Introduction
When the Soviet Union was dismantled a quarter of a century ago, it led to a mass inflow of people from the periphery of the former empire into Russia. Central Asia is the region from which the largest group of migrants came. This process is in many respects reminiscent of the postcolonial migration into the United Kingdom, France, and the Netherlands that began after the dismantling of their own overseas empires half a century ago.
How far, however, do the parallels go between Central Asian migration in post-Soviet Russia and postcolonial migrations in Western European countries? Setting aside the issue of the relevance of the postcolonial conceptual framework to the post-Soviet case, it makes sense to raise a fundamental question: Was the experience of Central Asian migrants into Russia identical with the experience of immigrants from former European colonies into metropolitan France, England, and the Netherlands? To what extent are public attitudes and perceptions toward Central Asians in Russia similar to the public attitudes and perceptions toward former colonial subjects in Western Europe?
Central Asian migration into Russia has long been the subject of academic research. Scholars’ attention was primarily focused on economic-political aspects of this phenomenon (Andrienko and Guriev Reference Andrienko and Guriev2005; Tishkov, Zaionchkovskaya and Vitkovskaya Reference Tishkov, Zaionchkovskaya and Vitkovskaya2005; Korobkov Reference Korobkov2007; Korobkov Reference Korobkov2008; Heleniak Reference Heleniak2008; Hemmings Reference Hemmings2010). Recently a solid pile of literature accumulated on its socio-anthropological dimensions (Flynn and Kosmarskaya Reference Flynn and Kosmarskaya2012; Abashin Reference Abashin2013; Reeves Reference Reeves2013; Reeves Reference Reeves2014; Olimova and Olimov Reference Olimova and Olimov2014; Ruget and Usmanalieva Reference Ruget and Usmanalieva2014; Nasritdinov and Schroeder Reference Nasritdinov and Schroeder2016; Demintseva Reference Demintseva2017; Demintseva, Kashnitsky Reference Demintseva and Kashnitsky2016; Demintseva, Peshkova Reference Demintseva and Peshkova2014).
However, as far as I know, no attempts to study this phenomenon in a comparative perspective have so far been made. This article will examine the condition of migrants from Central Asia in post-Soviet Russia and those from North Africa in postwar France.
France has been chosen as a comparative case for the following reasons. First, there is a certain similarity in the public discourse of France and Russia. Both countries feel unease about thinking of their immigrations in postcolonial terms. Algeria (which was the main source of Maghrebian immigration in the early 1960s) was not even considered a colony. In French official and public discourse it was regarded as a department of France. Similarly Central Asian republics were not considered Russian colonies in Soviet official and public discourse, and they are not seen through this lens in post-Soviet Russia. Second, both countries vigorously deny the presence of racism in society. Displaying their alleged color-blindness, they refuse to employ racial categories for monitoring anti-immigrant violence (which is common in the U.K.). Third, there is a parallelism in the religious affiliation of North African migrants in France and Central Asian migrants in Russia: they are identified as Muslims (whereas in the British and Dutch cases the newcomers from the former colonies are of mixed religious origin).
Some comments should be given regarding the title of this article. The term “Tajik” is employed as a common generic term, not as a reference to a member of a particular ethnic group. This is because in contemporary Russian usage, this word is strongly associated with people of “oriental” appearance who clean the streets in the cities and do hard work on construction sites, regardless of their nationality. Those members of the low middle class, who lack money for building or repairing a summer house in the countryside, are aware that they can always hire “Tajiks” for such a work. Muscovites who want to save money on a taxi, prefer to “catch a Tajik.”Footnote 1 This is not to say that the Russian everyman is not aware of ethnic differences among the newcomers from Central Asia (Tajiks, Uzbeks, and Kyrgyz). However, the Russian everyman does not care to see these differences; he or she prefers to see all of them through an orientalistic, not to say, chauvinistic lens. There are similar attitudes in France toward the newcomers from the Maghreb. Although the majority of the migrants from Algeria in the 1960s were of Kabyle origin (and therefore speak a language different from Arabic), all of them were “Arabs” in the view of ordinary French people. Nowadays, the French everyman would also not bother about deep differences between the newcomers from North Africa, be they of an ideological nature (say, the descendants of harkis vs. the descendants of Front of National Liberation fighters)Footnote 2 , of a cultural nature (Muslims vs. Christians, practicing Muslims vs. religiously indifferent individuals), or of a national nature (Algerians, Tunisians, Moroccans). In the host society’s imagination they all are blurred in an indistinct entity called “Arabs” (Balibar Reference Balibar1991; Demintseva Reference Demintseva2008).
