Environment and Planning D: Society and Space 2006, volume 24, pages 25 ^ 40

DOI:10.1068/d60j

Parallel lives? Challenging discourses of British Muslim self-segregation

Deborah Phillips

School of Geography, University of Leeds, Leeds LS2 9JT, England; e-mail: d.a.phillips@leeds.ac.uk Received 26 November 2003; in revised form 12 October 2004

Abstract. The urban disturbances in Bradford, Oldham, and Burnley in 2001 served to underline the contested meanings of black and minority ethnic residential segregation in Britain. Official reports into the disturbances highlighted the depth of ethnic divisions in these northern cities, where, it was contended, British Asian and white people are living ``a series of parallel lives''. Central to this assertion is the claim that people of South Asian origin, particularly British Muslims, are failing to be active citizens by withdrawing from interactions with wider British society. This paper examines the discourses surrounding charges of British Muslim isolationism and self-segregation, which have been closely linked to the persistence of inner-city ethnic clustering. The arguments draw on in-depth research with people of Pakistani/Kashmiri and Bangladeshi origin in Bradford and connect to debates about Britishness, whiteness. and the Western portrayal of British Muslims as Other. The findings give voice to British Muslims, enabling us to examine critically the processes involved in the racialisation of space and to challenge the view that British Muslims wish to live separately from others and disengage from British society.

Introduction The urban disturbances in Bradford, Oldham, and Burnley in 2001 have brought a renewed interest in the causes, meaning, and consequences of minority ethnic residential segregation in Britain. Official reports into the disturbances highlighted the racialisation of social and spatial relations in these northern cities, where, it has been claimed, white and minority ethnic communities are living ``a series of parallel lives'', which can lead to misunderstandings and tensions between them (Community Cohesion Review Team, 2001, page 9). Central to this assertion is the claim that people of South Asian origin, particularly British Muslims, are failing to be active citizens by withdrawing from social and spatial interactions with wider British society. Arguments rest on the apparent ethnic/religious divisions in patterns of settlement and schooling, and deep cultural differences. This isolationist discourse, commonly voiced by politicians and the media, was captured in a report into race relations in Bradford, which referred to ``the very worrying drift towards self-segregation'' by people of South Asian origin in this city (Bradford Race Review Team, 2001, foreword). More controversially, Peter Hain, then Minister for Europe, also clearly articulated this self-segregation perspective in his comments about Muslims' tendency towards isolationism in Britain (Russell, 2002). The view that many people of South Asian origin are failing to act as responsible citizens has also found expression in popular and political discourses surrounding the use of mother-tongue languages. This was given official sanction by the then Home Secretary David Blunkett's call for British Asians to speak English not only in the public sphere, but in the private sphere of the home (Pallister, 2002). Such concerns are symptomatic of wider (long-standing) anxieties about immigration, citizenship, and national identity in Britain. They coalesce with the moral panic surrounding asylum seekers and refugees, in which grounds for excluding `Others' based on proposals for citizenship tests, oaths of allegiance, and health tests have gained wide popular support.

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The racialised disturbances, which stimulated the recent concern about ethnic groups leading `parallel lives', can be partly understood in terms of the particular contexts in which they took place. Oldham, Burnley, and Bradford are former textile towns in northern Britain, where residents are suffering the negative consequences of disinvestment and the economic restructuring of an obsolete industrial base; particularly high unemployment and urban decline. They are marginal spaces in today's postindustrial economy. Here, in a series of incidents during the spring and summer of 2001, young British Muslim men battled on the streets with white youth and the police. The events reflected tensions rooted in a history of resentment over social exclusion, youth alienation, and poor community ^ police relations, although the particular incidents were provoked by extreme right-wing activity by the British National Party (BNP) and the National Front. The disturbances, although localised, may be seen as manifestations of wider tensions and distrust between the British Muslim and nonMuslim (predominantly white) population across the country. The disorders, and the tone of the debates which followed them, have served to highlight the marginalisation (and sometimes demonisation) of Muslims in a range of British spaces, from the political arena, the media, and other institutional settings to the level of the neighbourhood and the street (Runnymede Trust, 2000; Sayyid, 1997). This process, rooted in what Muslim academics and journalists have dubbed Islamophobia, has its historical antecedents in the demise of communism and the rise of Islam as the newly constructed threat to Western world order (Ansari, 2004; Commission on British Muslims and Islamophobia, 2004; Runnymede Trust, 1997). In Britain, as elsewhere in Europe, the process has gathered momentum since the events of September 11 2001 and the war with Iraq, and has been sustained by (often intertwined) anxieties about terrorism, particularly following the London bombings of 2005, and growing numbers of asylum seekers. British Muslims, particularly those of Pakistani and Bangladeshi origin, are often portrayed as alien to British society; as cultural outsiders (Amin, 2003a). More specifically, young British Muslim men are frequently depicted as the new `folk devil', a position which has strong parallels with African-Caribbean youth in the 1980s. Hindu and Sikh (predominantly Indian) minorities, in contrast, have escaped such public vilification. As Alexander (2002, page 564) has pointed out, both within and outside the academy, ``Muslim communities [are] fast becoming the newest occupants of the `problem/victim' analytical space.'' This paper examines the discourses surrounding charges of British Muslim isolationism and self-segregation in Britain, which have been closely linked to the persistence of inner-city ethnic clustering. The arguments draw on in-depth research with people of Pakistani/Kashmiri and Bangladeshi origin in Bradford and connect to debates about Britishness, whiteness, and the Western portrayal of Muslims as Other. The Bradford fieldwork spanned the period of racialised disturbances in northern cities, the events of September 11 2001, and the release of a series of reports into the riots. The findings of this research, which give voice to British Muslims, enable us to examine critically the processes involved in the racialisation of space and to challenge the view that British Muslims wish to live separate lives. Parallel lives and discourses of self-segregation Unlike other more common forms of segregation (for example, on the basis of class, income, and lifestyle), minority ethnic clustering has attracted considerable attention. Over the decades, ethnic segregation has been sensationalised by the media, and politicised by both the Right and the Left; for the Right it has provided substance for calls for immigration control, whereas for the Left it has often been used as a symbol of racism and ethnic inequality. Concerns about levels of minority ethnic

