Essay

Both Pakistan and Iran have greatly accelerated forceful expulsions of Afghan migrants in 2025, forcing poor and vulnerable families back into a potentially dangerous ‘homeland’ where they will struggle to survive and may be subject to political victimisation and persecution

This year, led by the United States (US), that process has accelerated, which might increasingly threaten the global migration and asylum system. In the process, the boundaries are now so rapidly being redefined that the normalisation might no longer be a gradual, slippery slope, but a sudden paradigm shift. This acceleration might not only mean that what the US is doing now might be regarded as mainstream in a few years; it could also result in other countries following suit and feeling suddenly even more emboldened to implement more extreme anti-migration measures: as long as what they do is less extreme than what the Trump administration is doing, it might fall within the new window of what is seen as acceptable (for more in depth analysis see When the extreme is normalised: shifting boundaries in ‘acceptable’ migration policies).

The beginning of US President Donald Trump’s second term in January 2025 ushered in a radical new doctrine on asylum and immigration that has not only empowered other right-leaning governments with similar agendas, but also mainstreamed what were previously seen as hardline positions among moderate and centrist governments. Though Trump has led the way, dismantling many established norms in unprecedented ways and encouraging others to do the same, many countries are emulating his policies — in the process upending long-established norms and practices. In the United Kingdom (UK), for example, Prime Minister Keir Starmer announced new restrictions on labour immigration by lambasting “Britain’s failed experiment in open borders” and described the country as “an island of strangers” — a speech condemned even by members of his own party as echoing far-right talking points. While Starmer’s Labour party sits on the centre-left, it has steadily hardened its rhetoric and policies towards asylum and immigration, in an unsuccessful effort to outflank the growing popularity of the right-wing, anti-migrant Reform party.

This mirrors a trend evident among mainstream politicians across Europe, despite evidence suggesting that this approach in most countries is only serving to entrench support for the far right. In Germany, for instance, a country that, until recently, was regarded as one of the most progressive member states in the European Union (EU) on asylum and migration, a raft of measures introduced by newly elected Chancellor Friedrich Merz has seen the rollback of many rights and protections for refugees and migrants. However, perhaps the most shocking development was his decision, in January 2025, to break the longstanding, metaphorical “firewall” separating mainstream political parties from the far right by attempting to introduce a bill to tighten immigration restrictions with the support of the Alternative für Deutschland (AfD) far-right party. This demonstrates the increasing willingness of governments to undermine fundamental legal and ethical principles to reduce irregular migration. Though Merz’s conservative CDU/CSU party won the subsequent elections, the AfD also made huge gains and, by August, was polling as the most popular party in the country (for more, see the Thematic Snapshot Migration policy in a rightward-shifting political landscape: the case of Germany).

One of the most controversial elements in the AfD’s agenda is the opaque concept of “remigration”. While its leaders insist the term refers only to the return of undocumented migrants, some of its proponents also wish to extend it to the removal of naturalised citizens born outside Germany. Consequently, the May 2025 announcement of the US government that the Bureau of Population, Refugees, and Migration (PRM) would be rebranded as the “Office of Remigration” and tasked with facilitating repatriations was seen by some critics as a “red flag” signalling the government’s extreme intentions. While, at the time of writing, the proposed reorganisation had yet to be formalised, the announcement appeared to tap into the divisive associations of the phrase and its blurring of migration management with ethnonationalism.

At a practical level, the implications are starkly illustrated by the September 2025 Supreme Court ruling permitting immigration officials to stop residents in Los Angeles simply on the basis of them speaking Spanish or being Latino — a move that activists argue constitutes racial profiling and discriminatory policing. A similar process appears to be underway with the instrumentalisation of immigration enforcement to target dissent, aided by an obscure provision of the Immigration and Nationality Act ruling that any “alien whose presence or activities” could have “potentially serious adverse foreign policy consequences for the United States” is “deportable.” This vaguely defined wording has been weaponised against a number of foreign nationals who have expressed solidarity with Palestine and now face deportation proceedings.

