the world in
support of “rebuilding the nation” after independence have become strongly
politicised and feared by the regime. In 1997, she started receiving warnings and
threats from the Belarusian state authorities who wanted her to collaborate or stop
her activities altogether. Irina resisted for two years but in 1999 she could no longer
stand the pressure and decided to leave the country. She obtained asylum after one
and a half years of waiting and after another five years she successfully applied for
Czech citizenship.
Another group of informants were families who fled discrimination based on their
religious belief. For example, Angela, a woman in her thirties, described her life as
44
There are no official data about how many Belarusians resided in Poland prior to applying for
asylum in the Czech Republic. Half of my Belarusian informants previously lived in Poland. They
moved to the Czech Republic due to rejection by Polish immigration authorities, feelings of insecurity
due to geographical proximity to Belarus and/or the poor economic situation in Poland.
132
a Jehovah’s Witness in Belarus as that of fear and insecurity. She and her husband
felt threatened by a series of fake charges and arbitrary fines imposed on them by law
enforcement agencies. For two years they lived in Poland and once their residence
permit expired they decided to move to the Czech Republic. Other families were
affiliated with the Protestant Church and spoke about instances of intimidation and
more or less direct discrimination related to their religious beliefs.45
In the Czech
Republic, these refugees lived together with co-believers whom they knew already
from Belarus and supported each other when searching for work and
accommodation.
Probably the largest group of Belarusian asylum seekers are people who do not fit
readily into either of the groups described above but decided to leave their country
because of dissatisfaction with their life in Belarus. For example, because they felt it
could not give them the opportunities potentially available elsewhere, in terms of
work satisfaction but also family life. Consider Katya, a woman in her mid-twenties
who grew up in what she called a “broken family”; her mother died when she was
still a child, her father was an alcoholic and she was mostly raised by her
grandmother. When the latter died and Katya’s father seemed not to care, she
realised that nothing was holding her in Belarus. Hearing about work opportunities in
the Czech Republic, she decided to abandon her job as a seamstress and try her luck
elsewhere. Besides, she also dreamed about establishing a “proper family” but did
not find the men in her surroundings very appealing. Although her asylum
application got rejected, her dream of a family came true. Throughout her four-year-
45
Harassment of religious minorities was also reported by the UNHCR and human rights
organisations (e.g. IHF, 2006; UNHCR, 2004b).
133
long asylum procedure, she found a husband (also an asylum seeker) and gave birth
to a son. The asylum claims of all three of them were rejected and they are now in
the stage of final appeal. They are increasingly worried about the future. After the
years spent in the Czech Republic, they can hardly imagine themselves living
elsewhere.
Sasha, a man in his mid-thirties, finished university in Belarus and then tried to live
and work in Germany for some years. When the German legislation changed he
became illegalised and was soon deported back to Belarus. He decided to leave again
in 2000 and to try to get to Northern Europe. Sasha spoke evasively about
motivations that drove him away from Belarus yet he clearly disassociated himself
from those who claimed to be part of oppositional politics. He summarised that he
did not feel “comfortable” living in Belarus which became “too small” for him and
that he kept looking for something else: “cosier conditions of life” as he put it. Since
he has never liked to rely on other people, he tried to cross the “green border”46
to
Austria without the service of smugglers. He got caught by border guards and was
placed in a Czech detention centre. As he soon figured out, the best way to get out
from there was to launch an asylum application. Sasha said he was always interested
in Belarusian politics (although did not think highly of it) and thus when interviewed
by DAMP officials it was not a problem for him to come up with a story of political
activism and persecution. He was granted asylum after two years. He now works
independently as an intermediary supplying foreign construction workers to Czech
firms.
46
Crossing the “green border” is a synonym for illegal border crossing.
134
Since the early 2000s, Belarusians have established themselves as a stable group of
asylum seekers with relatively high chances of being recognised as refugees. Rather
than draw on extended family relations, Belarusian refugees tend to rely on networks
of people of the same religious affiliation or political orientation. Their generally
positive perception by institutions of the Czech refugee system stems from their
characteristics as a group – high levels of education, Slavic appearance, Christian –
and a public sympathy with their opposition to the rule of Alexander Lukashenka.47
Chechens
In March 2002 the Russian and international media quoted the following statements
from president Putin’s annual state-of-the-nation address: “Regarding Chechnya, the
military phase is over thanks to the bravery of the army and special task forces” and
“Every inhabitant of Chechnya should consider himself a full-fledged citizen of
Russia” (RFE/RL, 2002). Throughout the following two years, Russian citizens –
mostly coming from Chechnya – constituted the largest group of asylum seekers
around the world with almost forty thousand applications (UNHCR, 2008a). Kheda,
a woman in her late thirties now living in the Czech Republic as a recognised
refugee, explained what she saw as the main driving force of these movements:
They stopped bombing us, but another kind of war started, people were
disappearing, being tortured, killed and, if lucky, sold back to their relatives,
either alive or dead. [Kheda, private accommodation, September, 2007]
A number of reports by human rights organisations have documented widespread and
systematic use of enforced disappearances in Chechnya since the early 2000s (AI,
2005; HRW, 2005). According to the Human Rights Advocacy Centre “Memorial”,
47
One of the most prominent Czech human rights organisation, People in Need, has been extensively
reporting the political situation in Belarus. Since 1998, it has a special section – Belcentrum – devoted
to this aim (see www.clovekvtisni.cz/index2.php?id=345).
135
which is able to monitor approximately 25 to 30 percent of Chechnya’s territory, in
2004 498 people were kidnapped and more than half of them later “disappeared”. At
the same time 447 people were killed, the majority of them civilians (Memorial,
2007). But these numbers are likely to be just the tip of the iceberg because many
people choose not to report or publicise the disappearances of their relatives, hoping
that their silence might protect their remaining family members from the same fate
(HRW, 2005). While previously mostly men of fighting age were targeted, at the
beginning of 2004 Memorial has reported on women and elderly people becoming
victims of disappearances and other forms of violence (Memorial, 2004). The official
investigation of crimes committed against civilians is characterised by a selective
impunity, with the majority of cases against the state authorities being stopped by the
prosecutor's offices (Memorial, 2006). Human rights violations in Chechnya are
committed by both Russian federal forces that occupy the country, local troops under
the command of the pro-Russian Chechen administration and Chechen rebel groups
(HRW, 2005). Anna Politkovskaya, a Russian journalist deeply engaged in reporting
the brutal realities of the war in Chechnya (herself murdered in 2006) described
Chechnya as “a small corner of hell” (2003). In 2002 she wrote in a prologue to her
book:
I’ve seen a lot of suffering. The worst of it is that many of the people I’ve been
writing about for the past two and a half years are now dead. (2003, p. 26)
Omnipresent yet seemingly random violence and permanent insecurity were
described as the main reasons to leave by Chechen refugees arriving in the Czech
Republic since 2003. They were leaving a country destroyed by six years of
a ruthless armed conflict whose “front” went through civilian people’s lives and
136
households rather than being confined to fighting separatist armed forces and those
who were later designated as “Islamic terrorists” by the Russian government. The
economy and civil infrastructure were shattered, the environment contaminated,
health and education systems understaffed and underequipped. Children born in the
1990s, now in their teens, have seen little but ruins, destruction, death and fear.
A survey conducted by Médecins Sans Frontières among 257 households in
Chechnya in 2004 indicates that nearly 23 percent of respondents witnessed the
killing of people and 53 percent witnessed arrests (de Jong et al., 2007). Importantly,
it was also the lack of hope in a peaceful future that compelled many to make the
move. The loss of hope was described by many in different ways. For example,
Patimat, a woman in her thirties, depicted her decision to leave Chechnya as follows:
I have been gradually losing hope since the beginning of the second war. It was
very hard to live without the prospect of better times. Suddenly, I have realised
that I have lost faith in anything good. It was something I shared with my
husband and we decided to leave. [Patimat, private accommodation, September
2005]
The first Chechen war followed three years after Chechnya declared its independence
from Russia in 1991 and was considered as a “national war” and a victory for
Chechens, whose resistance forced the Russian army to withdraw.48
Those who took
arms against the Russian troops were seen as heroes fighting for a nation’s brighter
future. The second war started in 1999 after the period of reconstruction49
coupled
with ongoing political instability and international isolation imposed by Russia. At
48
In 1996, a peace accord was signed by the military commander Aslan Maskhadov and the chairman
of the Security Council Alexander Lebed. It officially stopped the war and initiated the withdrawal of
Russian troops from Chechnya; however, the resolution of the constitutional issue of Chechnya’s
status was frozen until the end of 2001. The fact that this agreement left Chechnya de facto
independent was perceived as an unexpected victory.
49
By reconstruction I mean individual people’s efforts to rebuild their houses, businesses and civil
institutions rather than any sustained and systematic effort to reconstruct the country on the part of
Russia, which was promised but never arrived (Hahn, 2006).
137
that time, the sides of enemies and allies have become more blurred and the
resistance to Russia more fractured (shown also by a number of terrorist attacks
against Russian targets organised by Chechen groups). After proclaiming that the
military phase was over, Moscow engaged in the policy of “chechenisation”. The
conduct of the so called “anti-terrorist” campaign was increasingly delegated to ProRussian
Chechens, together with shares of the illicit economy that flourishes in
Chechnya (Russell, 2007). This partly spared the Russian government from
international condemnation of the inhumane treatment of Chechen civilians by
Russian troops, while excluding the political forces seeking peaceful resolution and
Chechnya’s independence from Russia (Russell, 2007, p. 83).50
As reported by
Memorial, apart from police forces, specialised groups were created for the purpose
of fighting the armed separatists and these groups were delegated with the “right” to
carry out extrajudicial violence (Memorial, 2006). This development increased fear
and vulnerability among the civilian population and deepened their alienation from
local power structures.
Apart from being afraid of disappearances and random violence, some families were
also coming to Europe with the hope that their children – injured or otherwise sick
from bad living conditions in Chechnya and neighbouring Ingushetia51
– would be
cured there and lead a more “normal life”. Khava, a woman in her forties who has
five children, fled Chechnya in 2000 to the neighbouring country of Ingushetia where
50
For example, in 2005 the president of the Chechen Republic elected in what were considered to be
free elections in 1997 – Aslan Maskhadov – was killed by Russian special forces. He was a military
and political leader who consistently spoke out against terrorism as a method of fighting and
repeatedly displayed readiness to find a peaceful solution to the conflict. His successors took a more
radical approach and have been less respected by the general population.
51
The majority of refugees initially fled to the neighbouring Republic of Ingushetia where they were
received en masse but were often living in difficult material conditions (Norwegian Refugee Council,
2005).
138
they lived in improvised accommodation built in a former cowshed. In these
conditions, her daughter, then sixteen, developed heavy asthma and Khava was told
by the doctors that in order to save her daughter’s health she needed to change her
environment. Previously, one of Khava’s seven brothers became a target of a random
shooting by Russian snipers and her other two brothers decided to join the fighters
rather than “sitting at home and waiting to get killed too”. Thus, Khava could not risk
returning home to Chechnya. Following the example of her Chechen neighbours, she
decided to travel to Poland. This decision was very painful for her because she had to
leave behind her eldest son who was then in his early twenties. As many other
Chechen men, he was accused of lacking the right documents during a random
inspection, detained and put in prison in Russia for five years. Khava was given
an opportunity to “buy him out” for 5,000 USD, money she was not able to find at
the time. After being rejected in Poland, the family moved to the Czech Republic
where they were granted humanitarian asylum. Khava now works in a local factory
trying to feed her family of six. At the same time, she tries to save some money to
send to her imprisoned son in Russia and secure his release before his tuberculosis,
which he got in the prison, becomes fatal. Her family’s wellbeing depends entirely
on her. After being detained and tortured in Chechnya, her husband fell into
alcoholism and occasionally bursts into violent attacks against Khava and the
children. Her tragic life story is just one of many examples of how the war and life in
exile has burdened Chechen women.
While many refugees were neither involved in fighting nor in any activity which
could be seen as opposition to the state forces, a number of journalists, lawyers and
NGO workers were directly targeted and forced away from the country. Salman and
139
Lolita, both in their late twenties, left the country with their two small children when
most of Salman’s friends and co-workers from a local humanitarian NGO were killed
or made to disappear in 2006. Until today, he keeps asking why he was the lucky one
to escape the fate of his peers and often feels guilty for that. He and his wife are both
university educated and full of ambitions. Their asylum procedure took almost
a year. It left them deeply disenchanted with the Czech refugee system which they
found inefficient and unjust. The reality of being a refugee in the Czech Republic
seems to act as a constant obstacle to their plans. Salman presented me with his
analysis of a “post-asylum syndrome” that he himself experienced and saw among
his compatriots:
When people come here and start living their lives in peace, they often switch
off their self-preservation instinct. They are tired of a constant struggle for
survival. In this state, they become fragile and can be hurt very easily; by small
everyday acts of discrimination, by comments about Russian occupiers,52
by
being told that no one has invited them to come. [Salman, private
accommodation, March, 2007]
Chechens arriving in the Czech Republic in 2003 were mostly coming via Poland53
where they often spent a couple of months in the asylum procedure. They were either
rejected or decided to leave because of an underdeveloped integration programme for
refugees and poor economic conditions in the country stricken by high
unemployment rates. For many the Czech Republic was not their final destination.
This is one of the major differences when compared to the routes of Armenian and
Belarusian refugees, who were more likely to pursue settlement in the Czech
52
As noted above, Russian speaking refugees sometimes become targets of Czech animosity towards
Russians stemming from the pre-1989 Soviet influence, in particular the occupation by the Soviet
Army since the Prague Spring of 1968.
53
While the Czech Republic introduced visas for Russian citizens in 2000, Poland did so only in
2003. Since then, Chechens have increasingly had to use the services of smugglers to get into Central
and Western Europe.
140
Republic due to family relations and the relatively high likelihood of acceptance.
However, the reasons for Chechens’ migration choices and strategies are more
complex than as portrayed by the Czech Ministry of Interior in their annual reports
(MI, 2004, 2005) and reiterated in a number of speeches and proclamations. The
Ministry has argued that Chechens “used” Polish, Czech and even Austrian asylum
procedures to enter other western European countries where they envisioned a better
life. Thus criticism of Chechens’ low recognition rates in the Czech Republic54
was
dismissed and presented as reflecting Chechens’ interests and strategies rather than
the Ministry’s reluctance to grant them international protection. This message was
persistently portrayed especially in the 2003 Report on the Situation of Migration on
the Territory of the Czech Republic (MI, 2004). The report also indicates that despite
the fact that the majority of Chechen asylum seekers left the country soon after
applying for asylum, 48 percent of the 2003 applicants stayed for more than three
months, waiting for a decision.55
What was not mentioned by the report but was
a lived reality for many Chechens I met during previous research in one of the Czech
refugee camps in 2004 was that decisions on their asylum cases were often being
postponed by a couple of months or even a year. This extended insecurity, coupled
with messages from Chechens reaching Austria and other western countries where
they were being recognised as refugees not only in larger numbers but also much
faster than in the Czech Republic, prompted many who initially wanted to stay to
make yet another move and cross the border.
54
Between 2000 and 2007 the recognition rate of Russian nationals in the Czech Republic was 3.4
percent (CSO, 2008c).
55
According to the Czech Asylum Act, 90 days is the period of time within which a response should
be given. However, the law also gives a possibility to prolong this period without any limits.
141
The difference between Czech and Polish reluctance to receive Chechens and
Austrian readiness to accept them between 2003 and 2006 remains striking. In 2003
the chances of Chechens being recognised as refugees in Austria were 77 percent –
eight times higher than in Poland and as much as fourteen times higher than in the
Czech Republic (UNHCR, 2004a, p. Table 8).56
While the approach of the Czech
Ministry of Interior to Chechen asylum claims could be labelled as that of
“prescribed inactivity”,57
Austria started fast-track granting of asylum to refugees
from Chechnya at the end of 2003. The Austrian Asylum law had a clause providing
for traumatised refugees to have their cases processed in Austria. Even after the
Czech Republic entered the EU and therefore also the Dublin II Regulation, in
a number of cases Austrian officials refrained from turning back Chechen asylum
seekers (ECRE, 2005b). Thus, many of those who initially applied for asylum in
Poland or the Czech Republic were later granted refugee status in Austria58
(MI,
2004).
Chechen refugees who remained in the Czech Republic usually came in larger
families, typically consisting of parents and three children (Uherek et al., 2005).
Although the importance of extended family networks among Chechens has been
widely documented (e.g. Sokirianskaia, 2005), it is very rare for a refugee family to
be joined by elderly parents, as is often the case with Armenian refugees. While in
Austria and Poland, Chechens constitute more numerous and compact communities
56
Other Western European countries demonstrated the following average annual recognition rates of
Russian nationals between 2002 and 2006: France 26.2%, Belgium 28.3%, Germany 23.2% (Hofmann
& Reichel, 2008, p. 19).
57
A number of Czech NGO representatives have criticised the Czech authorities for deliberately
slowing down the refugee status determination procedure in the hope that Chechen asylum seekers
will move on to another country (Norwegian Refugee Council, 2005, p. 42).
58
Austria abolished exceptions from the Dublin II Regulation for traumatised persons or victims of
torture in January 2006 (Bisayev, 2007).
142
(Olszewska & Maciejko, 2008; Vasilyev, 2008), they tend to be more scattered in the
Czech Republic. This is due to low numbers and the system of allocation of
integration flats within the State Integration System.59
Thus the support networks are
rather tenuous. For example, all of my Chechen informants spent extensive periods
of time in refugee camps rather than leaving them and living in private
accommodation, as was more common for Armenians and to a lesser extent
Belarusians.
To sum up, the life stories of the three groups of asylum seekers and refugees reveal
various forces of displacement which continue to generate significant migration
flows from the former Soviet space to CEE as well as Western Europe. Although
they were all once citizens of the Soviet Union, the realities of their lives have
differentiated sharply since the early 1990s. They were exposed to a variety of forces
of displacement, had different motivations to settle in the Czech Republic and varied
access to support networks during settlement. Their reception in the Czech Republic
has been ambivalent and continues to be driven by both positive and negative
stereotypes. My aim in this study is not to dwell on these differences but rather to
look for commonalities in their relations with the institutions of the Czech refugee
system. In other words, I am interested in why these diverse groups have often ended
up in similar social positions. While Chapter 5 explores the impact of ethnicity and
nationality on the refugee status determination procedure, in the rest of the study
awareness of these categories helped me to single out structural features of the
59
An integration flat can be allocated anywhere in the Czech Republic and refugees have only limited
choice about their location.
143
refugee system that are experienced regardless of nationality or ethnicity, as well as
to emphasize other structuring categories such as gender.
Czech Refugee System at a Glance
In order to facilitate orientation in the following text, Table 7 provides an overview
of the Czech refugee system with its institutional actors and their responsibilities
with regard to asylum seekers and recognised refugees. Rather than approaching the
refugee system as composed only by state institutions, as is commonly the case in
policy analyses, I employ it as an overarching concept that also includes civic and
international actors that are of key significance for refugee reception and integration.
144
Table 7 Institutions of the Czech Refugee System and Their Responsibilities
towards Asylum Seekers and Recognised Refugees
Institutional actors
Key responsibilities to asylum
seekers
Specific
responsibilities to
recognised refugees
S
T
A
T
E
Ministry
of
Interior
DAMP - Formulation of asylum and
migration legislation
- Decision making in the
asylum procedure
- Allocation of the ERF to RFA
and NGOs
- Supporting some activities of
NGOs from the ministerial
budget
- Allocation of
integration flats
within the State
Integration
Programme
RFA - Operation of reception and
residential refugee camps
- Operation of detentions
- Operation of
integration
centres,
organisation of
Individual
Integration Plan
Alien Police - Administration of short-term
visas for asylum seekers -
Ministry
of Justice
Regional
courts and the
Supreme
Administrative
court
- Administration of appeals by
asylum seekers against the
decisions of DAMP -
CIVIC
NGOs and
church
organisations
- Legal, social and
psychological counselling
- Leisure-time activities
- Influencing asylum and
migration legislation
- Increasing public awareness
about refugee issues
- Legal, social and
psychological
counselling
- Language
courses
- Assistance with
employment
search and
requalification
- Assistance with
accommodation
search
INTERNA-
TIONAL
UNHCR local
office in
the CR
- Monitoring and influencing
asylum legislation
- Producing unbinding
guidelines for DAMP
adjudicators about asylum
procedure
- Increasing public awareness
about refugee issues
-
145
Figure 4 outlines the course of the asylum procedure as it was in 2006 when the
research was carried out. It demonstrates that the state has a number of measures to
deny asylum seekers’ access to the asylum procedure or to substantially speed up the
process of rejection. It also shows that despite the possibility of appeal against the
negative decision in various courts, the final judgement on whether to grant asylum
or not can only be made by a single institution (DAMP), which raises questions
about its independence. Thus, the Czech refugee system operates in a highly
centralised manner (Hardy, 1994).
146
Source: Asylum Act No. 325/1999 (2006)
Asylum application Application rejected as unacceptable
- Dublin II Regulation
- EU citizenship
- Asylum granted in another EU country
- Possibility to find protection in the first country of
asylum
- Repeated application without indicating new facts
Application rejected as manifestly unfounded
(such a decision has to be delivered within 30 days)
- Indication of economic reasons or escaping a general
situation of poverty
- Coming from a third safe country
- No indication of persecution
- Indication of implausible facts
- Destroyed or falsified passport
- Application launched in order to escape expulsion
Asylum interview(s)
Asylum
rejected
Asylum
granted
Subsidiary
protection
granted
Appeal to a regional court
Decision confirmed
Decision to be
reconsidered by DAMP
Appeal to the Supreme Administrative Court
Decision confirmedDecision to be
reconsidered by DAMP
State Integration Programme
- Czech language courses
- Assistance with search for
employment
- Assistance with search for
accommodation
Figure 4 Outline of the Czech Asylum Procedure
147
Conclusions
This chapter has brought together different perspectives on the CEE region as a space
of refugee reception and settlement. First, I have argued that despite gradual
movement towards CEAS, a number of differences between CEE countries persist
and some were even heightened by the implementation of the EU asylum measures,
most notably the Dublin II Regulation which shifts responsibilities towards states
with an external EU border. Thus, the CEE region has not ceased to be a highly
uneven space of asylum, offering different chances for reception and settlement. In
order to understand these differences, it is essential to combine the EU framework as
a strategically selective context with careful analysis of developments in national
refugee systems. The influence of the EU does not preclude substantial space for
policymakers’ manoeuvres in response to the actions of asylum seekers and refugees.
This study aims to provide such an analysis of the Czech Republic by integrating
different aspects of asylum seekers’ and refugee realities into a single analysis.
Second, I have introduced a more individualised perspective on the forces and routes
that bring asylum seekers from Armenia, Belarus and Chechnya to the Czech
Republic. Diverse circumstances of their displacement produce different starting
points both for reception and settlement. However, as they find themselves in the
institutional world of the Czech refugee system, refugees also show a great deal of
commonality and thus reveal the structural tenets of the system. This research is
informed by the views of Armenian, Belarusian and Chechen refugee migrants on the
process of reception and settlement in the Czech Republic and thus gives voice to
groups that have so far been largely missing from the refugee studies literature. In the
148
next chapter, I step back and analyse how “a refugee” as a concept has been
constructed in the Czech refugee system since 1990.
149
Chapter 4: The Politics of Asylum: Dynamic of the LegalPolitical
Construction of “a Refugee”
Introduction
Law is a central aspect of the strategic selectivity of the context in which asylum
seekers and refugees act. Rather than a given state of affairs, the asylum legislation
should be seen as a dynamic and ongoing process that is constantly probed and
negotiated by refugee migrants whose strategic actions it constrains as well as
enables. Formulation of law and implementation of policies are based on a general
conception of what “a refugee” is in its idealized sense. This concept is politically
and historically situated and can be renegotiated over time (Phillips & Hardy, 1997,
p. 167). Moreover, it is constantly confronted with the diversity of individuals to
whom it is being applied and who interpret and adjust it to their needs.
This chapter analyses the politics of asylum in the Czech Republic between 1990 and
2007 through a changing legal-political construction of “a refugee”. I demonstrate
that asylum legislation has to be seen in the broader international context and situated
in other areas of national legislation regulating the position of foreigners living and
working in the country. These areas are mutually constitutive and changes in asylum
policymaking as well as migrants’ actions can only be fully understood in this wider
context. The institution of asylum in the Czech Republic is discussed as a dynamic
framework which has been shaped by various political aims as well as refugee
migrants’ strategies. In other words, I show asylum’s potential to be instrumentalised
by politicians, policymakers and the refugee migrants. Apart from scrutinising the
role of the state in constructing “a refugee”, I also look at powers and identities of
150
other institutions involved in the process, namely NGOs assisting migrants and
asylum seekers.
The following questions are addressed below: How did the changing concept of “a
refugee” inform the formulation of the Czech asylum legislation between 1990 and
2007? How can some of the dramatic swings in the asylum and immigration
legislation be explained, how are they related to each other and what are their
implications for the future of the refugee label? What part did refugee migrants play
in influencing these changes? First, I analyse asylum law and political discourses
from the early 1990s until 2007 by mapping the changing rationale behind the
legislative framing of the refugee system. Next, I focus on a concurrency of
legislative changes in 1999 and migrants’ reactions to them in order to explain why
they have significantly influenced the future of asylum policymaking in the country.
The impacts of these changes are then assessed with regard to the position of NGOs
in the refugee system and their capacities to assist asylum seekers and refugees. I
conclude with an assessment of the latest changes to the legislation following EU
accession in 2004.
Asylum as a Political Instrument on Both Sides of the Iron Curtain
Asylum is a highly political matter. Despite being defined as an individual right of
every person in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, many argue that actual
asylum practice is more aptly described as primarily reflecting state interests
(Schuster, 2002, 2003; Zolberg et al., 1986). The economic and political
functionality of asylum for the nation state has been demonstrated a number of times.
For example, during the Cold War, refugee policy has often been in the service of
151
foreign policy (Pupavac, 2006; Zolberg et al., 1986). Many citizens of communist
countries were not directly targeted and persecuted but rather were fleeing dire
economic conditions which could exclude them from the protection of the
Convention refugee status if considered on an individual basis. However, western
governments chose to relax this restriction because the economic conditions
prevalent in the Soviet Bloc were thought to be politically generated (Xenos, 1996, p.
236). Refugee emigration was seen as a way to weaken communist states in
an ideological sense by allowing people to "vote with their feet" as well as in a more
material sense because the outflow of certain socioeconomic groups undermined the
countries’ economies (Zolberg et al., 1986, p. 155).
On the other side of the Iron Curtain, countries such as Czechoslovakia also utilised
asylum as a political tool, though with incomparable results in terms of numbers of
accepted refugees. At the same time as Slovaks and Czechs were fleeing the country
in search of political freedom and a better life in the West,60
there were legal
mechanisms in place to address selected refugee situations. Socialist Czechoslovakia
was not a signatory of the 1951 Convention but the concept of asylum was part of the
Czechoslovak legal system. Refugees could, in theory, be accepted based on the
Constitutional law (No. 100/1960, Art. 33), which stated that:
The Czechoslovak Socialist Republic grants asylum to foreign citizens who are
persecuted for defending the interests of the workers, for participating in
liberation movements, for scientific or artistic activities or other actions in
defence of peace.
This process was likely to be driven by ad hoc decisions and preferences of the
Communist Party leadership and instructions from Moscow. There is very little
60
It is estimated that between 1950 and 1989 more than 550,000 people emigrated from
Czechoslovakia (Drbohlav, 2005).
152
information available about numbers and countries of origin of refugees accepted in
this period.61
The “socialist” definition of “a refugee” makes the political dimension
of asylum even more explicit. Thus, on both sides of the Cold War’s bipolar
geopolitics, migrants claiming refugee status were seen as a political means to
demonstrate superiority and the wrongs of the enemy.
Asylum as a Ticket into the World of “Civilised” Nations
After the regime change in 1989, providing asylum in line with international
standards of Western liberal democracies gained political significance in CEE
countries eager to disassociate themselves from the communist past. The first groups
of “post-1989” asylum seekers appeared in Czechoslovakia in the middle of 1990.
They were mostly from Romania, Bulgaria and the USSR (DAMP, 2008b), making
use of relaxed border controls. What they experienced was a legal and institutional
void. When the MPs gathered in the joint session of the Chamber of the People and
the Chamber of the Nations62
on the eve of the first anniversary of the so called
“velvet revolution” in November 1990 to ratify the first Refugee Act (No. 498/1990),
there were already almost 800 people accommodated in rapidly established refugee
camps (Czechoslovak Federal Assembly, 1990). Passing this law was a first if hasty
step towards establishing the foundation for the country’s new asylum policy and it
constituted a necessary precondition for ratification of the 1951 Geneva Convention
and the related Protocol.
61
Greeks are the only larger group of refugees settled in Czechoslovakia that is documented to some
extent (Botu & Konečný, 2005). Between 1948 and 1950, Czechoslovakia responded to the civil war
in Greece and accepted an estimated group of 14,000 Greek refugees whose evacuation to Central
Europe was organised by Greek communist insurgents and coordinated from Moscow. Their arrival
came shortly after the post-war expulsion of the German population from the Czech borderlands.
Greek refugees were resettled in villages and towns “emptied” by Germans and were quickly
incorporated into local expanding industries in the 1950s (Otčenášek, 2001).
62
These were the two sections of the parliament then called the Federal Assembly.
153
Although there were no institutional and legal frameworks to receive refugees, there
was a strong feeling of obligation among the newly established political elite, many
of whom had actively engaged in dissident activities against the communist regime.
There was a certain euphoria about receiving refugees. The special meaning attached
to the 1990 Act comes out clearly from the transcripts of the above mentioned
session in the Chamber of the People and the Chamber of the Nations. The majority
of MPs saw the Refugee Act as the Czechoslovak Republic’s bold step from being
a politically troubled and undemocratic country that itself produced refugees towards
a democratic state ready to provide incomers with protection. They saw it not only as
a way to symbolically “pay back the debt” for those Czechoslovak citizens who were
accepted as refugees in the West, but also to join the club of free and “civilised”
countries. This was one of many supportive opinions expressed by MPs:
By ratifying this law, we will not only catch up with what we are still lacking
in comparison with the civilised world, but we will also be able to repay the
help which was provided to our people by citizens of other countries in the
hardest periods of our history. (Czechoslovak Federal Assembly, 1990)
Although some worries were raised about “being swamped by two million people
waiting to come” to Czechoslovakia (Czechoslovak Federal Assembly, 1990), this
fear was balanced by what proved to be a more realistic expectation; i.e. that the
country is more likely to be a transit point than a destination. As one of the MPs
pointed out:
Our rather weak economic situation will hardly make us a particularly soughtafter
destination or even the target country for refugees. (Czechoslovak Federal
Assembly, 1990)
There was a clear determination to welcome those refugees who wanted to come
while quickly putting up a legal and institutional framework for their reception. After
154
the plenary, the law was almost unanimously ratified. The Refugee Act came into
force in January 1991, following from that, the 1951 Geneva Convention and the
related New York Protocol of 1967 were ratified in November of the same year.
Compared to the Asylum Act of 2007, the 1990 Refugee Act was short and simple.63
It laid out basic measures of refugee reception and, beyond the framework of the
1951 Geneva Convention,64
it also allowed for granting refugee status based on
human rights and humanitarian considerations. 65
Thus, a refugee was initially
understood in a wider sense as someone in need of both protection and assistance.
When contrasted with the numbers of refugee statuses granted after the mid-1990s
and the recognition rates, the period between 1991 and 1993 clearly demonstrates
a more welcoming attitude of the emerging Czechoslovak refugee system (see Figure
5). Asylums granted in this three-year period represent 40 percent (N=1,307) of all
asylums granted until the end of 2007 (N=3,268) (DAMP, 2008b).66
Among the
main recipients were people coming from Romania, the Soviet Union and Vietnam
(DAMP, 2008b).
A lawyer who was employed as one of the first asylum adjudicators in 1990 (before
she moved to work for the UNHCR) notes that one of the reasons this position
appealed to her was that the head of the newly established Governmental Office for
63
The 1990 Refugee Act had 25 articles while the Asylum Act (valid from December 2007) has 97
articles and is a very lengthy and complicated document. Given the speed and relative inexperience
with which this document was put together it has also left unanswered many questions that soon
emerged as problematic in the practice of refugee reception and determination (for a summary of
some of these inadequacies see Hronková et al., 2002).
64
These include race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group and political
opinion.
65
See paragraph 3 of the Refugee Act No. 498/1990 (1990).
66
The average proportion of recognised refugees to asylum applicants between 1991 and 1993 was
25.3 percent.
