Latest news with #RefugeeConvention
Japan Forward
a day ago
- Politics
- Japan Forward
Immigration in Japan: Rethinking Refugee Protection in a Changing World
このページを 日本語 で読む The Refugee Convention, specifically the 1951 Convention Relating to the Status of Refugees and its 1967 Protocol, was established in the aftermath of World War II. Its primary aim was to protect civilians fleeing from the Eastern Bloc to the West. Born out of the Cold War, the convention's origins continue to shape how "refugee" is defined today. At the time, the focus was clear. In communist states, individuals were often persecuted for their political or religious beliefs. To counter that behavior, the convention aimed to provide legal protection for those targeted by authoritarian regimes. Last in the series. Read the series: Immigration in Japa n Since then, however, the nature of global displacement has dramatically evolved. Today's international community faces crises not only along ideological lines but across divides between the Global North and South, and even within the Global South itself. Conflicts driven by ethnic tension, poverty, and inequality have triggered civil wars, lawlessness, and mass atrocities. Many have fled in search of safety. Others have left not because their lives were immediately endangered, but to escape poverty, disaster, or systemic discrimination in hopes of building a better future. As global challenges have shifted from Cold War-era ideological divides to the complex realities of North-South and South-South tensions, the original framework of the Refugee Convention has become increasingly difficult to apply. It was designed to protect those fleeing political persecution under authoritarian regimes. For the most part, that did not include those escaping fragile governance, chronic instability, or daily insecurity. At the same time, it's overly simplistic and unjust to dismiss everyone in these circumstances as mere economic migrants and deny them protection outright. In response, new systems have begun to emerge under terms like "complementary protection." These frameworks are meant to assist individuals fleeing indiscriminate violence, conflict, or systemic collapse — even if they don't strictly qualify as refugees under the original convention. Japan is among the countries starting to adopt such measures. Looking ahead, political repression, armed conflict, economic collapse, and natural disasters will continue to force people from their homelands. Across borders, there remains a shared moral instinct, a sense that we should help those in need. But when it comes to the concrete questions of how to help and through what systems, the world is still feeling its way forward. On March 28, 2025, central Myanmar was struck by a powerful magnitude 7.7 earthquake. Around the same time, a high-rise building under construction collapsed in Bangkok — a tragedy still fresh in public memory. I extend my sincere condolences to all those affected and pray for their swift recovery. What stood out to me in the aftermath was a striking detail: many of the workers at the collapse site were from Myanmar. A behavioral study by the Media Intelligence Group (MI Group) estimates that there are currently 6.8 million Myanmar nationals working in Thailand. Of these, only about 1.85 million have valid work permits. In other words, over 67% of Thailand's roughly 2.7 million foreign workers are from Myanmar. And the vast majority of them are undocumented. Rohingya refugees from Myanmar cross a bamboo-made bridge during an ongoing heatwave in Cox's Bazar, Bangladesh, May 2, 2024. (@Reuters) Roughly five million Myanmar nationals are working in Thailand without legal status. If one of them is killed or injured in a workplace accident, like in the recent building collapse, there's often no registration, no records, and no protections. They vanish without a trace, unrecognized by any official system. In the case of Myanmar-Thailand migration, this undocumented status often results from informal land crossings. Japan, by contrast, requires all entrants to pass through official ports or airports, making irregular entry less common. Still, once someone overstays their visa or fails to obtain proper residency, they too become undocumented. I believe Japan should not accept foreign workers under such conditions. Anyone living here should hold a valid residence status — not only to ensure access to emergency support and legal protections, but also to earn the trust of both Japanese society and fellow foreigners. Japan's system should help those in need obtain and maintain legal status, not fall through the cracks. At the same time, Japan must take a hard look at the immigration and refugee policy failures seen in many Western countries. There are people who don't qualify as refugees under the convention but are fleeing instability, poor governance, or systemic failure. We should recognize their hardship and create mechanisms that offer fair access to information, assistance, and opportunities. However, reliance solely on international organizations like