Shifting Paradigms: Redefining Citizenship in the Context of Global Migration

A classical understanding of citizenship is twofold. First, it implies belonging to a nation state acquired mainly by place of birth (ius soli) or inheritance (ius sanguinis), which is bureaucratically captured in such documents as birth certificates, family record books or passports. Second, it involves a sense of belonging to a society through a set of legal, political and economic rights, cultural practices and obligations like taxpaying. This complex relationship implies an interplay between rights, duties, participation and identity (Turner 1993: 2). Both of these understandings are still valid and yet are insufficient in the modern globalised world. As Pinson et al. (2010: 14) have demonstrated, migration ‘disrupts modern regimes of rights upon which notions of national citizenship are based’. Transnational migration raises issues of the membership, identity and rights of those who cannot claim national citizenship but who nevertheless seek protection in host societies. Refugees with a pending asylum application as well as displaced persons ‘are outside the national community of law, but they are present within the national borders of the state’ (Meints-Stender 2017: 64; translation by the author). How can one understand the citizenship of those who have exited their communities of birth but have not yet integrated into other polities?

The Declaration of Human Rights and the Geneva Convention of Refugees’ Rights might provide some answers – however, they lack a structural focus: the responsibility of a polity to provide the guaranteed rights. While states enforce social rights, there is no uniform sovereign to enforce human rights at a global level. Arendt (1986) termed this contradiction the ‘aporia of human rights’. In this regard, Giorgio Agamben posits that the logic of human rights, ‘the so-called sacred and inalienable rights of man’, is inconceivable within the logic of the nation state. Within the political order of the nation state ‘the status of the refugee is [– even in the best of cases –] always considered a temporary condition that should lead either to naturalisation or to repatriation’ (Agamben 1995: 116). One way to lead out of this logic-dilemma, as Arendt (1949) proposes, is the decoupling of the concept of the state from that of the nation, and the constitution of a transnational citizenship that guarantees everyone the right to belong to a political community. Against this background, Seyla Benhabib (1999) suggests that citizenship be grounded only on participation in a political community and in everyday life, and not on the territorial nor on the descent principle (Meints-Stender 2017).

Citizenship as Praxis: A Struggle for Justice and Recognition

From a sociological perspective, citizenship is viewed as a more comprehensive relationship that goes beyond the individual–state connection. In other words, in a holistic understanding of citizenship that implies identity, cultural practices and a sense of belonging to a community, the focus shifts towards norms, practices, meanings and identities, rather than solely legal rules and regulations defined by nation states. Similar ideas are advanced by feminist scholars, who point to the praxis of citizenship as an active participatory struggle and as a set of rights, which are the object of the struggle. Poverty scholars advance an ‘actor-oriented perspective’ of citizenship, based ‘on the recognition that rights are shaped through actual struggles informed by people's own understandings of what they are justly entitled to (Nyamu-Musembi 2005: 31). Attentive to the negative effects of social exclusion, these theories emphasise the emancipatory potential of citizenship as a social practice, and define it as a ‘momentum concept’. This means that citizenship-as-practice is meaningful only if activated in time: only by continuously reworking it is it possible to reveal its ‘egalitarian and anti-hierarchical potential’ (Hoffman 2004: 138), and to provide the tools for marginalised groups struggling for social justice (Lister 2007a).

Claims for social justice and citizenship formulated by excluded groups ‘from below’ are rooted in four fundamental values that converge, despite the diverse contexts in which these groups shape their understanding of citizenship. These are justice, recognition, self-determination and solidarity (Lister 2007a: 50). The claim for justice is related to fairness: to be treated the same when it is fair, and when it is fair, to be treated differently; recognition relates to the worth of all human beings and recognition and respect for their differences; the capacity to exercise a degree of self-control over their lives is often termed ‘self-determination’; and the term solidarity refers to ‘the capacity to identify with others and to act in unity with them in their claims for justice and recognition’ (Kabeer 2005: 7). A grounding in these four values is common to what has been named inclusive citizenship, as an approach by ‘outsiders’, marginalised people and those who do not belong to the polity by birth: the non-citizens.