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concentration and segregation have thus long been integral to debates about `race' and immigration, social deprivation, urban decline, and social unrest (Phillips and Karn, 1991). Persistent ethnic residential segregation, especially when coupled with the emergence of distinctive religious landscapes, has also been seen by some as a signifier of (possibly immutable) cultural difference. For example, Muslim spaces, anchored around mosques, and `other' Islamic institutions, are read by some as symbols of insularity and possible sites of insurrection, prompting questions about minority ethnic citizenship, national identity and belonging.(1) Ideas about `race', ethnicity, and religious identity have thus become intertwined to construct images of outsiders that disrupt and defy a national sense of belonging rooted in whiteness and Christianity. The explicit level of concern expressed by central and local government over the persistence of minority ethnic concentration and segregation in our cities has fluctuated over the decades (Phillips and Karn, 1991; Smith, 1989). In the 1970s, there was widespread anxiety over the problems perceived to be associated with the growth of ghetto-like concentrations. This expressed itself in its most extreme form through Birmingham City Council's attempt to engineer settlement patterns through a policy of dispersing black tenants (Henderson and Karn, 1987). Following the enactment of the 1976 Race Relations Act and the antiracist ethos of the 1980s, these discredited policies gave way to more `liberal' urban and housing initiatives. Nevertheless, institutional racism in both the public and the private housing markets, and in other spheres of resource allocation, together with popular racist sentiments, expressed through racist harassment, continued to reinforce existing patterns of minority ethnic segregation (Phillips, 1998). There were few attempts at this time to engineer patterns of minority ethnic settlement (although policies on refugee dispersal were a notable exception) or to assist ethnic households to settle in areas beyond the inner-city ethnic cores. Indeed, by the turn of the 21st century, research indicated that even the best intentioned housing institutions still often held racialised views of the city and clung to stereotypes that black and minority ethnic people (and particularly people of South Asian origin) were resistant to the idea of living away from the main areas of ethnic residence (Phillips and Unsworth, 2002; Phillips et al, 2003). However, if there were any worries about the possible implications of persistent minority ethnic clustering in declining neighbourhoods, they did not surface in the political agenda of the late 1990s. Indeed, when establishing the Social Exclusion Unit in 1998, Tony Blair made little mention of minority ethnic exclusion and disadvantage in the marginal spaces of Britain's cities, although this was addressed later on. Perhaps even more surprisingly, neither the Runnymede Trust report (2000) on The Future of Multi-ethnic Britain, nor the Race and Housing Inquiry report (2001) devoted much attention to minority ethnic segregation, its meaning, or its possible consequences. This proved to be a significant omission. Following the 2001 disturbances, there was a sudden media and political (including far Right) interest in the `segregated' lives and neighbourhoods of people of South Asian origin in particular. An analysis of media coverage at the time indicated that questions of minority ethnic self-segregation, white flight, racialised territories, and, less frequently, the role of discrimination in reinforcing segregation came to the forefront of discussion, once again raising questions about racialised divisions in Britain. This time, however, the spotlight was focused particularly on British Muslims. People from the Pakistani and Bangladeshi communities of the northern textile towns were represented as poor, backward (especially compared with what was represented as a
(1) There are parallels with the popular sentiments expressed about Jewish enclaves in the East End of London in the 19th century (Phillips, 1988).