155
Refugee Issues was a former political dissident, Michaela Freiová.67
The atmosphere
of the first two years was welcoming and the numbers of recognised refugees were
high, both because of the broad definition of a refugee and because the adjudicators
lacked adequate information about countries of origin based on which they could
disprove refugee testimonies.68
We had to look for all the information ourselves, that was a problem, but also
partly the reason why the recognition rate was so high at that time. When there
was a hint of doubt about their story, we would decide in claimants’ favour.69
[UNHCR representative, January 2007]
To sum up, the early 1990s – a period when western European countries were
already tightening up their asylum systems – could be characterised as a relatively
generous period towards people who claimed refugee status in Czechoslovakia.
However, rather than by a sound determination procedure based on careful
examining of individual cases, it was driven by a political and moral stance towards
refugees in general. Reception of refugees was seen as a break with the communist
past and a ticket into the world of “civilised” nations. Refugees were
instrumentalised into a demonstration of democratic standards and progress made by
the post-communist state and thus played an important role in the process of building
a new post-communist national identity.
67
Freiová was active in catholic samizdat prior to 1989.
68
This is why the number of asylums granted to Romanian nationals was so high in 1991; they were
simply the most numerous group to ask for it.
69
She then added a comment that today the attitude of the Ministry towards refugees is exactly the
opposite.
156
Figure 5 Asylums Granted and Recognition Rates70
, 1990-200771
Source: Based on data from DAMP (1999; 2000; 2001; 2002; 2003a; 2004a; 2005b; 2006b; 2007b;
2008c; 2008d)
A change in direction came soon after the dissolution of Czechoslovakia in 1993. In
1994, the first amendment of the Refugee Act (No. 317/1993) took effect. 72
In
an attempt to quickly sort out those who were not eligible for refugee status the
notion of “manifestly unfounded applications” was introduced into the
legislation.73
Moreover, the possibility to grant humanitarian asylum was removed
from the law. Thus the previously wider definition of a refugee was significantly
70
Due to the lack of available data about the asylum procedure, the recognition rates for the period
between 1990 and 1997 quoted in this study represent a proportion of asylums granted from the
number of new asylum applications made. From 1998 onwards recognition rates are calculated as
a proportion of asylums granted from all decisions made by DAMP in both instances.
71
Here, as in all the following graphs, columns represent the situation at the end of each year.
72
It is beyond the scope of this chapter to discuss changes related to the process of a review of
negative decisions in the asylum procedure; in what follows, only selected legislative changes are
mentioned.
73
The idea of manifestly unfounded cases was adopted from the EU Member States which started
implementing it based on the London Resolution of 1992, where the use of this measure was first
agreed (Lavenex, 1998, pp. 103-131).
0%
10%
20%
30%
40%
50%
60%
70%
80%
90%
100%
0
100
200
300
400
500
600
700
800
900
number of asylums granted recognition rate (%)
157
narrowed down. On the other hand, this legislative change also brought a number of
improvements to the situation of recognised refugees; it enabled family reunification
to recognised refugees and granted them access to the system of public health and
social insurance.
In a debate in the Lower House of the Parliament of the Czech Republic, the then
Minister of Interior Jan Ruml estimated that as many as 80 percent of all refugee
claims could be considered as manifestly unfounded (1993). He also stressed that the
Czech Republic came under pressure to conclude a readmission agreement with
Germany that had been tightening its asylum legislation at that time and was eager to
turn back foreigners coming from the Czech Republic and claiming asylum there.
This readmission agreement came into force in 1995. The argument for receiving
refugees as a symbolical reciprocation of previous assistance granted to
Czechoslovak refugees by the western countries was thus replaced by an urge to be
a better neighbour capable of policing its borders and integrating into European
structures of migration control. As discussed above, this was the basis for the Czech
Republic to become the “buffer zone” holding back migrants unwanted in Western
Europe (Wallace & Palyanistsya, 1995).
158
The lawyer previously quoted provided an insider explanation for this shift, arguing
that this change of direction started when the state authorities realised that most of
the migrants who were granted asylum consequently used their Czechoslovak
refugee passports to move away from the country and head towards Western Europe:
Unfortunately, these were the people who were not really interested in staying
in the Czech Republic. The majority of them, if not all, continued to Western
Europe after they obtained refugee status together with a passport. I think that
was the reason why the Ministry of Interior later prepared an amendment
where there were more reasons to reject an applicant. The idea was that the
majority of the people in the early 1990s took advantage of the refugee system
or simply saw the country as a transit zone. [UNHCR representative, January
2007]
Although neither the 1951 Convention nor the Czech Refugee Act mention refugees’
obligation to stay in the country where asylum was granted, the fact that many of the
recognised refugees decided not to settle in the Czech Republic was interpreted as
a sign of their abuse of the system. The argument that Czechoslovak and later Czech
refugee status was “not good enough” for refugees was later repeatedly used as
evidence that their claims were not genuine but motivated by economic reasons:
a logic which has shaped Czech refugee policies thereafter. Refugees acted
strategically based on knowledge about economic and social conditions in the Czech
Republic and elsewhere in Europe. It resulted in a restrictive transformation of the
refugee system and greater emphasis on the policing of borders. In the next section, I
follow this line of argument and, by analysing the implications of a particular
legislative concurrence that took place at the end of the 1990s, show how both
policymakers and their targets participate in the ongoing redefinition of what “a
refugee” means. For an overview of legislative developments in the context of other
spheres of national legislation and international processes between 1990 and 2007
159
see Table 8, (p. 178). For information about numbers of asylum seekers, recognition
rates and main countries of origin see Table 9, (p. 180).
From Labour Migrants to Asylum Seekers: A Story of a Policy
Mismatch
In 2000, the new Asylum Act (No. 325/1999) took effect. It was driven by the need
to deal with numerous deficiencies of the 1990 Refugee Act and pressure to
harmonise national asylum legislation with the EU. It reflected the process of
supranationalization of migration and asylum policy at the level of the EU
inaugurated by the Amsterdam Treaty in 1997, and the Tampere European Council in
1999. For example, notions of “safe country of origin”74
and “safe third country”75
were introduced in the Act. They widened the group of applicants whose asylum
claims could be rejected as “manifestly unfounded” and processed via a shortened
procedure with strict time-limits for appeals. These measures were initially designed
by the EU Member States to relieve their domestic asylum procedures by limiting
access and applying the system of unique responsibility for processing asylum
claims. As explained in Chapter 3, since the early 1990s, CEE states have also been
unilaterally incorporated into these policies of “passing the buck” (Lavenex, 1998).
Although the parliamentary debate about this new law referred to increasing misuse
of the asylum system by foreigners who “only seek an easy way to legalise their stay
74
According to the Asylum Act, “safe country of origin” is a country: where human rights are
considered to be observed, from which people do not flee in search of international protection, which
ratified international agreements about human rights and freedoms and which allows activity of legal
subjects that control whether human rights are respected (article 2, paragraph 1 of the Act).
75
“Safe third country” is any country (signatory to the 1951 Geneva Convention) where the applicant
previously stayed and could have applied for asylum. However, according to article 2, paragraph 2b of
the Act, it is not a country which s/he only passed through.
160
in the country”, a greater emphasis was put on formal justice in the proceedings.76
In
terms of concrete rights, the new Asylum Act brought about some significant
improvements in the position of asylum seekers. For example, they were no longer
required to stay in refugee camps for the whole time of their procedure and could
claim financial benefits when living in private accommodation. Moreover, the notion
of asylum based on humanitarian reasons (previously removed from the law) has
returned77
and thus also a broader interpretation of what asylum meant. Furthermore,
for the first time the law acknowledges that, based on special consideration, the
asylum interview should in some cases be conducted by a person of the same gender
as the asylum seeker. Finally, the amendment (No. 167/1999) of the Employment
Act (No. 1/1991) that coincided with the adoption of the Asylum Act allowed asylum
seekers to work legally from the day they applied for asylum without any
administrative obstacles. The official justification of this change presented by the
Ministry of Labour and Social Affairs to the Lower House of the Parliament was that
the administrative difficulties connected with administration of work permits for
some groups of foreigners (i.e. asylum seekers) were not sensible and effective,
especially if they engage in “specific types of activities” for “a very short period of
time” and thus cannot “endanger” the Czech labour market.78
Although these short
term activities are not specified in the document, it can be assumed that these are
considered to be seasonal and menial types of work that are less attractive for Czech
workers.
76
The transcript of the debate in the Lower House of the Parliament is available (in Czech) at
http://www.psp.cz/eknih/1998ps/stenprot/013schuz/s013411.htm#r1 [last accessed September 14,
2008]
77
See paragraph 14 of the Asylum Act No. 325/1999.
78
The whole text (in Czech) is available at: http://www.psp.cz/sqw/text/tiskt.sqw?o=3&ct=93&ct1=0
[last accessed September 14, 2008].
161
This relatively generous attitude towards asylum seekers’ rights can be explained by
the Social Democratic Government’s79
determination to integrate into the structures
of the EU not only in terms of increased migration control but also by improving the
general conditions of the asylum procedure and bringing it in line with European
standards.80
The statement from the Governmental proclamation from 1998 indicates
a reflection of the need to move towards a more open and multicultural society that
respects its humanitarian obligations.
Our future integration in the European Union will help Czech society to
overcome some of the negative attitudes towards people who speak, look and
live differently – maladies of every isolated community. This Government will
do maximum to make Czech society open to Europe and the world in the
widest possible manner and transform it into a multicultural society. We will
finish work on the new legislation concerning refugees and harmonise it with
international norms. Our aim is to achieve a balance between respect to
humanitarian approaches and imperatives to limit negative effects of migration
flows. (cited in Hradečná et al., 2008, p. 98)
If taken seriously, this proclamation stands in striking contrast to the highly
restrictive character of the new Alien Act (No. 326/1999) which was proposed by the
same government at the same time as the Asylum Act and was actually discussed in
the Lower House of the Parliament on the very same day.81
Thus, once again, asylum
was instrumentalised for political purposes. While the changes in the Asylum Act
concerned a relatively small group of people (7,218 new applications were launched
in 1999) their improved conditions could be presented as an indicator of society’s
movement towards greater openness and Europeanization. On the other hand, over
200,000 legally residing foreigners and an unknown number of those unregistered,
79
The Social Democrats were in power between 1998 and 2006.
80
The then Minister of Labour and Social Affairs Vladimír Špidla, who has been identified by some
NGO informants as standing behind the provision of the right to work, became the EU Commissioner
for Employment, Social Affairs and Equal Opportunities in 2004.
81
The Alien Act No. 326/1999 replaced the Alien Act No. 123/1992.
162
who undoubtedly had much greater potential for transforming the ethnically
homogeneous Czech society 82
into a multicultural one, have been portrayed as
a threat and subjected to a number of new restrictive mechanisms. The new Alien
Act brought in a number of measures in an attempt to increase control over the rising
numbers of foreigners. The official justification of the Act presented to MPs was
based on a one-sided portrayal of immigration as an uncontrolled security threat. One
particular argument from the 1999 discussion about the law is worth quoting as
a striking counterpart to the above call for openness and multiculturalism:
The Czech Republic has so far not registered increased xenophobic attitudes
among its population towards this group of citizens [i.e. foreigners]. However,
based on the experiences of other states a conclusion can be made that a society
is willing to absorb only a certain amount of a foreign element represented by
immigrants. Once exceeded, it leads to a resistance on the part of society
calling for more regulation of the inflow of foreigners.83
In other words, the quest for a multicultural society goes as far as (potential)
occurrence of xenophobia that supposedly indicates the limits of absorption of “the
foreign element”.
Indeed, as demonstrated by Figure 6, up until 1999, the number of foreigners legally
residing in the Czech Republic was rising rapidly. Between 1993 and 1999 it almost
tripled from 77,000 to 228,000 (CSO, 2007b). However, in 1999, legally residing
foreigners still represented less than two percent of the population. This proportion is
clearly incomparable with the situation of more traditional countries of immigration
whose supposedly negative experiences have been misused in the above quote and in
82
After the expulsion of Germans following the end of World War II, Czech society did not have to
accommodate any larger minority of foreigners and has remained largely ethnically homogeneous
until the end of the 1990s.
83
The whole text (in Czech) is available at:
http://www.psp.cz/sqw/text/tiskt.sqw?O=3&CT=204&CT1=0 [last accessed September 14, 2008]
163
a number of public political proclamations regarding the pre-emptive need to restrict
immigration.
Figure 6 Legally Residing Foreigners, 1990-2007 
Source: Based on figures of CSO (2008a)
The restrictive and highly bureaucratised character of the Alien Act has been
criticised by many NGOs, legal experts and in the 2000 Report on the State of
Human Rights in the Czech Republic (e.g. Čižinský, 2007; Government Council for
Human Rights, 2001; Hradečná, 2005; Hronková et al., 2002; Uhl, 2005). I will
resort to three examples that illustrate the changes and their impacts on immigrants.
1) The previous practice of switching from a temporary/tourist status into a longterm
stay on Czech territory was abolished. From then on migrants who came as
tourists but found themselves a job and wanted to stay for longer had to apply for
a long-term visa at the Czech consulate outside the country. Given the visa
requirements of neighbouring countries and the fact that some foreigners no longer
0
50,000
100,000
150,000
200,000
250,000
300,000
350,000
400,000
450,000
number of legally residing foreigners
164
had valid passports, this proved impossible and led to their illegalised status.
Importantly, this change also impacted on rejected asylum seekers who could no
longer legalise their status through employment related residence without having to
leave the country.
2) The financial costs of prolonging a residence permit increased significantly.
Migrants had to demonstrate having large sums of money at their disposal and
a proof of payment of health insurance. Unable to borrow these sums of money,
many people found it impossible to sustain their legal residence. It also led to
increased corruption (Uhl, 2005) and illicit practices that were generated by demands
for short-term loans.
3) The Alien Act was published on December 23rd
, 1999 and came into force on 1st
of January 2000, thus giving one week over the Christmas holiday period to both
immigrants and relevant institutions to adapt to a vast array of changes. This led to
profound confusion on both sides and consequently many foreigners missed various
administrative deadlines and lost their legal residence (Hradečná, 2005).
Moreover, another major change affected the lives of those already present in the
country and those about to come in 2000. Visa-free relations with countries that were
among the main sources of immigrants were abolished based on the pressure to unify
Czech visa policy with that of the EU and a visa obligation was applied to citizens of
the Russian Federation, Belarus, Ukraine, Moldova, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan
(Hradečná et al., 2008, p. 55). Combined with the new Alien legislation, a large
group of migrants fell into legal insecurity and many slipped into an illegalised status
(Čaněk & Čižinský, 2006; Hronková et al., 2002). Viewed through immigration
165
statistics, the effect of the law was immediate. As indicated in Figure 6, already in
2000 the number of legally residing immigrants fell by approximately 28,000. It was
the first decline since the beginning of the 1990s and the only one up until 2007.
But what does all this have to do with the concept of “a refugee”? It has considerable
impact because many of the newly illegalised immigrants actively resisted this state
and moved into the asylum system. They were seeking asylum not so much from
persecution in their home countries but rather from the impacts of the harsh
immigration law such as expulsion and detention (Komárková, 2004). Their actions
demonstrated that in order to obtain the status of a legal resident, migrants are
prompted to pass as people of a certain category (Epps, Valens, & González, 2005);
as the categories changed their strategies were adjusted. In other words, the content
of asylum has been redefined by the migrants themselves in the face of changing
legislation and it had a significant influence on how the refugee label was to be
perceived in the coming years.
Such a strategy has become ever more appealing with the asylum procedure now
providing an immediate possibility to work and to live outside the refugee camps. As
shown in Figure 7, the years 2000 and 2001 saw an unprecedented increase in the
numbers of asylum seekers. Not surprisingly, this increase was particularly
remarkable with regard to migrants from Ukraine, who have constituted one of the
major groups of labour migrants coming to the Czech Republic since the mid 1990s.
Whereas 94 Ukrainian nationals applied for asylum in 1999, 1,145 applied in 2000
166
and 4,416 applied in 2001.84
This was despite the fact that there was no major social
or political change in Ukraine that could bring about such a significant increase in
numbers of people seeking protection. Not surprisingly, these asylum seekers were
not being granted asylum. As Figure 7 indicates, the year 2001 saw the lowest
recognition rate in the history of the Czech asylum system, it dropped to 0.4 percent
(asylum was granted to 83 people) (DAMP, 2002).
Figure 7 Asylum Seekers and Recognition Rates, 1990-2007
Source: Based on data from DAMP (1999; 2000; 2001; 2002; 2003a; 2004a; 2005b; 2006b; 2007b;
2008c; 2008d)
84
Ukrainians were followed by the nationals of Moldova and Romania; the three groups topped the
ranks of asylum seekers in 2001 and represented 48 percent of all application that year (DAMP,
2008b).
0%
10%
20%
30%
40%
50%
60%
70%
80%
90%
100%
0
2000
4000
6000
8000
10000
12000
14000
16000
18000
20000
number of asylum seekers recognition rate (%)
167
Since the early 2000s, the strategy of legalisation of immigrants’ stay via application
for asylum has become a regular pattern. 85
The use of the asylum system by
illegalised migrants or those in an insecure legal situation has been widely discussed
in the literature (e.g. Čižinský, 2008; Drbohlav, 2008; Hradečná et al., 2008;
Rozumek, 2008; Topinka, 2006a; Topinka, 2006b). There is consensus that after the
changes in the law, many migrants found themselves with three options: leaving the
country; living as illegalised; or prolonging their legal stay by applying for asylum
(Čižinský, 2008, p. 14).
Topinka (2006b) explains the role of asylum as the only way out of the “illegality
trap”:
There are not many opportunities to get back from the sphere of illegality. The
fall is usually a definite one. One of the very few channels of mobility is to
apply for asylum. Labour migrants make use of it usually when they are tired
of constant changing of exhausting jobs or when they get into some kind of
a danger (of being captured by the police, getting involved in a criminal
activity, are unable to find a job or when some health complications emerge).
(p. 80)
The experience of “illegality” is gendered and particularly harsh for pregnant women
or people in need of regular medical care. Thus, health insurance provided within the
asylum procedure may be an important incentive for asylum application. As
Jelínková (2008) describes:
The current health system does not offer any feasible options for pregnant
women without a residence permit, not even when they are able to pay market
prices for the services. This situation compels pregnant women without a legal
residence to apply for asylum and thus secure approximately a year of legal
residence with access to free health care. (p. 42)
85
For example, with the exception of 2003 marked by a large influx of asylum seekers from
Chechnya, Ukrainian nationals remained on the top of the list of asylum seekers until the end of 2007.
Incorporating an asylum application into a wider labour migration project has become an established
strategy.
168
How was this done in practice? One simply needed to turn out in the Vyšní Lhoty
reception camp in north-eastern part of the country and claim to be an asylum seeker.
After two to three weeks of quarantine with all the medical checks and the first
asylum interview, s/he could return to his or her previous address outside the camp
knowing that even if promptly rejected, an appeal against the negative decision will
prolong the asylum procedure for another couple of months if not years.86
To sum up, ironically, the Alien Act not only failed to fulfil the promise of increased
control over immigration but the process of illegalisation of a large group of
foreigners had exactly the opposite effect (see also Uhl, 2005). Besides, it
significantly widened the scope for corruption and increased the alienation of
foreigners from the legal system that regulates their conditions of stay in the country.
While before 2000, the relatively liberal approach towards foreigners living and
working on Czech territory meant that many potentially eligible migrants did not
consider it necessary to apply for formal refugee status (Lavenex, 2002; Wallace &
Palyanistsya, 1995), after 2000 the opposite trend started to dominate.
These strategies are not unique to the Czech context and have also been described in
other parts of CEE (Okolski, 2004b; Wallace & Stola, 2001a). However, in order to
understand migrants’ utilisation of the asylum procedure it is not enough to conclude
that they simply misuse the system. Asylum legislation has to be assessed as
embedded in other institutions and legal frameworks, most notably a wider system of
migration control, including visa systems and conditions of highly selective access to
and preservation of a stable residence status for certain groups of migrants
86
DAMP estimates that in 2002 the median length of the asylum procedure was approximately 2.5
years (DAMP, 2003a).
169
(especially those with less resources from poorer countries of the East). The fact that
the refugee system is nowadays utilised by people who should, under normal
circumstances, take the immigration rather than asylum route is a result of
an interplay of factors. These include ineffective regulation of migrants’ residence,
employment, and access to healthcare on the one hand and an inefficient and lengthy
asylum procedure on the other. In these contexts of limited opportunities,
an application for asylum represents a rational and knowledgeable act. However, as I
will show in the next section, it had gloomy implications for the construction of “a
refugee”.
Asylum as a Tool of Migration Management
At the level of asylum legislation, yet another amendment of the Asylum Act
followed in 2001 (No. 2/2002). This time, the changes were much more restrictive
than in the case of the 1999 Act. Many rights previously granted were quickly taken
away. For example the financial subsidy for those accommodated outside the refugee
camps was reduced to three months only, which forced many asylum seekers to
move from private accommodation back to the camps (Hronková et al., 2002). The
right to seek legal employment was revoked for the first year of the asylum
procedure. Moreover, an accelerated asylum procedure was established in a special
zone of Prague International Airport, sometimes preventing people from legally
entering the territory of the Czech Republic and claiming asylum there altogether
(ECRI, 2004, p. 14). Also the possibility to carry out asylum procedure in detentions
was established and allowed for further confinement of asylum seekers.
170
All these measures were aimed at minimizing the numbers of asylum seekers by all
means possible. As demonstrated in the parliamentary debate about the amendment
from May 2001, the major concern about asylum has become prevention of its
misuse. The Social Democratic Minister of Interior Stanislav Gross, who presented
the document to the MPs, started off by saying:
The idea of this bill is to speed up the asylum procedure and minimise its
misuse for the purpose of legalisation of residence in Czech territory for other
purpose. Also it should prevent the misuse of the procedure in the process of
illegal migration.87
Although the amendment had many inconsistencies and was harshly criticised by
a coalition of NGOs, it was passed rather smoothly. NGO advocates whom I
interviewed recounted politicians’ lack of interest to enter into a discussion about the
possible human rights implications of this amendment for refugees.
Looking at asylum seeker statistics (see Figure 7 above); it seems that the
amendment had an immediate effect. Already in 2002, the number of applicants went
down by 10,000 and within one year it returned to the 2000 level88
(DAMP, 2008b).
The fact that this amendment of the Asylum Act “successfully” brought the numbers
down endowed policymakers with a newly realised power to curb the numbers of
asylum seekers and created a precedent which has been lingering in Czech asylum
policymaking ever since: the idea that the inflow of asylum seekers can be turned off
like a tap. When speaking to the heads of the key sections of DAMP who are
overseeing the determination procedure, European law implementation and the
87
The transcript of this debate (in Czech) is available at:
www.psp.cz/eknih/1998ps/stenprot/036schuz/s036044.htm#r1 [last accessed September 16, 2008]
88
The most significant drops were recorded among nationals of Romania, Ukraine and Moldova, but
also significantly less asylum seekers from Armenia, India and Afghanistan applied in 2002 (DAMP,
2008b).
171
national legislation, I was repeatedly told the same story. They argued that the 2001
increase in asylum applications and the subsequent fall after the amendment came
into force in 2002 were undeniable proofs that the majority of asylum seekers simply
abused the system to legalize their stay in the country and they withdrew from the
system when the conditions were made more “uncomfortable”.
Only the lower-rank employees in refugee facilities, who were confronted with
migrants avoiding migration control via the refugee system in their everyday work,
were willing to comment on the connection between migration management and
asylum – both administered by DAMP. For example, one of the asylum adjudicators
in the reception camp complained:
We would certainly be helped if other laws regarding the stay of foreigners
were loosened. If only the Czech Republic had some active employment
policies towards foreigners. Then these people wouldn’t go via us; that would
certainly help. [DAMP official, reception camp, August 2006]
One could only speculate whether this unfortunate situation could have been foreseen
by the policymakers who coordinated these legislative changes in the Asylum and
Alien acts.89
What is clear is that in the above described policy mismatch ignored
human agency of migrants and thus caught the refugee system unprepared and
overburdened. This had a major impact on the construction of asylum seekers and
refugees who have become predominantly seen as misusing the system. Although
some of the restrictions were mitigated by later changes,90
the migration-asylum “re-
89
Interestingly, in the parliamentary debates about both acts (which took place on the same days in
June and October 1999) MPs stressed that the two laws are closely connected with each other but did
not specify in what sense. See http://www.psp.cz/eknih/1998ps/stenprot/013schuz/13-12.html#1309
(Alien Act) and http://www.psp.cz/eknih/1998ps/stenprot/013schuz/s013411.htm#r1 (Asylum Act).
90
For example, as of 2003, the amendment of the Alien Act (No. 222/2003) stipulated that rejected
asylum seekers who spent at least two years in the asylum procedure and altogether five years in the
Czech Republic (continuously) could apply for permanent residence. The required period was later
reduced to four years.
172
shuffle” of the early 2000s represented a step towards gradual delegitimation of the
institution of asylum.
At a rhetorical level, the policymakers are well aware that deterring those who are
misusing the system cannot be to the exclusion of people in need of protection. There
seems to be a clear idea of the needs and motives these “genuine refugees” have.
Repeatedly, DAMP officials described them as people who had lived through such
horrors that they actually do not mind being unable to work or being confined in
refugee camps as far as they and their families are safe from life threatening
conditions in their countries of origin. Yet again, the imperative of a grateful and
humble refugee lurks behind this assumption. When asked about possible negative
impacts of the introduction of a year’s ban on employment on these “genuine
refugees” the head of the DAMP Asylum legislation section, replied:
If someone came to work here, then that person should seek an appropriate
legal format, i.e. the work permit and the respective residence status, and
should not go through the asylum procedure. [...] If a person seeks protection
from persecution then he or she seeks primarily this protection. It is also likely
that such a person will be very stressed, if we are talking about a typical
refugee who seeks protection. [Head of the DAMP Asylum legislation section,
May 2006]
Here, refugees are constructed as suffering yet rational beings with a clearly
structured hierarchy of needs that match the structure of the existing legal categories.
A particular kind of rationality and predictability is demanded from asylum seekers:
their actions should conform to the legal and institutional framework of the asylum
law and smoothly adjust to its (however abrupt) changes. Those who violate this
logic are viewed as undeserving the protection.
173
Undermining the Refugee System from Within: The Position of
NGOs
The new legal framework of Asylum and Alien legislation also significantly affected
the work of NGOs assisting asylum seekers and other groups of migrants. In this
section, I will show that it had a profound effect on their work which in its
consequences acted as yet another way of undermining the protection in the refugee
system.
In 2000, many NGOs were overwhelmed first by desperate foreigners who were not
able to prolong their legal residence permits due to rapidly changed legal conditions
and second by migrants-turned-asylum seekers who needed assistance with appeals
that enabled them to remain in the asylum procedure for more months if not years.
A lawyer from NGO “A”, described the situation of chaos which ensued in early
2000:
The new Alien Act created totally new conditions for the renewal of their
[migrants’] long-term residence. At that time, we would get about fifty clients
a day in our centre. They were often desperate, some were at the edge of
breakdown, imagine, some of them had been living here for seven or eight
years ... so when they had come to the department of Alien Police to ask about
these changes, the officers were also not able to give them any advice because
they themselves did not know what was going on, there were too many
changes. Moreover, migrants had to provide a number of new certificates from
the authorities who had nevertheless no clue that they should provide them.
Before these messages got communicated through, their legal status usually
expired, they either slipped into illegality or claimed asylum. [NGO “A”,
January, 2007]
Consequently, the NGOs assisting refugees were hit by the increase in asylum
seekers, especially so in 2001, and had to face a dramatic rise in the number of
clients. Many NGO informants recounted this time as extremely stressful and
disenchanting. They were well aware that many of the people who were seeking their
174
assistance did not really have “asylum relevant” stories to tell but they nevertheless
felt obliged to assist them. On the other hand, this left NGO advocates with little time
and energy to pursue more “hopeful” asylum cases, to look for extra information on
countries of origin and carefully prepare their cases. Some recounted being on the
edge of “burning out” because there was so much work and so little prospect for any
tangible success in their job. For example, a long-term advocate from NGO “C”,
described the period as a personal crisis in her work with asylum seekers:
It was around the year 2000 when it had become more and more difficult to
help them [asylum seekers]. You could help them to find friends, get a job, as
a social worker I worked on these issues quite a lot, especially on establishing
the social networks, because I knew how important they are when they need
something to hold on to later on. So I was doing that and then, suddenly, the
new law comes and that’s it, they don’t get asylum and they have to get lost.
That was really hopeless and also helping them was hopeless, so I had a kind of
a crisis ... I had a feeling that I have nothing to offer them. [NGO “C”, April
2006]
Others also observed that with the increasing numbers and similarity of clients, the
work of NGOs has become more routine and less fulfilling. Chytil (2004)
summarises it as follows:
Although NGOs define themselves in opposition to the bureaucratic discourse,
high numbers of clients, low rates of success and the lack of strategic approach
partly contribute to increasing formalism and weakening of enthusiasm. (p. 72)
For the NGO “A” lawyer, her understanding of who is a refugee was under strain:
For me, refugees are all foreigners who come to us and seek some sort of
assistance. That means not only those who claim reasons in line with the
Geneva Convention, but simply all the people who get into troubles that have
to do with the fact that they cannot return back home. [NGO “A”, January
2007]
175
She described how during the early 2000s this wide conception of “a refugee”
adopted by her and her organisation came under attack from DAMP:
They were pushing all NGOs to cooperate and to engage in some sort of a preselection
of asylum seekers. We were basically encouraged to exclude those
who did not have asylum relevant claims and thus leave them with no access to
free counselling. In a way, they wanted us to decide who deserves help and
who doesn’t. There were many meetings around this and also some threats
were voiced in connection to financial support the NGOs were receiving.
[NGO “A”, January 2007]
DAMP tried to instrumentalize NGOs and turn them into its extended arm in the
process of sorting out the undeserving migrants. I conclude that the above legislative
changes directly affected the conditions of NGO assistance and weakened their
ability to provide an effective and independent help to asylum seekers.
Towards a Common European Asylum System
In 2004, the Czech Republic joined the EU. Similarly to other candidate countries, it
engaged in anticipatory adjustments to the EU membership by adopting a number of
EU norms and practices even before they became a formal requirement. Since 1993,
Czech asylum policymakers repeatedly referred to EU regulatory policies in order to
justify their policy choices. After 2004, EU regulations and directives discussed in
the previous chapter have become the main driving force for changes of the Czech
asylum legislation up until 2007. In 2005, the Czech Republic has also become
eligible to draw funds from ERF established by the Council Decision 2000/596/EC
to improve and unify the standards of reception systems in the EU countries. Based
on the decision of the Czech government, DAMP was made responsible for
176
distributing the fund.91
Thus, it gained even more power over financial support for
NGOs.
The two last amendments of the Asylum Act deserve attention. The amendment (No.
165/2006) brought a major change by introducing the category of “subsidiary
protection” required by the Council Directive 2004/83/EC; since 2006 this (lesser)
form of protection can be granted alongside asylum. Another change in this
amendment widened the definition of what constitutes persecution by adding “sex”
as a sixth ground next to race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social
group and political opinion.92
Despite its significance it gained little public attention
which was most likely due to the fact that it was negotiated only between DAMP and
the UNHCR and was not preceded by any campaign. Its implications will be further
discussed in the next chapter.
The very last amendment of the Asylum legislation (No. 379/2007) gained much
more attention and aroused significant discontent among NGO advocates, UNHCR
and some sections of the general public. It stipulated that as of December 2007,
asylum seekers could be confined in the reception camps for up to 120 days93
(this
change will be further discussed in Chapter 6). Apart from this major impediment on
asylum seekers’ freedom of movement, it also tightened the conditions for reception
of asylum seekers at Prague International Airport. This measure concerns all persons
who declare their wish to apply for asylum in the transit zone of any international
91
The European Council Decision establishing the ERF for the period 2005-2010 leaves this choice to
each Member State (Council of the European Union, 2004, p. 19).
92
Although attention to the gendered character of persecution has been advocated by both UNHCR
and the EU, it was not a part of the mandatory package to be implemented.
93
Initially, the Ministry of Interior wanted to have power to detain them indefinitely but
a compromise was negotiated with NGOs and the UNHCR.
177
airport in the Czech Republic.94
The entry of these people can be rejected and
“hypothetically” they can be viewed as if they never entered the Czech territory. This
makes them easily deportable and strips them of the right to claim asylum altogether.
Even those who are allowed to enter can later spend up to four months in detention at
the Airport. Not only is their freedom of movement curtailed but asylum seekers
have to reside in inadequate material conditions with limited access to fresh air. Even
though this measure is not unique to the Czech context and is also applied in other
EU countries, it stretches the limits of what is an acceptable treatment of asylum
seekers to its extremes.
Thus, as these two last amendments signify, further integration of the Czech asylum
system into that of the EU, which has been strengthened by joining the Schengen
Area in 2007, brings about a drastically reduced notion of what “a refugee” means. It
increasingly depends on people’s ability to actually access the Czech territory. No
wonder that since 2004 the numbers of asylum seekers have been steadily decreasing
ending at 1,878 new asylum applications in 2007 (DAMP, 2008c).
