Borderlines

Outsourced asylum

(originally published: February 17, 2026)

Bypassing paper fences

In Finland, ignoring a person who is in danger may constitute a crime. If someone knows that another person is in danger — for example, in the case of a workplace accident, abuse, or a threat of an injury or death — but fails to help them (providing that helping would not pose a significant threat to themselves), Chapter 21 of the Criminal Law defines such behavior as either “abandonment” (Section 14) or “neglect of rescue” (Section 15). Committing such crimes can lead to a serious punishment, ranging from a fine to up to two years in prison. What’s important, the law establishes that the negligent person may also be held responsible for the harm caused by failing to provide help.

States, too, can abandon people in danger or neglect rescue — often intentionally. This is particularly evident when it comes to helping migrants who flee from dangerous situations in the country of citizenship in the hope of finding safety (Motte, 2024; CIDOB, n.d.; ECRE, 2024; Merikoski et al., 2024).

There are regulated legal mechanisms for states to help migrants at risk. The Refugee Convention of 1951 obliges a state that has signed it to protect people fleeing from persecution. According to the United Nations, Finland signed the Convention on October 10, 1968.

Article 1A of the Convention defines a refugee as is a person in need of international protection. In other words, this is:

“any person who <…> owing to well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality and is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country; or who, not having a nationality and being outside the country of his former habitual residence as a result of such events, is unable or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to return to it <…>”

In Articles 31.1 and 32.1, states collectively decided that a country (that includes Finland):

“shall not impose penalties, on account of their illegal entry or presence, on refugees who, coming directly from a territory where their life or freedom was threatened in the sense of article 1, enter or are present in their territory without authorization, provided they present themselves without delay to the authorities and show good cause for their illegal entry or presence” — Article 31.1.

“The Contracting States shall not expel a refugee lawfully in their territory save on grounds of national security or public order.” — Article 32.1.

Borderlines interviewed two people who could apply for asylum in Finland on these grounds.

Anatoly (personal details changed) is a trans man from Eastern Europe. There, he actively participated in queer activism. As a result, in 2018, he received death threats and was beaten so heavily that he still has to deal with the consequences of those injuries. “Bruises and scrapes, whatever, but I ended up with some pretty bad contusions and a concussion that’s still giving me neurological crap seven years later.”

We have already covered Ruslan and Huseyin’s story of family reunification in our previous article. Here, we will focus on their experiences of forced migration instead. Ruslan (name changed) moved to Finland having to flee from homophobic hostility and the impossibility to have a family safely in Russia.

Since Finland has signed the Refugee Convention, people such as Anatoly and Ruslan could hope to apply for asylum and expect a positive decision after Migri assessed their situations.

However, when powerful politicians and parties believe that such people are not worthy of living in Finland, they may seek ways to stay negligent – either by adopting new laws or by violating existing ones (Motte, 2024; CIDOB, n.d., ECRE, 2024; Merikoski et al., 2024).

As sociologist Erna Bodström explains in her book Refugee Crisis: My Journey to the Europe’s External Borders (2023), recent decades in Europe have brought tighter external borders even as internal borders are becoming more open. This trend is often called Fortress Europe. It is built to “protect” Europe from forced migration. As a result, reaching safety in Europe in order to apply for asylum has become extremely difficult: it requires first entering a country – usually, with a visa, a residence permit, or by crossing the border.

Unsplash/Daniel Bernard

After 2015, many states at Europe’s external borders built fences — particularly in the Balkans — to stop people on the move. These barriers did little to prevent crossings; instead, people fleeing from danger simply started trying to pass “under, over, or around fences“. In Greece, and later on the Polish-Belarusian border, fences became associated with violent border-guard practices in which people who had already crossed the border were forced back. These practices are known as pushbacks. Human rights organisations have documented pushbacks and the associated violence, humiliation, and abuse. Such actions clearly violate the Refugee Convention, which guarantees the right to seek asylum once a border is crossed, and a fence built cannot remove that right either.

Borders, however, are not only made of metal and concrete. Bodström recalls historian David S. Wyman’s (1968) arguement that borders can also be “paper fences” – bureaucratic and legal barriers designed to obstruct access to protection. These include visa rules that make entry challenging and very expensive as well as bureaucratic criteria and procedures for asylum that make obtaing it nearly impossible.

Unsplash/Alexander Grey

Finland is no exception. Finland has been continuously withdrawing from providing protection over the course of the 21st century. Here, we focus on one key aspect of the Aliens Act.

The Finnish government has made asylum criteria stricter than those outlined in the Refugee Convention. In Finland, asylum is generally granted only when the applicant — a person like Anatoly or Ruslan — can demonstrate that they have personally experienced persecution (Bodström, 2023). This requirement is stated in Section 87a of the Aliens Act:

In practice, it means that even though the Refugee Convention allows a fleeing person to receive protection in another country, Finland can still deny safety if a person has not experienced direct persecution, or if Migri officials do not believe they did (Bodström, 2023). Denied asylum doesn’t mean that the applicant would have a safe life in their country of origin, would stop facing persecution, or that return would be possible at all. The danger remains.

Whether physical or bureaucratic, both forms of fencing are meant to exclude certain people from their basic rights granted by the Refugee Convention.

People who flee from danger are often aware of this even before arriving in Finland.

Ruslan: – I was in a queer NGO “Raduga” in Kremnegrad (details changed) while finishing my studies, and people there told that it’s really hard to get asylum in the West. You need a case of violence, otherwise they won’t give it to you. They told that some deliberately go on the streets with a rainbow flag or something for queer rights – they know they’ll be beaten or arrested for “homo propaganda” – and they never know how this will end. But they need to “make a case”. And even one incident isn’t enough, so people go out many times and just hope they won‘t end up in hospital with a head injury – due to violence from strangers, police, or both.

