Everyday nationhood,diversity and talking about Canada

Abstract

This article explores ordinary individuals’ understandings of nationhood. In so doing, it focuses on the case of Armenian migrants from Turkey to Canada and their conceptualizations of the host country. The paper captures multiple strands of nationhood and argues that these are pertinent to different boundary-making processes. The outer boundary of nationhood is defined along inclusive and civic lines where difference is recognized and appreciated. Living with difference, on the other hand, brings to the fore the tension between recognizing it on the one hand and accommodating it on the other. The case study further reveals how the exercise of state power and individuals’ encounters with the state shape their understandings of nationhood.

Introduction

The 21st century has been witnessing an increase in global migration on the one hand and populist nationalism on the other. In different ways both of these trends remind us that nation remains a significant category and unit of analysis (Fox and Miller-Idriss, 2008; McCrone and Bechhofer, 2015; Skey, 2018). The central concern of the present paper emerges out of this complex picture of diversity, migration and nationalism. More specifically, the following discussion focuses on how Armenian migrants from Turkey to Canada make meaning of the national landscape of their host country.

Building on the existing works on everyday nationhood, the paper captures different narrative strands on nationhood. It argues that these seemingly contradictory narratives in fact relate to different boundary-making processes and address issues of recognition and accommodation of difference. These issues which exist in tension with each other, expose the limits of liberal nationalism with its insistence on cultural unity as the most meaningful formula for social stability (Tamir, 2019). Relatedly, the paper demonstrates that underlying these diverse narratives of nationhood is the role of the state in shaping everyday life. More precisely, the case study reveals that individuals’ understandings of nationhood crystallize as a result of their particular positioning inside national boundaries and through their engagements with the state.

Works on everyday nationhood decidedly demonstrate how individuals attribute different meanings to the nation. In this vein, some researchers talk about inconsistencies in the way ordinary citizens produce and reproduce boundaries of nationhood (Stromso, 2019). Others draw attention to individuals’ feelings of confusion, ambivalence and contradiction where they are “sometimes proud, sometimes ashamed, simultaneously dismissive of and inexplicably drawn to the nation” (Miller-Idriss and Rothenberg, 2012: 133). The present discussion similarly captures different conceptualizations, in this case, of Canada. It reveals that individuals’ narratives address two separate, yet related, issues that pertain to nationhood.

One of these narratives revolves around the recognition of difference. These accounts specifically reveal an inclusive, civic understanding of the national landscape and refer to how individuals draw the outer boundaries of Canadian nationhood. Data show that individuals understood this outer boundary as thinly defined and highly permeable. They emphasized that Canada welcomes difference and once inside, the individual is an equal participant vis-à-vis one’s fellow citizens as well as in relation to the state. The second set of narratives is about the accommodation of difference. These narratives demonstrate how the participants further negotiated the boundaries of nationhood. As will be discussed in the following pages, these latter expressions of nationhood pivoted to relatively contentious issues such as nationalism and secularism where individuals clarified the limits of (as well as the ground rules for) living with difference.

Underlying these conceptualizations of nationhood is the connection between the individual in everyday life and the workings of political power. Although it comprises a rich literature, works on everyday nationhood have tended to stay away from the political sphere. This is largely so since this body of works initially emerged out of a critique of state-heavy and structural accounts of nationalism. As a result, the bottom-up approach of everyday nationhood has largely remained severed from macro structures and processes (Smith, 2008). Recently, scholars have been calling for a need to pay attention to the micro-macro gap (Antonsich, 2020; Hearn and Antonsich, 2018). Heeding this call, the present discussion demonstrates the relevance of the political sphere in shaping individuals’ understandings of nationhood.

Needless to say, Turkish and Canadian landscapes are significantly different from each other. Armenians’ lived experiences in Turkey were shaped inside a Muslim-Turkish majority nation where the pursuit of homogeneity has been the state’s unswerving motto (Aktar, 2021). Furthermore, the Turkish state continues to categorically deny the Armenian Genocide of 1915. In contrast, Armenian migrants from Turkey have been inhabiting a more inclusive and diverse environment in their host country. As the following discussion illustrates, understandings of the nation and its boundaries are shaped at the intersection of these different lived experiences.

In what follows, I first situate the present paper within the existing literature on everyday nationhood. In the second section, I outline the general contours of the research process and introduce the main characteristics of the sample population. With the aim to contextualize the case study, the third section presents some background information on Armenians from Turkey. In the fourth and fifth sections, I present my substantive findings. The former focuses on the recognition of difference where I examine how Armenians conceptualize the outer boundaries of the Canadian national landscape. In the fifth section, I explore the issue of accommodation of difference by looking at how individuals negotiate their place inside their host country vis-à-vis their fellow citizens. In the final section, I retrace some of the broader theoretical implications of the study.