A new kind of politics appears to be emerging not only in domestic politics but also in international relations, with countries willing to accept what would have been previously unacceptable geopolitical positions, in the interests of achieving their migration agendas. Germany, for instance, despite no official diplomatic relations with Afghanistan since the Taliban takeover in 2021, appears to have initiated informal discussions with the de facto authorities to facilitate mass deportations of Afghan nationals. This controversial move has been criticised by the German opposition, with one MP arguing that it “legitimises terror and oppression”. Even more shocking were reports, during the year, that the US government was mulling a proposal to permanently resettle up to 1 million displaced Palestinians from Gaza in Libya, particularly in light of the subsequent leak of plans to build a “Gaza Riviera” on the ruins, a vision that is dependent on “urbicide and expulsion.”

In India, the longstanding mobilisation of communal politics by the ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) intensified in the wake of a deadly attack by militants in April 2025 in the contested Kashmir region. In the ensuing weeks, the government escalated the deportation of migrants and refugees — predominantly, those from Muslim countries or communities — from its territory, on national security grounds. Ethnic Bengalis and Rohingya were especially targeted, with hundreds expelled to Bangladesh and Myanmar. While authorities claimed the deportations were carried out against “illegal immigrants”, many Indian nationals were reportedly among those expelled, including people who have spent their entire lives in India but have faced administrative difficulties in providing their citizenship. With officials calling for the removal of “infiltrators” (a dog whistle previously deployed by Prime Minister Narendra Modi to refer to India’s large Muslim population), the campaign is being exploited to target not only vulnerable Rohingya and other refugees but also Indian Muslims.

The erosion of citizenship rights appears to be a new frontline in migration policy for many governments, including the US, with Trump issuing an executive order at the very beginning of his presidency, revoking birthright citizenship for the children of migrants living in the US irregularly or on temporary visas. At the time of writing, with legal challenges ongoing, the proposed amendment has yet to come into effect. In the UK, meanwhile, a February 2025 amendment to existing refugee policy effectively bars anyone who arrived in the UK irregularly from ever securing permanent citizenship, even though this is the only available means of entry for many vulnerable individuals. The motivation for this change may, in part, be rooted in deterrence — the idea that, by revoking citizenship pathways, some people may be discouraged from attempting to reach the UK — but, with persistent factors that drive migration towards the UK continuing, this is unlikely to impact meaningfully on numbers.

France, too, took the controversial step, in April 2025, of suspending the constitutionally protected “right to soil” in the French-administered department of Mayotte, an island in the Indian Ocean. While all children born in French territory currently enjoy automatic citizenship rights, regardless of the nationality or status of their father or mother, the new law imposes additional restrictions on those born in Mayotte, with both parents having to have resided there legally for at least a year. Though presented as a means to make Mayotte less attractive as a destination for irregular migrants, the move has been condemned for turning the island into a “laboratory for the ideas of the far right.” Critics previously warned that the amendment would “open a Pandora’s box” and could eventually be extended to the rest of France. To some extent, the realisation of this prediction appears already to be underway. In February 2025, the conservative Justice Minister, who oversaw the development of the Mayotte amendment, announced that he would be campaigning in the 2027 presidential elections for a referendum on whether birthright citizenship should be ended entirely across France. If implemented, this would be yet another example of a supposed exception quickly becoming the norm.

Even more insidious than the rollback of citizenship pathways, however, are proposals to strip citizenship under certain circumstances: for instance, for providing false information to immigration authorities or engaging in terrorism (though Denmark, one of the early adopters of this legislation, subsequently extended this to include gang-related criminal activity as well). Because stripping someone of their sole nationality would effectively render them stateless, in contravention of international law, in practice, the group most vulnerable to losing their citizenship is those with dual nationality — in other words, migrants and those with a migrant background. During 2025, a number of countries, including Finland, Iceland and Sweden have announced proposals along these lines.

