Switzerland’s No-So-Secret Wartime Weapon: The Case of the Swiss-led Child Evacuations

Last month, the BBC published an article “Is this Switzerland’s Schindler?” about a Swiss man named Carl Lutz who used his position as an envoy for neutral Switzerland stationed in Budapest to issue letters to thousands of Hungarian Jews during the Second World War. These special letters extended Lutz’s diplomatic protection to those targeted for deportation. Lutz saved an astounding 62,000 Jews from being sent to the concentration camps.

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Crowds expecting to be deported gather outside Carl Lutz’ office in Budapest to get protective letters in late 1944 (photo credit). Notably, Carl Lutz not only issued letters to individuals and families, but also 76 buildings that housed these groups. The Glass House survives today as a result of Lutz’s intervention.

It’s a very remarkable story. Not only does it demonstrate the extent to which people in positions of power could sacrifice their own safety for the survival of total strangers, but it also exemplifies how Swiss citizens could mobilise their government’s neutral status in WWII to help victims of persecution.

Shortly after this article was published, a friend contacted me and, knowing that I studied Switzerland during the Second World War, asked me about Switzerland’s wartime humanitarian efforts: But Chelsea, didn’t the Swiss create the Red Cross? And weren’t they neutral during the war? If so, did they help protect Jews during the war through the Red Cross? And what about refugees fleeing the Nazis? Honestly, why didn’t every single person just pack their bags and move to Switzerland during the war?

These are all excellent questions. Switzerland’s neutrality certainly means that it had a unique position in wartime Europe. Combined with its history of humanitarianism (yes, it did create the International Committee of the Red Cross), and its convenient geography in central Europe (bordering Austria, Germany, France, Italy and Liechtenstein), Switzerland appears to be perfect hiding spot from the Nazis, and a country that could manoeuvre through tense wartime diplomacy to help victims of war. Well spotted, my friend.

Added to all these facts was (and remains) Switzerland’s strong legacy of banking (supported by valuable privacy laws). Foreign investors still flock to Swiss banks because of its centuries of neutrality (and thus financial stability during war), including foreign governments.  In fact, some scholars argue Switzerland’s ability to financially shelter governments’ investments was the single reason that it was not invaded during the war – Swiss banks were just too valuable to both the Allied governments and Nazi Germany’s financial health to even consider crossing one platoon into its little alpine territory.

So really, we have three non-negotiable factors that influenced (and continue to influence) Switzerland’s political actions: neutrality, humanitarianism and banking. Remarkably, Switzerland protected its geographic borders from invasion in both World Wars due to its ability to maintain amicable relationships with belligerent nations. It provided them with a neutral trading centre (ie. banks and foreign currency), as well as becoming an intermediary for international organizations, such as the League of Nations. This tradition still stands today.

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Today, if you’re lucky enough to be able to afford a trip to Geneva, you can walk past the United Nations (above), the headquarters of the World Health Organisation, the International Committee of the Red Cross, the International Labour Office and the World Trade Organisation – all a stone’s throw from the same street! (And you’ll have to walk because you won’t be able to afford anything else).

Although Switzerland’s neutrality, humanitarianism and banking can be seen as massive opportunities and methods to help others, they were often used as excuses by Swiss authorities to limit, evade, or reject multiple initiatives that would have saved countless lives during the Second World War.

However, in keeping with the optimism and sacrifice that Carl Lutz has shown the world, I will write about one extraordinary example where Swiss citizens overcame these limitations to provide refuge and relief to one of the most vulnerable groups suffering under Nazi rule – children.

Why would the  Swiss government reject humanitarian initiatives?

Ultimately, Switzerland feared being overrun by refugees. As Switzerland depended on warring countries for its imports (about 55%) and exports (about 60%), there was simply not enough resources to ensure its national survival if thousands of foreigners (even refugees) came to stay. Over half of the coal in Switzerland, for example, originated from Nazi Germany’s monthly shipments. Thus, Switzerland had to balance national survival with shrewd financial decisions. (For more on Swiss wartime economy, see Herbert Reginbogin’s [2009] Faces of Neutrality, and Georges-André Chevallaz’s [2001] The Challenge of Neutrality, Diplomacy and the Defense of Switzerland).

