Introduction

Three days before the 2015 UK General Election, the Labour Party found itself in hot water: It had to defend a Birmingham campaign event that featured separate seating for men and women. The rally, attended by a majority Muslim audience, was meant to shore up Labour support in Birmingham's ethnically diverse parliamentary constituencies, which are home to more than 200,000 Muslims. Instead of promoting its platform, the Party had to respond to accusations that in aggressively courting the Muslim vote it was turning its back on "a century or more of advancements for women's rights." As pictures of the segregated seating arrangements circulated through the news media, a Labour spokesman meekly countered that "Labour fully supports gender equality in all areas of society and all cultures." Most of the charges were made by political opponents seizing an opening to damage the party just before polling began, but they stung for a reason: Over the last several decades, the Labour Party has made strong appeals to Muslim voters, and in its pursuit of votes it has chosen to empower patriarchal, traditional forces much more than it has promoted egalitarian, progressive voices.

What explains these outcomes? When do parties include groups that provoke opposition from core voters? And when does the inclusion of new groups cause parties to compromise fundamental ideological commitments?

These questions are highly relevant across diverse democracies. In the United States, Republicans and Democrats struggle with how to best respond to a growing Hispanic electorate. Across American cities, already fragile electoral coalitions between whites and blacks are being further tested as this new group enters the fray. In Canada and Australia, both traditional immigration countries, immigrant-origin ethnic minorities remain significantly underrepresented in politics. The same is true in most European countries. Here, problems related to immigrants' sociopolitical incorporation have been very salient. More than 50 million residents living in Western Europe today were born abroad, and many hail from outside Europe. Immigration has transformed the continent's ethnic and religious make-up, and it has stoked fierce controversies about how to best address this new cultural diversity.

The main object of these debates has been the "Muslim Question." Europeans fret that Muslims will not integrate into domestic societies and politics. Because of their religiosity, communalism, social conservatism, and illiberalism, critics allege, Muslims are not ready to participate in the politics of advanced liberal democracies. Anti-Muslim prejudice among voters also runs high. At the same time, parties face growing electoral incentives to garner Muslim support. In many Western European countries, the largest group of naturalized citizens originates from countries where Islam is the dominant religion (see Figure 1.1), a trend that recent refugee inflows from Syria, Afghanistan and Iraq will only reinforce. Muslims are thus beginning to constitute sizable portions of domestic electorates, especially at the subnational level. In Britain, 17 municipalities have Muslim populations that exceed 15 percent of the population, and in 2016 the city of London elected its first Muslim mayor. In Berlin, one in four residents has a migration background, and among this population those with Turkish roots form the largest group. In Cologne, 120,000 residents are estimated to be Muslim, while in Vienna this number stands at roughly 216,000. In Amsterdam and Rotterdam, Muslims make up about 12 percent of the population. In Brussels, nearly one in five residents is of Muslim faith.

If demography is political destiny, parties should take a keen interest in this new electorate. Yet, we observe remarkable variation. Table 1.1 displays Muslim parity ratios across municipalities in Austria, Germany, Great Britain, and Belgium. Parity ratios are measures of representation that divide the share of elected politicians who are Muslim by Muslims' share in the population (i.e., numbers below one indicate underrepresentation, those above one denote overrepresentation). In Austria, parity ratios approach zero. In Belgium, they are close to one. These differences are not driven by the relative size of the Muslim population, which is similar across countries. They are also not the result of varying nationality groups. In Austria, Germany, and Belgium, many Muslim voters have Turkish roots, for instance. In Britain and Belgium, where inclusion rates are high, Muslims have various backgrounds (see Table 1.1). Further, in all four countries Muslim integration has generated fierce controversies, and hostility towards Muslims is widespread.

In addition to differences in the extent of electoral incorporation, parties respond differently to the ideological challenges connected to Muslim inclusion. While some select Muslim candidates who are staunchly secular and egalitarian, others pursue candidates who are decidedly less so. In British cities, for instance, community elders with roots in Pakistan and Bangladesh have for years been winning elections for the major parties on the basis of patriarchal clan and kinship structures. In these contests, men often fill out the electoral registration papers and postal ballots of their wives and adult children, who remain altogether invisible in party politics. Comparable events transpire in the Netherlands. A Kurdish-origin candidate running for the Islam Democraten in The Hague explains his party's recruitment strategy: "Once we have the word of the head of the household, the rest of the family also votes for us. In our culture we do not go against the will of the paterfamilias." The major parties have at times followed a similar playbook.