Exploring the nation in everyday life

The literature on nations and nationalism has traditionally focused on the structural and macro-historical origins of their development and diffusion (Gellner, 1983; Hobsbawm, 1990). More recently, studies on everyday nationhood emerged as complementary to this strong research tradition and started to grapple with some of the latter’s blind spots. This new direction has led scholars to consider nations from the perspective of ordinary individuals engaging in routine activities (Fox and Miller-Idriss, 2008: 537). Consequently, it is the ‘micro-interactional grounding’ of nations that has become of central interest (Malesevic, 2019: 9–13).

In some of these works the nation’s reproduction in geographical spaces remains the main line of inquiry (Edensor, 2002; Jones and Merriman, 2009). In others, the examination focuses on how nations are held together through seemingly mundane rituals (Fox, 2006; Surak, 2013). In all these varied ways, research into everyday nationhood calls attention to the importance of micro processes and human agency in the reproduction of nations (Thompson, 2001). With the goal to build on this literature, the present discussion centers on how individuals talk about the nation by paying particular attention to its content.

As Bonikowski notes, ‘the nation as a symbolic, discursive, and cognitive category is not content-free: what matters is not just when and why people think and talk with the nation, but also what the nation signifies to them and their communities’ (2016: 435). Undoubtedly, there are multiple ways the nation is understood, invoked and appropriated by individuals inside a single national landscape as well as across national contexts. Indeed, talking about the nation rarely produces neat narratives (Antonsich, 2016). Miller-Idriss’s (2006) study on young working-class Germans, for example, highlights generational differences and demonstrates that the youth consider the nation as a fundamental source of trust and solidarity. Other works reveal how German citizens not only deploy multiple narratives of the nation but simultaneously express feelings ‘often characterized by ambivalence, confusion and contradiction’ (Miller-Idriss and Rothenberg, 2012:133). Similarly, Mann (2011) discovers that much vagueness is attached to the meaning of the nation by the white majority individuals in England. In a slightly different vein, Stromso’s (2019) research on ordinary Norwegians reveals how individuals employ different symbolic resources such as religion, ancestry, and skin color while they define and produce national boundaries in an inconsistent fashion. Employing discourse analysis, Wodak et al. (2009) demonstrate how a clear separation between Staatsnation and Kulturnation, or a split between civic and ethnocultural understandings of nations, is challenged through everyday ‘nation talk’. Studies further demonstrate that non-elite citizens understand the nation differently than elites where the former typically reference the ‘currents and rhythms of their everyday concerns and predicaments’ in an attempt to attribute meaning to the nation (Brubaker et al., 2006; Fox and Miller-Idriss, 2008: 539). Hence, what emerges out of these analyses is a multiplicity of conceptualizations that are sometimes in tension with each other.

The present paper similarly captures multiple strands of talking about the nation and unpacks what these various expressions of nationhood suggest. In so doing, the examination reveals that the seemingly contradictory ways of talking about the Canadian national landscape signify different layers of boundary-making. As will be discussed shortly, the participants broadly understood the Canadian landscape along voluntarist lines (Zimmer, 2003). This conceptualization highlights the permeability of the nation’s outer boundaries: The nation welcomes diversity and is grounded on inclusion. Once inside, citizens negotiate living with difference. Living together, they expressed, requires strict ground rules some of which may necessitate exclusionary practices/policies enforced by the state. These different conceptualizations may seem contradictory on the surface. Yet, a closer examination reveals the tension between the recognition of difference on the one hand and its accommodation on the other.

When we move away from describing different accounts of nationhood toward understanding how they are shaped, we inevitably have to pay attention to the state. Indeed, works on everyday nationhood recognize the state’s role in shaping individuals’ conceptualizations of the nation (Jones and Merriman, 2009; Skey, 2011). The existing analyses by and large have been limited to highlighting the misalignment between the state’s rhetoric and ordinary individuals’ understandings of the nation. For example, some researchers have rightly sought to understand ‘when, where, and how … [nation] becomes salient or significant’ (Brubaker et al., 2006:15). Others have documented how civil servants negotiate and challenge a ‘monolithic, state-centered notion of nationhood’ (Erdal and Gangen, 2021: 3). These works undoubtedly illustrate the complex nature of meaning-making at the micro level. At the same time, they do engage with the role of political power in understanding everyday engagements with nations and nationalisms.

The present discussion seeks to build on this literature by paying attention to the connection between political power and citizens’ understandings of nationhood. The participants in the present study expressed a particular vision of nationhood which was largely shaped through their engagements with the state and its practices. At times they defined the Canadian national landscape in reaction to the nationalist Turkish state. At other times, their understandings aligned with the (Turkish and Canadian) state’s rhetoric and/or policies. Consequently, notions of Canadian nationhood emerged at the intersection of individuals’ pre- and post-migration experiences, and with a particular emphasis on their engagements with state power. These reflections thus reveal how the political may envelop everyday articulations of nationhood.