This article is structured as follows. I will first start with a short history of both migration flows and then move to a discussion of how the migrants from the Maghreb to France and those from Central Asia to Russia appeared in the political imaginations of each country. Then after discussing the similarities in the immigration experiences of the newcomers, I will discuss how the two cases diverge in terms of the struggle for recognition and cleavages within civil societies that have been caused by different attitudes toward migration and migrants from the two regions. The next topic must be the place of Islam in public discourses of both countries and the role of Islam in self-perception of migrants. Finally, I touch upon the eventual future of people from Central Asia in Russia, pondering whether the situation with Central Asian newcomers in Russia will develop in the same direction as that of North Africans in France.
Background
Labor migration from North Africa to France in the early 1960s was not something entirely new. France had employed people from the Maghreb (primarily from Algeria) as laborers and soldiers since the early 20th century. In 1914–1918 almost a quarter of a million Algerians were mobilized into the French army (Noiriel Reference Noiriel2006). Large numbers of Algerians were also recruited to work at French industrial enterprises in the 1920s, since France had suffered huge demographic losses as a result of World War I. During the 1930s the number of North Africans working for French companies on short-term contracts reached 100,000 (not counting the “colonial workers” who had been recruited into the army and were not included in the census (Wihtol de Wenden Reference Withol de Wenden1991, 100). A number of Kabyle entrepreneurs who had benefited from the right of free entry in previous years should be added to this total (Wihtol de Wenden Reference Withol de Wenden1991, 103). During the World War II hundreds of thousands of Algerians once again fought for France, and since 1945 French industrial companies have employed 350,000 Algerians (mostly single men living in dormitories). During the “Trente Glorieuses” (from 1945 to 1975), the number of migrants from Algeria quadrupled as a result of family reunification and refugee acceptance (Noiriel Reference Noiriel1996; Hargreaves Reference Hargreaves2007).
However, the Maghrebian migrants, regardless of the duration of their stay, were considered temporary workers. Those North African (mainly Algerian) migrants who arrived in France in large numbers in the 1960s in the framework of the labor recruitment campaign were at first perceived in the same way (Ireland Reference Ireland1994; Noiriel Reference Noiriel1996). Moreover, the so-called “Algerian crisis in the French Nationality Code,” which took place in the 1970s and 1980s, was caused by the legal obligation to consider all the children of Algerian migrants French (for which neither the government nor the wider public was prepared) (Weil Reference Weil2008, 155).Footnote 3
Labor migration from Central Asia, which Russia faced in the early 1990s, was a relatively new phenomenon. In the Soviet period, inhabitants from this area arrived in Russian cities only as students, tourists, trainees, participants in programs for retraining of party cadres, or as traders. In any case they resided in Russia on a temporary basis. They were not expected to settle in Russia. And the majority of them did not. The number of Central Asians that settled in the Russian Federation (then the RSFSR) was not significant.Footnote 4 First and foremost this was due to the limitations on Soviet subjects’ geographical mobility caused by the so-called propiska system (required registration at a place of residence). However, cultural and psychological factors also played a part: the inhabitants of Central Asia were reluctant to leave their home regions. This reluctance even prompted the Communist leaders of Central Asian republics to accuse their citizens of “inactivity” (Abashin Reference Abashin2012). This inactivity, however, disappeared as soon as the Communist regime collapsed. The dramatic deterioration of socio-economic conditions and the increase in political turmoil (in the case of Tajikistan, even civil war) forced the inhabitants of the area to move en masse to find work abroad, mainly in Russia.Footnote 5
It should be mentioned that of the five newly independent states in post-Soviet Central Asia only three can be regarded as sending countries: Tajikistan, Uzbekistan, and Kyrgyzstan. The number of migrants from Turkmenistan is insignificant due to the restrictiveness of the political regime in Ashkhabad and visa requirements for entering Russia. As for Kazakhstan, it is relatively well-off thanks to rich natural resources, and therefore competes with Russia for the labor force in the region.Footnote 6
Differences in Political Imaginations and Public Discourses
The encounter of the French with immigrants from North Africa was the encounter of two different communities. The French nation was imagined as completely separate from the “Arabs.” The Russian case was more complex: until 1991, the whole society of the “multinational state” had been imagined as one cultural and political community. Although this community was to a degree the product of wishful thinking, many ordinary citizens, including those in Central Asia, believed in its reality (Olimova and Olimov Reference Olimova and Olimov2008; Reeves Reference Reeves2014; Abashin Reference Abashin2013).