Borderlines interviewer: – When you came to Finland, did you ever think about applying for asylum?

– Yes, but I feel hopeless about this. I never experienced any violence, I always tried to be cautious and closeted. <Migri officials> need evidence of violence in order to give you asylum, otherwise they just say that you don’t deserve it.

– Did you think you had a chance to get asylum, or did you feel they would refuse you anyway?

– I don’t think I’d get anything. Now I already know that even people who faced threats or violence haven’t got anything.

People can also realise that Finnish bureaucracy evades providing protection:

“After hearing many stories about what happened to other LGBT+ asylum seekers, I lost hope of having a real chance to get asylum. It feels as if someone would have to almost kill me to be considered eligible. Structural, governmental, or social harm is not seen as sufficient grounds.” – Huseyin

Over time, people may start believing in the “standards” the Finnish laws claim, downplaying their own experiences:

“things were unpleasant and somewhat unsafe, but not catastrophic, not full-on “horror-horror.” – Anatoly wrote about the threats and attacks he experienced.

Tightening access to asylum doesn’t reduce people’s need for safety. People continue to flee danger, avoiding applying for asylum if possible. This way, the state “outsources” its responsibility to provide safety to others who have no legal obligation to provide it – only moral principles.

As Bodström mentions, this means that when asylum is nearly unobtainable, some people fleeing danger would try to escape “under, over, or around” physical fences. Here we highlight that this is also true for paper fences, as Anatoly and Ruslan’s stories show us. They do so by applying for work-, study-, and family-based residence permits (IOM, 2018; OECD, 2016; Refugee Council of Australia, 2019). Migrants with such permits are still forced migrants: they cannot go back to their country of origin without risking their lives. Yet their protection is “delegated” to their employers, universities, and spouses.

Unsplash/Etienne Gicardet

Studies, work and family may seem as safe and stable ways of migration while asylum is seen as dangerous and unreliable. However, this assumption is false.

A forced migrant’s safety becomes dependent on the goodwill of others and on bureaucracy that has not been designed to protect people from danger. We follow how Anatoly and Ruslan’s stories unfold.

Coming to Finland is very difficult — a reality faced by many migrants, regardless of whether they apply for asylum or not. Even so, many believe that alternatives to asylum might be an easier and more secure path to safety. Anatoly, for example, first moved to another EU country for studies. However, his funds ran out and his health deteriorated. Anatoly wasn’t able to continue his studies and had to come back to Eastern Europe. Many of Anatoly’s friends had already left Eastern Europe and applied for asylum elsewhere. Anatoly also considered applying for asylum but the prospect of living in a “refugee camp” in long-term uncertainty repelled him.

“The prospect of living in a camp — where things are often, honestly, really horrible, and there’s not much you can do about it. Not just bad living conditions, but also unsafe and psychologically rough. Plus, the process is totally unpredictable — sometimes it drags on for years”

Instead, Anatoly decided to apply for a family-based residence permit – an opportunity that appeared from his new relationship with a person living in Finland. Anatoly came to Finland but his first residence permit application was rejected as well as his appeals to the Administrative and the Supreme Courts. After about three years in Finland, Anatoly was forced to return to Eastern Europe where he had to stay in his apartment out of fear of potential danger. After submitting a new application on the same grounds, Anatoly and his spouse were finally reunited.

“My very patient spouse, who kindly agreed to stay married until I get permanent residency. If it weren’t for that, I’d probably have to reapply through asylum — though at this point, after all these years, that case would be kinda shaky. I’ve got no other grounds coming up“

Ruslan moved to Finland on the grounds of work, a route recommended within the Russian queer community as a safer way to escape Russia. Ruslan decided that he would move to Finland immediately after graduating from his medical university.

“Hearing all of this <about asylum procedures> was scary, and I decided to try to avoid facing all of this. <…> At the queer community, people advised me to go with work. And there were several people who were dreaming about going to Europe through work or school in the future too.”

Ruslan went through all bureaucracy, found employment in Finland, and applied for a work-based residence permit in 2021. In 2022, he moved to Finland.

As Anatoly and Ruslan’s stories develop, it becomes clear that the idea of an “easy” migration route is a myth. Instead of the state, protection from danger is informally “delegated” to other actors leaving Anatoly and Ruslan dependent on others, and later even trapped in situations they could not escape – which significantly affected their wellbeing.

Shortly after family reunification Anatoly’s relationship with his spouse began to change. His spouse didn’t accept his queerness and began to manipulate him. He forced him to dress in female ways, controlled his day schedule – all under the threat that he would divorce Anatoly which would have resulted in Anatoly’s deportation. Anatoly is still living with his spouse and dealing with mental health challenges as well as difficulties accessing trans healthcare in Finland. He has also applied for a permanent residence permit which could grant him independence from his spouse.

After facing difficulties related to same-sex marriage in Finland and family reunification, Ruslan was forced to change jobs in order to earn a higher income. At the time, he was already under significant stress due to unexpected bureaucratic obstacles. In one of his workplaces, Ruslan openly spoke about his and Huseyin’s story and criticised Finnish politics. Instead of understanding or support, he faced mobbing. Changing jobs again was risky, as unemployment could jeopardise family reunification and lead to his deportation. Ruslan forced himself to continue and endure mobbing, which led to burnout. Even so, he still continued working – first in this workplace, and later in another. Eventually, his contract ended and he left his job. He tried to change professions through vocational education and apprenticeship, but his new employer withdrew support shortly after the college accepted him as a student. Ruslan is currently unemployed. Without a new basis for residency in Finland, both Ruslan and his spouse risk becoming undocumented, deported, separated, and exposed to danger in their countries of citizenship.