The Complex Landscape of Children's Citizenship

Throughout the twentieth century, children as a group were invisible in citizenship studies (Lister 2007a). At best children figured as ‘citizens of the future’. They were considered not-yet-adults, with the competences associated with citizenship, such as rationality and independence, as evolving only (Larkins 2014). According to the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child (UNCRC) children are rights holders, but in terms of citizenship, while they are given some rights, responsibilities and opportunities for participation, they are clearly denied others. In modern liberal democracies children do not hold office (create law), do not vote (validate law, or elect others to create new law) and only rarely bring cases to court (action existing law in their interests) (Tchermalykh 2023). This normative pattern, which explicitly understands children's specialness and vulnerability as worthy of protection and justifies their separation from the adult world, became hegemonic in the modern Euro-American world and globally. The categorisation of children as not-yet-citizens determines their social positioning on the edge, with limited access to society's resources and opportunities.

In reaction to the globalisation of these views, in the realm of childhood studies there has been a shift towards a ‘new paradigm’ in which scholars challenge the traditional distinctions between childhood and adulthood concerning competence, dependence and vulnerability (Lee 2001; Prout 2005; for an overview see Larkins 2014). Cath Larkins (ibid.) notes that not all children are inherently more vulnerable than all adults. Rather vulnerability and dependency are inherent to human beings. Informed by children's movements especially in the Global South, Stasiulis (2002: 507) discusses children as ‘empowered, knowledgeable, compassionate and global citizens’. In this literature, children are portrayed as social actors who enact and reclaim their citizenship as a way of participation in the social world in their own ways. As Lister (2007a: 54) notes, rightly ‘children's citizenship practices could be said to constitute them as de facto citizens even if they do not enjoy all the rights of full de jure citizens’.

Yet this understanding of children's agency raises questions about how to define children's citizenship, without concealing their intentional exclusion from the polity and from the body of the nation as migrants (Tchermalykh and Floristán Millán, this issue). In this regard, the question of the citizenship of children in transnational migration appears even more puzzling.

To illustrate my conceptualisation of refugee children's citizenship as a practice embedded in everyday life, and as a constant struggle for self-determination and recognition, I introduce three ethnographic examples deriving from my research project ‘Everyday Life of Young Children in Refugee Mass Accommodation Centres’, which I led in Berlin in 2016–2017. The field observations were made by Sarah Fichtner, Hoa Mai Trần , Penny Scott and Thi Huyen Trang Le. In substantiating my argument, I draw upon the theoretical framework of ‘lived citizenship’ (Warming and Fahnøe 2017; Lister 2007b), which moves beyond a static legal status, embodying an ongoing, evolving process shaped by individuals’ interactions, relationships and encounters within their social and political environment.

Lived Citizenship in Action: Following Spiderman

Let me introduce Spiderman (a pseudonym of his choice) – a rebellious 6-year-old boy from Iraq who came to Germany alongside his family, and whom my research group encountered in a mass accommodation centre.

Spiderman is eager to guide my colleagues Sarah and Mai around the centre and share his favourite places, displaying a strong sense of agency and independence. He distances himself from the childcare on the grounds that ‘this is only for babies’. To mark his point of not accepting the house rules, he chases around the building and deliberately enters the common room which is off-limits for children his age, staging this border crossing verbally and by sticking out his tongue. He wants to enrol in school, his mother says, but his German language skills need to improve before he can be admitted.

 Because of the explosions and bombings he saw in Iraq, Spiderman is scared. He would not leave their flat out of fear of witnessing death and loss. Spiderman recounts how he loves Germany but in Iraq, he says, ‘there is only killing’. To emphasise his emotion, he gestures a rifle shooting. No longer can he talk in German, it is the interpreter who helps him say what he has to tell Sarah and Mai. ‘If we have to leave, are pushed out, I will kill them – the policemen’, he says. He does not want to accept that there is nothing the family or he could do against deportation. In this view he also disagrees with his father who tries to pitch a return to Iraq to his son. Spiderman is convinced, Germany is better than Iraq. ‘I can't do anything in Iraq. You know? Papa is lying. What Papa says: You have to go back immediately … but I do not want to leave. I do not go. I must not go.’ (Fichtner and Trần 2019, 127)

Spiderman's assertive statements highlight his desire to stay in Germany, to attend classes in school, which can be interpreted as claims to self-determination that are not institutionally heard. To these structurally imposed limitations, Spiderman reacts by deliberately entering off-limits areas and challenging established social rules. His rebellious behaviour sheds light on the many levels of contradictions of his living conditions: in the centre for refugees, there are many regulations that limit his possibilities to act while there is no reliable authority that protects him from deportation to Iraq. If this occurs, he can count only on himself, and Spiderman is ready to fight the German police. The boy is motivated by his desire to be granted the right to education, to participate in what he recognises as normal childhood by locals, that is to say citizen-children. When these claims are not heard he reacts by revolt, against his family and against the institutional rules – and against the hosting society, exemplified by the police. Spiderman's subversive ways of pointing out injustice demonstrate that his subjective dimension of citizenship encompasses feelings of (not) belonging, of (not) being valued, of (limited) participation and competences.