The authorities in Paris did not intend to create a common social and cultural space within the empire (Weil Reference Weil2008, 153).Footnote 7 “Muslim aborigines” were not expected to become French. The Communists in Moscow, quite to the contrary, did intend to create a common socio-cultural space within the Soviet empire. All the inhabitants of the “sixth part of earth” were expected to become Soviet people. Of course, cultural differences between the center and the periphery were not erased, although there is little doubt that the Communists did make strides in that direction, including increasing the level of proficiency in Russian language (especially in cities) in Central Asia,Footnote 8 the development of a rather large national Russian-speaking intelligentsia in urban centers, and the production of shared symbols and of a popular culture common to the entire state.
After the dismantling of the French Empire, two competing narratives took shape regarding the imperial period of French history. The first is the narrative of the “civilizing mission” of France as an imperial power.Footnote 9 The second narrative is one of anti-colonialism and post-colonialism, supported by the Left. This narrative, for obvious reasons, was the one embraced in the former French colonies after they gained sovereignty (Forsdrick and Murphy Reference Forsdrick and Murphy2009; Hussey Reference Hussey2014). However, regardless of the differences in ideological attitudes among the participants in the French public debate, it was apparent to all of them that the nature of the post-1962 period (the end of the war of independence of Algeria) was “after” or “post-colonialism” (Hargreaves and McKenney Reference Hargreaves and McKenney1997; Naylor Reference Naylor2000; Shabal Reference Shabal2015).
The post-Soviet public discourse does not share this understanding. The collective imagination both in Central Asia and in Russia is not captured by the “postcolonialism” narrative. As a specialist in this region points out, “Attention should be turned to one important feature shared by all Central Asian countries: there is not a single one in which the authorities or the majority of the public are prepared to label the Soviet period colonial, or the former Soviet republics colonies” (Abashin Reference Abashin2014, 88). An explanation of this is a matter for a separate analysis.Footnote 10 For this article it is enough to note that by the end of the Communist regime, Central Asians thought of themselves as members of the “Soviet people” community.
The rejection that Central Asian laborers faced after their arrival in Russia in the early 1990s was a real shock to them. This shock was caused not only by the high levels of xenophobia and racially motivated violence, but also by the destruction of the imaginary that had been shaped in the last decades of the Soviet era and that kept reproducing itself for some time after this era ended. In Tajikistan, a trip to Russia and back was not perceived as travel abroad until the early 2000s (Olimova and Olimov Reference Olimova and Olimov2008).Footnote 11 The mental map of many ordinary Tajiks during the decade after the collapse of the USSR was characterized by such formulas as “Moscow, the capital of our country” (Olimova and Olimov Reference Olimova and Olimov2008). It was only in 2003, when the bilateral agreement on migration between Russia and Tajikistan was signed, and when Soviet documents became invalid for entering Russia, that most Tajiks realized that the country in which they continued to live in their imagination had ceased to exist.
