Introduction: Forced Migration and the Limits of Citizenship

This article argues that the qualities associated with citizenship were put under increased pressure by the dissolution of states that followed the wars and the collapse of empires in the mid-twentieth century. The reconfigured states faced the challenge of redefining their national identity and, consequently, their relationship with the constituent populations. Displacements, both internal and across redrawn borders, were a frequent occurrence. The introduction argues that the experiences of what Arendt terms ‘national minorities’ demonstrate the inconsistencies in the protection offered to citizens whose ethnicity or race differed from the state’s imagined ideal citizen. Structured in two parts, this special issue examines firstly the response of states and finds that they wield citizenship law as a means of shaping and regulating their national identity. Secondly, it examines the implications of displacement for citizens, and their new cultural distinctiveness and sense of belonging that contribute to constructions of citizenship.


The Limits of Citizenship*
From its origins in ancient Greece onwards, conceptions of citizenship have been contested. In the modern period, the complex relationship between the specific rights pertaining to citizens and the notion of fundamental human rights has become a subject both of scholarly enquiry and of practical lived experience that has reflected the evolving values associated with the status of membership of the nation. This is particularly in evidence where the state exerts its power over the citizen in instances of state violence or displacement. The French Declaration of the Rights of Man and of the Citizen (1789) set out one of the earliest visions of universal rights; despite proposing a single set of rights, the tension inherent in its title hinted at how human rights would come to be seen as entwined with the legal notion of citizenship. This was not least because, despite the state acting as guarantor of citizenship, there was no inherent link between citizenship and territory. French citizenship was -briefly -open to foreigners, and the ideal citizen was constructed and regulated by a range of factors such as age, gender and economic activity, producing categories of 'active' and 'passive' citizens within the national body who, according to the designation of the state, enjoyed varying levels of privilege and protections. Rights, whether or not these derived from citizenship, were at the state's discretion. As Arendt famously observed, far from being universal, 'the right to have rights' depended on membership of a national community and the largesse of a state.1 The rise of human rights as a distinct legal area following the Second World War intersected with the dissolution of states that began after the First World War, as the Austro-Hungarian empire crumbled, and entered a new stage as the Second World War accelerated the fragmentation of empires, primarily but not exclusively centred in Europe. The reconfigurations of the nation-state that took place led to significant new interrogations of the relationship between states and their constituent populations. Forced migration was an important element of this process of national interrogation, as groups deemed undesirable were displaced either internally or across newly drawn national borders. Arendt referred to these processes as 'the transformation of the state from an instrument of the law into an instrument of the nation' .2 Power dynamics shaped by religion, race and ethnicity produced newly dominant communities with, as their corollary, the emergence of what Arendt called 'national minorities' . In principle the latter were citizens within their own country but, as distinct from the dominant community and its culture, to differing extents they occupied the position of denizens and did not enjoy the same legal protections afforded to other citizens by the state. As Arendt argues, the link between territory and nationality was such that: …only nationals could be citizens, only people of the same national origin could enjoy the protection of legal institutions, that persons of different nationality needed some law of exception until or unless they were completely assimilated and divorced from their origin.3 Her argument proposed that individuals may be official members of the state yet remain excluded from the nation. Yet despite the insecurity of their position, it remained immeasurably superior to that of the 'stateless peoples' , of whom Arendt herself was one, and whose legal status remained the primary focus of human rights' legislation.
This special issue takes as its focus the situation in which such 'national minorities' found themselves from 1918 onwards, and examines historical instances of forced migration in which peoples were displaced within or by states of which they held, or had held, citizenship. It argues that the dissolution of countries brought about by war and accentuated by the collapse of empires led states to face a series of challenges as the redrawing of geographical boundaries forced them to reconceptualise their identity. The decision to make factors such as religion or ethnicity central to nationhood led to major forced displacements, such as the population exchange between Greece and Turkey. In other cases, such as Algeria, the war which led to the exodus of most European settlers was followed by nation-building that placed a legal emphasis on the role of religion and language within the nation, excluding certain groups from the citizenry and hastening the departure of many of the remaining European population. Imperial states such as Portugal, whose boundaries had been radically altered by the independence of former overseas colonies or provinces, found themselves forced to rethink their identity as solely European nations, and made the choice to revise their citizenship laws in order to discourage or prevent the migration of Africans to the former imperial homeland.
