intertitle.gif (2406 bytes)
Volume 5.2 1997
ISSN 1048-3721
This page was last updated on 03/15/99



Douglas Klusmeyer
Sophie H. Pirie

At first glance, the current political charge surrounding immigration issues in the United States and Europe seems particularly acute and immune to comfortable compromise. Some people contend that the recent policy debates on asylum and citizenship symptomize a building fin de siècle hysteria.1 In fact, migration, asylum, citizenship, and assimilation have been hot social, economic, and political topics for at least as long as states have been around, and arguably for as long as there have been communities whose self-identification has involved closure or notions of difference. Some of the debates—particularly those having to do with the long- and short-term economic impacts of immigration—seem repetitive as one looks back through this century or across countries: Do immigrants "steal" jobs from "natives"? Do they impose costs on the welfare, education, and other social support systems greater than their tax, social security, and other contributions? But other immigration issues—such as those concerned with cultural and political membership—have been evolving over time in specific places as well as in the theoretical literature. These latter issues connect to wider debates about cultural identities, political commitments, and the meaning of the transition from modernity to post-modernity that is at the heart of current fin de siècle efforts at self-understanding.

The authors of the articles in this issue of the Stanford Humanities Review situate themselves, with varying degrees of explicitness, in both the immigration-based membership debates and the wider debates about political and cultural identity. They share a commitment to "deconstructing" or "unpacking" the frames of reference such debates deploy. In making explicit the contingency of meanings and the problematic vagueness of universalistic principles and global solutions, these authors speak in post-modern voices. But in examining the genealogies of particular theories and local constructions of political membership, these authors pierce the veil of modernity to reveal vibrant pre-modern nativisms and self-understandings. They articulate how this veneer has engendered complacency, mystification, and injury.


Some years ago, this journal hosted a forum on Critical Legal Studies, during the course of which Thomas Heller argued:

The formation of knowledge is a collective process, a communal process.... [Once that] proposition is accepted, the critical question becomes the boundaries of the community or the inclusion or exclusion within the operation of a particular code.2


In this issue, Tom Heller explores his earlier argument in terms of the current debates about multiculturalism. He seeks to show how membership (and immigration) issues and policies derive from, rather than drive, fundamental debates about the role of the state and its relationship to the individual. Moreover, they do so in ways that are at least as determined by particular and contingent constructions of political economy as by the logic of such meta-discourses as liberalism and national culture. To reveal the complex ways in which these relationships among membership, liberalism, and multiculturalism play into specific political and policy configurations, Heller uses Will Kymlicka’s Multicultural Citizenship3 as a counterpoint and example of the problems of an argument that relies too much on logic and not enough on genealogical specificity. Kymlicka argues that multiculturalism does not threaten either the fundamental nomos or the practical workings of liberal states; it is just a new iteration of the claim to self-government at the heart of the supposedly unitary tradition of liberalism that has characterized Western modernity. As such, it requires little beyond an accommodation of national territorial minorities so they can reproduce their (sub)national cultures; it does not—logically—give rise to legitimate claims by lifestyle or cultural/ethnic groups beyond those that existing traditions and forms of liberalism already acknowledge. Not only does Kymlicka’s account minimize what multicultural claims entail, but it is also so wholly abstracted from historical realities by its own internal drive to logical coherence (to an also abstracted version of liberalism) that it cannot account for the centrality, let alone the risks, of the race-based and republican (as opposed to national territorial) claims of multicultural politics in the United States. This failing, Heller argues, results from conflating the American individualist political tradition of liberalism with that of the European (and Canadian) nationalist cultural tradition of liberalism. With regard to migration and membership, the American variant of liberalism traditionally included relatively open borders, the easy availability of exit from any local jurisdiction or affiliation, and easy access to a citizenship for residents that offered little beyond what residency already delivered. Together, these constituted the basic properties of the United States’s reputation as an "immigrant society" and distinguished the U.S. from most European countries.