In Berlin, by contrast, political parties have been faulted for selecting Turkishorigin candidates who are too secular and too progressive to connect with the city's more pious and traditional Turkish-origin electorate. Likewise, when Lale Akgün, born in Istanbul and raised in Germany, served in the Bundestag for the Social Democrats (SPD), she declared on her website that "religion is a private matter" (Religion ist Privatsache), even though she was the party's official "Islam representative" (Islambeauftragte). The SPD had adopted this radically secular slogan at the end of the nineteenth century, only to drop it in 1959 in an effort to reach out to churches and religious voters.

These differences in candidate types have implications for parties' gender balance. Controversies surrounding gender equality are central to the "Muslim Question," so we might expect that parties would be careful in balancing Muslim inclusion with gender parity. Yet,Table 1.2 shows that this is not so. It presents the gender balance among Muslim elected candidates and female representation ratios, that is, the percentage of Muslim local politicians who are female divided by the percentage of non-Muslim local politicians who are female, across countries. While parties in some countries appear to seek out female Muslim candidates, others prefer them to be male. Why?

The Argument

This book develops an argument that addresses how parties respond to changing electorates and draws out the implications of these responses for the nature of party politics. First, it explains how and when parties include new groups who are disliked by a set of existing voters and whose values and preferences conflict with those of others. Second, by underscoring the trade-offs that arise when confronting such a group, I show how parties' short-run inclusion strategies undercut their ideological coherence and electoral performance in the long run.

Much of this book deals with inclusion dilemmas — the notion that efforts to reach out to new voter groups will please some and upset other members of a party's existing coalition. When deciding about the inclusion of ethnic minority groups, parties in today's advanced democracies consider the reactions of ethnocentrists who do not want to be members of multicultural coalitions and of cosmopolitans who do. The Right's core constituency contains ethnocentrists but few cosmopolitans. The Left is comprised of both, but it has become increasingly dependent on the support of cosmopolitans. Though they tend to have high incomes, cosmopolitans' liberal views on gender, sexuality, and diversity have helped bind these voters to social democratic and green parties. Yet, Muslim inclusion presents the Left with an added challenge: On a range of issues, the socially liberal views of cosmopolitans are incompatible with those of Muslims. On top of alienating ethnocentrists, including Muslims can therefore antagonize voters who typically favor inclusiveness.

This book reveals how European parties are resolving these dilemmas. I argue that the incorporation of Muslim candidates into European parties is primarily driven by votes. Only when parties — on the Left and the Right — calculate that the net vote gains from inclusion exceed losses, will they incorporate Muslim candidates and voters. Initially, when the relative size of the minority electorate is small, parties exclude. Even if their rhetoric is one of equality and antidiscrimination, parties will only bring in minority candidates when they believe associated vote gains to be positive.

The nomination of minority candidates will increase minority votes but also trigger defections among those who dislike diversity. It is when the former surpass the latter that parties will opt for inclusion. Once net vote gains are no longer negative, but minority votes are not yet critical, parties engage in symbolic inclusion: They select a small number of minority candidates that please cosmopolitans who value diversity, but that do not necessarily appeal to a large number of minority voters. Symbolic inclusion signals that the party is mindful — but not too mindful — of the minority electorate and of the need to diversify its ranks. When parties include symbolically, I contend that they not only target minority voters; their intended audience also consists of sections of the majority electorate. Parties intend to signal to cosmopolitans that they support diversity and nondiscrimination and that they promote minority integration. To do so, they select candidates who adopt values and preferences that are in line with those articulated by core voters and party platforms.

When the minority grows large enough that it outnumbers its detractors and becomes a pivotal electoral player, parties enter the next phase of minority incorporation and pursue vote-based inclusion: Parties privilege minority candidates who can attract sizable portions of the minority electorate. Vote-based inclusion is associated with a greater degree of representational parity; the share of minority politicians will be higher when parties include primarily on the basis of minority votes than when they include symbolically. However, when pursuing the Muslim vote, European parties, particularly those on the Left, confront sharp tradeoffs: Pivotal Muslim voters, this book demonstrates, live in spatially concentrated urban enclaves, and their views on religion, sexuality, and gender roles are considerably more conservative than are those of Muslims as a whole and especially those of the Center-Left's secular, progressive base. Minority candidates who excel at mobilizing the enclave vote tend to be the most ideologically distant from the Left's cosmopolitan core. On the Right, recruiting traditional Muslim electorates can be compatible with these parties' stances on social conservatism, but it will not sit well with ethnocentrists.