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more cosmopolitan south), and socially isolated. These British Muslim families were frequently pathologised as inward looking, reluctant to learn English, and clinging to `unacceptable' traditions, such as forced marriage and the ritual slaughter of animals. In the immediate aftermath of the riots, attempts to apportion blame for the uprisings focused on the irresponsibility of the parents for failing to keep their `youth' under control (Kundnani, 2001). The young men involved in the rioting were readily criminalised (Amin, 2003a) and their grievances were given little voice. The initial reaction of politicians and the police to the mill-town disturbances was to play down their significance. It would seem that the aim was to contain and marginalise the events. The first few days of media coverage largely portrayed them as a problem associated with `Other' groups in marginal northern spaces. The longer term responses to the disturbances were, however, more considered. The Home Secretary commissioned an independent inquiry into the series of disturbances in Bradford, Oldham, and Burnley to parallel the local inquiries that were underway. The official report of the Community Cohesion Review Team (2001) (chaired by Ted Cantle) was detailed in its coverage, encompassing multiracial localities beyond those affected by rioting, and its analysis reflected a contextualised understanding of the social and cultural diversity of Britain Asian communities. However, one particular finding, presented at the beginning of the executive summary of the lengthy report, captured media attention and set the tone for ensuing debates and policy solutions. Referring to British Asian and white `communities', the report asserted that: ``many communities operate on the basis of a series of parallel lives. These lives often do not seem to touch at any point, let alone overlap and promote any meaningful interchanges'' (Community Cohesion Review Team, 2001, page 9). The qualifications and nuances of the detail lying behind this statement were lost. The message was clearly alarmist. It served to racialise social divisions and tensions in British cities and helped to legitimate a whole host of concerns about multiethnic Britain in the popular imagination, ranging from worries about multiculturalism in British schools to asylum and immigration controls. The `parallel lives', it was argued, were a product of ethnically segregated living, which was closely linked in the reports to the desire for self-segregation by British Muslims in particular. By implication, the blame for social polarisation and community tensions fell squarely on the shoulders of the British Muslim population. The discourse of racialised segregation and British Muslim self-segregation, which permeated the reports into the 2001 riots and fuelled political and public anxieties, deserves critical comment on several counts. First, the reports constructed the patterns of inner-city minority ethnic clustering observed in northern British towns as a `problem'. This is consistent with earlier discourses of ethnic `segregation' as signs of failure, particularly on the part of minorities, to integrate socially, culturally, and economically. The ethnic areas in question were largely portrayed in negative terms and were seen as synonymous with high levels of social deprivation, poverty, drugs, and crime. There was little acknowledgement of their positive attributes; of inner-city ethnic spaces as vibrant social spaces, as lived spaces, and as `home'. As discussed later in the paper, British Muslims living in Bradford often articulated their decision to locate, or to remain, within inner-city `community' areas in positive terms because of the `social capital' invested in them, that is, they valued the local networks of support, institutions, care, and informal exchange relationships of both a financial and a social nature. These positive reasons for ethnic association are, however, largely obliterated in the media's construction of `Asian' inner-city spaces, particularly those associated with British Muslims. These areas are more likely to be portrayed as difficult to police, inhabited by culturally exclusive populations, who appear resistant to integration,

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and as places where there is a threat of civil disorder (see for example, Travis, 2001; Ward, 2001). The reports following the disturbances generally held minority ethnic communities accountable for enduring inner-city `problems', whereas the cultural exclusivity of the white population and the role of white households and institutions in avoiding, abandoning, and underinvesting in these areas were rendered largely invisible. The subtext of the debate about minority ethnic clustering is that self-segregating British Muslim communities are endangering the security, ordered stability, and national identity of (white) Britain. In addition, the negative images of exclusive, potentially threatening ethnic communities have provided substance to neofascist organisations' attempts to mobilise political support in the aftermath of the 2001 disturbances. Their attacks on the minority ethnic populations of Britain no longer follow the simple racialisation of earlier decades, in which the black ^ white divide was preeminent, but have evolved to exploit `cultural racism' and Islamophobia in particular. British Muslims, and their way of life in Britain, are denigrated and demonised. (2) The depiction of clustering by British Muslims as a problem rests on racialised constructions of both `whiteness' and `Otherness' (Bonnett, 2000; Frankenberg, 1993; Sayyid and Zac, 1998). As in the 19th century, when anti-Semitic discourses vilified the Jewish migrants settling in London's East End (Phillips, 1988), racist ideologies and religious or cultural fears have converged to produce anxiety over the localised dominance of so called cultural aliens. Meanwhile, the parallel `problem' of white segregation passes without comment, and the overwhelming whiteness of the suburbs or the outer-city schools in multiracial cities like Bradford tends to go unnoticed. It is simply taken for granted, seen as unproblematic, and thereby incorporated into everyday perceptions of normality. As Bonnett (2000) and others (for example, Anthias and Yuval-Davis, 1995; Dyer, 1997) have argued, the dominance, power, and authority of whiteness as a discourse rely on its takenfor-granted nature and invisibility. The white suburb and school thus become normalised, centralised spaces in the popular imagination, against which other spaces and lives are judged to be deviant or marginal. There are also other significant absences inherent in the racialised discourse of segregation; for example, whereas persistent minority ethnic segregation is constructed as a problem, there is no evidence of disquiet over entrenched patterns of class segregation in the social and spatial interactions of (white) British citizens, the epitome of which is the exclusive gated community. This again has been normalised, although there are parallels with past middle-class fears over possible working-class insurgence in areas of council housing. The second area of critique relates to the processes through which the physical segregation of the minority ethnic population could have developed and been sustained over a number of decades. Although academic commentators have long acknowledged the interplay between positive and negative forces for ethnic segregation (Phillips, 1998), it may be argued that the political discourse of British Muslim self-segregation seriously underplays the power of structural constraints (economic and institutional racism) and popular racism to shape minority ethnic housing and neighbourhood choices. Although empirical studies of ethnic residential segregation have challenged the myth of ghetto formation in Britain (for example, Johnston et al, 2002; Peach, 1996), there is little room for complacency. The intensity and extent of ethnic segregation may be lower than in the USA, but similar processes are at work (Goldberg, 2000). The racialisation of space not only involves white withdrawal (flight) and abandonment of inner-city ethnic spaces, but the active production and reproduction of racialised segregation through institutional racism and racist harassment. As the research in Bradford reveals, although the housing outcomes of the British Muslim
(2)

This is made explicit on the BNP website.