Similar to today, Europe was overwhelmed with refugees still displaced by the First World War, the Turkish-Armenian War, the Russian Civil War, and the impact of famines gripping eastern Europe. Similar to today, refugees were not simply a passing trend.

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Multiple charities helped refugees in the wake of the First World War. By 1921, when the Russian Civil War had produced countless refugees and starving children, the Save the Children Fund had found it’s stride. It campaigned on the big screen by showing films of the conditions children faced to British audiences. For a brief history, see here.

By the end of 1933, the first year of power for the Nazis, some 37,000 Jews had voluntarily emigrated from Germany as a direct result of increasing violence and persecution (RJ Evans, Third Reich in Power). With Germany’s introduction of the Nuremberg Laws in 1935 – stripping all Jews in Germany or Austria of their citizenship and thus making them stateless refugees in their own country – the world began to realise it had a growing refugee crisis on its hands, especially if Hitler’s militarisation of Germany continued to go unchallenged.  Despite this, countries like France and Britain were apathetic to the plight of these refugees, instead being more concerned with unemployment or other domestic issues (Claudena Skran, Refugees in Inter-war Europe). Sounds like the recent situation in Calais, no?

But refugees had protected rights. In 1933, refugees gained internationally recognised rights (to passports, for example) for the first time, granted by the League of Nations (which, notably, Germany withdrew from in 1933). But this did not equate to decent treatment or immediate asylum for refugees worldwide. In fact, it still doesn’t. (See how refugees today are treated in Libyan detention centres).

In 1938, President Roosevelt’s administration organized the Evian Conference in France to help coordinate efforts to facilitate the emigration of refugees from Germany and Austria.  But the conference was unsuccessful, because most participating nations seemed more concerned with turning the refugees away from their own borders or, in the case of Britain, by simply refusing to contribute to it (Skran, Refugees in Inter-war Europe, 280).

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Lord Winterton, the English representative at the Evian Conference, gives a speech to attendees (photo credit). TIME reported on 18 July 1938, “Britain, France, Belgium pleaded that they had already absorbed their capacity, Australia turned in a flat ‘No’ to Jews, and the U. S. announced that she would combine her former annual Austrian immigration quota with her German to admit 27,370 persons (who can support themselves) from Greater Germany next year.”

Switzerland’s delegate, Heinrich Rothmund (the Chief of Police and responsible for Swiss borders and immigration), argued that larger countries, such as the US, should absorb large numbers of refugees so that European nations could operate as merely transit countries. Seems logical, eh? However, this line of policy was not accepted.  By the time the Second World War broke out, very few legal stipulations existed which governed the admission and rejection of refugees, and, instead, refugees had to rely upon the decisions made by individual countries. The League of Nations, and the international community, had ultimately failed to protect refugees in time for war.

By late 1938, Rothmund’s idea to treat Switzerland as a transit country had failed.  Escalating Nazi persecution (and the annexation of Austria) caused more fleeing Jews to congregate at Swiss borders. At this point, Rothmund decided that all refugees without visas, especially Jews, would be rejected from Swiss borders. Switzerland then implemented a new, discriminatory method of stamping all Jewish passports and visas with a large J (J for “Jude” meaning “Jew”). This “J-stamp” method to clearly distinguish Jews from other refugees was recommended to Nazi officials by a Swiss legation in 1938. Unfortunately, the Nazis adopted this into their own immigration and deportation protocols. (For a collector’s example, see here).

Amidst public outcry, Switzerland closed its borders in August 1942, justified by Swiss authorities due to an alleged lack of resources. The border closures remain one of the darkest chapters of Swiss history as Swiss actions directly impacted refugees, forcing many refugees to face persecution and death (This was a major finding of a large 25-volume Swiss government-commissioned study in the 1990s, see here). And, in November 1942, when Germany invaded southern unoccupied France, fresh waves of refugees fled to Switzerland’s strictly controlled borders; most were turned away, resulting, for some, in eventual deportation to mass extermination camps. By late 1942, Swiss refugee policies slowly changed, but it was not until July 1944 that the border opened again fully to Jewish refugees.

