This paper makes a simple point: that patterns and impacts of refugee flight and return are shaped by the resources refugees and their relatives can mobilise, and those resources are largely determined by socio-economic background. The paper looks at the part class plays in shaping forms, patterns and impacts of forced migration in societies that have undergone or are emerging from conflict. It argues that as the costs of migration to escape conflict have increased, largely as a result of the construction of an increasingly stringent international migration regime, socio- economic background has become ever more important in shaping such forms, patterns and impacts. Drawing on case material from Somaliland, which has enjoyed relative peace since 1991, and from Sri Lanka, which is just emerging from conflict, the paper will first explore how socio economic status affects routes taken, means of migration and destinations reached. It will then look briefly at how class determines the kinds of influence populations abroad can exert on their countries of origin. Conditions of flight and of exile are considered in some detail because, to state the obvious, understanding of such conditions is a prerequisite for comprehending the dynamics of return. This is explored in the last section which focuses on how socio-economic status shapes patterns of return and the differential impact such return may have. The paper concludes by refining the approach to the linkages between class and forced migration and some lessons are drawn from all this for the Palestinian case.

Class and flight

When people flee conflict, persecution or distress, a common pattern is for most to seek safety in other parts of their country, for a substantial number to look for refuge in a neighbouring country or countries, and for a smaller number to seek asylum in countries further afield, perhaps in other continents. Some of those in neighbouring countries of first asylum may later be resettled further afield, joining those who have gone there directly. If exile persists and people consolidate themselves in their territories of refuge, complex relations will develop among these different domains of what we may call the refugee diaspora: that is, among those at home, those in neighbouring territories, and those spread further afield (Van Hear 2003).

Very crudely, the set-up may be depicted as in figure 1, which shows the flow of people, resources, information and ideas among three kinds of location or domains of the diaspora. As the international migration regime has become more stringent, the main factors which determine the ability to reach these destinations have increasingly become cost, connections (or `social capital'), and chance. At least the first two of these are shaped by socio-economic standing.

(Arguably chance is too, since the better endowed might be said to `make their own luck': ie their greater wealth and social capital makes more likely the working of chance to their advantage). It follows that access to more prosperous and desirable destinations will be limited to better resourced migrants. This means that the capacity to migrate may not necessarily correspond with the need to migrate, particularly in terms of security or protection. Looking at the overall picture for a given migration order in this way reveals the importance of the class dimensions of migration, which to some extent correlate with spatial distribution.

Let me illustrate this with reference to Sri Lanka and Somaliland, two territories that have experienced protracted conflict over the last two decades, and which have generated substantial diasporas that include many refugees, labour migrants and other kinds of migrant. The two cases present useful points of comparison, because Somaliland has enjoyed relative peace since 1991, and Sri Lanka is just emerging from protracted conflict.

Sri Lankan migration

Sri Lanka has experienced complex forms of migration over the last two decades or more, resulting in the formation of a large diaspora (McDowell 1996, Fuglerud 1999, Rotberg 1999, Van Hear 2002a). At first migration was largely economically motivated, mainly involving labour migration to the Middle East; by the 1990s about 200,000 Sri Lankans went each year to work in the Middle East, as well as in south-east and east Asia. Out- migration has also included a brain-drain of professionals and of people seeking educational advancement abroad. After the civil war between the Sri Lankan armed forces and the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) took off in 1983, a large outflow of asylum-seekers, mainly Tamils, took place. While much of this movement was initially to Tamil Nadu in southern India, many Sri Lankan Tamils sought asylum further afield), adding to the prior dispersal of Sri Lankan migrants who left for the purposes of education or to take up professional positions abroad. By the 1990s, there were some 100,000 Sri Lankan refugees in southern India, and 200-300,000 in Europe and North America who joined earlier professional migrants. The reach of this wider diaspora is substantial. Statistics are not always consistent, but the most important destinations for Sri Lankan asylum seekers and refugees in Europe and North America appear to be the UK, Canada, France, Germany and Switzerland. These countries are therefore significant bases from which mainly Tamil asylum seekers can influence Sri Lanka economically and politically. In addition to migration outside the country, there has been substantial internal displacement (site 1 in figure 1), ranging between 500,000 and one million people at any one time, depending on the intensity of the war.

There have thus been a number of migration strategies open to Sri Lankans against the background of conflict since the early 1980s: internal migration to safer parts of Sri Lanka; labour migration, usually to the Middle East; seeking asylum, initially in India and later in Europe, North America or Australia; migration for educational or professional purposes; and marriage to a partner abroad in Europe, North America or Australasia, or other forms of family reunion or formation.

Partly because the different migration strategies require very different levels of outlay or investment, these strategies divide broadly along class lines, or at least according to the scale of resources that a household can muster. (It is not being claimed that class is the only, or even the most important dimension: migration strategies also vary along ethnic, gender and other lines. This is pursued further below).

Migration for work in the Middle East and elsewhere requires considerable outlays, but is within the reach of farming and labouring households which have some resources: it is pursued by low income rural and urban Sinhalese families, and among poorer Muslim and (to a lesser extent) Tamil households who have been displaced. In the 1980s, Tamil households displaced by the conflict were able to find refuge in south India with relatively modest outlays. That option faded with the assassination of Rajiv Gandhi by the LTTE in 1991, after which India's general tolerance of Tamil asylum seekers hardened and far fewer were admitted (US Committee for Refugees 1995). Meanwhile, asylum migration to other destinations, particularly to Europe, North America or Australia, has become increasingly costly: with agents' fees and other costs at USD5,000 or more in the mid to late 1990s and upwards of USD10,000 by 2000-2002, this was perhaps twenty times the cost of labour migration and thus out of the reach of poorer households (see Van Hear 2002 and 2003 for cases which substantiate this). Asylum migration has therefore become largely (though not exclusively) the preserve of well-to-do Tamils, who have both the grounds and resources to pursue it. Migration for marriage may also be costly, for the outlay that must be found is likely to be high when the spouse-to-be has residence status abroad, as the `marriage proposals' advertisements in Sri Lankan newspapers and on websites illustrate, giving a fascinating insight into the cost of migration by this means (on migration and dowry, see Fuglerud 1999 and 2002); migration for other forms of family reunion may also involve substantial costs. Migration for educational or professional advancement also requires large outlays and is also pursued by the well-to-do.