But race and republicanism complicate the American version of liberalism. These issues, as much as the more generalized American exceptionalism that Heller analyzes, shape the metaphors deployed, the policies argued, and the risks inhering in current debates in the U.S. about multiculturalism,immigration, membership, and the role of the welfare state. As other articles in this issue show, an issue like race will play itself out through a complex of displacement and co-optation. As Heller argues, race has been both devalued in the effort to purge residues of illiberalism in American society and transvalued as African Americans have accepted the category of their ascription and domination and turned it into the category of their self-identification and empowerment. But whether the devaluation and the transvaluation ultimately result in the progressive ends their claimants hope for is both contestable and actually contested. Still, such contests open our foundational myths for re-examination—a necessary and healthy exercise. In so doing, however, they risk revealing other nuances, such as the involuntariness of much of our in-migration, including, in particular, that of slaves and asylees. Such nuances add even more layers of complexity to understanding multicultural claims, let alone shaping a multiculturalist policy that would allow any particular liberal society to embrace and be healed by the insights of post-modernity rather than self-deceptively (or even openly) returned to the too easy distinctions of pre-modernity.

John D. Ely engages in the groundwork clarification of our vocabulary that Heller contends is critical if our arguments and counter-arguments about these issues are to engage rather than fly past each other as accusations and denials. Ely’s genealogy of the contested term "identity" questions efforts to use post-structuralist or standpoint theories to reconstitute political membership. In unmasking interlocking sets of ironies, Ely argues that the term identity, which can be traced to empirical and utilitarian philosophy, is beholden to liberal concepts of the state and the individual (although many modern wielders of the term articulate opposition to core aspects of liberalism including, in particular, its focus on the autonomous individual). But even as a "liberal" term, identity is rooted in ascription. Historically, it served as a tool of the state-building project of nationalism. Ely questions post-modern progressives who forget the right-wing nationalist (modern) and ethnic (pre-modern) agendas to which "identity" has been and continues to be put. Such progressives ignore the role of the modern state in constructing identities by such means as nationality classifications and citizenship, as well as by its enormous influence on our material lives. Finding the new identity politics too vulnerable to the dangers of ascriptive politics, Ely argues ultimately for a civic republican vision of active participation as the basis for citizenship and membership. Exemplary for him is Hannah Arendt’s model of citizenship, which was articulated in reaction to one of the most horrific efforts to channel migration, membership, and all other aspects of life into reconstituting a state on the basis of very explicit identity politics. But as more than an aspirational model, civic republicanism may be limited in practice to the very local and special circumstances of a polity of citizens sufficiently assured in their self-identity and economy as to be "free" enough for the demands of such political participation. Such extreme locality or particularity, however, may be found (only) among precisely those groups and in precisely those enclaves that are voicing the new identity politics about which Ely cautions.

Despite such concerns, identity politics are profoundly influencing current debates and policies concerning citizenship and thus even the definition of the nation-state to which the concept of citizenship remains tied. In "Citizenship Matters," Miriam Feldblum discusses recent developments that may suggest a transformation of the linkages among immigration, citizenship, and the nation-state. First are the developments of "post-national membership":4 the increasing incidence of dual citizenship, the extension of citizenship rights like voting to noncitizens, and the creation of supranational citizenship as in the example of the European Union. The first two indicate an understanding of immigrants’ mixed loyalties and human rights. The third bespeaks an opening of the nation-state and a displacement of identity from particular nations to a supranational entity. But there are also corresponding "neo-national membership" developments. Supranational citizenship and the extension of local suffrage rights to "denizens" are accompanied by a firmer closure of the outer borders of Europe and of the particular member states (as in the tightening of asylum rules) that protects member states from any ongoing "flooding" of "foreigners." Similarly, while the United States talks about recognizing dual citizenship with Mexico, it also debates terminating the automatic right to citizenship for children born on U.S. soil—but to "illegal alien" parents. While it is potentially liberating to realize the elasticity of citizenship concepts and policies, it is also crucial to acknowledge the shadows lurking in the relationship between citizenship and immigration and how pre-modern, modernist, and post-modern agendas deploy this lexical plasticity to seek tactical advantages in their rhetorical and political jousting.


