Migration crisis: what really matters?

When President Donald Trump signed an executive order back in January banning refugee resettlement, citing national security and the need to "protect the homeland", it wasn't just a policy shift but a declaration of how the modern world views displacement. Refugees are increasingly seen not as victims of circumstance, but as potential threats, burdens or political pawns. The tough reality that emerges with increasingly strong borders and inflammatory people-powered politics is: in the world at large, is it borders or bodies that weigh more?

The United States, long a symbol of refuge, has been retreating from its commitments. Under Trump's previous administration, the refugee cap reached historic lows, and entire populations were blocked entry on the basis of religion and nationality. Now, the familiar language of fear is back, cloaked in sovereignty, but rooted in exclusion.

And this is not a uniquely American phenomenon. Across Europe, the narrative echoes. The UK's attempts to deport asylum seekers to Rwanda, Italy's criminalisation of migrant rescue ships and Greece's illegal pushbacks in the Aegean all signal a global trend: the securitisation of human movement. Refugees are treated less like people in need and more like liabilities to be managed, repelled or offloaded.

But in today's world, the category of the "refugee" itself is expanding — or at least, should be. While the 1951 Geneva Convention defines a refugee as someone fleeing persecution due to race, religion, nationality or political opinion, this framework fails to accommodate the new and growing class of displaced persons: climate migrants.

Many people are made homeless each year by floods, droughts, fires and flooding waters. Entire nations on islands are in peril and at the same time, changing weather in South Asia and Africa leads to conflicts and destroys people's livelihoods. These people do not receive the same status as refugees, according to international rules. No one is protecting them and there is no form of recognition set aside for them.

This lack of rules further highlights a weakness in how the world is run. The rules in war do not update as the world shifts. Refugee institutions made after World War II do not keep up with the issues caused by today's displacement. Although the Geneva Convention is admired, it no longer works well. It cannot address the blurred lines between conflict and climate, between persecution and poverty, between war and weather. As a result, these grey zones are overlooked by the international community as rich nations stop accepting refugees but claim to follow humanitarian principles.

This raises a fundamental moral dilemma: What are borders actually protecting? If the answer is sovereignty, then sovereignty itself becomes a justification for indifference. Hannah Arendt once warned of the danger faced by those who lose the "right to have rights". Today, millions roam the world with no state to speak for them, no law to defend them and no border willing to welcome them. Their existence is a daily negotiation with rejection.

The debate is not just about who crosses borders; it's about how the global order prioritises state security over human security; it's about whether IR will keep being just about power or if it will become something fairer and more open. We can no longer afford to treat migration as a temporary crisis or a political inconvenience. Climate displacement, economic collapse and civil conflict are not going away; they are the future. And that future demands new definitions, new protections and, above all, new compassion.

If we continue to worship borders and ignore the bodies knocking on them, then we must also accept what that reveals about our values. If the world is set up to protect the few at the expense of the disadvantaged, it will not be a true just society. And in the end, the lines we draw on maps will mean little if they come at the cost of our shared humanity.