The special issue interrogates the challenges to citizenship from two distinct angles. Firstly, we examine the actions of states and their use of citizenship laws in response to the forced -and voluntary -migration of national groups. Contributors map the political, legal and administrative steps taken by states to counter the geopolitical shifts caused, in particular, by the end of empire, both to accommodate the repatriation of citizens deemed acceptable within the renewed vision of the nation, and to discourage, displace or remove groups whose political, religious or ethnic identities were perceived to be at odds with the national aims. In this context, citizenship represented a barrier that protected the nation, and its granting, suspension or removal was a key tool in the management of populations, used by successive administrations as a means of regulation and control. Our analysis highlights the contingency of citizenship status and the various forms that it has taken in different historical and geographical contexts, where citizenship may not bring with it privileges -such as the right to own property -that, since the French Revolution, have been considered an inherent part of citizen rights in the Global North. The findings underscore Arendt's argument about the precarity of rights when these are removed or not guaranteed by a state; they demonstrate the unevenness of citizenship and the contingent nature of national appurtenance for those who, for reasons of ethnicity, race or religion, failed to conform to the model of the ideal citizen.
Secondly, we examine the limits of citizenship for citizens' sense of belonging. While citizenship is generally regarded as offering full legal membership of the nation, we explore instances in which barriers to acceptance remain. This has particular relevance for the displaced minorities to whom Pamela Ballinger refers as 'national refugees' .4 In many cases, despite their legal status, the religious or ethnic affiliations of minorities with full citizenship were nonetheless perceived by the majority as irreducible to the imagined community of the nation, resulting in a situation of social rejection. This was acute in instances of postcolonial repatriation, where European settlers repatriated to Europe found themselves racialised as natives of the former colony, with cultural and ethnic attributes imposed upon them. For repatriated Europeans this lack of acceptance waned over time, but in situations of forced migration where race was a factor, social rejection was lasting. Conversely, and also as a response to social rejection, national minorities felt no sense of belonging to the receiving society; as groups which experienced hostility from the receiving society, they resisted identification with the dominant culture and maintained their allegiance to previous identities. The articles which explore this phenomenon adopt methodologies of 'history from below' , drawing on the personal experiences and testimonies of affected individuals to illuminate the affective ties -or their absence -that bound 'national minorities' to their nations. In both instances, we explore the limits of citizenship for those groups displaced, demonstrating that citizenship, and the rights associated with it, is not inherent but provisional and is 'contested at every level from its very meaning to its political application, with implications for the kind of society to which we aspire' .5 As such, it serves to illuminate the changing nature of states across the upheavals of the twentieth century.

Conceptions of Citizenship and the Citizen
The rights and protections offered by citizenship have historically been varied and contingent. The Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen envisaged a community living under the rule of law, a concept inherited from the earliest polis of ancient Greece. Political participation, freedom of speech and religion and the right to hold property were seen as key aspects of national membership, albeit a membership radically circumscribed by economic means, gender and age. But the rights of a citizen were far from inalienable for, as Arendt observed, what a state bestowed it could also withdraw. At the extreme, citizens could be made stateless; other measures less extreme but nevertheless devastating to the individual could also be taken, and forced displacement was common. Individuals judged to have committed offenses, political or criminal, were transported to bagnes in French Guyana, Australia and Algeria amongst others, sites that, although theoretically within the territory of the nation or empire, removed individuals from society, often permanently. Even temporary imprisonment brought with it the loss of political participation for individuals convicted of crimes. But the state's decision to sanction its citizens was frequently unconnected to any act that they might have undertaken, most notoriously in the case of German Jews under Hitler's regime. State violence against its citizens encompassed the removal of all rights, from freedom of speech to the right to life itself. In the process it created a hierarchy of citizens and denizens with permission to reside and participate in national life to varying degrees, often based on group appurtenance rather than individual conduct. While the articles in this issue broadly focus on case studies in which formal citizenship, understood in the post-1945 sense of rights and responsibilities, is at stake or in question, the spectre of 'denizenhood' or outright statelessness nonetheless echoes back and forth across history.