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population here are more differentiated than a few decades ago, their housing decisions are still highly constrained. Segregated patterns of living have not necessarily arisen through the minority ethnic choice implicit in discourses of self-segregation. Given ethnic inequalities in access to power and resources, the sustained patterns of settlement in deprived inner-city living are more likely to reflect the choices of white, non-Muslim people and institutions. Third, the essentialised construction of British Muslim families engaging in social and cultural avoidance and ``drifting towards self-segregation'' (Bradford Race Review Team, 2001, foreword) deserves critical comment. The concept of self-segregation rests on an oversimplified construction of ethnic identity, which understates the permeability of the boundaries between sociocultural and religious groups, the diversity of British Muslim people's identifications, and their varied strategies for social interaction. Segregationist arguments assume that ethnic groups (white and nonwhite), defined in terms of their ethnic or religious affiliations, are fixed, internally homogeneous, and easily identifiable entities. When essentialised differences between British Muslims are acknowledged in media reporting, for example, they are not particularly helpful in promoting an understanding of the potential for interaction or, to use government jargon, `community cohesion'. For example, gender differences are often represented in terms of male power and female subordination and generational differences are stereotyped in a way that contrasts the hardworking, law-abiding older generations with defiant and assertive young males. A growing body of work on British Muslim identities contests essentialised eurocentric representations of Muslims as culturally inward looking, but potentially threatening people, and overturns crude gender and generation stereotypes to emphasise the complexity of cultural identification (for example, Anwar, 1998; Bagguley and Hussain, 2003; Dwyer, 2000; Modood, 1994; Qureshi and Moores, 1999). These studies explore the ways in which British Muslim identities are constantly negotiated and renegotiated, and underline the importance of differences in origin, transnational associations, education, class, age, gender, locality, and consumption-based lifestyles. All can bring variations in the interpretation of cultural rules, observance of cultural practices, and the construction of a sense of national belonging. Muslim people's identification with Britishness is thus likely to be highly varied, flexible, and contextualised. A sense of belonging may well be challenged at times, as, for example, in the climate of overt hostility which followed September 11 2001, but our research revealed that for British-born Pakistanis and Bangladeshis, the adoption of the identity `British Muslim' is full of meaning. This self-identification stands in contrast to the political process of exclusion, which sees the term as inherently contradictory. The representation of minority ethnic segregation as exclusive and problematic has reinvigorated the desegregationist discourses of thirty years ago. A report by the Bradford Race Review Team (2001), for example, emphasises ``the necessity of arresting and reversing this process [of self-segregation]'' (foreword) and argues that ``there has to be immediate action to initiate change to end racial self-segregation and cultural divisiveness'' (page 3) (emphasis added). Home Secretary David Blunkett appeared to sanction this view in comments about the need to ``tackle segregation'' (Pallister, 2002, page 2), which yet again emphasises its negative rather than positive associations. Similarly, discussions of the Race and Housing Working Party at the Office of the Deputy Prime Minister in 2001, in which I was involved, were permeated by an ideology of desegregation. There is no suggestion that established minority ethnic communities should be forcibly dispersed, as they were in Birmingham in the 1970s (although asylum seekers housed through the National Asylum Support Service of the Home Office are subject to dispersal and allocated housing on a `no choice' basis).

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The talk is of widening housing and area choices (Phillips and Unsworth, 2002) and of promoting community cohesion through a range of social and cultural initiatives. However, to equate greater physical mixing, through desegregation, with enhanced social integration and understanding would be unwise. Experience suggests that newly created ethnically mixed neighbourhoods can become the sites of tension, white flight, and/or the establishment of `parallel lives' (Phillips, 1998). Whilst popular and political discourses continue to represent Muslims as religious and cultural outsiders, as nonBritish, and whilst Islamophobic sentiments still permeate many institutions and pervade popular racism, the potential for community cohesion is limited. I now turn to examine these issues with reference to the British Muslim populations that have been described as `drifting towards self-segregation' in Bradford. Insights into the racialised lives of people of Pakistani/Kashmiri and Bangladeshi origin in Bradford are drawn from spatial analyses, household interview data and qualitative research involving in-depth interviews and thirteen focus groups. The household interviews were conducted by a team of locally recruited interviewers of South Asian origin with a wide range of language skills, and covered a stratified sample of 117 Muslim households in Bradford. This included families living in inner-city areas of minority ethnic clustering and suburban areas of greater ethnic mixing. British Muslim geographies and the racialisation of space in Bradford The 2001 Census indicates that people of South Asian origin in Bradford number nearly 88 500. Muslims, who are mainly of Pakistani, Kashmiri, or Bangladeshi origin, total just over 75 000, and constitute 16% of Bradford's population. Bradford is typical of the northern cities that saw urban disturbances in 2001 in that the British Muslim population is clustered in the poorer, central areas of the city, especially in the neighbourhoods of Manningham, Little Horton, and Bradford Moor. Here, as in Oldham and Burnley, major deindustrialisation has coincided with an increase in those seeking work, as a result of the young age structure of people of South Asian origin. In the absence of jobs over which to compete, racialised resentment has grown up over the allocation of welfare resources and ethnic tensions are evident in the city. As in Oldham and Burnley, ethnic clustering in the established areas of British Muslim settlement in Bradford has been growing over time. An analysis of 1981 and 1991 Census data indicated that Pakistani and Bangladeshi (predominantly Muslim) people had become more concentrated within the inner areas of Bradford over that decade, whereas the white population had been moving outwards (Rees et al, 1995). A detailed analysis of distinctive South Asian names on the Bradford Registers of Electors(3) for 1996 and 2000 indicated that the inner-city Muslim enclaves continued to grow throughout the 1990s. This may be attributed to high levels of natural increase and new household formation amongst this demographically youthful population, in-migration (particularly through transnational marriages), and a loss of white households (either through mortality in an ageing population or out-migration). However, growth was not confined to the inner city. Small increases in the British Muslim population occurred across most of the city's wards, including the suburbs. Significantly, by 2000, 10% of Muslims in the city were living in the more affluent suburban areas. This is indicative of growing class differentiation within the British Muslim population of Bradford and counters the pervasive myth of inner-city segregation. Growing inner-city clustering is therefore being accompanied by the slow outwards movement of British Muslim people, alongside even greater numbers of Hindu and
(3)