Several predicaments emerge when parties go for vote-based inclusion, and they are most vexing for the Left: First, the types of candidates that maximize minority vote shares and the minority electorates that sustain electoral coalitions do not generally embrace socially liberal values and therefore undermine the Left's ideological coherence. Second, though vote-based inclusion leads to religious parity, it diminishes gender parity. Muslim candidates who can rally the co-ethnic vote are plugged into ethnoreligious networks, connected to religious institutions, and enjoy high social standing within their communities. Such candidates are almost always men. If parties do not compensate for the ensuing decline in female candidates, religious parity will come at the expense of gender parity. Third, seduced by the quick and effective delivery of ethnoreligious bloc votes, the Left misses its opportunity to build cross-ethnic, class-based coalitions and thereby contributes to its own defeat. In vote-rich Muslim enclaves where Muslims are both poor and pious, class cleavages are replaced by ethnic and kinship cleavages; economic concerns are no longer tied to partisan attachments; and left parties ultimately end up losing seats they should have captured: The ethnic vote they have cultivated is not tied to partisan labels.

The crowding-out of class opens up opportunities for the Right. Economically deprived areas that should be out of reach for fiscally conservative center-right parties are in play when minority voters prize personalistic over programmatic politics. But the Right has to tread carefully, for it, too, has a brand to protect: Core voters who value the Right's traditional emphasis on cultural homogeneity may not feel at home in ethnically diversifying parties. In fact, the more common account is one in which the Right benefits from a diversifying Left; staying true to its ethno-cultural roots, right parties scoop up working-class voters who don't want to form leftist coalitions with minorities. But in races where the Right can only win with minority support it will have to decide whether ethnic homogeneity is worth electoral irrelevance.

Implications

The story I tell in this book produces several implications that cast a new light on research about electoral coalitions and minority representation.

First, my argument challenges coalition accounts that highlight the importance of ideological proximity. Three decades ago, Przeworksi and Sprague noted that parties have to dilute their ideological purity when they are forced to expand their electoral coalitions. In their account, the perennial numerical minority status of the manual working-class forces socialist parties to make their platforms more palatable to middle-class voters. Indeed, mainstream parties usually have to balance reaching out to independent voters without disappointing loyal supporters. In most accounts, however, unattached voters are ideological centrists. In trying to appeal to these voters, parties on the Left or the Right will consequently move closer to the middle. The politics of Muslim inclusion, by contrast, causes parties to select candidates with social issue preferences that are considerably more conservative than those of centrist voters and that diverge severely from those of some loyal leftists. This occurs even though European Muslims as a whole prioritize leftist issues such as unemployment and social spending. Yet, the salience of socially conservative positions among those Muslim voters whose spatial concentration and capacity for mobilization turns them into pivotal electoral forces, pushes vote-seeking parties to include candidates and electorates who, especially in case of the Left, are ideologically most distant from one of their core support bases.

Second, by examining how this disjuncture between ideological fit and electoral incentives plays out in local races, the book forces us to rethink accounts that emphasize parties' ability to reshape national cleavages by assembling diverse coalitions. On the national stage, social democratic parties seek to marry competing interests: They court middle-class cosmopolitans by stressing commitments to social liberalism and universalism while holding on to low-income voters susceptible to ethnocentrist movements by offering redistributive policies. Subnationally, however, parties' short-run strategic incentives collide with these goals. Inclusion decisions that are rational for local parties or individual MPs hurt the party collectively by managing to alienate both cosmopolitans and ethnocentrists. This development is hastened by political opponents who capitalize on their adversaries' dilemmas. For instance, a number of Conservative candidates were eager to condemn the Labour Party's sanctioning of gender-segregated seating arrangements mentioned earlier: "Labour are completely desperate. They are selling their values in exchange for a few votes," proclaimed a Conservative MP up for reelection. Competing in North West Leicestershire where the Far-Right is strong (UKIP obtained 17 percent of the vote in 2015), another Tory MP remarked, "On the one hand, Labour is preaching about feminism and equality for women, and on the other hand they are happy with a segregated audience. ... This shows Labour talking out of both sides of its mouth — as usual."