The articles in the next two sections explore exactly how specific local discourses—understandings and even claims to truth—about membership and identity are formed in the fraught spaces of particular immigrant-"native" interactions. These articles unmask the boundaries, the inclusions and exclusions, that those discourses encode and propagate. They explore the fluid meanings of the terms used to articulate such discourses and also the particular shadows that have foiled past attempts and, unless confronted, will continue to foil future attempts at a progressive reshaping of the basis of the meaning, identity, and membership we experience as human beings and as state subjects.

In building upon recent articulations of the idea that immigration debates derive from rather than drive domestic debates about the nature of the polity,5 Jeane DeLaney explores changes in Argentine attitudes toward immigrants during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Not unlike the United States, Argentina in the 1800s remained close in its self-conception and political aspirations to its revolutionary roots. In building a new nation on the basis of individuals joined by a shared commitment to Enlightenment principles of equality, liberty, and popular sovereignty, Argentina welcomed as immigrants all who would embrace this political vision and work to build the new country. Toward the turn of the century, however, politically ascendant intellectuals, the "cultural nationalists," embraced Romantic notions about the distinctiveness of peoples and, for Argentina, the importance of defending the uniqueness and purity of its culture and traditions. As DeLaney points out, this was not a transformation in thinking aimed at justifying exclusionary policies designed to protect the local labor market from immigrant competition; turn-of-the-century Argentina still faced a labor shortage. Rather, this transformation derived from internal concerns about national identity. But it did drive immigration debates and policies, with the cultural nationalists arguing for the importance of cultural assimilation, rather than formal citizenship or allegiance to a particular political vision, as the basis of membership— of Argentineness. As DeLaney concludes, there is a cruel irony in the fluidity with which "the immigrant passed from the status of nation builder to become ... a potential threat to the national soul...." The warning here concerns not only the irony of Argentines (or Americans), themselves the descendants of immigrants, who fail to see the new immigrant as a mirror of the self. There is also the dehumanization that occurs when we forget our own genealogies: forgetting their original Enlightenment aspirations has haunted not only immigrant life but all individual social and political life in Argentina in ways that have shaken the identity of the nation. In recovering from its most recent period of severe human rights abuse, Argentina is once again having to transform its national myths and aspirations. No doubt immigrants and immigration policies will be implicated.