Despite -perhaps because of -its contested and contingent nature, citizenship in the late twentieth century has become the gold standard membership of the nation. In response, the emergent field of citizenship studies has broadly adopted the contemporary emphasis on citizen rights and responsibilities. We argue for caution in uncritically adopting this approach, which risks dehistoricising the ways in which citizenship as a contested category has operated throughout modern history. Nonetheless, while many of its characteristics may be a relatively recent development, historically, as a marker of national membership, citizenship has signified firstly the state's assignation of privilege to the individual, and secondly the assumption of a certain consistency in the treatment of citizens: an assumption that this issue argues is flawed. Understandings of citizenship privilege have coalesced around certain qualities. Building on the work of Thomas Marshall, Bloemraad et al. have mapped citizenship across four dimensions: legal status, rights, political and other forms of participation in society and a sense of belonging.6 Central to this is the projection of a model that links rights and duties, with individuals contributing to the state through work, military service or public duties, and parenting, and in return receiving redistributive entitlements.7 In practice, however, the rights accessed via citizenship have been uneven and varied since citizenship is intimately bound up with nationalism and ideals of national identity. The characteristics imputed to an imagined ideal citizen contribute to, and condition, citizenship as it is constituted and policed by the juridical policies put in place to regulate it: it is by its nature therefore both inclusive and exclusionary. Under the tension of war, colonialism and decolonisation, the ostensibly clear juridical outlines of citizenship were in fact constantly shifting. Hierarchies emerged following racial, ethnic or religious lines: indigenous peoples were assigned the status of subjects and denied rights of political representation or property ownership, making them into denizens of the state. Even where indigenous peoples were naturalised, either voluntarily or as, for example, in the case of the Jews of Algeria, by legal decree, their citizenship was nonetheless subject to discrimination as part of a wider social hierarchy: identity papers might be issued by and belong to the state, but that did not translate to the cultural acceptance of their bearer.8 Indigenous citizenship was inherently provisional and subject to the vagaries of the colonial power. Times of war, in particular, exposed the precarious nature of status, as the external threat catalysed discriminatory policies: the Second World War saw the Vichy administration strip Algeria's Jews of their citizenship while, as Madden discusses in this issue, Native American citizens were displaced and interned. The experiences of these indigenous groups can be read in parallel with those of displaced settler citizens; while they cannot be conflated, together they call for a closer examination of the workings of citizenship.
Scholars of the contemporary period have identified entangled conceptions of citizenship that, while evident in twenty-first century societies, we argue find their roots in the upheavals of the twentieth century. The role of mass immigration, often from the newly independent former colonies, in the postwar period accounts to a large extent for the fact that scholars have frequently regarded citizenship primarily as the key goal for those anxious to integrate into a host society.9 Consequently, research in citizenship studies has focused on the regulatory policies that serve as 'gatekeepers' to the nation-state via citizenship laws. This focus on the administrative and power structures of the nation-state has tended to overlook the responses and agency of individual citizens and those who would be citizens in terms of their attitudes, affective attachment, strategic choices or social participation, a situation that has begun to be addressed by recent research.10 These findings indicate that the multiple facets of citizenship are invested with values that vary according to the positionality of the individual. Researchers suggest that new arrivals excluded from membership see the value of citizenship as lying primarily in the material benefits offered.11 For them, the process of acquiring citizenship is a barrier to be overcome in order to attain the desired goal. For immigrants seeking citizenship of a state economically more prosperous than the originating state, those benefits include access to a range of rights previously unavailable: mobility, security or higher social status.12 In contrast, research has found that different attitudes prevail amongst those who enjoy citizenship by birth and who tend to see their own status as bound up with cultural identity and social belonging.13 This perspective regards citizenship as a bulwark or filter that serves to protect and preserve the 'character' or culture of the nation. It is less likely to recognise that the legal status offered by citizenship may play an important role in facilitating and legitimising sentiments of equality and belonging.14 This research indicates that for those excluded from citizenship, the 'hard' dimension of legal status and its associated benefits dominates, while sentiments of belonging follow from the attainment of citizenship. However, it does not explore the complex relationship between individuals and their citizenship, where their sense of belonging conflicts with their legal status. By analysing the experiences of groups that have undergone forced migration, the articles in this special issue contribute to our understanding of this under-researched area. Citizenship, as a category of belonging, is intimately connected with hierarchies of racial, gendered, linguistic and political identity, and in what follows, the citizenship of those who experience forced migration is revealed as a constant process of renegotiation, contestation and sometimes refusal. While some case studies deal with the consequences of changes in citizenship law, others demonstrate that, for forced migrants and in particular those of colonial origin, citizenship is rarely the solution to their struggles; it does not overwrite the nationalist and racist hierarchies engineered by states. As Aihwa Ong argues, 'Racial categories are fundamentally about degrees of deserving and undeserving citizenship. Such relative positioning in the national moral order is part of the political unconscious that variously informs official and unofficial perception and action.'15 As citizenship is primarily associated in contemporary discourses with issues of voluntary immigration and integration, and in historical analysis with the consequences of being stripped of citizenship, less attention has been given to the effects of being forcibly assigned legal membership of a state. Exploring the processes by which individuals negotiate and maintain identitarian allegiances is one way in which the issue serves to illuminate the functions and limits of citizenship in the twentieth century.