Data and methods

The following examination draws on 52 interviews conducted between 2011 and 2018. These interviews were part of a larger research project for which I collected the life stories of Armenians who were born and raised in Turkey and who now reside in Canada. In this broader project, and for the Turkish segment of the research, I was interested in examining Armenians’ experiences as an ethnoreligious minority: How did they inhabit and experience different institutional settings such as schools, workplaces, and state institutions such as the military and the police? How about their friendships and everyday interactions with strangers? How do they define the Turkish nation and their place in it? I also asked about their experiences of specific anti-non-Muslim events in Turkey (such as pogroms and state-directed anti-minority policies).

The data presented here focus on the Canadian segment of their lived experiences. For this segment too, I explored how participants situated themselves inside the national landscape: What meanings did they attribute to Canada? How did they define and negotiate these national boundaries? How did they situate themselves inside these boundaries and vis-à-vis their fellow citizens? How did they define being Canadian? What about their everyday interactions with their fellow citizens and their encounters in different institutional settings?

While collecting data, I chose to adopt a ‘wait-and-listen’ approach which framed the direction of the interviews (Fox and Miller-Idriss, 2008: 556–557; Skey, 2011: 39). When relevant, I also asked some ‘breaching’ questions (Fox and Van Ginderachter, 2018) in order to facilitate conversations on specific topics such as immigration. Overall, my questions were structured in a flexible manner, giving participants the choice to talk about what they deemed important about their pre- and post-migration lived experiences. During our conversations participants regularly referred to current events when elaborating on their thoughts. Depending on when the interviews took place, some current events were more pertinent or meaningful to reference than others. Apart from such variations, however, I paid close attention to the consistency of my questions. Thus, on the whole, the length of the research process did not pose any problems to the overall integrity of the study.

For this study I accessed the participants through snowball and purposive sampling. With a few exceptions I conducted all interviews in the participants’ homes. The interviews lasted between an hour and a half and 3 hours. At the time of the interviews the participants were residents of Montreal, Toronto and Ottawa, were aged between 45 and 99, and belonged to different socioeconomic backgrounds. They had left Turkey as early as the 1960s and as late as the 1990s. The majority immigrated to Canada in the early 1980s. Hence, there is a generational dimension that should be noted here: Some of them grew up in Turkey during a time when they or their families personally experienced anti-minority events and policies such as the 6-7 September pogroms (1955) in Istanbul and the Wealth Tax (1942) (Aktar, 2021). As well, it was only in the second half of the 2000s that conversations regarding the Armenian Genocide (1915) started to take place in the Turkish public domain, albeit in a limited manner. The participants’ lived experiences in their homeland precede these more recent developments.

With only two exceptions, I conducted all interviews in Turkish. I then transcribed them and coded the data. The coding stage involved a careful reading of transcripts in order to label concepts, develop categories and establish patterns. Needless to say, the study’s sample size is not meant to be representative. Rather, my aim here is to explore and reflect upon an in-depth dataset.

Finally, I would like to note that the participants’ perception of me as a Turkish/Muslim researcher inevitably had some impact on the research process. Throughout my research I regularly sought to minimize any interference this might have caused. For example, snowball sampling proved an effective tool not only in recruiting the participants but also in establishing rapport. Once I was introduced to them, I talked about myself in order to contextualize who I was and to clarify why I was conducting this research. These extensive introductions further facilitated rapport. I also participated in some of the annual community events such as church bazaars and cultural activities which familiarized me with the participants.

Case study: Armenian immigrants from Turkey

Armenians comprised a populous and vibrant community under the Ottoman Empire. However, starting in the late 19^th century and culminating in the Armenian Genocide (1915), the community’s size was significantly diminished (Akçam, 2012). In the aftermath of the genocide and following the founding of the Turkish Republic (1923) Armenian citizens continued to face important challenges. While they were legally recognized as equal citizens, as (ethno)religious minorities they continued to suffer systematic discrimination and exclusion (Aktar, 2021; Göçek, 2015; Ünlü, 2018). To this day, Armenians are considered the paradigmatic ‘Other’ of the Turkish nation. Exacerbated by pogroms and exclusionary practices, this state of affairs contributed to emigration especially during the second half of the 20^th century (Içduygu et al., 2008). Armenians now count for less than one percent of the population in present-day Turkey.

Armenian migration to Canada dates back to Ottoman times. However, up until the 1950s the numbers remained quite small (Kaprielian-Churchill, 2005). Today, the wider Armenian community is around 63,000, with a large presence in bigger cities such as Montreal, Toronto and Ottawa (Statistics Canada 2016 Census). The community is diverse and comprises a wide range of nationalities including Iranian, Lebanese, Syrian, Egyptian and Georgian Armenians. According to census data, the Armenian migrant generation from Turkey makes up a small group within this wider community, numbering 2960 (Statistics Canada, 2016 Census).