Michael Vann probes the resistance of the indigenous people of Hawaii to being "othered" on their own territory, in addition to being dispossessed of their land, independence, and much of their population and culture, by the haole immigrants. (Haole, pronounced "how-leh," originally meant foreigner, but came to mean Caucasian.) Native Hawaiians, like Argentines of pre-European descent, resemble the prototypes of Kymlicka’s national territorial minorities, and, at least under his multicultural rubric, they present the strongest (and easiest) case for special accommodations supposedly consistent with liberalism. Historically, both the white settlers and the Hawaiian state used national culture and membership strategies to, respectively, legitimize or contest haole domination. The haoles relied on exclusionist claims of moral and racial superiority and linkage to the ineluctable (and expansionist) nationalism of the United States. The resistant monarchy revived and celebrated Hawaiian cultural forms and opened its membership to all who would profess allegiance to the Hawaiian state, regardless of ethnicity or other ascription. On the one hand, the material realities of the contest were (and continue to be for the recently resurgent movement for Hawaiian national sovereignty, land reclamation and a rollback of haole cultural domination) hopelessly lopsided: the native Hawaiian population dwindled to a minority, their land was taken over by plantation elites, and their economic status was reduced to wage labor. On the other hand, the discursive and imaginative contests were more even. These contests played themselves out in state-sponsored pageantry, sports, festivals, and community morality plays. We see in these cultural activities not only the loci of each community’s self-imagining but also, through their linguistic practices, one of the critical mechanisms of political exclusion or inclusion. The Hawaiians, in their effort to resist socioeconomic domination with political multiculturalism, used bilingualism to recreate native Hawaiian cultural forms to which all could belong. The haoles, in their effort to bolster the self-righteous legitimacy of their domination, eschewed the taint of nativeness that bilingualism bespoke, even at the cost of limiting their ability to promulgate their myths to the local (non-haole, but increasingly heterogeneous) population. While economic, military, and political dominance will provoke contests over national identity and membership, they do not do so in any strongly predetermined way. As was true in Argentina in the period prior to independence, so also in Hawaii: who is the racial exclusionist or the anti-immigrant at any given moment depends in part on one’s material position and needs but also on one’s assessment of what is a viable political strategy and on the rhetorical traps one may have already carved for oneself in a prior contest. To a fairly large extent, one can always (re)write versions of one’s own traditions and myths of identity to support either exclusion or inclusion, racial and cultural superiority or multicultural pluralism. And thus we see some native Hawaiians today calling for the exclusion of all haole, including those who would submit to Hawaiian national self-rule and cultural requirements. If our concern is with whether "multiculturalism" comes to embody a pre- or a post-modern trope as current debates about migration, membership, and identity play themselves out, then it is not so clear whether Kymlicka’s easy case is so easy—even for Hawaiians, haole interests quite aside.

Liliana Suárez-Navaz explores Feldblum’s delineation of the post-national and pre-national developments in citizenship policy through an examination of the ethnicization of social relations at the Mediterranean periphery of the EU. She analyzes how national and global transformations, like the EU, "interact with local idioms in the process of making sense of [new] circumstances." She further articulates precisely how changed material conditions and positions of relative power can influence membership and identity practices, as the Argentine and Hawaiian examples also demonstrate. Suárez-Navaz uses the experience of Africans in Spain to show how the relationship between the role of the state in determining who are its citizens and its inability to control who are its inhabitants contributes to the production of "new ethnicities." She describes a community in which many of the residents were Spanish peasants who had previously been migrant workers in Northern Europe and then returned to the new opportunities made available by Spain’s recent economic transformation. But this economic transformation had also transformed Spain from an emigrant to an immigrant nation, and not just for its own nationals. Thus, these Spanish ex-emigrants found themselves among immigrants from Northern Africa with whom they shared the experience of emigration, class background, and, often, occupation. Yet, it was not long before their cultural and ethnic differences became salient and politicized so as to allow the (returned) Spanish peasants of the community to redefine their location in the Spanish social structure and to claim an identity-based sense of inclusion—of membership—that contrasted with their pre-emigration experience of feeling foreign in their own country. This process was significantly impacted by the introduction of a new law to "regularize" immigration, residence, and citizenship. This law legitimized closing the southern border and treating African immigrants as undesirable on the basis of Spain’s putative ethnic unity and sociocultural, political, and economic affiliation with Europe. But while such processes are not monolithic, as Suárez-Navaz points out, it is worth noting that the discourse of resistance—that of the would-be members (here the Africans)—often speaks in the language of human rights. Human-rights discourse has effectively claimed a transnational identity for all human beings, one focused on dignity and rights-bearing. But it is a limited identity: it continues to confront the fact that the rights it claims are largely guaranteed—or not guaranteed—by the nation-state and often as incidents of citizenship, that is, of state-controlled and demarcated membership. More recently the discourse has also had to confront the fact that the genealogy of universalistic human-rights claims has involved disclaiming the very kinds of group-based identities on whose behalf it is now often deployed. To challenge Kymlicka once again, whether one belongs to a national territorial minority (like the Hawaiians) or an ethnic minority (like the Africans in Spain) may not be as significant for the relationship between multiculturalism and liberalism as the nature of the (group) identities asserted. In the long run, however, such assertions may be shaped more by locally determined, strategically and tactically significant exigencies than by correspondence with agreed-upon aspirations concerning identity and its cultural forms and sociopolitical organization.