Somali migration

Similar patterns can be observed for Somalia 1, another country that has suffered protracted conflict. In the last 30 years there have been two main forms of movement out of Somalia, resulting in the formation of a large and influential diaspora. From the early 1970s, many Somalis went as migrant labourers to work in the Gulf states during the oil boom of that time; by the end of the 1980s up to 350,000 Somalis were working in the Middle East. The outbreak of civil war in 1988 and the inter-clan fighting after the fall of Siad Barre in 1991 displaced hundreds of thousands of Somalis within the country and drove many others to leave to seek refugee in Ethiopia, Kenya, Yemen and other neighbouring countries (sites 2 in figure 1), as well as to seek asylum further afield in the UK, Italy, the Netherlands, Scandinavia, Canada, the US and other Western states.

By 2000 there were thought to be some 400,000 refugees in eastern Africa and in Yemen, and more than 70,000 refugees in Western countries, out of a total diaspora in Western countries of perhaps 200,000 (UNHCR 2000, USCR 2000, Gundel 2002). The total number of Somalis living outside Somalia has been estimated at one million (Nair and Abdulla 1998; UNDP 2001); this figure presumably includes those who have naturalised in their countries of residence. As in Sri Lanka, there has been substantial internal displacement (site 1 in figure 1), ranging between 500,000 and 1.5 million people, and currently around 300,000-400,000 (UNDP 2001).

Somalis are one of the most widely dispersed refugee populations in the world: in the late 1990s, asylum applications by Somalis were recorded in more than 60 countries. By then Somalis living in EU states were thought to number 120,000. The UK and Italy have the largest communities, based on historical and colonial ties: these long-established communities have been supplemented by more recent inflows of asylum seekers. In 2000, the UK received nearly half the asylum applications by Somalis in European countries, nearly 4,800 out of 10,900. The Netherlands and Scandinavian countries were the next most popular destinations for asylum seekers. These countries, together with Germany, to which asylum applications in recent years have been minimal, have substantial Somali populations, mainly based on asylum migration.

North America also has substantial Somali populations: some 19,000 Somalis applied for asylum in Canada and 8,000 in the US in 1990-98 (USCR 2001, ECRE 2000).

As in the Sri Lankan case, the destinations reached depend on the resources that the migrant household can raise. In the late 1990s it was reported to cost about USD3,000 for an employment visa and ticket to the Gulf, and about USD5,000 for travel documents and a ticket to Europe or North America (Ahmed 2000). The cost of flight to neighbouring countries has been less than in the Sri Lankan case: for example, people fleeing bombing in Somaliland in the late1980s were able to take advantage of long-standing connections with eastern Ethiopia in terms of ethnicity and nomadic traditions which to some extent eased flight and reception.

Intermediate destinations are important in this case. As indicated above, most Somali migration is to neighbouring countries, to the Gulf for labour migration and trade, and to western countries. But small but significant numbers of Somalis make for India, Pakistan and other 1 The term `Somalia' is used here to refer to the territory still recognised internationally as such. In 1991, the northern part of Somalia was declared the independent republic of Somaliland and a functioning administration was established there. However it is largely unrecognised as an independent state. In some data the two entities are nevertheless differentiated, and this is reflected in the text.

In both the Sri Lankan and the Somali cases, as elsewhere, international migration usually involves substantial household investment. Money needed for migration has to be raised from savings or from relatives. Resources accumulated for bride-wealth or dowries might be invested in migration, meaning that marriage might have to be delayed well beyond the usual marrying age. Substantial numbers of households, especially those displaced or otherwise war-affected, resort to moneylenders, or have to sell, mortgage or pawn assets like land, equipment, houses, shops or jewellery. For those who have been displaced or otherwise affected by conflict, raising such resources may be especially difficult.

As the cost of migration to the west has inflated, largely as a result of increasing restrictions on immigration imposed by western countries, movement to such destinations since the early 1990s has increasingly become the preserve of those that can mobilise substantial resources: there is a hierarchy of destinations that can be reached according to the resources mobilised. For the less well-off, labour migration may be an option, but even this requires large outlays for low income households. Those who seek refuge in neighbouring countries may also become labour migrants who support both refugee kin and those who remain in the homeland. In a way, labour migration can become poorer households' asylum migration, if the purpose of that migration is thought of as being broadly the security of the whole household, rather than more narrowly as a source of protection for an individual. For the poorest households migration outside the country is rarely an option, since such households cannot afford to send any members abroad. These differences of wealth and migration options are distinguished quite explicitly by displaced people. Asked why some Tamils sought refuge in South India while others fled to other parts of Sri Lanka, one displaced household in Jaffna district observed, `it depends on money'. Those who could afford it went to India or further afield, or sent their children abroad: `the people who went out are doing fine; those who stayed are suffering'. Or, as a woman returnee from India living in Mannar district put it, in rather more political perspective, `Only the rich Jaffna Tamils can afford to send people abroad to Canada and Australia. The wealthy could send five children abroad, and could pay the LTTE [which demanded money for each person who left].

While the rich could send their children outside, the poor (in Mannar) had to send their children to the LTTE [as fighters]'. These statements seem to me to be a clear articulation of the class basis of flight and of the political economy of conflict.

Class and expatriate influence on the homeland

If socio-economic background affects routes, forms, means and destinations of migration, it also helps to shape the influence of those abroad on the homeland. Again, it is important to distinguish among the different sites of the diaspora identified above, because, to state the obvious, the potential influence will vary from site to site according to the resources which diaspora groups can mobilise.

One of the most important influences refugees and other migrants can have on their countries of origin is through the remittances they send. There is increasing evidence that remittances from abroad are crucial to the survival of communities in many developing countries, including many which have suffered conflict and produced refugees. Estimated to total USD100 billion in 2000, migrants' remittances represent a large proportion of world financial flows and amount to substantially more than global official development assistance. To underline their importance for the developing world, 60 percent of global remittances were thought to go to developing countries in 2000.