Recognizing difference: Citizenship, state and nation talk

Armenians’ accounts of their host country consistently included an appreciation for living in a culturally diverse national environment. At the same time, these narratives moved beyond the cultural realm and were firmly grounded on citizenship ties. More precisely, a strong sense of civic citizenship, largely understood in its formal sense of inclusion, framed their conversations on diversity. Rather than expressing a sense of affective belonging to the nation, these accounts emphasized equal citizenship. Furthermore, they consistently referred to citizenship as a neutral concept, bereft of any ethnic or religious connotations. In their eyes, it was this neutrality that made inclusion possible and relatively smooth. G, who had emigrated from Istanbul in the early 1980s, described what he considered to be a typical immigrant’s experience in Canada in exactly these terms. He said:

There is no advantage to being an Armenian in Canada. But there is a lot of advantage to being Canadian. When she looks at you, the Canadian sees you as a Canadian citizen, but says ‘ohhhh, this is a different flavor’. Something like that happens.

This observation centres on a particular perception of how ethnic identity works inside the Canadian national context: Difference is recognized just enough, but not taken too seriously. His remark also stresses the principle of equality as the primary definition of citizenship. These statements sharply contrasted with his lived experiences in Turkey where Armenians report living with a sense of ‘foreignness’ (Kaymak, 2017; Özdoğan et al., 2009). As he continued to share his thoughts with me, G.’s mind quickly turned to this contrast:

They named me G. because my older brother [who had an Armenian name] had been subjected to so many insults. … Now, we don’t have any problems like that here. And the best thing is, nobody asks you what you are. Perhaps it is important for you to be Armenian or Turkish. But here, if you are a good person, if you do your job well, if you are honest, this is enough for them. If you pay your taxes and don’t get involved with crime they don’t say anything to you, they respect you. So, our Armenians are very comfortable here. Because they can also open their churches, and their organizations and freely express themselves.

This narrative is typical with its emphasis on inclusion and equality. The freedom to experience and reproduce one’s heritage follows from the nature of these civic ties. G.’s remarks further clarify the boundaries of the Canadian national landscape by juxtaposing it with its Turkish counterpart. In the former case ethnic identity is not perceived as something that could impact an individual’s success or failure in life. Being a hardworking, tax-paying, law-abiding citizen provides one with agency as well as respect in society.

G.‘s Armenian identity was, without a doubt, paramount to his self-identification. As with other respondents, his ethnoreligious identity was associated with belonging, understood as ‘an emotional (or even an ‘ontological’) attachment’ (Yuval-Davis, 2011: 10). At the same time, and as G. also maintained, the opportunity to live one’s life without being reduced to the confines of one’s ethnic descent was also valuable. Civic citizenship ties enabled a landscape where the individual was not limited to or fixed inside one particular identity. In contrast to their Turkish experience, a thin, loose definition of the nation was without emotional weight and it was exactly this perceived content of the nation that appealed to the participants. The thinness of the definition provided the space to be on the inside as an Armenian and as a citizen. It was the marriage of these two that was of significance and appeal.

Another participant who had come to Canada as a young adult reiterated some of G.’s remarks but also expanded the conversation in another direction. Talking about his children A. told me:

Of course we wanted our kids to learn Armenian, and they did go to the Armenian school here on the weekends. But we are also aware that they are going to mix. And that is only natural. What is not natural is what happens in Turkey. There, you are always aware that you are Armenian, that you are different. There is this pressure … This type of imposition is awful. … So [here] we know that people will mix, but it is fine.

A. had a strong preference for the way the Canadian national landscape was organized where ‘Armenians were one [out of many ethnic/cultural groups], but an equal one’. For him it was of paramount significance that the national does not reduce citizens to a single identity. At one point in our conversation, he showed me a picture taken at one of his university reunions. Pointing at the picture he said: ‘Look at this guy; he is Chinese, he is married to an Irish woman and I am his kid’s godfather. This is what Canada is about!’ These and similar statements routinely emphasized the value of diversity inside an inclusively defined nationhood. A. further reiterated his understanding of the Canadian landscape by contrasting it to its Turkish counterpart. He explained:

Look at [Turkish] identity cards! ¹ They say Armenian there. Citizenship should be built on equality. But the identity card shows that I am different. When you are treated as a foreigner you know that you are not included. Look at it here [Canada]; it welcomes you and tells you, you are all equal. So, then and only then! You feel like a citizen in your country.

Participants regularly referred to identity cards as symbols of inclusion/exclusion. As proof of citizenship, these cards are documents attesting to one’s formal inclusion inside a nation. Yet, in the Turkish case, this inclusion came with significant caveats with which the participants were all too familiar. Like A, other participants regularly expressed a sense of being a foreigner in one’s own country. This feeling of foreignness was further associated with a lack of voice inside the nation. In A.‘s mind, as in others, Canadian and Turkish landscapes were clearly separated in this fundamental way.

