The EU's ambivalent immigration policy is driven by national insecurity and concern for the welfare state, which the far right exploits, says Andrew Geddes.

There are two immigration Europes. One needs immigrants, the other doesn't want immigrants. Let 'em in, keep 'em out - European immigration politics in a nutshell. Whether it's a blip or not, the extreme right's recent resurgence exposes both a deep ambivalence and a troubling paradox: Europe is an immigration continent, it needs immigrants, but it demonstrates hostility to immigration and immigration-related diversity.

A glance at recent pronouncements gives some idea of the conceptual morass. Britain's Europe minister, Peter Hain, recently called for a common European asylum system. Yet in Germany, with federal elections looming and controversial immigration laws only placed on the statute book in February, Gerhard Schr?der contended that the European Union should take some blame for extreme right support because of its detached and technocratic policy style and eagerness for one-size-fits-all solutions.

Common policies depend on common perceptions of policy problems. Ineffectual border controls are regularly portrayed as Europe's Achilles'

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heel. Tougher security is the preferred solution. EU immigration and asylum commissioner Antonio Vitorino recently stated that border controls are "the weak link in the chain affecting domestic security" and that the time had come for a common approach. He mooted the idea of a European border guard, presumably able to apprehend unwanted immigrants in all of the EU's official languages.

This drive to seal external frontiers contrasts with openings to labour immigration. Free movement for EU citizens and for goods, capital and services within the single market is encouraged. Movement from outside the EU can set alarm bells ringing, although this is changing. The UK's high-skilled migrant programme launched in January followed hard on the heels of Germany's US-style green-card scheme for information technology specialists. Both the International Organisation for Migration and the European Commission have argued that Europe needs managed migration.

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Other less-welcome types of migration mark the contrast between the two Europes. Last year, about 350,000 asylum seekers entered EU member states, which were embroiled in a public debate focused on the bogus nature of their claims. One Europe leaves the door ajar for immigrants who can help solve labour and welfare state problems. The other Europe embarks on an "un-beauty" contest - which country can make itself least attractive to "unwanted" immigrants? The competition is tough.

Take Denmark, where a rightwing coalition swept to power in 2001 elections on an anti-immigration platform. In the election campaign, rightwing groups issued a poster showing a group of blonde Danish girls ("Denmark today") contrasted with a group of aggressive-looking Muslim youths ("ten years from now"). The rightwing coalition has imposed tough controls: a seven-year waiting period before immigrants can access state benefits and much tougher rules on family migration.

The assassination of Pim Fortuyn directed international attention to the Netherlands, another contender in Europe's un-beauty contest. Fortuyn's rapid rise and untimely demise were a symptom of a rather longer-standing Dutch debate about immigration. In the 1990s, the new policy focus was socioeconomic adaptation and 600 compulsory hours of "how to be Dutch" lessons for immigrants. As is usually the case, "integration" was prioritised in its perceived absence and set against broader social changes that made the idea of social integration in the old socially conformist Dutch more problematic for everyone, not just for immigrants.

Immigration and immigrants are the canvas on which deeper concerns about social change can be sketched. In 1998 the Dutch historian and Labour Party member Paul Scheffer wrote in the NRC Handelsblad of the "multicultural tragedy" and development of an "ethnic underclass" unwilling and unable to integrate. He called for a "civilisation offensive", in which efforts to tackle deprivation were combined with more emphasis on assimilation to Dutch culture. The Dutch government's ex-minister responsible for the integration of immigrants, Roger van Boxtel, stated that people from ethnic minorities had to "choose for" Dutch society.

Immigration has long struck fear into the hearts of British Labour government ministers. Many were socialised in the 1970s, when the National Front's racist politics stimulated a counter-reaction from the left, but also fuelled concern that this message appealed to some Labour supporters. This concern resurfaced as the British National Party sought to exploit tensions in Oldham, Bradford and Burnley last summer.

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Labour's response has been to borrow the political vocabulary of the right. Tough on immigration, tough on the causes of immigration was the recent proclamation of New Labour guru Anthony Giddens, mimicking the anti-crime message that shot Tony Blair to prominence as Labour's home affairs spokesman in the early 1990s. Home secretary David Blunkett mimicked Thatcherite vocabulary to claim that asylum seekers could "swamp" some schools and hospitals. Those who come must respect "our laws, our values, our institutions", Blunkett said. The language of swamping, invasion and flooding is filched from the extreme right. Equally pertinently, this language and the approach that it symbolises duck the key issues of social breakdown and political alienation in once rock-solid Labour areas. This is a more general problem for "our" laws, values and institutions that cannot be pinned on immigration and immigrants.

The paradox of the two Europes also locks EU institutions in uncertainty. The background noise from the member states - let 'em in, keep 'em out - is hardly the recipe for a coherent approach. Yet common EU migration and asylum policies could be in place by 2004. Or at least that is the plan. The foundations are being laid. On April 25, EU interior ministers expressed agreement on minimum standards for the reception of asylum-seekers. This gave member states the option to house asylum seekers at border points. Such a measure particularly excites the British government. What could be better than asylum seekers kept in camps near the point at which they entered the EU - that is, a long way from Britain?

This brings us back to Schroder's point that European solutions could fuel the far right. Anti-immigration and anti-Europeanism can be a heady brew. But this argument misses the point. Anti-immigration sentiment cannot be pinned on the EU. The causes lie closer to home. The insecurities that provide fertile ground for the extreme right are closely linked to welfare-state and labour-market pressures in EU member states that illustrate the unwillingness or inability of centre-left governments to deliver on welfare and security. Already this year, this failure has cost governments at the ballot box in France and Portugal.

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External frontier controls receive most attention in immigration discussions, but the borders at which immigrants present themselves are also the borders of national welfare states. Responses to immigration are closely linked to the organisation of welfare states. Put another way, the organisation of welfare states and ideas about entitlement define a community of legitimate recipients of welfare-state benefits and help delineate the two immigration Europes. On the one hand, demographic changes and skills shortages underpin managed migration. On the other, immigrants viewed as bogus or illegal fall outside the community of legitimate recipients of benefits. Dispersal schemes, voucher systems, accommodation and detention centres are all manifestations of this.

Whether immigration is seen as good or bad, an opportunity or a threat, is strongly related to the perceived welfare-state implications of immigration. The far right can exploit insecurities, pin the blame on immigration, speak of a crisis of integration, or even a refusal of immigrants to integrate.

But the problems strike far deeper than simplistic scapegoating. Perceptions of insecurity have strong national roots and require domestic resolution, not a game of European pass-the-buck. Perceived failures to deliver on welfare and security provide a domestic backdrop for the electoral retreat of the centre-left and the resurgence of the far right. No matter how smart their uniforms or shiny their brass buttons, a Euro Border Corps is unlikely to change this.

Andrew Geddes is a senior lecturer in the School of Politics and Communication Studies at Liverpool University.

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