It is difficult if not impossible from the macro level evidence to estimate the extent to which the different types of migrant indicated above contribute to these flows of money. First, the data on remittances generally are very patchy, and that for countries in conflict and which produce refugees are even more so since data collection in such countries is generally very difficult. Second, such data as exist do not allow the contribution of refugees to be disaggregated from that of other migrants. Third, refugees in richer countries may remit both to the homeland and to neighbouring countries of first asylum to support their relatives, making their contribution more diffuse than that of other migrants.

However, scrutiny of particular countries does give some hints as to the relative importance of remittances from different sources.

In the case of Sri Lanka it is impossible to disaggregate remittances sent by different kinds of migrants, but an impression can be gleaned of the contribution of refugees to total remittances. With the exception of the mid 1980s, remittances to Sri Lanka have grown throughout the period of the war, from around USD150 million in 1980 to about USD1 billion in 2000; there were significant upward shifts in the early and mid 1990s - both times of intensified conflict (SLBFE 1998). Remittances have eclipsed official development assistance and humanitarian aid (Sriskandarajah 2003). Most of the remittances recorded are sent by labour migrants in the Middle East. However, the share of remittances has shifted geographically, hinting at a greater contribution from refugees and others in the wider diaspora. Remittances from the Middle East fell from a peak of 85% of total remittance inflows in the mid 1980s to just under 60% in 1999.

This proportionate decrease is partly due to the diversification of destinations for labour migrants -- to south-east Asia, for example. But it is probably also due to increases in remittances sent by refugees in Europe and North America. It is Tamils in the wider diaspora who send the bulk of these remittances, rather than those in India who cannot afford to send money, unless they have family members who have gone to the Middle East or occasionally to Europe, North America or Australia. Moreover the Tamil diaspora's contribution is almost certainly underestimated in these estimates, because much money is remitted through informal channels: they utilise the hundiyal system of money transfer through agents or traders, which, like the hawilaad system used by Somalis (see below), is quicker and cheaper than conventional means of money transfer. Furthermore, important outlays made by diaspora members on behalf of people at home, such as payment for overseas education or for migration abroad, are not technically recorded as remittances since they are not actually transferred to Sri Lanka. Like remittances proper, these may have significant impacts on the people left at home.

A similar pattern can be discerned for Somali remittances. As the forms and destinations of Somali migration have diversified, so too have the sources of remittances. While figures are only rough estimates, in the 1980s between USD300 million and USD400 million were remitted annually, and currently between USD500 million and USD1 billion may be remitted to Somalia and Somaliland each year (Ahmed 2000, EIU 2001). Much of this money is transferred through hawilaad remittance companies operating between Somalia and the countries in which the diaspora live (see Horst and Van Hear 2002). Remittances from both labour migrants and refugees in the wider diaspora have become essential components of the economies of Somalia and Somaliland. For 2000, it has been estimated that that aid totalled USD115 million and livestock exports USD125 million, both of which were eclipsed by remittance inflows. While they can only be guesstimates, statistics for earlier years show that remittances have almost always exceeded other financial inflows since the 1980s (Gundel 2003). In the 1990s, the wider diaspora, partly formed by refugee outflows, appears to have accounted for an increasing proportion of remittances (Ahmed 2000). As in the case of Sri Lanka, refugees in neighbouring countries - the `near diaspora' - do not have the capacity to remit to the homeland.

Remittances can help individuals and families to survive during conflict and to sustain communities in crisis. They do so both in countries of origin and in countries of first asylum. The limited evidence available suggests that these transfers are used in ways similar to those sent by economic migrants to people at home in more stable societies -- for daily subsistence needs, health care, housing and sometimes education. Paying off debt may also be prominent, especially when there have been substantial outlays to send asylum migrants abroad, or when assets have been destroyed, sold off or lost during conflict or internal displacement (Van Hear 2002). Expatriates may also fund the flight abroad of other vulnerable family members; this may not necessarily involve transfers of money home, but rather payments for tickets, to migration agents, for documents, for accommodation and to meet other costs incurred during and after travel.

There has long been debate about the impact of remittances (Massey et al 1998; Taylor 1999). The pessimistic view is that they are `wasted' on consumption, on luxuries, on social activities, or on housing, rather than being `usefully' invested in productive enterprises. A more optimistic perspective is that investment of remittances in housing, health, education and social activities contributes to and in fact constitutes `development'. Moreover, satisfying `non-productive' demands may free up other surpluses for investment in more directly productive enterprises.

`Non-productive' use of remittances may also help to build the social capital on which productive activities are based. In conflict-torn societies and regions, the scope for investment in directly `productive' enterprises may be very limited in conditions of great insecurity. Spending remittances on subsistence, housing, health, education and reducing debt take higher priority. But as in more stable societies, investment of remittances in social activities may be seen as the reconstruction of the social fabric, in which `productive' activities are embedded. By facilitating the accumulation or repair of social capital, such investment may lay the foundation for later reconstruction and development (Goodhand et al. 2000; Van Hear 2002).

Other aspects of remittance transfers attenuate their beneficial influence on the countries from which refugees come. First, the distribution of remittances is uneven: not all households receive them. Though not exclusively, remittances from economic migrants tend to go to the better-off households within the better-off communities in the better-off countries of the developing world, since these households, communities and countries tend to be the source of migrants. In the case of remittances from refugees in the wider diaspora, the benefits are also selective, because such refugees also tend to come from the better-off households among those displaced. Furthermore, the distribution is likely to have become still more skewed in recent years because of the rising costs associated with migration: long distance mobility is increasingly the preserve of those who can afford to pay migration agents' inflated fees. A second tendency attenuating the benefits of remittances in the country of origin is that instead of contributing the local economy, the beneficiaries of remittances may well be absentee landlords and traders who siphon off a portion of them, and invest the proceeds elsewhere. Other leakages - notably payments to migration agents - also mean that a substantial part of remittances filter out elsewhere. Such leakages are magnified in the case of societies in conflict.

But perhaps the most serious charge is that remittances and other transfers from refugees and others in the diaspora may help perpetuate conflict by providing support for warring parties. This negative view of diasporas, and by implication refugees within them, has been advanced by several writers on the `new wars' that have blighted many parts of the developing world in the 1990s. For Collier (2000), an influential voice in the research department of the World Bank, the existence of a large diaspora is a powerful risk factor predisposing a country to civil war, or to its resumption. He notes: Diasporas sometimes harbour rather romanticised attachments to their group of origin and may nurse grievances as a form of asserting continued belonging. They are much richer than the people in their country of origin and so can afford to finance vengeance. Above all, they do not have to suffer any of the awful consequences of renewed conflict because they are not living in the country. Hence, they are a ready market for rebel groups touting vengeance and so are a source of finance for renewed conflict (2000: 14).