UNHCR or the International Organization for Migration to manage refugee and migration issues is not ideal. Japan should strengthen its own efforts through agencies like the Japan International Cooperation Agency. By focusing on international cooperation, technical assistance, and financial aid, Japan can help developing countries build the conditions that allow people to thrive at home, surrounded by family and community, in peace and stability. April 30, 2025, marked 50 years since the end of the Vietnam War. It was a moment that evoked memories of the harrowing refugee crisis that followed. In the late 1970s and 1980s, the exodus from Indochina shocked the world. Between two and three million "boat people" fled Vietnam alone. In an era before the internet or mobile phones, they were driven by fear, misinformation, and desperation, setting out into the sea with nothing but hope for survival. A Helicopter offloads evacuees onto the US Navy aircraft carrier USS Midway (CVA-41) during the evacuation of South Vietnam. ("Operation Frequent Wind") in April 1975. A boy who fled his country at the age of ten would now be 60. Rescued by Japan, he became a citizen more than three decades ago. Today, he runs his own company and actively supports students and technical interns from his homeland. He is one of many who now serve as living bridges between Japan and Vietnam. Foreign workers come with different hopes and plans. Some aim to stay briefly, earn money, and return home. Others dream of reuniting with family and building a permanent life in Japan. Whatever their path, we must ensure they can live here legally — in a society built on mutual respect and shared effort. Author: Fusako Yanase In addition to being an expert on immigration, Yanase is a best-selling author and former Honorary Chair of the Certified NPO Association for Aid and Relief, Japan. このページを 日本語 で読む
Saba Yemen
4 days ago
- Politics
- Saba Yemen
Justice Ministry hosts seminar on asylum, refugee protection
Sana'a – Saba: The Ministry of Justice and Human Rights on Wednesday organized a legal seminar on "Rules of Asylum and Legal Protection for Refugees," attended by 27 representatives from various government bodies, including the Presidency, Supreme Judicial Council, and key ministries. Ambassador Abdul-Ilah Hajar, Advisor to the President of the Supreme Political Council, highlighted the seminar's importance given the influx of African refugees into Yemen and the absence of a national asylum law, despite Yemen being a signatory to the 1951 Refugee Convention. He hoped the seminar's outcomes would help regulate refugee flows. Deputy Minister of Justice and Human Rights Judge Ibrahim Al-Shami, emphasized that the right to asylum is a fundamental human right rooted in faith and humanitarian principles. He urged the international community to support Yemen in managing refugee waves, improve refugee conditions, and build legislative capacities for asylum-related agencies. Judge Khaled al-Baghdadi, head of the Technical Office, noted that the refugee crisis is a pressing international issue heavily impacting Yemen. He stressed the need to assess whether a national asylum law would burden the state amidst ongoing aggression and blockade. Ambassador Dr. Ahmed Al-Emad, Dean of the Diplomatic Institute, affirmed Yemen's historical role as a transit and safe haven for refugees. The seminar included working papers on asylum concepts and legal frameworks, concluding with recommendations to strengthen Yemen's legislative system, including forming a committee to study existing laws and potentially drafting a new asylum law. It also called for continued training for relevant authorities and urged UNHCR and IOM to fulfill their commitments to refugee programs and durable solutions. Whatsapp Telegram Email Print more of (Local)
Sydney Morning Herald
7 days ago
- Politics
- Sydney Morning Herald
How a river saved a village when war reached its doorstep
Zach Hope and Kate Geraghty travel to the borderlands near Myanmar, where efforts are under way to rescue thousands of trafficking victims from scam factories. See all 7 stories. Ayoung woman crouches by a gap in the bamboo fence of Thailand's biggest refugee camp, her head askew, eyes peering through barbed-wire strands at the sparse oncoming traffic. She is anticipating a taxi – a family member has a doctor's appointment in the nearest Thai town. When the car pulls up, they will need to move fast, as they do not want the attention of the guards. Almost 40,000 people live in the Mae La camp, a crowded jumble of tin and timber homes and rambling tracks, close to the border with Myanmar. The occupants are mostly Karen, an ethnic group from south-eastern Myanmar. No one is allowed to leave without special short-term permission, unless to return to the homelands they have fled over decades of civil war. Even trips to the doctor must be discreet. Mae La is the largest of nine camps on the Thai side of the border. Many residents, longing for third-country resettlement and peace, have known no other life. The latest iteration of Myanmar's