After the second world war, a Polish Resettlement Corps was raised as part of the British Army to allow Polish servicemen wishing to remain in the West to be demobilized and resettled to Britain. Some 125,000 chose to do this, the number growing to 200,000 when soldiers were joined by families who had spent the war in refugee camps in British colonies. The only way such a vast number of people could be accommodated in post-war Britain was by placing them in ex-army camps. Dozens across the country were turned into Polish resettlement camps, having been built in rural areas in the early 1940s for the American and Canadian troops. Blackshaw Moor in Staffordshire became one of them. This post discusses the memories of people who grew up there.
In The Refugee System, Rawan Arar and David Scott Fitzgerald offer an avenue for overcoming the limits of the siloed approaches which direct research on refugees. Situating their work at the intersection of international migration, forced displacement, and conflict studies, they propose a ‘systems approach’ which ‘shows how “refugeedom” – the relationship between refugees, state, and society – interacts with refugeehood – the experience of becoming and being a refugee.’ Their findings attest that work on refugeedom is immeasurably strengthened by understanding how displaced persons themselves may view this matrix as they navigate its confines.
This post uses Helmut Newton’s provocative memoir, Autobiography, to explore how the ocean-going liner, as a mode of transportation, informed Jewish refugees’ experiences between 1938 and 1940. What did they do during their journey onboard Shanghai-bound ships? By joining Newton on the ship, this post draws connections between Holocaust Studies and Refugee Studies to reveal the significance of these vessels as a ‘space of possibilities’ for Jewish refugee passengers.
The act of deciding who deserves welcome in a country is determined not only by ‘hard’ legal facts such as visa or passport status but also by ‘soft’ factors coalescing around nebulous ideas of ‘belonging’. This post explores the experiences of Anglo-Egyptians in Britain, harkis in France, and retornados in Portugal to show just how complicated the politics of welcome and belonging could be, and highlights the role of ‘soft’ citizenship in the process.
We are pleased to announce that the ‘Doing Refugee History’ series continues this semester on the subject of refugee technologies and will take place on Thursday 20 April 20223, 2-4pm UK time.
Technology has shaped refugee history in many ways, from how refugees move and stay connected to how states seek to regulate and control migrant mobility. Boats, trains and planes enabled people to travel to places further and further afield. Letters, telegrams, emails and messaging applications have enabled people to keep in touch and raise awareness about refugee situations. Conversely, identity documents, passports and now facial recognition technologies have created layers of regulation and bureaucracy that refugees must navigate and overcome. Technology has also changed the manner in which researchers access histories of displacement and refuge, and transformed the nature of research in this field.
The purpose of this roundtable is to explore the topic of refugee technologies in history. What kinds of technologies have refugees used in their journeys? What kinds of experiences have these technologies fostered? In what ways have various technologies been used to regulate refugee movements and refugee bodies, historically and in the present? And in what ways has technology transformed historical research? We welcome contributions that discuss technologies, broadly defined, and consider how these inform approaches to doing refugee history.
On 27 November 2021, twenty-seven lives were abandoned to the English Channel by the French and British states, as fifteen calls in distress went unanswered. A year later, Le Monde exposed the exchanges between those on board the small boat and the regional maritime rescue and surveillance centre in the Pas-de-Calais, exchanges which the French state initially denied had taken place. ‘Tu seras pas sauvé… je t’ai pas demandé de partir’, rang the voice of one operator to the call of distress at sea: ‘You will not be saved… I did not ask you to leave [France]’.
This loss of life at sea, while the worst incident in thirty years in the Channel, in fact fits within a historical continuity of the last twenty years of violent and reactive Franco-British border politics. In this history, the agency of those who have decided to make this perilous journey is deeply constrained: what does choice look like when there is simply ‘no other option’?
There has been a recent global turn within Holocaust Studies: a growing body of scholarship focuses on Jewish refugees and the Holocaust in contexts that had been previously ignored, and highlights how those experiencing the war in Europe did so in different ways to those living through the conflict in other parts of the world. This post focuses on Jewish refugees who travelled to Japan, and who in the process often made journeys covering multiple countries across land and sea. For example, many Jews who arrived in Kobe, a city in Japan, in the early 1940s arrived via Poland, Lithuania, and the Soviet Union, having used the Trans-Siberian railway and sea travel to cross multiple borders.
Studies of neutrality tend to focus on legal and diplomatic aspects, but there is also an important social dimension: neutral territories are often destinations or stopovers for refugees, especially when these territories are adjacent to conflict zones. What does neutrality mean in practice when we put refugees at the centre of analysis? British-ruled Hong Kong and Portuguese-ruled Macau in the 1930s and 1940s offer connected case studies of displaced persons during the Second World War in East Asia.
Digital technology has transformed archival research. Instead of painstakingly taking notes most historians today take digital pictures or scans from archival documents. The advantages are undeniable: it reduces time spent in one archive, which increases the possibility to visit more archives and enhances accuracy. However, there are downsides, too. Access can lead to excess. The sheer volume of paper has exponentially increased since the invention of the typewrite in the late nineteenth century; computers, digitisation, and online access have only enhanced this growth. Hence, historians often end up with enormous collections of research photos on their personal devices. Many struggle to properly process their digital material. The problem of multitude is no longer situated during but after the archival visit.