94
Given that the Czech Republic is surrounded only by other EU countries, landing by plane becomes
an increasingly important means to apply for asylum without the risk of being transferred to another
country based on the Dublin II Regulation.
178
Table 8 Evolution of the Czechoslovak & Czech Asylum Legislation, 1990-2007
In
effect
from
Act or its
amendment
Changes compared to the previous
(version of the) Act
Developments in other relevant areas of the
national legislation
International developments
1991 498/1990
Refugee Act
1991 ratification of the 1951 Geneva
Convention and the related 1967 Protocol
Readmission agreements with Austria
(1992) & Poland (1993)
1993 the dissolution of Czechoslovakia
1994 317/1993
amendment
‐ Introduction of family reunification for
recognised refugees
‐ Abolition of refugee status based on
humanitarian considerations
‐ Introduction of manifestly unfounded
applications
1994 cooperation in asylum matters
integrated into the strategy of preadmission
negotiations with CEE
countries
1995 readmission agreement with
Germany
2000 325/1999
Asylum Act
‐ Introduction of new reasons to consider
the application as manifestly unfounded
based on the safe country and safe third
country principles
‐ Possibility to stay outside the refugee
camps during the procedure and
provision of financial support at the
level of subsistence
‐ Return of asylum based on
humanitarian reasons
‐ Based on special consideration, asylum
interview can be conducted by the person
of the same gender as an asylum seeker
Employment Act 1/1991
(167/1999 amendment)
‐ As of 1999, Asylum seekers can be
employed without any administrative
obstacle
Alien Act 326/1999
‐ As of 2000, significant restrictions imposed
on the regime of entry and residence of
foreigners
Changes in the visa regime
‐ As of 2000, visa obligation introduced for
citizens of: Russian Federation, Belarus,
Ukraine, Moldova, Kazakhstan,
Kyrgyzstan
1997 Amsterdam treaty & 1999 Tampere
European Council supranationalisation of
asylum policies in the EU
(continued)
179
2002 2/2002
Amendment
‐ Financial support to asylum seekers
residing outside the camps reduced to
three months
‐ accelerated asylum procedure
established in a special zone of Prague
International Airport
‐ possibility to keep asylum seekers in
detentions while undergoing the asylum
procedure
Employment Act 1/1991
(2/2002 amendment)
‐ As of 2002, asylum seekers can only work
with a valid work permit that can be issued
no sooner than after one year from the
launch of the asylum application
Alien Act 326/1999
(222/2003 amendment)
‐ As of 2003, asylum applicants can apply for
permanent residence after five years of
continuous documented stay in the country
2004 Czech Republic enters the EU and
joins the Dublin II Regulation
2004 Readmission agreement with
Slovakia
2006 165/2006
Amendment
‐ Introduction of the category of
subsidiary protection as another form of
international protection next to asylum
‐ “sex” as another ground for
persecution based on which asylum can
be granted
‐ Abolishment of two-year limitation for
repeated asylum applications
2007 379/2007
Amendment
‐ Asylum seekers can be kept in the
reception camps for up to 120 days and
their “communication devices” can be
taken away
‐ Airport procedure is tightened and a legal
fiction of non-entry on the Czech territory
is created easier deportability of
asylum seekers
Alien Act 326/1999
( 42/2008 amendment)
‐ the possibility to apply for permanent
residence after four years of continuous
stay in the country is limited to a small
group of foreigners (below 18 or above 65
years old)
2007 Czech Republic joins the Schengen
Area
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Table 9 Asylum Applications, Recognition Rates and Main Countries of Origin,
1990 - 2007
Years Asylum
applications
Main countries of
origin of asylum
seekers
Recognition
rates %95
Main countries of origin
of recognised refugees
1990 1,602 Romania, Bulgaria 1.9 Romania, USSR
1991 2,226 Romania, Bulgaria 34.9 Romania, USSR
1992 841 Armenia, Vietnam 29.8 Vietnam, Romania
1993 2,207 Bulgaria, Armenia 11.3 Romania, Vietnam
1994 1,187 Bulgaria, Armenia 9.8 Armenia, Afghanistan
1995 1,417 Romania, Bulgaria 4.2 Afghanistan, Iraq
1996 2,211 Bulgaria, Romania 7.3 Romania, Afghanistan
1997 2,109 Bulgaria, Iraq 4.6
Bosnia & Herzegovina,
Afghanistan
1998 4,085
Afghanistan,
ex-Yugoslavia
2.4 Afghanistan, DR Congo
1999 7,218
Afghanistan, Sri
Lanka
1 Afghanistan, Belarus
2000 8,793
Ukraine,
Afghanistan
1.9 Belarus, Afghanistan
2001 18,094 Ukraine, Moldova 0.4 Belarus, Iran
2002 8,484 Ukraine, Vietnam 0.7 Russian Fed., Belarus
2003 11,400
Russian Fed.,
Ukraine
1.4 Russian Fed., Afghanistan
2004 5,459
Ukraine, Russian
Fed.
1.8 Russian Fed., Belarus
2005 4,021 Ukraine, Slovakia 5.7 Russian Fed., Belarus
2006 3,016 Ukraine, Egypt 8.9 Belarus, Russian Fed.
2007 1,878 Ukraine, Turkey 8.5 Belarus, Russian Fed.
Source: Based on data from DAMP (1999; 2000; 2001; 2002; 2003a; 2004a; 2005b; 2006b; 2007b;
2008c; 2008d)
95
DAMP representatives often argue that the low recognition rates in the early 2000s were due to the
fact that many applicants left the country before the decision was made. Indeed, an average of 54
percent of all decisions made was to discontinue the asylum procedure due to the lack of applicants’
cooperation, e.g. not attending asylum interviews, or due to his or her departure from the country.
However, if the numbers of these “discontinued cases” are deducted from the number of all decisions
made in given years, the recognition rates increase slightly but not by more than three percent.
181
Conclusions
Since the early 1990s, the idea of “a refugee” has moved from a stake in defining the
country’s political identity and affiliation with the world of “civilised” nations into
an instrument of migration control. This process has been facilitated by the country’s
integration to the EU but not entirely determined by it. As I have shown, it also had
a number of rather indigenous features. The EU has represented an overarching
framework for the direction of asylum policy developments but it has left Czech
policymakers with some space for manoeuvre. This space has become even greater
as the asylum and migration legislation became extremely complex and convoluted,
not only for migrants and asylum seekers but also for politicians and NGO
advocates.
I have argued that immigrants play an active part in shaping and transforming the
policies that affect their lives rather than being passive pawns in the hands of
policymakers. Abrupt changes in the 1999 Alien Act threw many foreigners into the
position of legal insecurity and facilitated the process of illegalisation of many. On
the other hand it also prompted illegalised persons’ strategic reaction in search of
(temporary) stability and led to a redefinition of the concept of “a refugee” from
below. They have been able carve out some space for themselves. However, their
strategic actions were utilised by policymakers to legitimise restrictions imposed
upon others thus further devaluing the refugee label. Such developments have also
weakened the potential of NGOs to effectively assist refugee migrants. This example
supports the argument that the changes in the asylum legislation as well as in the
actual situation of refugee migrants have to be seen in the context of both the
international and national policy developments regarding foreigners in a wider sense.
182
I concur with Castles (2003) who argued that migration policies fail in achieving
their objectives because policymakers tend to see migration “as something that can
be turned on and off like a tap through laws and policies” rather than as a dynamic
social process (p. 26). As this chapter demonstrated, such an approach can lead to the
perception of asylum as a matter of migration management rather than a fundamental
human right.
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Chapter 5: The Practices of Determination: Who Is
“a Refugee”?
Introduction
In the previous chapter, I dealt with the question of the idealised conception of “what
a refugee is.” Here, I focus on a more practical aspect, i.e. the determination at the
individual level of “who is or is not a refugee” (Phillips & Hardy, 1997, p. 166
emphasis original). While the “what” question constitutes a refugee as a concept, the
“who” question produces an object – a foreigner who is turned into a category of
a person with a particular set of entitlements and limitations. I discuss the
construction of who is “a refugee” through the analysis of practices of the refugee
determination process. The determination process is an important subject of study
not only because the future legal status of a foreigner is decided upon, but also
because it constitutes the actual content of the refugee concept and connects it to the
operation of the refugee system. As I will show here, it also indicates how refugees
are envisioned as potential future members of society.
In thinking about the determination process, it is tempting to implicitly adhere to
unproblematic and stable notions of power and powerlessness. Indeed, on the one
hand, there is the state as a holder of a formal authority and on the other hand, there
are refugees whose future position is entirely dependent on the state’s decision as to
whether to grant them protection and of what kind. However, the reality is more
complex than that. Drawing on Foucault’s work on power as embodied in networks
and being in circulation rather than possessed by a single (sovereign) actor, Hardy
(2003) argues that the process of refugee status determination should not be viewed
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as fully controlled by a single actor, regardless of attempts by governments to be
perceived in this way.
Despite possessing considerably more resources as well as legal and policymaking
authority compared to NGOs (never mind individual refugees), the
experience of government actors in controlling refugee determination is one of
frustration rather than of successfully implemented policies. This situation is
due to the existence of a myriad of factors outside its control as well as
an ongoing struggle between other actors in the system. (p. 472)
Such an approach also sees power as a productive force that constitutes the identities
of both individuals and institutions as it operates in everyday social practices.
In what follows, I ask: How is “a refugee” being constructed as an object in the
refugee status determination process? What role do embodied characteristics such as
nationality, ethnicity, state of health and gender play? How is the determination
process connected with the formation of DAMP’s institutional identities? First, I
outline some of the general characteristics and problematic aspects of the
determination process. Next, I discuss different institutional and informal actors who
influence the process in the Czech Republic. In the last three sections I compare the
position of Chechens versus that of Belarusians in refugee status determination,
problematise the role of humanitarian asylum and consider the implications of adding
“sex” as the sixth basis of persecution in the Czech Asylum Act in 2006.
Intricacies of the Refugee Status Determination Process 
In order to succeed in the process of determination, asylum seekers need to adjust to
bureaucratic systems of classification by re-articulating their lives “in ways that at
once conform to established codes and that stand out as deserving of attention and
acceptance” (Epps et al., 2005, p. 9). It has been documented in a number of contexts
that this system of classification is highly ambiguous and operates through means of
185
simplification and stereotyping of asylum seekers’ socio-cultural characteristics (e.g.
Akram, 2000; Barsky, 1994; Monnier, 1995; Rousseau, Crépeau, Foxen, & Houle,
2002). The determination process is also shaped by ethnocentric conceptions of how
memory works and by assumption about “appropriate” emotional expressions while
describing the story of persecution, especially when the experiences of torture and
trauma are involved (Ordóñez, 2008; Shuman & Bohmer, 2004).
Writing from a Canadian perspective, Barsky (1994) concludes that the refugee
hearing is a test of claimants’ ability to construct the right image of the “convention
refugee” and to satisfy the expectations of the decision-makers. He stresses that these
assumptions are grounded within particular political, economic, cultural and moral
discourses that tend to remain implicit in the process. Consequently, those who are
most able to navigate and understand the expectations of the host country and
understand the language and the inner working of bureaucracy are also most likely to
perform as “genuine refugees”. Others, whose narrative style and performance do not
fit into the pre-existing frameworks, may easily be misunderstood and rejected
(Rousseau et al., 2002). According to Ordóñez (2008), genuineness is associated with
two types of contradictory presuppositions with regard to asylum seekers’ agency.
They are expected either to present themselves as “truthful and quintessential victims
[...] with little agency in the activities that led to their displacement” or to
demonstrate a kind of “hyperagency” (p. 43) when recounting their political activism
in the country of origin.
The adjudicators who make decisions about asylum often show a lack of cultural
understanding and rarely have a special training to deal with victims of torture and
people with traumatic experiences (e.g. Rousseau et al., 2002; Shuman & Bohmer,
186
2004). Various reports show that this leads to the production of highly ambiguous
information and supports adjudicators’ rigid focus on (dis)proving the validity of the
“hard data” such as dates, numbers and various documents. As Barsky (1994)
observed, often “the veracity of the entire claim is put into question by ultimately
inconsequential (but verifiable) details” (p. 149). Besides, the official’s unfamiliarity
with the political situation commonly results in shifting the responsibility to the
refugee who is then expected to create “a plausible narrative out of implausible
events” (Shuman & Bohmer, 2004, p. 403).
Despite high levels of arbitrariness and the lack of rigorousness which tend to
characterise the refugee determination process (Monnier, 1995; Rousseau et al.,
2002), my research as well as other studies show that those who are in charge of the
process tend to portray it as a matter of truth or falsity and a clear cut detection of the
(non)existence of asylum-relevant reasons. Given the above mentioned critiques,
some conclude that the actual process of determination “appears more like a ritual
than a rigorous and methodical investigation enabling discovery of the truth”
(Monnier, 1995, p. 321). Others are more straightforward in assessing its function as
being designed to act simply “as a deterrent to admitting unworthy applicants”
(Bohmer & Shuman, 2007, p. 604). Thus, it should be seen as a political tool
legitimising state selection process rather than a fact-finding exercise.
Below, I build on these analyses while also adding another dimension: I show the
implications that the practices of refugee status determination have, not only for
asylum seekers but also for the institutional identities of those who decide about their
future status. I focus on two factors that strongly shape this process:
nationality/ethnicity and gender. Rather than discussing these categories as a basis of
187
persecution in line with the 1951 Geneva Convention and its later reinterpretations, I
show that they operate as a means of stratification of chances to be recognised as
a refugee in the determination process. Despite the formal “same rules apply to all”
principle promised by the law and repeatedly stressed to me by the DAMP
representatives I interviewed, a number of implicit sorting mechanisms are at play
that question the individualised character of the determination process.
Setting and Actors of the Refugee Status Determination Process
First, it is necessary to describe different players and their predispositions to make or
influence decisions in the refugee status determination process. I start with the
perspective of the asylum seekers and then discuss state, nongovernmental and
informal players. This outline shows the complexity of power structures of the
determination process. It would be simplistic to reduce them to a relationship
between the state and the asylum seeker.
By availing themselves of the asylum procedure people gain a chance to obtain
international protection and the right to reside and be supported in a foreign country.
On the other hand, they also face a risk of being removed not only from the country
of application but from a much larger territory. From the perspective of asylum
seekers, the European space has become highly interconnected due to various
readmission agreements between states, the Dublin II Regulation accepted by most
of the EU Members and the EURODAC system of sharing information about asylum
seekers. In other words, by applying for asylum, asylum seekers become visible and
potentially “unacceptable” and deportable within a much larger territory than only
one state. Moreover, as shown in the previous chapter, the conditions for asylum
188
seekers in the Czech Republic have become harsher since the last amendment of the
Asylum Act in 2007 and they can now be kept in closed reception camps for up to
four months. Thus, by applying for asylum they also take the risk of being confined
for extended periods of time in refugee or detention camps.
Asylum Seekers’ Knowledge about the Determination Procedure
Knowledge of the “rules of the game” is obviously crucial in the asylum procedure.
However, only a minority of asylum seekers have substantial knowledge about the
workings of the asylum system before they enter it and only a few gain such
knowledge during the course of the asylum procedure. This lack of information is
perpetuated by their reliance on incorrect, confused and often contradictory
information and creates fertile ground for the emergence of “asylum myths” that
circulate among asylum seekers and influence their decision-making in the process.
The general opacity of the system creates the potential for exploiting asylum seekers’
misinformation. In particular, it leads to people’s conviction that there are a number
of unofficial/informal ways of obtaining asylum.
I was often struck by peoples’ ignorance about the concept of asylum, the
mechanisms of the asylum procedure and the roles of different institutional players
and their position in the power structure of the system. Asylum seekers should get
informed about their rights and obligations as participants in the asylum procedure
from DAMP officials and RFA social workers already in the reception camp, before
the refugee status determination process starts. Nonetheless, I observed that this
information is often delivered in a rather technical and superficial manner. When
combined with other factors like stress, language barriers and asylum seekers’
189
common mistrust towards state authorities, it does not have a significant impact on
their knowledge about the system.
Moreover, the environment of the camp is isolated from alternative sources from
which to obtain and confirm information. Despite the fact that the vast majority of
applicants speak either Russian or English, the newest version of the Asylum Act
was not available in either of these languages during this research. Informants who
tried to obtain the document in Russian did not succeed when they turned to DAMP,
RFA and also to the local office of the UNHCR. A refugee woman in her fifties
commented on the situation:
When I asked about the access to the law in Russian I was told by the social
workers: What do you want to know? We will tell you. But I wanted to get
a bigger picture; you sometimes don’t know what to ask about if you don’t
know the context. Ok, they answer your question but they will not tell you
about the alternatives, you know, what else you could do to solve the problem.
And if you demand the law in Russian, they think you are acting too smart and
the relations start getting worse [Residential/Integration camp, April 2007]
If it is necessary to inform asylum seekers about a legislative change, this usually
happens in a limited manner; they are called together and only get told about what
they can and cannot do within the framework of the new measure. The lack of basic
knowledge about the system prevents refugees from formulating more specific
questions about their situation, sustains dependency on the help of others and
discourages them from acting on their own behalf. This argument is also confirmed
by the study of Tollarová (2008) where she shows how the Czech refugee system
accustoms asylum seekers to passivity and the lack of influence over both major and
everyday decisions about their situation.
190
This lack of knowledge sometimes combines with the rumours and suspicions to
generate doubts about the very existence of the asylum procedure based on principles
of justice and equality. A Kafkaesque illustration was presented to me by a refugee
man in his late thirties:
I once spoke to a man who was genuinely convinced that the asylum procedure
works as follows: every now and then, Haišman [the head of DAMP] throws
a couple of asylum applications on his desk and randomly selects a few whom
he grants asylum; the rest are given negatives [rejections]. He was
an uneducated man, but he was certainly not the only one who believed in such
a thing. [Private accommodation, June 2006]
Another young man, still an asylum seeker, commented in a similar manner,
speaking about how the asylum process is perceived among the people in his camp:
People here believe that asylums are being granted in specific months. This
procedure has brought people into marasmus and paranoia. [Residential camp,
March 2007]
However, this does not mean that asylum seekers do not act as knowledgeable
agents. Various (informal) kinds of information about the procedure are constantly
probed and tested, especially through observation of the actions of fellow asylum
seekers and the administrative results of their moves. For obvious reasons, this kind
of knowledge is highly susceptible to misinterpretation and becomes fast outdated in
the world of quickly changing legislation. Given its complex and convoluted
character, it can also be manipulated and misused by people who can appear as more
educated and knowledgeable than others.
Actors in the Process of Refugee Status Determination
There are at least six institutional and informal actors who are the most influential in
refugee status determination, each generating different impacts in this process. By
191
discussing them one by one I wish to illustrate that although a most powerful player
in the game, in reality, the state does not have total control over the process.
First, DAMP is the main decision-maker. It operates through its interviewers and
adjudicators whose decisions on asylum have to be personally approved by the head
of DAMP. Rejected asylum seekers can also appeal to the courts. However, the
courts cannot overturn a decision made by DAMP. The only thing they can do if they
decide in favour of the asylum applicant is to refer the case back as a sign that the
DAMP decision is considered unlawful and needs to be reconsidered.96
Although
DAMP is supposed to take courts’ argumentation into account, it is not obliged to
follow it in its final decision. Thus, effectively, DAMP is the only body that can
grant or withdraw asylum.
Second, strong and largely unacknowledged influence is exercised by interpreters,
who have the power to reformulate both questions and answers and can facilitate
understanding or create further confusion in the interview process (see also Ordóñez,
2008). According to the Czech Asylum Act, interpreters are selected and financed by
the Ministry of Interior but asylum seekers can, at their own expense, use the
services of interpreters of their own choice. Importantly, asylum seekers have to
accept the interview not necessarily in their mother tongue but in any language “they
are able to comprehend and make themselves understood.” 97
This provision is
particularly relevant for the citizens of the Russian Federation and the former Soviet
Union; it is often assumed that, despite the diversity of their mother tongues, they are
all able to speak Russian. Since Russian speaking interpreters are much more likely
96
For more about the role of courts in the Czech refugee system see Větrovský (2006a).
97
See paragraph 22, articles 1 and 2 of the Asylum Act 1999/325 Coll., 2008.
192
to be at hand than Chechen or Armenian, Russian is commonly used as the language
of interviews. This can create obstacles for those who have difficulties with
expressing themselves convincingly in Russian.
Third, NGOs influence the process by working on behalf of individual asylum
seekers and acting for them in court. However, their role has been largely limited to
working with rejected applicants who need to file an appeal. They are much less
involved in actually preparing asylum seekers for the interview and informing them
about their rights before the first decision is made. Although asylum seekers can ask
to have an NGO advocate present at the interview, this option is very rarely used.
Less directly, NGOs can also influence the process by raising general awareness
about the situation in applicants’ countries of origin and thus creating public pressure
on DAMP to recognise their claims. Some asylum seekers also use the paid services
of private lawyers. These may be more efficient and facilitate a successful
application or they may take advantage of asylum seekers’ insecure legal position,
take their money and do little or no work.
Fourth, UNHCR representatives have the right to be present at interviews and to be
informed about the decisions made by DAMP. Asylum seekers can contact their
office during their proceedings. However, UNHCR’s actual involvement in
individual cases is limited to exceptional instances whose adjudication can have
a systemic effect on the asylum procedure. As I will show later in this chapter,
occasionally, the UNHCR office is able to “push through” some legislative changes
in the Asylum Act and publishes recommendations for DAMP on how to conduct the
determination process.
193
Fifth, Security Information Service (SIS), the Czech intelligence agency, is granted
access to asylum seekers’ personal information by the Asylum Act.98
What is being
less publicised and sometimes even dismissed by officials is that the SIS regularly
recruits its informants among asylum seekers, sometimes with a promise of speeding
up their asylum case.99
As it emerged from a number of interviews with asylum
seekers and recognised refugees, they are usually asked to provide information about
their countries of origin or to report on the activities of other inhabitants of the
camps. Such a practice not only supports the idea that asylum is something “to be
earned” but it also spreads mistrust among asylum seekers. 
Sixth, informal actors can also be important sources of information that have key
influence on asylum seekers’ approach to the determination procedure. They are part
of the international “migration industry” which has flourished under the restrictive
measures of the last decade; its illegal section consists mostly of people-smugglers
and traffickers (Castles, Crawley, & Loughna, 2003, p. 5). People who bring
migrants across the borders advise them (often incorrectly) on how to behave as
asylum seekers. Likewise, fellow asylum seekers, recognised refugees or other
groups of foreigners who already live in the country act as informal advisers and
agents in the process. Besides, RFA workers in the camps can also be significant
players. Although they are not officially entitled to do so, I have heard of a number
of instances when asylum seekers were disciplined by RFA workers who suggested
that their (mis)behaviour while in the camps has an impact on the result of their
98
See paragraph 71, article 5 of the Asylum Act 1999/325 Coll., 2008.
99
In the annual reports, SIS officially declares monitoring of the situation in residential camps (SIS,
2004) and names RFA and DAMP as its close collaborators (SIS, 2007).
194
asylum case. This information has no ground in the legislation but many asylum
seekers genuinely believed in it.
The refugee determination process formally begins when asylum seekers fill in
an application in one of the reception camps. Depending on the availability of
interpreters, this happens within two to three days of their arrival in the camp. This
application later constitutes the basis of their asylum claim together with
an interview conducted within the next couple of days also in the reception camp. If
their application is not considered as manifestly unfounded and rejected at that stage
and if they are not considered to be a “Dublin case” and transferred into another
country, the next interview follows after they are transferred to the residential camp
or while living in private accommodation. All interviews take place in offices within
the camps. They are conducted by one DAMP interviewer/adjudicator and
an interpreter. Although asylum seekers can have their NGO or private advocates
present, this is rarely the case and therefore there is no institutionalised outside
control of “good conduct” during the interviews. 
Moral Evaluation of Difference: Chechens versus Belarusians
Knowledge and access to legal assistance are not the only means of differentiating
asylum seekers’ chances to present their personal stories in terms that can qualify
them for asylum. Nationality and ethnicity, cultural background and gender also play
a significant role. Although they are all formally promised the same treatment and
individual consideration of their cases, the refugee determination process not only
recreates existing inequalities but produces new ones by implicit preference for
certain types of suffering, persecution and politics over others. In this section, I
195
contrast the position of Belarusian and Chechen asylum seekers in the refugee
determination process to show how nationality and ethnicity act as important
stratification mechanisms which make some more likely to be seen as refugees and
future citizens than others. I argue that apart from undergoing an individual
consideration of their grounds for a well-founded fear of persecution, asylum
applicants are subjected to what Fassin (2005) calls “moral evaluation of difference”
(p. 366). This operates through implicit beliefs and prejudices about “the legitimacy
and utility of certain categories of individuals, about their culture and their future” (p.
366). I argue that this evaluation of difference is guided by wider political discourses
in Czech society, from which the representatives of the state administration draw
legitimacy in making their asylum decisions while at the same time nurturing certain
institutional identities.
I have chosen to discuss the position of Russian and Belarusian nationals because
they constituted the two most common groups of recognised refugees between 1993
and 2007 (CSO, 2008d).100
As already mentioned in Chapter 3, in the first half of the
2000s, the groups followed a different migration pattern – Belarusians were more
likely to perceive the Czech Republic as their destination country while the majority
of Chechens were more prone to continue their journey further west. Nevertheless,
even after considering these factors, a comparison of the groups in terms of
recognition rates remains striking. As Table 10 shows, Belarusians were four times
more likely to be granted asylum than Russian nationals in the Czech Republic. That
is despite the fact that the average recognition rate of the two groups in the world,
100
Over 90 percent of these Russian citizens declared Chechen nationality (Government Council for
Human Rights, 2004).
196
based on the UNHCR statistical yearbooks for 2001-2006, shows that Russian
nationals were more than twice as likely to be granted refugee status than Belarusians
(see Table 11).
Table 10 Asylum Seekers, Asylums Granted and Recognition Rates for Russian
and Belarusian Nationals in the Czech Republic, 2000-2007
Nationality Asylum seekers Asylums granted
Recognition rates
(%)
Belarus 1,971 269 13.6
Russian Federation 8,781 297 3.4
Source: Based on CSO (2008c)
Table 11 Recognition Rates for Russian and Belarusian Nationals in the
Industrialised World, 2001-2006 (%)101
Nationality 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006
average for the
period
Belarus 11 13 13 13 18 30 16.3
Russian
Federation
21 22 27 44 49 54 36.2
Source: Based on UNHCR Statistical Yearbooks 2001-2006102
I have already described how Chechen refugee migration to the Czech Republic was
handled in a politicised blanket manner of “prescribed inaction”, as well as the
history and characteristics of Belarusian refugee flows to the Czech Republic in
Chapter 3. Here, I draw on my interviews with DAMP interviewers and adjudicators
to show how Chechen and Belarusian asylum seekers are differently constructed
throughout the process of determination and what implications this has for their
future as genuine refugees and potential citizens. The question of how asylum
101
The number of recognised refugees includes also those who received “humanitarian status”.
102
UNHCR Statistical Yearbooks can be accessed at http://www.unhcr.org/statistics.html
197
seekers and refugees saw the determination process is dealt with in more detail in the
next chapter.103
One of the most typical arguments for the rejection of Chechens’ asylum claims by
DAMP as well as in the courts’ decisions was that the whole population faces bad
social and security conditions and that the fear of arbitrary arrests and torture does
not constitute persecution since the whole male population is targeted (Větrovský,
2006a). Thus, Chechen nationality was not enough to be a source of persecution and
asylum seekers needed to prove other, “more individualised”, reasons for claiming
asylum. Behind these decisions was the fear that granting Chechens asylum could
lead to a mass inflow of asylum seekers in the context of ongoing insecurity in their
home country. Thus they had to assert themselves as political actors rather than
“only” victims of a prolonged armed conflict and continuing human rights abuses
(Větrovský, 2006a).
These people simply do not meet the criteria of persecution according to the
Geneva Convention. They all face the same risk; persecution is not targeted on
particular persons and that is why it cannot be considered as persecution. [Head
of the DAMP section responsible for the asylum procedure, April 2006]
103
Direct experience of the refugee status determination procedure represented by asylum interviews
proved to be a rather sensitive topic that tended to be avoided even in my interviews with the core
informants with whom I had a close relationship. I think there are two reasons for this: 1) it considered
people’s detailed personal information (perhaps traumatic, perhaps fabricated) which they might
prefer to omit from the discussion; 2) they preferred to suppress the memory of the interview situation
because it put them in a position that was regarded as undignified and powerless by many – they were
“in the hands” of the officials, interrogated, the veracity of their story being meticulously scrutinised.
198
Belarusians, on the other hand, were much more likely to be perceived a priori as
political (pro-democracy) activists working against the current authoritarian regime
of president Lukashenka. While DAMP adjudicators often spoke about Chechens’
ineligibility for asylum, Belarusians were described as potential refugees:
They have political reasons or religious, especially after the referendum about
Lukashenko,104
this was a sign that we will give them some form of protection
almost in a blanket manner. It is quite similar to the situation we had here
before 1989, if someone went to the West and did not return, then it was for
sure that s/he will face some problems upon return. [DAMP adjudicator,
residential camp, February 2007]
It is the group of asylum seekers with the highest chance to be granted asylum
because they are actually from Europe and they are the closest of what we are
able to absorb. It is the only undemocratic regime in Europe. […] And this
system is quite familiar to us in a sense that we can imagine what it is like. [...]
Currently, it is almost enough to be from Belarus [in order to be granted some
form of protection]. There is a law now that by applying for asylum that person
actually denigrates Belarus and it is seen as a crime [Head of the DAMP
section responsible for the asylum procedure, April 2006]
There is also this Lukashenko’s Decree making it a crime to defame Belarus
abroad. Well, in practice it is not used very often, but the law exists... [DAMP
adjudicator, residential camp, March 2007]
The quotes about Belarusians indicate that many are granted protection in the Czech
Republic because they could face some sort of blanket persecution upon their return
due to a suspicion that they have denigrated Belarus by claiming asylum. In this case,
the general character of potential persecution does not prevent consideration of
asylum as it does in the case of Chechens who are more likely to be actually
threatened by it, often with fatal consequences. Simultaneously, the comments
indicate that Belarusian applications are viewed with some sympathy and
understanding, particularly because the current regime is seen as comparable with the
104
The adjudicator refers to a referendum of 2004 which approved Lukashenka’s standing for
President for a third term in office.
199
situation in communist Czechoslovakia prior to 1989. In other words, the plight of
Belarusians is seen as similar to those who were once fleeing Czechoslovakia during
the Cold War. Similarly to East Europeans fleeing communist countries before 1989,
Belarusians could be, in general, characterised by attributes of: anti-communism,
whiteness, and middle-class. At the same time, it should not be forgotten that in
reality, the overall recognition rate is not as high as these comments might suggest.
That is largely due to the fact that like the majority of Ukrainian asylum seekers,
many Belarusians are nowadays entering the asylum procedure with an aim to
legalise their stay as labour migrants rather than due to political activities back
home.105
Shuman and Bohmer (2004) have observed that in order to prove that they suffered
from politically motivated persecution, applicants are expected to “describe the
motivations of their oppressors as well as their group affiliations as part of the public
suppression of dissent” (p. 397). The authors consider this mode of assessment as
highly ethnocentric because it privileges Western historical examples of persecution
and dissent. Their observation helps us to understand why Belarusians are better
positioned to be seen as politically persecuted than Chechens. Their oppressor can
easily be identified – it is “the last European dictator” as American President Bush
dubbed Lukashenka (NewsMax.com Wires, 2005). In the case of Chechens, the
situation is more complicated and less easily reducible to the “good” and “bad” sides
in the conflict (Ditrych & Souleimanov, 2007, p. 21) especially in the context of
“chechenisation” described in Chapter 3. On the one hand, the Czech government is
105
This information was confirmed in interviews with NGO lawyers and a DAMP official responsible
for the Country of origin Information database.
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ready to take and publicize various actions against Lukashenka, such as denying him
a visa in 2002 when he planned to visit the summit of the North Atlantic Treaty
Organization (NATO) in Prague. The decision of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs was
based on the argument that human rights in Belarus are not respected (MFA, 2002).
On the other hand, not only is the same action against the Russian president Putin
unimaginable on the part of Czech politicians, but the topic of Chechens’ human
rights was rarely ever even mentioned during Putin’s visits to Prague (Ditrych &
Souleimanov, 2007). Thus, the asylum decision-making process not only privileges
a politics closer to the Cold War bi-polar imagination of “good” and “evil” but it is,
as during the Cold War, shaped by wider foreign policy considerations and
geopolitical interests. Attitudes to Belarusian asylum seekers can be interpreted as
mirroring a Czech foreign policy that tends to “narcissistically project the Czech
experience to other parts of the world and say: we will advise them on how to
overcome dictatorship and build a beautiful new world of democracy and human
rights” (Slačálek, 2008, p. 16). Despite continuous (self) deception on the part of
asylum and immigration officials who insist on the “same rules for all” principle and
emphasize the “objective” aspects of the refugee status determination process as
a fact-finding exercise, political considerations play a crucial role.