civil war, brought on by the 2021 military coup that removed the democratically elected government of Aung San Suu Kyi, has added 20,000 people to the camps, pushing the combined population above 100,000. Loading 'But there is no more space, so we cannot build new houses,' Karen Refugee Committee secretary Saw Bweh Say says. The committee has been operating along the Thai-Myanmar border for more than 40 years. In addition to increased population pressure, US President Donald Trump's order to freeze foreign aid has crippled the capacity of at least one major non-government organisation to deliver healthcare, water and sanitation. Another major non-government organisation, The Border Consortium, said on Friday (World Refugee Day) it had been forced to reduce rations to 'well below international standards', though it did not cite the Trump administration as the cause. While some people get help from relatives overseas and a small number slip out to work illegally, about 80 per cent depend on NGOs for their everyday needs, the secretary says. Thailand is not a party to the 1951 Refugee Convention, meaning the camp populations are not recognised as such, and are restricted in their movements and activities. 'Life in a refugee camp is you cannot work and you cannot do anything with your daily life,' 70-year-old Mae La resident Naw Mu says. 'When USAID was suspended, we faced a food shortage – they reduced the monthly food ration – and we don't get enough water. 'On the other hand, when you look at the Burma [Myanmar] situation, there is no peace. People face difficulties every day. They cannot live in their villages.' Naw Shee Eh Plo, the eldest daughter of Karen revolutionaries, came to Mae La in 1997 because it was unsafe at home. 'If we cannot go back to Burma or another country, then I prefer to stay here,' she says. 'I don't have hope for peace in Burma.' Saw Bweh Say, the Karen committee secretary, hopes Thailand will change its position on recognising refugees, allowing adults to work and children to attend formal education. Still, he is grateful. For 50 years, the Thai government and people have allowed the Karen refugees a safe haven. For those still in the Karen lands of Myanmar, life can be upended – and ended – at any moment by military air raids and drone attacks. This masthead met a group of internally displaced people in the Thai town of Noh Bo, about 50 kilometres north of the Mae La camp. Loading The men had crossed the shallow Moei River border that morning – not because of an immediate threat, but because they wanted Australians to be aware of what is happening to them and their country. The Myanmar civil war, though unfolding in Australia's region, is overshadowed by the conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine, and now Iran. But it is no less barbarous, claiming about 50,000 lives, including 6000 civilians, since February 2021. About 20 million people – more than a third of Myanmar's population – need humanitarian assistance and 3.5 million people are internally displaced. These young men are among these numbers. On February 27, the State Administration Council, as the military regime is called, bombed positions of the Karen National Liberation Army, one of Myanmar's many ethnic resistance forces. The fighting was almost at the village of Pu Lu Palaw, forcing the civilians to wade over the river to the safety of Noh Bo, aided by Thai military border patrol teams. 'We could not even bring anything with us,' Saw Hser Khu, a weathered 39-year-old former fisherman, says. Hundreds crammed inside the Noh Bo church. Hundreds more slept where they could outside. When things calmed down, they crossed back to Myanmar, but Pu Lu Palaw was still not safe. 'Mostly, people now sleep by riverbank, but those who are quick, they stay in their homes,' Saw Hser Khu says with a grin, only half-joking. Some have family on the Thailand side, and this masthead witnessed several family groups crossing the river with sacks of rice and whatever else they could carry above the waist-high waterline. Military planes are a regular sight and sound above the hazy mountains. 'If the [regime] see a lot of people in the village, they will bomb,' Saw Hser Khu says. 'We were lucky that we were already in hiding.' Almost all the group living in Pu Lu Palaw has fled there from elsewhere in Myanmar because of the fighting. Now, they are displaced again. As there is almost no work, the villagers on the riverbank rely on charity and NGOs for most of their needs. Those with a little bit of money sometimes cross into Noh Bo to buy rice and supplies. Those without often go hungry, the men say. At the end of the day, it is time for the villagers to leave Noh Bo and return to the Myanmar riverbank. This masthead follows them down the steep track, past the Thai military observation post. They pause on the way to point out an abandoned regime military base, shrouded by trees at the tip of a Myanmar mountain. At the river, we exchange thank yous and farewells. Then, they pull up their shorts and pants legs, and wade back to broken Myanmar.