Reconceptualising the Nation(-State)
The instances of forced migration discussed here took place in diverse contexts with a shared characteristic: all feature a nation renewing its conception of itself as a state and grappling with the model of the ideal citizen that this conception implied. While the catalyst for this process was often war, in many of the case studies that follow the precise context was the break-up of empire.
Occasionally this was indirect, as in the case of India, where Partition resulted in the creation of two independent states. Choden's discussion of the displacement of the Chakma people, forced by the development of new government infrastructure projects to move from East Pakistan to Arunachal Pradesh, demonstrates the legal legacies of empire that persist long after the act of independence, not least in the affinity with colonial structures of thought that consign groups to hierarchical categories. More commonly, however, the articles that follow examine the direct consequences of decolonisation, which brought about waves of empire, both voluntary and forced. Individuals who had held citizenship under colonialism found themselves displaced from the newly independent state to the imperial centre. Their forced movement was often accompanied or followed by immigration by indigenous peoples who may have held more complex subject status and who were fleeing the difficult economic circumstances of independence. This had a number of consequences. States responded by producing new legislation that differentiated between 'acceptable' citizens who were given varying levels of support, and 'undesirable' subjects whose presence might be tolerated -for varying periods of time -because of the labour benefits it offered, but whose accession to full citizenship was circumscribed. However, even those colonial citizens perceived as 'acceptable' faced significant challenges. As citizens displaced within the theoretical boundaries of the territory, moving internally from one province to another, they benefited from what Andrea Smith calls a 'postcolonial bonus':16 their legal citizenship and their fluency in the receiving culture. Consequently, they might have expected to integrate seamlessly with the existing population. Yet their experiences indicate that the legal status prized by immigrants was no guarantee of social acceptance. Nor did it always produce a sense of belonging and allegiance amongst the repatriate community, despite belonging being regarded as an important quality of citizenship.
The number of citizens 'internally' displaced by war and the end of empire is significant: Smith estimates that between five and seven million people were repatriated to Europe alone during the 35 years that followed decolonisation.17 Yet as Ballinger observes, their experiences have often been overlooked precisely because their citizenship rendered them invisible, making them difficult to distinguish amongst the mass of their compatriots.18 The situation is made more complex because their citizenship takes precedence over other categories. They do not fit the definition of refugees, as set out in the 1951 Convention, nor, in many cases, did they cross national boundaries, being displaced within a territory shortly before that territory underwent the abrupt amputation produced by independence. In many cases those displaced had origins outside the imperial centre and had never lived there, and so cannot accurately be described as repatriates. The suggestion made in certain contexts (for example Daum, on the French pied-noir experience)19 that movement is ultimately voluntarily, would see displaced citizens considered as migrants, or indeed, as Ballinger points out, 'reverse migrants' . But this approach elides the often widespread and prolonged violence experienced, and erases the admittedly blurred line that for many governments remains a fundamental aspect of their immigration policies. Ballinger's term 'national refugees' , derived from the Italian experience, may be the most appropriate but it has not acquired widespread usage. Yet regardless of the debates over nomenclature, these groups have one thing in common: despite their citizenship, they were deprived by forced displacement of certain rights, and in response experienced feelings of inequality and resentment.
