In 1905, Henry Nevinson, at the time a well-known British journalist, visited Angola. He discovered that the slave trade was still going on in secret in that region, many years after it had officially been abolished. Deep inside Southern Africa slaves were caught; they were forced to walk hundreds of miles to the coast until they arrived at Katumbella, where “the slaves were rested, sorted out, dressed, and then taken on over the fifteen miles to Benguela, usually disguised as ordinary carriers.” In Benguela's main street,

The notion of the “second serfdom” has to be revisited. I claim that the introduction, the evolution, and the abolition of serfdom in Russia should be seen as a long-term process, beginning no later than the late sixteenth century and ending at the eve of the First World War. In particular, I show that serfdom was never officially institutionalized in Russia and that the rules usually evoked to justify this argument actually were not meant to “bind” the peasantry but to distinguish noble estate owners from state-service nobles and “bourgeois.” Contrary to what has been argued by Witold Kula and Immanuel Wallerstein, the rise of capitalism in the West did not exploit the rise of serfdom in the East, but both East and West were part of the same global wave of commercialization, protoindustrialization, and industrialization.

This article breaks new ground for the study of postslavery gender and social formations in modern Ghana and Africa as a whole: It examines the expansion of involuntary female domestic labor known as abaawa in what is today Ghana. The study traces the transformative institutional processes that shaped the exploitation of involuntary female labor in the precolonial, colonial, and postcolonial periods. Based on a variety of primary sources, including colonial, indigenous African newspapers, Christian missionary accounts, and oral history, the article maps out the paradoxical expansion of involuntary female labor during the age of abolition in the colonial period and the postslavery phase of social and gender formations in the era of the postcolonial state. The pivotal argument is that social and gender formations that emerged as a result of abolition, social change, and economic transformation benefited more males than females. As a result, males used innovative, empowering avenues of social mobility in both the colonial and postcolonial periods. For their part, disempowered females, especially those in backwater enclaves, were consigned to abaawa labor, which has ostensibly been projected as a benign, kinship-based, and apprenticeship-bound institution. In reality, contemporary abaawa has all the exploitative vagaries of slavery and debt-bondage of the pre/colonial epoch.

On the basis of anthropological fieldwork carried out in South Gujarat in the early 1960s, I described and analyzed a system of bonded labor that dominated the relationship between low-caste farm servants and high-caste landowners (Patronage and Exploitation: Changing Agrarian Relations in South Gujarat, India, 1974). More recently, I have gone back to the study of agrarian bondage of the past in order to explore in greater detail the emergence of unfree labor in the precolonial era and comment on its demise as a result of efforts made by the colonial state, the nationalist movement, and peasant activists (Labour Bondage in West India from Past to Present, 2007). A recurrent research theme during my fieldwork in the last few decades has been drawing attention to practices of neo-bondage (neo because the relationship between bosses and workers is less personalized, of shorter duration, more contractual, and monetized) at the bottom of India's informal-sector economy. Additionally, the elements of patronage that offered a modicum of protection and security to bonded clients in the past have disappeared while the transition to a capitalist mode of production accelerated.

This article examines the relationship between multidimensional child advocacy campaigns and the enactment of Ghana's Human Trafficking Act (2005). I argue that while child advocacy has a rich history, the diffuse labor-oriented advocacy characteristic of the 1990s failed to articulate an achievable goal. Child labor advocacy was impotent because the diverse agencies involved adopted different positions about the permissibility of child labor. By contrast, the anti-trafficking initiatives of the early 2000s focused narrowly on legislative remedy and formulated a discourse of “crisis.” An anti-trafficking coalition built on an international regulation model that emerged from the cocoa industry. As agents of social and political change, domestic, regional, and foreign nongovernmental organizations and intergovernmental organizations played important roles in shaping debates and framing new law. The Ghanaian law, however, is of limited effectiveness because it ignores autochthonous social practices with historically rich traditions, and it enjoins a narrow, economic model for the proliferation of trafficking.

In January 2008, at the meeting of the American Historical Association, I had coffee with two colleagues, Gary Gerstle and George Sánchez, with whom I share an abiding interest in labor and immigration history, as well as current politics. We hatched an idea to hold a conference on immigration policy reform, which we believed would potentially be back on Congress's agenda after the new administration—we did not know at the time who would be the next president—took office. Ours certainly would not be the first conference on immigration policy. But we wanted to bring two perspectives that are not commonly aired in policy debates today: the historical perspective and the international perspective. We decided to bring together historians, social scientists, advocates, policy analysts, and journalists for a gathering in Washington, D.C., where we hoped to get the attention of those on Capitol Hill. We were fortunate that the Woodrow Wilson Center for International Studies agreed to host and cosponsor the event and that we were able to work with historian Sonya Michel, the center's new director for United States studies. Additional cosponsors included Columbia University, the University of Southern California, and Vanderbilt University.

The present immigration system is based on a core paradox. The method of allocating visas for the admission of permanent residents is based on principles of equality and fairness because all countries have the same quota. Yet visa demand varies widely. The principle of formal equality has disparate effects, being inclusionary for some and exclusionary for others. Four countries persistently max out on their caps—China, India, Mexico, and the Philippines—leading to long waits, easily ten to twenty years or more, and hence pressures for unlawful entry. The system generates an ever-larger caste-population of unauthorized immigrants.