Sydney Morning Herald
7 days ago
- Politics
- Sydney Morning Herald
The villagers who waded across a river to tell us their story
Zach Hope and Kate Geraghty travel to the borderlands near Myanmar, where efforts are under way to rescue thousands of trafficking victims from scam factories. See all 7 stories. Ayoung woman crouches by a gap in the bamboo fence of Thailand's biggest refugee camp, her head askew, eyes peering through barbed-wire strands at the sparse oncoming traffic. She is anticipating a taxi – a family member has a doctor's appointment in the nearest Thai town. When the car pulls up, they will need to move fast, as they do not want the attention of the guards. Almost 40,000 people live in the Mae La camp, a crowded jumble of tin and timber homes and rambling tracks, close to the border with Myanmar. The occupants are mostly Karen, an ethnic group from south-eastern Myanmar. No one is allowed to leave without special short-term permission, unless to return to the homelands they have fled over decades of civil war. Even trips to the doctor must be discreet. Mae La is the largest of nine camps on the Thai side of the border. Many residents, longing for third-country resettlement and peace, have known no other life. The latest iteration of Myanmar's civil war, brought on by the 2021 military coup that removed the democratically elected government of Aung San Suu Kyi, has added 20,000 people to the camps, pushing the combined population above 100,000. Loading 'But there is no more space, so we cannot build new houses,' Karen Refugee Committee secretary Saw Bweh Say says. The committee has been operating along the Thai-Myanmar border for more than 40 years. In addition to increased population pressure, US President Donald Trump's order to freeze foreign aid has crippled the capacity of at least one major non-government organisation to deliver healthcare, water and sanitation. Another major non-government organisation, The Border Consortium, said on Friday (World Refugee Day) it had been forced to reduce rations to 'well below international standards', though it did not cite the Trump administration as the cause. While some people get help from relatives overseas and a small number slip out to work illegally, about 80 per cent depend on NGOs for their everyday needs, the secretary says. Thailand is not a party to the 1951 Refugee Convention, meaning the camp populations are not recognised as such, and are restricted in their movements and activities. 'Life in a refugee camp is you cannot work and you cannot do anything with your daily life,' 70-year-old Mae La resident Naw Mu says. 'When USAID was suspended, we faced a food shortage – they reduced the monthly food ration – and we don't get enough water. 'On the other hand, when you look at the Burma [Myanmar] situation, there is no peace. People face difficulties every day. They cannot live in their villages.' Naw Shee Eh Plo, the eldest daughter of Karen revolutionaries, came to Mae La in 1997 because it was unsafe at home. 'If we cannot go back to Burma or another country, then I prefer to stay here,' she says. 'I don't have hope for peace in Burma.' Saw Bweh Say, the Karen committee secretary, hopes Thailand will change its position on recognising refugees, allowing adults to work and children to attend formal education. Still, he is grateful. For 50 years, the Thai government and people have allowed the Karen refugees a safe haven. For those still in the Karen lands of Myanmar, life can be upended – and ended – at any moment by military air raids and drone attacks. This masthead met a group of internally displaced people in the Thai town of Noh Bo, about 50 kilometres north of the Mae La camp. Loading The men had crossed the shallow Moei River border that morning – not because of an immediate threat, but because they wanted Australians to be aware of what is happening to them and their country. The Myanmar civil war, though unfolding in Australia's region, is overshadowed by the conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine, and now Iran. But it is no less barbarous, claiming about 50,000 lives, including 6000 civilians, since February 2021. About 20 million people – more than a third of Myanmar's population – need humanitarian assistance and 3.5 million people are internally displaced. These young men are among these numbers. On February 27, the State Administration Council, as the military regime is called, bombed positions of the Karen National Liberation Army, one of Myanmar's many ethnic resistance forces. The fighting was almost at the village of Pu Lu Palaw, forcing the civilians to wade over the river to the safety of Noh Bo, aided by Thai military border patrol teams. 