Two Experiences of Marginalization
The newcomers from Central Asia in post-Soviet Russia are subjected to social marginalization similar to that imposed upon the newcomers from the Maghreb countries in post-colonial France. The first aspect of marginalization is the ethnization of migrants—that is, perception of them through ethnic lenses (Balibar Reference Balibar1991, Hargreaves Reference Hargreaves1999).
The second aspect relates to discrimination against the “Tajiks” in Russia and the “Arabs” in France. The discrimination in question is of course only de facto discrimination: legally it is forbidden, and there are no exceptions to the principle of legal equality.
In France, during the first decades of labor recruitment programs, the discrimination against migrants was primarily linked to housing conditions (Ireland Reference Ireland1994).Footnote 12 However, it was really a class issue that affected Portuguese, Spanish, and Italian workers in the 1950s, much as it did the Algerian workers who joined them a decade later.
The French context in which the issue of discrimination against migrants is discussed is primarily that of the banlieues (suburbs). This is the result of a tangle of social conditions that goes back to the economic downturn of the 1970s. The satellite-towns that emerged during the economic boom were populated by immigrant workers; after the economy worsened, they were suddenly inhabited by the unemployed. The young people, mostly from Maghrebian families, who grew up in these suburbs, on the one hand, were poorly educated and had minimal opportunities for social advancement, and, on the other, were socialized in an environment of high crime and a “culture of violence” associated with permanent clashes with police (Wihtol de Wenden Reference Wihtol de Wenden2006; Balibar Reference Balibar2007; Body-Gendrot Reference Body-Gendrot2010). This resulted in a kind of geographical stigmatization: to reside in a particular area meant having no chance of employment in a well-paying or high-status job; and thus a vicious cycle of the reproduction of marginality in the next generation of Maghreb youth (Alba and Silberman Reference Alba and Silberman2002; Simon Reference Simon2003; Silberman, Alba and Fournier Reference Silberman, Alba and Foutrnier2007; Dikec Reference Dikec2007; Wacquant Reference Wacquant2008). An additional factor in discrimination may also possibly be a Muslim affiliation. Despite France’s official denial of this problem, studies show that it does exist (Meurs, Pailhé and Simon Reference Meurs, Pailhé and Simon2006; Adida, Laitin, and Valfort Reference Adida, Laitin and Valfort2010).
In Russia from the 1990s onwards, migrants in general and the migrants from Central Asia in particular faced discrimination in working conditions, in payment (or nonpayment)Footnote 13 of wages, and in housing, where they were often forced to live in substandard conditions (Hemmings Reference Hemmings2010; Predotvrashchenie 2008). Extensive discrimination against Central Asians is linked to their precarious legal status. Even those newcomers from Central Asia who have the necessary documents depend completely on their employer, who is usually the one to provide them with these documents in the first place (Tiuriukanova Reference Tiuriukanova2009; Zaionchkovskaya, Tiuriukanova and Florinskaya Reference Zaionchkovskaya, Tiuriukanova and Florinskaya2011; Dave Reference Dave2014). As for the undocumented migrants, they are at the mercy of intermediaries between business and the regulatory authorities of the state.
Both Central Asians in Russia and North Africans in France are subjected to racialization. Racialization is a procedure in which certain characteristics of individuals (ethnic or religious affiliation, position in the social hierarchy, etc.) come to be seen as something essential and quasi-natural. Even if race is absent from public rhetoric, racial categories are still involved in actual social practices. The presence of implicit racism in French society has been investigated by many researchers (Silverman Reference Silverman1992; Hargreaves Reference Hargreaves1999; Wieviorka Reference Wieviorka2002; Silverstein Reference Silverstein2000; Silverstein Reference Silverstein2005). It goes without saying that the racism in question is a racism without race, because it operates based not on biological, but rather on cultural differences (Taguieff Reference Taguieff1990; Balibar Reference Balibar1991).
