Balkan Route and Asylum Law: A Migrant’s Story from Pakistan to Italy

Descending more and more often into the "square of the world" in Trieste, Linea d'Ombra has, for me, ceased to be merely a place of assistance and has become a true ethical space, almost a crossroads of humanity where law takes shape in the concrete reality of human relationships. Among tireless volunteers and gazes marked by journeys that no map could faithfully represent, I encountered a rare form of welcome: silent, essential, deeply respectful, capable of expressing itself without rhetoric and without the need to be proclaimed. In this context, which escapes media simplifications, I perceived a quality of human encounter that, with a disarming sincerity, sometimes felt more authentic than what I have experienced elsewhere. When they understand that I communicate by writing, they stop, they wait, they slow down the rhythm of conversation to adapt to my time; and in that gesture—seemingly minimal—a form of reciprocity emerges that transcends the individual dimension and takes on the value of a principle: the recognition of the other in their entirety, in their fragility and dignity, even before their social role.

It is within this space, both human and legal, that I consciously chose to stop and listen—not to construct narratives, but to restore complexity to stories that are too often reduced to abstract categories, numbers, flows. I decided to collect testimonies, aware that the law, to truly be such, must confront the living reality of people. I began with a young Pakistani man, deliberately choosing not to disclose his name or his city of origin: this is not an omission, but a legal and ethical choice aimed at protecting a person in a condition of structural vulnerability. In such contexts, the protection of identity is not merely a narrative precaution, but a concrete extension of the principle of non-exposure to risk, which permeates the entire system of international protection.

And there is a fact that must be stated clearly, even at the cost of challenging entrenched and often instrumental narratives: living near Piazza della Libertà and returning home even at night, I have never encountered any situation of danger or insecurity. Real security is not built on amplified perceptions or discursive constructions, but on concrete and verifiable experience. And experience, here, offers a different, more complex and more truthful image: that of a possible coexistence, grounded in mutual respect, shared silences, and an everyday life that resists simplifications and deserves to be observed without ideological filters, with the lucidity that the law should always maintain when engaging with social reality.

The testimony collected is situated within a space of extraordinary legal complexity, where asylum law encounters—and at times struggles to contain—the concrete reality of migration routes, layered vulnerabilities, and the systemic risks that characterize large portions of today's international context. A 24-year-old man from Pakistan recounts having left his country in 2021 not by choice, but out of necessity, driven by a dual pressure that eliminates any real margin of self-determination: on the one hand, terrorist groups attempting to forcibly recruit him; on the other, a state context unable—or unwilling—to provide effective protection. In such a configuration, refusing to cooperate is not a free choice but a constant and concrete risk: denying support exposes one to armed violence, while providing it, even under coercion, exposes one to state repression. This creates a condition of cross-persecution that directly affects the very core of legal security and falls squarely within the framework of international protection established by the 1951 Geneva Convention and the Qualification Directive 2011/95/EU.

The migratory journey unfolds across Pakistan, Iran, Turkey, Bulgaria, Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Slovenia, and finally Italy. Yet to reduce it to a mere geographical sequence would be to betray its existential and legal depth. It is, rather, a complex and prolonged trajectory, lasting years, in which movement through space intertwines with a gradual erosion of the minimum conditions of dignity. The journey, undertaken primarily on foot and only marginally by improvised means, is marked by clandestine crossings, forced stops, extreme survival conditions, and a constant exposure to vulnerabilities that assume clear legal relevance. In Iran and Turkey, work turns into exploitation, with unpaid labor and a complete absence of protections; in Bulgaria, suspension becomes a permanent condition, with large groups forced to live in wooded areas while waiting to move on, sometimes transported in containers under conditions that raise serious concerns under Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights, which prohibits inhuman and degrading treatment.

The stages in Serbia and Bosnia and Herzegovina confirm the systemic nature of the challenges along the Balkan route, transforming waiting into a suspended existential and legal condition characterized by forced immobility, lack of effective protection, and continuous exposure to precarity and violence. The passage through Croatia and Slovenia also fits within a broader European context marked by unresolved tensions between border control and the protection of fundamental rights, highlighting a fracture between law as proclaimed and law as applied.

Arrival in Italy in October 2022 does not mark a clear break with the past, but rather a continuation in another form, where vulnerability assumes new expressions. The first months spent between silos and informal camps reveal a condition of extreme marginality, followed by placement in the initial reception center of Campo Sacro, near Trieste, which, according to the testimony, offered no real prospects of social inclusion nor adequate access to medical care, leaving the applicant in a situation dangerously close to institutional abandonment.