'We could not even bring anything with us,' Saw Hser Khu, a weathered 39-year-old former fisherman, says. Hundreds crammed inside the Noh Bo church. Hundreds more slept where they could outside. When things calmed down, they crossed back to Myanmar, but Pu Lu Palaw was still not safe. 'Mostly, people now sleep by riverbank, but those who are quick, they stay in their homes,' Saw Hser Khu says with a grin, only half-joking. Some have family on the Thailand side, and this masthead witnessed several family groups crossing the river with sacks of rice and whatever else they could carry above the waist-high waterline. Military planes are a regular sight and sound above the hazy mountains. 'If the [regime] see a lot of people in the village, they will bomb,' Saw Hser Khu says. 'We were lucky that we were already in hiding.' Almost all the group living in Pu Lu Palaw has fled there from elsewhere in Myanmar because of the fighting. Now, they are displaced again. As there is almost no work, the villagers on the riverbank rely on charity and NGOs for most of their needs. Those with a little bit of money sometimes cross into Noh Bo to buy rice and supplies. Those without often go hungry, the men say. At the end of the day, it is time for the villagers to leave Noh Bo and return to the Myanmar riverbank. This masthead follows them down the steep track, past the Thai military observation post. They pause on the way to point out an abandoned regime military base, shrouded by trees at the tip of a Myanmar mountain. At the river, we exchange thank yous and farewells. Then, they pull up their shorts and pants legs, and wade back to broken Myanmar.
The Age
7 days ago
- Politics
- The Age
The villagers who waded across a river to tell us their story
Zach Hope and Kate Geraghty travel to the borderlands near Myanmar, where efforts are under way to rescue thousands of trafficking victims from scam factories. See all 7 stories. Ayoung woman crouches by a gap in the bamboo fence of Thailand's biggest refugee camp, her head askew, eyes peering through barbed-wire strands at the sparse oncoming traffic. She is anticipating a taxi – a family member has a doctor's appointment in the nearest Thai town. When the car pulls up, they will need to move fast, as they do not want the attention of the guards. Almost 40,000 people live in the Mae La camp, a crowded jumble of tin and timber homes and rambling tracks, close to the border with Myanmar. The occupants are mostly Karen, an ethnic group from south-eastern Myanmar. No one is allowed to leave without special short-term permission, unless to return to the homelands they have fled over decades of civil war. Even trips to the doctor must be discreet. Mae La is the largest of nine camps on the Thai side of the border. Many residents, longing for third-country resettlement and peace, have known no other life. The latest iteration of Myanmar's civil war, brought on by the 2021 military coup that removed the democratically elected government of Aung San Suu Kyi, has added 20,000 people to the camps, pushing the combined population above 100,000. Loading 'But there is no more space, so we cannot build new houses,' Karen Refugee Committee secretary Saw Bweh Say says. The committee has been operating along the Thai-Myanmar border for more than 40 years. In addition to increased population pressure, US President Donald Trump's order to freeze foreign aid has crippled the capacity of at least one major non-government organisation to deliver healthcare, water and sanitation. Another major non-government organisation, The Border Consortium, said on Friday (World Refugee Day) it had been forced to reduce rations to 'well below international standards', though it did not cite the Trump administration as the cause. While some people get help from relatives overseas and a small number slip out to work illegally, about 80 per cent depend on NGOs for their everyday needs, the secretary says. Thailand is not a party to the 1951 Refugee Convention, meaning the camp populations are not recognised as such, and are restricted in their movements and activities. 