The present immigration system is based on a core paradox. The method of allocating visas for the admission of permanent residents is based on principles of equality and fairness because all countries have the same quota. Yet visa demand varies widely. The principle of formal equality has disparate effects, being inclusionary for some and exclusionary for others. Four countries persistently max out on their caps—China, India, Mexico, and the Philippines—leading to long waits, easily ten to twenty years or more, and hence pressures for unlawful entry. The system generates an ever-larger caste-population of unauthorized immigrants.

The picture has prevailed in Spanish social history of a revolutionary, insurrectional peasantry in the south of the country. Aided by literary or artistic analyses, this article shows the existence, in the Spanish north during the transition from the nineteenth to the twentieth century, of a counter-model consisting of small landowners. This model was based on real facts, such as the permanence of small and medium land properties, the preservation of the commons, and the stability of leaseholds, all of which contributed to its literary idealization.

However, a more profound and detailed analysis uncovers the existence of other types of conflicts which are different from the large unionized demonstrations of the Andalusian south. In fact, conflict arose in the north with respect to leaseholds and surpluses of milk, cider, or sugar beet. Old emblems of peaceful peasant life such as popular festivities were tainted with criminality, as well as with “urban” and “industrial” delinquency and the old systems of communal solidarity were redefined, which forced political bargaining in local and municipal life.

In all the upheaval of 1905 in Russia, one of the most violent and volatile areas was Ekaterinoslav Province, which included Donbass coal miners, militant railroaders, and heavy industrial factory workers in and around the mines, the towns, and the province's capital city. Although protest and upheaval were by no means new to the region, in 1905 the province witnessed not only a chain of strikes, meetings, and demonstrations throughout the year, but one of the largest and most militant armed uprisings in December and several destructive anti-Jewish pogroms among the hundreds that swept South Russia in October.This characterization of the region is most fully and persuasively outlined in Charters Wynn's important study, Workers, Strikes, and Pogroms: The Donbass-Dnepr Bend in Late Imperial Russia, 1870–1905 (Princeton, 1992). The present essay, though greatly indebted to Wynn's pioneering work, seeks to build on, critique, and modify some of its conclusions.

On September 17, 1911 a hunger revolt broke out in Ottakring, a proletarian suburb in northwest Vienna. But hunger and deteriorating living conditions were not the only causes of broad public unrest. The revolt was, to a greater extent, a spontaneous political articulation of a new social formation at the periphery of the metropolis composed of “old” underclasses and recently arrived migrants. Both faced miserable conditions of work, consumption, and family life, and the migrants lost their dream of a better life in the city. Mentally still rooted in the rural environments, the “lifeworlds” from which they had come, they experienced a fragmented urban topography driven by a chaotic mixture of sharp-cut urban planning and rationalization, and brutish Manchester-style capitalism. Instead of finding a new “Heimat” in the city, the new immigrants suffered from pauperization and collective estrangement. Their location in the new industrial quarters of the city brought them into misery and—in the perception of the elite—transformed them into the dangerous, amorphous “Other” of urban society. Their material poverty and cultural stigmatization allowed only a minimum of freedom and self-realization within the emerging formation of mass culture. Symbolic discrimination and economic marginality configured a specific suburban lifestyle modeled along the trajectories of assimilation and deviance, lethargy and revolt, power, impotence and emerging mass politics.

Faced with the most up to date washing machine, the undocumented Rosa, newly arrived from Guatemala to Los Angeles, does what many resourceful Mayan women would: She handwashes clothes and lays them on the lawn to dry.1 Played for comic relief in the 1983 movie El Norte, this confrontation of the domestic worker with the machine represents how, presumably in the face of dirty wars in Latin America and rising labor force participation of mothers with small children in the United States, well-to-do households had it both ways: They purchased the latest appliances and relied upon the labor of immigrant women. Recent migrants appeared more tractable than the African Americans who historically had worked in other women's homes. New models superseded old Maytags, but domestic workers never became obsolete, despite the predictions of sociologists and the panicked laments of would-be employers.

During a decade of constant turmoil in the 1870s, immigrant textile workers from Lancashire, England seized control of labor politics in the southern New England region of the United States. They were men and women who had immigrated in successive waves before and after the American Civil War to the United States, specifically to the textile cities of Fall River and New Bedford, Massachusetts and to the mill villages north of Providence, Rhode Island.