Spiderman's story serves as an example of the complex and nuanced experiences of young children living in challenging circumstances (for further details, see Fichtner and Trần 2019), and it highlights the importance of understanding their agency and citizenship actions, which are exercised in a meaningful way, despite external constraints and pressures induced by restrictive migration regimes (Wihstutz 2020).

Empowering through Recognition: A ‘Children's Revolution’ as a Catalyst for Citizen Participation

Stretching existing institutional boundaries and power relations can produce a shift in rights and responsibilities, contribute to new distributions of resources or even provide a new political status (Larkins 2014). In our research in one accommodation centre for refugees, children mounted an uprising, which the management of the centre called the ‘children's revolution’. On this occasion several 9-year-olds led a group of 20 children claiming to dismiss a childcare worker whom they considered too strict and disrespectful. Here is how the manager recalls it, laughing:

‘The situation was really extraordinary! In fact in the early evening there was a knock at my door, and then there were at first a handful of boys, and then more and more turned up. A few younger ones joined in, looking on. I personally think it was great. Of course, I was surprised, but I took them all seriously. We sat down at the round table in my meeting room. And they were very, very disciplined, they really did a great job in explaining what they were concerned about, giving reasons for their concern. I listened to what they had to say. Of course, I had to lend my ear to the other party as well. By coincidence, the person concerned came to my office at that very moment. [laughs] … It was my intention to find a mutual agreement on how to deal with the specific accusations in negotiations. That was not successful. Of course, this was due to the adult, who always justified why he reacted the way he did, but in the end, it was also due to the children. Maybe because they were exhausted and the tension was too much. They didn't want any more negotiations. They stormed out of my office arm in arm, shouting “He's got to go! He has to go!” I thought that was a pity, because the approach itself was great. But well … He was untrustworthy in their eyes.’

 Reflecting on the experience she recalls: ‘The older ones and the boys had the floor. And then they always reported like at school, lifting their hand when they wanted to say something, and it was really very civilised at the beginning. The younger children could hardly reach the table, looking on in amazement [laughs], fascinated to be part of this situation’ (field notes, Fichtner and Trần)¹

Through their cohesive and decisive action the children demonstrated in this particular case control over their own lives. Centre management recognised this small-scale children's revolution as an act of empowerment (Schulz-Algie 2019). In the context of this case, all four foundational values were present: the pursuit of justice, recognition, self-determination and solidarity – elements constitutive of lived citizenship (Lister 2007a). Gerard Delanty (2003) suggests the concept of citizenship as a learning process that takes place in everyday life, involving affective and emotional dimensions, and not just an awareness of rights and obligations (Warming and Fahnøe 2017).

In contrast to the ‘adultist’ perspective of adult-led child involvement, the case of a children-led ‘revolution’, where children actively and diligently expressed their views, serves as an illustration of their gradual acquisition of democratic participation skills, not exempt from affective and emotional dimensions of amazement and fascination with the very process of collective decision-making.

Defying Spatial and Temporal Boundaries: Practices of Lived Citizenship

As mentioned previously, the conception of lived citizenship problematises the traditional association of citizenship with the nation state and highlights citizenship as a struggle played out in multiple spaces. According to Warming and Fahnøe (2017), space is not simply a place where things happen but rather a situation of social action where material and discursive relations are interwoven. This attribute of space gains particular relevance in the following ethnographic example observed by Fichtner and Trần.

One day, a new announcement appears in the glass showcase, located in the refugee accommodation. In an official tone it reads: ‘Parents’ duty to supervise their underage children.’ The announcement explains: ‘parents have the duty of supervision at all times, i.e. they must look after their children. Past 6 p.m., children below the age of 12 years are not allowed to stay on ground floor nor in other parts of the building, without parental supervision. After this hour security will not allow children to leave the building. During school holidays for children up to 12 years of age, the exception is extended to 8 p.m. From 10 p.m. children and adults have to observe the nightly silence on the entire premises (outside on the terrace as well as inside the house)! Parents are liable for their children (in case of financial and material costs)!’ (Field notes, 23 May 2017).

Similar announcements are placed in other accommodations, often in the major languages spoken by residents (Farsi, Arabic, English) and in German.