'Life in a refugee camp is you cannot work and you cannot do anything with your daily life,' 70-year-old Mae La resident Naw Mu says. 'When USAID was suspended, we faced a food shortage – they reduced the monthly food ration – and we don't get enough water. 'On the other hand, when you look at the Burma [Myanmar] situation, there is no peace. People face difficulties every day. They cannot live in their villages.' Naw Shee Eh Plo, the eldest daughter of Karen revolutionaries, came to Mae La in 1997 because it was unsafe at home. 'If we cannot go back to Burma or another country, then I prefer to stay here,' she says. 'I don't have hope for peace in Burma.' Saw Bweh Say, the Karen committee secretary, hopes Thailand will change its position on recognising refugees, allowing adults to work and children to attend formal education. Still, he is grateful. For 50 years, the Thai government and people have allowed the Karen refugees a safe haven. For those still in the Karen lands of Myanmar, life can be upended – and ended – at any moment by military air raids and drone attacks. This masthead met a group of internally displaced people in the Thai town of Noh Bo, about 50 kilometres north of the Mae La camp. Loading The men had crossed the shallow Moei River border that morning – not because of an immediate threat, but because they wanted Australians to be aware of what is happening to them and their country. The Myanmar civil war, though unfolding in Australia's region, is overshadowed by the conflicts in Gaza and Ukraine, and now Iran. But it is no less barbarous, claiming about 50,000 lives, including 6000 civilians, since February 2021. About 20 million people – more than a third of Myanmar's population – need humanitarian assistance and 3.5 million people are internally displaced. These young men are among these numbers. On February 27, the State Administration Council, as the military regime is called, bombed positions of the Karen National Liberation Army, one of Myanmar's many ethnic resistance forces. The fighting was almost at the village of Pu Lu Palaw, forcing the civilians to wade over the river to the safety of Noh Bo, aided by Thai military border patrol teams. 'We could not even bring anything with us,' Saw Hser Khu, a weathered 39-year-old former fisherman, says. Hundreds crammed inside the Noh Bo church. Hundreds more slept where they could outside. When things calmed down, they crossed back to Myanmar, but Pu Lu Palaw was still not safe. 'Mostly, people now sleep by riverbank, but those who are quick, they stay in their homes,' Saw Hser Khu says with a grin, only half-joking. Some have family on the Thailand side, and this masthead witnessed several family groups crossing the river with sacks of rice and whatever else they could carry above the waist-high waterline. Military planes are a regular sight and sound above the hazy mountains. 'If the [regime] see a lot of people in the village, they will bomb,' Saw Hser Khu says. 'We were lucky that we were already in hiding.' Almost all the group living in Pu Lu Palaw has fled there from elsewhere in Myanmar because of the fighting. Now, they are displaced again. As there is almost no work, the villagers on the riverbank rely on charity and NGOs for most of their needs. Those with a little bit of money sometimes cross into Noh Bo to buy rice and supplies. Those without often go hungry, the men say. At the end of the day, it is time for the villagers to leave Noh Bo and return to the Myanmar riverbank. This masthead follows them down the steep track, past the Thai military observation post. They pause on the way to point out an abandoned regime military base, shrouded by trees at the tip of a Myanmar mountain. At the river, we exchange thank yous and farewells. Then, they pull up their shorts and pants legs, and wade back to broken Myanmar.