Switzerland’s Wartime Dilemma: How to Help Refugees when Limited by (an anti-Semitic and anti-refugee) government?

Similar to so many countries today, private citizens vehemently disagreed with their government’s restrictive border controls to limit the intake of refugees. This friction provoked Swiss civilians to turn to non-governmental organizations to help victims of war they deemed worthy of their donations, relief and aid.

One key example is the “Swiss Coalition for Relief to Child War Victims” (Schweizerische Arbeitsgemeinschaft für kriegsgeschädigte Kinder, or Le cartel Suisse de secours aux enfants victimes de la guerre). A mouthful, I know, but let’s call this group the “Swiss Coalition.”

The Swiss Coalition was an alliance of seventeen Swiss charities that sought to evacuate children from war-torn Europe to Switzerland. Although it had operated successfully during the Spanish Civil War (evacuating over 34,000 child refugees of the Spanish Civil War to multiple host nations), this “new” Swiss Coalition was bigger, prepared and practiced. Importantly, remaining funds from its Spanish operations were liquidated and added to the new coalition’s purse.

In 1940, the Swiss Coalition began its remarkable work. Raising over 700,000 Swiss francs in one year alone, the Swiss Coalition appealed to the humanitarian spirit of the Swiss people. One initiative encouraged thousands of Swiss families to voluntarily host children from southern France (then unoccupied by Nazi forces) for three months in their own homes. This ingenious method bypassed Switzerland’s strict immigration controls, as the children would not be a perpetual national burden, as well as appearing more attractive to Swiss hosts, as the children would not be a permanent family commitment.

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When children arrived, they gave their information to Red Cross workers who then compared it to the transport manifest and reported it to immigration authorities. After medical screening and delousing at Swiss train stations, they received their first warm meal in Switzerland. (Photographer Hans Staub. Basel train station, circa 1942. CH-BAR J2.15 1969/7 BD116, Belgische Kinder kommen (nach Basel), circa 1942).

The measure was extremely popular among the public, and by November 1940, when the first evacuations from unoccupied France began, the number of families volunteering to host children actually outnumbered the children selected for evacuation. Thousands of families offered spots for French children; over 2,000 were offered in Geneva alone. By December 1941, the Swiss Coalition hosted more than 7,000 children in Switzerland, the majority of them French (Swiss Federal Archives, CH-BAR E2001D 1968/74 BD 16 D.009 14 and Antonie Schmidlin, Eine andere Schweiz, 137).

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Notice the fatigue from this little Belgian boy. The captain reads “Arrival of Belgian child convoys in a Swiss train station. The children have travelled all night, have slept little and are now hungry and tired.” (Photographer Kling-Jenny. CH-BAR J2.15 1969/7 BD116, Belgische Kinder kommen (nach Basel), circa 1942).

The success continued and operations enlarged. Surprisingly, Nazi authorities agreed to temporary evacuations from their occupied zone, as it was hardly an inconvenience for them; the Swiss operated and funded the evacuations and – crucially – Switzerland was neutral. In February 1941, child evacuations from German-occupied northern France began, and the Swiss Coalition was the first foreign agency allowed into blocked areas, such as Dunkirk, Calais and Boulogne.

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Medical assessment was the chief criterion for selection. Due to the typhoid epidemics in late 1940 and summer 1943 in northern France and rampant diphtheria during the winter of 1942-43, it was necessary to protect the children, and the Swiss hosts, from such diseases. (CH-BAR J2.15 1969/7 BD 114, Kindertransporte aus Frankreich, March 1942).

In 1942, Belgian children suffering under Nazi rule were now evacuated. Generous donations from Swiss citizens continued to pour in and the Swiss Red Cross joined the operations. This was an important moment because it meant that the national Red Cross infrastructure (and doctors) could be utilised. This was certainly a formidable humanitarian operation.

