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ОглавлениеIs Britain a Balkanised Dystopia of Segregated Enclaves?
The headline for this introduction was taken from a Vice News article written by Matt Broomfield in 2016. He visited parts of Birmingham to assess ‘if it’s really an Islamist Ghetto’ (Vice, 7 December 2016). The news report sought to find out if Islamism was driving alleged Muslim segregation. After interviewing a small section of the Muslim community in Birmingham, the link to Islamism seemed redundant, as locals expressed their aversion to Islamist ideology. Beyond the somewhat alarmist focus on Islamism, I was struck by the article’s somewhat blasé analogy between Britain and the Balkans. I found this link extremely difficult to accept, as several years earlier I had visited the city of Mostar, the fifth largest city in Bosnia and Herzegovina. My encounters with the residents revealed a distinctly divided picture. This segregation was most evident in the social space of the city, which was heavily divided. After the civil war, the city was geographically reshaped along ethno-religious lines, permanently separating the eastern and western blocks. The spatial segregation I witnessed could be seen in local parks, schools and shops. The Vice News article raised concerns about whether similar types of divisions exist across modern Britain. This provoked my interest and scepticism. Thus, when I began my fieldwork, my goal was not to prove the existence of Muslim enclaves in Modern Britain; but rather, I sought to understand everyday experiences of British Muslims who allegedly live in segregated Muslim enclaves.
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Some British politicians claim that Muslims are not actively dissolving the social boundaries between themselves and wider society. Dame Louise Casey, the former integration tsar, for instance, asserted that segregation and social exclusion are at ‘worrying levels’ amongst Muslim communities in Britain (BBC, 5 December 2016). She singled out the Muslim community, claiming that regressive practices are socially upheld in Muslim enclaves, which limit the self-agency of Muslim women. A cultural disconnect, she claims, fuels continued Muslim segregation in which Muslims reside in parallel communities. There are large segments of British society that believe British Muslims live in separate religious spaces, which are often termed Muslim enclaves (Tausch, 2014). The inability to locate these enclaves is a major problem. It is easy to claim Muslims live in separate territories, but does Muslim residential clustering equal an enclave? This book tries to offer ethnographic insight into the everyday lives of Muslims living in East London, North Wales and Scotland. Thus, the goal was not to ascertain physical data concerning the demographic distribution of these people – relating to their economic condition, housing and welfare – but to discover, through observations of everyday life, the various ways in which British Muslims construct a sense of belonging and segregation. In essence, I seek to understand the social world of Muslims living in so-called enclaves.
Starting in the East End of London: Cluster or Enclave?
I often think to myself, what would you find if you walked the streets of the East End a hundred years ago? The area has undergone a radical alteration. Beyond the changing physical landscape, the ethnic upheaval experienced in the city stands out perhaps most vividly. I remember a few years ago, well before I began this book, I found myself strolling down the rustic back alleys of Brick Lane. There I encountered a small group of German tourists, who were meticulously tracking down the hotspots of Jack the Ripper’s victims. While hunting in the East End, one of the tourists asked me about the local area. He said that the East End was not what ←2 | 3→he had expected. I rather impulsively asked what he had expected to find, and his reply has haunted me ever since: ‘I do not believe I am in England … there are no English people here’. Despite the racist undertones of the statement, I was more concerned by the experiences of Britain that had shaped this point of view. I grew up in Bedfont, a small village in suburban west London, and thus rarely stepped foot in the East End. So, in many ways, I felt somewhat like a tourist too.
With this encounter fresh in my head, I started aimlessly wandering the East End. I had the opportunity to speak to several non-Muslim white residents. They felt that the entire landscape appeared at odds with the wider city, believing the Muslim presence had vividly changed the cultural landscape of the area. The Muslim inhabitants of the East End, they asserted, seemed to be consciously constructing a community apart from British society. This type of alarmist sentiment exhibits some parallels with the rhetoric of the far right. According to Rydgnen (2018), the rhetoric of the far right focuses on defending against perceived threats to national identity and culture. He claims ‘immigrants from Muslim countries are singled out as particularly threatening, allegedly because they have the least in common with the native population’ (Rydgnen, 2018, p. 2).
Even though it was clear to me that there were real causes of concern, I realised that my observations were very superficial. I needed to test my observations. Initially, I just focused on the East End of London. I meticulously scoured the numbers, to understand the demographic breakdown of the area. The data was compelling. In Tower Hamlets, for example, ethnic minorities outnumber the white population by nearly two to one (Riaz, 2016). Almost one-third of the borough’s population is Bangladeshi, making them the largest ethnic group in the area. As a result, Tower Hamlets has the largest concentration of Bangladeshis in the UK. However, I felt this broad data presented a skewed demographic picture. The concentration of Muslims in the area does not necessarily mean one should constitute it as a Muslim enclave. For instance, there are over eighteen different ethnic groups living in this area, which means it might be better characterised as an ethnic enclave, due to the multi-ethnic composition of the East End (Young et al., 2011, p. 31).
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According to Park (1969), the creation of migrant enclaves often drew people of similar race, ethnicity and language together. However, as these migratory bonds gradually weaken, some members seek to integrate into the host society. Yet, on the surface, this does not appear to be happening. As one local white resident put it, ‘on the streets of Tower Hamlets people are living apart’. The demographic data gives a broad picture, but this does not necessarily tell the real story about the social lives of Muslims living in the East End. After spending several months in the area and speaking to locals, I started to see significant social gaps and differences between Muslim residents. Ultimately, my goal was not to determine whether the East End was a Muslim enclave; rather, I wanted to find out how some British Muslims construct a sense of belonging and whether those Muslims living in the East End considered the area a Muslim enclave. This distinction is important because I did not see evidence of British Muslims living in parallel worlds in the East End. Rather, I observed different pockets of Muslim populations. This, I felt, equated to residential clustering, which is a relatively common phenomenon within urban environments. According to Finney (2013), this residential clustering is a natural by-product of socio-economic structural forces. As a result, it is common across the UK to find ethnic minority populations clustered together within towns and cities. Peach (2006) claims that Muslim clustering functions at two distinct levels of civic engagement. The first level relates to the preservation of segregated communities, which Peach termed multiculturalism. The second level relates to assimilative processes, in which Muslim communities are gradually absorbed into the dominant culture of the host society (Peach, 2006).
In 2005, Trevor Philips delivered a damning address to the Manchester Council for Community Relations in which he expressed his concern that Britain was harbouring ‘fully fledged ghettos’ (The Guardian, 19 September 2005). In large parts of the UK, the Muslim community appear clustered together (Varady, 2008). In the East End of London, residential patterns are drawn along ethnic and religious grounds, which have been facilitated by discriminatory housing policy and accelerated white flight (Simpson and Gavalas, 2005). Large parts of the East End, therefore, exhibit high clustering of Muslims. This was evident during the fieldwork, as the vast majority of respondents resided in areas populated with people of the same ←4 | 5→ethnic and religious background. However, despite the title of the book, it is vital to be extremely cautious while employing the term ‘enclave’. This is because Muslim residential clustering, in some parts of the UK, seems generally accepted by the academic community (Finney, 2013; Johnston et al., 2007; Vaughan, 2007). Yet, there is less agreement concerning Muslim enclaves. There are many reasons for this lack of agreement. Firstly, enclaves imply that communities become culturally disconnected from the dominant culture (Pores and Jensen, 1987). Secondly, it is assumed that residential clustering occurs after migration, and as the population cluster grows and settles it becomes distinct from the host society, turning it into an enclave (Vaughan, 2007). Therefore, if the East End of London is a Muslim enclave, then it must be culturally disconnected from the wider society. In order to assess whether this is actually the case, I undertook ethnographic fieldwork to discover if the inhabitants of the East End are culturally disconnected. In essence, I wanted to know whether Muslims believe that where they live is a Muslim enclave. I felt that gaining insight from inside the so-called enclave could provide me with a deeper understanding of the complex social world of Muslims and their perception of the outside world. This would help answer questions related to segregation and belongingness.