After about four months, the young man was transferred to another facility in the municipality of Piovera, where he spent over a year in a suspended condition, devoid of real planning and of concrete tools to build a path toward autonomy. In that context, time turned into unproductive waiting: no prospects of inclusion, no effective access to education, nor adequate healthcare support, despite repeated requests for help related to his physical condition. It is precisely in this phase of institutional immobility that a decisive element emerges—one that is also deeply revealing of systemic shortcomings: the intervention of a volunteer, an Italian woman who took him to heart and, beyond any formal obligation, chose to accompany him. Through constant and patient support, she helped him learn Italian, contacted him regularly, guided him in understanding and studying, gradually restoring essential tools for autonomy. Thanks to her intervention, he was able to acquire basic language skills and later access a first seasonal job in Legnano, lasting seven months, which represented his only real entry into the labor market up to that point. After this experience, he returned to Trieste, where he now lives with the same volunteer, who continues to support him in a still fragile but finally oriented path. She did not limit herself to occasional help: she offered him accommodation in a property she owns, removing him from a condition of housing precarity that risked becoming permanent, and actively supported him in finding a decent job, enabling him to access more stable and respectful employment opportunities.

From a procedural standpoint, his case is marked by extremely prolonged timelines: after two or three years in Italy, he was summoned before the Territorial Commission in Turin for the recognition of international protection, but the outcome was negative. The scheduling of a new hearing as far ahead as 2030 places him in a prolonged condition of legal uncertainty, difficult to reconcile with the principle of reasonable duration of proceedings. In the meantime, despite having lived in Italy for nearly four years, his employment opportunities have remained limited and discontinuous, confined to temporary experiences. Yet today, a new job opportunity is emerging—one he describes with cautious but genuine hope: a fragile yet meaningful sign of possible reconstruction.

An additional layer of complexity emerges, both invisible and legally significant: the concrete fear of retaliation even from afar. The young man explains that he was unable to fully disclose his situation before the Territorial Commission—not due to a lack of facts, but because of fear that the information might reach his country of origin, exposing both him and his family to serious consequences. He describes a context in which those who speak out against the government or claim their rights risk arbitrary detention, violence, or being falsely labeled as terrorists, while their families may face pressure or harm in their absence. This condition significantly affects the effectiveness of the right of defense and the authenticity of statements given during asylum proceedings, raising a crucial question: can an asylum seeker truly be considered free to speak when he fears repercussions for himself and his loved ones, even from thousands of kilometers away?

In this regard, European case law has clarified that the assessment of an asylum seeker's credibility cannot disregard trauma, fear, and the psychological conditions under which statements are made. The Court of Justice of the European Union has emphasized that asylum applications must be assessed individually, thoroughly, and in context, taking into account the applicant's vulnerability and the inherent difficulties in providing a consistent narrative under conditions of fear. Similarly, the European Court of Human Rights has repeatedly held that the risk of retaliation against the applicant or their family is a relevant factor in determining protection needs, as it directly affects freedom of expression and the right to an effective remedy. From this perspective, silence should not automatically be interpreted as a lack of credibility, but rather as a possible manifestation of a real and legally relevant fear.

This individual experience is embedded within a broader territorial framework characterized by structural shortcomings in the management of reception along the Balkan route, where an emergency-based approach tends to replace stable, legally compliant planning. This situation stands in clear tension with the standards required by Italian law and with the principles enshrined in Article 32 of the Constitution and Article 3 of the European Convention on Human Rights.

Further testimonies highlight a dimension that the law often struggles to fully capture: the psychological one. The journey, referred to along the Balkan route as "the game," is in reality an extreme test of survival, where every choice is dictated by the need to stay alive, and where hunger, cold, fear, and uncertainty cease to be temporary events and become permanent conditions of existence.

And yet, within this landscape marked by vulnerability and fractures, an unexpected space opens up—that of human relationship, which becomes a vehicle for reconstruction. The young man's path toward integration was made possible by the intervention of an Italian citizen who, beyond any obligation, chose to take on part of the protection that the system should have guaranteed. This individual gesture sheds light, by contrast, on a systemic flaw: when fundamental rights—from housing to work, to linguistic and social inclusion—depend on the initiative and sensitivity of individuals, the system has already failed in an essential part of its function.

The story described is not an exception, but a paradigm that calls into question the very resilience of international human rights law and the ability of national systems to implement it effectively. From Pakistan to Iran, Turkey, Bulgaria, Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Slovenia, and Italy unfolds a journey that is not only physical, but legal and human—marked by fractures, delays, and discontinuities in protection. If the law is to remain faithful to its purpose, it cannot limit itself to classifying or deciding: it must learn to listen, recognizing that behind every procedure, every rejection, every waiting period, there is a real life—a life that did not choose to leave, but simply chose to survive.