Study-, work-, and family-based residence permits are conditional on income. According to Migri, applicants must meet certain income or savings requirements both to receive and to maintain a residence permit. Because of this, the safety of a forced migrant becomes conditional on the economic factor as well. A person in need of protection will lose it if their work contract ends, studies stop, a relationship breaks down or they are unable to meet the income criteria – in other words, if they can no longer pay the “price” for security. This places a forced migrant at the mercy of their spouse, employer, or university. This situation can last for years – until a permanent permit or citizenship is granted. Recent policy changes under Orpo’s government have raised the income requirements and added new conditions, which likely prolong this period of “stuckness” and uncertainty, further exhausting affected people.

Forced migrants who avoid applying for asylum also try to conceal the fact that they are forced migrants or “refugees” in order to avoid additional scrutiny from the state.

“When we were applying for my husband’s family reunification, we initially felt that we shouldn’t write in the form that we can’t go back. We thought, they wouldd decide we were at risk of staying here undocumented and wouldn’t allow us to live in Finland. Only when we contacted a specialist, we became braver. But I remember that even when we were talking to that specialist, we tried to somehow minimise that fact. We felt that just mentioning it would make things worse.” – Ruslan

“On paper, it looks like my husband is here for work and I’m here just to accompany him, but in reality, he chose Finland because it’s the only place where he can feel safe being himself, something he could never have in his home country.” – Huseyin

Unsplash/Kelli McClintock

The state can push others even deeper into hiding one’s true reasons for immigration—to the point where they adopt the state perspective to themselves (Güdük & Desmet, 2022), blame themselves, minimise their own experiences, or even dissociate from them (Shaw & Verghese, 2022).

Anatoly told us he has been diagnosed with dissociation, and this helps explain why his descriptions of danger and harm appearfragmented and contradictory. For instance, he wrote:

“I left Eastern Europe in 2018 with a solid political case — like, textbook strong, colourful even. They handled the arrest rough”

— only to add later that:

“The awkward thing is, from my point of view, it wasn’t even intentional — just a bit of rough handling, nobody went out of their way to be cruel. It’s just the routine way they treat you — like meat. <…> But there’s an important note here about activism: I chose those risks myself — they’re a direct consequence of my public activity. I’m my own worst enemy :)”

Similar to a person who abandons or neglects another in danger, Finland does the same towards people fleeing from danger. Through its policies, the government creates conditions that allow Finland to stay away from its duty to protect those in need – in contradiction to the commitments it made under the Refugee Convention. As a result, protection is delegated to others who never consented to this role and may not be even aware of it. While these people keep forced migrants from immeadiate harm , they can also control and exhaust them more. At the same time, forced migrants living under such situations remain hidden from the state.

“I often feel that <…>, having a residence permit is like wearing a mask. Beneath that mask is someone who truly needs protection. Current immigration policies don’t offer that protection.” – Huseyin

Unsplash/Teslariu Mihai

Finland in Fortress Europe

Borderlines has already covered the story of Huseyin and Ruslan in our posts about homonationalism in the Finnish Marriage Act. Now, however, we focus on the fact that Huseyin’s move to Finland was also an attempt to escape potential threats in Turkey, his country of origin.

Huseyin moved to Finland on a family-based residence permit as Ruslan’s husband. However, after Ruslan lost the grounds for his own residence permit, the couple now faces the risk of deportation or falling into undocumented status if they fail to find a new legal basis to remain in Finland:

“I definitely didn’t feel safe being open about it [being queer]. My relatives are very conservative, and they only found out about my situation [same-sex marriage] after I moved to Finland. If I had still been in my home country, <…> they would have tried to force me to marry a woman because, in their eyes, my relationship would bring them ‘shame’ if others found out.”

In recent years, LGBTQ+ people in Turkey have faced increasing levels of hate crimes—many of which take the form of lynchings that can occur anywhere and at any time (Köylü, 2021; ILGA Europe, 2023). Violence, torture, and ill-treatment of LGBTQ+ activists are also commonly perpetrated by the police (ILGA Europe, 2023).

In October 2025, a draft law considered by Erdoğan’s government leaked on social media. According to the draft, the proposed 11th Judicial Package would introduce amendments to the penal and civil codes that would severely restrict LGBTQ+ rights. Using vague language referring to “biological sex” and “general morality,” the reforms would criminalize LGBTQ+ expression and its “promotion,” with penalties of up to three years in prison, and up to four years for same-sex couples holding symbolic engagement or wedding ceremonies (Amnesty International, 2025; ECPR – The Loop, n.d.; Human Rights Watch, 2025).

Political and social conditions do not always change abruptly. Oppression, persecution, and discrimination often develop gradually, and the situation in Turkey illustrates this process clearly. Following the leak, public protests erupted across Turkey, and the draft law was ultimately withdrawn. However, sociologist and organizer with Istanbul Pride and Trans Pride, Jiyan Andiç, noted that “even without this law, it is a dangerous period in which LGBTQ+ people are portrayed as enemies and constructed as an illegal group,” adding that the threat to LGBTQ+ people continues to intensify (Yackley, 2025).

The categories of “safety” and “danger” are not clear-cut; rather, they exist on a spectrum. At what point should a person fleeing increasingly threatening conditions be considered in need of protection?