We examine such experiences through close analysis of case studies that afford us the opportunity to investigate what Renato Rosaldo calls 'cultural citizenship' , that is, the right to be different without compromising one's right to belong and participate in the democratic process.20 Since legal status is not at issue in these cases, we might usefully ask how displaced groups of citizens are treated by the state at policy level, and then how they are treated by individual agents of the state, and finally by their fellow citizens. In comparison with the wealth of research that exists on the migrant experience, the histories of citizens, both settlers and indigenous peoples, displaced following war and decolonisation have been under-examined, particularly in relation to non-European empires. We set out to trace those histories and, in particular, to test the limits of citizenship for displaced groups.

State Citizenship Policies and the Agency of Displaced Citizens
The articles in this special issue tackle the legal, material and cultural ramifications of citizenship and belonging in the wake of forced migration, and open up questions about the ways in which citizenship is made and unmade through migrations, forced or otherwise. At its core the special issue demonstrates how the major events of the mid-twentieth century -the World Wars and the end of empire -played a crucial role in shaping nation-building. As states sought to define themselves, the relationship with their constituent populations was placed under renewed pressure that simultaneously reinforced and destabilised racialised hierarchies of citizenship across the globe in ways that continue to resonate to this day. The first section of this special issue examines the citizenship policies enacted by the states seeking to negotiate and control the shape of their respective citizenry. Nowhere were the inconsistencies of citizenship policy more in evidence than in settler colonial societies, where settlers of European origin had commonly held the citizenship of the colonising power. While in principle citizenship of the independent state may have been offered to them, in practice the formerly colonised nations merely aped the methods of their former masters: as in colonial times citizenship came with -often unacceptable -strings attached. With a new hierarchy in place, individuals were obliged to abandon religion or language in order to embrace the nation's remodelled identity; while race featured less frequently in the newly penned constitutions, it nonetheless served to identify groups as acceptable or not within the sphere of the nascent state. Fear of continuing violence and the hostile social environment sent panicked settlers towards the states of which they held citizenship. In some cases, such as the French pieds-noirs of Algeria, they were fleeing to a state in which many had never set foot, Algeria having been colonised by the French shortly after the conquest of 1830. The welcome that greeted them in France -lukewarm if not openly hostile -spoke to the racialisation of colonial Europeans and influenced the support measures put in place by the French government. While limited benefits were made available to support the immediate costs of repatriation, pied-noir repatriates fought a decade-long campaign demanding indemnification for the assets abandoned in Algeria when the French withdrew, and many died in poverty before receiving financial redress. The campaigns demonstrated that, in practice, the rights accorded to introduction Journal of Migration History 8 (2022) 331-346 Downloaded from Brill.com11/06/2022 02:20:05PM via free access groups through citizenship varied widely: some groups were accorded specific financial and material support yet nonetheless remained exposed to discrimination and were denied cultural citizenship in ways that had a lasting impact.
Yet the pieds-noirs' status as citizens was never in question. In contrast, indigenous Algerians under colonialism held the status of subjects, with citizenship open to them only at the cost of abandoning their Muslim identity, a price that few chose to pay. The colonial attitudes that had underpinned France's Code de l'indigénat continued to regulate the treatment of Algerian economic immigrants arriving in France after independence. Patrick Weil has traced the various alterations made to citizenship law from the 1960s onwards, much of it aimed at allowing France to benefit from the Algerian labour force whilst ensuring that they remained as far as possible, temporary residents.21 The racist legacies of colonialism continue to play out today in France's political debates, underpinning the long rise of the extreme right.
The nationality debate in the French-Algerian case has been well established by Weil and other scholars. In this issue Morgane Delaunay, Elsa Peralta and Bruno Góis examine the policy responses of another European state to a comparable situation: that is, the repatriation of Portuguese settlers from Angola and Mozambique, followed by the postcolonial immigration of indigenous Africans. Unlike settlers in Algeria, the majority of the retornados had been born in Portugal, ensuring that their citizenship was secure; however, as Delaunay, Peralta and Góis argue, their settler identity ensured that they were racialised upon their return to Europe. The article highlights the inconsistencies in how colonials of different ethnicities were treated under nationality law, and traces the disjunctures between the legal position of Portugal's overseas provinces -styled as an integral part of the state -and the position of Africans, who as a consequence were nominally born Portuguese but who were systematically discriminated against. It demonstrates the extent to which colonial policies and attitudes underpin Portuguese conceptions of citizenship throughout the twentieth century, consistently promulgating colonial hierarchies, but also highlights that multidirectional migration flows to and from Africa continued beyond independence to an extent rarely seen in other European contexts.