One of the dangers of these reforms is that they could easily be repurposed over time to extend their scope: Sweden, for example, initially wished to follow Denmark’s lead and include gang membership alongside treason and espionage as one of the proscribed activities meriting citizenship removal. In the Netherlands, on the other hand, the government has expressed its intention to revoke citizenship for “serious crimes with an antisemitic aspect” — a move that implicitly targets its Moroccan population, who are unable to cancel their other nationality and are, therefore, disproportionately at risk of being targeted by the legislation. This is especially troubling given the increasing tendency to conflate antisemitism with criticism of the state of Israel’s actions.

Ultimately, these proposals risk the creation of a two-tier system of citizenship, while solidifying unfounded associations between immigration and crime. When Merz voiced support for the removal of German citizenship for dual nationals with serious criminal convictions, he was accused of framing naturalised Germans as “second-class citizens” and of racial discrimination, with one commentator arguing that the proposal was effectively repackaging many of the same assumptions that underpin the vision of remigration.

In recent years, the right to asylum has been undermined by the increasing willingness of governments (particularly, in Europe and North America) to prevent or constrain entry to their territories. Though this process has been underway for years, a tipping point appears to have been reached in 2025. Against a backdrop of “unprecedented and far-reaching” challenges, according to the World Refugee and Migration Council, the established framework for international protection and movement “is crumbling before our very eyes.” Alongside right-wing populism and growing public hostility, it identified the failure of “more moderate voices to defend key democratic and human rights norms and principles” as a key factor in this disintegration.

The most visible symptom of this shift is the growing securitisation of migration management, including the erection of physical barriers. In addition to the increasing prevalence of “partnership agreements” with transit countries to intercept or expel migrants and asylum seekers en route, many governments have opted to securitise their borders to prevent anyone from entering — in general, a prerequisite for claiming asylum. The erection of physical barriers is a key feature of this approach. Trump, having promised in his first term to build a “big, beautiful wall”, has since announced plans not only to extend it, but even to paint it black to make it hotter and, therefore, more difficult to climb. Furthermore, by designating a large stretch of border area as a militarised zone, the administration has been able to bypass restrictions on the use of the US army in immigration enforcement, in the process trebling troop numbers at the border.

Nevertheless, one of the most extreme elements in Trump’s agenda is the rollback of almost all forms of legal protection for asylum seekers. While his predecessor, former President Joe Biden, introduced an array of restrictions, including the temporary suspension of asylum during his term, these were, to a certain extent, balanced out by the expansion of various legal pathways, including for asylum applications. By contrast, the Trump administration, besides effectively halting all asylum applications at the southern border, has also suspended the country’s refugee resettlement programme, leaving approximately 120,000 conditionally approved refugees in limbo. In addition to preventing new asylum claims and refugee arrivals, the government has also dismantled most forms of humanitarian protection for refugees in the country. This includes the cancellation of the CBP One programme, the removal of the Safe Mobility Offices, the annulment of Temporary Protected Status (TPS) for nationals from a number of at-risk countries such as Afghanistan, and the suspension of other parole programmes, including the Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela (CHNV) programme. The implications have extended far beyond the US, with thousands of migrants in Mexico and Central America stranded in desperate conditions and increasingly vulnerable to abuse by criminals in the absence of systematic support.

This represents something very different from the highly restrictive approach in place until January 2025: the systematic and almost wholesale dismantling of the country’s asylum and protection framework. However, other countries appear to be heading in the same direction in rolling back their commitments to migrant protection. Malta, for instance, seems to have stepped back from humanitarian rescue since brokering a coordination agreement with Libya in 2020. While, in 2020, a boat in distress in Malta’s waters was around three times more likely to be rescued by Armed Forces Malta (AFM) vessels than Libyan coastguards, the number of rescues by AFM since then has fallen by around 90 percent, while Libyan interceptions have tripled. This means that, by 2024, migrant boats were around 10 times more likely to be apprehended by the Libyan coastguard than the AFM.