Strict immigration controls still existed though. By mid 1942, Kinderzüge, or special Children’s Trains, were only allowed to travel one day per week. It had to be the same day every week. Maximum 830 per train. Only 1 adult per 30 children. According to Heinrich Rothmund’s office, there was to be absolutely no deviation from the following criteria:

  • Only children with appropriate identity papers (passports) that allowed them to return to France or Belgium could be selected. This was difficult for stateless groups, such as Jewish families who had left fled Germany or Austria for France. Importantly, this meant that no German-Jews could be evacuated. This also ensured that no child became a responsibility of the Swiss government.
  • Poor health was the sole criterion for selecting children (secondary to having the correct identity papers, of course).
  • Children had to be selected by Swiss Coalition doctors and medically screened upon arrival in Switzerland.
  • Children had to be 4 years to 14 years old.
  • Swiss Federal Police have the full authority to reject children upon entry on any grounds for any reason.

Once the children arrived in Switzerland, there was a host of additional criteria they had to follow while residents in Switzerland. While you could argue that these pedantic rules prevented children from becoming lost or abused by their hosts, it also meant that no one could abuse this temporary system of asylum. No Swiss host could extend a child’s stay, for example.

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Rothmund specified that Medical Corps of the Swiss Frontier Guards (above) had to deem the children physically poor in order for admission into Switzerland. If entry was refused, then children were not to cross the Swiss border and were immediately returned to their home country. I’ve found no direct evidence to reveal that children were rejected. (CH-BAR J2.15 1969/7 BD116, Belgische Kinder kommen (nach Basel), circa 1942).

Despite the impressive enterprise, the Germans terminated the evacuations from Belgium in May 1942 and from France in October 1942. Their justification was based upon the belief that children in Switzerland would become politically incited with anti-German sentiments. (Yep, really).

The Nazis’ termination of these three-month evacuations coincided with Swiss border closures in late 1942. (But it is important to point out that some children gained entry into Switzerland, including those admitted due to tuberculosis and others sent through another initiative led by Pro Juventute). It was not until July 1944 when the Swiss Coalition resumed the three-month evacuations.

In total, over 60,000 French and Belgian children benefitted from these temporary child evacuations (including some from Yugoslavia) during the Second World War. In the post-war period, this was expanded to other war-stricken nations and an additional 100,000 children were welcomed to Switzerland from 1945 to 1949.

So what?

While I discuss Switzerland at length here, the obligations among so-called “neutral” nations to help refugees is not just about Switzerland. If we put any nation under a microscope, we will discover many unwelcome truths about its immigration policies. Assigning responsibility (and culpability) for who did or did not protect refugees, including Jews, is a tricky exercise, especially when discussed on such a large, international scale.

Perhaps Swiss historians say it best. When ascribing responsibility for Switzerland’s lack of action to protect vulnerable groups, notable Swiss historian Edgar Bonjour argued that the entire generation of Swiss made it possible for the democratic government to create such refugee policies. Historian Stephen Mächler (Hilfe und Ohnmacht, 440) pushes this further to criticize “the entire globe,” as everyone opposed welcoming refugees, especially Jews, making it nearly impossible for Switzerland to do anything but to create similar refugee policies. However, as Georg Kreis argues (Switzerland and the Second World War, 113), if all are responsible, then ultimately no one is responsible

Let’s return to our “Swiss Schindler”. As a diplomat working from a Swiss consulate in Budapest, Carl Lutz was protected by international law and granted immunity to local conflict, as any diplomat should be treated. But, importantly, only neutral governments during the Second World War could act as protective powers. As Lutz was the citizen of a neutral government, this meant that his Swiss embassy in Budapest acted as an intermediary and/or protective power for other warring nations without diplomatic representation in Hungary. (This system still operates today; a Canadian pastor was recently released in North Korea via the Swedish embassy because Canada designated Sweden to be its protective power). Therefore, Carl Lutz’s citizenship to neutral Switzerland played an incredibly critical role in the lives of 62,000 Jews.

Remarkable initiatives like the Swiss Coalition, and the actions of Swiss citizens like Carl Lutz, Paul Grüninger, Hans Schaffert, Roslï Näf, and so many others, deserve great attention. They not only sacrificed their own personal comfort, safety and even careers, but they discovered cunning ways to capitalise on their Swiss neutrality for the protection of thousands of people. In this sense, their humanitarianism (and courage) seems amplified. Neutrality was not a limitation or excuse to not intervene, but actually an influential weapon that could be used, if in the right hands.