In his Being Danish Jenkins rightly reminds us that ‘we must be careful not to draw a sharp line between everyday life and politics or the state’ (2011: 16; also see Jones and Merriman, 2009). Indeed, the above remarks bring into sharp relief how state power shapes everyday notions of nationhood. According to T, for example, a critical aspect of state power had to do with its formulation and implementation of citizenship policies. An older gentleman in his 80s, T. was proud of still holding Turkish citizenship. After our conversation where he talked about his long and active military service as a young man, T. continued to compare the differences between his homeland and Canada:

[In Canada] it does not say Armenian or Turk in my passport. It says Canadian. This is democracy! I have a brother-in-law in France. In his identity card there it says French. At the very bottom it says born in Turkey. But he is considered French. He is not kept apart! They did not keep me apart here.

Comparisons with pre-migration lived experiences often bring into better view what immigrants find salient in their host country (Amarasingham et al., 2016). The expectation that the state would secure the recognition of difference and equal citizenship is pertinent in this context. While T. was explaining his reservations about Turkish identity cards, he walked out of the room only to come back a while later, holding an old copy of his. Flipping the pages he said to me ‘look here, it says I am Armenian’ and continued:

Inside the passports of Rums [the Greek-Orthodox], Armenians and Jews, there is a number. ² What does that mean!! Look at that! When I’m leaving the country, I’m leaving with a Turkish passport but inside [the country] I am a gavur [heathen]! [Raising his voice] How can I serve you [Turkey]?!! I ask you, how can I serve it?!!

The hierarchical structure of citizenship as it is clearly exemplified by T.‘s narrative continues to impact everyday experiences of religious and ethnic minorities in Turkey (Özdoğan et al., 2009; Ünlü, 2018). As these accounts reveal, citizenship is de facto a privilege rather than a right.

The reminiscence of being left out was further accompanied by frequent expressions of fear, especially in their encounters with state institutions and their representatives. A woman in her seventies, Y. was born in Istanbul and had her two girls there. It was in the late 1970s that her husband decided to leave behind their very successful business in Turkey and immigrate to Canada. When I asked what she liked the most about living in Canada she emphatically stated thus:

Freedom, and not fearing anything!! Those are the things about Canada as a nation! This is such a nation! Because when you went to the police station [in Turkey] you knew that you would be in the wrong. This is like this even today. There are always exceptions. But, I’m sorry, this is the reality.

Some of the other participants shared stories that closely echoed Y.‘s remarks. When I asked another participant his thoughts on living in Canada he first let out a hearty laugh. He then said: ‘I don’t have to be afraid of the police here. I even had an argument with one in the past. Inconceivable in Turkey!’ Another participant emigrated after the 6-7 September pogroms of 1955 when non-Muslim citizens, businesses and places of worship were targeted (Aktar, 2021). She could still remember, she said, the feeling of fear, especially when dealing with the police in Turkey. But, she continued, ‘You can say “I’m Armenian” [in Canada]! I’m not afraid of the police [she laughs]. It is an utterly different life here’.

To be sure, it is not only religious minorities in Turkey that experience fear and intimidation when faced with a police officer. Yet, such encounters continue to leave minorities in an inexorably more vulnerable position (Kaymak, 2017; Özdoğan et al., 2009). Not surprisingly, then, it is these experiences that partially shape the content of their narratives on Canadian nationhood.

On the whole, the interviewees drew the general boundaries of Canada by accenting its civic character. This outer boundary of nationhood secured a space characterized by an absence of fear and, hence, of security. Furthermore, the specific content of the nation and its significance clearly emerged out of comparisons with their pre-migration experiences in Turkey. In this way, Turkey was invoked to sharpen the distinct nature of the Canadian national landscape.

Before moving on, it should also be noted that while statements about Canada remained overwhelmingly positive, some participants also expressed what they saw as its weaknesses. For example, although otherwise laudatory about Canada’s inclusiveness, one participant remarked:

The true owners of these lands [the Indigenous peoples] are forgotten. They are still fighting for clean water!’ Yet, these remarks were immediately qualified with phrases such as ‘but of course, there are bad people and good people everywhere’, or ‘it’s not that bad. It is still a democracy and there are rules here.

Thus, while there certainly was a recognition that Canada had its problems, the criticisms were accompanied by a general feeling that the existing framework still remained relatively safe, inclusive and stable.