Prior to the inclusion of a new question on religion in the 2001 Census, this was the only comprehensive source of information on religious group clustering.

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Sikh families, into new ethnic spaces. Statistical measures of the degree of ethnic residential segregation should be treated with caution, given their dependence on the scale of analysis. However, such measures can be useful in helping to counter popular myths. Indices of segregation would suggest that, despite popular perceptions, there has been no increase in the overall level of ethnic segregation in Bradford over the last decade (Simpson, 2003). On a scale of 0 to 1, where higher values denote higher levels of spatial separation, indices of segregation between the British Asian population (predominantly Muslim) and non-Asian population were calculated at 0.59 for both decades at the ward scale, and 0.75 and 0.74 for 1991 and 2001, respectively, at the enumeration district level. These calculations are reliant upon country of origin data rather than religious group, given that the latter were not enumerated in the census until 2001. A more detailed analysis of Muslim geographies in the city revealed some intense physical segregation in localised areas; in some streets in the inner-city area of Manningham, for example, 80% of households are British Muslim. However, there was also much more diversity within the areas traditionally labelled by Bradford locals as `Asian' spaces than has been implied by the segregationist discourses embedded in media and government reports into the riots. For example, only about half (55%) of the households in the University ward of Bradford, which incorporates Manningham, were British Muslim. There is nevertheless a clear racialisation of space in Bradford. This is evident in both the persistence of ethnic clustering within deprived inner areas, from which it can prove difficult to escape, and in the local people's reading of the sociocultural landscape of the city. Interviews and focus group discussions with British Muslim and white residents of Bradford indicated a consciousness of distinctive `Asian' and `white spaces', which contributed to the lived experiences and perceived opportunities for mixing and for social mobility within the city. British Muslim (and other British Asian) respondents articulated the divisions by referring explicitly to parts of the city as `white areas' or `Asian areas', although they were also able to identify `mixed areas'. Meanwhile, men and women participating in four out of six focus groups with white youngsters (18 ^ 25 years old) volunteered their racialised views of the city in the course of wider discussions. Their descriptions included references to `Asian' spaces extending ``all the way around Bradford town centre'' and they identified certain inner-city areas as being ``overrun with them [Asians]'' such that ``I feel part of a minority''. Despite the expansion of British Muslim families into new areas of Bradford over the last decade, there are still parts of the city from which they are relatively absent. This is partly a function of social class and past institutional discrimination, which has constrained the residential choices of people of South Asian origin as a whole in Bradford (Burney, 1967; Ratcliffe, 1996). However, the pattern of separation is also actively sustained by a strategy of avoidance of certain areas. Bradford's Muslims (like other British Asian groups) are, for example, very poorly represented in the outer social housing estates. Absence from such areas may be explained partly by a preference for homeownership, but interviews and focus-group discussions indicated that it is not as simple as that. Group discussions with young British Muslims revealed that, like their parents, they generally aspired to homeownership. They were nevertheless realistic about the need to consider moving into social rented housing because of economic constraints, but they were deterred by the fear of crime, drugs, youth gangs, and racist tensions believed to be associated with larger council estates in Bradford. Importantly, they perceived specific council housing areas to be white territory, explicitly articulating the belief that they were ``not for Asians''. Just over three quarters (77%) of the British Muslim people interviewed in Bradford identified areas of the city that they would avoid. As for the young people

