Dr Caterina Mazzilli | ODI Global
When Aida (not her real name) joined her husband in South Africa, she could not believe that that was what she “had come here for”. She said, “the first business we were doing was door-to-door [vending]. We used to sell blankets and curtains door to door and that brought [up] some reasons that made [me] consider returning home.”
Aida was born in Ethiopia and, like many Ethiopians over the past 20 years, migrated to South Africa. In her case it was to reunite with her husband, which is common amongst women and girls, while men and increasingly younger boys tend to set off in pursuit of economic opportunities. Photos and videos of luxury wedding parties in Cape Town, talks of established business ventures, sizeable remittances, and substantial donations to churches in towns of origin convey the message that in South Africa it is possible to “become someone”.

To a certain extent, these aspirations are possible to meet. As of 2022, South Africa was the third largest economy in Africa after Egypt and Nigeria. The local currency (the Rand) is relatively solid and there are many opportunities for entrepreneurship, with fewer and lower taxes on businesses than in Ethiopia. But the journey to South Africa is 10,000 kilometres long, laden with physical threats and danger of economic extortion. And even when they arrive, Ethiopians are “pushed to the margins” of the South African society, as most of them work as door-to-door vendors or in informal convenience stores (spaza shops).
The interviews our project partners conducted with Ethiopian men and women uncovered the presence of regret among some participants, expressed through the wish of having taken some different decisions. Regret is an incredibly sensitive topic, which risks being misinterpreted and misused, but looking at it can have implications for both research and policy-making.
As a caveat, this is not psychology research, nor was it possible to conduct it under clinical settings. Nonetheless, we hope it is the starting point for a more rigorous examination of the topic.
What the research showed
Everybody feels regret in their daily life both for trivial matters and big decisions, and migrants are no exception. However, in the context of migration, this topic is still underexplored at best, and a taboo at worst. This happens for a few reasons:
- Pressure to ‘succeed’. Migration requires considerable material and emotional investment not only for the individual migrant, but often for their own network too. There is extensive research on the fact that the ‘poorest of the poor’ just do not have the means to migrate and very often families rely on the one member who migrates for remittances – but also to increase their social capital. This puts pressure on migrants to tick the boxes of a ‘successful migration’, for instance by owning a house, starting a business, or sending money to cover family healthcare expenses and school fees. These expectations are a weight on their shoulders and constrain them in their conversations with loved ones who have not migrated. The Ethiopian participants narrated of their frustration when communicating with their family, who found it difficult to believe accounts of hardship in South Africa. Those accounts contradict the well-established narrative of easy-access to economic success and personal development that has been reproduced over time. In reality, this narrative only paints a partial picture, as it erases the solitude, violence, and discrimination most of them have experienced in South Africa. The impossibility to communicate lived challenges went together with a longing for loved ones, and the regret for missing important family events. This made regret unspeakable of.
- Lack of control over certain decisions. The data collection at the core of this study revealed that regret was mostly associated with those decisions that are a direct result of restrictive migration policies, such as strict border control or ever more stringent requirements to be granted a residence permit. Residence documents are extremely difficult to obtain and renew in South Africa because of both rigid regulations and pervasive corruption. But without them, it is impossible to register a business, use national healthcare, send children to a state school, or send remittances through regular bank transfers. One participant explained the tough impact this had on his life: “Back at home, you are not worried about any possible police raid or forced repatriation. For instance, my wife is living here but without paper; I have a child and [is] still undocumented; this is a huge psychological burden for me.”
While some people might regret the entire decision to migrate, others might regret just part of the process. In addition, some participants who seemed to express regret quite vocally remained in the destination country, while others decided to return even if there was apparently no major problem in their life. And this happens because, even when participants feel and express regret, they might just not have the means and/or the opportunity to act upon it. For instance, some participants in our study mentioned their desire to go back to Ethiopia. Yet some of them were holding back while waiting for a family member to reach South Africa, while others wanted to achieve a specific goal before returning (i.e., saving a certain sum). Mostly, however, they were hesitant to leave South Africa as they knew they would not be permitted to re-enter, unless they crossed the border irregularly once again.
- Risk of weaponisation. In a world where migration is treated like a top political issue and migrants are described as a threat to citizens and national resources, a delicate topic such as regret is at high risk of being weaponised by those sections of society that are hostile to migration. Politicians and members of the public who openly oppose migration could co-opt notions of regret as a means to accuse migrants of being ungrateful for the opportunities they found in the country of destination. But also, politicians and policy-makers might champion agendas that look caring on the surface while hiding a wider anti-immigration sentiment, such as development funds to countries of origin and transit that are conditional on migration prevention. This ‘liberal’ approach might appeal to many as it does not look openly hostile, but rather adopts the narrative of protecting migrants from the risk of regret.
So, what are the implications of these findings?
Exploring regret can help demystifying mainstream narratives about migration and success. Specifically, it can shed light on the fact that migration alone does not bring success, but rather success stems from structural conditions such as the job market, migration policies, and social cohesion between migrants and natives, to name a few. Shifting the focus from the individual to the structure could first and foremost make regret less of a taboo, thus hopefully alleviating the constraints that migrants feel in their conversations with family and friends.