The articles in this section explore tensions within and among such group identities under circumstances marked by genealogies of superficial similarity—the construction of identity and community by expatriate Blacks who migrated to Europe from the New World to which their ancestors had been sent as slaves—but of significant difference once one looks at the specific backgrounds and motives of the particular migrants and their different receptions. These articles also allow us to confront the issues of migration, membership, and identity from the perspective of (small groups of) individuals whose migrations were, relative to the political and economic conditions facing most migrants, strongly voluntary and thus, for someone like Kymlicka, pose the weakest case for accommodation.

Tyler Stovall discusses the relatively affluent, predominantly male community of Black Americans who found themselves in Paris after both World Wars. These Black Americans expressed considerable ambivalence toward the community they constituted in Paris, but in this ambivalence one sees how earlier (pre-emigration) experiences of community based upon persistent segregation and exclusion—as they had experienced in the United States—continued to shape both self-identification and community membership practices. While participating in—or even, in the case of people like Richard Wright, leading the construction of—a rich camaraderie and network of support among Black Americans in Paris, some Blacks also emphasized their freedom to exist and identify as individuals enjoying the larger urban community of Paris in ways that would have been precluded in Jim Crow America. In the community they constructed, they complemented this aspect of their self-identificatory freedom with nonexclusionary membership practices, including widespread interracial romance and significant integration into the cosmopolitan artistic and intellectual communities of the different Parisian arrondissements. As Stovall explains, "African Americans in Paris created a community life with a great deal of cohesion that did not rely, at least deliberately, on the exclusion of others to bring its members together.... [and] thus held out the intriguing prospect of a community both specific and universal, both unified and diverse, at the same time." While this community, examined from within, may, like the early forms of Hawaiian reaction to haole domination, offer guidelines and even hope for the construction of communities, both in general and as sites of resistance, its genealogy makes it unstable as a model for either community formation and membership policy or for self-identification. Not only did particular individuals and circumstances determine its construction, but it involved a unique experience that had more to do with the limited (self-) emancipation of specific and relatively fortunate individuals than with the creation of a more widespread membership and positive identity for Black Americans, either in their own country or in France. It should not be forgotten that in France they constituted a small enough group to be non-threatening. This situation contrasts sharply with that of the large number of North Africans who have migrated to France in recent decades and whose reception by the French, particularly in metropolitan Paris, is marked by overt hostility, discrimination, and marginalization.6

Deborah Rossum explores the experiences of Black middle-class intellectuals who migrated to England, for many their imperial metropole, during the first half of the twentieth century in order to articulate how the formation of Black British identities related to prevailing discourses about "Englishness" and, more generally, to core principles of liberalism. In the early part of this century, England increasingly proclaimed itself as the model for liberalism and proclaimed that any citizen of the Empire should and could become British, but the very imperialism that gave any sense to these claims of tolerance and open doors was linked to what Rossum calls "a celebratory sense of moral and cultural superiority." This superiority was in turn tied to class prejudice and emphasized an ultimately exclusive concept of Englishness that focused on race, language, and shared tradition. Consequently, English Blacks, most of whom were poor, came to constitute the societal "residuum" of a "lumpen proletariat." It was against this essentializing and marginalizing discourse that middle-class Blacks in England had to articulate their identity and their claim to dignity, itself a powerful act of resistance that may, as Cedric Robinson argues, have served also to "correct ... [and to educate] the errant motherland,"7 but at the cost of complicating intra-Black identity with the very classism at issue. As in Vann’s article on Hawaii, we see again the mutually informing relationships among self-representation, scapegoating, and political power, relationships that mark identity (and membership) as ultimately both discursive (symbolic) and political (material). But we see here also the instability of identity categories, especially at precisely those times when they are called upon most fervently: what was Black identity and whom did it embrace in the effort to resist English exclusivity?