Negotiating difference: nationalism, secularism and nationhood

Multiculturalism is commonly understood as the defining element of Canadian nationhood (Thuraraijah, 2017). Despite its firmly established presence in everyday life the term remains much contested, particularly among scholars. Some associate multiculturalism with support for and protection of diversity where different ethno-historical identities ‘coexist in the society, but none is officialised’ (Taylor, 2015: 339). From this standpoint recognition and accommodation of difference are considered linchpins of multiculturalism. Others focus on state policies and practices of multiculturalism and draw attention to the reproduction of a hierarchical citizenship structure (Coulthard, 2007; Haque, 2012; Thobani, 2007). By implication, these latter approaches provide support for a broader point, that a marriage between the recognition of difference and its accommodation is far from simple (Hall, 2013). This is especially so since accommodation, which is about lifestyles, values and ultimately about the question of ‘whose is the nation?’ often sparks conversations about nationhood that highlight some of the more contentious issues about living with difference.

As demonstrated earlier, participants were of one voice in their appreciation of a civic nation. Yet, when they talked about coexisting with difference, their narratives revealed a central tension that exists inside liberal democracies between accommodation and recognition of difference. This tension was invoked around a discussion of two main topics: (a critique of) nationalism and (strong advocacy for) secularism. While still tied to concerns over citizenship, these accounts focused heavily on political values that participants deemed critical to the reproduction of the Canadian national landscape.

In his famous formulation of banal nationalism Billig wrote that ‘daily, the nation is indicated, or “flagged” in the lives of its citizenry. Nationalism, far from being an intermittent mood in established nations, is the endemic condition’ (1995: 6). It is in these subtle yet powerful ways, he argued, that the nation is reproduced. Using Billig’s often-cited example, it is the ‘unwaved flag’ that brings citizens together around the idea of the nation. Yet, for most participants in this study, these everyday and seemingly non-intrusive, symbols of nationalism did not conjure up images of social cohesion and solidarity. Rather, they were considered intrusive and objectionable.

For M, a successful professional who immigrated to Canada in the early 1980s, everyday symbols of the nation could indeed be anathema to inclusiveness. As we were talking about his life in Canada he observed:

‘Here, there is not much flag waving at all. I like that a lot. Look [pointing outside his house] if I were to hang up on a pole my underwear out there, nobody would turn around and ask ‘what is this?’ [He laughs].

In contrast, M.‘s recollections of Turkey regularly accented the constant presence of national symbols in everyday life. ‘We are part of those [Turkey] lands’ M. maintained, ‘but we were always set apart; we still are’. As a non-Muslim minority within a landscape defined as Muslim and Turkish, the flag was a powerful reminder of the fragility of his place inside the Turkish nation. Within such a context, the flag further signified not merely banal nationalism, but more importantly the blurred boundary between hot and banal nationalisms. For M, the relative absence of flags in Canada indicated its inclusive character.

Not surprisingly, respondents defined nationalism, first and foremost, as an exclusionary ideology and a destabilizing force. In all its manifestations nationalism contrasted with multiculturalism. As H, who has been living in Canada since 1969, explained:

As you know, this is a multicultural country. … There are a lot of people of different ethnic origins. Armenians are part of that mosaic but an equal part of it. … There is real multiculturalism within democracy [here]. You can protect your culture. It is not like America. Over there is the melting pot. Everyone who goes there becomes American. But it is not like that here. For example, there is no Canadian nationalism, but there is American nationalism over there.

For H, the contrast between nationalism and multiculturalism could not be clearer. Echoing other respondents, he further equated the former with assimilation. According to him, it was Canadian multiculturalism’s non-assimilationist outlook on difference that differentiated it from its southern neighbor. At the same time, he was realistic about future generations and their likely assimilation. While he was happy that his grandchildren were learning Armenian, he also noted that ‘eventually, they will be Canadians, there is no avoiding that’.

During interviews, remarks on multiculturalism and nationalism almost always touched upon Quebec. Some participants were residents of Quebec at the time. A few had lived there before settling down in Ontario or they had friends and extended family connections. Regardless of their place of residence, participants had a general understanding of Quebec politics and its history. In general, their stance toward the state’s ‘nationalizing nationalism’ (Brubaker, 1996) was firm in its denunciation. On the issue of Quebec nationalism, however, a more nuanced narrative emerged. On the one hand, they expressed much sympathy toward Quebec nationalism as a bottom-up movement with its historical roots embedded in inequality and injustice. On the other hand, they voiced reservations regarding its present-day manifestations, including the secessionist movement. As J, a former Istanbulite and a Montrealer for the past four decades, put it:

“When they had ratified Bill 101, ³ if not that much, they had a little bit of a right to do so. Because, imagine, as a French person growing up in the ocean of English, they are trying to protect their language. … Just like in Italy one learns Italian, this is Quebec. … The French who had been voiceless all these years and who were oppressed were now out in the public”.