Elsewhere, too, the European Union (EU) appears to be increasingly willing to militarise its borders to keep out migrants and asylum seekers. This is particularly evident on the Eastern Border with Russia and Belarus, where, in recent years, the apparent “weaponisation” of irregular migration by both countries has catalysed the creation of a violent and exclusionary border regime. This is particularly the case between Poland and Belarus, where the increasingly heavy-handed response of Polish authorities since 2021 has resulted in thousands of illegal pushbacks, often accompanied by violence, forcing migrants and asylum seekers into a no-man’s land between the two countries. While violence at the EU’s borders is not a new phenomenon, it has previously been concealed in secrecy or denial: Greece, for example, has been implicated for years in serious and systematic abuses against migrants, but has frequently done so through plain clothed or masked vigilantes and even recruited migrants as proxies to carry out pushbacks. The violence at the Polish border, on the other hand, is becoming increasingly formalised, with the government authorising the use of live ammunition against migrants in 2024, after three security guards were detained for endangering lives by firing on people crossing the border.

This culminated in Poland’s announcement that it would be imposing a temporary, extendable suspension of asylum. The EU has not only refused to condemn this move but has also implicitly endorsed it. Having initially expressed reservations, in about the proposal in October 2024, by December, the EU had released a statement supporting Poland and other countries next to Belarus and Russia to respond accordingly in the event that irregular migration was weaponised against them. The Crisis and Force Majeure provision, introduced earlier in 2024 under the framework of the Pact on Asylum and Migration, also permits EU member states to “request the authorisation to apply derogations or to benefit from solidarity measures”, including the suspension of asylum. In this context, then, Poland was able to impose a 60-day suspension of the right to asylum at the border, subsequently extended in May, without any public concerns from the EU.

Similarly, in July, in response to increasing irregular migration from Libya, Greece issued a three-month suspension of asylum applications from anyone who had travelled from North Africa. Despite attracting much criticism from human rights groups, not least because many arrivals (including displaced Sudanese) have evident protection needs, the EU has again been silent on the issue. This is, perhaps in part, because there is a diminishing number of member states that can credibly take a stand on the issue. Germany, for instance, is itself stretching established rules with the implementation of a new policy, in May 2025, of forcibly returning asylum seekers at the border without reviewing their claims.

Family reunification, a longstanding right for recognised refugees in Europe, is also being rolled back by various countries as a means to reduce their protection responsibilities. While Austria was the first EU member state to issue a temporary suspension of family reunification in March 2025, other countries have subsequently followed suit with similar measures of their own, including Germany, affecting hundreds of thousands of predominantly Syrian holders of temporary protection status. The UK took a similar step in September. Other countries, such as Portugal, have imposed tighter restrictions on family reunification but stopped short of halting it outright. These decisions have had a devastating impact on thousands of families, many of whom have been separated for years and now face even greater uncertainty as to when they will be able to reunite. For both refugees in host countries and loved ones stranded in countries of origin, potentially in danger themselves, the indefinite closure of family reunification will prolong their trauma and could even encourage some to engage smugglers to embark on irregular onward journeys, as their only remaining option.

While many examples of the contraction of the right to asylum originated from Europe or North America, similar restrictions are playing out elsewhere: in some cases, as with Egypt, in the shadow of new “partnership agreements” with the EU around migration management. Though Egypt has had a longstanding self-settlement policy for displaced arrivals and has hosted millions of refugees in its territory, in December 2024, the government published a new Asylum Law — the first of its kind not only in Egypt, but also in the North Africa region. Despite its potential for enhancing legislative protections for asylum seekers, in practice, its lack of clarity and additional powers have raised concerns that it could be used to drive deportations. At the time of writing, further details on how the law would be realised had yet to be released, with little in the way of substantive consultations with civil society or UN agencies to inform the process.

While Trump promised that deportations from the US during his second presidency would reach unprecedented levels, the numbers so far have remained largely comparable to those under Biden. The difference, however, is that most of those deported under Biden were detected close to the border and returned to Mexico. With much tighter border restrictions in place, including the suspension of asylum, a much smaller number of migrants are being intercepted and returned this way. Instead, the government is now focusing on the apprehension and deportation of undocumented migrants in the interior, a process that has led to extensive raids and mass arrests by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE).

