#post-migrant-history

#post-migrant-history

"I could understand the language somewhat, but I was terrible about speaking it. My accent was terrible. People could not understand me," Deiaco-Smith said.

I would squirm in my chair as my new teacher worked their way through the class register, and my stomach would drop as they attempted to say my full name: Priti Ubhayakar.

"Don't I have the right, after having suffered so much, to get my property back? Haven't I really paid enough for this war?"

"In 'break bad (freddy flexing)' (2021), a slim man's attempt to exert physical strength instead displays his fragility. A gentleness in his eyes suggests truer strength beneath the performance."

They want to self-deport: they packed their bags, bought their tickets, and showed up at the airport to leave. And yet, they couldn't board the plane.

There is nothing more dangerous than an enforced disappearance. Think about the word for a moment: disappearance. Imagine waking up to find that a relative has vanished without a trace, or that you've been torn away from your family with no explanation. When you're disappeared, anything can happen to you, from verbal humiliation to physical torture or even death.

Naima dives deep into life goals with a fierce passion, yet she often finds herself buffeted by currents. Sixteen years ago, she had moved to the country for love, only to be mistreated by her Swiss husband. Since her diploma was not recognised in Switzerland, she went from managing a team of 48 to being wholly dependent on her partner.

She said she stood in her new kitchen, which had radiant floor heating and a view of the fjord, and cried because the bread smelled wrong. She'd moved from São Paulo for a man she'd met at a data science conference. The apartment was beautiful. The healthcare was extraordinary. The man was kind. And the bread smelled wrong, and that wrongness cracked open something in her she hadn't known was load-bearing.

Laime Arold, a 26-year-old Haitian, buys energy bars at a small shop on the side of the Pan-American Highway in southern Chiapas, Mexico. Jose Adan, a Honduran, prays aloud in a park in Tapachula, asking God to protect him from kidnappers and the police along the way. Gerardo Aguilar, a Venezuelan, travels at 60 miles per hour, lying across two seats on a bus headed for Guatemala. The three all have something in common: they are in Mexico and they are migrants. None of them are heading north. They are heading south.

With time, as his research led to police intervention, he caught the attention of the city's gangs. In November 2024, during a period of escalating violence in the Haitian capital, gang members entered the compound where Gensley lived. They burned the radio station, my home and many other things in the area. They even killed his dog.

The home secretary's new attack on the rights of immigrants and refugees is shocking and disorienting. Shabana Mahmood wants to raise the qualification period for immigrants to achieve indefinite leave to remain in the UK from five years to 10 (and up to 20 for refugees). It looks outlandish. So does her wider assault on asylum seekers, denying them permanent refugee status even if their claims are successful.

Unlike virtually all other non-European ethnicities, SWANA - or Middle Eastern/North African (MENA), as used in the show - is grouped under "White" on the US census. It's not just the census, though. It's medical forms, college applications, just about anything with a check box for ethnicity. Efforts have been made to change this, with some success. More institutions are adding a separate category on forms - and one might appear on the 2030 census.

The snow day email arrives before dawn, glowing softly on my phone. Even after all these years, that early morning message still feels like a small miracle a quiet signal that the city has agreed to pause. As a child, it felt like winning a secret lottery. As an adult and a school principal, the feeling hasn't left me.

Four years on from the invasion, we talk to the Ukrainians who have settled in Co Kerry, why they chose to come here, the heartbreaking stories from their homeland, and dealing with the 'small percentage of haters'

Citizens of Nowhere is a documentary short about stateless people in the United States individuals who, through circumstance or legal technicality, belong to no nation. Without passports, citizenship or legal recognition, they live in a state of uncertainty. From finding work and accessing education, to simply existing within a system that does not officially recognise them, stateless people face endless bureaucratic barriers.

Archaeological evidence shows that early humans, particularly hunter-gatherers, lived in small, mobile groups. These groups roamed vast landscapes in search of food and resources. Mobility was essential for survival, allowing early humans to adapt to changing environments. According to research from Our World in Data, a respected platform led by economist Max Roser, most of human history was spent in this nomadic state. This lifestyle fostered flexible social structures. Leadership was temporary, and decisions were made collectively.

A 2024 New York Times report notes that Mexico is home to over 1.6 million U.S. citizens - the largest American community abroad. But it's more than Americans: Argentinian, Spaniard, Chinese and Russian populations have all grown significantly, with Mexican authorities reporting a 64% year-on-year increase in Russian migrants in 2024 . The stereotypical CDMX immigrant - a digital nomad typing furiously from a café while nursing the same almond-milk cappuccino for hours (yes, I'm describing myself) - isn't the full story.

In Cologne, the family is greeted with a small but comfortable new home, and Israa enters a school where her classmates and teachers seem kind and curious to learn more about her. Over the years, however, things change. Israa begins to feel the prying eyes of others, and she begins to react against her family, in particular her father, Tarek, with whom she was once incredibly close but who now seems like a man out of time and place, wedded to traditions left behind.

The librarian sat me in front of a microfilm reader and brought out roll after roll of film. I stayed there for hours, squinting to decipher the archaic handwriting in the Free Negro Book, which was published annually in South Carolina before the Civil War. The names in each year's edition were alphabetized, but only roughly-all of the surnames starting with A came before all of the surnames starting with B, but Agee might come before Anderson, or it might come after.

Throughout many immigrant experiences, stories collected from family members can be a starting point for migrants. The memories gleaned from parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles-who crossed dozens of borders at great risk and with immense pain-can settle into the consciousness of new host communities for decades. For the migrants, these stories and memories represent the first step into a new world and contain lifelines with the potential and promise to build new, resilient identities and a sense of belonging in often hostile environments.

Of these, 3,678 of them have already gone back to their home country. For German Interior Minister Alexander Dobrindt, this is proof of the migration policy that he has been promoting: "Those who have no prospect of staying receive targeted support for their voluntary repatriation." This "targeted support" includes the cost of the flights and 1,000 (ca. $1200) per adult and 500 for minors.

In my previous post, I discussed the psychological violence being imposed on the Latine immigrant community through the implementation of new and insidious immigration policies under the current administration. Since that publication, this violence has intensified in both scale and visibility. Across many regions of the United States, the public has witnessed large-scale ICE raids in neighborhoods, workplaces, hospitals, school events, and even outside immigration courts, where individuals and entire families are apprehended as they exit mandatory hearings.

After an Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) officer shot and killed Renee Nicole Good two weeks ago, the rules and rhythms of daily life in Minneapolis definitively changed. More than 2,000 federal officers have been let loose on the city purportedly in search of undocumented immigrants. Schools, churches, and daycares have all been in the crosshairs-there is no safe haven from ICE enforcement in the Twin Cities-and in response, the city's residents have come together to create rapid response networks to protect their neighbors.