Refugees, Labour and Violence: Rethinking “borders” while in the Scottish Borders

Last month, I holidayed in a region of southern Scotland called “The Borders.” As the boyfriend was raised in one of its charming towns, I had a built-in tour guide. He showed me all the fluffy sheep, the gorgeous green rolling hills and told me stories of the Borders’ sparkling history of violence and raiding.

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This vantage of the Tweed valley and Eildon Hills is called “Scott’s View,” as it is reputed as one of Sir Walter Scott’s favourite views.

This lush swath of land held a contentious political boundary that separated Scotland from England. Between the 13th and 17th centuries, this magnificent countryside became ground zero in the quest to define those two nationalities. Repetitive small conflicts and systematic raiding dominated the region due to a group of mercenaries called the Border Reivers. Equipped with bows and arrows and mounted on little ponies, they were notorious for stealing, raping and fighting for live stock and lands.

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Queen Elizabeth I was so impressed with the Border Reivers ruthless success, that she once said, “with ten thousand such men, James VI could shake any throne in Europe.”  (photo: wikipedia)

Today, traces of the intense violence are still present in the abandoned peel towers that dot the countryside, where residents would hide from invaders. One particular peel tower called Smailholm Tower was made popular by Scotland’s cherished author, Sir Walter Scott. As a child battling polio in the late 1700s, Scott stayed with his grandparents at Sandyknowes farm just beside Smailholm Tower and even played in its ruins.

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Smailholm Tower was one of hundreds of defensive fortifications that dotted the countryside. Inside was often a local laird and enough room to house the sheep and cattle, a major resource for the Border Reivers.

Due to the strong oral traditions among the local farmers and shepherds, Scott also learned about the Border Reivers’s raids through workers on the farm, including his auntie who would sing to him. Years later, Scott transcribed and modified some of these folk tales, popularising them through his writings and publications. In one fell swoop, Sir Walter Scott’s renditions of these stories soon came to define an entire portion of Scotland’s (heavily disputed) land and (blood-soaked) history into the romanticised nation we know today.

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Abbotsford, Sir Walter Scott’s family home, is now a B&B and museum.

While Scott’s impact upon Scotland is indisputable – he seemed to be a remarkable and eccentric man – the Scottish Borders as a specific region made me stop and think. Scotland and England would eventually find peace (to an extent) so that the violence would stop, but what do such borders achieve?

Are borders entirely arbitrary, or do they serve a useful purpose? What do borders accomplish? How do borders define a group? Do they cause more peace or more violence? Do we still need them? Or should we build more?   

I’m not the first to ask such questions, especially in recent history. Just last month, it was the 70th anniversary of India and Pakistan’s creation. Or, it was the 70th anniversary of one of the bloodiest legacies that ever came from drawing a border.

In the immediate post-war era, calls for Indian independence from British rule could no longer by ignored by Westminster. Muhammad Ali Jinnah, leader of the Congress and Muslim League, demanded the creation of a Muslim state. With British PM Clement Atlee’s strong support, Lord Louis Mountbatten and Cyril Radcliffe were responsible for hastily drawing a boundary that essentially cut Punjab and Bengal almost in half.  But the problem was that millions of Muslims lived in what would become Hindu-majority India, while millions of Hindus and Sikhs lived in what would be Muslim-majority Pakistan.

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A photo from 19 September 1947 of an overcrowded train station by New Delhi (from an article by Dawn).

The “Mountabatten Plan” was submitted just five days before India and Pakistan were partitioned (14th and 15th August, respectively). Celebrations ensued, but so did mass migration. Over 15 million Muslims, Sikhs and Hindus essentially swapped countries, leading to over a million deaths in the violence that followed. Chaos reigned at train stations, looting and food shortages were commonplace. People apparently defended themselves from discriminate attacks with knives, guns, swords. Thousands sought shelter and refuge in sacred temples and tombs. Millions died because of this arbitrary, hastily drawn line in the earth. Millions died because of a border.

Borders, essentially, divide people.

Hundreds of years ago, physical features of the land would define a people, such as river or forest. But in more recent history, borders have been politically motivated rather than geographically defined. Or sometimes both. I remember being a young Canadian elementary student in Social Studies class and asking why the US-Canada border was straight on the left (west), but squiggly on the right (east). My teacher laughed and said the St. Lawrence River was the chosen boundary in the east, while the 49th latitude was the boundary in the west. The answer confused me, but then I was told that the US-Canada border is the longest undefended border in the world. “But we’ll be okay,” she reassured me. “Okay from what?” I remember thinking.