With the sudden, almost ubiquitous reentry of The Coca-Cola Company to India during economic liberalization, the branded commodity became a sign of both aspirational global consumer-citizenship for India's urban middle class and of corporate enclosure for those dispossessed of material and symbolic resources to fuel this consumption. Village communities around several of Coca-Cola's rural plants, including in Mehdiganj, Uttar Pradesh, organized against the company's operations, which they accused of exploiting and polluting common groundwater in the production of bottled drinks as an increasing expanse of the country fell into a crisis of water scarcity. This “environmentalism of the poor” has articulated a powerful critique of corporate globalization and privatization, illuminating the exploitation of the resources of the rural poor for the consumption of those on the other side of an increasingly widening economic divide.

After serving as an organizer for the independent labor union Solidarity (“Solidarność”) during Poland's 1980–81 upsurge, Zbigniew Marcin Kowalewski was elected to the union's regional leadership in Łódź in 1981. Poland's most populous city after Warsaw, Łódź grew rapidly in the late nineteenth century after a torrent of foreign capital investment. Known as the “Manchester of Poland” because of its concentration of textile manufacturing, the city and its mills were the setting for The Promised Land, the story of a German, a Jew, and a Pole seeking to make their fortune in the brutal new world of industrial capitalism, as told in the 1899 realist novel by Władysław Reymont and the 1975 film by director Andrzej Wajda. The Łódź working class has a militant history dating to the strikes of May 1892, when, as Tamara Deutscher writes, “more than two hundred rioting textile workers were cut down by Cossacks.”

Taking as a starting point two strikes in colonial Cyprus in the 1930s—the miners' strike in 1936 in which both Greek-Cypriots and Turkish-Cypriots were involved and the all-female spinners' strike in 1938—this paper looks at how the labor movement deeply transformed the political landscape of the island. In a society closely monitored by British colonial authorities and well acquainted with the Greek-Cypriot claim for Enosis, or the political union of Cyprus with Greece, the labor question became a locus, or “interstice of power structure,” articulating competing and mutually exclusive visions of Cyprus as a polity. More generally the paper investigates the modalities of formation of a collective group allegiance in a context of constraint.

When I started organizing the CIO I was called a Communist anyhow, and one thing I noticed was that the Communists were the most dedicated union supporters. In 1939, I wasn't a Communist, just a militant young guy caught up in the class struggle … But I became acquainted with the Communists and I found myself defending them because they were the best organizers. I got caught up in the struggle, and at that time the big issue was black and white unity. I could see from experience that there was no way to achieve union organization without unity between black and white. It was a question of self interest on the part of whites, and the other white workers saw that too.

The elaborate “remaking” of the African working class that took off in earnest in the period after 1945 has only recently begun to receive the attention of scholars working on African labor and working-class history. This process of remaking, as in nineteenth-century England, essentially involved the incorporation of the African working class into a system of industrial relations which would guarantee it a stake in society with regard to jobs, wages, housing, and general working conditions.

The popular front strategy, by which the French Communist party (PCF) came to mean a tactical alliance of the left including the Socialists and the left-leaning elements of the petty bourgeoisie represented by the Radical party, was pursued only briefly by the PCF in the 1930s, from 1934 to 1936. This is ironic, since it is by the slogan of the Front Populaire that the period of the 1930s in French history was to be subsequently known and remembered. The popular front was actually a transitional strategy between the famous (or infamous) “Third Period” of Comintern history from 1928–34, characterized in France by the class-against-class policy, and the policy of Front National, in which the PCF pursued a policy of alliance with anyone, including the right, against fascism at home and abroad. The PCF launched the national front in August 1936, and although the slogan did not catch on and was withdrawn, the party pursued that strategy for the remainder of the period until the war. But it was the popular front that would be remembered as having resulted in a wave of social legislation following the Blum government's assumption of power in June 1936 and which has ever since become a point of reference for the PCF. The wage increases, rights to unionize, paid vacations, forty hour week and nationalizations remain accomplishments for the party, to be built upon in each successive experience of participating in, or supporting the French government.

When industrialist John D. Rockefeller visited the new open-pit mining operation of his competitor, Daniel J. Guggenheim, in Bingham Canyon, Utah, in 1910, he declared with genuine envy and admiration,“it's the greatest industrial sight in the whole world.” What most impressed Rockefeller were the massive steam shovels that had revolutionized the process of copper extraction by enabling firms to mine and smelt tons of previously worthless low-grade copper ore. Equally impressive was the fact that, where skilled American miners had very recently toiled underground in search of rich veins of copper, unskilled immigrants now worked aboveground, loading tons of newly blasted copper ore onto train cars. Rockefeller was not alone in expressing wonder at this new man-made marvel. Hundreds of sight-seeing tourists also traveled to the mine by train each week to experience the thrill of industrial America's newfound ability to move mountains. Like Rockefeller, they saw nothing but progress and modernity in the great open-pit mine.