Unsplash/Benjamin Salvatore

Migration-related situations are also deeply complex. For instance, even if Huseyin were to return to Turkey, Ruslan’s relocation there would be highly problematic: the Turkish state does not recognize same-sex marriage, and asylum is granted under extremely restrictive conditions (UNHCR, n.d.; Asylum Information Database, n.d.).

Moreover, the European understanding of protection needs, as defined by the UN framework, is itself narrow. In her book Refugee Crisis: My Journey to Europe’s External Borders (2023), sociologist Erna Bodström points out that alternative, broader definitions of refugeehood do exist.

In 1969, the Organisation of African Unity (OAU) drafted a convention that was later ratified by many African states. This convention not only incorporates the UN Refugee Convention’s definition of a refugee but also extends protection to those forced to flee their homes due to, for example, war, occupation, or serious disturbances of public order.

“Article 1 Definition of the term “Refugee”. 2.

“The term “refugee” shall also apply to every person who, owing to external aggression, occupation, foreign domination or events seriously disturbing public order in either part or the whole of his country of origin or nationality, is compelled to leave his place of habitual residence in order to seek refuge in another place outside his country of origin or nationality”

In 1984, Latin American states adopted the Cartagena Declaration on Refugees. In addition to the UN definition, it includes people compelled to flee due to generalized violence, foreign aggression, internal conflict, or massive violations of human rights.

Huseyin’s situation could fall within this broader understanding of refugeehood.

“III. 3.

<…> in view of the experience gained from the massive flows of refugees in the Central American area, it is necessary to consider enlarging the concept of a refugee, bearing in mind, as far as appropriate and in the light of the situation prevailing in the region, the precedent of the OAU Convention (article 1, paragraph 2) and the doctrine employed in the reports of the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights. Hence the definition or concept of a refugee to be recommended for use in the region is one which, in addition to containing the elements of the 1951 Convention and the 1967 Protocol, includes among refugees persons who have fled their country because their lives, safety or freedom have been threatened by generalized violence, foreign aggression, internal conflicts, massive violation of human rights or other circumstances which have seriously disturbed public order.”

Still, back in Europe, states are actively trying to restrict who counts as a refugee even under the UN convention.

In the first post we mentioned that Finnish authorities deliberately build paper and physical fences to stop forced migration, or the moving of people from danger to safety. In her book Refugee Crisis: My Journey to the Europe’s External Borders (2023), sociologist Erna Bodström sums up how the legal system in Finland treats forced migrants and how that changed over the recent decades.

Sipilä’s government program (2015, cited in Bodström, 2023) required Finland to review its asylum practices and make them similar especially to Sweden. This included wider use of the internal flight alternative, which means denying international protection and requiring an applicant to relocate within their country of origin rather than receive asylum in Finland. In practice, the person is returned and advised to settle outside their “home” region. This was proposed despite the fact that the internal displacement was already common.

The right to asylum is grounded in international treaties and Finnish law, but the internal flight alternative is not.

Legal scholar Jessica Schultz noted that this logic started to be applied more widely after the Cold War. The numbers of asylum seekers were rising, and the governments tried to grant asylum to fewer people (Schultz, 2019, cited in Bodström, 2023). A provision on internal flight was added to Finnish law in 2009 in line with an EU directive.

Asylum decisions are generally confidential, but a man from Mosul, Iraq, allowed his decision to be published. According to it, he reported being previously detained and tortured by the Iraqi army, later threatened with death by ISIS, and having his home blown up. The Finnish Immigration Service concluded these harms were not personal and denied him asylum (Pekkonen, 2016, cited in Bodström, 2023).

The concept of internal flight was obviously applied to this case. Migri argued that although the man could not return to Mosul due to ISIS, he could safely relocate to Baghdad.

In addition, under Sipilä’s government, Migri tightened its own asylum evaluation mechanisms.

In September 2016, Manner & Teittinen (cited in Bodström, 2023), Helsingin Sanomat journalists, interviewed officials from Migri. According to their article, many interviewed officials told that they felt pressured to issue more negative decisions—that is, to deny asylum in practice. Two Migri workers even concealed they had been forced to reject asylum in cases where, in their view, asylum should have been granted.

The team of researchers Saarikkomäki and others (2018, cited in Bodström, 2023) show that the sharp drop in asylum approvals between 2015 and 2017 cannot be explained only by changes in the law. It was also stricter credibility assessments that contrubuted to harm. The Finnish Immigration Service replied to this that applicants were simply not telling the truth. However, this is not always accurate. Erna Bodström found in her study (2022b, cited in Bodström, 2023) that similar stories may be accepted as sufficiently detailed in one part of a decision but rejected as too vague in another.

In May 2016, the Finnish Immigration Service published a statement, according to which “one can currently return to all areas of Afghanistan, Iraq, and Somalia without the armed conflicts occurring there in themselves posing a danger to a person due to their mere presence.”

At the time, ISIS still controlled parts of Iraq, including the city of Mosul with about one million residents. In practice, the statement implied that returns were possible even to areas under ISIS control. Helsingin Sanomat (Manner & Teittinen, 2016, cited in Bodström, 2023) commented that the statement was less about actual conditions in countries like Iraq, Afghanistan, or Somalia, and more about Finland tightening its policy to avoid appearing more welcoming than other European states.

In reality, Migri’s claim of improved security in Iraq was not based on objective country conditions, but on selective use of information in its report (Bodström, 2022a, cited in Bodström, 2023). Migri manipulated the country information to make a picture of an unwelcoming country for potential asylum seekers and to limit residence permits for people already in Finland.