Urban Enclaves
According to Flint, in a modern urban sense, enclaves refer to a ‘city neighbourhood displaying distinctive economic, social and cultural attributes from its surroundings’ (Flint, 2009, p. 191). This definition would imply that an enclave is a distinct ‘territorial space’. For Flint (2009, p. 191), this distinct territory is also ‘economically and politically’ segregated from the wider territory. This description does not quite match up to the reality of Muslim social life that I observed; as the inhabitants did not develop an understanding that politically or economically separated them from British society. Instead, I witnessed different forms of expressing cultural ←5 | 6→and religious identity that gave rise to different levels of belongingness. Therefore, my goal is not to locate or prove the existence of Muslim enclaves; rather, I want to understand how British Muslims construct meaning within so-called enclaves.
The role state policy plays further complicates the problem, especially in restricting social stratification for economically deprived communities. In particular, the destabilisation of council estates after the 1980 Housing Act restricted the mobility of poorer communities (Madden and Marcuse, 2016). In theory, due to local council housing policies, According to Balchin and Rhoden (2002), who studied housing policy in the UK, some ethnic communities found themselves bound to the poorest areas of cities and towns due to local council housing policies and high unemployment. These economically disadvantaged areas witnessed gradual ethnic concentration, escalating White Flight from those areas (Cantle, 2018).
This means the state is not necessarily neutral. However, from a socio-political and legal standpoint, the British state does not practise or enforce a policy of keeping ethno-religious communities apart. Historically, in the United States, after the abolishment of slavery, many Southern states actively employed a policy of racial segregation, which naturally spawned ethnic enclaves (Warde, 2016). This is why some academics argue that ethnic enclave formation is rooted in non-institutionalised factors, such as high levels of concentrated immigration (Martin, 2006). This ignores the structural inequalities created by housing policy. After speaking to locals, I discovered in the East End that some early Bangladeshi immigrants were able to secure homeownership after several years of undertaking low-skilled employment. This homeownership brought increased residential equality and gave them the opportunity to locate housing in the suburbs.
This suggests Muslim communities in Britain are not economically segregated. The economic realities of modern societies do not reinforce the artificial social boundaries that keep people separated. As Schelling (2006) postulated from a cost-benefit breakdown, no active agent in society seeks out isolation. In other words, the increase in welfare, decentralising of the central government (local authorities), and the lessening of economic barriers have placed substantial obstacles in the quest to exist independently from the dominant culture. On the other hand, from a socio-economic ←6 | 7→perspective, one must acknowledge socio-spatial segregation in large urban settings. This type of enclave formation process is relatively common in large metropolitans, which give rise to social clustering amongst people of similar economic activity and lifestyle. This means enclave formation may be a relatively common phenomenon in large urban settings. As Tiebout (1956, p. 422) asserts, this clustering of people is grounded within the complexity of class mobility, seeing that agents select public good by ‘voting with one’s feet’. Some middle-class families move to a different catchment area, as they seek out better public facilities for their children. So, if enclave formation is relatively common across the UK, then why single out ‘Muslims’?
According to Melanie Phillips, a social and political commentator, Muslim enclaves are a growing problem in Britain. She claims the Muslim presence in London, for example, has radically altered the socio-cultural landscape of the capital (Phillips, 2006). This assertion sees Muslim population growth and alleged cultural separation as inherently a Muslim problem. Thus, she claims Muslim enclaves exhibit distinct characteristics, making them inherently different from other forms of enclaves. If these so-called Muslim enclaves exist, then I wanted to find out how the residents reconcile religion, nationality and belongingness.
Physical Enclaves
An excellent place to begin an assessment of enclaves is the matter of segregation of space. On one end, many cities have witnessed an upsurge of fortified enclaves, such as Johannesburg, São Paulo and Karachi (Caldeira, 2000). The formation of these physical enclaves is rooted in the perceived lack of urban security. Therefore, walled residential enclaves, commonly referred to as ‘gated communities’, are a type of physical enclave. Historically, walls were a physical defence from outside threats, and thus walls were often constructed around the city as a form of security (Brebbia and Clark, 2014). Today, we find walled communities within the city. These enclosed spaces offer residents a sense of physical security, as the walled boundaries seemingly keep out the ‘undesirables’ of ←7 | 8→the wider city. In this sense, the walls of these enclaves represent a power divide, representing a physical boundary amongst social groups, namely between rich and poor. According to Caldeira (2000), these walls do not necessarily exclude people based on race or ethnicity. This may be true at one level, but to some extent, this may ignore the fact that residential enclaves are often socially selected by income, and by default ethnicity.
White, upper-middle-class residents, for example, predominantly populate gated enclaves in the United Kingdom (Caldeira, 2000). This means enclaves of this type exclude residents through the class hierarchy, as the walls represent the division of status in society. This was aptly identified by Sibley (1995), who asserted residential exclusion is predicated on socially constructing differences between groups based on wealth, ethnicity and religion. In essence, these segregated residential spaces are socially constructed in direct opposition to the negative perceptions of the ‘other’. In simple terms, the dominant class does not want to live among minority groups. Through selective housing, these groups can limit the types of people that populate their protective space. Thus, modern urban enclaves symbolise exclusion through a power imbalance, which are more pronounced at the top and the bottom of the stratification scale. Migrants wield little power as they cannot select housing freely. In contrast, the upper class have significant selective power, choosing to reside in gated enclaves. This is why, Lefebvre (1991, p. 26) believes, migrant and resident enclaves are not neutral spaces, because they reflect wealth and power dichotomy.
Non-Physical Enclaves
Gated enclaves are distinct as they are separated by walls, which set them apart from the wider surroundings. However, enclaves do not necessarily have to be separated by walls. In the heavily divided city of Mostar, segregation was visible in the public spaces of the city. It was easy to see the physical divide, but I also saw a cultural separateness that cloaked the city. This non-physical form of cultural segregation took place in a kind of imagined space. This is because enclaves do not necessarily follow a linear path, as there are multiple points of ‘intersecting experiences’ (Petersen, ←8 | 9→2006, p. 721) In other words, different social categories – such as gender, ethnicity, class, and religion – give rise to physical points of divergence.
Take Midhat, a 42-year-old Bosnian Muslim, who grew up on the west bank of the Neretva River, which was predominantly Croat. According to Midhat, before the war, there were no physical enclaves, but there was a cultural divide. As he states, ‘our culture different to them [Croats] … no drink for us, we eat halal they eat pig … we pray in mosque’ (Wali, 2018). This would suggest that before the war, there were no clear boundaries related to physical proximity. However, at the cultural level, a non-physical boundary existed based on ethno-religious attachment.
This indicates that conceptions of space dictate spatial enclaves. Physical walls do not divide the migrant enclaves that are populated across Britain. According to Park (1969, p. 40), migrant enclaves can be described as a ‘mosaic of little worlds’. In this sense, the migrant enclave is a separate territory formed from an assemblage of distinct pieces, such as ethnicity, religion and culture. They are not necessarily ethnically homogenous. The migrant enclave in the East End of London, for instance, is a shared ethno-religious space with different ethnic groups living together. This could mean migrant enclaves in the United Kingdom are not exclusivist in terms of ethnicity. However, the Muslim population is highly concentrated within these territories, which may suggest religious homogeneity.
In simple terms, a migrant enclave is defined as a distinct geographic space where a disproportionate number of non-native groups reside, creating socio-spatial clustering of migrants. Within this space, ethno-religious traditions imported from the country of origin are socially displayed, forming a visible distinction between the enclave and the host society. More significantly, as Gopinath (2018) argues, when the migrant communities became more settled within the host country, the enclaves they populate developed into ethnic enclaves. This makes the term migrant enclave problematic as it relates to the migration process, but after settling the application becomes slightly redundant. Migrant enclaves, as a descriptive category, equates to the social reality of the first generation of migrants. For this reason, the term cannot be easily applied to the second and third generations, who are a by-product of settlement.