Since racism in the Soviet Union was taboo, it could only exist in hidden forms (Sahadeo Reference Sahadeo2007; Sahadeo Reference Sahadeo2012; Zakharov Reference Zakharov2015). In post-Soviet Russia, it has become evident. The manifestations of this are manifold. First, there are violent attacks on migrants with Asiatic appearance (Kozhevnikova Reference Kozhevnikova2008; Verkhovsky Reference Verkhovsky2014; Al’perovich and Vera Reference Al’perovich and Vera2014). Second, it is racial profiling routinely used by police on the streets (see Osipov Reference Osipov2010; Zakharov Reference Zakharov2015; Bessudnov Reference Bessudnov2016). The last, but not the least, is tacit differentiation in salaries. Over the course of the 1990s, Russians from outside the capital city made 90% of what a Muscovite would earn for the same work, migrants from Belarus and Ukraine made 80%, and those from Central Asia made 50%–60% (Zaionchkovskaya, Tiuriukanova and Mkrtchian Reference Zaionchkovskaya, Tiuriukanova and Mkrtchian2009, 36).
The Development of Two Situations
The difference between the experiences of the Maghrebians in France and the Central Asians in Russia is at its most striking when one compares the public manifestation of the immigrants’ presence. In the early 1980s, that is, when the children of the first generation of North Africans were growing up, France witnessed a kind of struggle for recognition. Both the scale of this struggle and the diversity of its forms were impressive. Responses to anti-immigrant violence included the Marche des beurs, an anti-racist street march and demonstration in late 1983, the development of the movement “Touche pas a mon pote” (Don’t touch my friend) of the newly-founded organization SOS Racism, as well as the establishment of a number of migrant associations immediately after the ban on the formation of ethnic organizations was lifted by the Mitterrand government in 1981. In addition, dozens of migrant radio stations appeared in the 1980s, and migrants began to actively participate in local NGOs (Diop Reference Diop1997), struggle for political representation,Footnote 14 and produce relevant artistic works.Footnote 15 Last but not least, writers of Maghreb origin emerged and became part of the French literary scene.Footnote 16
Although the success of the beurs in the struggle for recognition should not be overestimated, it is undeniable that they managed at least one thing: at the turn of 1980s–1990s they became publically visible. In other words, the North African migrants acquired political subjectivity, having transformed themselves from a passive object of vision and speech to an active subject (Wihtol de Wenden Reference Wihtol de Wenden1994; Silverstein Reference Silverstein2002; Martinello Reference Martinello2009; Geisser and Soum Reference Geisser and Soum2012).
In Russia, the struggle of Central Asian migrants for recognition remains at a rudimentary level. It is impeded by the fact that the majority of migrants suffer from a precarious legal status and, as a consequence, there is no “second generation” of them so far. The children of Central Asian migrants (those brought to Russian cities, as well as those born there) are too few in number to make a significant impactFootnote 17 , and they do not have automatic naturalization prospects. In addition, there are not only legal, but also political obstacles to their integration into Russian society. In early 2015 the Ministry of Education issued a decree (by the way, in breach of the Constitution) according to which the children of migrants who do not have documents proving their registration at a place of residence are not allowed to attend school. And because the bulk of the Central Asian guest workers do not have such documents, it affects many, if not most of their young family members.Footnote 18
There are certain signs of the struggle of Central Asian newcomers for public visibility. Some migrant associations have come into being. However, most of them focus solely on cultural issues, and never address any social problems.Footnote 19 There is one association that does not confine its activities to culture and dares to raise social issues. Its name is Tajik Labor Migrants. established in 2007 and officially registered in 2010. Then again, its autonomy is questionable. This organization is a kind of one-man show, and the actor, the founder Karomat Sharipov, graduated from one of the most privileged educational institutions of Soviet times, the Higher Party School, and afterward made a career in the military and then as a professional manager.
There are also certain artistic activities that might be considered forms of the immigrant’s struggle for recognition. Among the more spectacular examples are the novel “Gastarbeiter”—The Guest Worker by Eduard Bagirov (who emigrated from Turkmenistan in 1994), and the play “Akin Opera,” performed by a troupe of Tajik migrants, which won the Golden Mask award in 2014. However, a closer look makes these achievements seem less impressive. In the case of Bagirov, a powerful public relations campaign accompanied the publication of his novel.Footnote 20 As for the Golden Mask, the award seemed less like the public recognition of many years of creative performances by Tajik artists (they worked at a construction site and physically had no time for theater) than the result of chance: it was thanks to the enthusiasm of one theater director that these talented people were discovered and invited to rehearse (Lisovskii Reference Lisovskii2014).
