Parallel Societies
The number of adults living in Austria without the right to vote has risen to 1.4 million in a country of 9 million people
Servus!
Since the early 1960s, when the first guest workers from Turkey and the former Yugoslavia stepped off the train at the old Südbahnhof and into a new life in a strange land, Austria has been an Einwanderungsland, a country dependent on immigration in order to sustain itself. Without sixty years of consistent inward migration, whether from Turkey or Serbia, Romania or Bosnia-Herzegovina, Germany, Croatia, or Hungary, it is almost inconceivable that Austria would still be a country with western European living standards and excellent public services.
Immigration is essential to the story of the postwar republic. It is part of Austria’s success and the source of many challenges, particularly in terms of integration and societal harmony. It is perhaps because of this that, as I wrote in a recent op-ed for the Standard, Austria remains in the grip of a peculiar paradox. It is a country that needs immigrants but does not want them. Austria wants immigration without the immigrants, the labor without the laborers. That was true in the 1960s, in the 1990s after Europe’s reunification, and it remains so today in the wake of the 2015 refugee crisis.
This paradox is evident in the country’s citizenship laws, ones written for another century. Austria does not have birthright citizenship—which is fine in and of itself but it does create problems later on for the Austrian-born children of non-Austrian parents. For adult immigrants, unless you’re a famous opera singer who doesn’t speak a lick of German, potential citizens have to have lived in Austria for at least 10 years in most cases and jumped through all sorts of hoops to prove they have “sufficient resources” to support themselves. Becoming an Austrian citizen also means giving up your existing citizenship due to the country’s ban on dual citizenship.
These restrictions have had their intended effect; Austria’s naturalization rate has fallen off a cliff over the past two decades. In 2003, 45,112 people received Austrian citizenship; by 2010, that figure had fallen to 6,190. In 2020, 8,996 people became Austrian citizens—in a country of 9 million people. There was a statistical increase in naturalizations in 2021, though only by dint of a legal reform that allowed the descendants of victims of National Socialism to reclaim the Austrian citizenship that was stolen from their parents or grandparents by the Nazi regime. Naturalizations among those residing in Austria, however, remained consistently low.
In attempting to restrict entry into the club of Austrian citizenship, the country has stored up a world of hurt for itself. 20 years ago, there were 580,000 adults (over the age of 16) living in Austria who did not possess the right to vote. That figure has now exploded to 1.4 million. In Innsbruck and Salzburg, 30 percent of residents cannot vote; in Linz and Graz, 25 percent. One of the oft-used terms in debates in Austria about immigration is Parallelgesellschaft, parallel society, with reference to the perception that immigrants stick close, clinging to their language, culture, and religion. But the law itself has created two societies: one that can vote, and one that cannot.
An Austrian passport is not, as is often presumed, a reward for integrating—a prize that good immigrants must earn. Citizenship can be a motor for integration—a tool that enables immigrants to become Austrians (to whatever extent that is really possible). Last year, the Social Democratic Party (SPÖ) proposed reforms that would have allowed a child born in Austria to automatically receive citizenship provided their parents had lived in the country for five years, introduced a new form of citizenship exam, and lowered some of the financial hurdles that impede people’s path to citizenship including the €1,115 naturalization fee. The People’s Party (ÖVP) dismissed those ideas at the time in language that closely resembled Great Replacement theory. Perhaps it is time those proposals were revisited.
Bis bald!
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Love, sex, and Judaism are the subjects of a ravishing new exhibition at Vienna’s Jewish museum called “Love Me Kosher,” which I wrote about in my latest article for Moment.
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This week, I wanted to end with a PSA specifically for British citizens living in Austria who moved here before January 1, 2021 and are in possession of an Artikel 50 EUV residency permit which lasts for five years. Last week, a spokesperson for the Austrian interior ministry (BMI) told the Vienna Briefing the following about when you are entitled to apply for permanent residency and an Artikel 50 EUV card that lasts for 10 years:
Briten und ihre Familienangehörigen können das Recht auf Daueraufenthalt grundsätzlich nach fünf Jahren Aufenthalts in Österreich erwerben. Dazu sind gemäß Art 16 Austrittsabkommen die Zeiten des rechtmäßigen Aufenthalts oder der Erwerbstätigkeit im Einklang mit dem Unionsrecht vor und nach Ende des Übergangszeitraums zu berücksichtigen. So kann ein Brite der letztes Jahr einen fünfjährigen Aufenthaltstitel erhalten hat, jetzt jederzeit einen zehnjährigen Aufenthaltstitel beantragen, wenn er das Daueraufenthaltsrecht erworben hat.
British citizens and their relatives can in principle acquire the right to permanent residence after five years residence in Austria. Based on Article 16 of the Withdrawal Agreement, periods of legal residence or employment in accordance with European Union law before and after the end of the transition period are to be taken into account. A Briton who obtained a five-year residence title last year can now apply for a ten-year residence title at any time if they have acquired the right to permanent residence.