Other influential writers on the political economy of war, such as Anderson (1999), Kaldor (2001) and Duffield (2001), hold similar views. Kaldor makes the distinction between the near diaspora and the wider diaspora referred to earlier in this paper: There are two types of diaspora. On the one hand there are minorities living in the near abroad, fearful of their vulnerability to local nationalisms and often more extreme than those living on home territory.On the other hand, there are disaffected groups living far away, often in the new melting pot nations, who find solace in fantasies about their origins which are often far removed from reality (Kaldor 2001: 85).

On the whole it is the wealthier members of the wider diaspora who are the sources of the resources and connections that fuel conflict, just as they are also the sources of relief and welfare for those at home.

Scrutiny of particular cases bears out some of these general observations about the ambivalent and differential impact of remittances in societies in or emerging from conflict. In Sri Lanka, many households in the conflict areas have been sustained by remittances from those abroad, and could not have survived without them. As has already been observed, these funds are largely from labour migrants in the Middle East or from Tamils in the wider diaspora using the hundiyal system, rather than from refugees in India. On the other hand, resources from the diaspora have been extracted by the LTTE, through various forms of taxation and extortion (Davis 1996, McDowell 1996, Gunaratna 1999). Furthermore, investment of transfers from abroad in productive activities in the conflict-affected areas has been minimal, given the destruction of much of the infrastructure during nearly two decades of conflict. Remittances in these areas have been mostly used to meet living costs, sometimes to fund education, and sometimes to finance migration for family members (Van Hear 2002). This may change if the ceasefire signed early in 2002 between the government and the LTTE holds and consolidates into lasting peace. Indeed, the freezing of LTTE accounts and assets, part fed by diaspora contributions, has been an important factor in drawing them to the negotiating table. This process was under way before September 11, and was intensified after it.

Consolidation of peace will hopefully redirect diaspora resources to reconstruction and recovery.

Similar ambivalence is observable for Somali remittances. As elsewhere, the benefits of remittances in Somalia and Somaliland are uneven. Substantial sums of money are received by a relatively small proportion of households, largely because migrant workers and refugees generally come from better off families who can afford to invest in sending someone abroad. Furthermore, the recipients of remittances are concentrated in urban areas (Ahmed 2000). The differential impact of remittances in Somalia has been underlined by a recent UNDP report, which notes how remittance flows both reflect and serve to increase economic differentiation.

The main beneficiaries tend to be urban households with educated and skilled members in the diaspora. As a result of a history of better education or political privilege, some social groups and clans have a greater proportion of members in the diaspora. The rural poor with fewer relatives abroad and who are less well served by telecommunications receive less remittances (UNDP 2001: 104-6). This bias is partly ameliorated by redistribution of resources through clan and other social networks. But differentiation is still observable, indeed more so in small rural communities where the beneficiaries of remittances stand out in terms of better housing and the ability to set up small businesses. In sum, `Those Somali households that receive remittances from relatives abroad have greater economic security and thus enjoy privileged access to privately run services (UNDP 2001: 49).

The Sri Lankan and Somali cases bear out some of the general observations made earlier in this section. First, they confirm that it is very difficult from the current data to disaggregate the influence and contribution of different kinds of migrants. Second, remittances are nevertheless substantial, and the share that refugees and others in the wider diaspora contribute is almost certainly increasing. Third, remittances form significant inflows into these conflict-torn societies, and they significantly exceed aid and other inflows. Fourth, the impact of remittances is ambivalent. On one hand, they have been essential for the survival of many households during conflict, and can help them to re-build their lives and livelihoods when conflict abates.

On the other hand, the beneficial impact of remittances is often attenuated in these societies. Their distribution is skewed, since refugees, like other migrants, tend to come from and therefore remit to better off families. Significant proportions of remittances are appropriated by other parties - migration agents, traders, absentee landlords, insurgents and warlords. Most seriously, remittances have directly and indirectly fuelled conflict, as well as ameliorating its consequences.

Class, return and reintegration

As is the case with influence while abroad, socio-economic status shapes the influence returnees can have on the homeland. This is evident both in `post conflict, pre-peace' Sri Lanka, as the current transition has awkwardly been described, and in post-conflict Somaliland.

Returnees in Sri Lanka

In the Sri Lanka case, there is some evidence that since the ceasefire of early 2002, Tamils exiled in western countries have been investigating the possibilities of reviving or investing in businesses in Jaffna and elsewhere in the conflict zones of the north and east. But mainly they have been returning to inspect their properties, to throw a party in Jaffna's ice cream parlour for their relatives who have remained behind, and to give their property to those relatives to repair and rent out. However, while they may only come back to look and see, the money and resources they bring with them to give to relatives to repair houses and recover properties probably represent a significant injection of funds and a significant boost to the local economy. As for internally displaced people, those that have resources and/or have property to return to have largely done so. Some 240,000 of the total displaced population estimated at 800,000 have moved back to their districts since early 2002. This figure is based on local authorities' records of registrations and de-registrations within districts; since many have not de- and re-registered, but have just gone to look and see if they can return, the real figure for returns will be greater.

Others will not return until physical and social infrastructure (especially schools and health care) are restored to a reasonable level, and houses have been rebuilt, which will need the government assistance package and much more. There will be a residual population in the displaced persons camps or `welfare centres', who cannot return because they have no land, houses or resources (many of these will be Hill or Estate Tamils). The economic situation of displaced households thus profoundly influences their capacity to return.

Competing claims on property by displaced people and returnees are forming a prominent issue in which class differences are manifested. Property disputes are boiling up in places where people are coming back from the wider diaspora, from India or from displacement in other parts of Sri Lanka to reclaim land and houses - only to find them occupied by poor internally displaced people who themselves cannot return to their homes because they are destroyed, in areas infested by mines, or in areas occupied by the army. Such cases involve both Tamils and displaced Muslims.