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In a historical context, early migrants from the Indian subcontinent were seen as homogenous and thus lumped together under the broad category of South Asian. However, after a period of settlement, immigrants from South Asia were relabelled according to ethno-nationalistic and religious affiliations. As a result, terms like Pakistani and Bangladeshi became popular, but these are equally problematic descriptive labels. Before the migration process, these terms were anchored to one’s country of nationality, but after migration, they become re-designated to ethnic identity markers. This would suggest labelling enclaves as ‘ethnic’ might be equally problematic. According to Anthias and Yuval-Davis (2005, p. 4), ethnicity is often determined in relation to ‘who can and cannot belong’ to the group according to the credentials of birth, cultural practice and language. Enclaves do not function with such restrictive credentials, because the interplay between the enclave and wider society can be determined by factors that transcend ethnicity, like social mobility and status.
Some theorists have argued that ethnic enclaves are designed to preserve ethnic identity within the host country in order to counter-act assimilative processes (Whitfield, 2013). In essence, behind the veil of the enclave, individuals can adopt the worldview of the enclave, enabling them to engage the dominant culture with an established ideological framework. This would mean internal forces position the enclave as a mechanism to maintain a shared cultural resource for its residents, providing them with the means to negotiate the struggles of living in the host country. This perspective appears to overlook the economic networks that function within the enclave.
The ethnic enclave provides social protection due to its high contraction of non-native people in an enclosed space, but the dynamics controlling the enclave may hinge on economic activity. Migrant networks, argued Massey (1990), provided migrants with alternative modes of social capital. Initially, these migrant networks developed through close family ties that provided help to newly arriving migrants. Eventually, they evolved into more systematic and rigid interpersonal systems, providing low-cost housing and job opportunities that bypassed the state. According to Pietsch and Clark (2015), this had a profoundly negative effect on migrant integration, as migrants fell out of the broader social structure. Social mobility ←10 | 11→was dependent on access to education and capital resources. Those migrants, for instance, who could not speak English, would face long-term struggles (Berardo and Deardorff, 2012). Therefore, it was advantageous for migrant enclaves to keep newly arriving migrants embedded within the closed socio-economic structure of the enclave.
Some theorist believe social capital in the enclave can provide a collective benefit to its members by providing them with access to economic opportunities, which may be denied to them in the wider society due to discrimination (Saegert et al., 2002). Migrant enclaves often construct ethnic-based employment opportunities, which are non-skilled, allowing migrants to find work straight away. In reality, by disengaging with the social and cultural structures present in the host society, migrants over time lack connectivity to society. Thus, despite the short-term benefits, the ethnic enclave inhibits social and economic integration. As will be shown in Chapter 1, the immediate advantages newly arriving migrants receive when they join the ethnic enclave are often quickly eclipsed by the long-term drawbacks of not participating in the wider society. I am not alone in highlighting this insular disadvantage. A recent report issued by the Runnymede Trust suggested that ethnic minorities in Britain suffer from an ‘invisible glass ceiling’ (Runnymede Trust, 14 April 2017). One aspect of this alleged invisible glass ceiling relates to the socio-economic barriers placed on ethnic minorities from attaining upward mobility in the workplace. In theory, beyond this unseen institutional discrimination, the ethnic enclave itself functions as a glass ceiling restricting migrant progression. The enclave labour market, for instance, is often cut off from accessing host country skills that may benefit migrant economic mobility over the long term. By impeding the migrants’ ability to access more extensive skills, the enclave creates a social barrier that prevents the migrant from learning the basic social norms to navigate society. When I spoke to first-generation migrants in the East End of London, several of them told me how they lacked the means to access essential welfare services because of the inward-looking nature of the Muslim enclave. As a result, for most migrants learning the host language became a significant challenge, making it easier for migrants to opt out of mainstream society and remain attached to the enclave. In simple terms, the ethnic enclave provides a sense ←11 | 12→of security to the immigrant, while also giving them access to the familiar. Ultimately, the insular nature of the enclave acts as a socio-cultural barrier.
Why Enclaves Form?
In the modern world, no one is unaffected by changes that take place in cities. Speaking broadly, cities are beckons for cultural and social change as they encourage new trends that shape how people live. For this reason, cities attract a broad spectrum of people from different social backgrounds, making an adjustment to the urban setting often tricky. Historically, in the nineteenth century, when the west experienced rapid industrialisation, it prompted a population shift from rural to urban (Alexander, 2009). As a result, the urban city arose in a somewhat chaotic and disorganised fashion; it evolved and developed through competition for space and resources. The tensions between capital and labour symbolised the end of feudal society and the birth of capitalism. This supposedly cultivated spatial class divisions, spawning the first urban enclaves (Hilton, 2006). If true, then space became divided along class fault-lines within the city, sowing social segregation into the fabric of modern urban life. However, is this separation physical or has physicality been ‘assigned’ to it?
During the 1950s and 1960s, America experienced substantial social upheaval. The city of Chicago appeared to be an epicentre for such upheaval, and not surprisingly, became the focal point of academic focus regarding immigrant settlement processes. For this reason, I shall focus my attention on the theories that arose during this period related to immigrant assimilation. In particular, did immigrant enclaves form in response to different modes of structural incorporation? According to Portes and Manning (2001, p. 568), two distinct views emerged to tackle this question, namely ‘assimilation theory’ and the ‘segmented labour market theory’.
In theory, according to Gordon (1964), the assimilation process for new immigrants occurred sequentially. This means that after encountering ←12 | 13→financial difficulty and racial prejudice, they secured social stability and gained economic mobility, which was attributed to increased adaptation of the host society and culture (Gordon, 1964). In keeping with this assimilationist-theory, it was believed that some immigrant groups struggled to adapt, and thus failure to acquire social mobility pushes them towards the ethnic enclave. However, the formation of the enclave is not necessarily just dependent on economic factors. The host society often expects the immigrant to abandon their cultural and religious mores, making assimilation appear a one-way process. As a result, some migrants are reluctant to surrender their cultural values and identity. This suggests that immigrants do not merely ‘melt’ into the host society; instead, they seek to safeguard their migrant identity in the new society (Portes and Manning, 2001, p. 569).
This desire to preserve their ethnic identity can also be observed in the labour market, as some newly arriving migrants looked to circumvent the free labour market for jobs in the enclave. Those migrants that selected this pathway represented the broad category of the so-called ‘unmeltable ethnics’ (Portes and Manning, 2001, p. 569). These migrants have been socially positioned by the labour market, which gave them distinct jobs and roles. When the British colonised India, for example, they assigned roles to the indigenous population based on physical and social attributes, confining generations to specific jobs (Maddison, 2013). This type of cultural division of labour died with colonialism. However, with the emergence of ethnic enclaves, similar aspects of labour exploitation have resurfaced within the enclave. Not surprisingly, immigrants enter the labour market at the bottom; those who chose to compete in the free labour market have the potential to obtain social mobility.
In contrast, those who elect to remain in the ethnic enclave are often forced to work under substandard conditions and have minimal social mobility opportunities. Jobs in the enclave are poorly paid, as they require minim skill and experience. As a result, those newly arriving migrants are confined to the bottom of the enclave labour market, binding them to the economic and cultural forces of the enclave.
These two perspectives related to how ethnic enclaves form are restricted to a distinct historical frame, and thus this does not necessarily match the social reality of British Muslim enclaves. Therefore, a situationally ←13 | 14→based perspective also needs to be reflected upon, which draws on the unique properties of the British Muslim social experience within the so-called Muslim enclave. Trying to conceptualise and locate Muslim enclaves in Britain is difficult. At one level, the physical evidence shows that distinct areas across the UK contain a high concentration of Muslims. Is this clustering a consequence of discrimination and exclusion practised by the host society? Alternatively, is this concentration sufficient evidence to constitute a distinctly Muslim enclave? As mentioned above, the literature breaks down these types of problems into the Labour Market and Assimilation Models (Park, 1950; Birkelund, 2013; Egbert and Esser, 2007). The latter asserts Muslim enclaves are places of migrant employment, while the former sees Muslims enclaves as a place of migrant residence (Wong and Rigg, 2010). Both these perspectives tend to overly focus on the first-generation migrant, ignoring second- and third-generation shifts in labour and assimilative practices. This distinction is essential, as the second- and third-generation British Muslims are not newly arriving migrants that are entering the UK labour market for the first time; preferably, they are British-born. In theory, this means they do not have to acquire the necessary social skills required to navigate the labour market or integrate into British culture. Despite these apparent advantages, second- and third-generation British-born Muslims remain at the lower tier of the labour market (Anwar, 2002).