Another striking feature that makes the two situations different, relates to the cleavages within society caused by migration. In the French debate over the immigration problem that unfolded in the 1980s, there was a polarization. There were those (on the Left) who sympathized with the immigrants and looked at North African migration through the lens of “third worldism” and (post) colonialism.Footnote 21 There were also their opponents on the Right, from moderate conservatives to supporters of the National Front. French society demonstrated a variety of positions on the migration issue.
The same cannot be said about contemporary Russian society. Anti-migrant sentiment in general and xenophobia directed at Central Asians in particular, seems to be in the mainstream of public discourse. Any NGOs that try to counteract this trend are certainly marginalized. With regard to the immigration issue, Russia has no pro-immigrant opinion makers. No politician would dare to express sympathy toward culturally alien migrants (the risk of falling out of favor with the voters is too large). The voices of civic activists who express such sympathy can barely be heard. As for the position of bureaucrats, they, as expected, prefer to maneuver. Officials, on the one hand, periodically speak of the need for tolerance (and even run programs to promote it); while on the other hand, they do not take any steps to change media coverage of the migration problem or stop the flow of openly xenophobic talk shows on the central (government-controlled) television channels.
“Islamization” of Public Discourse and Migrants’ Identities
What is being called Islamization has two components. First, it is a shift in public discourse, when immigration from particular regions starts to be represented in terms of religion. Second, it relates to identity transformation among the migrants from these regions (more precisely, of their offspring). Islamization in public discourse occurred in France at the end of the 1980s. The key event in this regard was the foulard affaire (the head scarf affair) of 1989 (Gaspard and Khosrokhavar Reference Gaspard and Khosrokhavar1995; Kastoryano Reference Kastoryano2002; Joppke Reference Joppke2009). At this time Islam was “discovered” by youth of Maghreb origin as a basis of their social mobilization. It is important to emphasize that we are not discussing a religion that has been transmitted because of tradition, but rather one that has been newly invented (Roy Reference Roy2007; Laurence Reference Laurence2006). Regardless of the relevance of Islam in terms of the beurs’ social behavior (and whether they practice it), it is used as a marker of collective identity. This is first, a cultural identity—a sense (or at least a declaration) of belonging to the symbolic space shaped by Islam. Secondly, it is political identity that at this time manifested itself through solidarity with Palestinians and the Islamic revolution in Iran in 1979.
In Russia, Islam was not an issue of public debate in the early years of the post-Soviet migrations. Newcomers from Central Asia were identified by the local population, and identified themselves, in ethnic, rather than in religious terms, as Tajiks, Uzbeks, Kyrgyz, etc., but not as Muslims. However, over the course of the 2010s a significant shift both in public discourse and in the attitudes of social actors occurred. It has become common for newcomers from Central Asia to be perceived in religious and cultural terms—as representatives of the Muslim world within Christian Orthodox Russia. Central Asian migrants themselves have not opposed this identification, but instead have begun to project it onto themselves. The public manifestation of this identity is visiting the mosque on Friday. Since there is a clear shortage of such institutions in big Russian cities,Footnote 22 this leads to large crowds of people, and during Ramadan, to real welter. In addition, prayer rooms have been built at wholesale markets where many Central Asian migrants, especially Tajiks, are employed as porters, drivers, and unskilled laborers (Peshkova Reference Peshkova2015).
However, there are features that distinguish the Islamization of Central Asian migration in Russia from that of the North African migration in France. Islam in Russia is not an imported but rather an autochthonous religion. Islam has been professed by a substantial part of the population living in Russia for centuries (the total number of Russian Muslims is estimated at ten to 14 million people). It belongs to the four traditional religions recognized by the state. That is why the phenomenon of Islamophobia has a different dynamic in Russia than in countries where it is an immigrants’ religion. Manifestations of hostility toward Islam and Muslims are much more problematic in Russia, because they are immediately counteracted at the level of civil society (at least in the Muslim parts of the country), and because the central authorities are determined to suppress any activities that could lead to a deterioration of what they call inter-faith relations.
