The common wisdom used to be that separatist movements mostly came from weak minorities that rallied around racial or ethnic injustices. “With globalization, that changed significantly,” said Andrés Rodríguez-Pose, a professor of economic geography at the London School of Economics (LSE). “Virtually everywhere in the world,” movements have swapped out the “identity card” for the “economic card.”

Erin Jenne, a professor of international relations at Central European University, agrees. Economic inequality is one of a few factors that can keep independence movements simmering, but they won’t boil over without a catalyst—usually some external circumstance like a major political crisis, or an offer from another country to provide military support to a region with separatist aspirations, she said. After all, inequality between regions is baked into the entire concept of modern nationhood—if subsidizing poorer parts of a country were motivation enough to split off, every region would have done it by now.

Last weekend’s referenda in Italy’s regions of Lombardy and Veneto show how these economic tensions seldom come free of matters of ethnic identity. The initiatives, which more seek financial autonomy than outright secession, are sponsored by the Northern League, a populist anti-immigrant party. Paolo Grimoldi, a League official, said the regions were tired of “giving 80 billion euros [each year] to the state coffers.” Politico has argued that the votes were a symbolic tribute to a northern Italian dream of the ’90s: a fully seceded, Celtic-inflected ethno-state called Padania that would cut the dead weight of “Roma ladrona”—“Thieving Rome.”

But movements to secede can be a gamble. Independence talk in places like Quebec and Catalonia has historically made businesses and consumers feel queasy—after pro-secession parties took action, the regions have seen relocations of corporate headquarters, and even drops in home prices in Quebec and bank deposits in Catalonia. Plus, there are economic perks to staying together: Trade is easier across internal borders, and diversified regions diffuse risk.

Catalonia, for example, has built up some of its own institutions, but it has a long way to go before it has all the systems of a national government, and the limited evidence that exists suggests secession doesn’t necessarily fling open the gates of economic growth. A huge portion of Catalonia’s trade is either domestic or with the European Union, says Rodríguez-Pose, of LSE. If the region were to break off, not only would Spain lose 20 percent of its GDP overnight—Catalonia could see, Rodríguez-Pose says, “rapid impoverishment” depending on the scale of conflict.

Jenne, of Central European University, has published research indicating that economic issues are often not as strong of motivators as other factors, such as how densely a group is concentrated in its territory, or whether a region eager to split off is offered military support by another nation. But that doesn’t stop groups all over the world from using regional inequality as a negotiating tool. The U.S. has seen it, too: In February, California argued that its role as a “donor state”—that it sends more money to the federal government than it receives—gave it leverage over the Trump administration’s threats to withdraw federal funding following its actions to declare itself a “sanctuary state” for immigrants. California is indeed a “donor,” but not by much: The state gets 99 cents back in federal spending for every dollar it contributes through taxes, below the nationwide average of $1.22. There’s an initiative in the state to put secession on the ballot in 2018, and Silicon Valley floats talk of breaking off to form an independent nation (sometimes literally floating).