Muslim Enclaves in Britain
During my early academic career, I became enthralled by the writings of twentieth-century Muslim reformers. In particular, I recall being perplexed by Rashid Rida’s famous declaration that Muslims were jughrafiyun [geographical]. What did he mean by this statement? I pondered its significance for many years. Eventually, I came to understand that it related to symbolic attachment to faith and land. In other words, Rida argued that religiosity was an outcome of living in an Islamic environment. This ←14 | 15→meant that people only practise their faith because they live and grow up in a Muslim country. What about British Muslims? If social space dictates attachment, then enclaves might be a reaction to marginalisation. Enclaves create separate spaces, giving the inhabitants the opportunity to preserve their faith. These enclaves are not physical spaces, separated by walls; instead, they are symbolic manifestations of separation and difference.
Unfortunately, British Muslims often occupy the bottom of the economic ladder, suffering from high unemployment and limited education (Wali, 2016). However, this does not mean Muslim enclaves should be seen as an economic dichotomy between power and resources, as this argument assumes an overriding economic imperative for ethno-religious communities to compete for depleting social resources. Historically, government policy has viewed ghettos and enclaves as an urbanisation problem, and consequently, social clustering is a natural by-product of the economic condition (Kanyenze and Kondo, 2011). This approach frames enclave formation within the restrictive scope of urban housing and spatial stratification. Early immigrants were denied access to public housing, forcing them to look within the private sector. This perspective is somewhat problematic because enclave formation does not exclusively occur due to inner-city proximity. Instead, as Rex (cited in Peach et al., 1981, p. 25) argues, immigrant enclaves in the United Kingdom arose from ‘racial discrimination’.
At this stage, I am partially contesting the existence of Muslim enclaves in modern Britain, because population clustering cannot be seen as the primary determinant of an enclave. According to Turner (2007), enclaves are often insulated spaces, operating under separate systems of control and culture. This view suggests a movement away from assimilation theory as an adequate explanation of the process of immigrant adaptation to a host country.
From a primordial perspective, the ethno-religious attachments of British Muslims are exceedingly entangled and cannot be easily removed. For most Muslims, in contemporary Britain, Islam forms a significant source of identity. It has been reported that two-thirds of Pakistanis aged 16–34 stated that religion is ‘very important’ to the way they live their lives (Jacobson, 2006, p. 28). This implies deep-rooted primordial linkages to ←15 | 16→kin and religion (Bellah, 2011). If these attachments genuinely exist, as permanent features of human identity, then early Muslim migrants would have imported them from their places of origin (Geerz, 1973). In theory, a sense of belonging is reinforced amongst community members and provides a means to conceive of their identity through sharing a common ethno-religious past. It is somewhat difficult to actualise the primordial approach in totality since it degrades the social context. For instance, the importation of cultural attachments into a host country needs to be merged with the national identity. The process of synchronising identities can be highly problematic as it is dependent on the actors themselves. Thus, despite some residual linkages to kin and country of origin, religious community identity is a fluid and mobile construct. In other words, religious identification becomes active within a given context. Saeed (1999) discovered that younger Muslims preferred to be recognised through multiple identity-types, namely Scottish-Muslim. However, when asked to place these hyphenated formations in order of preference, 81 per cent regarded themselves Muslim first. This statistic, though important, slightly underplays Muslim youth identity formation, which as I assert in Chapter 2, is a far more complicated process: one that is constructed through negotiation during different periods of socialisation.
To start with, as Kyoso (2017) contends, immigrant identity construction is not merely an individualistic process since it is reliant on family networks, ethnic and racial group membership. These interconnected social threads are significant, as Geertz (2017) stipulates because attachments stem from a tradition of learnt rules of conduct. Jacobson’s (2006) study of second-generation British Muslims in the London Borough of Waltham Forest revealed that many young British-born Pakistanis hold religion as a strong element of their identity. As she states: ‘I have suggested that Islam survives as a source of meaning in the respondents lives partly because the content of its messages is accessible and appealing to the young people’ (2006, p. 126). This rather simplistic observation greatly underplays the complexities of identity negotiation through various stages of the life cycle. In reality, socialisation provides a way for young people to learn about their religious heritage, enabling them to become active members of their community and thus perpetuating religious affiliation for newer generations ←16 | 17→(Sedgwick, 2014). Therefore, socialisation becomes an essential element in the process of identity and community formation, as the process of upgrading and differentiating take place, gradually shaping specific characteristics through the complexities of the life cycle (Parsons, 1964). About second-generation Muslims, the complex nature of the upgrading process is greatly amplified since they emerge from two diverse social worlds. This makes it extremely difficult for them to adjust their identity to different social settings. Children of immigrants in Britain, Cockburn (2012) explained, are exposed to dual socialisation processes: in the home, they form primary identification with their parents’ cultural mores; while at school they encounter an opposing culture. In most cases, young Muslims struggle to overcome conflicts with elements that are perceived to be incompatible with their ethno-religious home-based identities. These situations are often exacerbated by the fact that second-generation Muslims are born and raised in Britain, and thus see their parents’ country of origin as foreign (Hoque, 2019).
Trying to frame Muslim enclaves within a discreet and essentialist framework is hugely problematic, as identity construction is repeatedly negotiated within different periods of the life cycle. Identity negotiation is firmly embedded within the process of socialisation, which may result in the centralisation of identity into a core structure, providing balance to the other disjointed identities (Barbera, 2014). The centralisation of religiosity is contingent on the interchange between individuals recurring encounters and experiences within society (Schieman, 2008). In the case of second- and third-generation Muslim identity, I tentatively assume a stable core identity structure does not direct it because, as Schumann (2011) suggests, the settlement has generated ‘hybrid identities’. These multiple identities allow the individual to define for themselves who they are within different social settings, but this can often lead to dual loyalties and conflict.
Consequently, the failure to establish stable identities can cultivate disaffection among some young Muslims who may become marginalised through socialisation. More significantly, radical Islamist groups, offer some young Muslims a strong core identity based on religiosity. In this regard, activists view themselves as symbolic disciples of Islam (Wali, 2013). In a broader context, young Muslims that contextualise religion as a core ←17 | 18→element of their identity often dichotomise the ‘other’ in antagonistic terms, posing a threat to their religious heritage. From a historical perspective, the British Empire often ‘privileged religious identities’ in order to exert control, ‘which inevitably helped to sharpen distinctions between Muslim and non-Muslim’ (Robinson, 1998, p. 5). This contextualisation of India had a continuing influence in the way migrants to Britain were categorised according to ethno-religious markers.
This is greatly compounded by the broad struggle of young Muslims ‘to discover how to be a Muslim as a minority in a non-Muslim society’ (Lewis, 2007, p. 6). Stratham (2003) equates the rise in overt religious affiliation amongst some Muslims to two interconnected social realities: (1) Islam seeks to assert itself within the public realm, and (2) Muslim identity formation is an acute response to social deprivation and discrimination. In regards to the latter, Muslim self-consciousness is often reinforced by negative media stereotypes. The public vilification of Muslim belief and practice tends to lead to introverted responses: ‘Muslim communities closing ranks’ (Samad, 1996, p. 97). Similarly, Ballard (1996) believes the marginalisation of Muslims from the majority culture has triggered a reaffirmation of religion. This is because young Muslims perceive their religious identity to be under constant threat, and not their ethnicity, resulting in greater mobility towards Muslim identity. This movement away from ethno-identity labels is exacerbated by the declining attachment to South Asia, as a cultural and linguistic reference point. As Samad (2004, p. 17) suggests, ‘identification with Pakistan and Bangladesh – countries that young people may only briefly visit – becomes less significant and Muslim as an identity becomes more important’. In this respect, religious identity, Gardner and Shuker (1994, p. 164) explain, ‘provides both a positive identity, in which solidarity can be found, together with an escape from the oppressive tedium of being constantly identified in negative terms’.
