This post is part of the blog series titled Visions for migration, published by the Standing Committee Reflexivities in Migration Studies (SC REFLEX), and edited by Sorina Carstea, Iva Dodevska, Stefan Manser-Egli and Anna-Lisa Müller. The series discusses the question: how does who we are shape how we do migration research, and what kind of world do we hope our research can contribute towards? Find the introduction to the series here.
Author: EZENWA E. OLUMBA
I am not a ‘migrant’
I don’t consider myself an immigrant. Not at all. In fact we have that problem: someone says to you “Are you an immigrant?” I say “No, I’m not an immigrant.”
Those are the words of Lina, a 32-year-old woman of Algerian descent living in France, published in a 2006 article on identity negotiation processes. In this context, she rejected being labelled an ‘immigrant’, thereby asserting her agency and redefining how she was seen.
I recognise something of myself in Lina’s response. Labels such as ‘migrant’ and ‘alien’ have been used to describe me, both in person and in official visa documents. But I’m not a ‘migrant’. I’m a human being who has moved and continues to move. This is not a denial of reality but an affirmation of who I am – a person born in Gboko to parents from Igboland in Africa, now living and working in the United Kingdom.
I have moved across places just as people have always moved, from ancient times to more recent movements shaped by colonialism, capitalism and other global forces. What happens to our shared humanity when some of these people are labelled ‘migrants’, ‘illegals’ or ‘aliens’, while others are described as ‘citizens’ or ‘expats’? Instead of using such labels to criminalise and dehumanise people on the move, a more meaningful approach is to turn to ubuntu, which centres relational humanity, interconnectedness and collective responsibility in how we see and relate to one another.
Ubuntu is a Pan-African ethical principle grounded in the idea that ‘a person is a person through other persons’. It offers a moral guide rooted in communal agency, shared humanity and relational ethics. Its core tenets stipulate that ‘I am because you are’. Who we are as a people and where we find ourselves is shaped by others, whether by our parents, our ancestors or countless other individuals who moved willingly or were made to move. Thus, I am who and where I am (as a scholar, a father, a husband and a person living in London) because some people associated with me have moved, and because I, too, have moved, sometimes freely and sometimes under constraint.
When do Labels Dehumanise and Criminalise?
If journeying to or remaining in a place is a regular part of human life, and if I have committed no crime against another person as I move or stay put, why should I accept dehumanising labels as though they were neutral descriptions? From an ubuntu perspective, no human being should ever be reduced, linguistically or in practice, to something less than human.
Those who receive labels like ‘citizens’ and ‘expats’ are not criminalised or dehumanised but instead receive rights and belonging as humans within a territorial space. Whereas labels such as ‘migrant’ have been politicised, described as toxic, and used to stigmatise people. Terms like ‘illegals’ generally create an impression of criminality and unfairly attach guilt to those so described.
The association of ‘illegality’ with a ‘migrant’ or ‘undocumented person’ is not a natural condition arising from that person’s actions but produced through legal and political processes. In this sense, movement becomes ‘illegal’ only when the state defines it as such. In this sense, movement becomes ‘illegal’ only when the state defines it as such. It is troubling that people labelled ‘illegal migrants’ can have their phones or SIM cards seized without arrest, and that officials may even ‘check their mouths for SIM cards’. Equally concerning is that some people intending to visit certain countries must surrender five years of their social media history for scrutiny. Such practices normalise surveillance, suspicion, and punishment for people who move.
Even more troubling is the label ‘illegal alien’. A person described in this way is not only criminalised through the word ‘illegal’ but also dehumanised by the term ‘alien’, which presents this person as non-human or extraterrestrial. ‘Illegal alien’ is used in official and media discourse in countries such as the United States – and, regrettably, in academic writing. Challenging such language should not be left to theologians or a handful of critical scholars only; it is the responsibility of all of us who recognise the difference between words that harm and words that affirm human dignity.