There is an urgent need for a different narrative on migration, showing migrants under a nuanced light, highlighting their contributions to host societies, but also reckoning with the structural obstacles they face in their search for a better life. Ethiopian spaza shops in South African cities provide a valuable commercial service to the local population: they are located where there are no other minimarkets, such as in townships, stay open beyond usual shop working hours, and sell products at affordable prices. Yet these shops overwhelmingly operate in the informal sector, exposing shopkeepers to precarity and risks to their own safety, but also depriving the government of South Africa of potential revenues from registered businesses. As was the case for Aida, the most common regret amongst our participants stemmed from the clash between pre-departure expectations and reality at destination.
In this research regret did not emerge only as an emotional response to lived experiences, but also as the by-product of structural political and economic dynamics that place migrants in extremely hazardous positions. Direct control measures on migration have become more and more stringent over the last decades, and while this has not stopped migration, it has pushed migrants towards more dangerous and deadly routes. This context may lead to feelings of regret amongst migrants, although not necessarily about the decision to migrate itself as much as about the conditions under which they were forced to migrate. Relaxing the criteria to obtain regular residency status, while ensuring the prompt renewal of expiring permits, would ensure safer journeys, lower reliance on criminal networks, increased material and mental wellbeing of migrants, and better socio-economic integration.
Finally, policies fostering effective integration can weaken misguided hostile rhetoric against migrants and reduce concerns on the side of the local population. And while doing this, it is essential to keep in mind that integration goes both ways, and that its success depends far more on the opportunities generated by policies, structures, and institutions than on individuals’ keenness.
It would be naïve to think that simply avoiding a conversation on regret can protect migrants. As such, we call on scholars and practitioners to analyse regret within migration decision-making ethically, preventing its hijacking for political gains, to improve policies and migrants and host communities’ lives.
* This work is one of the outputs of the Migration for Development and Equality (MIDEQ) Hub, which is funded by the UKRI Global Challenges Research Fund (GCRF) [Grant Reference: ES/S007415/1]. Additional funding has been provided by Irish Aid. More information at www.mideq.org
* The author wishes to thank the members of the MIDEQ South Africa team for conducting the interviews on which this piece is based.
The Iranian diaspora’s role in the Woman, Life, Freedom movement
Author anonymous.
In October last year, Berlin attracted international attention for a turnout of more than 80,000 Iranian people and allies showing solidarity with protesters in Iran. Capturing a feeling that resonates with myself and other members of the Iranian diaspora, one protester told the BBC: “It’s breath-taking, it’s amazing…it’s the first time that so many people in our nation are united regardless of their political beliefs before revolution and after revolution. I am really proud.” Under the Islamic Republic in Iran (IRI) dictatorship that has gripped the homeland for 44 years, mass protests inside Iran are not new.
Why is this unprecedented solidarity and activism from the diaspora happening now? As a British-Iranian woman under 30 years old, who grew up in the UK and with strong family ties in Iran, I have been struck by the increased diasporic activism both online and in the national and international political arena. I’ve found myself active in Iranian homeland politics like never before. Importantly, I have witnessed an increased cohesiveness among the Iranian diaspora and an unprecedented optimism that real change is in the making.
It is estimated there are more than four million Iranians abroad. The 1979 revolution was a huge driver of emigration, with the upper and middle classes moving to North America and Western Europe. The Iranian diaspora is usually a fractured group that steers clear of organising around homeland politics, but the killing of Kurdish-Iranian woman Zhina (Mahsa) Amini at the hands of morality police in September 2022 led to an eruption of political diasporic activism in support of the “Woman, Life, Freedom” movement. The rallying cry of ‘Woman, Life, Freedom’ originates from Kurdish liberation movements, and now also embodies the female-led, intersectional revolution in Iran focused on securing human rights for all and an end the dictatorship. As the former Shah’s son and secular democracy advocate, Reza Pahlavi, told the Guardian newspaper, the revolution is continuing because everyone understands this is a “do-or-die” moment. Diasporic activism has ranged from global rallies for solidarity and awareness, social media campaigns to amplify Iranian voices, and political lobbying. This is however while standing against foreign intervention.
Social media
Unlike previous uprisings such as the Green Movement in the wake of the hotly contested 2009 election, Iranians use of the internet has rocketed from 14 per cent of the population in 2009 to 79 per cent in 2021, Following the killing of Amini, the ability to document what’s happening on the ground and connect with outside Iran is therefore unprecedented. The messaging online and from prominent human rights campaigners was clear early on to not allow the regime’s nationwide internet shutdown to silence Iranian voices and commit atrocities with impunity. And so members of the diaspora (alongside established independent Iranian media and human rights activist groups) have become facilitators in sharing videos, images and messages from Iranians to the outside world and to keep their stories visible, and IRI accountable, on the international stage.