J.’s sympathetic attitude toward what she considered as a minority people’s struggle for cultural protection was clear. Yet, when the conversation turned to current forms of Quebec nationalism her thoughts changed direction and sympathy was replaced by a sense of disappointment. As we continued our conversation, she mentioned Quebec’s language policies and noted:

If you take it to the extreme and say “the English script is going to be this big”, and the “French version is going to be that big” or “you must go to a unilingual school”. These are excesses. But it is a pendulum. They had to push it in that direction so that we could come to where we are today. But I am not sure if it is still necessary. … One of the things that attracted me to this country was that it was bilingual. I had said “oh, how beautiful”. This is true wealth. Why this richness cannot be protected I don’t know.

J.’s remarks touch upon the fine line drawn between what she considered a worthwhile and acceptable stance (i.e. the protection of one’s culture and standing up to oppression) and an ‘excessive, aggressive reaction’ that could harm diversity. Accommodation of difference was valuable as long as it remained within certain limits.

To be sure, there was not a single sentiment that dominated our conversations. Some participants had milder responses while others were harsh in their denunciation of nationalism. Some considered it a political stunt (i.e. a way to garner political power) and a source of unnecessary societal tension. On the whole, most were inclined to treat nationalism as a conservative and regressive force, stressing its parochial nature in its present manifestations. For F, for example, who lives in Toronto and who had come to Canada in the early 1980s as a young man, the Quebecois’ impulse to protect the French language was understandable. Yet, he was also quick to point out how this could lead to excess:

They should protect their language, that’s fine. But secession is another thing. For example, Parizeau, during that period said that ‘we lost [the referendum] because of the immigrants. Because of the money, he said. ⁴ When I came here, I worked for 24 hours. I went to evening school after work. … All of this is for the next generation. So that they are brought up well. So that they don’t experience the same pressures we did. It is because of this that Canada is a good country for me. Nothing else. … If there was oppression, I would understand; then I would be with you fighting for your freedom. But i.t is not like that anymore.

Furthermore, F. added, debating Quebec sovereignty only took attention away from the real problems of the province such as the need to reform the health system. Similarly, and stressing the value of maintaining cultural diversity, L. too, underscored what she saw as the parochial nature of the present-day discussions around sovereignty:

I think Quebeckers in general would be better off staying in Canada. Because I say, why limit yourself to one part of the country when the whole country can be yours? Canada is such a beautiful place. But why are you limiting yourself to one part? That is so provincial [sic]. Jean Chretien was a French Quebecker. [Pierre] Trudeau is a French Quebecker. Why do you have to look like this? [Motioning her hands to indicate blinders around her eyes]. Your language is not under threat now!

L.’s References to two Quebeckers who served as Canadian Prime Ministers deserve a pause. Chretien’s and Trudeau’s inclusion into the highest federal political circles is an indication that Quebec is seen and accepted by the rest of Canada. In her eyes, a secessionist call would reverse this state of affairs and would isolate Quebec. Being part of Canada and Quebec was possible and, indeed, desirable.

While participants resisted exclusionary and nationalist state policies, they also indicated that the embrace of inclusion had its limits. Discussions around how inclusion should be practiced shine light on the tension between recognition and accommodation of difference. Indeed, it is this tension that is situated at the core of multiculturalism or civil nationalism (Hall, 2013).

For T, who had settled down in Quebec in the 1980s, ‘the best thing about Canada is that it has a system that allows for the protection of one’s culture’. Her husband, M, agreed with this statement but quickly pointed out what he considered to be an important caveat:

There is another side to this. For example, [if we can protect ours] others will protect theirs [culture] too. That is, for example, Arabs will protect theirs too, isn’t it? [He chuckles]. Why are we put in a position to separate halal meat and normal meat sections at Costco? And, look, they do get things done [their way]. These Canadians are naïve. They say, ‘nothing would come of it, let’s look forward’. … They do not know where they are heading.

For M, pluralism needed constant care and attention whereas ‘extreme political correctness’ was threatening its reproduction. Some ground rules were essential and the most fundamental of these was secularism. M.’s observations quickly drifted toward this issue as his thoughts moved away from the aisles at Costco to the Charter of Values ⁵ :

The new generation is critical of the Charter. But I tell my son, it is important. I am not talking about a normal civil servant. But if you tell me that I will give you a teacher, a judge with a covered head, of course I do not want that. In that case, I can tell you that you gave my child that grade because of this. I can tell the same thing to the judge. I am not saying they will do that, but what is the place of religion in all this!

This deeply felt adherence to secularism, understood in its strict sense of complete relegation of religion to the private sphere, was not an outlier. Neither was M.’s advocacy for a state that should actively maintain this form of secularism. Others, too, noted that in a country where ‘religion was exploited by politicians’ or where politicians give in to the demands of certain groups, democracy and diversity will slowly erode. Hence, as a political value, participants placed secularism beyond negotiation.