The examination of religious affiliation and identity amongst young Muslims in Britain has its inherent problems. As Lewis (2007, p. 1) explains, there is a tendency to miniaturise young South Asian identity to ‘one single affiliation’, namely their religious makeup. This is quite dangerous as Muslim identity is bound to different threads, as Lewis (2007, p. 2) points out: ‘for some, their “Muslimness” is as much “cultural” as religious … for others, it ←18 | 19→is a vehicle of “identity politics”’. Thus, pinpointing a coherent connection between an increase in religiosity – in terms of religious practice – and as a source of identity is not easy and highly complicated (Samad, 2004). In his most seminal piece, Lewis (2002) sets out in his research to explore the inner dynamics of Muslim communities in Britain, focusing on Bradford as his case study. His work has provided my research with some valuable insights. In particular, he observes ‘signs of a British Muslim culture developing’ (2002, p. 209). This would suggest that young Muslims are actively trying to negotiate and merge diverse elements of their ethno-religious cultural roots with the complexities and realities of modern Britain. Significantly, Lewis (2002, p. 207) points out; this process has ‘bypassed the ulama’, which means young Muslims are searching for identity solutions beyond traditional religious institutions and structures. It is clear from the cursory review of the literature concerning young Muslims that Islam remains a salient feature of identity construction, but this does not necessarily mean it leads to an increase in religiosity or radicalism. Thus, as Samad (2010) argues, the development of Muslim identification becomes more visible and prominent when young people acquire a sense of becoming British (Samad, 2010).
At first sight, it might be difficult to rationalise why some Muslims in Britain want to live in separate communities. It is apparent Muslims in this part of the world contend with an array of issues concerning ‘identity, the adaptation of religio-cultural norms and values, and issues of everyday citizenship’ (Abbas, 2007, p. 3). Attachment to Muslim enclaves is a multifaceted phenomenon, which in turn, raises questions concerning ‘whether Muslims can be or are willing to be integrated into European society and political values’ (Modood, 2005, p. viii). In particular, two identifiable conditions are commonly cited as catalysts for enclave formation and attachment: discrimination and deprivation (Wolff, 2003; Suarez-Orozco et al., 2014; Mickey, 2015). Despite the fact these two interrelated conditions have been developed and argued within a specific socio-political and economic frame, they do not deplete the entire range of literature. According to some social theorists, enclaves seemingly appear to flourish in response to the host country’s perceived hostility (Lin and Mele, 2005; Alberts, 2003). Thus, first- and second-generation Muslims who experience ←19 | 20→political, social and economic dislocation due to discrimination may opt to live in the Muslim enclave.
Relative Deprivation: Social, Political and Economic
Relative deprivation, a theory strongly equated to Gurr (1970), is frequently mentioned as a salient cause of Muslim segregation in Britain (Ferrero, 2005). Socio-economic and political dissent is often exacerbated by the realisation that the gap between what Muslims expect to obtain from society and what they get is entirely different. The bleak realities of Muslim social life in the UK – such as high unemployment and low academic attainment – foster a sense of dissatisfaction and frustration (Modood et al., 1997). Supposedly, these socio-economic conditions provide a fundamental prerequisite for segregation. However, formulating such a causal link between segregation and deprivation is somewhat problematic. Many middle-class Muslims that I spoke to in the East End, for example, explained how they elected to remain in the East End, despite having residential options to move to middle-class areas. This suggests that cultural embeddedness may transcend some aspects of the economic condition, as middle-class residence explained: ‘it is better to live with your own people’.
In terms of socio-political dislocation from the wider society, it is argued that Muslims struggle to integrate at the political level (Modood, 2005). In particular, there appears to be a disproportionate representation of Muslims within the institutional structures of government, making it difficult to identify with the political system. As a result, young Muslims feel considerably detached from the political process, creating less integrated citizens (Twenge et al., 2007). This feeling of exclusion can foster a sense of not belonging, which brings into question issues of citizenship and identity. As mentioned earlier, the Rushdie Affair brought a number of these grievances to the fore, in particular, the ‘negative reaction to the anti-Rushdie campaign shocked Muslims’ (McRoy 2006, p. 25). This incident highlighted some of the glaring cultural and ideological differences between Muslims and non-Muslims in British society. As McRoy (2006, ←20 | 21→p. 25) affirmed, the Rushdie Affair exposed ‘a clash of values’. The state’s refusal to extend Blasphemy Laws beyond its existing remit to include Muslim religious beliefs inflated Muslim dislocation in some quarters. Firstly, it inspired a rededication to religious belief and practice, which to some degree resulted in the prioritising of Muslim identity (Lewis, 1994). Secondly, the perceived intransigence of the legal process and the lack of access to the political system encouraged some Muslims to seek out more extreme forms of politics. Beyond the national setting, globalised events like the genocide in Bosnia and the Iraq war animated Muslims into political activism. The refusal of the government to intervene within the breakup of the former Yugoslavia, despite significant efforts to lobby the government by British Muslims, seemed to perpetuate a sense of double standard and did little to encourage political integration. In the aftermath of the northern riots (2001), a key ingredient in the civil unrest appeared to be a lack of social and political integration (Denham, 2002). National events, like the disturbances in the north of England and the Rushdie affair, appear to act as a dividing line between the white majority and Muslim community. In many ways, these explosive events seem to fuel Muslim dislocation and thus impede their political and socio-economic integration.
The above issues do bring some important contextual debates to the surface. A recurring theme amongst Muslim experiences in Britain appears to revolve around discrimination and stigmatisation. The European Monitoring Centre further strengthened this on racism and xenophobia (2006, p. 110), which stated: ‘it is evident that Muslims often experience various levels of discrimination and marginalisation in employment, education and housing, and are also victims of negative stereotyping and prejudicial attitudes’. The sense of exclusion brought about by social discrimination may reinforce a perception that the white majority does not entirely accept Muslims. As Wiktorowicz (2004) suggests, the experience of racism and Islamophobia has impelled some young Muslims to re-evaluate their identity and how it relates to the broader society. Therefore, some young Muslims interpret their negative social experiences in a seemingly positive light (Wali, 2013). In other words, segregation from British society provides young Muslims with an idealised sense of community, while ←21 | 22→explaining that their problem is the consequence of British society and its unequal power structures.
Muslim Enclaves, Segregation and Belongingness
The word Muslim enclave conjures many adverse social reactions and stereotypes. From the outside, a Muslim enclave is a distinct social space standing apart from the wider society. This begs the question, what aspect ‘stands apart’? Some have suggested Muslim enclaves reflect economic and structural disparities; inevitably, triggering social isolation (McRoy, 2006). In a broader sense, many politicians and media commentators often single out particular items of clothing, like the burka, as an example of segregation. In 2006, Jack Straw’s comments about Muslim women who wear the veil trigged mass debate and controversy. He insisted the burka, concealing the face, was a ‘visible statement of separation and of difference’ (The Guardian, 6 November 2006). Unfortunately, his comments greatly simplify the complexity of segregation within the United Kingdom. This implies that segregation occurs at an individual level. Therefore, a person decides to separate from the dominant culture to preserve and safeguard his or her own cultural identity. There is one slight limitation to this paradigm. Identity is often bound to collective life and social experience (Hockey and James, 2017).
In the East End of London, for instance, I discovered that people used the social space as a means to construct different modes of identity. There are many variations among the residents of the East End. Some have lived there for over sixty years, while others have just newly arrived. Most of the residents I spoke to in the East End described themselves as British nationals. In theory, this should be a positive sign, as an individual’s nationality should have some form of impact on how they think and act. As Turner (1987) surmised, an individual is trigged to think, feel and act in accordance with his personal, family or national ‘level of self’. In the East End, there are multiple-ethnic groups visible, with each group and ←22 | 23→individual belonging to different nationalities. In the national context of the UK, a lack of national belonging has supposedly stimulated Muslim segregation. Some members of the East End seemingly sought out separation, promoting Muslim homogeneity to build a distinct faith community.