The consideration of asylum seekers’ politics is connected with the evaluation of
their socio-cultural characteristics. Chechens figured as potential problem-makers
who are more inclined to criminal activities in the accounts of interviewers and
adjudicators while Belarusian were mentioned as people who easily “blend in with
the Czech society”. Besides, Chechens were repeatedly described as people who
voice their demands and anger too coercively for “Czech standards”. By not
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conforming to the ideal image of grateful and passive refugee, they also threatened to
challenge DAMP officials’ perceptions of themselves as humanitarian helpers. While
Belarusians’ similarity to Czechs and their “Europeanness” were often emphasised as
grounds for successful integration, Chechens were presented as different and hard to
deal with:
In general, they do not have very conciliatory characters. They have a tendency
to be bosses everywhere, to set their own rules. We gave asylum to some just
to find out that these people were involved in various criminal activities
ranging from smuggling people across borders to the so called racketeering;
they were connected with mafia structures, etc. So we didn’t have a very good
experience with it. But it does not influence the procedure. [DAMP
adjudicator, residential camp, February 2007]
Criminal activities of some individuals of Chechen nationality were repeatedly
invoked by the adjudicators:
Sometimes, we get information that this person [Chechen] is involved in
criminal activities, sometimes he even gets convicted. Of course, according to
the asylum law, this has nothing to do with the procedure. On the other hand, if
this person does not have asylum-relevant reasons to stay and he commits
crime here, then it is really difficult to say whether to give him some sort of
protection or not. I have to say that it is difficult for me to separate, or to
identify with the fact that I am an official and decide according to some norms
as well as a citizen and I am basically afraid to legalize the stay to such
a person. [Head of the DAMP section responsible for the asylum procedure,
April 2006]
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Referring to Chechens’ involvement in terrorist attacks against Russian targets which
gained a lot of publicity around the world, the DAMP official continued pondering
about Chechens’ potential for successful integration, making generalisations about
the whole population:
Their reputation as a nation is not the best one. This, of course, does not
influence our decisions about their cases, not at all, but I think it is more
difficult for them to integrate afterwards. They have to work hard to prove that
they are not what they are assumed to be, that is why it is more difficult for
them. [Head of the DAMP section responsible for the asylum procedure, April
2006]
These comments on Chechens are formed on the basis of the actions of a minority
and generalised as a characteristic of the whole group. Importantly, they refer mostly
to adult men and omit women’s and children’s presence. On average, women
represented 43 percent of all adult asylum seekers of Russian nationality while
children constituted on average 38 per cent of all applicants between 2003 and 2006
(DAMP, 2008c). The emphasis on men’s actions corroborates the conclusion that if
a refugee is to be constructed as a blameless victim women and children are pushed
to the forefront, while if he is to be made into a dangerous element to be controlled if
not prevented from access altogether, men dominate the imagery (e.g. Malkki,
1995a; Pupavac, 2008). This particular construction plays well into the hands of
decision-makers; it is easier to deny access to a dangerous potential criminal than to
needy mothers and children.
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Although the majority of DAMP officials ardently rejected any idea that their
opinions on Chechens could have any influence on their decisions in the asylum
procedure, some “dissident voices” complicated this proclaimed separation:
It happens in waves. We are being told: OK, make decisions [about granting or
rejecting asylum], but then there comes news that a Chechen was part of some
criminal group and we are told again: stop! It is a decision from Prague saying
basically: we will not make decisions so that we do not have to give it to them
[i.e. some kind of protection]. [DAMP adjudicator, residential camp, 2007]
And a similar collective logic was also associated with decisions about Belarusian
asylum cases:
There is a very positive attitude towards Belarusians at the headquarters in
Prague as well as among some officials here. Basically, everyone gets
something [some kind of protection] if he was not an obvious criminal back
home. They get asylum if they are able to produce at least a sign of some
political or religious activity. Otherwise, they get subsidiary protection. It is not
sustainable, but it is our director’s favourite country. [DAMP adjudicator,
residential camp, 2007]
DAMP adjudicators’ description of the practice of granting and rejecting asylum
shows that there are also more subtle forms of encouraging certain attitudes to
different groups of asylum seekers, not necessarily as an order from above. As
already mentioned above, the head of DAMP approves every asylum decision. The
timing and conditions of the approval play a significant role in the process and
indirectly motivate or discourage particular decisions among DAMP adjudicators in
the camps.
If it is a decision on a Belarusian, you get the signature really fast. If it is about
someone from a Muslim country, it lies there for a week or more and then they
send it back many times for revisions. [DAMP adjudicator, residential camp,
2007]
This “moral evaluation of difference” (Fassin, 2005) continues to influence asylum
seekers’ lives also in other spheres of the refugee system such as refugee camps or
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the State Integration Programme. As a DAMP official in the reception camp
remarked:
Belarusians are the local notables here because they know they have a good
chance to be granted asylum. [DAMP official, reception camp, August 2008]
Apart from being presented as coercive, Chechen asylum seekers were often also
portrayed as ungrateful due to the fact that many left the country prior to receiving
a final decision in their case and applied for asylum elsewhere in Western Europe.
When DAMP officials vehemently opposed the accusation that Chechen cases were
deliberately stopped or at least slowed down in 2003 and 2004 they repeatedly
painted Chechens as not being interested in Czech asylum and as being driven by
a vision of better life elsewhere (e.g. MI, 2004, 2005). As this DAMP official argued
in the public debate:
The Czech Republic did use its right to grant asylum [to Chechens] but
sometimes, the person was no longer here to receive it. It is sad, people
[DAMP adjudicators] get disappointed when they make a decision, they want
to help and the person just disappears. [Debate about asylum in the
Multicultural Centre Prague, 27.6.2006]
To sum up, I have argued that the refugee status determination process is not only
driven by individual assessment of particular claims but is also influenced by the
perception and evaluation of the politics behind asylum seekers’ displacement.
Connected with socio-cultural characteristics of the applicants, these produce
differential treatment of some groups as opposed to others. The preference for
Belarusians has been driven by the fact that their political engagements are in line
with the anti-communist political orientation of Czech political elites and that they
are seen as culturally similar to Czechs. On the other hand, Chechens, whose plight
has been recognised with much greater readiness in other parts of the world, have
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been received with hesitation and their presence has been loaded with many negative
stereotypes.
Humanitarian Asylum as a Yardstick of Humanitarianism?
The rise of humanitarianism and the medicalisation of the construction of refugees as
objects of protection (at the expense of political forces that drive their displacement)
has been pointed out by a number of authors in recent years (e.g. Fassin & D'Halluin,
2005, 2007; Pupavac, 2006, 2008). Looking at the French refugee system, Fassin
(2005) argues that:
the legitimacy of the suffering body has become greater than that of the
threatened body, and the right to life is being displaced from the political
sphere to that of compassion. (p. 371)
By presenting themselves as suffering victims soliciting compassion, asylum seekers
may have greater chances of being accepted than by claiming their right to
international protection based on political persecution. In other words, the political
right is being substituted by a moral sentiment (Fassin, 2005, p. 373).
Since 2000, the Czech Asylum Act has included not only asylum based on
persecution and family reunification but also on humanitarian grounds.106
Article 14
states:
If a reason for granting international protection based on article 12 is not
identified in the determination procedure, it is possible to grant asylum on
humanitarian grounds in cases worthy of special consideration [Asylum Act
325/1999 Call.]
Between 2002 and 2006, an average of one fifth of all asylums were based on
humanitarian considerations every year (MI, 2002-2006). Humanitarian asylum is
106
As mentioned in Chapter 5, initially, humanitarian asylum was also part of the first Refugee Act
from 1990 but it was later removed from the law by the 1993 amendment.
206
distinct in the sense that it is always presented as exceptional and tied to particular
circumstances of a particular person. By granting it the government does not risk
making any statement about recognising the wrongness of the political situation in
the country of origin. Although it provides asylum seekers with the same legal status
as asylum based on persecution, it does not constitute a precedent which could be
used to substantiate other cases. Humanitarian asylum has been especially popular in
cases involving gendered forms of persecution. The lawyer from the UNHCR office
in the Czech Republic recounted how it was applied in cases of Afghan women
fleeing Taliban oppression or women from a variety of countries fleeing domestic
violence:
In these cases, the Ministry of Interior usually grants asylum on humanitarian
grounds and I think it is a kind of a trend. In order to avoid some precedents or
perhaps more complicated justifications, they take the path of least resistance
and grant humanitarian asylum. [...] While the refugee status based on the
Geneva Convention is, let’s say, reflecting an objective state, humanitarian
asylum is entirely dependent on the consideration of the Ministry of Interior.
[...] Usually, it is also emphasised that the applicant has some serious
psychological or other health problems which need to be proved by a medical
report, so they are trying to individualise it a lot in order to avoid any kind of
a precedent. [UNHCR representative, January 2007]
Thus gender-based persecution or other forms of oppression are effectively
depoliticised and individualised. By not being recognised as structural violence they
cannot serve as a point of reference for future cases.
Moreover, it is important to note that the existence of a “humanitarian route” is
an important factor in instilling particular identities of “impaired refugees” on the
one hand and “empowering capable advocates” on the other (Pupavac, 2008, p. 285).
I have observed that knowing about the possibility of gaining humanitarian asylum,
some asylum seekers actively engaged in demonstrating their or their family
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member’s bad physical or mental health. It compelled some people to think of
themselves as potentially ill and lead them to believe that if nothing else works, the
medical profession can help them to solve their problems (Harrell-Bond, 1999, p.
152). Yet again, the idea that asylum is something to be earned rather than being
granted based on a just determination procedure is strengthened among asylum
seekers. Success in gaining humanitarian asylum often depends on the degree of
social mobilisation around each particular case. For example, it can depend on
whether an asylum seeker is assisted by an NGO advocate who can creatively
interpret the range of possible grounds for humanitarian asylum. A social worker
from NGO “D” explained to me how she secured humanitarian asylum for a family
with a father who was suffering from a terminal disease. After his asylum application
was rejected by DAMP the NGO advocate tried hard to find a doctor willing to
certify that the man suffered from an incurable illness and that his life would be
significantly shortened if he was to be returned to his home country. The NGO
worker described how difficult it proved to find such a doctor and acknowledged that
without her efforts and determination which eventually convinced one doctor to write
the report, the man and his family would not have been granted humanitarian asylum.
Despite the set of unwritten rules about who can possibly be granted humanitarian
asylum that is shared by NGO workers and to some extent also by asylum seekers,
the final decision always depends on the good will of the Ministry of Interior, which
preserves its arbitrary character.
Besides requiring particular performances of neediness by asylum seekers, the
arbitrariness of humanitarian asylum also gives an opportunity to DAMP officials to
define themselves as humanitarians through these exercises of sovereign power. The
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DAMP official described the institution of humanitarian asylum as an expression of
humanitarian feelings among DAMP adjudicators:
It is very important not to lose the ability to differentiate that person [economic
migrant] from genuine refugees. This is the key to the whole process. I hope
we are successful in that because I know that these people [DAMP
adjudicators] have a great sense of humanity, it is still there. You can see this
from the numbers of humanitarian asylums we grant. [Head of the DAMP
section responsible for the asylum procedure, April 2006]
She then continued to identify the particularities of asylum decision-making and
explained why being an adjudicator is a type of employment one can do longer than
any other “normal job”:
It always brings some new aspects. Sometimes you encounter a case which is
really worthy special consideration and then you have the feeling that you
could really help these people, that they really needed it and did not come only
because of economic motivations. Then it is really worth it. [Head of the
DAMP section responsible for the asylum procedure, April 2006]
Thus, the satisfaction as well as the self-definition of a DAMP official as having
a great sense of humanity stems from their power to occasionally step out of the
predefined framework defining persecution based on the Geneva Convention and
express their good will through humanitarian asylum.
Adding “Sex” as a Sign of Progressivity
The 2006 amendment of the Asylum Act (No. 165/2006) represented a significant
shift in the definition of “a refugee” in the Czech asylum legislation. To my great
surprise, the category of “sex” was added as a sixth ground for a well-founded fear of
209
persecution.107
Thus, the Czech Republic became one of the few countries that
expanded the 1951 Geneva Convention definition of a refugee in its national
legislation. My surprise stemmed from the fact that this change was not preceded by
any local or national campaign promoting attention to gender-related forms of
persecution and asking for such a change. In my interviews with both state and NGO
representatives, the topic of gendered forms of persecution rarely ever emerged if not
elicited by my question.108
Gender grounds for persecution were predominantly
associated with instances of African women fleeing female genital mutilation and
these, as I was told, were extremely rare cases in the Czech Republic. Compared to
countries like the United Kingdom, Canada, United States or the Netherlands a wide
range of grassroots activities by NGOs and academics preceded consideration of
gender as an important source of persecution 109
there were only a few similar
activities in the Czech Republic.110
After further investigation, I found out that this legislative change was a result of the
intervention of a UNHCR representative in Prague who managed to push it through
in negotiations with the legislative department of DAMP. The representative
107
I inquired why it was “sex” rather than “gender” which is the term commonly used in relation to
the persecution of refugees and in recommendations to the determination process. I was told that there
was no real debate about this matter and that “gender” was not used simply because it is a foreign
word which does not have a widely known equivalent in the Czech language and therefore is
unsuitable for the text of the law.
108
In particular among DAMP officials, knowledge and interest in gender-related persecution was
limited despite the fact that the UNHCR has provided them with a set of recommendations and
guidelines about how to incorporate a gender perspective into the refugee determination process.
109
For example, these campaigns were carried out by the Refugee Women’s Legal Group and
Women’s Resource Project at Asylum Aid in the UK, the Center for Gender & Refugee Studies in the
U.S. or Canadian Council for Refugees in Canada. At the EU level, European Women’s Lobby
launched the European Campaign on Women Asylum Seekers in 2000 to promote the recognition of
gender-based persecution as a legitimate cause for the granting of asylum to women in all of the EU
Member States.
110
For example, UNHCR together with an NGO Society of Citizens Assisting Migrants published
a manual for assessing cases of gender-based persecution in the refugee status determination process
which was distributed to DAMP and judges (Pořízek & Skalková, 2005).
210
convinced DAMP that it is worth following the Council Directive’s 2004/83/EC111
recommendation to consider gender-related persecution as the basis for asylum even
though it was not an obligatory one. DAMP decided not to incorporate gender into
the definition of persecution as the UNHCR suggested but included “sex” as a sixth
basis for a well-founded fear of persecution. A UNHCR public relations
representative commented on this move as follows:
This is my personal opinion and not a stance of our office: I think that it was
probably due to some of the “more enlightened” DAMP officials who, for
example, took part in some training. They often travel to these trainings abroad
and I think it does affect them. They are exposed to wider debates that go far
beyond what is being discussed here at their Department. So I guess my
colleague succeeded in convincing them because it resonated in someone’s
head, sort of: why not? It is a relatively harmless change, there won’t be many
cases like that anyway and at the same time, we will join those countries that
already incorporated these progressive changes. [UNHCR representative,
December 2006]
As the above quote indicates, this progressive change might not have been made out
of a concern to better account for the complexities of persecution and to
acknowledge its gendered nature, as was the case in other more activist-driven
contexts. It suggests that it was more a result of “Eu-nisation” (Lavenex, 2002, p.
702) of Czech state officials and their self-presentation as progressive policymakers.
Indeed, in an interview a few months later, a DAMP official referred to this change
as proof of the positive influence of the EU harmonisation process in asylum
legislation for refugees’ rights in the Czech Republic. The difference between the
two drives for legislative change lies in the fact that the later motivation is more
likely to leave the status quo unchanged because there is no one to consistently
demand its implementation in the determination practice.
111
Council Directive 2004/83/EC of 29 April 2004 on minimum standards for the qualification and
status of third country nationals or stateless persons as refugees or as persons who otherwise need
international protection and the content of the protection granted.
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How has the change affected the refugee determination process? Six months after the
amendment took effect DAMP adjudicators interviewed in residential camps
concluded that as a matter of fact, it did not influence their work. There was no
special training provided to them to show how it should be incorporated into their
asylum decisions. Rather than seeing it as a possibility to widen the range of asylum
relevant reasons, they argued that the category of “sex” can encompass those cases
which would otherwise fall under the category of an affiliation to a social group
without actually changing the range of asylum relevant reasons.
The lack of serious concern for the gender dimension of the refugee determination
process among interviewers and adjudicators was made clear by their attitude to
asylum seekers’ right to be interviewed by a person of the same gender. Although
asylum seekers have a formal right to demand this, none of the adjudicators could
actually recall a case when this right would be exercised by anybody. On the other
hand, the majority of my refugee interlocutors did not know about the existence of
such a right. If they knew it, they said they would probably not make use of it
anyway as they did not want to bring themselves to the attention of adjudicators as
someone who demands special treatment. DAMP officials did not inform them in
advance and it was only in cases when the experience of rape was explicitly
mentioned that some male adjudicators would make use of this option. A DAMP
adjudicator explained the practice in the following way:
If a female applicant confides to us that she was raped and if our personnel
capacities allow for it, then we will transfer her to our female colleague.
[DAMP adjudicator, residential camp, 2007]
Echoing the observations made by Spijkerboer (2000) referred to in Chapter 1,
gender is seen as being limited to women’s issues and even then only to cases of
212
extreme sexual violence. For example, the idea that in some cases men might also
prefer to speak to the person of the same gender was not acknowledged at all. I was
told by an NGO “A” worker that some men (Chechens in particular) had difficulties
speaking about painful experiences of torture and denigrating treatment in front of
female interviewers or interpreters. Seeing it as a reinforcement of their sense of
weakness and humiliation, they would generally not include these experiences in
their asylum story, thus diminishing the chance to be recognised as a refugee.
I am always very angry when I get to know that these questions are posed by
a woman to a man in asylum interviews. In some cultures it is simply not
possible for a man to speak about how he was tortured in front of a woman; to
acknowledge that he barely survived and to describe things which hurt and that
he himself has not dealt with properly yet. For some, showing their weakness is
very difficult, even in front of other men but still, if it is between men it can be
possible. [NGO “A”, August, 2007]
The lack of access to a formal right to be interviewed by a person of the same gender
demonstrates that the recent “progressive change” in the Czech asylum legislation
has been made in an environment that lacks gender sensitivity at the level of basic
practice of the refugee determination process. Thus rather than being used to improve
the refugee determination procedure, it seems that adding “sex” to the Asylum Act
was aimed more at constructing DAMP as a progressive policymaking field. By
accepting the suggestion of the UNHCR, DAMP can demonstrate that it is up-to-date
with recent trends in international debates on asylum. On the other hand, this change
does not put any pressure on actually amending DAMP’s practice of determination;
it has been imposed from above unaccompanied by raising awareness among the
practitioners themselves. Thus, by incorporating the gender discourse into the
Asylum Act, the DAMP improved its image as a progressive policymaker in an area
which is gaining some significance in international arenas while virtually not
213
changing the practice of refugee determination. Moreover, it pre-emptively equipped
itself against critique that its legislative changes are predominantly towards more
repression and restriction of refugees’ rights.
Conclusions
The process of constructing “a refugee” as an object throughout the refugee status
determination process has been characterised as driven by ethnocentric assumptions
and operating through means of simplification and arbitrariness. Rather than simply
being subjected to an objective fact-finding exercise probing their grounds for
claiming asylum, asylum seekers are most likely to succeed if they are able to
navigate and understand the expectations of the adjudicators and perform as “genuine
refugees” in a given socio-cultural context. In other words, they succeed if they
assimilate to the refugee label. Although their future depends on being able to taking
up these active roles, asylum seekers seem to have less opportunities to shape the
wider understanding of who is “a refugee”.
The analysis presented here focused on less explored aspects of the determination
process. Concurring with the argument of Hardy (2003), I have shown that even in
the context of the highly centralised Czech refugee system, a number of different
institutional and informal players influence the determination process and the state
operates as differentiated actor. However, contrary to Hardy’s observations, this
situation does not seem to create more opportunities for asylum seekers to influence
it. It is, among other things, because the structures of the refugee system provide
them with very little reliable knowledge about the workings of the asylum procedure.
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In particular, there is little support from NGOs in the early stages of the asylum
procedure; a situation which is tacitly supported by DAMP.
Comparison between DAMP’s constructions of Chechens and Belarusians as
potential refugees and members of society showed that nationality and ethno-cultural
background play important roles in the determination process. I have also suggested
that the practice of privileging refugees from certain political regimes influences the
decision-making. Altogether, the impact of these characteristics can be viewed in
light of “moral evaluation of difference” (Fassin, 2005) that underpins the refugee
status determination process although it is rarely being acknowledged. It produces
the strategically selective context for asylum seekers’ actions.
Granting asylum is intertwined with the construction of DAMP’s institutional
identities. This has been documented on the example of discourses surrounding
granting humanitarian asylum and adding “sex” as the sixth basis for persecution in
the Asylum Act. Moreover, both of these examples indicate how the concept of
gender becomes depoliticised and emptied in the practice of asylum policy. In the
former case gender-based persecution has been turned into a unique humanitarian
issue having no history and constituting no precedent. In the latter, it has been used
as a demonstration of progressive policymaking (prompted but not imposed by the
EU) with little tangible effects. In other words, I have argued that the refugee status
determination process can be better understood when recognising the role of
institutions not only as decision-makers but also as actors consciously nurturing
positive institutional identities.
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Chapter 6: The Role of the Camp in Refugee Reception and
Settlement
Introduction
The previous two chapters examined the construction of “a refugee” as a concept
evolving in asylum legislation and policies and as an object of the refugee status
determination process. Here, I move towards a more micro-level analysis of material
and social embedding of the refugee label as observed in Czech refugee camps.
The camps are materialisations of two concerns: 1) to control and manage the
presence of asylum seekers throughout the asylum procedure (including facilitation
of their deportation) and 2) to concentrate and more effectively serve asylum seekers
who are considered to be in need of assistance. Increasingly, confinement in camps
has also been used as a disincentive or a deterrent to potential asylum applicants. In
Europe, camps take a wide range of forms: confining foreigners not yet allowed to
enter the countries’ territory in order to apply for asylum; serving as reception zones
of medical and security screening and identification; providing collective housing for
asylum seekers who wait for the result of their asylum claim; or detaining rejected
applicants prior to deportation. It is important to acknowledge, that although the
experience of being an asylum seeker is closely tied to some form of spatial
exclusion and confinement, camps’ impact on the scope of freedom of movement can
216
differ significantly depending on the destination country and the stage of the asylum
procedure.112
I conceptualise refugee camps at two levels: First, as expressions of the institutional
culture of the refugee system and materialisation of broader strategies of asylum
migration management enacted by the state. Camps constitute institutional arenas
where governmental and nongovernmental actors pursue their interests and forge
relations of cooperation and conflict. Second, I see camps as dense social and
material spaces. They are characterised by some level of spatial boundedness and
restrictions on both outward and inward movement of people, objects and
information. There is high socio-cultural diversity, social control operating at various
levels of interaction and a general lack of community relations among people.
Accounting for these conditions and the dynamics of social relations they generate
helps us understand how refugee identities and practices are being (re)produced in
the camps. It is here that asylum seekers learn what Czech asylum means in practice.
Simultaneously, interpretations of asylum seekers’ actions by the institutions of the
refugee system shape the institutional working knowledge of who are refugees and
how they should be governed and assisted. This chapter aims to unpack some of the
less obvious implications of the camp for the institutional actors of the refugee
system, the lives of asylum seekers and the refugee system more generally.
Moreover, asylum seekers’ stay in the camps represents an important lesson not only
112
For example, reception camps with quarantine regimes which do not let asylum seekers move
freely around in the early stage of the asylum procedure can be found in the Czech Republic, Austria
and Slovakia. Residential camps, where people can be transferred afterwards and which restrict
asylum seekers’ freedom of movement in more subtle ways are used in Germany, Poland, Slovakia
and Hungary and the Czech Republic (Pro Asyl e.V., 2005). On the other hand, in France, life in the
so called “waiting centres” is a matter of privilege since their capacities do not match the actual
numbers of asylum seekers in the country (Kobelinsky, 2007).
217
about the workings of the refugee reception but also about the structures, institutions
and norms of the host society more generally.
The analysis addresses two main questions: What are the agendas pursued by the
state and nongovernmental actors in the camps, how do they interact with each other
and what implications do they have for the role of the refugee camps as policy
instruments in refugee reception? What kinds of social spaces are produced in the
camps and how they impact on the formation of asylum seekers’ identities and
strategies? In the first part of the chapter, I situate the institution of a refugee camp in
the Czech refugee system by outlining how it evolved in asylum policymaking from
1990 until 2007 and what are the agendas of the institutional actors operating in the
camps. In the second part, I describe the social fabric of the camp and examine its
function in socialising asylum seekers into the norms and values of the refugee
system and the society more broadly. I conclude with a discussion of gendered
implications of life in the camps.
The Uses of the Camp in the Czech Refugee System
The analysis focuses on two forms of the camp designed for asylum seekers in the
Czech Republic: 1) the reception camp where medical and security screening takes
place, asylum applications are formally launched and the first interview starts off the
asylum procedure; and 2) the residential camp where asylum seekers wait for the
result of their application. Thus, I will discuss the institutions designed to
accommodate asylum seekers only while excluding more closed places such as
detentions, where some asylum seekers reside together with rejected applicants,
illegalised persons and other groups of foreigners, and also more open spaces of the
218
so called integration centres where recognised refugees can reside for a limited time
before they are allocated or find their own private accommodation. The stay in these
two types of camps can evolve into any one of the following outcomes: 1) they will
be granted asylum or subsidiary protection (in the minority of cases); 2) they will be
rejected as refugees but will later legalise their status in the country in another way
(for example by applying for permanent residence or by marrying a Czech citizen);
3) they will return back to their country of origin (prior or after the termination of
their asylum case); 4) they will travel to another country (prior or after the
termination of their asylum case) or 5) they will remain in the country as illegalised
persons.
The camps are run by RFA under the Ministry of Interior and are financed mostly
from the state budget. At the time when this research was conducted, the number of
camps was reduced in reaction to the falling number of asylum seekers. While at the
beginning of 2006 there were two reception and nine residential camps, in late 2007,
the number of residential camps went down to four.113
In 2007, RFA employed 405
people and its expenditures were approximately 14.6 million EUR (RFA, 2008). In
the same year, 1,900 asylum seekers entered reception camps.114
While every asylum seeker must go through the reception process, the stay in the
residential camps can be avoided if one has other means of securing accommodation
and if the address of private accommodation is approved by the Ministry. However,
the aspect of choice is illusory because, given the level of rights asylum-seekers have
113
The numbers of reception camps remained the same.
114
RFA is also responsible for running detention camps and integration centres that house recognised
refugees. In 2007, 598 people were placed in detentions and 62 new recognised refugees were
accommodated in five integration centres that housed altogether 156 people at the end of the year
(RFA, 2008).
219
in the country – not being allowed to work legally for a period of at least one year –
the option of independent living outside the camp is certainly not available to
everybody. Asylum seekers who reside in private accommodation have to meet the
costs of accommodation and food from their own resources. State support at the level
of subsistence is available only for three months and is not granted to all. As
demonstrated in Chapter 4, linking benefits to accommodation in camps can be part
of a control mechanism over asylum seekers (see also Pro Asyl e.V., 2005). The stay
in camps can be prolonged up to a number of years. Figure 8 provides an outline of
the structure of refugee reception as seen through the infrastructure of camps.115
What is the proportion of asylum seekers who actually live in camps as opposed to
those who live outside? The answer is hard to pin down based on the official
statistics. Available “snapshot data” about the place of residence of asylum seekers in
2004, 2005 and 2007 indicate that the majority of applicants were registered as living
in residential camps (59, 63 and 65 percent in respective years), while the proportion
of asylum seekers living in private accommodation ranged from 32 percent in 2004
to 19 percent in 2007 (DAMP, 2005a, 2006a, 2007a). However, it has to be taken
into account that those who are registered as living in residential camps can still
leave the camp for a number of days and as a matter of fact, they can spend most of
their time outside. Between 2002 and 2006 an average of 58 percent of asylum
seekers made use of the possibility to leave the camp (DAMP, 2003b, 2004b, 2005c,
2006d, 2007c). To complicate the picture a bit more, some leave to private
accommodation, come back to the camp and then leave again; their movements are
115
The figure captures the situation at the time of this research. The usual time of stay is based on my
informants’ experiences and RFA and NGO workers’ accounts.
220
impossible to trace from the official statistics. My own observations in the residential
camps where I carried out fieldwork indicate that around one third of all asylum
seekers are present in the camps on a long-term, continuous basis. Most of them do
not have enough resources and social networks in the country which they could use
while living outside the camp.
221
CROSSING THE
BORDER AND
EXPRESSING
THE INTENTION
TO APPLY FOR
ASYLUM
BORDERS OF THE CZECH REPUBLICTransfer to the Dublin II
country
Exit visa to leave
the country
Deportation
(if from the
Airport)
Exit visa to leave
the country (if
from the
reception camp)
Another Dublin II
country identified as
responsible for the
asylum claim
Manifestly
unfounded
application
Integration flat for a fiveyear
lease or private
accommodation with
subsidised rent within the
State Integration
Programme
Asylum grantedApplication
rejected**
Reception camp Vyšní Lhoty or
Prague International Airport
Usual stay: 2 weeks – 2 months*
Residential camps
Usual stay: 2 months – 3 years
Integration centres
Usual stay: 2 months – 2
years
Private
accommodation
Private
accommodation
Subsidiary
protection
granted
Figure 8 Asylum Procedure through the Structure of Refugee Camps, 2005-2007
* The thickness of lines around the three kinds of camps indicates the level of freedom of movement of inhabitants and the level of control by the RFA staff.
222
The Evolution of the Camp: From Initial Confinement to More Confinement
The evolution of the camp’s role in the Czech refugee system can be most briefly
described by the following four stages: 1) initial confinement of asylum seekers that
nevertheless allowed for exceptional stays outside the camp (1990 – 1999); 2) a brief
period of greater freedom of movement when asylum seekers living outside the
camps could make use of continuous state financial support (2000 – 2001); 3)
strengthened control over asylum seekers by linking benefits to accommodation in
the camps (2002 – 2007); 4) confining people for extended periods of time in
reception camps in order to prevent them from transgressions they have not yet made
(2007 – ongoing).
As the Czech asylum legislation has been harmonised with EU measures, some
positive changes have taken place alongside this development. In 2002, the RFA
started implementing a Strategy of Internal Security which reflected various forms of
violence engendered by the environment of the camps. Some practical steps have
been taken to make camps safer places for groups that were identified as vulnerable:
unaccompanied minors, unaccompanied women and women with children, seniors
and people with physical, mental or social disabilities (Dohnalová, 2002). These
groups are now spatially separated, especially from single men who have always
dominated the population of asylum seekers and have usually been the main
perpetrators of violence against other camp inhabitants. In this way, the Czech
system has in a way surpassed the Reception Conditions Directive116
, which had to
be implemented by the EU Member States by February 2005 and encouraged special
116
Council Directive 2003/9/EC of 27 January 2003
223
treatment of vulnerable persons. Moreover, material conditions in camps have also
improved: the system of the canteen board was gradually substituted with smaller
kitchens allowing for asylum seekers’ independent cooking and the scope of facilities
for sport, art and crafts has widened. The financial support from the ERF has enabled
some of these positive changes.
On the other hand, the integration of the Czech Republic into the EU engendered
a number of more restrictive tendencies in the system, clearly observable in the
camps. For example, it widened possibilities for asylum seekers’ confinement in
reception camps. Since May 2004, people who are identified as so called “Dublin
cases” can be detained in reception camps for periods longer than one month while
they are waiting to be transported to another Member State which has been found
responsible for dealing with their asylum claim.117
To prevent escapes, “Dubliners”
are not told that their asylum claim will not be considered in the Czech Republic but
elsewhere. Once an agreement with another Member State is established, the person
is woken up early in the morning and quickly transported from the camp. NGO
lawyers can witness these early morning dramas and can launch an appeal against the
decision for the asylum seeker. This, however, does not suspend the process and the
person is taken away anyway.
Thus, various manifestations of Czech Republic’s integration into CEAS, which can
be seen in the camps, point to its ambivalence. While supporting better material and
security standards during reception, it has allowed for more confinement and control
over asylum seekers’ movements. As I have already pointed out, the Dublin
117
For the sake of Dublin transfers, asylum seekers are considered as an adult from the age of 16. The
numbers of people removed (mostly to Poland and Slovakia) were: 200 in 2004, 354 in 2005 and 146
in 2006 (DAMP, 2005c, 2006d, 2007c).