One example of the latter encountered in 2002 involved a relatively wealthy Muslim who was away working in Saudi Arabia when the LTTE expelled the Muslim population from the north in 1990. He, or rather his family, was displaced to the south: he was internally displaced while abroad, if that is not a contradiction in terms. He returned from Saudi Arabia to a displaced persons camp in Puttalam in 1993, and the family managed to buy land in this area; they were thereafter regarded as having `relocated' in Puttalam, in government parlance. Following the peace agreement he went to Jaffna to try to recover his property only to find it occupied by five poor Tamil families whose own land was occupied by the military. Manically pointing out the damage to his house, he ranted and raved about these squatters, his views supported by his well- to-do Tamil neighbours who did not want the `slum dwellers' in their neighbourhood: the tension here was thus class-based, rather than ethnically rooted.

Such issues are particularly acute in Jaffna, and in Mannar where there is the further complication of the prospect of the return of tens of thousands of refugees in India next year, also seeking to reclaim their land. This will make for a heady cocktail of locally displaced people, internally displaced people returning from other districts, and returning refugees from India -- all looking to occupy or recover land for housing and cultivation.

An example in microcosm of how people's living conditions are affected by this volatile mix of displacement and return is provided by one displaced Tamil extended family interviewed late in 2002 that had returned from a displaced persons camp (Pesalai) in Mannar to a fishing village (Velanai) in Jaffna district. This extended family had some land in Velanai on which they could resettle but no resources to do so; to qualify for government assistance they had to show ownership of the land, and the deed was in a brother's name, and he was a refugee in India. It was impossible for them to secure the deed. The intricate connections between external and internal displacement were further illustrated by a household in the same extended family whose relatives in London paid for their return from exile in India; they could no longer tolerate living in exile in India, but `returned' to internal displacement in north-western Sri Lanka and from there to the home area in Jaffna district, though not to their own home. In a variation on this theme in another district, 32 displaced families who have been relocated by UNHCR and a local non-governmental organisation in a well-laid out site on privately land leased by the local government in the northern town of Vavuniya face uprooting once again if the land owner, himself a relatively wealthy refugee in India, returns as expected to reclaim his land in 2003.

Returnees in Somaliland

Similar dimensions of class play out in the case of Somaliland where there is a sharp divide between those who have returned from neighbouring Ethiopia and Djibouti, and those who have come back from the wider diaspora. The remainder of this section looks at these differences in some detail.

Since 1991, with the exception of a destructive period of inter-clan fighting in the mid 1990s, Somaliland has been at peace, and efforts at reconstruction have been under way. Returnees from the diaspora have been significant in these developments. However, as with the influence of remittances, the impacts of this diaspora influence on reconstruction has been uneven. As the recent UNDP report cited above puts it, the impressive generation of wealth by entrepreneurs in the transit trade, remittance companies, or the telecommunications sector, for instance, masks declines in living conditions for the majority of Somali households who are unable to participate in these parts of the economy (UNDP 2001: 91).

In Somaliland's capital such differentiation is particularly apparent: There has been an obvious increase in affluence in Hargeisa over the past three years, with money to invest in hotels, fitness centres and cyber cafes, while on the outskirts of Hargeisa the numbers of destitute returning refugees, displaced persons and economic migrants have increased (ibid).

Similar effects can be observed in Bosasso and Mogadishu, notes the report. The following sections highlight these contrasts in wealth between returnees from Ethiopia and those coming back from the wider diaspora.

Returnees from Ethiopia

The great majority of returnees to Somaliland have come back from camps in Ethiopia, where they fled when the Barre regime bombed Hargeisa and other parts of the country in 1988. Most of these returnees have gravitated to Hargeisa since around 1991, when the Barre regime fell and Somaliland was declared independent. The returnees either moved to Hargeisa directly or drifted there from other locations after return to Somaliland. Since 1997, when UNHCR began its voluntary repatriation programmes, more than 80,000 officially registered returnees have made for the capital, and many others have gone there independently. Eight main returnee settlement areas have grown up on the edges of Hargeisa in the later 1990s as a result of the influx.

A survey conducted in 2002 by an interagency grouping concerned with these resettlement areas estimated that their total population stood at 8,600 households, or 57,000 people (Clark 2002). The population is youthful: half of the population were under 15 years old, and almost two thirds under 20 years. Twenty percent of the households were said to be female headed. Sixty percent of the households came directly from refugee camps in Ethiopia, 16 percent moved from elsewhere in Hargeisa, and eight percent came from southern Somalia. Eighty percent of the residents claimed to come from Somaliland before the wars, with others from southern Somalia and Ethiopia, including ethnic Somalis.

Thirty per cent of the residents said they owned property before the war, and had no access to it now. Half currently owned their land. The remainder lived on land owned by the government or by private individuals. Three quarters of the households owning land had been allocated it by the government. Squatting on government land is common.

Provision of water supply, sanitation, education and health services varied from basic in some of the settlement areas to non-existent in others; the settlement areas have become or are becoming neighbourhoods like many others found in third world cities. Income derives mostly from market activities and casual employment, with occupations varying from hammering out old tin cans for use as building material to more stable activities such as running small shops, selling milk or tailoring.

Diaspora `returnees': the case of Somscan

The living conditions in these settlements contrast strongly with those of most returnees from the wider diaspora, quite substantial numbers of whom have been coming back over the last couple of years to see if they can live in Somaliland again. Only a minority, usually those motivated by the idea of rebuilding the nation, have made a long term commitment (Hansen 2002). These have taken up roles in government, aid agencies, non-government organisations, health care, education and in business (notably money transfer), and are putting energy and resources into real reconstruction. The most striking and poignant example is the Edna Adan maternity hospital, set up by the widow of a former prime minister, and built with the help of diaspora and local resources on a site that has been successively a cemetery, a military parade ground and execution ground, and then a rubbish dump that nobody wanted to use (Fredericksen and Van Hear 2003).

Others coming back from the diaspora understandably wish to retain their connection to the country of asylum and their aspirations are more privately focused. The case of a grouping of the latter category of returnees is instructive.