Building on the changes adopted back in 2015, Orpo’s coalition came to power in June 2023. Alongside the anti-immigrant Finns Party, the cabinet introduced roughly ten new legislative changes. In 2024, sociologists Erna Bodström and Eveliina Lyyttinen analyzed the reforms implemented by yet another anti-immigrant Finnish government. They noted that the entire policy approach had shifted, coining the term the “uncertainty paradigm.” This refers to how the new measures affect all migrants by increasing uncertainty and insecurity. While each change might seem minor on its own, collectively, they have a significant impact on the lives of migrants.

Some of these changes are briefly outlined in the next section:

  • The so-called pushback law allows Finnish border guards to carry out pushbacks, forcing people back into uncertain and dangerous situations (Brunnersum, 2025).
  • The processing of asylum claims has been made faster and more superficial, which reduces accuracy, increases stress, and limits the time asylum seekers have to prepare for interviews or access necessary support.
  • The so-called “pathway change” preventing law denies asylum seekers the right to apply for work-, study-, or family-based residence permits, effectively pushing them into undocumented status. In this way, the government “punishes” people for applying for asylum.
  • The duration of residence permits for asylum seekers has been shortened to 1–3 years, with the need for protection reassessed every time a person applies for a renewal.
  • The waiting time for permanent residence has been extended from four to six years.
  • New requirements for permanent residence and citizenship have been introduced: a maximum of three months on unemployment benefits within the last two years, a B1 level of Finnish or Swedish language proficiency, and a citizenship exam (Migri, 2025a, b, c).
  • The residence period required for citizenship for refugees now starts from the date the residence permit is granted, rather than the date asylum was applied for—a difference that can amount to several years.
  • The so-called 3/6 month rule (Brunnersum, 2025) allows Migri to revoke a residence permit after three or six months of unemployment, depending on the type of employment and duration of residence—a condition that is extremely difficult for migrants to meet (Helsinki-Left & TRUST-M, 2024; Bathke, 2024).

InfoMigrants (Bethke, 2025) examined another law change affecting migrants: government cuts to NGO funding (Ulko- ja turvallisuusministeriö, 2025). As a result, many organizations that provide legal aid and assistance with employment—services crucial for preventing undocumented status and deportation—are facing greater challenges in maintaining staff and programs. This limits the help available to vulnerable people. Consequently, refugees and asylum seekers have fewer avenues for essential support to navigate difficult and dangerous situations.

An allegory of the situation made for forced migrants in Finland can be seen on the short movie Curve by Tim Egan.

Borderlines has named what can potentially come the bureaucratic violence funnel.

Orpo’s anti-immigration government pushes forced migrants who are now living in Finland toward death, violence, and suffering.

Harms

States across the globe persecute and deliberately deny protecting people like Anatoly, Ruslan, and Huseyin who could challenge the state legitimacy in order to keep their own power. Threats and insecurity obviously make people feel scared for their life. This is what social scientists call “emotional regime” (Redy, 2001) or “emotional governance” (Vammen & Kohl, 2023). The government sends a message to certain people who could challenge its legitimacy: “be afraid of us, be scared of fighting against us or changing society”. Anatoly expressed what it means in one sentence: “I just needed to get out”.

“Life in Russia was scary, and that’s why I was almost always hiding. I had constant anxiety and shame with people <…> I started to dig into polls, articles, discrimination reports, talked to others from the queer community – everything I could find. The more I found the more scared I became. It became clear that people were getting more and more violent, hated more, were afraid of people like me more…” – Ruslan

“Any somewhat open LGBTQ person will always have something that can be used against them, and for trans people it’s obviously much heavier.” – Anatoly

Scared and concerned, people flee to other states in hope to find security and dignity there but

“then came more and more problems, uncertainty, insecurity – and now I don’t even know if I’ll stay here. I don’t feel safe.” – Ruslan

Ironically, fleeing from the threat of prosecution, unsafety, and fear created by their countries of citizenship, forced migrants find themselves being under similar influence made by other states. As ethnographer Ida Vammen and sociologist Katrine Kohl (2023) mention, these other states also deliberately keep forced migrants frightened and send a message “Do not come here, do not stay here, you will suffer here because we won’t let you live with dignity. We will send you back to death and misery anyway“:

“But I’m literally under the threat of losing my residence now – and what should I do then? I can’t just decide “oh okay I’ll go home then”. I have no home. Will I be undocumented? Will I be deported? Where will I even be, if I stay alive at all?“ – Ruslan

“[Family reunification] doesn’t make me feel relieved. <…> Especially nowadays., <…> we live with the constant fear of losing our family life and our sense of safety.” – Huseyin

“What keeps me calm is knowing there’s not much time left — my permanent residency is under review. I just need to hold out a bit longer. Still, the thought that they might reject it… it terrifies me on some almost superstitious level. I can’t even think about reapplying again. <…> that really wrecked my mental health.“ – Anatoly

This “superstitious terror“ of the Finnish state, as Anatoly put it, is what Ruslan feels too. Ruslan made it clear that it is not a fear of something abstract, “up there”, but of specific people who create and maintain the system that forces him feel this way:

“I’m always afraid of authorities. Once as an activist I went to a discussion organised by Sateenkaari (details changed) about LGBTQ asylum seekers. I sat down behind several women. One of them turned to me and asked about who I am. I told I’m an activist from “Turvapaikkahakijoiden oikeuksien polesta”. She somehow sarcastically or condescendingly said, “well that sounds “safe”. And I’m an asylum application specialist from Migri”. That pinned me down speechless. I wanted to talk on that event but I couldn’t. There were several Migri workers there. I was scared to be in the same room with them – especially when my own family reunification was uncertain back then and I was completely alone in Finland.“

This terror is also found in the pictures that the people who we chatted with made and enhanced with AI. The figures you will see next can be thought as symbols of public officials – Migri workers, police officers, court judges. All of them are painted as scary creatures that are violent through bureaucracy – a judge’s gavel, a projector. One of Huseyin’s creatures also depict surveillance for the period of life until one receives citizenship (8 years).