224
Regulation is being enforced despite the fact that the treatment of asylum seekers in
the EU continues to show great disparities in a range of areas such as recognition
rates, access to legal advice, use of detention or treatment of survivors of torture
(ECRE, 2007c).
But let’s go back to the period when the Czech refugee reception system was
emerging in 1990. The rationale behind the establishment of the first refugee camps
back then was that “each new refugee should go through a thorough medical
screening” (Czechoslovak Federal Assembly, 1990). As opposed to other groups of
foreigners who did not have to undergo such screenings, refugees were seen as
potential carriers of dangerous diseases. This was also when a system of collective
canteens was established to serve food to refugees three times a day. Although it
might have seemed the most efficient and orderly way to take care of refugees’ basic
needs at the beginning, it soon caused a number of serious problems; most
importantly, people found it degrading to be fed food they were not used to at
a prescribed time. The system of the canteen board engendered a number of protests
among asylum seekers as well as frustration on the part of RFA employees. For
example, a report about conflict situations in camps between 1991 and 2004
published by the RFA indicated that cooks were among the groups most commonly
verbally attacked by asylum seekers (RFA, 2005, p. 81). However, it was only in
2007, that the RFA agreed to abolish collective board for refugees in most of the
225
camps118
(excluding the reception camps) and to enable asylum seekers to prepare
their own food.
According to the first Refugee Act from 1990, refugee claimants, as they were called
back then, were supposed to remain in these camps until their status was determined.
However, it was possible to leave the camp if approved by the head of each
particular camp. Nonetheless, all financial and in kind support was dependent on
their stay in the camp. After the new Asylum Act came into force in 2000, asylum
seekers were allowed not only to leave the camp straight after the mandatory stay in
the reception camp, but also to apply for financial support at the level of subsistence.
While this change was approved by many NGO advocates, numerous problems were
soon reported with regard to the administration of the financial support; it either
came late or asylum seekers did not get full payments (Government Council for
Human Rights, 2002, p. 51). Therefore, although the principle of linking benefits to
accommodation in camps was formally dismantled in this period, in practice
problems and insecurities about when and whether the money would arrive still acted
as a discouragement to leave the camp for some asylum seekers.
As discussed in Chapter 4, in 2001 the number of asylum seekers increased
dramatically in reaction to the worsening conditions of labour migrants due to
restrictive changes in the Alien Act. In reaction to this increase, the first amendment
of the Asylum Act followed in 2002. Its aim was to make the asylum procedure less
attractive. For example, financial support for those living in private accommodation
118
In some camps, the system of independent cooking operated prior to 2007and was reserved for
those with special dietary requirements confirmed by a medical report. As I learned from my
informants, the possibility to receive money instead of three meals a day was also allocated as
a favour to selected groups of refugees who were seen as more deserving and behaved well. Thus it
was applied as a mechanism of control.
226
was limited to three months only.119
This acted as an effective discouragement to
leave the camp, but it especially hit families with children and not so much the major
group of single asylum seekers who planned to sustain themselves during the asylum
procedure anyway. The insecurities experienced by families are illustrated by this
refugee woman who, now a recognised refugee retrospectively reflected on why she
did not make use of the possibility to live outside the camp:
Of course I would not stay there a day longer if only I knew that I’ll have some
money to live on for more than three months. I knew it would be tough to live
outside, but at least we would have learnt to be more independent, to get by
without someone else’s help. But I was not sure if they would take us back
after these three months if we could not earn money to survive. I was even
more worried that after such an experience, the life in the camp would be even
less bearable, if we experienced what it is like to live on our own, among
normal people. When you have three kids, it is hard to take these risks.
[Integration centre, August, 2005]
The logic of the new arrangement was hard to comprehend both for asylum seekers,
NGO workers and for some RFA and DAMP workers too: on the one hand, asylum
seekers cannot legally work for a period of one year from the time they apply for
asylum; on the other hand, the support they get if living outside the camp is only for
three months. What about the remaining nine months? When the person above refers
to earning money to survive she obviously speaks about illicit employment. It is part
of the general knowledge of all institutions connected to the refugee system that
unless asylum seekers have other sources of income, there is no way to live outside
the camp but to work in the irregular labour market (Government Council for Human
Rights, 2005, p. 69). Moreover, since 2002, asylum seekers leaving the camp for
private accommodation also had to present the Alien Police with official proof that
119
See paragraph 43, article 2 of the Asylum Act 1999/325 Coll., 2002.
227
the owner of the property where they wish to live agrees with their
accommodation.120
The last major change came with the 2007 amendment of the Asylum Act. It
significantly widened ways of locking refugees in and also limiting their
communication with the outside world. Despite united opposition from the NGOs,
the local UNHCR representatives and some politicians, the amendment was
approved with only minor concessions to its opponents. It allows the Ministry to
confine certain groups of asylum seekers in the reception camp for up to 120 days
without a possibility to leave. This change is substantial compared to what was
usually a two weeks to one month stay. According to the new law such a lengthy
confinement is justifiable in cases when:
a) the identity of applicant was not reliably established,
b) the applicant proves his or her identity with forged or altered identification
documents or
c) it is well-founded to assume that the applicant can represent a danger to the
security of the state.121
Only “vulnerable groups”122
are excluded from this treatment and should not be kept
in the reception camps for such an extended period of time. The quoted reasons for
asylum seekers’ confinement are both very vague and malleable and represent
a rather symptomatic feature of people who are seeking asylum in today’s Europe,
which has become almost impossible to access without using illicit means of entry
(ECRE, 2007a). Thus, there is a danger that large groups of asylum seekers will be
120
See paragraph 77, article 2 of the Asylum Act 1999/325 Coll., 2002.
121
See paragraph 46a, article 1 of the Asylum Act 1999/325, 2007.
122
Applicants who are unaccompanied minors, parents or families with underage or disabled adult
children, persons with severe disability, pregnant women or persons who were tortured, raped or
underwent other serious forms of psychological, physical or sexual violence (Paragraph 46a, article 1
of the Asylum Act 1999/325, 2007).
228
kept in isolated detention-like conditions with limited access to information and legal
assistance.
Among other changes to the asylum law, the power of the Ministry over asylum
seekers in camps has been significantly increased. The officials can now take away
what are called “communication devices”,123
which in practical terms means mobile
phones that are nowadays owned by the majority of asylum seekers and are essential
devices on their refugee journey. As in the early 1990s when asylum seekers started
coming to the Czech Republic, in the late 2000s they will again have to queue in
front of the few telephone booths located in the camp. This change was justified by
an experience in August 2006 when a group of about fifty asylum seekers from
Egypt escaped from the reception camp and at the same time a smaller group also
escaped by force from detention located in another part of the country. The Ministry
repeatedly argued that asylum seekers must have coordinated their actions by mobile
phones and that the escape appeared like an organised action. Apparently, both
groups later crossed the border and continued to Western Europe (Parliament of the
Czech Republic, 2007). This event was reported by the media and resulted in the
Ministry’s embarrassment for not being able to control “its refugees”; local
inhabitants living around the reception camp were given space to express their
worries about the porosity of the camp in the vicinity of their houses (e.g. Čánová &
Svatoš, 2006). The response was a clear example of a pre-emptive measure: based on
a single incident of one particular group, the Ministry changed the law that will apply
to everybody. A number of NGO advocates warned that these changes are likely to
123
See paragraph 45, article 1 of the Asylum Act 1999/325, 2007.
229
push asylum seekers into illegality in fear that applying for asylum will lead to their
confinement in camps and isolation from the outside word (Větrovský, 2007, p. 9).
Depoliticisation of the Camp: Institutional Actors’ Differing Agendas and
Convergent Outcomes
The Ministry of Interior establishes and runs the refugee camps through its
institutional bodies of DAMP and RFA. DAMP’s main role is to create the policy
framework, decide about asylum claims and allocate financial sources to be spent on
the reception and determination process. Recently, the redistribution of the ERF in
the Czech Republic has also come under its responsibility. Reception and residential
camps are DAMP’s base for carrying out interviews and writing up asylum
decisions. RFA is responsible for providing various services in all three categories of
the camps: from everyday matters of accommodation and distribution of financial
support to social work and occasional psychological counselling. The two
organizations hold different views of people falling within their responsibilities. RFA
sees itself, and has been perceived by DAMP, more as a “caring institution” where
asylum seekers and refugees are supposed to be provided with a multitude of services
as complex human beings. DAMP perceives asylum seekers more as anonymous
“cases” to be sorted out.
230
Although RFA’s position is that of a budgetary organization of the Ministry of
Interior (thus formally accountable only to its Deputy Minister), in many respects, it
acts as a subordinate of DAMP. As explained to me by one of the DAMP officials in
the reception camp:
We have the following division of labour here: the Alien Police is a repressive
force, RFA is a service organization and DAMP governs it all, it deals with the
substance of the whole procedure. That is why what we need and want is the
most important of all and RFA must assist us in running the procedure as fast
as we can. [DAMP adjudicator, reception camp, August 2006]
However, such a division of labour is not always appreciated by the RFA staff. They
present themselves as “humanisers” of the asylum procedure who treat asylum
seekers as “clients” of their services rather than “cases”. That is how the RFA official
commented on his experiences of cooperation with DAMP:
What annoys me is their bureaucratic attitude to clients. They think they are the
bosses here. It often happens that they send clients to us with issues that
actually lie in their sphere of competence; they simply don’t want to deal with
them. [RFA official, reception camp, August 2006]
Notwithstanding their different approaches to asylum seekers my analysis reveals
that both institutions have a similar interest in keeping the camps reasonably full.
That is despite the fact that it is more expensive and institutionally demanding than
facilitating the move of asylum seekers into private accommodation (e.g.
Government Council for Human Rights, 2005, p. 69; Rozumek, 2007b). Moreover,
as has been demonstrated in the literature, the life in the camp has a number of
negative implications including social exclusion and stigmatisation, heightened
dependency and powerlessness that later pose a problem when refugees are expected
to integrate into host societies (e.g. Ghorashi, 2005).
231
For DAMP the advantage of refugee camps lies in easier accessibility to asylum
seekers and control over their sojourn in the country. Asylum seekers can be better
monitored when concentrated in the camps. Their “security assessment” is carried
out with an assistance of the SIS. The intelligence agency recruits informants among
asylum seekers. Not surprisingly, it was SIS’s suggestion to widen the scope of
asylum seekers’ confinement in reception camps in the 2007 amendment (Větrovský,
2007, p. 6). The camps also facilitate DAMP’s control over resources and
consequently over other institutional actors. I have already mentioned that DAMP
has become the main re-distributor of ERF and has been using this leverage to gain
more control over the work of RFA as well as NGOs by selectively allocating
funding to support pre-approved activities. For example, RFA has been the main
recipient of ERF over the past three years and the money was invested mostly in
improving material conditions in the camps and widening the scope of the so called
“leisure-time activities” available to asylum seekers in the reception and residential
camps. Some NGOs, on the other hand, had to reduce their advocacy activities in the
camps due to the lack of funding from the Ministry.
RFA’s interests in the camps are also complex. Their work illustrates the argument
that in today’s Europe asylum seekers are constituted simultaneously as objects of
repression, control, compassion and assistance (Fassin, 2005). A long-term director
of RFA, who was dismissed by the Ministry in 2006, explained the framework of
RFA’s work as follows:
The conditions in the asylum facilities should be set in a way to protect human
dignity. Most importantly to make refugees’ return to their country of origin
easier, if possible. Also they shouldn’t prevent their integration [into the Czech
society]. [Director of RFA, Prague, August 2005]
232
Her account is contradictory but telling. On the one hand, she argues that human
dignity needs to be preserved while on the other hand, refugees should not feel too
much at home in refugee camps so that they can easily be returned back home when
the time comes.124
The question posed by many of her critiques is whether it is
compatible with human dignity to live in a state of limbo often for a number of years,
always insecure about when it will be necessary to move on (e.g. Hradečná et al.,
2008). The director emphasizes that the time spent in the camps should not prevent
refugees’ later integration into Czech society. This can indeed be difficult after their
previous life in the social and spatial isolation of the camps. Yet again, we see
unrealistic expectations about refugees assuming that it is possible to start
successfully building a new home the day after asylum is granted (but not before).
The impracticability of successfully fulfilling these aims is symptomatic of the
“mission impossible” of the humanitarian project of the refugee camp.
As the RFA has become more professionalised over the years, there have been some
improvements to life in the camps. Apart from increased attention paid to selected
groups such as unaccompanied minors, women with children or the elderly, a large
proportion of the money from the ERF allocated to RFA went to the improvement of
the infrastructure of facilities for “leisure-time activities”. These include various arts
and crafts workshops, sports facilities, children’s centres, internet access or
occasional trips outside the camps. I use the expression “leisure-time activities”,
which is a literal translation from the Czech term volnočasové aktivity, in inverted
commas because it is misplaced to think that asylum seekers’ time spent in refugee
124
The director also repeated the thesis that the camps should in no way simulate home for refugees in
the media a couple of times (e.g. Dohnalová, 2005, p. 5).
233
camps is leisure time. The people are waiting for a decision that is crucial for their
future life but over which they have little control. The time they spend waiting is
perceived more as an obstacle to starting a new life rather than something to be
meaningfully filled by recreational activities.125
It seems from the structure of DAMP’s allocation of funding that filling refugees’
time is the most important part of the reception process that needs support from the
EU, while other essential aspects of the reception process such as legal and
psychological counselling are being neglected. For example, according to the final
report about the distribution of the ERF in 2005, about one third of the actual
payments went to projects organised by RFA that focused on “widening the scope of
leisure-time activities for asylum seekers” (DAMP, 2006c). The other two thirds
were shared by NGOs providing legal and social assistance or working with
vulnerable groups of asylum seekers. In 2007, the proportion of finances supporting
refugees’ “leisure-time” rose to over 50 percent, while legal assistance was supported
by 20 percent of the resources (DAMP, 2008a). Thus DAMP clearly signals that it is
more important for asylum seekers to be occupied in a controlled and nonthreatening
way than to receive quality legal and psychological assistance.
This “leisure-time infrastructure” can certainly make the everyday life in the camp
more bearable and is particularly beneficial for children. Some of my informants’
children remembered camps fondly because they had their friends around,
participated in trips and competitions organised for them. Also some adults spoke
appreciatively about the recreational opportunities that helped them to relax and
125
The idea of a “leisure-time” has more meaning with regard to children asylum seekers whose life is
more structured due to compulsory school attendance.
234
temporarily push aside the troubling past and the uncertain future. However, it was
clear from their comments that although it helped them “not to go crazy in the
camp”, these activities did not have any real significance for their lives. Tollarová
(2008) makes a similar conclusion:
Although they did not want to openly criticise the offered activities, the
experience of imposed vacancy was a great strain for them. The activities
might have brought some relief from monotonous boredom but were not at all
what refugees would have liked to do. (p. 92)
A disproportionate focus on filling the asylum seekers’ waiting time with activities
that have little impact on their actual situation is hardly innocent when going hand in
hand with the neglect of other essential aspects of assistance. It certainly makes the
camp and thus also the asylum procedure harder to critique by outsiders as well as
insiders. Asylum seekers are regularly being reminded that all these services are
provided to them above the standard of what is necessary and that it is all for free.
Thus their gratefulness and deference are being sustained. By occupying camp
inhabitants with arts and sports, RFA can neutralise their acts of resistance against
the lengthy and opaque workings of the determination procedure or the treatment by
RFA staff. Moreover, images of various recreational opportunities in the camps
dominate RFA’s public relations materials (see Picture 2) and are being presented as
advancement over other CEE countries at international conferences and meetings.
Thus, it gives the Ministry an opportunity to demonstrate that asylum seekers are
being treated well, as human beings with complex needs. This self-representation is
also programmatically sustained in media representations of the refugee camps.
A recent analysis of the local media (Křížková, 2007) in areas where camps are
located showed that the dominant account of the camps is that of places where
235
asylum seekers paint, play theatre, listen to music, compete in sport tournaments or
cook their national specialities. However, the readers could learn nothing about why
and how asylum seekers’ live in the camps (p. 11). Thus the issue of asylum seekers
is being depoliticised and the positive image of RFA as a caring/controlling
institution is supported.
Picture 2 Visual Representations of Refugee Camps Promoted by the Refugee
Facilities Administration
Source: Adapted from (RFA, 2008)
236
Lastly, NGOs take part in shaping the conditions in the camps. During the 1990s,
NGOs were receiving relatively stable funding from the UNHCR, who saw its role in
the Czech Republic not in terms of providing direct assistance to refugees but in
supporting local NGOs in delivering these services. However, the UNHCR has been
withdrawing its support since the early 2000s and NGOs have been increasingly
pushed to seek alternative sources of support. In conditions of financial insecurity,
many have concluded contracts with RFA and DAMP for providing legal assistance
and organising “leisure-time activities”. The promise of stable funding from the ERF
compelled some of them to embrace the role of subcontractors providing selected
services in the camps. Others, who have been more openly criticising DAMP’s and
RFA’s work, had to struggle with decreased funding in the recent years and various
limitations imposed on their activities in the camps. A lawyer from NGO “A”
commented on the evolution of the refugee NGO advocacy towards greater reliance
on the state:
Before, the funding was based on the money which was not tied to any
particular projects so we could include a wider clientele based on their needs.
Now, all the money is purpose-driven and the kinds of help you can provide
are very clearly defined. At the same time, it is much more difficult to find
money for working with asylum seekers.
...
DAMP lays down conditions under which they will give us the funding. Step
by step, they are becoming very specific about what they want from us. If you
don’t conform, you don’t get the money. [NGO “A”, January 2007]
The ERF represents a major source of support which, to NGOs’ discontent, is
redistributed by DAMP, the body which is most often at odds with their activities.
For example, NGOs regularly oppose amendments of the Asylum and Alien Acts
proposed by DAMP and they are taking DAMP to court when acting on behalf of
237
individual asylum seekers. A widespread speculation is circulating, shared not only
by NGOs but also by the UNHCR representatives, that the highly selective
redistribution of the Fund is aimed at supporting only those organizations with
a history of collaboration rather than opposition to DAMP. If NGOs are not granted
the funding they need, their eligibility for the ERF makes it very difficult for them to
get it from other resources; they are being routinely rejected alongside reference to
the existence of the ERF [interview with the NGO “A” lawyer, January 2007].
Their ambivalent position in the power structures of the refugee system gets reflected
in NGOs’ work and how it is perceived by refugees. As one asylum seeker
commented after seven months of living in the camp:
How can we possibly trust them [NGOs] if they are paid by DAMP? Anyway,
they are coming to the camp once a week and stay for about three hours. What
do you think they can possibly do for 90 people who are living here? I’ll tell
you: they do nothing. [Residential camp, March 2007]
While this account is also an expression of the man’s frustration with the asylum
procedure and the refugee system in general, it clearly points to the limited role
NGOs play in assisting asylum seekers while they are in the camps.126
When asked
about the inadequately short time for legal counselling spent in the camp,
a representative from NGO “E” responded:
Yes, it is unfortunate, but we do not get paid for more hours. [NGO “E”, March
2007]
When coming to the camp once or twice a week, NGO lawyers quickly get occupied
with writing appeals for rejected applicants. They do not have enough time and
126
Apart from waiting for NGOs’ in the camp, asylum seekers have the right to visit their offices in
cities and seek assistance there. However the work in the camp is important because it can make legal
assistance available to people who would, for various reasons, not search for it outside.
238
energy to engage in general awareness-raising about the rights of asylum seekers and
alternative solutions to their problems.
By becoming the key stakeholder in redistributing EU finances, DAMP is in
a position (better than ever before) to control and, in fact, limit the work of NGOs.
As NGO representatives themselves acknowledged, the lack of refugees’ access to
qualified legal and social assistance is a persisting problem of the Czech refugee
system (Rozumek & Bajer, 2007). The fact that state institutions such as DAMP or
RFA have an increasingly bigger say in how and to what extent this assistance will
be carried out has been indirectly facilitated by the country’s integration into the EU.
By continuing to fund the more loyal NGOs, the state does not risk being accused of
a lack of cooperation with the nongovernmental sector. NGOs’ presence in the camps
is promoted by RFA and DAMP as a sign of outside control and their general
openness. While NGOs provide essential support to asylum seekers often isolated
from reliable sources of information and unable to pay for commercial legal services,
it should be stressed that they can also (if unwittingly) play a role as their “pacifiers”.
By accepting the role of subcontracted animators, NGOs have been diverting their
energies away from more essential forms of assistance, i.e. helping asylum seekers to
understand the system, know their rights and make informed decisions about their
future steps. At a more general level, the emphasis on portraying asylum seekers as
consumers of “leisure-time activities” organised for them by RFA and NGOs
contributes to their construction as passive objects of care whose time needs to be
organised and “animated” by others.
NGOs occasionally criticise the conditions in refugee camps (e.g. Roubalová et al.,
2005). For example, in 2005, a few NGO representatives started a passionate debate
239
about missing electric sockets in asylum seekers’ rooms in some of the residential
camps. Asylum seekers living there could only use a few sockets accessible in the
common space of the camp’s corridors and kitchens and they could not watch
television in their rooms or charge their mobile phones without worrying that
someone might steal them. The removal was carried out by RFA and was interpreted
as a direct attack on refugees’ dignity by NGO advocates (e.g. Dorůžková, 2005;
Greš, 2005). Their impassioned opposition and some media attention to the issue
eventually compelled RFA to return the sockets back to refugees’ rooms.
Despite these partial victories, NGOs rarely engage in questioning the very
legitimacy of the camps and in debating possible alternatives to asylum seekers’
encampment. They too might have an unacknowledged interest in the existence of
the camps. Their work in camps is more visible and tangible for donors and can
secure them regular income from the state and the EU. Besides, it is logistically
easier and perhaps also more rewarding to organize programmes for asylum seekers
when they are concentrated in one place, isolated from other opportunities and
sometimes grateful for any interest or excitement coming from the outside. NGO
workers reporting about their work in the media usually portray refugee camps as
spaces where there is nothing to do, as epitomes of passivity, boredom and stagnation
leading into refugee dependency and degradation. In contrast to this bleak image,
they construct themselves and their projects in camps as bringing something
meaningful to refugees’ lives, something valuable (e.g. Ošmera, 2006; Roubalová et
al., 2005). Thus, the camp acts as an easily definable “enemy” that adds to the
rationale of NGO actions and existence.
240
Production of Refugee Identities and Practices in the Camp
The Social Fabric of the Camp
In a fictionalised account of his own experience in one of Czech refugee camps,
Boroda (1999) sketches the following analysis of the social environment of the
camp:
Here in the camp, all people’s demerits appear more plain and vivid. Who liked
to gossip turns into a zealous rumourmonger; who liked to drink becomes
an alcoholic. Such cases are plentiful. Who used to be careful with money
comes up as a hoarder. [...] I‘d like to know why that happens and why here in
particular? (p. 140)
And further on, he suggests some answers:
Is it because of exhausting idleness? Out of despair? Or because we have no
clear prospects? I don’t know ... Franc who ran away from here told us: in
Germany, they keep refugees in a camp only for one month, in quarantine.
Then they move them to a normal hotel whose owner has a contract with the
government. They allow people to work. One can basically live a normal life
and does not stay outside the surrounding social world. Zaur said that it is the
same in Holland and also in Austria...Only Czechs inoculate future citizens
(that being a rather uncertain outcome) with good-for-nothingness and
dependency on the state for two years. Nobody here understands why... (p.
140)
Boroda’s depiction resonates with my informants’ views of the camp. It also hints on
the importance of comparisons with the conditions provided elsewhere (however
unrealistic they might be sometimes). But what are the key features and the social
dynamics of the camp? And how do they impact on the construction and negotiation
of asylum seekers’ identities?
First of all, camps provide unified living conditions for an extremely diverse group
of people. The diversity stems not only from differences with regard to national and
ethnic origin of asylum seekers, their class, age and various political allegiances; it is
also about different forces that lead people to seek inclusion in the camp. As
241
indicated in Chapter 4, there can be a wide range of reasons for becoming an asylum
seeker and residing in the camp. Combined with the fears, insecurities and traumas
which people bring with them into the camps, with imposed physical closeness and
the lack of privacy that define the everyday life there, these differences create
a fertile ground for conflicts. However, diversity is not in itself the only reason for
these tensions.127
Conflicts can be better explained as outcomes of an environment
which subordinates people by denying their differences and individualities and
homogenizes them as clients of assistance.
Second, the social space of the refugee camps is pervaded by various forms of
control. Asylum seekers are observed by security guards, whose controlling function
is somewhat obvious: corridors of refugee camps are constantly monitored by
cameras and asylum seekers and their rooms can be searched if there is a suspicion
that they have some forbidden objects such as weapons or drugs. Camp inhabitants
are also observed and evaluated by social workers and other RFA employees
responsible for practical matters of accommodation and reception services. For
example, in one of the residential camps social workers regularly visited asylum
seekers’ rooms to check whether basic hygiene was maintained. Also women with
small children were inspected and their childcare abilities were probed. Many
interviewed social workers genuinely believed that more control over asylum seekers
and refugees gives them more opportunities to help them and some openly regretted
losing this control. For instance, I was present in one of the residential camps when
127
Social workers and directors of camps commonly use asylum seekers’ diversity as an explanation
for a number of problems that emerge from their life in the camps (e.g. Sekerka & Kopřivová, 2007),
together with the length of the asylum procedure that is indirectly blamed on the work of DAMP
[interview with the head of a residential camp, February 2007]. Both factors are obviously out of the
control of RFA and thus do not compel them to critical reflection on their own work and the impact of
the institution of the camp on asylum seekers.
242
the system of the canteen board was abolished and asylum seekers no longer had to
come to the camp reception office to stamp their meal tickets for the day (this could
be done only between 7a.m. and 9a.m). While asylum seekers complained about this
rule because they found it frustrating and interfering with their privacy, RFA workers
considered it a good way to keep track of people. Also, they believed that it was
beneficial to make them get up in the morning rather than letting them sleep through
the afternoon and lead a night-life after most of the camp staff leave the camp and
there is less control. Others also saw it as a way to maintain more personal
relationships with the camp inhabitants based on regular contact. A female
receptionist commented on the new system as follows:
I know it is good for them [to be able to prepare food independently] but at the
same time, I regret it a bit. They will not be regularly coming here; I kind of
need to be in contact with them. I like to keep friendly relations, to ask them
how they are and so on. Now, they will only come if they’ll need something;
when there will be a problem. But some more independent people won’t come
at all. It will also lead to a lesser control. Up until now, we could quickly figure
out if someone was regularly missing meals, but from now on, we will lose
track of them, we won’t know them. I will miss this contact. [RFA, residential
camp, February 2007]
Her expression of the need to remain in contact with the camp inhabitants mixed
with “keeping track of them” demonstrates well how the everyday treatment of
asylum seekers in the camps oscillates between sentiments of sympathy and pity on
the one hand and concerns for order and control on the other (Fassin, 2005). It also
reveals the character of control which is exercised in camps. When repeated on
an everyday basis, it is not seen as obviously intrusive to those who exercise it. As
the above quote indicated, this controlling/caring relationship may actually be seen
as one of the positive aspects of the camp workers’ job. Or it can be seen as
243
a legitimate part of the assistance. A female RFA social worker in another residential
camp clearly outlined the connection:
If we know more about the people, we can guide them better and alert them to
things they shouldn’t do. [Residential/integration camp, April 2007]
However, the idea that camp inhabitants have to be constantly monitored in order to
be helped produces an oppressive environment that has an incapacitating and
disempowering effect on people who are exposed to this surveillance/assistance. On
the one hand, RFA officially promotes recognised refugees’ independence and selfsufficiency
and those who are seen as relying too much on the help of the state and
the NGOs are portrayed as having problems with integration. On the other hand,
there seems to be little reflection on the fact that constant, if subtle, control over
asylum seekers’ daily lives is likely to engender their dependency because it fosters
a general attitude that many, even mundane, problems will be identified and solved
by others – those who are in control.
However, control in the camp is not exercised only in the “top-down” direction, by
RFA workers over asylum seekers. The camp inhabitants are also active agents of
control exercised among them. When sharing small spaces in refugee camps and due
to the general lack of privacy, it is hard to keep distance from each other. Having lots
of time on their hands, gossip and backbiting thrive. An official rule promoted by
RFA that everyone gets the same kind of service is in tension with people’s different
needs and individual ways of claiming their fulfilment. Nonetheless, it is constantly
being examined by the camp inhabitants and demanded, especially in situations when
someone is seen as getting better service than the others. Speaking about her
strategies of obtaining various benefits for her children by negotiating with the RFA
244
workers, this refugee woman remembered how it impacted on her relations with
other asylum seekers in the camp:
That’s one of the reasons why life in the camps is so hard. When somebody
sees that you have achieved something – due to your own initiative – and that
you got something that they didn’t, they immediately start crying: how come
she got it and we didn’t? [Private accommodation, April 2006]
Later on, she explained how this permanent exposure to mutual control from the
camp neighbours is intertwined with the general environment of suspicion and envy:
When someone in the camp gets asylum people do not celebrate together. On
the contrary, there will always be some who are angry and envious. They
speculate for themselves: what did this person do to get it? And they think
about how to do the same thing. When they think they’ve figured it out, they
try to reach it first, even at the expense of someone else. There is always this
fear that others are getting more. [Private accommodation, June 2007]
While these experiences do not exclude the possibility of support networks and
genuine friendships emerging among asylum seekers in camps, they certainly correct
idealised expectations of solidarity as if naturally emerging among people living in
physical proximity and suffering from similar conditions.
Consequently, asylum seekers and refugees in the camps hardly ever act as
a community. This has already been established in other studies of camp
environments, most notably by Hyndman (2000), who has pointed to the
incompatibility of expecting refugees to act as a community based on trust and
cooperation while at the same time being treated as institutional subjects who could
not be trusted by the administration (p. 140). Thus, she found it more apt to call
refugees in camps a “noncommunity of the excluded” (p. 138). A few occasions
when a group of asylum seekers did act together to protest against conditions in the
camp or their treatment by RFA workers were recounted by my informants.
245
However, these collective actions often quickly broke apart due to intimidation by
the camp staff and participants’ fear that their actions would impact on the result of
their asylum application. For example, when asked about acts of resistance such as
hunger strikes among asylum seekers in the reception camp, a social worker in the
reception camp explained with ease:
I do not consider it a problem. We have an instruction from the Director on
how to deal with it: We are telling them [asylum seekers] that if they will need
medical care afterwards, they will have to pay for it themselves because this is
a self-harm. Then, they usually stop. [Reception camp, August, 2006]
Lastly, refugee camps can be characterised by pervasive lack of knowledge about the
workings of the asylum system and, at the same time, by the dynamic production of
specific knowledge that emerges through intensive interactions among camp
inhabitants with vastly different experiences and expectations from the system. As I
have described in the previous chapter, the lack of reliable information makes people
rely on the experiences of others, rumours, and second-hand information from selfproclaimed
“legal experts” among asylum seekers. In the semi-closed environment of
refugee camps, the same information often circulates, gains a life of its own and
gradually transforms into a powerful myth which may be a product of wishful
thinking but nonetheless guides people’s actions. The typical example of a camp
myth of this kind was a belief which I encountered in each of the camps visited:
asylum seekers who are rejected in two European countries must be accepted in the
third country they enter. Many refugees were also convinced that the whole system
of refugee reception, including refugee camps, is paid from the budget of the United
246
Nations.128
Some concluded that different reception conditions in the Czech Republic
and in Western European countries stemmed from the fact that the Czech
administration was “saving money” on asylum seekers and refugees. This belief
further supported an attitude of general mistrust of the administration and the fairness
of the refugee system. 
Learning What It Means to Be a Refugee
Camps serve as an initiation into the workings of the refugee system. It is where
people learn what it means to be an asylum seeker and where the actual formation of
the refugee label (Zetter, 1991) takes place. This applies particularly to the reception
camps through which all asylum seekers have to go. The camp in Vyšní Lhoty,
where I carried out research, is the biggest reception facility in the country. Between
2002 and 2006, on average, 80 percent of all asylum applicants went through it
(DAMP, 2003b, 2004b, 2005c, 2006d, 2007c). 129
Therefore, in this camp, the
diversity of asylum applicants is the highest. Thus, it is a perfect location to get
an overview of the structure of the asylum seeking population, both for a researcher
and for newly arrived asylum seekers. The camp is strategically located in the
mountainous north-eastern part of the country, close to borders with Slovakia and
Poland that are the most common transit countries for asylum seekers coming from
the east. The camp buildings are situated above the village of Vysni Lholy (777
128
As noted above, United Nations (via UNHCR) supported only the work of NGOs and has already
withdrawn most of its support. Although the Czech Republic can now draw financial support from
a variety of European Union funds, the majority of expenses connected with asylum procedure have
always been covered from the state budget.