In 1999-2000 a group of Somali refugees living in Scandinavia and the UK formed the Somaliland Scandinavian Cooperative Association, now known as Somscan UK, reflecting the Somali, Scandinavian and British identity of the membership. Many if not most of the grouping came from Somaliland's second city of Burao, and expressed interest in returning to the area. Like Hargeisa, Burao was ravaged by the conflict of 1988-1991 and by the internal conflict of the mid 1990s, but since then has undergone a modest recovery. However living conditions were still very difficult and there remained substantial constraints on return, including disputes over land, insufficient education and health facilities, and, perhaps most important, inadequate supply of drinking water. Education and water supply were uppermost among the returnees' concerns, as among the general populace. The Burao municipality rightly feared that a substantial return of people from the diaspora would put great strain on the current inadequate infrastructure of the town.

The land issue was resolved so far as the group was concerned by the acquisition of 5.4 square km to the north east of Burao. By 2002 the group had sold more than 400 housing plots to interested expatriate Somalis. There were some 500 families in the grouping in all. The plots seem to have been sold in blocs to groups within the Somscan grouping. Membership of the subsidiary groups appears to have been based on the country of asylum - thus there were several groups with members living in Denmark, the UK, Norway and Sweden -- though some were more mixed and based on kinship ties. The grouping was well organised and retained an agent who acted on behalf of the Somscan executive committee in its dealings with local government and the agencies.

In 2002, Somscan members and the Danish Refugee Council, an non-governmental organisation already working in Burao, jointly put forward a proposal to the European Union for a project to rehabilitate elements of Burao's infrastructure, so that return could take place without placing undue strain on the city's resources. The main elements were an upgrade of the city's water supply and increasing the capacity of primary, intermediate and secondary schooling. The water supply upgrade involved supplementing the existing ring main system and taking a branch line to the Somscan land. It was argued that this would both increase the city's overall supply, as well as supplying water to the Somscan site, helping to allay the (justified) concerns of the municipal authority that demand for water by the Somscan site inhabitants would be many times the Burao per capita norm. The plan involved an upgrade of primary/intermediate and secondary schools, proving sheltered facilities for girls as well as boys. This would involve the relocation of a large number of squatters currently on the school sites; that many of these squatters were returnees were from Ethiopian camps rather vividly underlines the point being made in this section on the class divide between former refugees in neighbouring countries and those from the wider diaspora. Later there was violence and killings in the course of this relocation.

The project proposal was submitted to the European Commission with a request for a grant of nearly 600,000 Euro (Sorensen 2003). It fell under the aegis of the EU High Level Working Group on Migration and Asylum (HLWG), and money was allocated for the project in 2003. A few houses have since been built on the Somscan plot.

The case raises a number of thorny issues. The most obvious is the use of aid in the service of promoting repatriation under the aegis of the EU High Level Working Group, whose purpose is to develop policies towards countries of origin that prevent or at least contain migration (Van Selm 2002). Somalia was one of six priority countries targeted by the HLWG, and so the Somscan case can be seen as one where new trends in the unfolding migration regime are set to play out at the local level. A second, related issue is the use of aid for the benefit of those already better off than the local populace. While not necessarily rich by international standards, the Somscan membership were certainly wealthier than the Burao norm.

There were indeed substantial potential benefits for Somscan members.

Buying land collectively outside Burao is much cheaper than acquiring land individually. We were told that 0.5 hectare plots bought as part of a bloc cost 5-10 percent of the amount land would fetch within Burao town bought on an individual basis. There is the prospect for Somscan members of a relatively well serviced township that should generate its own economy and community. Indeed, several Somscan members voiced concerns that they would `stick together' particularly for the sake of their children who would need special school facilities because they did not speak Somali: some spoke of importing teachers to maintain the use of Scandinavian languages among their children (an interesting indication of the durability of transnational consciousness).

More prosaically, some members have bought land to sell on, or intend to build houses and rent them out.

These aspects do raise questions about the desirability of using aid to build a privileged enclave surrounded by a poorer general populace. On the other hand, it might be argued pragmatically that overall, while some resources would indeed be used to promote EU repatriation or migration containment imperatives, and for the benefit of better off migrants, greater resources at the same time would be made available for the wider community, in the form of better water supply and schools, through this funding mechanism. If this is the outcome, some of the concerns the scheme raises may be allayed, on the basis of the benefits for the wider community.

This section has drawn attention to significant divisions in the case of Somaliland in terms of class and wealth between those who sought refuge in neighbouring countries and those who sought asylum further afield. But this is not to suggest there is no interaction across these socio- economic divides: such interaction follows other social cleavages, notably clan. Indeed, it is tempting to see Somaliland in terms of a vast transnational welfare/social security system, spread across the neighbouring territories of Ethiopia, Djibouti and Yemen, and further afield in the Gulf and the wider diaspora in western countries. The clan system is an integral element in this set-up. The transnational welfare system involves the international humanitarian and aid regime, including UNHCR and UNDP, which subcontract international and local ngos. The other main element of the transnational welfare system involves huge transfers of remittances from the diaspora. All this is supplemented/opiated by the chewing of the narcotic qat on a massive scale, again funded largely by remittances. It is the diaspora that substantially underwrites this transnational welfare system, which cuts across the class divisions highlighted in this paper. This issue is pursued further in the conclusion.

The tension between repatriation and remittances

Despite the issues raised by the Somscan and other cases, the return of refugees can be a substantial force for development and reconstruction of the home country, not least in terms of the financial, human and social capital they may bring home with them (Stepputat 1999).

Governments of countries producing refugees have traditionally been suspicious of the loyalties of those who flee, for obvious reasons. However, governments of countries emerging from conflict are now increasingly coming to appreciate the potential that refugee diasporas hold, particularly in terms of the remittances they can send. This applies in particular to those in the wider diaspora. The Eritrean government was among the first to recognize this potential. After initial disappointment that Eritreans in the wider diaspora had decided not to return after Independence, the government turned its attention to mobilizing - some might say exploiting - their potential (Koser 2002). Since Independence, for example, every Eritrean in the wider diaspora has been asked by the government to pay two per cent of their income to the state, as a `healing tax'. During the recent conflict with Ethiopia even greater demands were made of the diaspora, and there can be little doubt that their contributions paid for the lion's share of the conflict's costs.