While ICE’s budget has swollen amid reports of a minimum daily quota of 3,000 arrests or deportations, the more extraordinary feature of the new administration’s approach is the way it has expanded the scope of immigration functions to include an array of departments and agencies that would not normally be involved (for more, see the Thematic Snapshot ICE wars: the rising tension between state and federal immigration policies in 2025 ). By exploiting legal loopholes, for instance, the government has empowered local and state police officers to collaborate in immigration enforcement. ICE’s operations under Trump have been markedly different in their visibility and targeting of schools, clinics, churches and other public spaces to arrest supposed unauthorised migrants, ranging from teenage high school students to women in their sixties. Many analysts believe that the fact these operations are often being carried out by masked men in broad daylight suggests that at least part of the purpose is a “publicity stunt”, with officials seeking to advertise “the spectacle of people being removed from the country.”

While previous US governments have sought to signal their “tough” border management, this repackaging of arrests and raids as entertainment is a radical departure from previous norms. In addition to the “cruelty and chaos” that have accompanied the unveiling of new detention centres, including the notorious “Alligator Alcatraz” facility built in Floridian swampland — a move celebrated by the Department of Homeland Security with a photo of crocodiles wearing ICE caps and the words “Coming soon!” — the White House has also released mocking videos of deportation footage presented in the style of a package holiday advert. Critics have pointed to “make these operations into a reality show”, in the process spreading fear and numbing the public to the human cost of these actions.

There is also an evident disregard for the safety and wellbeing of those deported. Many have effectively been “disappeared” into a “purgatory” where detainees are continuously transferred between facilities within the US and onto a variety of third countries, making it difficult for even their lawyers to locate them. This is illustrated by the transfer, in March, of hundreds of Venezuelans to Cecot in El Salvador, a mega-prison widely known for the extreme abuse and mistreatment inflicted on inmates there. The Trump administration did not publish a full list of all the people who had been transferred there, meaning the families of detainees were left uncertain as to their whereabouts. The administration has also deported people to other countries that could not currently be characterised as safe, such as South Sudan, and even attempted to send a group to Libya (though their flight was blocked by a judge). Other countries where third-country immigrants have been sent to include Ghana, Rwanda and Eswatini, with many reportedly transferred in inhumane conditions and with little apparent concern for due process. This is a prime example of how fast the US is accelerating the normalising of the extreme.

While several European countries have been trying to develop programmes of various sorts through which people could be deported, returned or removed for external processing to a third country with which they have no connection (e.g., UK-Rwanda; Denmark-Rwanda; Italy-Albania), with none succeeding, in a matter of weeks, the US started actual deportations of people to a wide range of third countries.

While Australia has long been ahead of most other countries in the extreme punitiveness of its asylum regime, new legislation passed in November 2024 has given the government even greater powers, including the ability to strip recognised refugees of their status. It also allows the government to broker agreements with any third country to receive deportees, paving the way for as many as 80,000 people to be transferred in the future. In August 2025, a further amendment was passed to “expressly exclude procedural fairness from applying” in cases involving foreigners with criminal records, so as to accelerate their removal. This has paved the way for a new deal with Nauru to accept foreign-born people with criminal convictions with no legal right to remain in Australia who cannot be returned to their country of origin. Though initially focused on the transfer of 354 detainees, some commentators have predicted that, over time, it could result in tens of thousands of people being transferred there.

In the Dominican Republic, authorities have intensified their crackdown on the large but marginalised Haitian population, including not only undocumented migrants but also those with legal residency and Dominican nationals effectively rendered stateless in 2013. Between January and the end of August 2025, over 175,000 Haitians were expelled across the border to Haiti, despite the chronic violence and deteriorating conditions there. As is reportedly the case with ICE in the US, Dominican security forces are attempting to keep pace with a government quota of 10,000 deportations every week. This target has led them to expand their operations, in April 2025, to sweep clinics and maternity wards, rounding up hundreds of pregnant or lactating women before expelling them from the country. This arguably represents a new low in a country that has carried out almost 600,000 deportations since 2021, including many who have never stepped foot in Haiti.

