UN organises the World Refugee Day every year on 20 June to celebrate and honour refugees from around the world.
Published Jun 20, 2025 | 9:00 AM ⚊ Updated Jun 20, 2025 | 9:00 AM
India, home to an estimated 40,000 Rohingya refugees, is not a signatory to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention. (Creative Commons)
Synopsis: Interestingly, before independence, during World War II, India was one of the first countries to offer shelter to 5,000 Polish refugees..
On 8 May 2025, the Supreme Court of India reaffirmed a legal reality: the constitutional right to reside in India under Article 19(1)(e) is a privilege reserved exclusively for Indian citizens.
In doing so, the apex court cleared the path for the continued deportation of Rohingya refugees—stateless victims of decades-long persecution in Myanmar—under the Foreigners Act. The ruling, while anchored in legal precision, lays bare India’s growing unwillingness to accommodate one of the world’s most vulnerable populations, even temporarily.
The judgement did acknowledge the need for procedural safeguards, invoking Articles 14 and 21 of the Constitution. Yet, the apex court also dismissed serious allegations—such as claims that Indian authorities had forcibly cast Rohingya into the sea near the Andaman Islands—as mere “unverified social-media reports.”
Eleven days after the Rohingya deportation hearing, the Supreme Court on 19 May refused to interfere with a high court order directing the deportation of a Sri Lankan Tamil man. The petitioner had completed his sentence under the Unlawful Activities (Prevention) Act for being a member of the banned LTTE.
Despite his lawyer’s plea that his wife and children are settled in Tamil Nadu and that he faces threats to his life in Sri Lanka, the court stood firm. It ruled that the right to reside in India is reserved for citizens, stating bluntly that India is not a “Dharamshala” for refugees.
India, home to an estimated 40,000 Rohingya refugees, is not a signatory to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention. UNHCR cards offer no legal protection, and non-refoulement holds no formal weight. Instead of bridging this legal gap with compassion, the Indian state is reinforcing it with indifference and hostility.
The deportation ruling against a Sri Lankan Tamil man is not an exception—it reflects a broader pattern. Despite decades in India, even locally born Sri Lankan Tamils are denied legal status or a path to citizenship. The Ministry of Home Affairs (MHA), in its 2021–2022 Annual Report, states that between July 1983 and August 2012, a total of 304,269 Sri Lankan refugees entered India. They were provided with relief assistance, including monthly cash doles, subsidized rice rations, clothing, utensils, medical aid, and free education up to the higher secondary level.
As of 1 January 2022, there were 58,648 Sri Lankan refugees residing in 108 refugee camps in Tamil Nadu, and 54 refugees in Odisha. In addition, approximately 34,135 refugees were living outside the camps but registered with the state authorities in Tamil Nadu.
Behind the legal arguments lies a stark political reality. India, once a symbol of regional solidarity, is retreating from its humanitarian responsibilities. Refugee policy is now fractured—compassion in Tamil Nadu, rejection in Delhi. This is more than a legal failure; it is a moral collapse.
Since independence in 1947, India has sheltered waves of displaced people, reflecting a legacy of humanitarianism despite lacking a formal refugee law. In 1959, it granted asylum to the Dalai Lama and some 80,000 Tibetans fleeing Chinese repression—providing land, education, and support in Dharamshala.
A paper published by the Migration Policy Institute reports that the number of new Tibetan refugee arrivals dropped to approximately 419 per year between 2010 and 2014. The report adds that restrictions further intensified under Chinese President Xi Jinping, who assumed leadership in 2012. In the past four years, only 55 Tibetan refugees have arrived in India.
Citing data from the Central Tibetan Administration, the paper reveals that while approximately 45,000 Tibetans arrived in India between 1990 and 2009, only 2,500 arrived between 2009 and 2023.
Meanwhile, in 1971, as war and genocide gripped East Pakistan, India opened its borders to nearly 10 million Bengali refugees and intervened militarily to help create Bangladesh.
Tamil refugees from Sri Lanka’s civil war arrived in the 1980s, many still living in camps across Tamil Nadu. Afghan Hindus, Sikhs, and Muslims have sought refuge since the Soviet invasion and during Taliban rule, while smaller groups from Bhutan, Myanmar, and Sudan also found temporary safety.
Interestingly, before independence, during World War II, India was one of the first countries to offer shelter to 5,000 Polish refugees.
Today, that foundational ethos lies in tatters. The Union government has replaced India’s long-standing humanitarian approach to refugees with a security-obsessed, majoritarian framework. Muslim refugees—especially Rohingyas—have been demonised, rounded up, and forcibly deported, despite international outcry and clear threats to their safety.
Meanwhile, the 2019 Citizenship Amendment Act (CAA) institutionalizes religious discrimination by selectively offering citizenship to non-Muslim refugees from neighbouring countries, excluding Muslims entirely. This calculated exclusion not only violates India’s secular Constitution but lays bare the ruling party’s political agenda: to recast India as a Hindu-first nation.
India, once a moral voice in the Global South that upheld the spirit of the 1951 UN Refugee Convention without formally signing it, is now trading its moral leadership for ideological rigidity. The shift isn’t merely bureaucratic—it is ideological and deeply political. It signals a deliberate departure from the inclusive, pluralistic vision of Nehru, Ambedkar, and Gandhi, who built a republic that offered sanctuary to the persecuted, regardless of faith.
A nation once revered for its moral courage and civilizational compassion is now shutting its doors to those it once welcomed—the persecuted, the displaced, the stateless. This is not merely a policy failure; it is a political betrayal of the Republic’s soul.
In his message on World Refugee Day, UN Secretary-General António Guterres reminded the world: “Becoming a refugee is never a choice — but how we respond is. So let us choose solidarity. Let us choose courage. Let us choose humanity.” His words strike at the core of India’s current moral decline.
As the world watches, India, the largest democratic country in the world, must confront a difficult question: will it reclaim the values it once upheld—or continue down a path that abandons both its Constitution and its conscience?
(Rejimon Kuttappan is an independent journalist, migration expert, and author of Undocumented-Penguin 2021. Views are personal. Edited by Majnu Babu).