More recently, the Afghan government has made similar overtures to the Afghan diaspora. Opening a seminar on trade and investment in July 2002, President Hamid Karzai appealed to `all Afghans who are currently investing in other countries to come and invest inside the country, which is of national and personal benefit' (Fox 2002). More than 1.8 million refugees have returned under assisted repatriation programmes (BAAG 2002, Turton and Marsden 2003), and others under their own steam since the fall of the Taliban late in 2001, but it is unclear how many have gone back from the wider diaspora beyond Pakistan and Iran, and still less clear how many are prepared to invest in a country still beset by insecurity, although the Afghan government has gone to some lengths to woo expatriate Afghan businessmen to invest back home (BBC News 2002).

At the same time, mass return presents the dilemma that the flow of remittances to the home country will reduce. If the resolution of conflict or crisis is accompanied by large scale repatriation, the source of remittances will obviously diminish, raising potential perhaps for instability and further conflict. There may even be an argument against repatriation on these grounds. Such was the thrust of a series of appeals in the 1990s by the government of El Salvador for the US authorities to refrain from repatriating Salvadorans whose temporary protection in the US was imminently expiring (Mahler 2001).

Remittances to El Salvador grew from US$11 million in 1980 to US$1.34 billion in 1998. This huge increase was largely a consequence of El Salvador's civil war from 1979-92, which displaced hundreds of thousands of people within the country and drove one million people abroad, mostly to the US. Many of those in the US sent money to support those left at home, so that by the end of the 1990s remittances were thought to sustain at least 15 per cent of Salvadoran households. Successive Salvadoran governments have pursued a number of strategies to maintain this important flow of income - from the very people its past actions have forced to flee. Perhaps the most bizarre of these interventions was the provision by the El Salvador authorities of legal assistance in the US for Salvadorans to pursue or prolong asylum claims (Mahler 2001).

The El Salvador and other similar cases highlight potentially damaging consequences for countries of origin if asylum migrants and refugees are repatriated en masse. The consequences include the possibility that a diminution of remittances may lead to hardship, instability, socio- economic or political upheaval, and even the resumption or provocation of conflict - and then quite likely renewed out-migration. Repatriation of refugees may therefore imperil the very economic and political security - in broader terms the human security - that the international community claims to want to foster. It follows that policies that purport to be oriented to migrants' countries of origin cannot afford to leave those abroad, especially those asylum- seekers and refugees hosted by relatively affluent countries, out of consideration.

Conclusion

This paper has shown that forms of migration vary greatly in cost, and therefore access to resources - principally money and social capital - shape the migration strategies that can be pursued. This has disturbing implications because it means that for those trying to escape conflict or persecution, the better endowed can buy a better quality of asylum. Others have to settle for less attractive and less secure forms of migration and destinations, notably internal displacement. This inflation in the cost of asylum is largely a result of the constellation of restrictive measures controlling movement that have been put in place by the world's richer countries over recent years. Migration has always entailed costs for the households involved, but these have been greatly driven up: not so much the cost of travel, which if anything has come down in relative terms, but rather the costs of negotiating the migration regime. Shifts in the political economy of the migration regime thus play out differentially in the lives of potential migrants.

As the second section showed, class differences also play out in terms of the influence by expatriates on the homeland once they are established abroad. In terms of the transfer of resources, those in neighbouring countries of first asylum exert less influence than their better endowed compatriots - refugees, labour migrants and professional migrants -- in the wider diaspora: both the Tamil and the Somali cases illustrate this. Such divisions are played out in migrants' countries of origin where there is a divide between those households which have relatives abroad and receive remittances, and those who do not have such relatives to call upon.

To some extent such divisions are ameliorated by redistribution of remittance income through kin and other social networks, but such redistribution is not all-pervasive and has its limits. As the last section showed, class differences are maintained after return. There is a world of difference between those returning to Somaliland from camps in Ethiopia and those who have come back from the wider diaspora: the living conditions and influence of these two categories diverge profoundly. Likewise, there are profound differences between those Tamil refugees who may return from Tamil Nadu and those who may come back from prosperous western countries if peace in Sri Lanka is consolidated. However, such class or socio-economic differences do not mean that interaction along the lines of other social cleavages is absent, as the Somaliland case shows. Moreover, mass return can mean a reduction in the flow of transfers that sustain societies in or emerging from conflict, raising the possibility of hardship, instability and even renewed conflict.

The notion of `class' and its connection with forced migration introduced at the beginning of this paper need to be refined. It is not being suggested that there is a straightforward correspondence between class and the capacity to migrate, and thereafter the influence of migrants on the homeland. Still less is it being suggested that better endowed refugees/migrants do not have a case for protection and assistance in western states. Moreover, the less well endowed are sometimes able to mobilise resources for migration through social networks such as extended families, clans or religious groupings. What they lack in financial capital or wealth they must find in social capital. The capacity of poorer people to mobilise resources in this way to pursue migration strategies would seem to undermine the central argument of this paper. However, it might be argued, following Bourdieu (Bourdieu 1986, Bourdieu and Wacquant 1992), that the poor are here converting social capital into financial capital or wealth, and thereby clawing themselves up the social scale. Such possibilities are not feasible for all.

A further caveat is that the alignment of migration strategies with class to such an extent is a relatively recent phenomenon, essentially since constraints on immigration to the west bit in the 1990s. Before the 1990s, less well endowed households (though not the poorest) could raise the resources to send family members abroad to seek asylum in western states (on migration by Tamils of modest socio-economic background in the 1980s, see McDowell 1996). The shift to such asylum migration becoming the preserve of the privileged occurred in the 1990s as restrictive immigration measures began to bite deeply, and the premium on such migration, seen in inflated agents' fees, began to manifest itself.