129
The remaining twenty percent applied for asylum in detentions, prisons, hospitals or at the Prague
Airport reception.
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248
I had the shock of my life. I thought I had an idea of what the asylum process
was about by knowing the principles of the Geneva Convention and so on, but
when I arrived in Vyšní Lhoty, I found myself surrounded by Ukrainians who
already had jobs, were renting flats and simply waited to get out of there to get
back to their lives. Some have been living in the Czech Republic for years and
they did not even feel the need to hide all this. Initially, I was confused, but
then I started asking myself, why did I have to end up in this mess? I was
surrounded by lawlessness. So many things were going on there, recruitment of
labour and prostitutes, extortion of money from those who had some, drug
dealing ... simply anything. It seemed like one big mafia band, and some of the
camp workers were part of it, they were bringing stuff in, if you had money,
you could order alcohol 132
or anything and they would get it. [Private
accommodation, September 2006]
A Belarusian refugee woman who spent over a month in the camp together with her
small children before she could join her husband, who applied for asylum earlier,
described it as a horrific experience:
Before we could reunite with my husband we had to go through the quarantine.
I tell you, it was one of the worst experiences in my life. It was at the end of
2003 and there were many young men from Chechnya at that time. I know that
many of them did not get a proper education and all they saw in their lives was
war, but the way they treated women was simply unacceptable; as if the way
we looked and dressed was already a sexual challenge to them. At the same
time, there were many Ukrainian women who worked as prostitutes in Prague.
When they were captured by the police, they said they wanted to apply for
asylum. It took me a while before I understood what was going on there. In the
first few days, I thought I was going crazy. I phoned my husband and told him:
you said it is about political asylum, but I am in a brothel here! [Private
accommodation, July 2006]
132
It is prohibited to consume alcohol and other kinds of drugs in the premises of the camp, but as is
indicated in this account and confirmed by some social workers, it always “somehow gets inside and
then causes trouble”.
249
And a Belarusian refugee man commented on his clash of expectations when he
arrived in the camp:
For me, it was a shock. When I first arrived here [to the Czech Republic] I
really liked it, it was a democratic country. You see a policeman and you don’t
have to hide, nobody will detain you and so on. I was here for a week and then
I had to go to the camp and there I had a shock. I didn’t expect it at all; in
contrast with the beauty of Prague it was like a prison. Suddenly they treat you
very differently; I mean security guards, camp workers, they treat you like
an animal, they are not interested in who you are and what problems you have,
what kind of a life you had. Only those with money could buy things and had
a relatively good life there. Corruption was rampant. Alcohol, drugs,
everything was sold there. Before, I thought these things were not happening in
the Czech Republic. [Private accommodation, April 2007]
These accounts are representative of other informants’ impressions of the camp,
especially with regard to the discrepancy between their initial ideas about asylum in
the Czech Republic and the reality they encountered in camps. However, they should
not be taken at face value, particularly the characterisations and evaluations of other
groups based on nationality. After spending a few weeks in various camps, I have
realised that many people were ready to make quick generalisations about others
based on a few visible traits and very limited knowledge of their circumstances.
National and sometimes even racist stereotypes were expressed on a regular basis.
They were also driven by people’s urge to differentiate themselves from the others
and prove that they were the real and deserving refugees. People who were highly
educated and coming from middle-class backgrounds felt a strong need to do so in
order to mitigate the social slump they experienced by being placed in the camp,
categorised as a homogeneous group and implicitly treated as paupers. I believe that
discourses of othering among asylum seekers and refugees are an inevitable
expression of jostling for power and recognition.
250
Reception and residential camps lie at the intersection of asylum seekers’ diverse
strategies. The mixture of people with varied motives and backgrounds entering the
camps contributes to conditions of insecurity. Moreover, as the above quotes
indicate, it produces general disillusionment and alienation from the system as
an effective tool of protection both among asylum seekers and the workers in camps.
Many find it hard to believe that the asylum procedure can operate effectively and
that those in need of protection can receive a fair proceeding.
Socialisation into Illicitness
This disenchantment supports more general alienation from the legal system in the
country and shapes the refugee camps into a fertile ground for what I call
“socialisation into illicitness”. It is an important element of refugee identities
nurtured in the camps that has, so far, received little attention in the literature. This is
perhaps because asylum seekers and refugees are so often being criminalised in the
public discourse that researchers consider it undesirable to portray them as connected
with any kind of illegality. However, the argument I will present here takes
a different perspective. I wish to highlight that the environment of the refugee camp
accustoms asylum seekers to the sphere of illicitness that comes to be seen as
normality. Moreover, this socialisation has a gendered character and impacts more on
men than women. Thus I want to point out that despite the fact that single young men
living in the camps are more likely to be perceived as problem makers while women,
children and the elderly are treated as vulnerable groups, there are different layers of
vulnerability and the masculine space of the camps also produces specific
insecurities. While I have discussed women’s position and their exposure to violence
251
in the camp elsewhere (see Szczepanikova, 2005a), here, I focus more on the
situation of men.
As mentioned before, asylum seekers cannot be legally employed for one year after
their asylum application is launched. Due to administrative difficulties with
prolongation of their visas and the need to apply for a work permit, they have rather
low chances of being officially employed even after this period. During the last four
years of my research among asylum seekers and refugees, I have not met anyone
who is legally employed while being an asylum seeker. Also my NGO informants
spoke about cases of legal employment as rarities rather than common phenomena.
Thus, the right to seek employment after a year of waiting acts more as a formal
gesture in the legislation that is required by the Reception Conditions Directive. In
a given context, it does not have the potential to be really implemented (Hradečná et
al., 2008). Consequently, such conditions discourage asylum seekers from even
considering legal employment as a viable option. An exploratory survey among 161
asylum seekers in the Czech Republic indicates that 41 percent started to look for
employment immediately after they launched their asylum application and as many
as 76 percent did so after half a year (Basovníková, Hofírek, Klvaňová, Mega, &
Reichová, 2006, p. 27). As a result, 58 percent of respondents declared that they
succeeded in finding a job within the first six months (Basovníková et al., 2006, p.
27); i.e. before the allowed period of one year and necessarily “illegal” employment.
The typical account of life in the camp portrayed by NGOs and the media is that of
passivity and inactivity. However, the impression one gets already after a few days
spent there is somewhat different. Many camp inhabitants regularly leave early in the
morning and return late in the afternoon. When I asked social workers whether some
252
of the camp inhabitants are employed outside the camp they said they did not know.
When I asked asylum seekers themselves they openly acknowledged that indeed
many are working because they cannot live on the financial support provided by the
state. It is also common to hear people speaking on the phone and agreeing on the
time and place where they will be picked up for work and how many workers they
will bring with them. According to the Asylum Act, asylum seekers have to declare
all their income and in case it goes above the level of subsistence, they are obliged to
cover some of the costs of their stay in the camp. In each of the four residential
camps where fieldwork was carried out, I asked whether there was such a case. The
response was negative in each of them. While some of the camp rooms are very
modestly equipped and demonstrate that asylum seekers came only with a small
amount of necessities, others overflow with things including televisions, DVD
players and other appliances. Clearly, these are the rooms of people who either
brought the money with them or, more often, of those who managed to secure jobs
and income while waiting. Since board and lodging is provided for free, they can use
the money to improve their living standards in the camp. Social workers and other
employees in the camp are obviously aware of these issues but they prefer not to see
them because irregular employment of their “clients” is not within the sphere of their
responsibilities. As a director of one camp openly told me: “We prefer if they work,
it is better than if they sit here depressed” [Residential camp, March 2007].
However, this tacit deal has a number of darker sides. As common in the sphere of
the “black” labour market, asylum seekers are often cheated by their employer,
ordinarily work in exploitative conditions (mostly in construction, agriculture,
cleaning and restaurant services), do not pay taxes or contribute to the social security
253
system and, since they are “cheaper” than regular workers, their availability and
disposability lowers the standards of employment conditions in general (Hradečná et
al., 2008; Pořízek, 2004). They can afford to work for lower pay because they do not
have to pay for living costs which are met in the camp. Thus, inadvertently, by not
allowing them to work in the regular economy, the refugee system subsidises the
irregular labour market.133
From the perspective of settlement and integration, this arrangement accustoms
people to the situation of illicitness. In practical terms, all the money earned can be
spent on consumer goods or communication and there is no need to care about
practicalities and expenses connected with independent living outside the state
institution. This not only makes people’s independent life after leaving the camp
more difficult but it increases the likelihood that they will remain in the sphere of
illicit labour even after gaining a stable resident status (also confirmed by Pořízek,
2004, p. 103). One third of the 28 recognised refugees interviewed in this research
acknowledged that they continued to earn their main income or some extra money in
the irregular labour market.
Let me now turn back to asylum seeker men whom I introduced as particularly
vulnerable to the experience of socialisation into illicitness. A commonly made
argument about the transformation of masculinity in the refugee camps as well as
during the settlement is that of men losing their roles of breadwinners and thus also
the basis of authority in the family, self-esteem and dignity (e.g. Chan & Loveridge,
133
In 2005 a group of NGOs received funding from the EU to start a project called “Why should they
be left out? Complex use of asylum seekers’ potential”. Since then, they have produced a number of
valuable reports about the position of asylum seekers in the labour market (e.g. Basovníková et al.,
2006; Horáková, 2007; Hradečná et al., 2008) and actively lobbied for changes of legislation towards
significantly shortening the period in which asylum seekers cannot work legally.
254
1987; Matsuoka & Sorenson, 1999). It has also been reiterated by many NGO and
camp social workers I interviewed and in their publications about lives of asylum
seekers and refugees (e.g. CCR, 2005; Pechová, 2004; Roubalová et al., 2005).
However, there is less discussion about the various means of reasserting masculinity
available to and employed by the refugee men.
The refugee camps provide not only a basis for irregular employment but also for
various explicitly criminal activities. These are carried out mostly by men and could
be aptly described by the expression used by one of my interlocutors: a strategy of
“quick money” (bistrie dengi in Russian). This strategy includes for example:
smuggling people across the borders with Austria or Germany;134
extortion of money
from other asylum seekers in the camp; providing the so-called krysha (Russian word
for “roof”), i.e. criminal protection racket to other asylum seekers engaged in petty
criminal activities or drug dealing. Such opportunities become readily available to
camp inhabitants due to their physical concentration combined with social isolation
together with other people in the situation of legal insecurity and material
deprivation. They are enacted by the small minority of people who nevertheless have
great impact on the conditions of security in the camps. Another key factor is the
already mentioned alienation from the local legal system that often serves as implicit
legitimization of these activities. Most asylum seekers see the asylum system as not
being fair and just. This scepticism gets projected into other areas of the legal system
that are seen as malfunctioning and corrupt and thus subverting them is not
necessarily perceived as condemnable. Besides, especially in previous years (prior to
134
While this activity flourished between 2003 and 2005 when large numbers of Chechen refugees
crossed the borders of the Czech Republic and neighbouring countries with the help of smugglers
(often also asylum seekers), it has lost its significance after the Czech Republic, Slovakia and Poland
joined the Schengen Area at the end of 2007.
255
implementation of the Dublin II Regulation), many asylum seekers did not see
themselves as permanently settling in the Czech Republic and the plan of a future
move, perhaps connected with a change of identity, stimulated this unconcerned
attitude to local rules of legal conduct.
Illicit activities have an impact on single men in particular because they are
commonly housed together in “non-protected” sections of the camps, as opposed to
families, single women and the elderly who are accommodated under stricter security
measures. Throughout my research, I have met a number of men who expressed
concerns about their security. Despite the fact that the category of “vulnerable” was
opened to everyone who felt some form of insecurity in the camp, these men were
rarely willing to declare themselves as vulnerable and ask for protected housing
because such a move was associated with their potential homosexuality among other
camp inhabitants. Thus, it could actually lead to more insecurity in what is a largely
homophobic social environment of the camps.135
However, the engagement in criminal activities is not limited to single men but also
applies to those with families. Seen from their perspective, the adoption of the “quick
money” strategy can be seen as a way of reasserting masculinity: by being able to
provide for their families and improve their living standards in the camp. A Chechen
refugee woman in her early thirties provided an interesting interpretation of women’s
role in sustaining, if not encouraging, this behaviour:
135
Homophobic attitudes and aggressive reactions to homosexuals that are prevalent in the camps
would require a more extensive discussion. Here, I limit myself to the explanation that the majority of
asylum seekers are coming from societies where homosexuality is not socially tolerated and
sometimes even persecuted and they have not been exposed to discourses about the freedom of
expression of one’s sexuality.
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Some women just don’t know where to stop; they constantly bug their
husbands with complaints that they need this and that, that they need more
money. They want to show off in front of the others in the camp and
sometimes, they even send things home to present the success they have made
abroad, to show that they are doing well. They don’t care where the money
comes from. [Residential camp, March 2007]
While her account refers only to one of the many motivations to engage in the “quick
money” strategy, she makes an important observation by pointing to the fact that
women have the power to diminish or reassert their husbands’ feeling of dignity and
some put pressure on them to provide for the family even when the men cannot do it
with legal means. As illustrated in the above quote, it is also connected with the
specificities of the camp’s social fabric; i.e. that of mutual surveillance and constant
comparison with others. In these conditions, a show-off of material wealth can
become part of jostling for power and recognition. This is one of the features that are
missing among the asylum seekers living outside the camps. Not only are they under
less control from the institutional apparatus and their neighbours, they are also likely
to have more contact with the local population and thus a wider variety of referential
groups in their social networks (e.g. Pořízek, 2004).
Conclusions
The camps are ambivalent institutions that can be utilised in a number of ways. As
a policy tool, they can be modified into deterrents for potential asylum seekers. This
has been exemplified by the most recent policy change in the Czech Asylum Act
ordering compulsory confinement in the reception camps for some groups of asylum
seekers in conditions of increased isolation from the outside world. On the other
hand, I have shown that both state and nongovernmental institutions have certain
interests in keeping the camps reasonably full. The analysis concurs with the
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argument about the collusion of humanitarian assistance and refugee encampment
put forward by Zetter (1999):
The interests of all the actors (except refugees) are best served by containing
and controlling refugees - political, diplomatic, logistical, security, media
profile - in short, by sustaining dependency. The relief regime’s own survival
and institutional maintenance depends on the image of dependent clients. (p.
74)
I have argued that camps are not only important for institutional self-maintenance but
also facilitate depoliticisation of refugee issues. The process of depoliticisation has
been sustained by the joint actions of DAMP and RFA with some contributions from
NGOs and demonstrated on the example of expanding “leisure-time activities” which
are disproportionately supported at the expense of legal and psychological assistance
to asylum seekers.
Furthermore, I have shown how the institution of the camp is actively being adjusted
by asylum seekers in the context of limited opportunities and strategies delineated by
the system of migration control. The camps provide an arena for the analysis of the
materialisation of these strategies and invite discussion of their wider implications
for the lives of asylum seekers. In other words, they represent a space where the
refugee label is negotiated and can be transformed. The present regulation of
immigration and asylum pushes some people into entering the asylum procedure and
produces a general attitude of alienation and disenchantment among asylum seekers.
Scepticism about the functioning of the asylum procedure emerges and sometimes
stimulates relaxed attitudes towards local rules of legal conduct. Similarly to Zetter’s
study of re-housing programmes for Greek Cypriots (1991) the refugee camps in the
Czech Republic have turned out to be stigmatising spaces alienating asylum seekers
and refugees from the rest of the population. Expanding his argument, I have
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demonstrated that such an environment produces various gendered insecurities.
While acknowledging that the space of the camp presents a number of dangers for
women, children and other groups that have conventionally been labelled as
vulnerable, I have unpacked other layers of vulnerability, i.e. that of single men
whose sojourn in the camps makes them accustomed to and sometimes driven
towards various illicit practices. Irregular employment nurtured by asylum seekers’
exclusion from the regular labour market has become a tacitly tolerated feature of the
camp life experienced by both men and women. A smaller, and mostly male, section
of the camp population has used the camps as a base for carrying out various illicit
activities. These have to be understood not as proof of some inherently criminal
features of asylum seekers as a group, but as a product of an emasculating camp
environment that provides an ideal ground for such actions and thus also as a form of
reasserting hegemonic masculine identity.
These critical accounts about the refugee camps invite questions about possible
alternatives. Although this study does not aim at providing direct policy
recommendations, I will conclude with a few suggestions. My critique of the camp
should not be interpreted as an opposition to any form of centralised and specialised
assistance to asylum seekers organised by the state. It is, however, important to
acknowledge that this assistance can have a variety of forms. The existing camps
would better serve the interests of asylum seekers (rather than the institutions that
govern them) if constituted as a short-term measure geared from the very beginning
towards facilitating asylum seekers’ life outside the camps. Rather than investing in
the improvements of material conditions inside the camps that are designed
exclusively for asylum seekers, more efforts should be made to interconnect the
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spaces of the camp with the local infrastructure and to support quality legal and
psychological assistance both for those living inside the camps and those in private
accommodation. One way forward could be to turn the current highly
institutionalised and staffed camps into a small-scale state supported housing scheme
in socially mixed settings with regular access to specialised assistance. Such
an arrangement would require asylum seekers’ active participation in daily matters of
accommodation and could stimulate contacts with local population and authorities. It
would be most efficient if accompanied with quick access to the labour market and
swift asylum procedure which would discourage those who enter it only for the sake
of temporary legalisation of residence. Given the current low numbers of asylum
seekers and the numerous measures to “sort out” manifestly unfounded applications
built into the asylum legislation, such a system would be less demanding for the state
budget and would be less of an obstacle to asylum seekers’ and refugees’ future lives
outside the refugee system.
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Chapter 7: Performing Refugeeness: Gendered
Depoliticisation through NGO Assistance
Introduction
The previous three chapters highlighted the role of state institutions and dealt mostly
with the situation of asylum seekers. Here, I prioritise the nongovernmental section
of the refugee system and draw mostly on empirical data generated among
recognised refugees. Building on my previous discussion of NGOs’ ambivalent
position in the refugee system, I further develop the argument about depoliticisation
of refugee matters. More specifically, I scrutinize the gender micropolitics of NGO
assistance. Despite the growing importance of the NGO sector in securing refugees’
access to rights and assistance in refugee receiving countries, this dimension of
refugee settlement has been largely understudied. In particular, the work of local
NGOs that are often the key mediators among refugees and the state, the media, the
wider public and also the academic production of knowledge is poorly understood.
In what follows, I scrutinise the modes of settlement assistance that are least likely to
be examined with a critical eye: NGOs where highly informal and friendship-like
ways of “helping refugees” are promoted and often carried out on a (partly)
voluntary basis. I argue that although they provide refugees with essential support,
they may unwittingly foster rather than challenge unequal power relations that lock
refugees in a position of submissive clients lacking means of influencing their place
in a host society. Refugee assistance in the Czech Republic is highly feminised; it
produces particular performances of refugeeness and sustains gendered “criteria of
belonging” (Ong, 1996, p. 738) that impact differently on refugee women and men. I
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unpack the performative aspect of the refugee label and reveal how gendered refugee
identities are produced and enacted in contexts of unequal power relations. The
analysis highlights refugees’ critical reflections on their position in the structures of
assistance.
Throughout the research, I was careful not to overlook refugees’ remarks about all
the institutional actors they encountered including NGOs that are traditionally
presented in the role of helpers and not to be criticised. It was only towards the end
of my fieldwork that sustained engagements with the core informants engendered
less straightforward and more critical comments on the work of NGOs. After
a number of meetings and hours spent together some (but not all) refugees started
speaking about the ambivalence of their experiences with NGOs and revealed their
understanding of the unequal power relations in which they were situated when
accessing assistance. Due to the predominance of women among the refugee
clientele as explained below, the voices of refugee men are missing in this chapter.
They either did not have a lot of experiences with NGO assistance or they were not
particularly keen on discussing their position as NGO clients.
The most incisive comments came from women who kept close relationships with
the NGOs but were no longer entirely dependent on their assistance. As they
themselves explained to me, they “could afford” to look at the NGOs more critically.
At the same time, they often coupled their accounts with sentences like: “but
everybody knows this” or “all refugees are well aware of that”, which indicate that
they were referring to a shared experience which is nevertheless hidden to the public
eye, to researchers, and to an extent also to NGO advocates. Despite their voices
being in the minority, I have been able to corroborate many of their arguments
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through participant observation and interviews with NGO representatives. Refugee
women’s insights helped me to make a move from seeing NGO – client relationships
and the spaces they occupy as “harmonized ‘us’ and ‘thems’ living together”
(Hyndman, 1998, p. 245) towards seeing a series of unequal and uneven links
marked by dependency and implicit reciprocity.
This chapter addresses the following questions: How NGOs construct “a refugee” as
a concept and an object of assistance? How refugees relate to and act upon these
constructions? What role does gender play in the process? In the first two sections, I
introduce the notion of refugee depoliticisation, discuss the role of NGOs in refugee
assistance more broadly and explain my understanding of performing refugeeness.
Next, I briefly contextualise NGO assistance to refugees in the Czech Republic and
differentiate between two ideal types of NGO assistance. Then I explain why refugee
assistance is a highly feminised field. The last section reveals practices and
implications of depoliticising assistance.
Refugee Depoliticisation in the Context of Humanitarian Assistance
My analysis builds on studies that re-examine the ways refugees are represented and
situated in both academic and humanitarian circles (Hyndman, 2000; Malkki, 1995a,
1997; Nyers, 2006; Rajaram, 2002; Soguk, 1999). These authors have alerted us to
the fact that the world of humanitarianism can be a deeply dehumanising
environment for refugees when it leaves them deprived of their particular histories
and politics and when it disregards power relations that produce and sustain their
displacement. I define the process of refugee depoliticisation through assistance and
representation as the production of an abstract individual refugee experience that is
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removed from the larger nexus of its political, social and historical context. It
positions a refugee as a “mute victim” (Rajaram, 2002, p. 248) and a submissive
client incapable of influencing his or her position in a host society.
One of the main effects of depoliticisation is the silencing of refugees (Nyers, 2006;
Soguk, 1999). Nyers (2006) argues that although this silence has been (unwittingly)
perpetuated by many studies of refugee situations, refugees are not voiceless in any
essential way:
The prevailing attitude in conventional analyses of refugee movements is one
that provides no place for refugees to articulate their experiences and struggles
or to assert their (often collectively conceived) political agency. Refugees are
silenced by the very discourses that attempt to provide solutions to their plight.
This silence is not natural or inevitable but something that is produced by
power relations that require explanation and critical analysis. (2006, p. xiv)
In line with the proposition to critically engage with structures of silencing, I
examine the process of depoliticisation through NGO assistance.
NGOs and the Performance of Refugeeness
Despite their diverse institutional forms and scopes, it can be said that NGOs have
become increasingly responsible for securing refugees’ access to social and
economic rights as the state gradually shifts the responsibilities for assisting refugees
to them (Lester, 2005; Raper, 2003). On the one hand, their new roles in the process
of refugee reception and integration are framed by their ability to identify niches
where they can do better than state institutions and by their determination to oppose
the dominant restrictive political climate towards refugees. On the other hand, the
position of NGOs has been strongly influenced by a wider process of restructuring
and rolling back of European welfare states, privatisation of state-run services
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(Tazreiter, 2004) and new modes of governance employed to control migration flows
from outside and ethnic minorities inside the nation state.
Even though NGOs are associated with the image of an active civil society, a number
of authors have argued that their increased presence should not be perceived as
an unconditionally positive development. The importance of the tasks they take up
should not prevent questions about their accountability and legitimacy. For example,
Tazreiter asks: “To whom do NGOs answer? How transparent and open to scrutiny is
their work and action?” (2004, p. 68). Others point to a growing divide between
responsibility and accountability as NGOs are effectively becoming “subcontractors”
of governments or of the United Nations (Lester, 2005; Verdirame & Harrell-Bond,
2005). While these studies are important in unravelling complex and ambivalent
relations between NGOs, states and/or large international organisations, my analysis
shifts the focus and critically looks at local NGOs’ strategies of representation and
involvement in the lives of displaced people.
I see NGOs as important actors in constructing and maintaining refugee identities by
creating arenas of power relations where certain performances of refugeeness are
nurtured, enacted and occasionally also subverted. These performances render some
kinds of behaviour possible and make others less acceptable. Thus, NGOs “structure
the possible field of action” (Foucault, 1982, p. 221) for refugees and actively
contribute to the strategically selective context in which this action takes place.
A Foucauldian conception to power is particularly useful in analysing practices of
assistance because it highlights its productive aspects in promoting particular
subjectivities and identities. I approach NGOs’ encounters with refugees as
constitutive of the identities of both refugee individuals and the providers of
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assistance. I also show that NGOs are engaged in discursive struggles around the
concept of “a refugee” as they try to impact on flows of resources and legitimize
their own position in the refugee system vis-à-vis the state, donors and the general
public (Phillips & Hardy, 1997).
In the Czech Republic and elsewhere, NGOs act as the key mediators of individual
refugees’ relations with the state by representing them in courts and providing them
with information about their rights and duties. Besides, they also mediate refugees’
relationships with the wider public by organizing public events aimed at making
refugees visible in a positive light and while fundraising for the continuation of their
own existence. Furthermore, NGOs are usually the first contact points for the media;
when journalists want to report on refugee issues and look for refugee interviewees,
they turn to them. Last but not least, NGOs are important sources of contacts for
researchers looking for refugee interlocutors, thus, they also indirectly influence the
production of knowledge about refugees. These local organisations are usually at
least partly based on voluntary or relatively low-paid work and tend to be associated
with civic enthusiasm and a selfless drive to help others. In many respects, NGOs
provide the kinds of assistance which would otherwise not be available to refugees,
most notably specialised legal and social counselling. Moreover, some are also
engaged in lobbying Parliament trying to prevent more restrictive moves of the
asylum legislation, criticizing conditions in detentions and refugee camps or
networking with other European NGOs in order to promote progressive policy
changes at the EU level. Without their relentless efforts, many restrictions of refugee
rights would pass smoothly and there would be less control of the uses of state power
over refugees. Perhaps that is why social scientists are reluctant to subject them to
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a critical examination in the same way as they approach state actors or larger
humanitarian organisations.
I treat the refugee label as not only a bureaucratic identity (Zetter, 1991) but also as
a performative identity which is produced through reiterative performances over time
(Butler, 1993). Rather than approaching refugees as conscious performers acting out
their roles in line with Goffman’s analysis (1959/1990), I draw on Butler’s
conception of performances as being produced by power. This power is disciplining
but at the same time productive through its ability to name, to define, and to describe
certain people as different from others (Gregson & Rose, 2000, p. 439). Being or not
being perceived and expected to act as “a refugee” is not a question of a voluntary
choice. These performances are framed by regulatory practices of NGO
humanitarianism that provide refugees with scripts to be followed (Hyndman & De
Alwis, 2004, pp. 549-550).
The position of people who were officially recognised as refugees and granted
an appropriate legal status creates more space for ambivalence towards the refugee
label. As opposed to asylum seekers, I have observed that after being granted asylum
some people are more likely to identify themselves or to be identified as refugees
than others. To a large extent, this depends on whether they avail themselves of
specialised NGO support and remain embedded in NGO social networks. While
some can afford to disassociate themselves from the label, others make strategic use
of it and/or find themselves trapped in performing refugeeness.
In her study of refugees in Tanzania, Malkki (1995a) explores the spatial dimension
of refugee identity construction. She contrasts stigmatizing meanings attached to
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refugeeness in a township with perceptions of “a refugee” as a status to be protected
because it signals a link with the imagined homeland and is endorsed by refugees
who reside in camps. Her concept of the “pragmatics of identity” (p. 208) is useful
because it stresses refugees’ agency while retaining the idea of refugee identities as
being produced in the context of particular power relations and distinct spaces. In
this sense, not only the camps but also NGOs can be perceived as social and material
spaces of identity production that allow for refugees’ pragmatism on the one hand
and produce a selective regulatory environment that shapes their actions on the other.
NGO Assistance to Refugees in the Czech Republic
Although the Czech Republic is slowly becoming a country of immigration, it still
lacks a structure of refugee communities capable of self-support. It is partly because,
as argued by Bloch (2002) “for such organizations to form there have to be sufficient
numbers of a particular community in any given locality” (p. 161). The history of
refugee reception in the Czech Republic is short and the numbers of settled refugees
are low. Another reason specific to post-communist countries is that they lack
established tradition of community organising, civic groups formation and voluntary
work which are more developed in countries such as the United Kingdom or Canada
where refugee community organisations thrive (also due to significantly higher
numbers of refugees and immigrants). In the context of the Czech Republic, the
absence of established refugee communities leaves refugees largely dependent on
NGOs that are run by Czech nationals. NGOs and the state provide many of the
functions usually performed by the ethnic community – if it exists – in other
contexts. For example, I have witnessed that for some, relations with NGO workers
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represent an important social network and an opportunity for social interaction
outside their families.
The importance of NGOs for refugees has become obvious to me from a number of
positive experiences expressed by my interlocutors. For example, this refugee
woman in her forties greatly appreciated their assistance:
I am very grateful to these organizations. Foreigners or refugees who come
here don’t know their rights, which laws apply to them and how. I don’t know
who would explain it to them if not for these organizations. They write various
applications for you, accompany you to welfare offices when you can’t speak
the language properly; they always try to help and they work really hard.
[Private accommodation, September, 2006]
Or another refugee woman in her thirties, who valued NGOs’ friendly approach in
her stressful beginnings as an asylum seeker in a strange country:
These NGOs were among the first people I met here and when they smiled at
me in the doorway, it already made me feel much better. [Private
accommodation, December, 2006]
Initially, NGOs offered these women free legal and social counselling and
participation in activities organised for children. After gaining their refugee status,
they could make use of professional retraining, Czech language courses, assistance
with the search for housing and employment. On the other hand, a more sustained
relationship with some of my informants also generated more critical views of NGO
assistance. Perhaps the most open and critical opinion came from this woman in her
early forties:
Nowhere else I’ve ever felt treated so much like a second-class citizen as in
these NGOs. I don’t feel the same when I clean other people’s houses, or when
I go around welfare offices. People in NGOs treat you either like a kid or as
a fool who doesn’t understand a thing. I am neither of these, so why should I
keep going there? True integration starts when you realise that and you don’t
go there anymore. [Private accommodation, September 2007]
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It is accounts such as hers that prompted me to carefully reconsider the relationship
between refugees and NGO assistants.
As illustrated by previous chapters, the Czech refugee system can be characterised by
the existence of a substantial institutional apparatus. In 2007 and 2008, there were
probably almost as many state and NGO workers who dealt with recognised refugees
in their daily agenda as the annual number of recognised refugees.136
This ratio,
however, does not make the system particularly efficient in facilitating refugees’
integration. A number of reports indicate that in comparison with the Czech
population as well as other groups of legally residing foreigners, recognised refugees
suffer from disproportionate levels of unemployment, live in overcrowded and
generally inadequate housing, have difficulties with having their education
recognised and perceive themselves as poor (MLSA, 2007; Uherek et al., 2005).
Differentiating NGO Advocates: “Refugees’ Friends” and “Young Professionals”
In the five NGOs included in this study women represented on average over 70
percent of the employees directly dealing with refugee clients.137
The NGOs are run
predominantly by Czech nationals and people with refugee experience are only a rare
exception among their employees.138
Their work with refugees should not be seen as
homogeneous and the workers within these organisations do not constitute
a monolithic block. Therefore, a distinction is made here between two ideal types
that I identified in the course of the research. I call them “Refugees’ Friends” and
136
In 2006 and 2007, the number of asylums granted was 268 and 191 respectively (DAMP, 2008b).
137
It is worth noting that despite the overall feminisation of this sphere, four of these NGOs are
headed by men.
138
At the time of research, four of the NGOs employed five women with experience of being
a refugee. However, only three of them had a position with some leverage within the organisation.
The others were in the position of part-time assistants.
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“Young Professionals”. One of the examined NGOs could be identified as a clear
example of “Young Professionals” (NGO “B”) and one as “Refugees’ Friends”
(NGO “C”). The remaining three NGOs (“A”, “D” and “E”) are best located on
a continuum somewhere in between; some of their employees adhered more to the
first type while others more to the latter. Generally speaking, “E” is closer to “Young
Professionals” and “A” to “Refugees’ Friends” and “D” is somewhere in the middle.
In what follows, I prioritize the “Refugees’ Friends” type of NGO because it is more
predisposed to engage in practices of refugee depoliticisation.
“Refugees’ Friends” can be best characterised by their emphasis on informal,
friendship-like relations with refugees. It is sometimes highlighted as a defining
organizational feature, such as in the case of NGO “C” that claims to: “nurture the
development of friendly relationships between people through respectful guidance
and mediation” (“A’s” website). The other typical characteristic is a greater
involvement in addressing the wider public through public cultural events promoting
positive representations of refugees. The forms of assistance they provide range from
more standardised legal, social and psychological counselling and training courses to
more informal programmes in their community centres such as organising
recreational, therapeutic and cultural activities for refugees and other groups of
migrants.