This section looks at the current debates and policy-making in the United States with regard to immigration and citizenship and finds that, whatever the momentum of the historical disjunctions between the American and European paradigms of liberalism and immigration policy that Heller analyzes, there are currently points of substantial convergence, points with worrisome implications for Heller’s concern with the relationship between multiculturalist efforts and liberalism under post-modernity.

Speaking from the perspective of someone involved in shaping policy, not just critiquing it and analyzing its anthropological and historical effects and path dependencies, Demetrios Papademetriou points to fears prevalent on both sides of the Atlantic to explain current immigration policies:

The reason that we in advanced industrial societies have become so fearful of flows from the Third World is because we have felt much less certain about where we are headed—whether we are speaking in economic terms, geopolitical terms, political terms, or in a very fundamental way, in cultural and social terms.

But, he says, most of the flows have never materialized, "the fears have never been substantiated." While he emphasizes traditional differences between American and European views on the potential contribution of immigrants to society, rather than their particular forms of liberalism and state involvement in providing materially and culturally for the polity, to explain traditional dichotomies in immigration policy, he believes that behavior and public attitudes have converged around "an extreme degree of skepticism about the value of immigration as an institution." One side effect in the United States of successful anti-immigration policy efforts has been a rush to naturalize as the relationship between immigration and citizenship has been redefined to more closely resemble the European paradigm, where real (material) benefits attach not only to residence but also to citizenship: the material benefits of membership in the United States are increasingly being denied to (even legal) immigrants and reserved for citizens. Papademetriou connects these domestic contests over immigration and membership to global phenomena, including both the traditional "push" factors of (relative) under- or mal-development in emigrant states (which, he claims, argue for investment in those states to create viable lives for would-be migrants) and newer phenomena like international trade liberalization (which argue for more careful consideration of the social implications of free trade). But whatever the site or sites of concern and policy response, Papademetriou echoes Heller’s call for care, caution, and concreteness: "The terribly irresponsible tendency (of politicians) to come up with extreme measures" is based on a misconception—that immigration is such a "difficult" issue to handle—just as so much of the rhetoric and even some of the serious discussion of multiculturalism are based on misconceptions about our traditions and what is at risk.

Similarly, Herbert Dittgen analyzes the current distinctiveness of immigration debates in the United States, a distinctiveness that, ironically, brings the United States closer to Heller’s view of European national liberalism. But he links the process by which this new substance has been contested and has come to dominate to the tradition whereby "the public debate always represents a national soul-searching. The questions are: ‘Who are we? Who are we going to be?’" (emphasis added). Whereas in the 1980s a general self-confidence underscored the passage of three major, fundamentally pro-immigration bills, a general sense of crisis now besets the United States despite the dissipation of the Cold War on favorable terms. Just as Papademetriou argues, this general sense of crisis has allowed the media and politicians to build and prey on fears through a muddled debate in which legal and illegal immigration have been conflated and in which symbolic politics or irresponsible political initiatives are trotted out to impress the voter—and do indeed impress the voter, as the recent successes of California’s anti-immigrant Proposition 187 and its cousin, the anti-affirmative action Proposition 209, attest. But while the debates in Congress and the media purport to be concerned with the economic and social costs of legal and illegal immigration, the debates have resisted specificity, let alone the responsibility of concrete data, a sure sign, as we have learned from every other (perceived) major influx of immigrants to the United States, that we are dealing with a crisis of identity.8