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in our focus groups, a number of specific council estates that were seen as ``rough'' and ``unwelcoming to Asians'' came top of the list. However, about a fifth of the respondents simply stated that they would avoid any areas that were ``all white'' and a greater proportion asserted that they would keep way from ``white working-class'' areas. The reasons given for this avoidance reflect the bounded and racialised nature of many people's residential options; fears were expressed about racism, ethnic tensions and racist harassment. There were also worries about feeling unwelcome in a `white' neighbourhood, and about social and cultural isolation because of religious differences and rejection, especially amongst women. A common sentiment was that ``you don't want to be the only Asian family living on the block'' (British Muslim woman). The frequent use of the term `Asian' by British Muslim respondents conflated `race' and religious/cultural difference. It is true that, in the case of Bradford, most people of South Asian origin are Muslim, and this process of identification would thus subsume both `race' and culture. However, further discussion revealed that similar weight was given to the dual fears of `race' discrimination, on the basis of visual differences, and cultural/religious racism. For those who had moved or were considering moving to the predominantly white spaces of the city, the presence of ``any Asian face'' (irrespective of origin or religion) was often deemed to be a comfort, although a preference for living close to other Muslims was expressed by some for reasons of religious and cultural tradition. Many British Muslim (and indeed other) residents of Bradford thus clearly perceived the city spaces to be racialised, with certain areas labelled as out of bounds to particular ethnic groups. Some of the most desirable neighbourhoods in the city fall into the category of `white areas' to be avoided, so that the lifestyles and life chances associated with these areas become out of bounds to British Muslims too. It was evident that class differences within the British Muslim population helped to mediate in the avoidance of white areas. Greater mobility and wealth in the form of private transport and home-security systems can help to circumvent feelings of isolation and vulnerability from harassment. Fear, however, continues to act as a powerful constraint on spatial mobility, and many families, including some middle-class households, opt to remain in the inner-city ethnic clusters for defensive reasons. Some young British Muslims currently living in inner Bradford voiced their concerns in the following terms: ``the white people ... you do get a lot of stick off them'' (young woman), ``there's a good chance that you might get hassled if you moved to a white area'' (young man), and ``it would be difficult for a Pakistani on [named estate] ... there is a sense of insecurity there'' (young woman). Several interviewees recalled how they were victimised when they first moved to the suburbs as spatial pioneers. One woman recalled, for example, how ``our house was targeted as we were the only Asians in the area when we first moved in.'' Although some people refused to succumb to the pressure to move away, others had returned to the safety of the inner-city ethnic enclave. The myth of British Muslim self-segregation and isolationism in Bradford Although British Muslim suburbanisation is evident in Bradford, the geographies of Muslim space still largely coincide with the areas of greatest deprivation within the inner city. These include areas like Manningham, where one young man explained ``you feel safe, comfortable ... you're with your own kind.'' Just over 70% of the British Muslims we interviewed, whether inner-city or suburban residents, valued living near to some other people of South Asian origin (preferably Muslims). As in the case of the Manningham resident, the dual themes of familiarity and security emerged as part of their narratives of urban space. But does this picture of clustering and the sentiment

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expressed amount to self-segregation and its implicit isolationism? It is to this question that I now turn. It has long been recognised that the reasons for persistent minority ethnic clustering, such as can be seen in Bradford, are multifaceted, (Phillips, 1998; Ratcliffe et al, 2001). There are positive and negative forces for minority ethnic segregation, which are rooted in social, economic, political, and cultural factors. This complexity has been recognised in the recent reports into the disturbances in the northern mill towns, but it is the discourse of minority ethnic (especially Muslim) self-segregation that has been placed centre stage in public debates. The use of the term `self-segregation' within the context of racialised political and media discourses implies that ethnic minorities are choosing to opt out of British society; that British Muslims in places like Bradford are withdrawing from active citizenship, sustaining cultural differences, and choosing not to mix. Interviews and focus group discussions with British Muslim people in Bradford allow us to challenge this myth. Although it emerged that many British Muslim families value residential clustering, for reasons of culture and tradition, familiarity, identity, and security, the desire for separation from others is not self-evident. Their spatial segregation in poorer neighbourhoods largely reflects bounded choices, constrained by structural disadvantage, inequalities in the housing market (past and present), worries about racism, and, as we have seen above, racist harassment. The geographies of British Muslim settlement in Bradford reflect the intersection of class and `race', with poverty as well as racism providing a brake on mobility for many. As one young man of Pakistani origin explained: ``Your average Pakistani person wants to move ... . I know people who want to move out of this area as soon as possible ... , but they can't really do anything about it.'' Another told us: ``I went to look at a house [in the suburbs] last week ... 135,000, on my salary. Am I dreaming ... ? I've got to be realistic ... . For me to move out of the inner-city I'd have to work for another ten years without spending a penny.'' This continuing association with areas of poverty and deprivation can have implications for the opportunities and experiences open to British Muslims (and others) living there. Some local employers, for example, engage in negative postcode labelling of core ethnic areas, like Manningham, which can deprive local residents of job opportunities. Young people in these areas told us how they sometimes resort to using the home addresses of suburban contacts on job applications in order to circumvent their disadvantage. The negative associations of the ethnic inner city are thus not only racialised but class based. `Middle-class' British Asian households from suburban areas such as north Heaton are less likely to be pathologised. Even for those with the aspirations and financial resources to buy into the white suburbs, achieving the move can be more difficult than for a white household. Housing-market institutions have played a major role in producing and sustaining minority ethnic concentrations, through market manipulation, in the past (Phillips, 1998; Ratcliffe et al, 2001). Our research indicated that neither social housing nor private market institutions act as such powerful determinants of British Muslim segregation in Bradford now. In the private sector, changed market conditions mean that lending institutions and estate agents have taken a less `exclusionary' attitude to borrowers, buyers, localities, and property characteristics. However, it was evident that estate agents, in particular, still shape the structure of housing opportunities for people of South Asian origin and other (for example, white) purchasers. Although agents are aware of the law and are unlikely to express overtly discriminatory comments, interviews with key players in the private market uncovered a worryingly familiar use of