“The Excecutioner.

A large figure in white robe stained with dirt and blood. His head is covered in Ku Klux Klan cone-like hood with openings for eyes – except for there are no eyes in the openings, just darkness. He holds a large gavel which can smash you in one move. Very dangerous. He can somehow influence the walls, floors, and ceilings and move them to make me trapped. I don’t think there is any humanity left in those authority people who deport, punish, send to death.” – Ruslan

“It is a creature representing Migri workers. It is an exact replica of a dream I had during a period of intense anxiety about my husband’s and my residency situation in Finland. The creature is tall, has a single white eye that tracks everyone, and comes to live with you throughout your eight years in Finland.” – Huseyin

Finnish authorities continue insecurity and indignity that forced migrants who erroneously hoped to escape, or as Anatoly put it: “the status (marriage) seemed more pleasant, you know? Who knew I’d be so wrong.“

However, not only public officials become terrifying. Instead of being cared by the state that would assess their need for safety, forced migrants become dependent on the good will of random people in Finland.

“Migri didn’t protect me directly, in fact I felt like I was applying for an asylum to an employer. <…> The only reason things are kind of okay for me is my very patient spouse, who kindly agreed to stay married until I get permanent residency.“ – Anatoly

As these people are not obliged to provide any security by law and it’s not even their duty, they may disrespect a forced migrant’s situation and harm them. Moreover, with racism and other stereotypes, Finnish society makes life even further more insecure and unpredictable.

“I had three employers – one understanding, one indifferent, one just the worst of all. <…> Before I trusted my co-workers and bosses in healthcare – until I got bullied by physicians and nurses after I started expressing how immigration laws in Finland are bad and inhumane and how everyone is just ignorant.” – Ruslan

“One of the things that hurt me the most at that time was hearing that some of my husband’s Finnish coworkers criticized him, saying things like ‘Why is he still in such a relationship?’ That kind of comment felt extremely cruel.“ – Huseyin

Unsplash/Tim Gouw

Ruslan further writes on how citizens in Finland and authorities can be connected, while he is disconnected from both:

“One time I got a message from Migri about something and I needed something from my employer. I got shocked when I heard that a secretary called my residence permit decision maker in Migri to ask for my situation. It was so easy for them to contact them, and almost impossible for me.”

Anatoly writes about other struggles:

“I’m fully aware of the power imbalance — that any mistake I make could easily end in a divorce, and that would be a major loss for me. <…> There was psychological abuse, and financial abuse too. [My spouse] sometimes threatened me with divorce as blackmail. <…> It was always the same pattern: “Do what I want, or I’ll divorce you.” ”

Ruslan also symbolically showed this hostility, lack of understanding, and the ease of cooperation between officials and Finnish citizens in his picture he made and enhanced with AI. Just like Huseyin, in this his picture hints to surveillance leading to threats of bureaucratic violence from the Finnish authorities is clearly seen. The disconnection and detachment from co-workers is seen in how Ruslan named the creatures – aliens.

Aliens. “Some childlike humanoid creatures with big emotionless faces with glowing eyes. I should avoid them. Once they notice me they point their fingers at me summoning their authority, the Excecutioner. Most people here make me sick.”

Because the Finnish authorities “delegated” care for forced migrants’ security to Anatoly’s spouse and Ruslan’s working circles, neither Anatoly nor Ruslan felt they can leave such people – together with them, they’d lose their security even more as they’d get deported from Finland. So, they got trapped and forced to endure their life conditions.

Anatoly’s spouse refused to accept Anatoly’s transgender identity controlling Anatoly into playing a female role:

“Not directly, but in a subtle “I need a pretty girl, or else I’ll…” kind of way. And the thing is, [my spouse] knew perfectly well from the start that I wasn’t cisgender. I didn’t really have a choice — I just clenched my teeth and went along with it, playing the “girl in dresses” role. <…> I couldn’t live the way I wanted — it’s not just about clothes. The very fact that people see me as a woman is, let’s say, deeply unpleasant to me.”

In addition, Anatoly felt that he had to deny himself trans care:

“I don’t have access to gender-affirming healthcare — and honestly, [my spouse’s] presence is one of the reasons I haven’t started it yet”

Anatoly emphasized that this life situation isn’t really his choice:

“If it weren’t for all this paperwork and status stuff, we’d have happily gone our separate ways years ago.”

Ruslan got mobbed at work which was the basis of his and, indirectly, his husband’s residence permits. “When I was mobbed I couldn’t change my jobs because I was waiting for my family reunification and I was forced to be very cautious all the time. You can’t leave one job if you don’t have another already.”

Even though Ruslan mentioned the dependency on employers only, one can imagine the situation of mobbing:

“I go to a job interview or just to a meeting where they’ll be and my hands are shaking and everything squeezes inside. And I think, what will I do if they don’t like me? If they don’t prolong a contract? I also needed my family reunification and it always depended on work contract too – too short and Huseyin wouldn’t be able to come. I had always ask for a longer contract.” – Ruslan

Unfreedom and hurting conditions eventually harm forced migrants even further – mentally, and this further compromises their ability to secure their lives in Finland. Anatoly and Ruslan described this kind of harm.