Borders “protect” people.

They keep foreigners out. They help us to define ourselves in relation to the “other” whatever we perceive it to be: barbarity, violence, backwardness, et cetera. By doing so, borders create a sense of homogeneity, safety and order for those inside, implying further that such civilised aspects of society only exist within that border. Borders thus legitimise our identities and strengthen our communities. Evidently, borders do accomplish a great deal.

Today’s borders allow free trade, the free movement of goods to be exchanged. This allows us to create links (sometimes exploitive) with our neighbours and is one of the best things to come out of colonisation and globalisation. And yet we do not afford that same freedom of movement to people, to labour.

As British journalist Giles Fraser says, “We are so hypocritical about our borders.” We will celebrate the fall of the Berlin Wall, but we will fortify Calais and the UK against the waves of eastern refugees and migrants. We will condemn Trump’s proposed wall with Mexico, but continue the oppressive system of First Nations reservations in Canada and the US. We shake our heads at the illegal detainment of Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, but we will applaud the commendable efforts of Médecins Sans Frontières (or, Doctors without Borders).

Why such hypocrisy? 

Professor Jonothan Moses claims in International Migration: Globalization’s Last Frontier (2006), that “as distance in the world recedes with technological, social, demographic and political advances, the demand for international migration will surely grow.” The only way to solve our multiple global problems, he claims, is through free migration. It is the last frontier to be conquered by the global community. Naturally, this sounds both radical and implausible, but he assures us that eventually we would become more just and happier, as the world’s economic and political bounty would be better distributed.

A world without borders? Is that possible?  

Just imagine a world where you could visit or permanently move anywhere you wanted without restrictions. Tropical islands everywhere would become overwhelmed with the world’s richest retirement-aged elites. Many long-distance relationships could be solved. Families separated by war or migration could be reunited.  Unmarried women could backpack through Saudi Arabia! And, importantly, the global divide between the rich underpopulated North and the poor overpopulated South would rebalance. Eventually.

But a world without borders is difficult to comprehend.  So if a borderless, free-moving, global population is one radical extreme, then at the other end of the spectrum is a world with well-defined “nations”. We know this world, because we are living in it. A world with borders, barriers and walls, such as those that currently in Israel/Palestine, or those proposed by Trump with Mexico, or those proposed by Brexit with Europe. No more EU Schengen plans. No more visa-free travel. Everyone restricted to their little nation. Everyone defined by their borders.

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The closing ceremonies of the London 2012 Olympics demonstrates just how much we are defined by our borders (Photo: Daily Mail).

But then, history. History tells us that borders aren’t necessarily the best invention since sliced bread. Borders cause war, then war happens, then borders are redrawn. Repeat. For example, one of the strongest underlying factors for the outbreak of the First World War was the fact that people were angry with their borders. And this anger took the form of nationalism. Pause here.

Nationalism (generally, a pride in one’s nation) is based upon a collective identity due to ethnic, religious, and/or political reasons. It’s a massive concept that historians debate endlessly (see Anthony Smith’s Theories of Nationalism (1971), Ernest Gellner’s Nations and Nationalism (1983), anything by Eric J. Hobsbaum). Because borders keep foreigners out, legitimise citizens within, and nurture collective pride and identity, nationalism is tied inextricably to borders – real or imagined. Nationalism does not always need to exist in a community, but it does exist because that community is legitimised by, or rebelling against, its borders. Correct? Yes.

So, in the early 1900s, multiple ethnic communities in the Balkans were formulating new identities that wanted autonomy from the Austria-Hungarian state and old Emperor Franz Joseph in Vienna. Two previous localised Balkan wars had proved just how forceful these groups were becoming. But the conflict escalated into the First World War when a member of one Serbian nationalist group assassinated the nephew of the Emperor. Nationalism, aggravated by borders (that these groups felt limited by), was thus a major component of the ongoing tensions that sparked and accelerated that conflict.