These short notices can be perceived as a material trope exemplifying in a succinct form the living conditions and strict rules faced by refugee children and their families in refugee accommodations. However, against these temporal and age-specific restrictions, children engage in inventive acts of disobedience, acted out on a daily basis. They play secretly in the long corridors, making use of their parents’ distractedness and lapses in supervision. Disregarding the time and age constraints, which are based on a logic of governance and safety (Scott and Le 2019: 149), groups of children hang out in the open space of the reception area, taking advantage of the absence of security. These spatial practices (Lefebvre 1991; Scott and Le 2019) contribute to their expression of lived citizenship, intimately intertwined with their individual life stories, their past and present encounters with forced migration, and their current status as refugees.

Building on Hannah Arendt's understanding of citizenship, which she situates in space that ‘arises out of acting and speaking together’ (Arendt 1998: 198), Larkins (2014: 14) understands citizenship action ‘also as a practice through which the self is created and revealed’, in the negotiations of social existence. This can account not only for children's participation, as in the case of the ‘children's revolution’, but also for the activities that are framed as disobedience. As they actively transgress age-specific discursive rules and material limitations, children's appropriation of space through play and hanging out in groups may be considered a citizenship action that translates an inner struggle. It might be perceived as an indirect way to assert socially agreed rights that are being denied by external constraints, for example the lack of adequate housing and space for exploration and development of refugee children, or even exclusion or deportation, as in the case of Spiderman.

Invisibilisation of Discrimination Against Accompanied Refugee Children

The above quoted short notice may also be considered an illustration of the broader discrimination against refugee children living with their families that often goes unnoticed in relevant literature. Unlike the unaccompanied minors who are entitled to special protection, families with young children are placed in mass refugee accommodation that barely responds to children's developmental needs (Lewek and Naber 2017; World Vision and Hoffnungstraeger Stiftung 2016: 49; Seeberg et al. 2009). Moreover, German asylum law explicitly exempts these refugee centres from Child and Youth Welfare Act quality standards. To access adequate living standards, children therefore depend on their parents’ capacity to apply for the welfare benefits of the Child and Youth Welfare Act (SGB VIII), which they often lack due to linguistic and social limitations. To complicate the situation, there are no uniform standards with regard to the well-being and safety of children in mass refugee accommodation either at the national level or the European level (Save the Children n.d.).

Based on their analysis of the legal and ethical aspects of refugee children's well-being, Lars Hillmann and Annette Dufner (2017) raise the provocative question of whether refugee children in Germany would be better off if they were unaccompanied. This is because unaccompanied minors’ living conditions are addressed under the Children and Youth Welfare Act, which applies equally to nationals and unaccompanied minors and grants them the same rights of protection, provision and participation. This question is indeed provocative, as it could imply on the one hand that state institutions are better prepared than refugee parents to raise children. This assumption challenges the Western understanding of parenting, which implies that parents are the only ones originally and genuinely responsible for childcare – as is also clearly exemplified in the above announcement on ‘Parents’ duty to supervise their underage children’. However, if migrant children hosted with their families in state institutions are not provided for according to German standards, migrant families run the risk of being held responsible for these circumstances: ‘Parents are liable for their children in case of financial and material costs!’ Asylum and migration family policies that only address parents concerning the provision for and care of children contribute to the invisibility of discrimination processes against accompanied refugee children. This contributes to their double victimisation, as they are discriminated against both as refugees and as children, whose parents – and not the host states – are blamed to have failed to protect them.

Conclusions

In this article I have explored social practices in the everyday life of marginalised social groups such as refugee children and their families living in refugee accommodations in Germany. To discuss these, I have introduced the concept of lived citizenship, used as a framework for analysis and reflection on how intersecting structures affect refugee children's agency, life conditions and well-being. This analysis is complemented by a spatial perspective, acknowledging the entanglement of material and discursive dimensions in the construction of social practices constitutive of citizenship.

I conclude that children practise ‘citizenship’ both as naturalised citizens and as so-called non-citizens, blurring the distinction between nationality and status in their activities. Despite their exclusion from formal political spaces as ‘children’, they share the common experience of struggling for justice and membership in a polity body. One first step towards empowerment of children's citizenship could be to recognise the value and meaning of children's agency, also in border crossings and refusals of deportation. As Hannah Arendt writes, people should be judged by their actions and opinions and not by ascriptive constructions of difference of an essentialist nature. This is all the more true for refugee children.