Mobbed co-workers eventually made Ruslan burn out:

“I got burned out at work a lot – couldn’t focus much on anything medical, felt depressed and useless plus nurses were always unfriendly to migrant physicians including me – I just couldn’t continue doing that job. I felt that if I do, then I’ll fuck my mental health – and when it happens, goodbye my permit. <…>You just think “be whatever will be”. I’m tired of struggles.”

Anatoly, unable to escape physically from his spouse‘s abuse, developed a way to escape from it mentally – dissociations:

“Most of the time I just dissociate <…> like, “that’s not really happening to me, so whatever.” Honestly, there are a couple of years I don’t even remember. I can piece together the timeline from photos, but I have zero memories.”

Unsplash/Hannah Xu

This forced dependancy and inability to leave even when a forced migrant feels exhausted is reflected in Ruslan’s picture who he named “the Slave“.

“A naked cachectic exhausted body hanging in space whose arms and legs are attached to some constantly moving levels. Endless torment. It is trapped and has no will of its own. Its mouth and nose are closed with a wooden bar and so are its eyes. How long will I be trapped in bureaucracy, forced to do things I don’t want, reject my wishes and dignity?“

Anatoly, Ruslan, and Huseyin told Borderlines that typical welfare assistance – such as psychological counseling or social work – are not made for their wellbeing. Because it’s the state itself that harms and frightens them, they cannot trust the services that are again offered by the state. As critical social scientists outline, marginalized people’s suspicion toward the ways such institutions work is reasonable (Foucault, 1961/1965; Fanon, 1965; Metzl, 2010; Cantu et al., 2024)

“Before that [getting mobbed at the workplace] happened, I told others [coworkers] about my situation in hope they’ll somehow help – I couldn’t bring my husband here. One physician told a social worker – but she just said there’s nothing she can do, and offered a psychologist – as if a public psychologist could convince Migri in something. It’s really interesting how firstly the state deeply hurts you and then they offer you a psychologist to get used to the hurting. F*ck no – I thought – I know where it’s going. I need help with this f*cking sh*t that Finland made – not the way to get used to it or change how I feel or what I think about it.” – Ruslan

Borderlines interviewer: Tell me — has a psychologist, doctor, or social worker helped you at all with this situation, with your husband and migrant status?

Anatoly: – No, even though I see my psych team regularly — more often than I see anyone else, actually. Only when I switched municipalities they assigned some social workers after we said the relationship was complicated. But it’s not in my best interest to make this story public with the authorities — it’s risky for me.

– Yeah, I understand. Are you afraid they might revoke your residence permit?

– Yeah, or that my spouse will find out and tell me to get lost.

Anatoly sums up what the Finnish state does to forced migrants in his artistic text. This picture clearly contradicts Finland as a country of human rights and promised dignity and equality for all. Throguht his text there is an atmosphere of abandonedness, unfreedom, and aloneness combined with exhausting struggles with the state that, as Ruslan put it, “makes you weak, they want you undocumented and out – and they don’t care what’ll happen to you.“

“It’s chilly; the air smells of dust and cold, and faintly—barely perceptibly—of smoke: both from burning tires and from the peat. The morning sun—though in winter it comes by noon—is glimmering through the low clouds on the horizon. A very, very fine clean road stretches that way, four lanes wide, surrounded by harvested wheat fields, dusted here and there with snow. Beyond them, a forest can be seen, but very far away.

The wind is whistling, and the snow is crunching underfoot. And that’s all. Well, except for the sound of fabric rubbing against fabric with a vile creak. He has no face, no home, and no way back. The shroud gives no warmth, his feet are raw, and he would gladly stop a car, hitch a ride anywhere at all—only there are no cars here.

Where the road leads is unclear, too. The signs lie, there’s no one to ask, hope fades that there’s anything at all out there—but what else can he do, if not go on?”

What to do?

As Anatoly, Ruslan and Huseyin’s stories illustrate, migrants rarely fit the administrative categories of asylum seeker, worker, student and family member, or the binary of forced migrant vs. voluntary migrant. Though these categories do not reflect the realities of migrants, they are used both by the Finnish government and civil society when shaping migration policy and services.

Ruslan describes how he has been excluded both from worker migrant and refugee activism when seeking help:

“I come to worker migrant groups and they say “it’s not to us, go to refugee circles”. I come to refugee circles and they say “we’re protecting only asylum rights, go to worker migrants”. <…> I also was among refugee rights activists but whenever I tried to bring my situation ti then or the situation of people like me it was either some awkward silence or the same reaxtion – we dont care, asylum is already too hard we dont have time for people like you. I feel betrayed. If they decided to struggle for justice, how can they say such things? <…> With other activists and migrants I feel lonely – because my situation is different. I just accepted this – you have to live with this sense of being misunderstood and exclusion.“

Huseyin describes the Finnish state and its systems as very bureaucratic and lacking emotion and empathy: “I don’t think Finland truly understands our real reason for being here.” This same lack of understanding and recognition of a migrant’s humanity is portrayed in Anatoly’s artistic text. The text portrays him alone in a cold unwelcoming landscape stripped of his personhood, past, and future.

“Asylum seekers’ rights are human rights. Treat them humanely. <…> Ideally, everyone should have equal rights.” – Anatoly

According to the Finnish Constitution, everyone is entitled to fundamental rights, including personal freedom, integrity, and safety (FinLex, 1999). The human rights, such as freedom and equality of all people, freedom from torture, gender and racial equality and economic, social, cultural, political and civic rights, are laid down in the international conventions, which Finland has signed (Ulkoministeriö, n.d.). As outlined above, the recent trend of tightening legislation and bureaucratic practices concerning migration and asylum puts people on the move in situations where their fundamental and human rights cannot be guaranteed.