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racist stereotypes, an acknowledgement of vendor discrimination, and a distrust of `Asian' clients. Many also held racialised views of the housing market, constructing certain areas as `Asian' or `white'. The institutional interviews, together with anecdotal evidence, suggested that racial steering still occurs both for people of South Asian origin (both Muslim and non-Muslim) and for whites, and that those wearing traditional dress (hijaab) are most likely to be excluded from the full range of housing opportunities. In the social rented sector, race-equality initiatives have begun to address entrenched forms of institutional discrimination and help to widen minority ethnic neighbourhood choices (Ratcliffe et al, 2001). Nevertheless, there was a clear feeling among some inner-city residents that Bradford Council was responsible for reinforcing (even creating) ethnic divisions within the city. This is exemplified by the comments of two British Muslim men: ``It's not a matter of can I go into this area and blend with these people ... it doesn't work like that ... they [the housing department] on purpose divide you, they keep you divided.'' ``Do you think it's all an accident that all the Bangladeshis are on one side, all Pakistani, all Africans, all the white people in other areas? Do you think that was an accident that happened? ... These people divided us ... they kept us divided. No wonder we hate the next man `cos we haven't grown up with the next man. We don't know what the next man is about.'' Despite the bounded nature of their housing choices and the inclination towards ethnic clustering, the people of South Asian origin we talked to in Bradford expressed a range of housing aspirations and neighbourhood preferences. The pull of the areas identified as community spaces was undoubtedly strong and cut across gender, age, and class groupings. Older people, those with limited English, and new migrants were especially dependent upon community networks and feelings of sanctuary in these areas. As one elderly gentleman put it: ``Everything is here, our culture, our shops, mosque ... and the best thing about this area [Manningham]: no racism.'' However, others desired to move beyond these community spaces. Growing suburbanisation was notable, but so too was the movement of younger people in particular into areas adjacent to the established community clusters. This expansion is not simply a response to population growth or the search for better housing (although this was part of the incentive for movement), it is also symbolically important, especially for some younger women. The newly acquired spaces enable them to occupy a social, cultural, and spatial position on the margins of the community, which affords some freedom from perceived social strictures and conventions. Family links, interdependencies, and obligations nevertheless generally translated into an expressed desire to move ``not too far'' away from the family home. Young people's relocation beyond community spaces was often achieved only after lengthy negotiations with the family. Individual aspirations to move were not always achieved. Some found that their hopes of moving outwards were blocked by their family. Others internalised the constraints imposed by their familial obligations; as one young man living in, and proposing to stay in, inner-city Manningham explained ``as a Muslim, I couldn't move away from my father.'' Some young people revealed how their own housing options were intertwined with histories of racism, which continue to shape the family's housing choices. Two young British Muslim men pointed to the bounded nature of their aspirations in the following terms:

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``Dad tells stories about the seventies and about the eighties, how they used to go out and be dominated by white people so there is still that fear ... living in this area [Manningham], I feel there is more stability for him.'' ``I'd like to live on the outskirts, but my personal choice doesn't really matter cos my dad ... he'd like to stay near a community where he's familiar with ... he wouldn't want to go into a white estate or a white community cos of the fear he has.'' Fear of victimisation and rejection was a recurrent theme in the narratives of city spaces voiced by Bradford's British Muslims. As we have seen, some had clear reservations about living in `all white', especially white working-class neighbourhoods. Nevertheless, group discussions along with the survey findings revealed that most Bradford Muslims would, in principle, be happy to live in ethnically mixed areas, where there were British Asian and white families. One young British Muslim echoed the views of many when he reflected on likely patterns of ethnic mobility in the city: ``They [Pakistanis] will probably not move to a strictly white area. As you earn more you want to move into better area, but will always look for an ethnic or Asian mix.'' Our research thus found little evidence of the unwillingness to mix implied in the discourse of self-segregation following the urban disturbances. Although many older inner-city residents in the survey had no particular aspirations to move, nearly all of them recognised that their children or grandchildren would probably move to more ethnically mixed areas in the future. This was generally perceived to be a positive development. There were others, usually younger British Muslims, who told us that they had actively sought to live in a mixed social environment. One 36-year-old British Muslim woman teacher expressed her aspirations, and the associated problems of achieving ethnic diversity, in the following terms: ``Yes, it's better to have a good healthy mix of people. You learn a lot. It's a much better environment. If I moved, that is what I would want ... .When I bought the house in this area [Bradford 9], there was a good balance of English and Asian families. The English moved out slowly afterwards. I think they have a very sheltered view of the Pakistani community and don't want to get to know them. It's a shame. I would prefer to live with people with a varied cultural background.'' Another mother in suburban Bradford illustrated the feelings of many younger British Muslims who participated in our focus groups when she said that she wanted her children to be brought up in a Muslim environment, so that they would learn about their religion, culture, and traditions, but she did not favour a culturally isolated upbringing for them. She stressed that: ``The ethnic mix of an area to me is important as I would like my children to mix in with different groups, to play with other children.'' Our research thus gave voice to a diversity of neighbourhood aspirations amongst British Muslims living in Bradford, which belies the stereotype of an overwhelmingly self-segregating, inward-looking population. Complex multiple identities, competing personal choices and family obligations, and varying levels of association with other group members emerged. These differences were based on class, gender, and age differences amongst others, just as might be expected within the diverse white population. Conclusion Discourses of ethnic `self-segregation' have given rise to the myth that minority ethnic communities live, or wish to live, separate lives and disengage from wider British society. However, neither the evidence on the ground (in terms of residential patterns) nor the diversity of lived experiences and views about social mixing expressed by