While the end of empire in the twentieth century is frequently associated with Europe, citizens were also being repatriated from Japanese territories as its empire collapsed after the defeat of the Second World War. Jonathan Bull's article in this issue on Japanese repatriates, or hikiagesha, highlights the Eurocentrism of conventional notions of citizenship as he sets out the administrative and political place occupied by nationals within Japan's postwar regime. Based on analysis of Japanese state papers, he argues that the Japanese authorities drew on narratives of repatriation in order to support Japan's transition from empire to nation state. They faced a chaotic context, in which groups from different imperial territories, including the mainland, held disparate and conflicting experiences of national belonging. Following the contention of the special issue that citizenship policy was central to the remaking of modern states, Bull argues that Japanese government officials used the experience of repatriation to create a discourse that represented the repatriate figure as having national belonging in order to assuage concerns about state affiliation. Repatriation thus became a vehicle for the promotion of a new narrative that linked both indigenous peoples and colonial settlers in a new conception of Japanese national identity.
War and the collapse of empire also produced groups who did not fit into the vision of new state authorities, and who consequently suffered discrimination and forced displacement. In her article Nawang Choden examines, in this issue, the post-Partition policies enacted against the Chakmas, a tribal people who, despite being Buddhist, found themselves located in Muslimdominated East Pakistan after Partition in 1947. Having previously enjoyed a relative degree of autonomous rule, as an ethnic minority the Chakmas lacked the protection of the state. Because the authorities regarded their presence in the Chittagong Hill Tract areas as an obstacle to the development of new state infrastructure, large numbers of them were displaced in the 1960s to make way for the construction of the Kaptai Dam. Thousands were relocated to Arunachal Pradesh in India, where they have since campaigned for civil rights. Choden's discussion illuminates the consequences of nation-building and demonstrates the extent to which the vision of the newly independent state can be exclusionary towards its own indigenous peoples, depriving them of the right to reside. It highlights the arbitrary decisions of bordering and relocation to which indigenous colonial peoples were vulnerable, and which persisted after the formal end of colonisation. Moreover, her analysis of the Chakma experience challenges Eurocentric understandings of citizenship by demonstrating how it is constructed by the tiered system of state and federal law, and its limits, where legacy colonial legislation continues to operate. In this case, the special status given to Arunachal Pradesh under British rule and preserved by the government of independent India, has implications for the rights of the displaced Chakmas. The case foregrounds an instance in which ethnicity has been inserted into law, with citizenship of the state of Arunachal Pradesh defined on ethnic lines. Furthermore, it is supplemented by additional legislation -the Bengal Eastern Frontier Regulation Act of 1873 -that restricts property rights to local citizens. What Choden's work demonstrates, then, is how colonial-era measures can continue to exert influence over the rights of displaced groups in a post-colonial context, to the extent that they take precedence over national law and effectively disassociate property rights from the rights of the citizen.
The second section of the special issue moves the focus from the actions of states to consider the responses of citizens to the experience of forced displacement. Citizens have long been subject to displacement by the states of which they are putative members; however, the fact that certain groups are more frequently subject to displacement exposes the character of the state. If settler citizens like the pieds-noirs and retornados are displaced, they nonetheless benefit from their status as putative members of the colonising group. In contrast, colonised citizens of empire may find themselves displaced by the very states that should guarantee their rights.