After the First World War, borders were redrawn: Poland, Finland and the Baltics were born. Austria-Hungary was split into Austria, Hungary, Yugoslavia and Czechoslovakia. Alsace-Lorraine was returned to the French. German colonies were transferred to the victors. The League of Nations was created to hopefully broker ongoing peace and stability after an estimated 25 million deaths.

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The German delegates at the Treaty of Versailles: Professor Walther Schücking, Reichspostminister Johannes Giesberts, Justice Minister Otto Landsberg, Foreign Minister Ulrich Graf von Brockdorff-Rantzau, Prussian State President Robert Leinert, and financial advisor Carl Melchior. (Photo from Wikipedia).

For a time, it seemed to work. But the League of Nations faltered. Nationalism grew. This time Germany and Russia became massive forces that spurned many citizens to believe that their nations had not only the means but the right to reclaim lost territories and even conquer new ones. Hitler and Stalin’s fierce ambitions, and weak Allied leadership in the late 1930s heightened tensions and nurtured opportunity for conflict. The Second World War resulted in an estimated 50 to 80 million deaths.

The United Nations attempted to succeed where the League of Nations failed. European Integration became central to rebuilding a world after total devastation. A common market was created among its first four members and the free movement of goods became a cornerstone of collective European prosperity. Go, Europe!

Simultaneously, the Cold War constructed “the Iron Curtain” and, again, divided Europe and the world. The Berlin Wall was erected in 1961 and symbolised the cold, hard barrier between western capitalism and eastern communism. The last remaining right-wing dictatorships in Portugal and Spain soon dissolved. In 1989, the Berlin Wall fell and East and West Germany were finally reunited. Borders that had previously been so indestructible for decades seem to crumble in a few short months.

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Over 138 people died trying to escape through the Wall, and an estimated 5,000 were successful. The first to escape was East German border guard, Corporal Conrad Schumann, in August 1961 (Photo from here)

By 1993, the Schengen Agreements allowed for movement of “four freedoms”: goods, services, money and people. Millions of young people were able to study in other EU countries and the Euro currency was adopted by most EU nations. Remarkably, the EU eased gracefully into a period of prosperity and harmony. Goals to tackle climate change and terrorism unified these once national enemies. Germany, despite his historic territorial ambitions, became the world leader in accepting refugees and migrants. The EU won the Noble Peace Prize in 2012.

But then, Brexit. And Trump’s Mexico wall. It seems that some western leaders believe tightening borders, not eradicating them, is the best response to global migration.

So what’s the solution?

Rethink the nature of “borders.” Although totally removing borders is radical and implausible in the near future, global migration will only increase. As migrants move between countries, they often transition through multiple societies, adopting new identities in each and thus complicating the simple labels of “origin” and “destination.” Global migration is not only increasing, but becoming vastly more complex.

History proves that borders do not keep foreigners “out” nor keep citizens “in”. And why should they? The global economy is based upon free trade, the free movement of goods, so why shouldn’t that be extended to people, to labour? Meanwhile, current gaps between the rich and poor, the north and south, the citizens and refugees, are eroding due to instantaneous communications, faster transportation, and global infrastructures and this exact type of trade. Sorry, world, but refugees and migrants won’t just “go away,” no matter how high you build those walls.

According to the International Organisation of Migration, “Migration is an integral part of global transformation and development processes rather than a problem to be solved.” If true, then how do we improve this?

Of course, the best remedies lay in helping those on the other side of the border. Provide immediate aid to victims of war, hunger and disease. Allow those fleeing persecution and war to cross borders, with or without passports or visas. Commit to large-scale, international resettlement projects across borders. Do not underfund long-term peace projects that tackle the root causes of war, hunger and disease. Persecute human traffickers heavily. Combat all forms of racism and xenophobia at home and abroad.

The Scottish Borders unknowingly provides us a great deal of information about how this could work on a global scale. Although fighting over human and material resources could continue for centuries, strict borders will eventually disappear. People will eventually live without violence. And while pride for one’s nation is still very strong in this part of the world, and tensions between Scotland and English still certainly exist, the Borders is a serene and renowned land with its numerous peel towers and fluffy sheep.

Who wouldn’t be proud of that?