Diaspora mobilisation included templates to write to political representatives, circulating petitions, details of global rallies, and social media posts to spread awareness of particular protesters recently missing or arrested. Organised actions to gain votes for the women of Iran to be chosen as Time magazine heroes of the year, and for Iranian singer Shervin Hajipour’s song ‘Baraye’ (For Freedom) to be chosen as the Grammy awards song for social change category, were also targeted visibility efforts that succeeded. Existing Iranian businesses and celebrities have also turned their hand to using their social media as a tool to raise awareness of events in Iran. One Texas-based Persian language teacher, for example, began doing vocabulary videos of protest slogans, while Iranian food businesses came together to promote #cookforiran challenges.
Social media has also grown in the number of English language accounts now solely campaigning for Iran. Some examples include United 4 Mahsa, Diaspora for Iran, Be Iran’s Voice and Iranian Diaspora Collective on Instagram whose content ranges from weekly round-ups of news of the ongoing revolution, calls to actions and videos shared from Iran on what’s happening on the ground. Iranian Diaspora Collective for example was formed in response to the “overwhelming demand from Iranians in Iran to amplify their voices”. It describes itself as “non-partisan, multi-faith and queer-led” and has more than 57,000 followers. It launched a crowdfunding campaign to install billboards highlighting the Woman, Life, Freedom movement around the world to counter the lack of coverage in the mainstream media. Within two months it had installed billboards at 136 locations and gained 22 million media impressions, according to its campaign update.
Global protests
October 1st, 2022 marked the first day of global rallies to show solidarity with protesters in Iran, which took place in more than 150 cities worldwide. Toronto hosted the highest recorded turnout with 50,000 people, and global rallies continued every weekend through 2022, with further events ongoing. In January 2023, bus loads of Iranians from around Europe travelled to Strasbourg to demonstrate in front of the European Parliament demanding that the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps (IRGC), a powerful branch of the IRI, be placed on the EU’s terror list. In the UK, the same demand is being targeted at Westminster, with British-Iranian activist Vahid Beheshti’s hunger strike outside the Foreign Office ongoing since February 23rd. And this news gets relayed in Iran. One Iranian journalist Tweeted a picture sent to their newsroom of a boy in Iran holding a sign asking the London hunger striker to break his dangerously long action. An underground youth group of Iranian protesters also published a statement of their support of diaspora efforts to designate the IRGC a terrorist group. A key understanding of activism in the diaspora is that their actions must represent and amplify the demands of those inside Iran.
But the threat of the regime beyond borders is also a risk. The social media group, Iranian Diaspora Collective, for example, does not disclose the identities of all its members due to concerns of surveillance and the safety of family members in Iran. London-based independent media Iran International’s newsroom was forced to leave the UK in February due to a “significant escalation” in state-backed threats against its journalists. According to the Metropolitan Police 15 plots to kidnap or kill UK-based people seen as enemies of the regime have been foiled since 2022.
International political lobbying
From removing IRI from the UN women’s rights commission, to establishing the UN to set up an independent investigation to hold IRI accountable for its crimes against Iranian people, the diaspora has been at the forefront of pushing international action. Widespread campaigns gained traction worldwide in December as executions of protesters became a reality. In efforts for the #stopexecutionsiniran campaign, lobbyists tried to galvanise international politicians into giving political sponsorship for prisoners. Joint efforts have also emerged from female Iranian and Afghan activists to launch a campaign to make gender apartheid a crime under international law.
An alliance of diasporic Iranian opposition figures has also formed, drawing up a charter of secular democratic principles. They present themselves not as a “shadow government”, or leaders of the Iranian people, but aims to “reflect and pursue their demands’ with the goal of a secular democracy in Iran. They state practical steps of supporting public strikes and protests in Iran, drawing attention of the international community on the conditions of prisoners in Iran, and asking them to isolate IRI. Members include the former Shah’s son, Reza Pahlavi, women’s rights campaigner Masih Alinejad and Nobel peace prize laureate Shirin Ebadi.
Reflections
While continuing unity on Iran’s future political landscape is no easy task, the commitment of Iranians abroad to support those inside Iran on a mass scale gives hope and connectedness across borders I’ve never seen before among Iranians. My own engagement has changed. I previously had a strict ‘no Iranian politics’ social media rule for myself. Since Amini’s death, I have been sharing regular updates online, taken part in demonstrations, written to my MP, created templates for others to do the same, written articles, donated to NGOs and signed and shared petitions.
The celebration, education and pride of Iranian culture and diversity has also flourished within this movement, with excitement growing over the possibilities of a free, democratic Iran. For many in the diaspora, this could mean being able to travel to Iran for the first time or returning after many years in exile. For me as a dual national, it will mean being able to return without fear of arrest, which is something I have been unable to do for several years as IRI’s suspicion of foreign influence grows.
For both the diaspora and those inside Iran, the stakes are high and one thing is clear, there is no returning back to the status quo. The gains of a free Iran are too great to stay silent anymore.
As protesters shout on the streets of Iran: “Be scared, be scared, we are all together”.
Note – The author, a British-Iranian, has asked to be anonymous to protect her family from potential repercussions.
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