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British Muslims in Bradford would seem to support this conclusion. There is a general willingness to consider areas beyond those traditionally associated with their communities, so long as they do not feel threatened. This is consistent with the findings from a national survey of multiethnic Britain in the 1990s (Modood et al, 1997), which reported that more than half of British Pakistanis and Bangladeshis (predominantly Muslim) would be happy to live in areas where their own ethnic group was in the minority. Although continuing association with people from a similar cultural and religious background is important for many, some British Muslims in Bradford voiced a clear (but sometimes frustrated) desire for greater social interaction with people from other backgrounds. This would seem to point to the possibilities for further intercultural engagement and dialogue. The construction of minority ethnic segregation as a `problem' and British Muslims as alien, inward-looking `Others' perpetuates, and indeed normalises, the view that the responsibility for community tensions lies principally with the `self-segregating' minorities. Yet the evidence from this research suggests that the racialisation of space in Bradford speaks more loudly of white control and bounded choices, both past and present. Indeed, as Amin (2003b, page 963) has observed, whereas people of South Asian origin are often criticised for their cultural transgressions in British society, ``the cultural exclusions associated with White Englishness pass without comment.'' In the past, cultural racism brought demands for ethnic minority assimilation. Today those demands are more muted, diluted by the language of neoliberal multiculturalism, but the implicit message is much the same. The emphasis is on the obligations of citizenship, and the need for British Muslims to `opt in' to New Labour's multicultural Britain. However, the form and meaning of Britain as a multiethnic, multicultural nation is ambiguous and contested; the politicisation of `race' in the 2001 election campaign, the neofascist mobilisation of electoral support in recent local elections, the tenor of debate over immigration and asylum issues and its emphasis on the deterrence, detention, and control of `alien Others' provide but a few examples of incongruities in multicultural Britain. Contradictions arise as, on the one hand, we witness the `ethnicisation' of certain parts of the urban landscape (for example, Banglatown in the London Borough of Tower Hamlets) and the commodification of `exotic' ethnic fashions, music, and food, while, on the other, we fail to recognise the tensions manifested on the streets and in minority ethnic neighbourhood choices because of racialised and religious difference. The rhetoric of `valuing cultural diversity' has certainly been widely institutionalised, but evidence of effective policies and practices is harder to come by.(4) Perhaps most illuminating of all was the controversy surrounding the widely publicised Runnymede Trust (2000) report on The Future of Multi-ethnic Britain, which contended that the nation needs to ``re-imagine'' itself as a multicultural society. This provoked a storm of protest from certain sections of the media, and disparaging comments from some politicians, bringing deep-seated nationalistic sentiments of `whiteness' and eurocentrism to the fore. Following the racialised disturbances in 2001, the government's strategy for building harmony in multiethnic Britain has been founded on the ideology of `community cohesion', which is explicitly linked to a desegregationist project. In a second government report on community cohesion, published in 2004, the Community Cohesion Panel admits to being in a position of empirical, if not ideological, confusion about the connections between minority ethnic segregation and integration. Although the panel confesses that a dearth of available evidence has prevented it from taking
(4)

This is evident within institutions operating in the spheres of housing, employment, health, and social services and, not least, higher education (for a critique of the latter sector see Law et al, 2004).

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``a really informed view about patterns of segregation and integration'', it nevertheless goes on to reiterate a commitment to policies and practices which will ``break down segregated areas'' in Britain (Community Cohesion Panel, 2004, page 17). The report refers to the importance of ``widening [housing] choices'' for all, but the onus would seem to be on black and minority ethnic mobility and change. Nowhere in the debate has it been mooted that established Jewish clusters, for example, in cities like London, Leeds, and Manchester, should be broken down in the name of promoting community cohesion. The ideology of community cohesion is grounded in the somewhat simplistic notion that social integration can be promoted by greater residential mixing, which will in turn foster common values and a sense of common identity. However, evidence from Bradford, which points to racialised spaces sustained by fears of rejection, racism, and harassment, suggests that the conditions for this may not yet be in place. To date, much of the discourse surrounding the development of `parallel lives' within multiethnic Britain has privileged discussions about ethnicity and cultural difference at the expense of racialised inequalities in power and status. This helps to obscure the material effects of racialised difference and tensions, and diverts attention from wider issues such as the politicisation of `race', shortcomings in policing, the politics of urban regeneration in racialised cities, and networks of institutional discrimination. Given the ambiguous, contradictory, and contested nature of multicultural Britain, the success of this vision of community cohesion would seem to be predicated on what Bhabha (1990, page 20) has referred to as a ``containment of cultural differences'', especially those differences perceived as incompatible with white/non-Muslim Britishness. Social inclusion on these terms would seem to be narrowly constructed and fails to recognise the full extent of the denial (or nonrealisation) of the social rights of citizenship. It may be contended that the outcome of negotiations of cultural difference in the search for core values and a common identity is, in the present climate, stacked against British Muslims.
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