Further, it is an open question, of whether an overarching migrants’ solidarity on the basis of common religion is being formed. Some researchers believe this process is already happening. In particular, such an argument has been put forward by Yusupova and Ponarin (Reference Yusupova and Ponarin2016). However their argument does not appear convincing. First, they demonstrated that networks of mutual assistance and support are formed among the newcomers from Central Asia, but they did not show conclusively that these networks are based on shared religion, not on ethnicity or kinship.Footnote 23 Second, they conducted their interviews among those migrants who belong to the group labeled as “the very religious.” However they themselves mention that this group, as well as the “non-religious,” does not make up the majority of Central Asian migrants. The majority consists of people whom they refer to as “the minimally religious,” individuals who are not zealous in performing religious rites. To put it differently, Islam is generally relevant for them, but it does not determine their social behavior.
At the same time there are other researchers who did not find any significant impact of religious identification on the shaping of collective solidarity among migrants. They suggest that if the possibility of such solidarity emerging in the future is worth speaking of, it will more likely occur on the basis of class (Brednikova and Tkach Reference Brednikova and Tkach2010). In addition one can refer to a sociological survey conducted in schools in Saint Petersburg, Moscow, and the Moscow region since 2008. The research revealed an absolute predominance of ethnic identification. Only a tiny proportion of school children identify themselves in terms other than ethnicity. The total number of teenagers who opted for “super-ethnic identity” (i.e., either in terms of region or of religion) was shown to be two percentFootnote 24 (Alexandrov et al. Reference Alexandrov, Baranova and Ivaniushina2015).
It is also worth noting, that there are no organizations of Central Asian migrants based on common religion (although there are some based on common nationality or ethnicity).
Thus, there is a key difference between the condition of Central Asian newcomers in Russia and North Africans in France. Islam in the Russian case did not become the basis of social (not to speak of political) mobilization of migrants. It remains for the most part a marker of individual identity, not a factor of collective solidarity.
“Tajiks” in Russia: What Next?
Making forecasts is not a productive business. No one knows how the conditions of the Central Asian newcomers in Russia will look several decades from now. However, based on today’s situation, we can try to speculate about how it will unfold in the foreseeable future.
First, the population of Central Asian origin permanently residing in Russia is likely to increase significantly. Even now, no less than half a million migrants from Central Asia have Russian citizenship. Their children are also likely to receive a Russian passport.Footnote 25 This means that by 2030 there will be a “second generation” of Central Asians present in Russia.
The programs promoting the integration of immigrants that are occasionally announced by Russian officials are mainly symbolic.Footnote 26 They do not address the real challenges faced by immigrants on an everyday basis. These are, first of all, housing conditions and ethnic violence against those who are visually different. These conditions tend to result in the reinforcement of ethnic boundaries.
The discrimination experienced by the children of Central Asian migrants will foster the formation of a separate collective identity in the second generation. It is hard to say whether this will be formed along the lines of religious difference. So far ethnic markers play a much more important role than Islam does. However, it is quite possible that young people of Central Asian origin will eventually consolidate themselves on the basis of an overarching Muslim identity.
Last but not least, the increased focus on security in the debate on immigration in general and on Muslim immigration in particular is noteworthy. Russia cannot remain unaffected by this trend. In today’s Russia, like in France and elsewhere in the West, the issue of Islam is often amalgamated with the issue of terrorism. Russian daily life is quite rich in events, which if desired can be interpreted in this particular way.Footnote 27 This means that in the foreseeable future in Russia, as well as in the West, there will arise a vicious cycle between Islamophobia and the resultant social exclusion, on the one hand, and ideological radicalization leading some Muslims to prepare to join with jihadists, on the other.