Finally, there are a number of levelling tendencies that help to mitigate the emergence of inequality and thus the influence of class. The conversion of social and/or symbolic capital into economic capital has already been discussed as a means for poorer families, or the poorer scions of extended families, to migrate. The circulation and redistribution of resources, transnational and local, among extended families, clans, religious groupings and other networks, not just at home but in other destination, transit and neighbouring countries is a related manifestation. Indeed it is tempting to see migration orders as part of gigantic transnational social security systems, potentially comprising a range of elements (Horst 2003, Jacobsen 2003). The main elements are:

- Remittances and other help from the diaaspora (including collective remittances, relief, charity, interventions by home town associations and similar organisations and so on), from a range of relatives in different countries (the near diaspora or neighbouring countries, the Gulf, transit countries and the wider diaspora)

- Humanitarian assistance: from home goveernments (rations, housing, shelter, education), bilateral and multilateral agencies, ngos etc

- Post-conflict/Development assistance: ffrom home governments, bilataeral and multilateral agencies, ngos etc

- Resources that returnees bring back witth them, including subsidies for returnees (eg the Somscan case)

- Trading networks (into which refugees aand those back home may be plugged)

These combine with:

- Assets and livelihoods at home (or in tthe refugee hosting area): land and property to rent, common property, farming, livestock, labouring, businesses, some of which may be `translocal' (ie away from the home area in more peaceful zones) and osme of which may be subsidised by the diaspora

- Mechanisms of redistribution within thee home country (or in the refugee-hosting area): eg urban households sending on a portion of remittances to their kin in rural areas Households in conflict and post conflict areas need to balance these different transnational and local sources. Class and identity politics are involved in gaining access to these different resources: they require the mobilisation of different forms of capital (Bourdieu) to generate an adequate portfolio of resources. As Jonathan Goodhand and others (2003) have shown for `war economies', mobilisation of such resources may enable households just to survive (by combining such receipts with selling off assets), to cope (combining such receipts to maintain themselves, and avoiding disposing of assets), or to prosper (to cope, and beyond that to profit and accumulate further assets). This can apply in post conflict conditions as much as during conflict.

Refugee and migrant households abroad have to balance the demands of their own livelihoods and futures (such as education of their children), those in other destination and transit countries, and those left at home, or in neighbouring countries of first refuge. There is thus a portfolio of obligations (which might be termed `forced transnationalism', Al Ali 2002), as well as a portfolio of resources. That portfolio of obligations may become unsustainable and debilitating (eg tertiary education of children in host countries may have to be forgone). Obviously, differences of wealth, resources, social capital and class, as discussed earlier in this paper, shape the capacity and level of support than can be offered and thus the circulation of resources among these different sites.

Class is not the only dimension that shapes patterns of migration and the influence of migrants. It may not be the most important. But I do think that this dimension has been neglected in forced migration research. This is partly because we rarely look at the whole of a given migration order. Thus we pursue studies of internally displaced people, of refugees in neighbouring countries of first asylum, of labour migration, and of asylum seekers in more affluent countries. But there are important connections between internal and external displacement, as this paper has attempted to demonstrate. This is seen not least in the access to or recovery of land and houses, as the Sri Lanka case shows.

All this demonstrates that we need to look at how these forms of migration are combined for a given country or region in conflict, and at how changes in the migration regime affect relations between different forms of migration - what could be called the political economy of a given migration order. If we did so we would find the class dimensions of forced migration thrown into sharper relief. We also need to acknowledge the unavoidably transnational character of refugee issues and to recognise the links among different domains. Indeed, perhaps it is time to go one step further and acknowledge that transnationalism may in itself be a `durable solution' for conditions of displacement - or at least an `enduring' solution. This might mean considering the encouragement or promotion of transnationalism (Van Hear 2003).

The cases presented above suggest a number of arguments in support of such an approach. First `transnationalism' is arguably a `solution' favoured by the displaced, since it is the practice often pursued by them in everyday life (although of course, just because something is popular does not mean that it is right). Second, remittances and other transfers tend to be an effective means of reaching people in need, since they are often one-to-one flows, rather than the more generalised distributions implemented through aid or welfare -- although there are obvious issues of equity here, not least between those households with migrants abroad and those without. As the cases reviewed above and others show, diaspora connections may be vital in sustaining societies in upheaval or conflict, and have the potential for assisting such societies once conflict lessens. Building on such potential involves understanding that the return of some members of a household or community to a `post-conflict' society may be predicated on others staying abroad. That way the viability or durability of the return would be enhanced: by sending money home for example, those abroad may help to set up or sustain livelihoods established by returnees during start-up periods or during hard times. A sustainable livelihood may then be established as the basis for subsequent returns of the displaced. At the same time, as has been suggested above, the deployment of transnational connections in such ways is predicated on some elements of the diaspora attaining reasonably secure residence in the place of exile.

There are, of course, problems with such an approach. Not least of these are questions of equity, already referred to, for as was shown in the Sri Lankan case in particular, it tends to be those who are already better off who take prime positions in the transnational arena: encouragement of transnationalism may therefore reinforce inequalities. Another issue is commitment to place, also just referred to, for if people are really as footloose as some proponents of transnationalism imply, why should they look after or contribute to the places they find themselves in? This may indeed be problematic for host countries where migrants' or newcomers' loyalties lie elsewhere. A third issue is the ambiguity of transnational connections, since they can contribute to conflicts as well as ameliorating their effects, as is illustrated by the cases considered above. Can (or should) policies be devised which enhance the positive outcomes of transnational networks, while discouraging transnational activities which fuel or sustain conflicts?

These problematic areas notwithstanding, the implications of transnationalism deserve greater attention among policy makers and practitioners concerned with displacement and its resolution. There are signs that this is happening: for example, recent discussion among the multilateral agencies and among numerous governments explores ways of encouraging diasporas to become engaged in positive development roles in their countries of origin (World Bank 2000, OECD/DAC 2001, Van Hear and Sorensen 2003, DfID 2004). Transnational connections and practices can provide important means for sustaining people caught up in conflict. Moreover, `reconstruction' after conflict will not only involve the homeland or the actual arena of conflict; transnational links and diaspora connections that develop to sustain societies in conflict are likely to be irrevocably integral parts of the `post-conflict' society to be reconstructed. Taking advantage of transnational connections and practices requires taking account of the links among different domains of diaspora: this paper has offered the beginnings of a simple framework for considering the relations among these different domains.

More broadly, it may be heretical to say so, particularly in the Palestinian context, but footloose populations with multifarious links, of which refugee diasporas like the Palestinians are a prime example, ultimately may well be better placed than people with more conventional roots in the face of globalisation, of world economic and geo-political restructuring, and of nation-state disintegration and reconstitution. In other words, such populations might be well advised to maintain or extend their diaspora or transnational character than to diminish it by commitment or return to a single homeland, however appealing the notion of such a `home' may seem (Van Hear 1998). Such footloose people and those with whom they are connected at home may well find themselves to be advantaged over those with a single affiliation as globalisation accelerates.

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