This article questions the notion that family reunification is the cornerstone of US immigration policies and points to the violation of the right to family reunification in US law. It specifically looks at the forcible separation of legal residents from their families, including foreign domestic workers in the Labor Certification Program; US-born children with undocumented relatives, including parents and siblings; and guest workers. We argue that the growing influence of nationalist politics and big businesses trumps the interests of the family in US immigration policies, resulting in the prolonged and forcible separation of working-class and poor migrant families.

This essay offers a historical overview of processes of immigrant political incorporation in the United States. It identifies three dimensions of incorporation—legal, cultural, and institutional—and argues that the unevenness of progress among these three dimensions has rendered the process of incorporation fraught and frequently marked by contradiction. It also distinguishes between “acquiescent” and “transformational” modes of incorporation and stresses that the latter, though often perceived as threatening by the native-born, is often the more enduring and meaningful way of becoming American. Finally, it assesses the prospects for incorporation among immigrants in the United States today.

The intensity of the recent debate over the presence of an estimated eleven to twelve million unauthorized persons in the United States often creates the impression that the current situation somehow represents a historical anomaly in the long-running debate over US immigration policy and citizenship law. This brief commentary contests that view, suggesting instead that the mass circulation and permanent presence of unauthorized persons has been a normative feature of US economic activity for more than a century and that the exigencies of global economic competition make it likely that this state of affairs will persist into the foreseeable future.

In today's liberal democracies, the “social question” and the “immigration question” have become entwined as rarely before. Elites and citizens alike ask who belongs to the national political and social community of the “we” and what belonging entails in the way of rights and obligations. Under the impact of unprecedented free mobility for both capital and labor and the crises of the social welfare state, the borders and bonds of citizenship have been changing, mostly weakening. This essay takes a preliminary look at how these two questions are intertwined in the United States, Germany, and Israel.

This article gives an overview of the European “immigration system,” which includes both immigration control and immigrant integration. Special attention is given to the Euro-specific division of competences between supranational and national levels, which is still evolving. Some lessons, both positive and negative, for the United States are drawn. Most importantly, there cannot be a coherent “immigration system” but only a patchwork of divided legal regimes guided by conflicting principles, with friction between them likely to be permanent.

Since the start of the Iraq war in 2003, images of suicide bombings, religious violence, and general chaos have come to mind when most Americans have thought about Iraq. Counterposed are thoughts of US military efforts to separate the combatants and restore order. Whether one has supported or opposed the US actions in Iraq, the actual Iraqi people, almost all of them ordinary working people, remain remote and unknown.

For Nadezhda Kutepova, the path to becoming a human rights lawyer started in her hometown in the Southern Russian Urals. I met Kutepova in the summer of 2009 while doing research on Ozersk, a closed city specially built in the 1940s for workers of the vast Soviet plutonium plant called Maiak. One thinks of a nuclear site as being staffed with highly educated scientists and technicians, gingerly and knowledgeably running complicated machinery to irradiate uranium and process it into plutonium. But unlike a weapons lab, a plutonium plant is a vast factory employing thousands of blue-collar workers who push carts, run bulldozers, measure solutions, plumb, build, scrub, repair, and guard doors. And like most factories, the plutonium plant polluted liberally. In fact, plutonium production is the messiest stop on the vast assembly line of nuclear weapons production.

I met Gabriela Macias a few months ago in an undergraduate class in history that I teach to prospective high school teachers. A diminutive middle-aged woman, Gabriela was watchful in class and seemed indifferent to my attempts to reach through her stony silences. But a couple of weeks into the class, I made a breakthrough. We had been discussing the role of passion in education. I had started the discussion by insisting that unless teachers feel a real sense of commitment to the student body and feel passionate about empowering students with knowledge and ideas, they have no business being in the classroom. In retrospect, my statements seemed a little extreme, but it is hard to entice students to enter the teaching profession by the prospect of tests, more state-administered tests, and even more standardized examinations! When Gabriela started speaking, the class fell silent. But it was not her eloquence that silenced us; it was her accent. Her accent was impenetrable! I am troubled by this public admission and even considered omitting this sentence from this essay. As an immigrant from India, I find people often have trouble understanding the stubborn Indian cadences that litter my superficially Americanized speech. But that day we all strained to understand Gabriela.

Both Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri in Commonwealth (2008) and Peter Linebaugh in The Magna Carta Manifesto (2009) want to put the commons and communism—understood as a form of society in which private property has been replaced by property in common—“back on the agenda.” They even insist that just such a social and economic order “grounded in the common” is “already in process” and that communism is thus more relevant and possible than ever. To a certain extent, they are right. We need a functioning commons if human society is to remain viable. But we also need a functioning commercial economy capable of feeding the billions that human society has and most likely will continue to produce.

This article focuses upon the local cultures of Liverpool and Belfast, two cities wracked by recurrent communal sectarian strife. My analysis contributes to a growing appreciation of the locality and region as sites of accommodation, negotiation, and resistance to “nationalizing forces.” I argue that in Liverpool secularization and democratization contributed to local Tory Democracy's loss of control over popular sectarianism and to the subsequent development of a dynamic working-class movement that generated sustained Protestant-Catholic violence. In contrast, Ulster Unionism largely contained and controlled sectarian violence in Belfast. With the national threat of Irish Home Rule, the movement intervened, drawing Protestant working-class activity away from the street into “representative” structures, which were designed to harness and “police” popular sectarianism. Consequently, I examine whether the growing nationalization of British political culture from 1880 to the 1920s exacerbated or contributed to the resolution of entrenched sectarian strife within the two cities.