Conclusion
Parallels between Central Asian migration in contemporary Russia and Maghreb migration in France some decades ago can be drawn based on social marginalization of the newcomers. “Tajiks” in Russia are like “Arabs” in France because both groups are subjected to ethnization, racialization, and therefore to social exclusion.
At the same time there are a number of significant differences in the two cases. “Tajiks” are not like “Arabs” because of a number of reasons.
First, is the difference in political imaginations. By the time the mass migration from North Africa to France began, the French and people from the Maghreb considered themselves to be members of two separate communities. By the time of collapse the USSR (which gave rise to mass migration from Central Asia to Russia), people from Central Asia and Russians were considered members of the same community. However, this community was regarded not as a “nation,” but rather as a historical community of a new type; it implied a shared social and cultural space. Hence there were fundamental differences in the dynamics of symbolic boundaries. In the French case, the symbolic boundaries between the Maghreb migrants and the host population were initially “bright” (in Alba’s [Reference Alba2005] terms), but over time they have become less rigid and more permeable, despite many complexities with integration. In the Russian case, the dynamic of symbolic boundaries seems to unfold in the opposite direction. The boundaries which were once fairly permeable are becoming “bright” boundaries. The host society was not prepared to integrate the newcomers from Central Asia.
Second, the precarious legal status of the bulk of newcomers has impeded the emergence of a second generation from Central Asia. It is primarily because of this lack that there is no social mobilization of Central Asian migrants in Russia today. There is very little struggle for recognition. Today the Central Asian newcomers do not have the resources to conduct a struggle for recognition and this continues their state of public invisibility: they are almost completely without cultural (not to speak of political) representation. This is in sharp contrast with the situation in France where young beurs launched a struggle for their recognition as a part of French society as early as the 1980s.
Third, Islam plays a different role in classification of migrants and thus occupies a different place in public debates in France and Russia. In the French case, the alienation between the host population and the Maghrebians was from the outset based on religion; the religious categories that classified North Africans employed by both official and public discourse were “Muslim aborigines” and “French Muslims.” In the Russian case such labeling was either not there (in the Soviet period) or was not relevant (over course of the 1990s and early 2000s).
Nowadays, Islam in France has moved to the center of public debate insofar as it is the basis for social solidarity and political mobilization of people of Maghreb origin. Symbolic boundaries between the descendants of Maghreb migrants and the host population go along the lines of religious affiliation. The division between “Muslims” and “Non-Muslims” is hard to overcome because of tensions caused by Islamist terrorism. In Russia the Muslim belonging of migrants from Central Asia has not been discussed for a long time. It has only recently become an issue of public debate. In the eyes of both ordinary Russian citizens and Russian officials, the newcomers from this region were Kyrgyz, Uzbeks, Tajiks, and Kazakhs, rather than Muslims. In the rhetoric of mainstream politicians, as well as opinion makers, such tropes as “common mentality,” “Soviet experience,” “shared history” still dominate.
Over the course of the last five or seven years, the situation has changed. The amalgamation of Islam with terrorism drove this change. However social anthropological research does not suggest that a collective solidarity based on shared religion has taken shape among migrants from Central Asia. For the bulk of these people, Islam remains a marker of cultural identity generally linked to ethnicity. This is also in contrast to the case in France, where the overarching Muslim identity of North African youth has become a marker of political mobilization.
Acknowledgments
I express my deep gratitude to the Institute for Human Sciences (IWM, Vienna) and the Mikhail Prokhorov Foundation for providing me with the opportunity to work in a splendid environment during my stay as the Alexander Herzen Fellow at IWM in January–June 2016. My thanks go to Aristide Zolberg and Long Litt Woon, whose suggestive article “Why Islam is like Spanish” led to the formulation of the title of my own paper. I owe a particular debt to Stephen Castles, Rainer Bauböck, Luiza Bialasievicz, Anne Le Huerou, and Ekaterina Demintseva for their comments on the first draft of this paper. Special thanks to Franck Düvell, Steven Lukes, and Valery Pozner for the incentives they gave me during our informal discussions, as well as to Marlyn Miller for editing my English.