While Iran and Pakistan have hosted millions of Afghan nationals for decades, the two countries have undertaken repeated deportations over the years, particularly at moments of political or economic crisis. However, the scale and scope of their actions during 2025 have taken this to unprecedented levels. Pakistan, having begun in 2023 with a crackdown on hundreds of thousands of undocumented Afghans, announced, in April 2025, that it would be removing around 800,000 Afghan Citizen Card (ACC) holders and, in July, that around 1.3 million Afghans with Proof of Registration (PoR) cards would have to leave the country from September. The returns are extraordinary not only in terms of the numbers affected — as of 11 September, more than 603,000 Afghans had returned from Pakistan during the year — but also in terms of who is being targeted, with no one apparently exempt, regardless of their protection needs or how long they have been resident in the country.

In Iran, too, the process of large-scale deportations is not a new phenomenon but has, nevertheless, taken on an altogether different dimension during 2025. While 750,000 Afghans left the country in 2024, the total between January and early September 2025 was more than 2 million — in effect, around three times the number in just two-thirds of the timeframe. The government has done this by effectively cancelling most forms of legal protection for Afghans in the country. The crackdown gained added impetus in the wake of the war between Iran and Israel, when rumours spread that Afghan nationals were spying for Israel, leading to around 460,000 people expelled in July alone. While often abusive, the recent deportations have been particularly inhumane, with families reportedly separated and many Afghans beaten or stripped of their belongings by police. The brutality of these expulsions was highlighted in early September 2025, when Iranian border guards, using a mix of light and heavy artillery, opened fire on a group of Afghans crossing the border, killing six people and injuring five others. This was, reportedly, not an isolated incident, with a similar attack on Afghan civilians in October 2024 resulting in numerous casualties (for more see the Thematic Snapshot Iran’s Afghan expulsion surges: bitter and dangerous returns for scapegoated Afghans ).

In Mauritania, meanwhile, the government launched a large-scale crackdown on migrants — predominantly from conflict-affected Mali and Senegal — with some estimates suggesting that up to 30,000 people were rounded up in the first few months of 2025, including those legally resident in the country. This represents the latest chapter in several years of abusive migration policies carried out by Mauritanian authorities, with support from the EU and Spain. Many of those apprehended were, reportedly, mistreated in detention and expelled into Senegal or Mali, prompting strong condemnations from the governments of both countries. Given the region has previously enjoyed relatively unrestricted movement, the crackdown has been blamed, in part, on the EU and its efforts to impose its own “neocolonial” agenda in West Africa through a 2024 €210 million migration deal. The agreement has successfully reduced the number of departures from Mauritania to the Canary Islands during the year, but at a significant cost for vulnerable migrants in the region.

Migrants in Libya also experienced a brutal crackdown in March 2025, driven in part by misinformation suggesting that the internally recognised Government of National Unity (GNU) had greenlit refugee resettlement from other countries. Against a backdrop of hate speech and public demonstrations, the GNU announced a major crackdown on migrants, with a quota of 100,000 deportations every four months. The GNU has also engaged in the mass expulsion of Nigerien migrants, abandoning them in the desert in life-threatening conditions, while the rival Government of National Stability (GNS) also deported hundreds of displaced Sudanese back into conflict-affected Sudan. Similarly, in Djibouti, migrants were also subjected to a major crackdown beginning at the end of April, with thousands rounded up by security forces.

In recent years, governments have increasingly sought to crack down on irregular migration by not only targeting refugees, migrants and asylum seekers, but also those who support them — a broad constituency that includes lawyers, journalists, activists, aid workers, local politicians and ordinary citizens. Nevertheless, the scale of these actions has taken on new levels, particularly in the US, where entire communities have been affected by these operations. Some of the cities most impacted by ICE operations are so-called “sanctuary cities” (the majority run by the opposition Democratic party) that have long resisted the enforcement of federal immigration policies, including mass arrests and deportations. Los Angeles was one of the most high-profile targets, with sweeping raids and a lawsuit filed by the administration against the city’s sanctuary policies. Other sanctuary cities, such as Boston and Chicago, have been similarly targeted.