As a result, the debate concerning Muslim national belonging has gained considerable coverage in recent years, especially after the 2001 race riots in the north of England. According to Bhabha (1994), legal citizenship does not entail acceptance or inclusion in the dominant culture. This view asserts that social ties dictate the levels of belongingness individual’s experience, especially within the national context. This means geographic space, like enclaves, can play a role in exacerbating exclusion. Ultimately, from a minority perspective, the notion of ‘Britishness’, and national belonging, are extremely vague and ill- defined notions. Therefore, constructing a sense of belonging is not a homogenous process; rather, individuals may construct belonging in different and diverse ways. There are multiple modes of belonging, which means one should not ignore different ethnic backgrounds, because these reflect different social contexts. Thus, a white English Christian may construct ‘Britishness’ centred on formulations of whiteness and Christianity. These identity-types will make it extremely difficult for ethnic minorities to identify with this discursive criterion of national belongingness. If these attributes are associated with Britishness, then it is not surprising that the vast majority of the Muslims I spoke to felt the ‘native’ population were not their people. Unfortunately, the inability to frame national belongingness has fostered segregation within some Muslim communities, because those who seemingly fall outside of the racial and religious boundaries of Britishness are deemed ‘foreign’ (non-native).
Is there a model of national belonging that can work? Some academics have advocated the notion of ‘differentiated’ belonging, which in simple terms recognises communal difference (Taylor, 1992). The outdated ‘affirmative’ belonging model had a tendency to impose a homogenous approach to national belonging, shaped around vague ideas and values (e.g. British values). In contrast, differentiated belonging seeks to redefine the relationship between the modern state and ethnonational groups. This type of model gives individuals and groups the opportunity to select multiple forms of belonging to the nation-state. This is designed to accommodate ←23 | 24→what Taylor (1992) describes as ‘deep diversity’. In the British context, this does not necessarily translate into granting special group rights to minority groups; instead, it is about constructing different notions of ethnicity and citizenship (e.g. British Muslim, British Pakistani and so on). As I discovered during my fieldwork, enclave residents tried to engage with their national belongingness by using different local and national identity-types, which were often rooted in ethnicity, culture and religion. The lack of identity homogeneity within enclaves created difficulties relating to the state. In simple terms, when the residents I spoke to encountered host discrimination, it stimulated a weakening of national belongingness and encouraged segregation.
Unfortunately, differentiated-based models of belonging struggle to accommodate social conflict. This model asserts that even if minority groups are perceived as non-native by the wider society, they can still feel a sense of belonging if they maintain social ties with the host population. Carrillo-Rowe (2005, p. 33) defines this as ‘reverse-interpellation’. This formulation can be problematic as it creates belongingness through conceptions of space. Thus, 71.3 per cent of East End Muslims that I interviewed preferred being described as Londoners; yet, struggled with notions of Englishness and Britishness (0.9 per cent and 27.8). As a result, according to Peucker (2016), the Muslim community is not willing to give up its ethno-religious group status when engaging with the state. A possible explanation for this is provided by Anderson (2006) in his book imagined communities. He suggests, in the pre-modern period, the social structure of the state was divided into different groups (e.g. castes, tribes and so on). With the advent of the modern nation-state, the individual is no longer connected to the state through social group membership but instead represent free and equal individual citizens. This is where British Muslims seemingly struggle to construct a connection with the state. Some Muslim communities are not willing to transcend their ethno-religious communal bonds, which they supposedly must give up in order to function as individual citizens. As Parekh (2000, p. 181) explains, to be ‘a citizen is to transcend one’s ethnic, religious and other particularities, and to think and act as a member of a political community’. This makes it somewhat inherently difficult for some ←24 | 25→minority groups to dissolve their community associations and merge with the state’s national identity.
As mentioned, most East End Muslims happily classify themselves as Londoners. They share a geographic context with fellow non-Muslims residing within the city of London. However, this bond does not transcend the local, limiting the sense of belonging to the broader national context. As a result, the vast majority of Muslims I spoke to in the East End of London constructed national belonging as a legal entitlement, giving them membership and rights as a UK citizen. This negates belonging, which is stripped away when seeking only legal recognition and membership. This is why Muslim belongingness has been strongly questioned, as it seems they may lack attachment to national identity. However, as I have already discussed, modern Britain is not homogenous, and thus national identity has to be framed in a way that intersects different communities. In the Muslim enclaves I encountered, belongingness started with the immediate family and community connections, providing the individual with a shared ethno-religious experience. Thus, second-generation Muslims are socialised within a distinct ethno-religious identity in the enclave, which may foster segregation.
In order to understand the impact segregation has had on Muslim communities at a local and national level requires examining how it takes root at an individual and communal level. For this reason, extensive fieldwork has been conducted across Britain to help untangle Muslim segregation, ideally to the extent that the singular and collective identities of Muslims can be understood. If we divide Muslim segregation into two simple categories, the individual and the group aspect, then, in theory, one might be able to determine the relationship between individual and enclave segregation. To make this distinction clearer, consider the following example. The ethnic identity among young British Pakistanis represents the knowledge, values and emotion attached to membership of an ethnic minority group that has its origins in Pakistan.
Similarly, the religious identity relates to membership of the Muslim minority in Britain and the global Ummah [Muslim Nation]. The process of categorising themselves in line with their social identities (e.g. Muslim, Pakistani and so on) places them within an in-group to which ←25 | 26→they internalise that group membership as an aspect of their identity. After being categorised with group membership, they seek to achieve positive and negative value connotations, as to differentiate their in-group from a comparison out-group (Tajfel and Turner, 1986). This search for positive distinctiveness shapes the individual’s sense of identity. However, this can lead to conflict; Muslims who attach greater significance and meaning to their religious, cultural identity may struggle with the national culture. Segregation may relate to people who choose to live collectively in an area dominated by their cultural group, as economic reality may trigger preferences. The question remains, how adequate is segregation as a description of Muslim social life in Britain.
Although, segregation can be framed in multiple ways, the vast majority of theories tended to fall into one of three categories: those concerned with the reasons for spatial segregation (Loyd et al., 2015; Hershkovitz, 1981); those concerned with how structural segregation functions (Krysan and Crowder, 2017; Trounstine, 2018; Martin, 2006); and those concerned with the effects of segregation on identity (Hale, 2010; Mckeown, 2013). However, any generalisation must be tentative, as the above categories must be seen as fluid and shifting. To begin with, spatial segregation relates to where people reside, focusing on the socio-demographics of residential patterns (Hershkovitz, 1981). This can be explored through an array of demographic factors, such as household income and ethnic group. In contrast, structural segregation relates to institutional patterns of society like employment and education (Trounstine, 2018). These structural forces can shape patterns of social interaction, creating segregation along socio-economic lines.
These approaches are useful to understand how social mobility can reduce patterns of residential segregation. The early migration of the Jewish community in the East End of London, for instance, illustrates that ethnic enclaves can be temporary. In particular, the Jews who settled in the East End during the nineteenth century were discriminated against and were subject to restrictions on the housing they could obtain (Tananbaum, 2015). Their segregation declined gradually as they gained social mobility upward and subsequently moved to more affluent areas across London. Why, one may ask, have Bangladeshi Muslims in the East End not gradually ←26 | 27→progressed as the Jewish community managed? It seems the experiences of both communities are not similar. Firstly, Bangladeshi immigrants arrived in large numbers, which rapidly altered and challenged the demographic makeup of the East End. In simple terms, the white English population felt threatened by the ethnic population shift and thus racist abuse became a common occurrence for early Bangladeshi immigrants. The overtly racist response to their presence pushed early immigrants to seek refuge amongst their community. The evidence for this strategy has been attested to by the personal narratives collected from early immigrants in Chapter 1.