Labels such as ‘asylum seeker’ also shape how people are perceived, often in negative ways. Asylums, first established in the late 18th century by charitable organisations, were institutions for people with mental illness or learning disabilities. From 1845, when the state began funding asylums in England and Wales, they were described as ‘safe places where “lunatics” could be cured and “idiots” taught’.
This history matters because the earlier meanings of asylum may linger; those labelled ‘asylum seekers’ today may be imagined implicitly as dependent, deficient or lacking agency. Asylum seekers are individuals who have fled persecution and are awaiting a decision on their refugee status application. They live in a state of legal limbo with few or no rights. For example, under the 1951 Refugee Convention, the rights and protections of ‘refugees’ are clearly defined but those of ‘asylum seekers’ are not.
Contrary to the terms discussed, the phrase ‘left behind’ refers to people who experience immobility – that is, those who remain in their communities. It is used mainly in academia and is often misused to frame those who do not move as failures, stuck or lacking initiative.
Yet staying put also can be a conscious decision backed by agency, one that may involve considerable risk to individuals or communities exposed to intractable violent conflict. However, migration scholarship often prioritises mobility, producing a mobility bias that overlooks those who stay put. Franck Düvell argues that migration scholars and practitioners must recognise and teach that people have a ‘right to stay’, and that immobility deserves as much attention as mobility, whether it is chosen or coerced.
In migration studies, labels are clearly not neutral, neither for those bestowing the label nor for those claiming the label – some confer privilege while others deny it. If we are because others are, and since everyone has moved in some way, then such labels diminish not only those they target but all of us.
Revisioning Migration Studies for a World of Shared Humanity
What we do in migration studies needs to be rethought if we are to live in a world where people experience collective humanity and solidarity. Migration scholars and practitioners should question rather than reproduce labels and categories used in policy, media and public discourse, and instead help shape research, policy and teaching around relational humanity and collective belonging.
Professional associations, migration research centres and their members should call out groups and countries that engage in dehumanising and criminalising practices against other human beings. Policies such as border externalisation, alongside the rhetoric of far-right groups that often undermine the human dignity of those who move, should be resisted strongly. Research agendas should align consciously with the defence of human dignity rather than lending legitimacy to racialised migration governance.
This commitment must extend beyond academia. Migration scholars and associations should work with policymakers, migrant-led organisations, communities, the wider public, and activists to foster the recognition of shared humanity and interdependence. This requires building alliances, contributing to public writing, delivering talks, engaging in policy debates, and collaborating with communities.
Classrooms can become spaces where students learn to understand their entanglement in global histories of mobility and immobility. Students should be encouraged to see those labelled as ‘migrants’ and ‘illegal aliens’ not as objects to be studied but as co-creators of the societies in which they themselves live. This approach could nurture mutual recognition and collective responsibility, thereby shaping future leaders not only in academia but also in public service, law, activism, journalism, and beyond.
Conclusion: Towards a World of Shared Belonging
I imagine migration studies as doing more than describing (im)mobility or critiquing policy; it also proactively cultivates relational humanity that foregrounds ethical responsibility, collective belonging and solidarity. This ubuntu-inspired approach to migration studies demands that we rethink how we write, teach, research and act. It also means paying attention not only to those who move but also to those who do not or cannot move, especially communities in the Global South. It views migration not as a ‘threat’ or a ‘problem’ to be managed but a fundamental human condition central to who we are. Such a vision also carries hope – for a world in which borders, policies and everyday interactions begin not with suspicion or prejudice but with care, recognition and collective responsibility and solidarity.
If I am not a ‘migrant’, but a human being who has moved and may continue to move, then so is everyone else. We need a migration scholarship and a world where labels, institutions and everyday human interaction reflect relational humanity and where those in migration studies teach, mentor and work to actualise this vision. I’m not a ‘migrant’. Nor are you.
Bio: Dr Ezenwa E. Olumba is a Leverhulme Early Career Fellow in the Department of Society and Politics, Aston University, Birmingham. He is a critical migration and conflict scholar whose interdisciplinary research explores how violence, culture, and political structures shape emotions, influence (im)mobility experiences, and guide collective behaviours.