At the start of each year, we often reflect on what we are grateful for and set our intentions for the future. Some cherish a stable home, proximity to loved ones, or the ability to engage in meaningful work. Others value hobbies, personal freedoms, or simply the sense of security that allows them to plan ahead. Whatever the case, the foundation of what people care about is their ability to choose—to shape their own futures with stability and autonomy. But what happens when that stability is abruptly taken away?

For many refugees in Europe, the promise of security and the right to build a life is often an illusion. While ‘liberal’ European democracies present themselves as a paradise of human rights, their policies frequently undermine the very stability they claim to offer.

One key example is the Dublin III Regulation, which mandates that refugees must seek asylum in the first EU country they enter. This generates a disproportionately large number of new arrivals in nations like Greece compared with other EU countries owing to its geographical position. However, arriving and staying in Greece is rarely a deliberate choice—rather, it is dictated by the geographical and legal circumstances of forced migration. What is the same, not every person that arrives in this country wants to build a life here, for many reasons. Think about yourself: would you accept living anywhere, in any culture, under any conditions, far from your loved ones? The answer is likely no, and the same is true for refugees.

Many who obtain asylum in one country choose to move elsewhere for better opportunities, family reunification, or a sense of belonging. In recent years, Germany has been a preferred destination, hosting around 3.5 million people with some form of international protection. However, a troubling trend has emerged: refugees who had started over in Germany—finding jobs, integrating into society, learning the language—are now being deported or forced to return to their initial asylum countries, even after years of legal residence.

This pattern is evident in the experiences shared by visitors at the Community Café and the Women and Children’s Space at the Victoria Community Centre:

• “I lived in Germany for three years. Both my wife and I had legal status, we worked, and we built our lives. But when we went to our routine interview with the asylum service, they suddenly notified us that we no longer met the criteria to stay. We returned to Greece to start from scratch—again.”
• “My two siblings lived in Germany, so after I received protection in Greece, I moved there to be with them. Having their emotional support was invaluable after losing everything. But my status was rendered invalid after five years. When I couldn’t renew it, I had to choose between staying illegally or returning to Greece, where I had no one. I chose the latter, and now I am alone again.”

These personal stories reflect a larger reality. In the first half of 2024 alone, 9,465 people were deported (a 20% increase from 2023), and 3,043 individuals were transferred under the Dublin III Regulation. In 2023, 16,430 people were deported, while 5,053 were forcibly relocated. These figures are not just numbers; they represent thousands of lives thrown into turmoil once again. People who had worked hard to rebuild their futures, only to have their sense of security and belonging stripped away.

Deportations and forced returns under the guise of ‘legal agreements’ disregard the human cost. Families, workers, students, and children—people who believed they had finally found stability—are once again displaced. The right to a future should not be a privilege that can be granted and revoked at will; it is a fundamental human right.

As deportations continue, we must ask ourselves: what kind of Europe do we want? One that upholds human rights and offers true protection, or one that repeatedly uproots the lives of those who have already risked everything in search of safety and dignity?