These actions have been intensified by the highly unusual deployment of troops to some of these cities, supposedly to maintain order. In particular, thousands of troops were sent to Los Angeles in June, following widespread protests against the Trump administration’s mass detention of immigrants. This was the first time in 60 years that the National Guard had been sent into a US city without the governor’s approval, a move condemned by California Governor Gavin Newsom as “an unmistakable step towards authoritarianism”, with a federal judge subsequently ruling that the deployment was illegal. A similar deployment took place in August in Washington DC, against local wishes, with Trump issuing an executive order in September to deploy military to Memphis and announcing that “we’re going to be doing Chicago probably next.” While not all of these cities would be classified as sanctuary cities, they are all Democrat-run; some observers believe that these interventions are seeking to exploit immigration to further political ends.

In this regard, the biggest roadblock to the implementation of Trump’s immigration agenda has been the courts, resulting in the vilification of judicial officials as “activist judges” when they have ruled against the administration. In March, Trump even called for the impeachment of a federal judge who halted planned deportation proceedings, prompting a rebuke from the US Chief Justice. Prime Minister Giorgia Meloni has adopted a similar tactic in Italy, in response to repeated judicial rulings against her proposed creation of offshore detention facilities in Albania. These issues predate the rulings in late 2024, however: the Council of Europe, based on an investigative visit earlier in the year, expressed its concerns about “verbal attacks on civil society actors providing support to migrants, as well as undue criticism aiming at undermining the authority of individual judges deciding on migration cases.”

This mood is not confined to Italy alone, however, with eight other EU member states — Austria, Belgium, Czechia, Denmark, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania and Poland — also signing a joint statement, in May 2025, that advocated a “new and open-minded conversation about the interpretation of the European Convention on Human Rights“, with specific reference to its handling of migration-related cases. In response, the Council of Europe’s secretary-general stated that “in a society governed by the rule of law, no judiciary should face political pressure” and warned that “the court must not be weaponized — neither against governments, nor by them.”

One of the most pernicious developments in European policy is the frequent criminalisation of search and rescue. The problem is partly rooted in existing EU counter-smuggling legislation prohibiting “facilitation”, a broad term that has been used to target individuals and NGOs providing assistance: while the framework is currently under revision, rights groups have expressed concerns that the new provisions will not clearly exempt rescue and other humanitarian activities from criminal penalties. Italy, further aided by its highly proscriptive domestic legislation, has imposed an array of restrictions on humanitarian operations in its waters that have resulted in financial penalties and the prolonged detention of vessels. These actions reportedly escalated during 2025, with multiple boats detained during the summer, primarily for docking in critical conditions in nearby ports rather than the ones they had been allocated, a long distance away from where their rescues had been carried out. Humanitarian NGOs have been accused of “facilitating illegal immigration to Italy” and even reportedly targeted by the government with spyware.

Greece, like Italy, has also previously attempted to prosecute humanitarian workers on charges of espionage. The government appears poised to begin a new chapter in its repression of civil society solidarity for migrants with the passage of a “draconian” new law. Besides, threatening rejected asylum seekers with prison terms of up to five years if they do not leave the country within two weeks of their application being refused, the legislation will “worsen the already hostile environment” for NGOs. In particular, it will reportedly allow for NGOs to be removed from the official registry if they oppose the government’s migration policy or legally challenge actions such as asylum suspensions or indefinite detentions.

Finally, an increasing feature of anti-migrant policies is the transfer of responsibility for enforcement to civilians, with individuals potentially deemed criminally liable if they provide support or services to migrants. In Pakistan, for instance, legislation announced in April 2025 prohibits the population from providing accommodation or employment to undocumented Afghans. In the Netherlands, similarly, the passage of a new asylum policy in July has meant that not only are undocumented migrants potentially liable to be prosecuted, but also anyone providing them with assistance. The Council of State subsequently advised that this could target not only landlords but also aid workers and activists: under the law’s provisions, even offering a bowl of soup could be a punishable offence.

Peter Grant

Author

Peter Grant is a researcher, writer and editor specialising in migration, urban development, and climate change