A number of “Refugees’ Friends” were at some point connected with a group of anticommunist
dissidents active in an informal civic initiative known as Charter 77.139
While many dissident men joined the official political scene after the regime change
139
The Charter 77 initiative was active in Czechoslovakia from 1977 to 1992 and is considered to be
the most prominent action against the communist regime between the late 1970s and the 1989 “Velvet
Revolution”.
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in 1989, their female collaborators were more active in the NGO sector which
quickly gained a strong representational role in the project of a modern civil society
(Marada, 2008, p. 192). This was one of the factors that contributed to the
feminisation of the civic sphere according to some commentators (e.g. True, 2003, p.
147). The association with the dissident movement gave these NGOs a certain level
of prestige as well as an ability to occasionally draw on their networks with other
dissidents who made it into elite political circles.140
Interviews with some of the
NGO advocates revealed that their own self-definition as former freedom fighters
and current refugees’ friends provided them with a strong sense of moral obligation
and righteousness, which has sometimes prevented them from critical reflexivity of
their own actions. Within their organizations, they have encouraged the idea of
“helping refugees” as an unequivocally positive and unproblematic mission and
loaded the figure of “a refugee” with deep emotional commitment. As I will show
later on, their preoccupation with positive images of refugees has inadvertently
contributed to a one-dimensional and depoliticising representation.
Although “Refugees’ Friends” play a crucial role in presenting refugee issues to the
wider public, their advocacy activities are directed more towards the living
conditions of refugees who are already in the Czech Republic than to the forces of
their displacement and the political underpinnings of the mechanisms of refugee
reception or rejection in the country. For example, as mentioned in the previous
chapter, they have long criticised living conditions in the refugee camps. In 2006, the
NGO “A” highlighted how the Ministry of Interior exploited asylum seekers by
140
I have observed that over the years, they were able to utilise this leverage on behalf of individual
refugees rather than in achieving structural changes to the increasingly restrictive refugee system.
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publicising the fact that female asylum seekers living in one of the refugee camps
were asked by the representatives of the Ministry to “voluntarily” prepare
refreshment for the ball of the Czech Police Presidium (serving approximately one
hundred people) and they were not remunerated for this work (Břešťan, 2006). The
case attracted some media attention. Importantly, the discussion that followed
portrayed asylum seekers as people who have the right not to be exploited despite
their precarious legal position. These are important achievements that demonstrate
NGOs’ determination to resolutely stand up for refugees’ rights and wellbeing even
if it puts them in conflict with state institutions.
However, one could ask a provocative question: was the action of the Ministry so
different from public programmes organised by NGOs? For a number of years,
refugee women have often been asked by NGOs to cook and serve food at their
public events, such as concerts, exhibitions, celebrations of World Refugee Day and
other occasions promoting multiculturalism, tolerance and positive aspects of
refugees’ presence in the country. Up until recently, they would usually receive no or
only a symbolic reward for their work.141
NGOs typically used the same rationale for
such actions as the Ministry did, i.e. that “it is refugees’ opportunity to present
themselves and their culture in a positive light” (Břešťan, 2006). One could therefore
argue that the only difference is that the Ministry did it on a larger scale and could
more easily be accused of misusing its institutional power over refugees. An NGO
activist tried to draw a line between the two contexts: “It would be a beneficial
141
This situation has been gradually changing, especially due to NGO “C’s” initiative to
professionalise refugee and migrant women’s catering abilities into a profit-generating activity. They
have assisted a group of women to establish themselves as professional caterers and to offer their
services to the wider public. Interestingly, this process of commodification of women’s culinary skills
has made it more problematic for other organisations to use their resources for free.
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presentation if refugee women would not only cook the food, but if they would also
serve it and thus perform the role of hostesses” she explained (Břešťan, 2006).
Indeed, that is how these cultural presentations are usually done by NGOs. However,
it is questionable to what extent women’s presence really makes a difference to the
exploitative character of such public displays. As I will later demonstrate, from the
perspective of refugee women the power dynamic of such exchanges may not differ
much.
I characterise the second type of NGO assistance as the work of “Young
Professionals”. Although “Young Professionals” are also mostly women, the
majority of them are young university graduates and for many, working in an NGO
assisting refugees simply provides a start for their professional careers as lawyers or
social workers. NGOs, where this group of advocates prevails, have been moving
towards greater professionalization and specialisation of their services. Although
they provide a similar range of services as “Refugees’ Friends”, their perception of
“a refugee” is less emotionally charged. From their annual reports as well as their
public activities, it is clear that refugees are seen as yet another category of clients
alongside migrants with other kinds of residence. Rather than themselves posing as
refugees’ friends, their activities involve coordination of volunteer programmes to
support refugee integration through facilitation of informal contacts with external
volunteers. They also put greater emphasis on participating in various commissions
established within the state institutions where they act as decision-makers, evaluators
and collaborators.
The analysis of the everyday mechanisms of depoliticisation presented below focuses
on the kinds of assistance that are more likely to be found in the “Refugees’ Friends”
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type of NGOs. Although relatively weaker in terms of addressing structural
conditions of reception and settlement, “Refugees’ Friends” put emphasis on public
activities and public representation of refugee matters and therefore have greater
influence on the public image of refugees than “Young Professionals”.
Feminisation of the Refugee Clientele
The overwhelming presence of women among the refugee clientele requires
an explanation. Although they constitute, on average, only 30 percent of asylum
seekers and 40 percent of recognised refugees in the Czech Republic (CSO, 2007a),
my observations and the reports of NGOs corroborated that refugee women are much
more likely than men to reach out for assistance from NGOs. I argue that this
situation is caused both by the gender division of labour in refugee households and
by NGOs preference for particular kinds of refugee performances, which are more
compatible with refugee women’s structural position that makes them responsible for
the social reproduction of the family (Hartmann, 1981).
Let me start with the gender division of labour. In the majority of families I worked
with (regardless of their nationality), it was perceived as undignified for a man to go
and ask for assistance from strangers and thus to openly acknowledge his situation of
dependency. For example, this refugee woman explained how things work in her
family:
It is always me who communicates [with NGOs] because my husband, I don’t
know...it is simply a question of men’s pride; he will not go and plead. [...] It’s
not because of his lack of activity; it’s because he doesn’t want to be in
a position when he passively receives help. [Private accommodation,
September 2007]
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Another woman’s account illustrates refugee women’s self-perception as being able
to perform their neediness more efficiently than their husbands and thus gaining
better access to various forms of goods:
A woman, when necessary, is able to lower herself, to ask for something when
a man cannot do it. He will, for example, never go somewhere and ask for help;
that’s not the way we do it. He doesn’t abandon his upbringing from home only
because he’s here now. That is why I can better explain our situation when I go
somewhere. I shed a tear, if needed; these are the things that women can do.
[Private accommodation, December 2006]
The gender division of labour in refugee households adheres to the dominant notion
of masculinity constructed as incompatible with pleading. The spaces of NGOs are
largely perceived as arenas where clients have to engage in various emotional acting
roles and performances in order to show neediness and obtain access to resources
which is predominantly seen as women’s work. Moreover, as Kibria (1993) explains
in her study of Vietnamese refugees in the U.S., it is because of “difficulty of such
bridging work, and the feelings of marginality and powerlessness often
accompanying it, that men were often willing and even eager to leave these tasks up
to women” (p. 126).
The feminisation is further enhanced by the fact that refugee women are perceived as
easier and more manageable objects of assistance than men (Ong, 2003). I have
observed that NGO workers often dealt with women even over subjects related to
their husbands or sons. They found women generally more communicative, adaptive
and less willing to openly express their anger or dissatisfaction. In other words,
women were expected to readily comply with the needs and respective solutions to
their problems as identified by NGOs. Moreover, communication with women was
often easier simply because they tended to speak the Czech language better than their
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husbands.142
In line with the above outlined division of labour in refugee households,
from the very beginning of the asylum procedure it is women who are more likely to
approach social workers in NGOs and in the refugee camps and to discuss issues
related to their children’s school attendance, healthcare, food and so forth. These
responsibilities prompt many women to learn the Czech language more quickly.
Thus, they soon become the key mediators between NGOs and their households.
Men, on the other hand, are more likely to be constructed by NGOs as obstacles in
women’s development, as potential problem-makers who, after losing their role as
breadwinners through unemployment, are struggling hard to preserve their manliness
and dignity, often at the expenses of their wives and children (CCR, 2005). While
women were often admired by NGO workers for their ability to perform their roles
as mothers, wives and homemakers well even in difficult material conditions, refugee
men’s inability to find a stable, regular job and to financially secure the family were
presented as the main features of their general dysfunction. In a number of
interviews, social workers presented a simple theory of how gender relations in
refugee families are being transformed throughout settlement. It is best expressed by
this account of an NGO “A” social worker:
It works like this: women are faster in finding some sort of a position for
themselves. Even if they are still at home, but the fact that they take care of the
household makes them feel up and running. It’s different with men, if they
can’t find a job, be it a regular or an illicit one, then it is usually pretty bad. I
have a lot of female clients who function perfectly, they take care of their
families, but their husbands do not function at all. [NGO “A”, August 2007]
142
This was confirmed to me by NGO interviewees and it was also the case among my informants; 13
women out of the 21 female informants living in couples (including both the core and standard
informants) spoke Czech with greater fluency and confidence than their husbands.
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Although NGO workers acknowledged that the process of settlement may be in
many respects particularly difficult for men, refugee women have remained the
prime objects of their assistance. As I will demonstrate below, the feminisation of the
refugee clientele operates in a mutually supportive manner with practices of
depoliticisation. Women experience their dependency on NGO services as the only
way to gain access to resources on which their families depended and, therefore, they
were less likely to question on what terms this access was granted. On the other
hand, it has to be stressed that their embeddedness in NGO networks can represent
an important source of social capital that can facilitate women’s access to resources
and opportunities and improve their bargaining position vis-à-vis their husbands and
families (e.g. Kibria, 1993; Ong, 2003; Ui, 1991).
Everyday Mechanisms of Depoliticisation in Practices of Assistance
Moving to the analysis of practices of assistance within the “Refugees’ Friends” type
of NGOs, the main argument put forward here is that the unequal power relations
which frame NGOs’ encounters with refugees are more likely to act as mechanisms
of depoliticisation if they are masked behind closeness and friendly affiliation with
“the other”, who nevertheless remains positioned as subordinate and can therefore be
used as a means to the organization’s ends.
In his theory of social space and symbolic power, Bourdieu writes about “strategies
of condescension” (1989) and defines them as actions by which:
agents who occupy a higher position in one of the hierarchies of objective
space symbolically deny the social distance between themselves and others,
a distance which does not thereby cease to exist, thus reaping the profits of the
recognition granted to a purely symbolic denegation of distance. (p. 16)
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Seeing “Refugees’ Friends” as practicing these strategies is helpful in understanding
how good-hearted actions of devoted individuals fail to make the social distance
between them and refugees disappear. Moreover, it shifts our attention to advantages
that can be drawn from the declared closeness to refugees as it fits well with NGOs’
image as humanitarians. The strategies of condescension are closely intertwined with
mechanisms of silencing and depoliticisation of refugees.
One-Dimensional Positive Representation
NGOs tend to place themselves in the position of agents for refugees. They act on
behalf of them and use the frame of their own visibility as honourable civic
organisations to make refugees visible and recognisable as individuals, thus
countering the dehumanizing and alienating labels of governmental and media
rhetoric (Tyler, 2006, p. 194). However, their one-dimensionally positive
representation of refugees does not succeed in crossing the boundary between “us”
and “them” because “they” are prevalently represented as someone who is being
taken care of, who is provided with a service, i.e. in a passive position that arouses
pity rather than solidarity.
“Refugees’ Friends” discourses construct “a refugee” as a figure with a high moral
value. The bottom line that connects “us/Czechs” with “them/refugees” is defined as
our shared humanity. The rationale for these representations is that as far as refugees
are represented in a negative and stereotypical light by the government and the
mainstream media, the role of NGO advocates is to balance the negative images by
“showing refugees” in an essentially positive light. Consider how a female
interlocutor from NGO “C” explained her approach:
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If there is no will to treat them [refugees] as people, because the political
demand is: it would be better not to have them here at all, then, perhaps, my
reaction to this restriction is that I always feel like showing them as decent
people. As far as they want to make us see them as thieves, cheats and
dangerous creatures... [NGO “C”, April, 2006]
In practice, this “decency” is usually delivered through feminised and depoliticised
refugee imagery. The stories of refugee women prevail in NGOs’ publications (e.g.
Centre for Migration, 2001; Roubalová, 2007; Roubalová et al., 2005) as do the
images of them and their children on their websites. As argued by Malkki (1995a),
the predominance of women and children in refugees’ visual representations is not
accidental because it associates refugeeness with powerlessness and neediness (p. 11).
However, the predominance of women in refugee representations does not
necessarily improve knowledge about their specific situation and the problems they
face throughout settlement. Some of my interlocutors were well aware of their role in
the game of one-dimensional positive representation:
I am myself an average representative of a woman who keeps being invited to
places to make the image of a refugee look kind of nice. I know that if they
organise something, if they want to present a refugee to the public, they will
not choose a man who has been waiting for his asylum decision for many
years, is angry and exhausted. I know that if it is for TV or something, they
will invite me to conjure up a smile, say a few words in Czech... They know I
can be endearing: look, this refugee can say something; she has children, she
looks happy... And the women who are not dumb are well aware of this. I think
that this is also why you don’t see many men participating. [Private
accommodation, September 2007]
Even though she admitted she sometimes experienced this role as a burden, she was
willing to carry on playing it in order to “improve the public image of refugees”. Her
account reminds us how simplifying these representations are. As an apolitical
“womenandchildren” group (Enloe, 1993), refugee women are deprived of the
complexity of their experiences of displacement. There are little opportunities for
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discussing women’s involvement in politics or their critical ideas about the workings
of the Czech refugee system, including the work of NGOs. Their identities are being
abstracted into a positive image of a blameless ethnical figure (Pupavac, 2008, p.
276) that seems to be the only one worthy of public attention and support.
Instrumentalisation for Self-Promotion
The most typical examples of public activities organised by “Refugees’ Friends” are
those promoting multiculturalism and tolerance, coupled with more or less explicit
fundraising activities. On these occasions, refugees are given an opportunity to
present their “cultural contribution” to Czech society, most commonly by exhibiting
tables full of samples of their traditional cuisine for tasting or by selling handicrafts. I
have already mentioned that the situation has been slowly changing but in the past,
refugee women were the first to be asked to participate in these activities and the last
to be remunerated for their work. Often spending long hours preparing and serving
food, they were refunded only for the costs of the products or they could keep the
profits from selling their food.
It is almost always the NGO representatives who dictate the setting and the format of
these cultural displays and refugees are invited to “fill up” the predefined framework.
For example, one of the most visible and publicised NGO annual festivals organised
by the NGO “C” claims to create a creative space for meetings between refugees and
the Czech public, promoting tolerance and helping to overcome stereotypes. Their
website reads: “we offer the public an opportunity to meet refugees personally not as
dangerous intruders but as friends.” a refugee woman who experienced this event for
the past two years commented on it with some scepticism:
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To be honest, I sometimes doubt what it is good for. It’s not really about
meeting anyone. Every year it looks the same: refugees stand on the side and
talk mostly to each other and some women trade with their homemade food
hoping to earn a bit of money before the buses take them back to the camps.
Well, it is certainly good for the NGOs as it makes them visible. [Private
accommodation, October 2007]
My own observation at the event in 2006 and 2008 and an analysis of reports from
the past festivals indicate that refugees were invited to participate and perform but
not to actually shape the format of the event. The festival itself is a typical example
of a staged performance of preselected, non-political refugee identities putting
emphasis on their “enriching” difference materialised in food and arts. After each of
these festivals, the NGO’s website is filled with pictures of smiling and satisfied
refugees. There is, however, no space for the anger and frustration that largely define
refugees’ experiences of waiting for determination and struggling with settlement.
There is no space for the politics that create and perpetuate their displacement and
socioeconomic marginality. The encounter with refugees is constructed as something
to be enjoyed, to taste good and to entertain. Rather than engaging the public in more
difficult political debates, the NGOs are safely preaching to the converted. By
systematically presenting refugees as bearers of nonthreatening and “enriching”
difference and by casting them as passive objects of help, they gain a public profile
and the prestige of humanitarians; after all they are the ones who make refugees
smile. Strengthening their public legitimacy serves as a powerful basis for a more
favourable position in the competition for resources (Marada, 2008, p. 193).
However, the use of refugees for self-promotion is at odds with the ethos of
“Refugees’ Friends” organisations. It reveals the economic side of these organised
friendship relations and shows them as instrumental. Clearly, the identity of
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humanitarians does not fit with the idea of mutual dependence felt by many refugees
and aptly expressed by this refugee woman:
We need them as well as they need us, but they will not acknowledge it and
that’s what I don’t like. They think they can treat us like a flock of sheep, run
us somewhere, take pictures and then they don’t really care about your
situation. [Private accommodation, August 2007]
In an environment where refugees’ opinions about NGO projects do not count for
much, the above presented frustrations remain largely unspoken. If they are voiced,
typically by angry and frustrated refugee clients, they are usually dismissed by NGO
workers as an expression of refugees’ misunderstanding of the role of the
nongovernmental sector [interview with an NGO “A” social worker, August 2007].
Socialization into a “Trusted Client”
Refugee women’s participation in the activities organised by “Refugees’ Friends”
strengthens their social networks with NGOs and their sympathizers. These networks
can be capitalised on in the form of a widened structure of opportunities for
accessing retraining and language courses organised or funded by NGOs, part-time
jobs or free recreational activities for their children. Becoming a “trusted client” puts
them in a better position to claim various forms of funding as they emerge. A refugee
woman explained how NGO assistance is being allocated to refugees based on their
previous performance as trustworthy rather than according to the interpretation of
their needs. While she herself benefited greatly from her close ties with NGOs and
obtained a number of retraining courses, she acknowledged that other people, who
might be in greater need of such support, did not get it simply because they were not
tried and tested clients in the eyes of NGO workers:
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It’s more comfortable for these organisations to do it this way. If they don’t
know these people, they simply don’t trust them enough to provide them with
financial help. [Private accommodation, September 2007]
Moreover, I have observed that it is usually women of a similar class and educational
background to NGO workers who do best in performing the trusted client role.
Refugees become trusted not only by their participation in NGO public events and
PR activities but also by their readiness to do voluntary work. In the context of
unequal power relations and dependency between clients and NGOs providers, many
are reluctant to decline to participate in various “voluntary” activities. I have already
mentioned cooking and various forms of unpaid assistance at public events. I also
encountered refugee women being asked to translate various NGO documents into
their native languages without an offer of remuneration for the amount of work
which lasted from a number of hours to a couple of days. Behind the disguise of
friendly relations operates a mechanism of implicit reciprocity which burdens
refugee women. This is not only due to the time and effort involved, but importantly
also because it cements their unequal position vis-à-vis NGO workers, who may pose
as their friends but at the same time are exploiting difficult material conditions that
put the women in a situation when it is hard to say “no” to offers or promises of
material and other help. This refugee woman expressed her ambivalent feelings
about the mechanisms of reciprocity she experienced:
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There were a few things I didn’t like so much. For example, when someone
was doing some research or it was for a radio programme, they would call us
[refugee women] ... or when some food had to be prepared for a presentation.
Well, they sort of ... exploited us, you know, but it is hard to say it in this way.
I know how I felt about it and I know how other women felt. They simply
didn’t ask what we have had inside, how we saw it. I know they needed these
programmes and interviews, but it was not always pleasant for us. Of course,
they would give you something, a used computer, for example, but then you
would be asked to do this and that again. We are quite sensitive to these things.
[Private accommodation, March 2007]
Seemingly separated exchanges of material help and services in return for
participation in NGO self-promotion activities give basis to what Ong (2003) calls
“systems of female clientship” (p. 14). On the other hand, it would be simplifying to
see NGOs as simply having power over refugee women. In line with Foucault’s
conception of power as diffused rather than possessed, this relationship fosters
mutual instrumentalisation. It is well illustrated by this comment from a woman who
has been gradually disassociating herself from the NGO “C” and has recently
stopped attending their programmes:
They sometimes call me saying they haven’t seen me for a long time and want
me to come again. But I always say I’m too busy, I’m not afraid to say this
anymore, I don’t need them now. [Private accommodation, April 2007]
Hers is an open expression of emancipation from the role of the trusted client as well
as an admission that her performance was also guided by a pragmatic expectation of
reciprocity. She felt she could break away only once she did not need NGO’s help
anymore.
The above voices of refugee women make it clear that, similarly to men, they do not
feel comfortable in the position of dependency and when they realise that they are
not treated as equals. There is nothing essential about them performing as trusted
clients better than men. Given the gender order in their households, they do
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nevertheless feel more compelled to swallow their discontent and perform their role
as far as it provides them and their families with essential support.
Conclusions
NGO assistance to refugees is characterised by a complex set of unequal power
relations. These relations foster certain performances of refugeeness and result in the
construction of refugees as clients lacking means of influencing their position in
a host society. On the other hand, I have pointed out that these performances resonate
with NGOs’ effort to assert themselves as humanitarians deserving public support
and social prestige. In other words, refugees are being depoliticised through
particular kinds of assistance and representation while, at the same time,
instrumentalised to sustain NGO institutional identities.
When socially and politically marginalised groups such as refugees increasingly
depend on the localised forms of assistance provided by the NGO sector rather than
the state, more attention should be paid to the implications of this dependence. I have
argued that NGOs have become imperative in structuring the possible field of action
for refugees by drawing the spaces of articulation of refugees’ needs and identities in
the public sphere. They exercise substantial power in determining which aspects of
refugee men’s and women’s identities are to be recognised as worthy of public
attention and support.
By treating “a refugee” as an identity enacted through reiterative performances in
NGOs that pose as refugees’ friends, I have shown that highly informal forms of
assistance construct “a refugee” as the label which subordinates and distances people
rather than facilitates their acceptance into the host society on equal terms. By
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casting refugees as essentially positive yet being unspecific about the politics and
histories that create and perpetuate their displacement, NGOs may be creating
a comfortable, palatable image of refugees which can easily be digested by the
receiving society but they risk silencing refugees on the way. This silence is greatly
disempowering as it leaves refugees without means to develop political strategies to
influence their position in society and assert themselves as objects of solidarity rather
than only help and pity.
While the feminised character of NGO assistance can provide refugee women with
new skills and opportunities and strengthen their bargaining position vis-à-vis their
husbands, it needs to be acknowledged that it comes at the price of their time, efforts
and most importantly their self-perception as “actors in the world on their own
terms” (Andermahr, Lovell, & Wolkowitz, 2000, p. 13). Rather than empowering
women to utilise these skills, for example by becoming recognised leaders forming
and mobilising refugee communities towards a more effective self-support and
representation (Ui, 1991), NGOs have preferred to maintain them as their “trusted
clients” ready for a public display of endearing refugeeness.
On the other hand, I have shown that NGOs are dependent on particular refugee
performances in sustaining their identities as humanitarians and in convincing the
wider public, and particularly the funders, that their activities are worthy of further
support. This situation of mutual dependency is rarely acknowledged in studies of
NGO practices but it can serve as a starting point for a debate about the possibilities
of clients’ emancipation and resistance. By taking seriously refugees’ critical
reflections of their position in the institutional webs of the refugee system, this
chapter attempts to make a contribution to such a debate.
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At a more theoretical level, I conclude that although performances of pre-scripted
refugeeness can be subverted by refugees, it is important to realise that, in line with
the logic of Butler’s reasoning these subversions do not happen outside the world of
performativity. Indeed, they too take the form of another performance as, for
example, when refugees disassociate themselves from the refugee label by putting
emphasis on their self-sufficiency and independence from the state; by stressing that
they have never claimed welfare benefits, even when they were eligible to do so.
Butler (1990) asks “what kind of subversive repetition might call into question the
regulatory practice of identity itself” (p. 32). By asserting their independence and
self-sufficiency as an epitome of integration into society, refugees themselves reify
the negative pole of the problem, i.e. refugees’ welfare dependency and
unemployment as the opposite of integration and positive inclusion.
NGOs should actively oppose rather than benefit from the refugee label being
a synonym for silence and dependency on the help of others. It is not only
stigmatizing but also easily convertible into refugeeness perceived as uncomfortable
neediness that produces much ambivalence towards asylum seekers and refugees in
today’s Europe and is being mobilised by governments when pushing through
restrictive measures.
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Conclusion
Asylum seekers and refugees in today’s Europe inhabit a highly institutionalised
world. This study has explored this world through the analysis of the Czech refugee
system. It has shown that it is a complex field of social relations which not only
produces historically and politically contingent constructions of “a refugee”, but also
shapes individual, collective and institutional identities of the actors involved. “A
refugee” has been studied as an idealised concept, an object of governance and
a lived and performed experience. It was situated in mutually constitutive relations to
the key institutional actors engaged in the process of refugee reception and
settlement. The refugee system was described through uneven power relations and
differential access to resources. However, I have shown that it does not operate in
a unified and deterministic top-down manner leaving refugees in the position of
passive objects of policies and practices. Refugees are best understood as
knowledgeable actors who critically reflect on the workings of the system and thus
actively formulate their strategies. I have explained that the refugee system, as
a wider context of these actions, favours certain embodied identities and strategies
over others. My analysis of the role of ethno-cultural characteristics in the
determination process and the gender micropolitics of NGO assistance has been
instrumental in supporting this argument.
Below, I answer the following questions: How does the refugee system develop into
a strategically-selective environment that favours particular strategies of refugee
migrants and institutions? How are institutional and refugee identities constituted in
the refugee system and with what consequences? Why is refugee depoliticisation one
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of the key mechanisms of the refugee system? How is the refugee system gendered?
How is the construction of “a refugee” connected to that of a citizen?
Refugee System: A Strategic-Relational Analysis
Throughout their historical developments refugee systems evolve into environments
that favour specific strategies on the part of refugee migrants as well as institutional
actors. Over time, these strategies can transform into more stable patterns of
behaviour. This study has shown that history, socioeconomic situation, geopolitical
location and dominant political ideologies in the receiving country are crucial
elements of understanding how “a refugee” is constructed and how particular
strategies and institutions of migration control emerge; in other words, how “a
refugee” as an object of governance is constituted. These control strategies and
institutions produce and, at the same time, are shaped by responses of asylum seekers
and refugees who also act strategically. In this process, the refugee label is formed.
Refugee migrants’ actions determine the structure and the identity production of the
refugee population and act as a basis for formulating new strategies, i.e. for
transforming the refugee label. In this way, the context and the institutions of the
refugee system are constantly being transformed as if “from below”. The
construction of “a refugee” as an idealised concept can be challenged and adjusted to
respond with new strategies and institutions of control. This development of the
refugee system is schematically represented in Figure 9 with examples from the
Czech context. Below, I summarise the findings from the empirical study from the
strategic-relational perspective.
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Figure 9 Development of the Refugee System: The Strategic-Relational
Perspective
Historical experience and geopolitical location of the post-communist Czech
Republic were the key determinants in the development of the refugee system. “A
refugee” has initially been understood in a rather broad sense and served as a source
of positive redefinition of the national identity in the post-communist period of
catching up with the European and international standards. The formation of the
Czech refugee system in the post-communist period has taken place in the
strategically selective context of post-Cold War Europe wary of massive inflows of
General development Examples from the Czech
Republic/CEE
Construction of “a
refugee”
History and
socioeconomic
situation
Post-communist transition
Ethnically homogeneous
society
Underdeveloped civic society
Construction of “a
refugee” as an idealised
concept
Geopolitical location
Semi-periphery of the EU
Aspiring/full member of the
EU
Dominant political
ideology
Anti-communism
Strategies and
institutions of
migration control
Limited access to asylum
Conditions in the refugee
camps
More opportunities for asylum
seekers’ confinement
Low recognition rates
Construction of “a
refugee” as an object of
governance
Strategic actions of
asylum seekers
Transit refugee migration
The use of asylum as
a legalisation of migrant status
Formation of the refugee
label
Production of asylum
seeker/refugee
identities as a basis for
new strategies
Socialisation into illicitness
Socialisation into trusted
clients
(De)politicisation
Transformation of the
refugee label
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people from behind the crumbling Iron Curtain. On the other hand, as a former
communist country, Czechoslovakia rushed to declare alliance with democratic and
“civilised” Europe in 1990. This is why the first wave of refugees, mostly from other
countries of the former Eastern Bloc, was received with a level of enthusiasm. After
all, being able to receive rather than produce refugees was seen as a clear breakaway
from the troubled undemocratic past.
Strategic actions of asylum seekers and refugees have responded to the existing
strategies and institutions of migration control and have prompted their
transformation. Refugees, who came in the early 1990s, did not always stand to the
expectations of those who granted them the status. Many did not humbly accept what
was offered to them in the context of an underdeveloped asylum procedure, almost
non-existent integration programme and social environment unaccustomed and
occasionally hostile to foreigners. They entered the society which was concerned
with the insecure economic situation and less willing to invest in the reception and
settlement of refugees. Some refugees strategically used their Czech-issued Geneva
passports to continue travelling to Western Europe in search of better living
conditions or reunification with a family. Others left even before obtaining a decision
in their asylum application. Their stopover in Central Europe was a part of a wider
migration strategy or a response to disenchantment with the conditions and prospects
in the Czech Republic.
In light of transit refugee migration, the institution of asylum has been reconsidered
as particularly vulnerable to misuse. It was also seen as a potentially troubling
element in relation to the country’s western neighbours and the European
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Community/EU, to whose membership the Czech Republic aspired. Under pressure
from its western neighbours and apprehensive of the impacts of their increasingly
restrictive approach to migrants and asylum seekers, by the mid-1990s Czech
policymakers implemented a number of new measures limiting access to asylum and
thus narrowing down the concept of “a refugee” significantly. The country’s asylum
and immigration policies have been under pressure to adjust to the principles of
control embraced by its Western European neighbours. However, it would be
simplistic to see the formation of the refugee system as a one way process of
adjustment. Czech policymakers did have a space to manoeuvre and the EU
framework has often been used strategically as a tool to silence domestic criticism
rather than as a prescribed pattern to follow.
Having an advanced refugee system was seen as instrumental in presenting the
country as a prepared candidate for the EU fulfilling its international and human
rights obligations. Thus, the system of refugee reception and integration has been
institutionalised, professionalised and significantly supported from the state budget.
In 1999, a new Asylum Act was passed which significantly improved asylum
seekers’ conditions, and, among other things, gave them the right to work without
administrative obstacles and allowed them to reside outside the refugee camps.
In the meantime, an ongoing inflow of immigrants, particularly from the countries
east of the Czech Republic such as Ukraine and Vietnam, created fears among
policymakers (although not so much among the general population) that immigration
is getting out of hand and needs to be more tightly controlled. Subsequent legislative
changes in pursuit of this control, which came into force in 2000, have had
a dramatic impact on the living conditions of tens of thousands of foreigners. The
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new Alien Act produced widespread legal insecurity and lead to the illegalisation of
large numbers of foreigners. The concurrence of more favourable conditions for
asylum seekers and a less welcoming environment for other groups of migrants
preselected their strategic response to this migration-asylum policy mismatch.
Thousands of asylum applications have been launched as the last resort in
maintaining or regaining the legal status or as a way to access basic needs of shelter
and medical care. This increasing complexity of flows and strategies has been
described as the “asylum/migration nexus” (Castles et al., 2003). The example from
the Czech context points out that apart from the complex socioeconomic and political
forces that drive people to seek access to Europe, this nexus is also produced by
migration and asylum policies. They reproduce it by making asylum the only
available access point for those migrants who are filling labour market demands
rather than in need of international protection.
Migrants’ strategic actions in the early 2000s significantly influenced the operation
of the refugee system and transformed the perception of “a refugee”. For example, it
put strain on NGOs’ generally wide understanding of “a refugee” when they became
overwhelmed with clients seeking legal advice and pressurised by the government to
narrow their services only to “genuine cases”. In other words, NGOs were being
pushed into the role of an extended arm of state migration control. They might have
resisted complying with this call, but their position in the refugee system has become
more precarious as the dependency on state granted or distributed financial support
has been on the increase since the early 2000s. Their ability to effectively assist
refugee migrants has become even more limited with the introduction of the new
Asylum Act in 2002 that brought about a number of highly restrictive measures.
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Due to these legislative changes, the structure of asylum seekers changed with regard
to their countries of origin and reasons for claiming asylum. Specific patterns of
migrant strategic actions developed. In 2000, Ukrainian nationals started to apply for
asylum in large numbers. With the exception of the year 2003 they topped the list of
asylum seekers until 2007. The fact that they have not been significantly represented
among applicants in any of the other CEE countries suggests that they have been
strategically using the Czech asylum procedure as a legalising mechanism.