G, a middle-aged woman who came to Montreal three decades ago, explained her position to me with an example:

When I first came here I was going to evening classes to learn French. I met a Turkish woman there. She was devout. One evening all the Muslim women, they were praying. This Turkish woman went with them [to pray]. I told her, ‘you are Turkish, you are not [an] Arab. Why are you behaving like them?’ I don’t go in there with my cross, or my candles. They should not behave like that either. I came here to leave such things behind. I don’t throw my religion in others’ faces, they should not do it either. This is how we were raised. I wrote a letter to my MP. I told him immigrants should adapt to where they come from.

For G, as for other participants, the public domain should be free from religious symbols. Ultimately, respondents considered secularism as the foundational guarantee for safeguarding inclusion and equality among citizens. They further perceived inclusion and equality as essential to maintaining a sense of security inside the national landscape. Understood as the ‘condition for a civilized society’, they broadly articulated secularism as a condition for the protection of democracy. In everyday life, they also treated secularism treated as a litmus test for ‘good citizenship’ inside a diverse society. As G. expressed above ‘I don’t throw my religion in others’ faces, they should not do it either’.

This strong belief in secularism should certainly be considered within the context of Armenians’ pre-migration lived experiences. In Turkey secularism was institutionalized in the 1920s partly as a device to keep Islam under wraps as well as a way to move the nation closer to its Western counterparts (Lord, 2018). For Armenians this institutional setup inside a Muslim-majority nation unwittingly transformed the social landscape into one where they could ‘pass’ (Goffman, 1963). This was particularly significant in a landscape where they continued to lead precarious lives. As Ekmekçioğlu notes, ‘Armenians did not necessarily see secularization as a tool for exclusion. On the contrary, secularization made their inclusion possible in a variety of ways. The lessening of Islam’s prominence … downplayed their fundamental difference, their Christianity, at least ostensibly’ (2016: 118).

In their Christian-majority host country, Armenians no longer felt like religious minorities. Yet, the visibility of religion in the public domain was regarded as a threat to the notion of equal citizenship. Relatedly, they felt that publicly discernible (religious) differences could put societal stability at peril. Their support for a strongly restrictive form of secularism was thus justified in their eyes. Such policies were indeed seen as fundamental to a civic type of nationhood. Ultimately, talking about how to live in and with difference revealed how individuals further negotiated and clarified the boundaries of nationhood. Relatedly, these narratives brought into sharp relief the tension between the accommodation of difference on the one hand and its recognition on the other.

Conclusion

Capturing multiple understandings of the nation is consequential, giving us clues as to how and why individuals find it meaningful and relevant to their lives. Building on the existing literature on everyday nationhood, this paper discussed the multiple ways in which nationhood inside a diverse setting is conceptualized.

For Armenian migrants to Canada inclusion into their host nation as citizens took precedence over a deep urge to belong. Thus, they fundamentally understood the nation along citizenship lines. A sense of belonging and affective bonds continued to be meaningful yet extended toward their Armenian identity. In their accounts, being part of the Canadian national landscape mattered especially since a thin definition of the nation provided a safe and inclusive space for the maintenance of their affective relationships. At the same time, talking about the accommodation of difference inside national boundaries powerfully illustrated the significance they attributed to political values, in particular to secularism.

The main arguments of this paper have broader theoretical implications. Proponents of liberal nationalism argue for individuals’ instinctive urge to belong to a national community. This, they contend, is not ‘only a psychological need, but also an epistemological one (Tamir, 2019: 45). In her recent defense of nationalism Tamir assumes a sympathetic stand on the capacity of a ‘caring nationalism’ alongside a ‘caring state’ to offer solutions to what she describes as the alienated, disgruntled masses that we globally encounter. These and similar arguments assume the centrality of a deep sense of national belonging over other forms of connectedness. As these arguments defend a strong sense of cultural unity, diversity that may stem from immigration is not treated seriously (Benner, 2020: 535). Yet, with the plurality of the nation comes the challenge of understanding how different groups of citizens make sense of a particular national landscape as well as their place in it. This paper aimed at taking this plurality to heart by focusing on migratory experiences. As a result, the discussion has also exposed the limits of liberal nationalism with its insistence on cultural unity as the most meaningful formula for social stability.

Undoubtedly, scholars have covered significant ground in improving our understanding of how nationalism works on the ground. This paper further sought to contribute to the existing body of works by stressing the pertinence of the political sphere to everyday and multiple understandings of nationhood. This particular focus ultimately leads us to the importance of thinking not only about meaning but also about causality when we study nationhood in everyday life (Hearn and Antonsich, 2018). While methodological challenges remain (Fox and Van Ginderachter, 2018) it is a promising endeavor to study the underlying mechanisms through which conceptualizations of the nation crystallize. Works on everyday nationhood can especially be fruitful in comprehending how political power works on the ground, and why certain types of political rhetoric are more likely to resonate with particular groups of citizens.