In the mid-2010s, Finland’s asylum policies underwent a marked transformation. While once praised for its commitment to humanitarian protection, the state began introducing restrictive interpretations of international obligations. By 2016, humanitarian protection as a legal category was removed altogether, narrowing the grounds on which asylum could be granted.
This shift was framed by policymakers as harmonisation with “European practice,” yet in reality, Finland diverged sharply from its neighbours. For instance, only 18 percent of Iraqi asylum seekers were granted protection in Finland in 2016, compared to an EU average of 61 percent. Behind these numbers lies a stark reality: Finland has redefined Iraq, Afghanistan, and Somalia as “safe” enough to deny claims, despite abundant evidence of ongoing violence and instability.
Language and Labels: From “Undocumented” to “Illegal”
Restrictive asylum policy is not only implemented through law but also through language. A telling example is the Ministry of the Interior’s choice to replace the term “undocumented” with “illegal stay.” This rhetorical move reframes asylum seekers from vulnerable individuals seeking protection into lawbreakers who must be policed and expelled.
Such discursive shifts are far from neutral. They shape public perception, justify harsher measures, and align Finland with a broader European trend of securitising migration. When the public hears “illegal,” it reinforces the idea that migrants are threats, not rights-bearing individuals. The UNHCR and numerous human rights organisations have repeatedly cautioned against this terminology, warning of its dehumanising effects.
Human Rights Under Pressure
The consequences of Finland’s policy changes are visible in the daily lives of asylum seekers. Families denied residence permits face eviction from reception centres, often without clear alternatives for housing or support. Deportations continue despite the absence of repatriation agreements, placing returnees in danger. In some cases, families are separated, and minors are placed in detention-like conditions that directly contradict Finland’s commitments under the UN Convention on the Rights of the Child.
The mental health toll is severe. Civil society organisations, including the Finnish Association for Mental Health, have reported rising rates of depression and suicide attempts among asylum seekers who face rejection. When access to services is restricted, and even healthcare workers are encouraged to report undocumented individuals, asylum seekers are left in a liminal state: excluded from protection but not safely returned.
Democracy, Accountability, and the Rule of Law
Democratic governance requires transparency and accountability. Yet Finland’s asylum policy seems increasingly shielded from scrutiny, justified through vague appeals to “European norms” rather than robust public debate. When asylum seekers protest in central Helsinki—as Iraqi and Afghan groups did in 2017—they expose not only their personal plight but also the ethical contradictions at the heart of Finnish democracy.
Policy choices have consequences. By narrowing protection categories, restricting legal aid, and slashing appeal periods, the government reduces asylum seekers’ capacity to defend their rights. This legal architecture makes mistakes more likely and injustices harder to correct. In a system where life and death may hinge on a single decision, such limitations are deeply troubling.
Between Solidarity and Exclusion
At stake is not only Finland’s reputation but also its broader role in the international order. Nordic countries often present themselves as champions of human rights, gender equality, and humanitarian values. Yet restrictive asylum policies expose a contradiction: universal rights are celebrated rhetorically but denied in practice when politically inconvenient.
Civil society—academics, religious organisations, NGOs—has played a vital role in resisting this trend. By supporting asylum seekers through legal aid, shelter, and advocacy, these groups embody a counter-narrative of solidarity. Yet even these acts of compassion have been criticised by authorities, further underscoring the adversarial stance of the state toward both asylum seekers and their allies.
Toward a More Humane Future?
The central question is whether Finland will continue down the path of restriction or realign with a genuinely human rights–based approach. The demands articulated by academics and civil society actors are modest yet urgent: halt deportations until procedures meet fair standards, restore categories of humanitarian protection, and ensure that rejected asylum seekers are treated with dignity and respect.
Ultimately, the asylum debate reflects deeper struggles about identity, security, and democracy. Is Finland willing to accept human rights as universal, or will it carve exceptions for those deemed “undesirable”? The answer will shape not only the lives of asylum seekers but also the moral credibility of Finnish democracy itself.
The choice before Finland is clear: to be remembered as a society that upheld dignity in times of crisis, or as one that turned its back on the vulnerable while claiming the mantle of European respectability.