With citizenship laws acting as the 'gate-keepers' of the nation-state, race and racism serve as the arbiters and determine the varying degrees of rights enjoyed. In her analysis of the Australian context of settler colonial policies towards migrants and indigenous peoples, Moreton-Robinson clearly defines the racial hierarchy at work: 'While blackness was congruent with Indigenous subjugation and subordination, patriarchal whiteness was perceived as being synonymous with freedom and citizenship ' .22 This variation in citizenship rights through proximity to whiteness extends to many indigenous communities, even in countries such as the United States that style themselves as anti-imperial. Ryan Madden's history of the Aleut people of Alaska, in this issue, demonstrates that, as in the case of the Chakma people, indigenous groups previously subjected to imperial activity -in this case Russian administration and missionary outreach, which led to the Aleuts' Orthodox religion -continue to be treated as distinct and inferior to majority population citizens. Despite being American citizens, hundreds of Aleuts were forcibly evacuated from their lands during the Second World War. The displacement was due to fears of attack by the Japanese military, but as Madden argues, the treatment experienced by the Aleuts, which included internship in insalubrious conditions, violated the expectations of protection that might be expected by citizens. The Aleuts eventually received a formal apology for their treatment from the US government but, as Madden argues, the political mobilisation and activism that they developed in response to their experiences has played an important role in shaping Aleuts' understanding of their identity as Aleuts and as American citizens.
Memory activism is indeed an important aspect for many repatriated settler communities, as they seek to make sense of the loss of home and identity. The immediate concern is commonly for financial compensation and legal redress, but once these goals are attained -often after sustained political campaigning by community activists -the focus shifts to the symbolic realm. Displacement involves the loss of culture, often regarded as unique to the group and therefore to be preserved and passed on to younger generations. Communities also have to come to terms with a loss of identity, in that they no longer see their own sense of self reflected back at them by the majority population in the host society. Whatever status and achievements they cherished in their homeland are lost to the empty signifiers 'repatriate' and 'refugee' that, with often racialised prejudices, are now projected onto them.
These issues are discussed in this special issue by Arnoud Arps in his article on the representations of the Indo-European settlers who were repatriated to the Netherlands from the Dutch East Indies. His work complements our earlier article on the Portuguese state's response to the loss of their colonies, by offering the perspective of the settler community as represented in the documentary Contractpensions -Djangan Loepah! Produced by second-generation repatriates, through its interrogation of the concept of home it traces the tensions between geographical attachment, the repatriates' identity and their brittle Dutch nationality. Arps' film analysis allows him to engage with the words and images used by the repatriate community to represent the notions of home and belonging as they are fashioned into a new Indo-European repatriate identity and culture that sit within, and distinct from, the ideal imagined Dutch nationality. It represents an important addition to the existing scholarship on Europe's repatriated settlers.
The disjuncture between citizenship and belonging is given powerful voice in our final article. As we have seen, a sense of belonging is generally accepted as being one facet of citizenship, understood as an affinity with, or allegiance to, the state of which one is a citizen. There is an expectation that allegiance to the state will be coterminous with the territory for which the group holds affective identification. Huw Halstead, in this issue, examines the consequences when this expectation is circumvented by analysing the experiences of some of the thousands of Greek citizens of Greek ethnicity forced to leave following the expulsion of Greeks by the Turkish authorities in 1964. In a further layer of complexity, many were accompanied by members of their families who held Turkish citizenship. Through analysis of oral histories, Halstead builds a rich picture of the multi-layered affective ties from which individuals constructed introduction Journal of Migration History 8 (2022) 331-346 Downloaded from Brill.com11/06/2022 02:20:05PM via free access their sense of self. Deeply held memories feature nostalgia, idealisation, alienation and bitterness, all of which become melded into a particular identity that Halstead calls 'inclusive particularity' , a term that emphasises cultural distinctiveness in the midst of belonging. The role of citizenship within this cultural mélange emerges as one signifier amongst many; historically insignificant until administrative barriers, such as conscription or expulsion, intervened. Instead, Halstead argues for an alternative understanding of what, Harpaz and Mateos,23 he terms 'strategic citizenship' , a practice of often plural allegiances performed daily in informal ways that escape the official silos of administrative bureaucracy. Such practices may be driven by affective bonds or based on various practical considerations, but in each case they testify to the agency of individuals making and remaking their sense of belonging. Like the other articles in this issue, his work reveals the limits of citizenship in protecting individuals, and the multiple values with which individuals invest the term. Beyond that, his research and that of the other contributors demonstrate the active relationship that individuals build with notions (of home, belonging, culture and identity) associated with citizenship, notions that may intersect only intermittently with their official status.