Expatriate – what does this actually mean? Have we ever stopped and really thought about it?

As immigration continues to trend as a ‘hot button’ issue globally and while, whether some like it or not, more and more people are seeking lives abroad, why is there a class distinction between different migrants?

Without getting into overt technicalities, most of us instinctually know what is meant in the differentiation between an expat and an immigrant. Previous writers have distinguished ‘expatriatism’ as a temporary migration through convenience and ‘free choice’, whereas immigration is born out of necessity and is permanent. But, of course, this is ambiguous, as not all ‘necessary’ migrations are permanent and not all ‘leisurely stints’ abroad are temporary.

We know what these terms mean though – an American diplomat working for the UN in Geneva – that’s an expatriate! A Malaysian working in the service sector in London – well, that’s an immigrant… I think in this example, the differentiation seems to be caught somewhere between the subjects of ethnicity, class, job description, income and the intentions behind the migration in the first place.

But let’s evaluate this distinction further. Consider these examples:

An English woman moves to Thailand to work in the bar industry and enjoy a prolonged ‘working holiday’ abroad, with no timetable for return or specific agenda. Or, what if an Irishman moves to Tenerife to work in a barbershop and soak up the sun for a few months – would these two be considered immigrants?

Now, what if you reverse the situation and someone from Thailand takes up bartending in London or a Canarian works in a salon in Dublin – are these people on an equal pedestal as their counterparts? I’d tend to think not.

So, by this logic, reserving the expatriate term purely for diplomats and international business-types doesn’t really hold water. And, it doesn’t even matter what the English woman or Irishman’s aspirations are later in life or their education level. It matters not that they are just as equally service sector employees as their Thai and Canarian counterparts. It is their origin that matters, isn’t it?

I remember growing up in California and these contradictions were equally true. There were many highly educated, successful, new Chinese immigrants living in the Bay Area when I was growing up – many of them were my neighbours. I never once heard anyone refer to them as ‘expatriates’, though they were probably the most highly educated and accomplished people on my block.

And I’ve noticed this living as an immigrant in Northern Ireland, too. As an American, I am definitely living in a more privileged position than some others settling here. To be fair, I can hardly complain about this, personally.

But, if there is one take away from this article, it is that familiarity matters.

Living in Northern Ireland as an American, you’re sort of the long lost cousin – familial cultures intertwined with centuries of good relations and comradery with both the Irish and British; common language, similar goals.

This being said, I don’t think I could say the same for the many Poles and Romanians residing here alongside me, even if they have lived here longer, contributed more to society and have largely made Belfast their permanent home – never mind the fact that their EU citizenship (I realise ‘Brexit’ may throw a wrench in this down the line) entitles them to be here much more than someone like me. I often wonder if a third generation UK citizen of Chinese descent, who grew up his or her whole life in South Belfast, is considered more foreign than someone like me who has only resided here permanently for three years.

I guess this is where this issue gets tough. Should familiarity matter? Well, it exists, therefore, it matters.

And this is fine – try finding somebody from here who doesn’t have some sort of relations with someone in North America. The divergent accents are in themselves enough to spark a conversation instantly. But, should familiarity be the defining characteristic of respect and integration? I would argue not.

So, if I had to make the distinction between the unspoken, but very real variance in our minds between the expatriate and the immigrant, I would say it starts with familiarity and trickles down into things like class, ethnicity, language, income, social status and the perceived intentions behind the move, itself.

More than anything else, it seems to be about where you start and where you end up, rather than who you are or what you can accomplish.

Most states, including the UK, make no legislative distinction between an ‘expatriate’ and an ‘immigrant’, leading me to believe that this is something that we are guilty of societally, rather than something we can actually blame the government for (for once).

Perhaps, it is just human nature.

The subconscious use of language is a powerful and revealing thing. By no means is everyone who has ever used the term ‘expatriate’ somehow a racist or bigoted (I have used it, too, in the past) – but the unintended, subliminal message behind some of the words we use is certainly worth taking a closer look at.

Humans have always enjoyed putting things – or people – into boxes; categorising – if not alienating –‘the other’. I think we should put the word expatriate in a box and then toss that box in the bin. It is a very pretentious way of saying, “I’m different,” from people that are likely exactly like you.