On the state level, changes in legislation and practices of authorities such as Migri and the Border Force are needed. Support for Asylum Seekers (Turvapaikanhakijoiden tuki ry, 2026) and the Finnish Refugee Advise Centre, together with other human rights organizations, have drafted a list of proposals to be included in the government program in 2027.

Proposals include, among others:

  • The full implementation of the recommendations given to Finland by the European and UN councils. The recommendations cover such themes as the eradication of racism and discrimination, and the unsatisfactory legal rights of asylum seekers.
  • The government should deconstruct structural racism through intersectional legislation and change the strict laws concerning migrants and asylum seekers to a more human rights based legislation.
  • The right to seek asylum must be protected in practice in all situations and asylum seeking women should be seen as a particularly vulnerable group.
  • NGOs should be supported by public funding in a sustainable and predictable manner. They should be recognized as an important part of Finnish society for their work toward inclusion, democracy, and equality.

An example of a more human rights based legislation could be the reinstation of Humanitarian Protection or expanding the definion of a refugee following the example of Cartagena Declaration and the OAU Refugee Convention. It would also involve repealing the recent changes in the law made by Orpo’s government, such as the “pushback” and “pathway change” preventing laws. A more intersectional approach to legislation would recognize, for example, the fact that queer couples do not always have the same chances to live together prior to applying for a family based permit.

Sustainable funding for NGO’s would guarantee the service provision in a steadily worsening unemployment situation that together with the tightening restrictions to work based and resisdence permits threathens to make people undocumented.

Alongside state and municipality funded NGO’s the Finnish society needs groups and networks who are not financially dependent on the authorities and can critize them without having to worry about losing their funding:

“[T]here is no this partisan wish to help you – help find employers, maybe offer employers, direct[ly] condemn Migri in the talk and show whose side they are on, and most important – offer some real help and do something and not just do talking!” – Ruslan

Ruslan’s idea is that we should shift from consultation and support based on rigid bureaucratic categories toward a more community based support system. To address the actual needs of people on the move we need to form networks of people willing to act:

“We need employers who are ready to take people in such a way that Migri accepts. That would be some real help. Everything else feels just more like pretending to help than helping, unfortunately… <…> Activists should make a pool of employers who would be able to take to work those in urgent need – those who are at risk of becoming undocumented.” – Ruslan

The borders work through fixing, categorizing and setting people in new relations of power. To actively deconsrtuct these hierarchies and work towards equal rights for all, we need to resist this divise logic in our work and communities (Vapaa Liikkuvuus, 2009; Anderson et al., 2009; Roohi et al., 2025).

Since the early 2000’s the UN Refugee Agency (UNCHR) and International Organization for Migration (IOM) have based their immigration policy recommendations and service provision on the understanding that migration is mixed. Mixed migration refers both to the mixed motivations of the people on the move and the fact that people with different reasons for leaving move through the same channels of migration. This can refer to the physical paths over the borders or the fact that, as in the case of Anatoly, Huseyin and Ruslan, both forced and voluntary migrants utilize the same bureaucratic means to obtain permits. (International Organization for Migration, n.d.; The Migration Observatory, 2011; The UN Refugee Agency, n.d.)

The tendency to categorize people on the move as “refugees” and “migrants” overlooks the fact that people might have multiple and changing motivations for migrating. Instead of bureaucratical categories at the destination, the focus should be on reasons of emigration from a source country and on understanding forced and voluntary migration as life situations and not as identities. Forced and voluntary migration should be understood as a spectrum and the place on that spectrum might change during a person’s journey if, for example, the conditions in the source country change.

As illustrated by the stories of Ruslan, Huseyin and Anatolyi, when asylum is outsourced, family and work permits can hide a real need for safety. Examples of non-asylum forced migration are:

  • a person flees danger but decides to chose a way alternative to asylum, as in Ruslan and Anatoly’s cases
  • the situation in a person’s country of citizenship becomes riskier while they are in Finland as in the case of Huseyin
  • the person was politically silent while in the country of citizenship, but becomes politically active in Finland, which makes return dangerous

Naim Panahi was granted asylum after four year long process. He was originally denied asylum after Migri determined his age as 18, in contrast to the age of 16 based on the information given to Naim by his parents. After Naim appealed the decision, he was granted asylum based on the fact he had become politically active and “more western” while in Finland and it was not safe for him to return. (Töyrylä, 2023)

  • a person whose asylum aplication was rejected and they applied for a residence permit based on studies, or work or family

After 2022 around 1000 people from Russia have applied for asylum based on the fact that they are escaping conscription to an army that is committing war crimes. As Migri currently does not grant asylum for people based on the threat that they could be conscripted to Russian army, around one third of the applicants found ways to stay on study or work based residence permits. (Trifonov, n.d.)

Categories like “economic migrant”, “refugee”, “worker”, and “student” are ways to control migration and their usefulness for emancipation should be questioned. People’s lives do not fit into a single box and the language we use in activism and advocacy should be inclusive for all. We all hold multiple identities and our life situations are everchanging. The priviledge of not having your life flattened to a single category should not be only afforded to some.

In order to give and find appropriate help and to move towards a more humane immigration policy the full humanity of people on the move needs to be seen and respected. Everyone is entitled to safety and on bureacratical level each case deserves careful consideration instead of expedited asylum processes or violent push backs.

How to cite this article (APA style):

Borderlines. (2026, June 11). Outsourced asylum. https://borderlinesfi.blog/en/2026/06/11/outsourced-asylum/ (Accessed: your date)

References

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