In this context, the refugee camps can be seen as a materialised intersection of a wide
range of strategies. A diverse mixture of people who were absorbed by the refugee
system produced new structures of opportunities as well as new layers of insecurity.
Importantly, the camp constitutes a strategically selective context in which refugee
and institutional identities are formed and future strategic actions formulated. It
significantly influences the process of practical learning about what it means to be
a refugee. State and NGOs utilise the camp as an arena for various agendas in pursuit
of power and control in the institutional field of the refugee system. This has become
ever more relevant after obtaining access to EU funding. Despite the fact that the
Czech Republic follows the restrictive approach to the reception of asylum seekers
more generally, I have shown that there is an interest in keeping the refugee camps
relatively full. EU funding has been used mostly to boost the position of RFA and to
increase DAMP’s control over the work of NGOs. The financial support has been
channelled towards expanding asylum seekers’ choice of “leisure-time activities”
rather than improving their access to quality psychological and legal assistance in the
camp. Furthermore, this example demonstrates that much of the harmonisation
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process depends on the national and local level interpretation and implementation of
the common European asylum measures.
Policymakers tend to present the process of refugee status determination as
an objective fact-finding procedure to identify “genuine” refugees and filter out those
who are undeserving of international protection. My analysis has shown that it has to
be viewed in a wider socio-political context and that it produces a strategically
selective context in which certain political identities and ethno-cultural
characteristics are more valued than others. Moreover, the gendered nature of
persecution and the testimony is rarely acknowledged. The asylum interview is the
“prime time” for asylum seekers to present themselves as active agents in proving
and documenting why they in particular should be granted asylum. However, the
context in which they are situated provides them with little means to do so. Their
access to information about what is expected from them is limited as well as
affordable legal assistance at the time of the crucial early stages of the asylum
procedure.
DAMP actively engages in a moral evaluation of applicants as future members of
society and privileges those who fit into the hegemonic political ideologies.
Therefore, despite an official promise of non-discrimination, certain strategies and
embodied identities are better predisposed to reach protection and assistance than
others. I have shown that Chechens have been seen as less deserving refugees and
less promising future members of society than Belarusians. The latter also fit better
the foreign policy directions of the Czech Republic and anti-communist ideology
promoted by the political and intellectual elite. This moral evaluation of difference
has found a clear expression in the recognition rates of the two groups. Despite the
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fact that Belarusians were more likely to see the Czech Republic as a destination
country rather than a transit – an attitude held by most Chechens – their chances of
recognition have been disproportionately higher than that of Chechen asylum
seekers. This observation is particularly striking if considered in a wider international
context.
When entering the space of NGO assistance, refugees are also entering the context
that privileges specific gendered identities and performances. The fact that women
are becoming the key mediators between their households and the public sphere of
assistance is better understood as an outcome of women’s strategic actions rather
than their “natural” attribute. It reflects gender hierarchies in which they are situated
as well as the gender micropolitics of NGO assistance. Women too had to learn what
it means to be a good client. However, this does not mean that they are not capable of
seeing through the power relations nurtured by NGO assistance. I suggest that this
critical awareness can act as a basis for challenging the system in the future as well
as women’s emancipation from the bounds of “female clientship” (Ong, 2003, p. 14).
Refugee System and the Production of Identities
Policies and practices of the refugee system actively create categories of people to be
governed. In the course of their journey through the refugee system, refugee migrants
are being socialised with various identities. These are both products of the
institutions in power and unintended effects of the workings of the refugee system.
At the same time, the identities of the institutions are also at stake. For them, the
construction of “a refugee” is not only a matter of self-maintenance, but also that of
sustaining a positive identity. In other words, the concept of “a refugee” is highly
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susceptible to various forms of instrumentalisation. The identity formation is not
a one-way action by powerful institutions over the powerless refugee population; it is
a mutual process.
The focus on the production and transformation of identities of the actors of the
refugee system reveals their fragmented and contingent character and challenges the
notion of state, NGOs and refugees as homogeneous entities. First, state institutions
assume different positions in the development of the refugee system. As a sovereign
power, the state struggles to gain control over migration and refugee flows. On the
other hand, both at the international and the national level, there is a need to nourish
a positive identity to demonstrate the fulfilment of international obligations towards
refugees and to boost the humanitarian ethos of the asylum institution. This
combination of control and care comes together in state run institutions such as the
refugee camps. With regard to the NGO sector the state also assumes different
identities: as a funder and supporter on the one hand and as a co-opting and limiting
force on the other.
Second, the identities of NGOs are more ambivalent than they usually seem. There is
an acknowledgement of the urgent need to provide individualised assistance to orient
and support refugee migrants on their journey through the reception and settlement
processes. This identity can come under strain in the situation of inadequate
resources as well as when the structure of asylum seekers changes dramatically and
NGOs have to redefine their roles in the system. NGOs cannot survive without some
level of collaboration with the state. However, this collaboration also creates tensions
between different organisational identities: independent advocacy groups,
subcontractors of the state and “refugee pacifiers”. Furthermore, NGO identities are
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built in relations to their clients (asylum seekers and refugees) and to their audiences
(general public and the media). As I have shown in this study, the drive to appeal to
the latter can lead to instrumentalisation and depoliticisation of the former.
Third, the formation of asylum seeker/refugee identities in the refugee system is
a dynamic and often contradictory process. The very existence of the system gives
hope that they will be recognised and protected as objects of persecution. However,
the realities of the system indicate that they are more likely to be seen as its potential
abusers. They soon learn that some expressions of refugeeness are more valued than
others and that some embodied characteristics of asylum seekers and refugees have
greater chances to succeed. For example, the institution of humanitarian asylum
prompts refugees to redefine themselves from political subjects to impaired bodies
and souls. Material structures of the refugee system, most notably the refugee camps,
provide grounds for the formation and transformation of refugee identities. They
reflect the overall functioning of the refugee system and asylum seekers’ critical
reflections of it. That is how alienation and inclination towards illicitness can be
produced. In the conditions of scarcity and need for support, refugees often adjust
their identities and performances to fit the expectations of those who can provide
assistance. However, refugees should not be seen as passive objects to be moulded
into exemplary refugee clients. They are capable to see through the power relations
that situate them in this position and therefore can also challenge them if it does not
contradict other strategies of survival. Below, I summarise the findings from the
empirical study with the focus on the implications of the production and
transformation of identities within the refugee system.
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In the early stages of the formation of the Czech refugee system, the government was
eager to nurture its pro-democratic and “civilised” identity by receiving refugees.
They were likened to Czechoslovak political dissidents fleeing the country during the
communist regime. Hand in hand with the relatively generous approach to refugee
reception went expectations of refugees’ humble satisfaction with the conditions
provided for them by the underdeveloped system. Many refugees and asylum seekers
did not comply with this expectation and they were soon redefined as potential
abusers of the system. The government’s mission to symbolically “repay” the debts
to the international community by receiving refugees soon shifted into that of being
a “good neighbour” of the Western European countries where policymakers worried
about the influx of asylum seekers from the post-socialist states. To be seen as
a worthy future member of the EU, the Czech Republic needed to show that it was
capable of controlling migration flows to and mainly out of its territory. After the
tightening of the conditions of foreigners’ stay in 2000, many freshly illegalised
persons rejected this position and applied for asylum which secured them legal status
and temporarily, access to the labour market. This move produced some tensions for
the self-perception of NGOs. They saw themselves primarily as helping everyone
who declared him/herself as a refugee but they became overwhelmed by the sudden
increase in their clientele in the early 2000s. At that time, DAMP pushed them to
assume the identity of agents of migration control by excluding undeserving clients
from their services.
As the refugee status determination process became more professionalised, the idea
that it is a neutral fact-finding exercise carried out by unbiased and highly
professional adjudicators who treat everyone the same came to the forefront.
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Moreover, as I have shown, the humanitarian aspect of adjudicating asylum
applications has also been stressed by DAMP representatives. They wished to see
themselves as helping refugees and saving their lives. The identities of DAMP
policymakers have undoubtedly been influenced by their increased exposure to
international debates about asylum, mostly carried out at the EU level. Due to longterm
campaigning by NGOs and the UNHCR, gender has made its way into these
debates as an important dimension of persecution which should be acknowledged in
the determination process. Despite the lack of in-depth knowledge and general
interest in gender aspects of refugee migration, DAMP agreed to follow UNHCR’s
suggestion and incorporated “sex” as a sixth basis for persecution. While this step
could boost DAMP’s identity as a progressive policymaker, so far it has not so far
had much influence on the determination process. Although NGOs position
themselves as relentless critiques of DAMP’s policies of low recognition rates, I
have shown that more could be done to effectively support asylum seekers’ claims.
The refugee camps offer a fertile ground for the examination of identities-in-themaking.
I have described them as materialisation of ambivalence towards refugees
characterised by the blending of compassion and control. Moreover they present the
state with an opportunity to demonstrate how well asylum seekers and refugees are
treated. There have been substantial improvements of material conditions in the
camps and more “leisure-time activities” have been offered to asylum seekers. They
gave DAMP and RFA the opportunity to present themselves as carers rather than
those who wish to control and confine asylum seekers for extended periods of time.
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Although NGOs have been staunch critiques of the conditions in the refugee camps,
they have rarely initiated debates about the very basis of their existence. Moreover,
in their attempt to bring in some “meaningful activities” to camp inhabitants
suffering from passivity and apathy, they have entered into contractual relationships
with DAMP and RFA. While their presence in the camps is undoubtedly for the
advantage of asylum seekers, their position of sub-contractors has contributed to the
situation when the state paid them to pacify asylum seekers. As I have shown, legal
and psychological counselling has been less readily supported. On the other hand, I
suggested that for NGOs the camps can be of advantage in building their
organisational identities. In contrast to dismal conditions in the camps NGOs can
present themselves as refugees’ helpers who are bringing “the light” behind the camp
walls.
The analysis has also showed how important the refugee camps are in the
construction of asylum seekers’ identities. The stay in the camp has led many to
reconsider their initial idea of what it means to be a refugee. Often, they experienced
a shock after realising the multitude of agendas of their fellow camp inhabitants
whom they saw as not belonging to the refugee system at all. Various forms of
illicitness have become normality in the camps. They are stimulated by the fact that
asylum seekers cannot be legally employed for a period of one year after they apply
for asylum. Combined with the knowledge that even after this period, it is almost
impossible to find legal employment, many give up attempting to enter the regular
labour market and end up in temporary and often highly exploitative jobs. Their
situation is better than that of illegalised persons because they can fall back into the
system of free accommodation and healthcare provided in the camps. Also other
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forms of illicitness thrive in the camps and draw some people towards criminal
activities. This illicitness is supported by the atmosphere of alienation from the
system of local legal norms which is nurtured by asylum seekers’ experiences with
state and private institutions. Many believe in widespread corruption and
ineffectiveness of the refugee system. Such an atmosphere provides further
legitimisation for mechanisms of control in the camps. Control is enacted both by
RFA workers and by asylum seekers themselves. In this environment, relations of
trust and community can hardly develop. Thus collective identities can hardly serve
as a basis for support.
In recent years, the Czech state has reinterpreted some of its roles in the process of
refugee integration and devolved some of its powers to NGOs. They are now
subsidised to organise language courses and retraining in support of refugees’ labour
market integration. NGOs carry out these and other functions in various ways and
with differing success. Some position themselves as “Refugees’ Friends”, others as
“Young Professionals” and many are somewhere in between. Their professional
identities inform the nature of their interactions with refugees and, implicitly, their
expectations from them as clients. I have argued that NGO assistance to refugees
nurtures gendered refugee identities which serve as legitimisation for NGOs’ selfrepresentation
as humanitarians worthy of public support. One of the consequences
of such processes has been refugee depoliticisation.
Refugee Depoliticisation
Refugee systems characterised by a high level of centralisation, contractual relations
between the state and NGO sector, and dominant perception of refugees as clients
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produce refugee disenfranchisement (Hardy, 1994). Refugee disenfranchisement is
also sustained by an environment which depoliticises refugees both in the everyday
institutional practices and in the public discourse. Refugee depoliticisation is
a process in which political violence as the ground of refugee displacement is effaced
in favour of a decontextualised and ahistorical image of a refugee as a mute victim.
This image underpins the treatment of refugees as a category of people who are
dependent clients of services incapable of identifying their own needs.
I have identified two key sites of refugee depoliticisation in the Czech refugee
system: refugee camps and NGOs. First, how do the conditions in refugee camps
serve as means of depoliticising refugee issues? Refugees who engage in actions of
resistance such as hunger strikes are intimidated and the flow of information in and
out of the camps is controlled by the RFA staff. Yet, there is also a more subtle way
of depoliticising refugees, by occupying them with “leisure-time activities” which
have little substantive effect on their situation but can effectively pacify their
potential discontent and can be presented as an exemplar of how well asylum seekers
are treated by the state. While these opportunities can have a positive effect on life in
the camp, they normalise the practice of asylum seekers’ confinement and control
over them and make it harder to criticise, both from the inside and from the outside
of the institution.
The theme of refugee depoliticisation has resonated most strongly in relation to NGO
assistance to refugees. This is not because I consider NGOs the main vehicles of
depoliticisation but because the depoliticising character of the micropolitics of their
assistance is least likely to be discerned and has not been sufficiently explored in the
literature. NGOs have themselves been operating within the strategically selective
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environment of the state policies and funding mechanisms which endorse refugee
depoliticisation. The power relations of the refugee system and particularly the
relations of dependency between NGOs and the state have created an environment in
which refugees can be treated as a homogeneous group to be instrumentalised for
organisational purposes. The analysis of refugee women’s critical views of NGO
assistance helps us to understand the ambivalence of their performance of
refugeeness in line with NGOs’ expectations. Those organisations with strong
emphasis on informal and friendship like relationships with refugee clients –
Refugees’ Friends type – can be most pervasive in depoliticisation and colonisation
of the public imagery around refugees. Being seen primarily as suffering victims or
presented as one-dimensionally positive figures calling for compassion and support
can bring some immediate benefits to refugees. However, there is a risk that this will
also strengthen their “otherness” and capture them in the domain of compassion and
pity. In other words, depoliticisation makes it difficult for refugees to be seen as
subjects of solidarity on more equal terms.
Gender and the Institutions of the Refugee System
Gender is a crucial factor in refugee identity formation, transformation and
(de)politicisation. This study focused on the gender dimension of the workings of the
refugee system. Two general arguments can be drawn from the empirical study.
First, the context of campaigns highlighting the gendered character of persecution
and the need for gender-sensitive reception and settlement policies, gender can
become a token category with little effect on the lives of refugees. This is especially
the case in the contexts where low awareness about gendered dimensions of refugee
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situations is combined with international exposure to the gender discourse. In the
Czech context, gender-based violence remains to be treated as a humanitarian issue
pertaining mostly to women from the “Third World”. Although the UNHCR
guidelines are available and “sex” found its way into the national legislation as
a recognised basis for persecution in 2006, it is unlikely that it will have a substantial
impact on more gender-sensitive understanding of persecution. More likely, such
performance of gender awareness on the part of DAMP officials was a way of
improving their international image as progressive policymakers. That is also why
the integration of gender perspective into the operation of the asylum procedure was
much less apparent, for example with regard to interviewing asylum seekers by
a person of the same gender. Thus, there is a danger that when incorporated into the
refugee system in this top-down manner, gender becomes an emptied catchword with
little impact on the lives of asylum seekers.
Second, refugee camps and NGOs are characterised by institutional practices that
tend to emasculate men and consequently produce heightened expressions of
masculinity. I have shown that in the environment of the Czech camps, men are
drawn towards illicit practices that can secure immediate income to themselves and
their families in a situation when legal participation in the labour market is
obstructed. In relation to NGOs and other forms of assistance, many men prefer to
withdraw from the areas where they are expected to perform their refugeeness as
pleading and needy. It is women who have to take up the role of mediators between
their families and the welfare services. In this way, they gain more social capital but
often at the cost of their time, energy and the sense of dignity. Although many NGOs
realise multiple pressures put on refugee men throughout the process of settlement,
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so far, there have not been enough efforts to address their situation, even though it
could substantially decrease the burden put on women. It is a question for further
research whether more participatory methods of assistance could make it more
meaningful and less stigmatising for men. With regard to refugee women, there
seems to be a lot of potential for further empowerment that is not fully exploited.
Rather than remaining in a position of convenient “trusted clients” promoting NGOs’
interests and public image, they should be supported in taking up more active and
independent roles both within and outside the refugee system.
From Refugees to Citizens
The construction of “a refugee” is closely connected to that of a future citizen. As
argued by Ong (2003):
To become “good enough” citizens, newcomers must negotiate among
different forms of regulation, and be taught a new way of being cared for and
of caring for themselves in their new world. (p. xvii)
Her observation captures well the contradictory experiences of many refugees who
aspire to become citizens. Rather than simply acquiring a certain legal status through
an administrative process, citizenship is a long term social process of mediated
production of values (Ong, 2003, p. xvii). In this process, different categories of
people are variously regulated depending on their position within the nation state and
within the global economy (Ong, 1996, p. 737). On the one hand, asylum seekers’
and refugees’ journey through the refugee system is that of socialisation into
dependency and passive clientship, on the other hand, they are required to
demonstrate an extra degree of self-sufficiency and entrepreneurship to be seen as
worthy future citizens. That is why this study is also relevant for understanding of the
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complexities of the move from a refugee to a citizen. As they pass through the
refugee camps, interview rooms and NGOs, refugee migrants are being exposed to
values and practices many of which are deeply alienating. It is their experience of
being asylum seekers and recognised refugees that makes people so eager to strive
for citizenship as a dreamt up antithesis to a stigmatising, insecure and exceptional
status. However, I argue that these experiences will continue to shape refugees’
identities and behaviour throughout their settlement with or without citizenship.
Let me now briefly outline the conditions for moving from a refugee to a citizen in
the Czech Republic. After being granted asylum, a person gets a status of
a permanent resident. This residence permit has to be renewed every five to ten years
but the renewal is a formality. Although there have been cases of asylums being
annulled, they are rare. One of the reasons for this nullification is when recognised
refugees visit their country of origin. According to the Czech Citizenship Act (No.
40/1993) foreigners can be143
granted citizenship if they: 1) have held permanent
residency for a minimum of five years; 2) prove that they forfeited their former
citizenship; 3) have not been sentenced for a deliberate criminal act in the past five
years; 4) demonstrate knowledge of the Czech language; and 5) have met the
requirements pertaining to them based on the Alien Act, regulations of health and
social insurance, taxes and fees.144
Recognised refugees can be exempted from the
first two requirements and can therefore apply for asylum sooner than after five years
and do not have to be released from their previous citizenships.
143
The expression “can be” gives the Ministry of Interior that decides about citizenship applications
a significant space for discretion. Simply put, it can grant citizenship but does not have to even if all
the conditions of eligibility are fulfilled.
144
See paragraph 7 of the Citizenship Act No. 40/1993.
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Considering what drives people to apply for citizenship, it is important to clarify
what limitations they experience as recognised refugees/permanent residents. When
receiving asylum, they are told by DAMP representatives that they are going to have
almost the same rights as Czech citizens with the exception of the right to vote and
occupy some positions in the state administration and the police. Many of my
refugee informants described how excited they were when hearing these words.
However, they soon realised that the reality is somewhat different. It gave them
formal rights such as the right to work with no administrative obstacles, but in the
eyes of the majority population they remained foreigners from the East. This implies
that they are seen as generally less trustworthy; for example they have difficulties
obtaining a bank loan or are not allowed to buy something on instalments. Moreover,
refugees are often expected to be willing to work under worse conditions than the
locals. If they do not accept, employers prefer to employ a foreigner with less secure
legal status who will conform. For example, this refugee woman explained why she
was so eager to apply for citizenship after three years of living with asylum:
They say we have all the rights, but this is not the case. When I wanted to buy
a computer for my son, you know on instalments, paying 1,000 crowns
a month, they said: you are a foreigner, it is impossible. No matter how I was
trying to explain that we not only have permanent residency but also asylum.
They didn’t care. When I needed to change my daughter’s kindergarten I had to
bring all the papers and explain that I am a special kind of a foreigner and do
not have to pay for her. When I go to buy my monthly bus pass, they ask me:
and who are you? And I have to explain again and again and I am tired of it.
You live here, this is the only place where you can live and you still have to
prove it. Sometimes I have the energy to do it, sometimes not. It gets on my
nerves when they start flipping through my passport checking everything with
extra care even when I go to pick up a registered letter at the post office. And
you have to explain again who you are. People don’t understand that we have
to go through this every day; every time you try to arrange something. [Private
accommodation, January 2007]
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Similar grievances have been voiced by many informants from all three national
groups in this study. As this woman put it simply:
When you are here as a foreigner you have to keep demonstrating who you are
and that you belong here. [Private accommodation, February 2007]
Or consider this young refugee man who described occasional insecurity brought
about by the fact that he was not a Czech citizen:
Sometimes you need citizenship to be able to fight back; otherwise people
consider you nobody. You need this citizenship to be equal and to be able to
defend yourself. [Private accommodation, June 2007]
Another important reason for applying for citizenship is the fact that as refugees,
people cannot visit their country of origin. Not everybody risks immediate danger
when going back for a short-term visit. This applies especially to those with
humanitarian asylum and who were granted asylum based on family reunification.
However, they too are not allowed to visit their family members back home. This
causes a significant psychological strain that is especially painful in cases of serious
illness or death of refugees’ elderly parents.
Many refugees also believe that Czech citizenship could dramatically increase their
chances in the labour market. While such belief may be substantiated to some extent,
their fixation on the prospect of citizenship as a panacea to various problems also
risks ending in disappointment. Many of these problems are caused by the lack of
social, economic and cultural capital which can only partly be mitigated by
citizenship. However, the exigencies of coping and getting through life are becoming
less bearable when infused with feelings of second-class citizenship. Thus, obtaining
the Czech citizenship has been dreamt about not only as an ultimate solution to these
problems but also as a more stable ground from which to face them.
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The numbers of citizenships granted to recognised refugees are relatively low. Out of
3,379 asylums granted between July 1990 and July 2008, 846 (25 percent) have been
exchanged for Czech citizenship (DAMP, 2008b). Of the three groups included in
the study, Belarusians constituted the most numerous group of refugees-turnedcitizens
between 2001 and 2007 (37 citizenships granted) and were followed by
Armenians with 26 citizenships. Recognised refugees among Russian nationals
obtained citizenship in nine cases within the same period (CSO, 2008b). The
difference between Russians and Belarusians, who are both rather recent arrivals,
indicates that Belarusian refugees might be more successful in claiming citizenship.
Looking at the numbers of citizenships granted to all national groups of refugees
since 1990, Armenian refugees were the second most numerous group of new Czech
citizens (115 cases) following after Romanians (DAMP, 2008b).
The most common official justification for rejecting refugees’ citizenship application
is “insufficient labour market integration” or “excessive dependency on the state”
(Rozumek, 2007a). This justifies even cases when the applicants are students,
disabled or temporarily on maternity of parental leave – conditions that are generally
recognised as legitimate reasons for being out of the labour force (Rozumek, 2007a).
For example, two of my informants who went through the citizenship interview
during this research and were both rejected in the first instance (they both appealed)
had a similar experience of being suggested by the officials that they came to the
Czech Republic in order to obtain welfare benefits and that they “have not done
enough for the country yet” to be given the privilege of citizenship. Also any minor
breach of immigration rules, any underpayment of social or health security act as
a sufficient reason to reject an applicant.
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On the other hand, the acquisition of citizenship has an immediate symbolic and
practical effect. It has been summed up by one of the informants who was recently
granted Czech citizenship and commented on how it changed her life:
Well, it’s quite good with citizenship. When I plan something, I no longer have
to consider whether I’m eligible for that as a refugee or not. Somehow, I let it
out of my head. And I went to vote recently, that was a very interesting
experience. Also the feeling that you know you can go home whenever you
want or anywhere else makes you feel somehow freer. You feel less
constrained and a bit emboldened inside. [Email correspondence, November
2008]
Suggestions for Future Research
Studying refugee reception and settlement over time and sustaining long-term
engagement with research participants brings many benefits with regard to the depth
and complexity of the empirical data produced. Therefore, more longitudinal studies
of refugee reception and settlement and the changing institutional frameworks of
refugee systems are needed. Such studies can improve our understanding of these
processes, account for their contradictions, ambivalences and consider their wider
impacts on societies and individuals.
This study focused on the construction of “a refugee” in the domain of the refugee
system which is primarily designed to manage and assist asylum seekers and
refugees. However, the process is also influenced by other fields. Therefore, further
explorations of refugee construction should also include institutions such as the
labour market, welfare state, education and health systems, religious communities
and the media. We should ask how their interactions with refugee migrants shape the
conditions of reception and settlement and how they are themselves transformed by
their encounters with refugees.
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This research analysed the mechanisms of depoliticisation as a key characteristic of
the refugee system. More needs to be done to understand how the refugee label can
be transformed into a politicised identity based on solidarity and capable of
responding to marginalisation (Zetter, 1991). One of the traditional means of such
politicisation has been the formation of refugee community groups and self-support
refugee organisations (Hardy, 2003; Phillips & Hardy, 1997). There is no guarantee
that the organisations formed by refugees would not pursue a similar trajectory as
described in relation to the Refugees’ Friends type of NGOs or that they would not
create exclusionary spaces where some groups would have little or no voice.
However, the fact that there is very little organisational activity on the part of asylum
seekers and recognised refugees in the Czech Republic opens some interesting
questions: Is it simply because of the overall low numbers of refugees? Is it because
of their insecure socio-economic position as newcomers or because of the fact that
many politically active figures and intellectuals managed to get further to Western
Europe rather than staying in CEE? Or because of the lack of a strong tradition of
civic organising that characterises many post-communist countries? Or perhaps the
current system of funding and organisational support is not responsive to the
emergence of refugee community organisations which could overtake some of the
services provided by the NGOs? In other words, more research is needed into what
are the necessary conditions for refugee politicisation in new immigration countries.
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Appendices: Interview Guidelines
Appendix 1 General Interview Guidelines for State, NGO and
UNHCR Representatives
1) Introduction:
- Introducing myself in terms of my institutional affiliation;
- Explaining the aims and timescale of the research: doctoral research
analysing the workings of the Czech refugee system from the perspective of
the state, NGOs and asylum seekers and refugees with the focus on the
situation of Armenians, Belarusians and Chechens; the dissertation will be
written in English; the research results will be available in the next 1.5 to 2
years;
- Do you want to remain anonymous? How would you like to be quoted in the
text?
2) General questions:
- How long have you been working here, how did it happen that you started
working in refugee issues, what is your educational background?
- What does your section/organisation do?
- What is your position and responsibilities here?
- How has your work evolved over the past years, what were the most
important changes and developments?
- What are your specific experiences with asylum seekers and refugees from
Armenia, Belarus and Chechnya? How would you characterise these groups?
3) Specific questions (see below for each group)
4) Conclusion:
- What do you see as the key problems and dilemmas in your field of work?
- What is it that you like about your job and what you don’t like so much?
- Is there anything else you would like to add to our discussion, any other
important issue that I did not ask you about?
- Would you like to be informed about the results of this research?
314
Appendix 2 Specific Interview Guidelines for DAMP Officials –
Representatives of Sections in the Prague Headquarters
- Specific questions regarding their subject of work such as integration, the
asylum procedure, country of origin information, Czech asylum legislation or
European legislation.
- Do you have contact with the representatives of NGOs, UNHCR, and asylum
seekers or refugees? What is the nature of these contacts and interactions?
How do you see the role of NGOs and the UNHCR in the refugee system?
- How do you see your work in the European context? How advanced is the
Czech system in comparison to other EU countries?
Appendix 3 Specific Interview Guidelines for DAMP Officials –
Adjudicators and Interviewers in Refugee Camps
- Who is a refugee for you?
- What is your view of the workings of RFA how do you divide or share
responsibilities with them?
- Do you get in contact with the representatives of NGOs and UNHCR? What
is the nature of these contacts and interactions? How do you see the role of
NGOs and the UNHCR in the refugee system?
- What kind of training have you undergone as an asylum
adjudicator/interviewer?
- How many decisions have you made within the period of 90 days prescribed
by the law over the last six months?
- What about the issue of sex/gender in the asylum procedure?
- What do you think about the UNHCR guidelines on interviewing and
adjudications?
- Is there any external control over the asylum decision-making so that it is
appropriate in terms of substance and timing?
- What do you think about the criticism that nowadays the basic attitude
towards asylum seekers is mistrust?
315
Appendix 4 Specific Interview Guidelines for RFA Workers in
Refugee Camps
- Who is a refugee for you?
- How would you describe your relations with asylum seekers/recognised
refugees accommodated in this camp?
- What are the usual problems you deal with in your everyday work?
- What was your worst and nicest experience here in the camp?
- What could you say about the relations between refugee men and women in
the camp?
- How do you remember the “Chechen wave” in 2003 and 2004?
- What training do you get on your job?
- How about refugees’ protest actions?
- Do asylum seekers work outside the camp? If so do they contribute to the
costs of their stay in the camp?
- Do you specialise in working with vulnerable groups? What does it mean in
practice?
- What is the influence of the camp life on future integration into Czech
society?
- What about asylum seekers’ access to psychological counselling in the camp?
- What about asylum seekers’ access to health care?
- What about asylum seekers’ access to information about the asylum
procedure and more generally about the working of the Czech society?
- What was the impact of the European Refugee Fund?
- Do you get in contact with the representatives of NGOs? What is the nature
of these contacts and interactions? How do you see the role of NGOs in the
camp and the refugee system more generally?
Appendix 5 Specific Interview Guidelines for NGO Workers
- Who is a refugee for you?
- What are your relations with other NGOs in the field?
316
- What are your relations with DAMP, RFA and UNHCR? What kinds of
contacts do you have? How did these relations evolve over the time?
- What are the main sources of finances in your organisation? Do you make use
of the European Refugee Fund?
- Did participation in larger EU projects change the workings of your
organisation?
- Are asylum seekers and/or refugees involved in formulation and evaluation of
your projects? If so, how?
- Specific questions regarding particular projects specific to each NGO: e.g.
catering business for refugee women, work with vulnerable groups,
integration courses;
- What do you do to gain refugees’ trust?
- What is your vision of a just system of refugee reception and integration?
- Gender in refugee issues, what do you think about its relevance?
- Do you try to influence asylum legislation? How do you do it and with what
results?
- What is the ratio of women among your clients?
Appendix 6 Specific Interview Guidelines for UNHCR
Representatives
- What are your contacts with NGOs and with the state institutions dealing with
refugees?
- What are you contacts with asylum seekers and refugees?
- What do you think about the quality of NGO services to asylum seekers and
refugees?
- What about implementing UNHCR gender guidelines and interview
guidelines in the Czech Republic?
- How much and in what way do you intervene into the individual asylum
procedures?
Appendix 7 Interview Guidelines for Refugee Migrants
Each of the interviews had three parts:
317
1) Introduction:
- Introducing myself in terms of my institutional affiliation, where I live, my
previous experiences of working in refugee camps
- Explaining the aims, timescale and funding of the research: doctoral research
funded by my university analysing the workings of the Czech refugee system
from the perspective of the state, NGOs and asylum seekers and refugees
with the focus on the situation of Armenians, Belarusians and Chechens; the
dissertation will be written in English; the research results will be available in
the next 1.5 to 2 years; I am also interested in a broader question of how do
people who became refugees reconstruct their lives in exile, what problems
they face and what helps them in the process.
- Do you want to remain anonymous? How would you like to be quoted in the
text?
2) General questions:
- How would you characterise yourself in terms of your profession, family
situation, age, place of origin?
- How would you describe the family you grew up in?
- How long have you been living in the Czech Republic?
- What does asylum mean to you?
- How would you describe your experience with the asylum procedure?
- How should it change to work better?
- What was the most difficult part of it and what helped you on the way, where
did you turn for support if you needed some?
- Have you ever been treated differently because of being a foreigner,
a refugee, an Armenian/Belarusian/Chechen, a woman?
- Have you lived in a refugee camp? If so, in which one and for how long?
How did you experience life in the camp?
- Looking back at your actions throughout the asylum procedure and your stay
in the Czech Republic, is there anything you would do differently should you
have the same information as you have today?
- How do you see your situation today, what are your next plans in life? Where
do you see yourself in five and ten-year time?
318
- What does integration mean to you?
- Where do you feel at home and why?
- What are the pros and cons of your emigration from the country of origin?
- What experiences with the work of NGOs did you have?
- What are your experiences with employment, health care, education system
and social services in the Czech Republic?
- What contacts do you maintain with your family and friends (back home and
elsewhere), people of the same nationality in the Czech Republic, Czech
citizens?
- Do you think that being a refugee is experienced differently by men and
women?
- Are you considering an application for the Czech citizenship?
3) Conclusion:
- Is there anything else you would like to add to our discussion, any other
important issue that I did not ask you about?
319
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