Today, ethnic segregation in the East End has not precipitously declined; instead, it seemingly has solidified and increased since the arrival of the first generation of Bangladeshi immigrants. According to Kantrowitz (cited in Peach et al., p. 46), referring to the American context, ethnic segregation exists and has progressively increased. He believes the only disagreement connected to segregation relates to its causes (ibid., p. 46). A wide range of academics appears to support this claim that ethnic segregation has increased access to many major US cities (Kantrowitz, 1979; Hawley, 1994). Although these cited works are dated, they have been reinforced by more contemporary studies, which have supported the increase in ethnic segregation in the US (Iceland and Weinberg, 2002; Crowder, 2017). This shift in attitude towards segregation, namely that it has increased, is a significant move away from Park’s assimilationist model (1969). The idea immigrants would initially settle in small clusters and then merge into the larger community after conflict does not appear to be occurring amongst Muslim communities in the UK (Park, 1969, p. 737). Park (1969) did acknowledge that the early formation of ethnic enclaves takes place from a commonality of race, culture and language. When these ties begin to weaken, some immigrants seek to integrate into the dominant culture, gaining economic advantage. This change in social status did occur among the Jewish community in the East End, but Bangladeshi Muslims have not replicated this. Despite gaining economic stability, the majority of the residents in the East End appeared reluctant to move away from the area. Instead, the residents have chosen to deepen their segregation from the wider society, as the so-called enclave gives them an opportunity to preserve their religious and ethnic identities. It became evident that respondents felt ←27 | 28→the East End is a social space that embodies a set of distinct cultural values and norms. Thus, segregation in the East End seemed to be occurring on the cultural level.
Cultural Segregation
The debate concerning segregation in modern Britain can be discussed from multiple perspectives, and so this study will focus mainly on the social and cultural strand of segregation. The reason for this is simple; cultural segregation is not a condition solely rampant among the working class. The phenomenon of cultural segregation can be equally prevalent among middle-class British Muslims (Wali, 2013). Moreover, in urban settings, residential development and growth will often result in some form of income-based segregation. This preferred form of economic segregation is usually triggered by upward or downward class mobility, which creates differentiated social groups based on class. The East End of London, for instance, has seen periodic waves of migration as each group gained upward mobility, their residential preferences changed. Conversely, economic deprivation can constrain social movement, upholding class-based segregation in large urban areas. Indeed, this economic reality is persistent in everyday life within most major urban centres around the country, so what makes Muslim segregation different?
The socio-cultural component of Muslim segregation is highly complex in nature and appears to be the primary ignition point for separation. As Schelling (2006) noted several decades ago, people often seek out the familiar; they prefer to ‘live with their own type’. In Britain, it is clear that Muslims stand visibly apart in terms of cultural practices (e.g. cuisine, language and dress), but these variations are a natural fabric of multiculturalism. The state does not expect newly arriving migrants to negate their social histories, which often stretch back for centuries. Today there is a growing expectation that Muslims, despite their distinct cultural beliefs and practices, should be moulded into a national image of ‘Britishness’. In order to bring about this collective identity requires directly interfering at the cultural level with a community seeking its identity standpoint. As ←28 | 29→we know, British Muslims cannot opt out of the economic structures, as these place constraints upon economic activity and are centrally governed.
The state is naturally reluctant to encroach on the public space, where culture in society is formed continuously and remoulded. It is within this neutral space that a cultural line has been drawn between Muslims and non-Muslims in British society. Du Bois (1899), commenting on the state of American segregation over a hundred years ago, described the creation of a similar boundary related to race. The ‘colour line’, as he put it, strengthened the widening gap between white and black. In Britain, Muslim migrants have added a new cultural dimension to the social landscape, but have they engineered a cultural point of separation? This book seeks to determine whether this cultural line is imagined or real. Race-related identity politics, especially amongst the Muslim community, in modern Britain, has somehow given way to cultural identity differences, allowing Muslims to express solidarity with those who reflect ‘the familiar’. So, if Muslims see themselves as culturally different to the majority, then has the creation of a ‘culture line’ accelerated their segregation from the dominant culture? At this introductory stage, it is a rather big leap to claim that Muslims living in Britain are segregated from British society at the cultural level.
The problem of segregation is often seen through the restrictive lens of numbers. Even though statistical evidence provides a picture into segregation, providing insight into the demographic scale and space of the problem, it does not go deep enough to answer why specific groups exist apart. This book asks British Muslims if they have opted out of the dominant culture to form segregated Muslim enclaves.
If the host culture sees only homogeneity amongst Muslims, then the commonality becomes ‘Muslimness’. To observe a community through the single frame of religiosity will naturally distort the image of British Muslims. In the popular imagination, British Muslims are expected to project a cultural identity that normalises religion and state. Trying to build a stable merger between these two aspects is not easy. We may see visible signs of separation between people and state. The Burka, for example, maybe seen as a concrete mooring that symbolises cultural separation. It might be easy to imagine the visible manifestation of segregation, especially at the ←29 | 30→individual and communal level, but placing connections between people in imagined spaces ignores social boundaries.
Another aspect relates to cultural visibility. If we discard naturally occurring instances of segregation, like the process of class stratification and urbanisation, which can invariably alter the social reality of a locality. Then, we might be left with selective formations of segregation rooted in cultural distinctiveness. The East End of London, for instance, is populated with a large number of Muslims. At the visible level, this disproportionate spatial ordering can be characterised as ‘residential segregation’ based on ethno-religious divisions. The Muslim residents of the East End are not a homogenous entity. They are split according to class and ethnicity. However, religion seems to play an important role at the community level, creating a source of communal identity and belonging. For instance, I spoke to many middle-class Muslims who choose to live within the Muslim dominated localities, seemingly drawn to the religious community.
For this reason, I want to explore Muslim perspectives of life in Muslim enclaves, in an effort to discover the underpinning reasons why some Muslims seek to ‘opt out’. Therefore, in order to understand Muslim segregation in Britain requires exploring the social and cultural fabric of specific communities across the British Isles. I have decided to focus on three distinct regions in the UK, namely London, Wales and Scotland, because these areas highlight the acute nature of the problem.
Studying British Muslims: Subjectivity and Objectivity
This book has faced numerous challenges, most notably in trying to gain access to large and small groups of British Muslims across the United Kingdom. This inquiry, which arises from a lengthy investigation undertaken over a period of four years amongst British Muslims, explores the changing relationship these individuals and communities have experienced living within the United Kingdom.
←30 | 31→
When I began my fieldwork, I realised I was not a stranger to my research subject. This book is about British Muslims, and thus I could not ignore my membership and upbringing within the Muslim community. However, I did not consider this a methodological paradox. Instead, it is precisely this social experience, which gave me a deeper appreciation of Muslim enclaves. This meant trying to exclude my own experiences and values for neutrality and indifference towards research objects seemed unrealistic. Thus, respondents were not looked upon as simple research objects but as mirror images of me. Consequently, the respondents gradually lost their initial mistrust that I might misappropriate their histories. This allowed for an open conversation, as Mies (1983, p. 123) notes:
The researcher takes the side of a certain group, partly identifies, and in a conscious process creates space for critical dialogues and reflection on both sides. This enables both research ‘subjects’ and ‘objects’ to become more aware of the power differences and dynamics involved, and of distortions of perceptions to be corrected on both sides. Paradoxically, precisely through this process of partial identification a critical and dialectical distance is created between the researcher and the researched.
This ‘conscious partiality’ allowed me to express my own experiences of growing up in London, which led to an open and contextualised knowledge of subjective experiences. It was this method of collective perception of our experiences that lead to what Westkott (cited in Weiler, 1988, p. 62) described as ‘inter-subjectivity’.
Secondly, despite adopting less conventional approaches to research objectivity, I was fully aware of the lack of social distance between the respondents and myself. As a member of the Muslim community, I had already experienced and encountered the challenges I was studying. This meant I shared similar patterns of ethno-religious socialisation and life- experiences as the respondents. However, this is not a problem, as Mamak (cited in Roberts, 2013, p. 55) observed:
I found that my academic training in the methodological views of western social science and its emphasis on ‘scientific objectivity’ conflicted with the experiences of my colonial past. The traditional way in which social science research is conducted proved inadequate for an understanding of the people I was researching.