On the one hand then, the United States, lacking a tradition of national liberalism, has a sense of identity that is only weakly definable, as a result of which a culture of exit (and toleration) has dominated; on the other hand, when that perhaps scrawny sense of identity is challenged for whatever reasons—immigrant-related or other, real or imagined—there is an exercise of voice in the form of a competition to enlist the state and public opinion in updating our national identity, reassuring our rights to local identities, and expiating our latest angst.9 As politicians and pundits portray this latest competition for the hearts and minds of the American people with regard to who they are and what they are about, the outlook for liberalism, let alone a progressive accommodation of pluralism within the heart of liberalism, seems bleak. We can only hope that this is a transitory fin de siècle phenomenon, not the harbinger of the twenty-first century. But whether this is a transitory or a decisive phase is surely not (yet) fixed. Self-conscious and honest examination of our identifying aspirations (a true fin de siècle exercise) and of the particular genealogies of our own and others’ anxieties, traditions, rhetorical forms, and policy practices may provide some toeholds. While the United States may have experienced two centuries of exceptionalism with regard to the relationships among migration, membership, and identity and with regard to its variant of liberalism, it may not be (if it ever has been) exceptionally relieved from the pressure to re-examine these relationships. Additionally, it may currently be finding that these relationships are taking on quite nonexceptional hues, ones we share with at least the European Union.

In this re-examining of both ground-level realities and meta-level assumptions, it seems useful to start with Rossum’s claim that identities beget their own discourse. They also interact self-reflexively with other identities and other discourses. But because they are articulated as much through language as through practice, one must always beware their hidden and contested meanings. It is out of these shadows that the perversions of progressive agendas develop, whether those agendas are structured around the individual autonomy of liberalism or the identity and association of multiculturalism. As the following articles argue and demonstrate, we can better understand how these perversions injure immigrants as they interact with true and would-be natives and with the state in contesting the terms of membership in the host polity by seeing how these perversions are driven largely by inward-looking, domestic concerns. Still, we should also be willing to see in these genealogies how the exclusions and denigrations directed toward immigrants (and other subordinated groups) in turn engender perversions that impoverish the quality of all of our identities and memberships. It may have taken us a while to understand the role that the immigrant has played as the "other" in the processes through which we have constructed the identities of our polities and other affiliations, but we will not overcome the enduring legacies of these genealogies if we do not also learn to see the immigrant as our mirror, as our self. This is true not only in the trite sense that ultimately we are all of migrant blood (genealogy). It is also true in the sense that in this era of global capitalism, the degree of our interconnection has eroded (but perhaps also heightened) the significance of national borders and citizenship, the quintessential "othering" mechanisms. Only from the perspective of the immigrant can we begin to imagine how to reconstitute our polities and social lives without, as Tom Heller says, "giving up the post-liberal insights that late modernity has won or falling back into a pre-modern embrace of essentialist thinking that made liberalism worth defending."


1 See, e.g., Marcelo M. Suarez-Orozco, "Unwelcome Mats," Harvard Magazine 32 (Jul.-Aug. 1996).

2 Stanford Humanities Review I.2-3 (Fall/Winter 1990): 107.

3 Will Kymlicka, Multicultural Citizenship: A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995).

4 See Yasemin Soysal, Limits of Citizenship: Migrants and Postnational Membership in Europe (Chicago: U of Chicago P, 1994).

5 See, e.g., Rogers Brubaker, Citizenship and Nationhood in France and Germany (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1992).

6 See Sarah Sussman’s review of La Haine in this issue.

7 Cedric Robinson, Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition (London: Zed Books Ltd, 1983) 376.

8 See, e.g., John Higham, Strangers in the Land: Patterns of American Nativism, 1860-1925 (New Brunswick: Rutgers UP, 1955).

9 On the concepts of and relationships between exit and voice in general, and in American political culture in particular, see Albert O. Hirschmann, Exit, Voice and Loyalty: Responses to Decline in Firms, Organizations, and States (Cambridge, MA: Harvard UP, 1970).

wpe19.gif (3812 bytes)