From the Balkan Route to Denied Rights: Economic Migrants, Refugees and the Failure of “Help Them at Home”

Thanks to my passion for languages – which I do not consider a mere cultural exercise, but rather a genuine instrument of freedom – it has always been clear to me that the ability to express oneself in multiple languages is far more than a skill: it is a form of autonomy, a gateway to the world, a tool for navigating both ordinary situations and more complex ones, sometimes even dangerous, and, why not, a way to move with a certain degree of shrewdness through the unpredictable dynamics of human relationships.

Speaking multiple languages means, first and foremost, removing mediation from dialogue, reducing distance, eliminating filters. It means encountering the other without intermediaries, in their voice, their rhythm, their truth.

It is precisely for this reason that, when I collected this testimony, I felt the need to create a space of communication that was as authentic as possible, choosing – as far as possible – to engage in the language in which the person in front of me could feel truly at ease. Because there are stories that cannot be translated without losing something, and experiences that, in order to be understood, must be told in the language in which they were lived.

He arrived in North Macedonia on a regular commercial flight, through a lawful entry that initially fell within legal channels of mobility. It is only from that moment onward that his journey, in the attempt to build a better life, gradually becomes irregular – not as an original choice, but due to the absence of concrete and accessible alternatives.

Behind him, he leaves a deeply deteriorated family situation: after his father's death – and, ultimately, human dynamics are universal – disputes arise over land ownership and family property. His uncle and cousin advance increasingly pressing claims, turning what began as a patrimonial conflict into a series of concrete threats.

He recounts that he turned to the police, but received no protection, because "they are more powerful." After reporting the situation, the intimidation intensified, escalating into death threats. At this point, the case takes on a precise legal relevance: persecution may also originate from private actors when the State is unable or unwilling to provide effective protection, as recognized by Directive 2011/95/EU (Qualification Directive).

It is his mother who tells him to leave, to abandon the house and seek elsewhere a possibility of survival. And so he departs. Not only to work, but because staying meant exposing himself to a real risk, in potential violation of the right to life and personal security, as protected by Article 2 of the European Convention on Human Rights.

His first stop is North Macedonia, where he tries to settle and find employment. Yet even here, reality immediately proves to be detrimental to fundamental rights: he works without pay, without food, in conditions that may amount to labor exploitation and degrading treatment, in violation of Article 4 of the European Convention on Human Rights. His documents are withheld, effectively restricting his personal freedom.

Once again, he cannot stay.

He then relies on informal networks managing movements along the Balkan route, in a context that highlights the absence of legal and safe entry channels, contrary to the principles of access to protection under European Union law. He receives directions, coordinates, meeting points.

From North Macedonia, he reaches the border with Kosovo, continues on foot, is transferred by car, then hidden again in temporary houses. He describes being confined for days in enclosed spaces, unable to leave, with very limited access to food.

These conditions, along the route, fall within a broader pattern of systemic concerns already examined by the European Court of Human Rights, particularly in relation to Article 3 of the Convention, which prohibits inhuman or degrading treatment.

He crosses Serbia, reaches Belgrade, then Bosnia up to Sarajevo, where he temporarily stays. This phase, too, reveals a mobility devoid of safeguards, in contrast with the principles of the Common European Asylum System.

Then comes the most difficult part.

The forest between Bosnia and Croatia. Five days without food, only water – and eventually not even that. He walks along rivers to orient himself, avoids roads, hides. The fear of the police is constant, as is the risk of informal pushbacks, repeatedly denounced as violations of the principle of non-refoulement, a cornerstone of the 1951 Geneva Convention and reaffirmed by Article 19 of the Charter of Fundamental Rights of the European Union.

He crosses a dangerous road, is picked up by a car, taken to Zagreb, then to Slovenia, and finally to Italy.

He says that, in the end, it was fast.

But it is a speed built on hunger, fear, and continuous exposure to potential violations of fundamental rights.

Upon arrival in Italy, he enters the system established by the Dublin III Regulation, as his fingerprints had been taken in Croatia. This element demonstrates how, despite an extremely complex and dangerous journey, access to protection procedures remains tied to formal criteria that do not always reflect the true trajectory of vulnerability.

At this point, the individual narrative ceases to be merely a story and becomes a legal issue.

Bangladesh, the protagonist's country of origin, represents one of the most emblematic contexts of so-called economic migration, which increasingly takes the form of structurally forced migration. With over 170 million inhabitants concentrated in a relatively limited territory, the country has one of the highest population densities in the world, with significant repercussions on access to employment, resources, and essential services. Institutionally, Bangladesh is a parliamentary republic formally based on democratic principles, yet in recent years marked by growing tensions between government and opposition, challenges to the rule of law, and reported limitations on political freedoms and pluralism.

These elements are compounded by deep socio-economic inequalities and a labor market unable to absorb a young and growing population. However, the most significant factor – and increasingly relevant from a legal perspective – is climate vulnerability: Bangladesh is among the countries most exposed to the effects of climate change, including rising sea levels, recurring floods, soil salinization, and the progressive loss of arable land. According to major international analyses, millions of people risk displacement in the coming decades due to environmental causes.

Within this complex framework, migration can no longer be interpreted merely as an individual economic choice, but rather as a systemic response to deteriorating living conditions across multiple dimensions: economic, environmental, and, to some extent, institutional.

From a legal standpoint, this case compels us to confront one of the most debated and oversimplified issues of contemporary discourse: the distinction between economic migrants and refugees. The formal qualification is grounded in the 1951 Geneva Convention, which defines refugee status for those with a well-founded fear of persecution. At the European level, this framework is further articulated by Directive 2011/95/EU, which also includes subsidiary protection.

However, this story demonstrates that reality exceeds these categories. The protagonist is not fleeing war, but a convergence of factors – economic, familial, environmental, and the absence of effective state protection – that produce a condition of substantial vulnerability. Threats from private actors, combined with state inaction, may fall within the concept of persecution. At the same time, economic and climate-related pressures expose the inadequacy of a rigidly binary interpretation.

In this sense, the distinction between economic migrants and refugees, while necessary from a legal standpoint, risks creating a hierarchy of suffering that is difficult to reconcile with the principles of human dignity and equality enshrined in European and constitutional law.

Within this context, one of the most recurring slogans in public discourse – "help them at home" – reveals its full legal and operational inconsistency. In the absence of concrete policies and real projects on the ground, this expression is not a strategy: it is a form of disengagement.

Truly "helping them at home" requires structural and long-term interventions: development cooperation aimed at creating decent work, investment in infrastructure and education, strengthening local judicial systems to ensure effective protection against violence and abuse, and climate adaptation policies in the most affected regions. It also means creating legal and safe migration pathways, reducing reliance on informal networks and trafficking, and strengthening humanitarian corridors for those in vulnerable conditions.

Without these measures, the slogan remains empty and incapable of addressing the root causes of migration.

Ultimately, this story restores law to its most authentic dimension. Not that of abstract categories, but that of the encounter between norms and reality. The journey of this young man demonstrates that protection is not a static concept, but a process built over time, between vulnerability and recognition.

This story, in the end, does not ask to be classified.

It asks to be understood.

And it reminds us that when the law ceases to see the person, it also ceases to be justice.

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