←31 | 32→
In this respect, the traditional scientific perspective that views the researched as mere objects of data collection are outdated for this research, because to penetrate closed social groups required personal connection. On the other hand, as Adler and Adler (1987, p. 8) point out, when examining closed social groups, the ‘researchers must assume social roles that fit the worlds they are studying’. Therefore, using ‘conscious partiality’, I sought not only to hear the life histories of British Muslims, but also observe and compare their social reality and experiences to my own.
Therefore, from the commencement of my fieldwork, I was aware I could not divorce my personal experiences from my research. In actuality, my subjectivity was intimately embroiled in the research, as it guided my choice of topic, and it influenced the selection of my methodology. Consequently, I was concerned that my subjectivity might skew my reading of the social reality of Muslim lives. For this reason, I took steps to prevent this from happening. Firstly, respondents were selected in a random manner, which meant I did not know the respondents, so when they revealed their life histories to me, it was unknown. For that reason, I did not enter my fieldwork with a preconceived profile of British Muslims. Instead, I wanted to rely heavily on the data I collected. This meant utilising appropriate methodological techniques, namely interviews and surveys, to solicit complete and meaningful data that could be used to construct a picture of life in Muslim enclaves. I assigned ‘meaning units’ to interview transcripts, which identified distinct meanings within the respondent statements.
In most cases, a collection of statements formed a unit, for example, when respondents emphasised their ‘hatred for non-Muslims and British society’. However, I did also identify single words as meaning units (e.g. racism and Islamophobia). As Ratner (2002) asserts, meaning units objectively summarise the personal meanings of the respondents. Secondly, since the research focused on unravelling the backstories and identities of British Muslims, I disclosed from the outset my background. Therefore, as complete objectivity was considered impractical, I made every effort to acknowledge and integrate my subjectivity within a contained methodological standpoint.
Although my own experiences provided the backdrop for my research, it became clear that I needed to place British Muslims at the centre of my ←32 | 33→research. Constructing knowledge around the life experiences of British Muslims made it incumbent to tailor my methodology around the sensitivity of the respondents. This is because, as Collins (1990, p. 209) explains, it is an individual’s experiences that provide a concrete ‘criterion for credibility’. This enabled me to interpret my research findings while acknowledging my prior subjective experiences. As mentioned, I decided to use my previously gained knowledge to enhance my research. In this respect, my experiences gave me a distinct standpoint.
For this reason, I actively used the knowledge of my Muslim heritage to interpret the social world of British Muslims. I integrated my knowledge of British Muslims in a number of ways into my research. Firstly, I used it to cut through programmed and robotic rhetoric often stated to ‘outsiders’. Secondly, most of the respondents I interviewed shared similar social experiences and backgrounds to me, which allowed me to ask more penetrating and targeted questions.
I decided to use narratives as one way of exploring Muslim experiences, primarily related to growing up in Muslim enclaves. As Peterson (2006, p. 721) asserts, there is a need to study the ‘intersecting experiences’ of activists. By drawing on the personal experiences of British Muslims, I was able to explore segregation and its multiple intersections with class, religion and ethnicity. The concept of ‘intersectionality’, as framed by feminist scholars, sheds light on the intersection between different social categories – such as gender, ethnicity, class and so on – making it possible to observe the social divergences that exist amongst people (Davis, 2008, p. 67). It is essential to look at the multiple categories of differentiation amongst British Muslims because Muslim enclaves have formed in different and diverse locations. As the data revealed, Muslim identities appear to revolve around ethnicity and religion. This would, in theory, suggest that Muslim identities are largely formed in similar ways across the country. As the narratives will show, the experiences of first- and second-generation respondents fell in large part between the intersections of ethnicity and religion. After contextualising their experiences, it became clear that their upbringing were critical features in their narratives. However, it would be a mistake to assume that British Muslims share similar life experiences, as they do not emerge from similar social backgrounds. In particular, the Muslim experiences in Dundee ←33 | 34→demonstrate how national belonging can hinge on geographic differences. This makes it vital to study Muslim experiences from different geographic locations around the UK, as this will provide a more comprehensive glimpse into Muslim segregation patterns. For this reason, in order to understand why Muslim segregation takes place amongst British Muslims, requires looking at how these individuals and communities have been shaped by class, ethnicity and religion. Therefore, by utilising intersectionality, I will be able to understand the different intersections of Muslim experiences.
The assembly of data entailed ethnography, in-depth interviews and surveys. The ethnographic method lasted two years, during which time I had access to different Muslim communities. Besides, as I will describe, I conducted semi-structured in-depth interviews with 112 enclave residents, providing a rich and stimulating source of data. After I had completed the ethnographic and interview stages, I began administering a series of surveys. As Bryman (2001, p. 274) points out, it is vital for the researcher to use more than one ‘source of data in the study of social phenomena’.
My fieldwork started in a hands-on manner because I wanted to observe residents’ activities, thinking that this would provide insight into the social world of British Muslims. However, in documenting the types of interaction, it soon became apparent that there were other, much more important issues to be examined about the causes of segregation. It became clear I needed to conduct interviews, in part to examine some of the ideas that were emerging from the ethnography. It became evident that respondents were displaying different identities, which illustrated distinct differences in socialisation patterns. Thus, trying to paint a portrait of a typical British Muslim in as accurate and vivid a manner as possible was extremely difficult. In the end, then, detailed interviews were undertaken, in some instances, more as conversations in a series of natural settings. The interviews conducted with the first- and second-generation respondents revealed a rich source of data concerning the social world of Muslims in Britain. These qualitative accounts concentrate on life narratives: to be exact, their social background and upbringing, with attention given to the context of ethnic and religious identity.
After interviewing forty-seven first-generation Muslim respondents and 175 second-generation respondents, my findings uncovered some ←34 | 35→common themes. A recurring theme, which emerged in the accounts from my respondents, is that of identity; and how their current identities seemed greatly dependent on their past and present experiences. The goal of my research was to map out the sources of identity construction. Consequently, each of the respondents I interviewed exhibited a distinct social world of lived experience. The results of my fieldwork indicated that common traits existed in certain individuals. I identified a host of recurring characteristics within all the respondents. Firstly, first-generation immigrants faced similar challenges and endured significant discrimination, which increased their frustration and anger towards the larger culture. These frustrations at being externalised led to their reliance on fellow immigrants, and thus the enclave offered a strong sense of belonging and security. Similarly, among second-generation respondents, enclave residents struggled to adapt the social world beyond the enclave, which would suggest that respondents’ current identities are the outcome of a failure to integrate with the wider social context. In this respect, the respondents needed the enclave to gain a sense of belonging.
After I conducted my interviews with first- and second-generation residents, it became incumbent upon me to verify this information. I sought to determine whether the views and experiences expressed by my respondents were representative of the wider population. Therefore, I quickly recognised the inescapable necessity for administering a series of surveys. More importantly, the surveys became a key mechanism for unlocking the sense of belonging individual Muslims exhibited. I needed to understand the nature of the social embeddedness of Muslim residents. In other words, residents are fixed and rooted in multifaceted social realities that define and confine their social identities. Thus, from a social perspective, my fieldwork has demonstrated that most Muslim identities are fashioned from their social experiences, interactions and backgrounds. This sociological analysis provides an alternative way of looking at the developments that have taken place amongst the British Muslims I observed. Traditionally, sociologists are interested in identifying the relationships between social structures and processes, as they place greater emphasis on individuals moving from one social setting to another (Erikson, 1950). Therefore, I sought to expand and distil upon the key sociological features of Muslim ←35 | 36→community membership – such as class, age, gender, ethnicity and nationality, and religion. By focusing on these interrelated components, I was able to formulate a quantitative image of different Muslim identity-types, which included ethnic, religious, western and hybrid.
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