double standards in european and australian responses to ukraine displacement

Henrik Kjellmo Larsen

January 2023

A debate about systemic racism emerged earlier this year after Russia invaded Ukraine causing what is being referred to as the biggest refugee crisis in Europe since World War Two. As Ukrainian refugees started to flee into neighbouring countries, the EU activated the Temporary Protection Directive, giving special and temporary protection to Ukraine refugees. Shortly after, accounts of racial discrimination at border crossings were broadcasted, and journalists from international news agencies in the border areas assured us that the reasons why they were so sympathetic and willing to help Ukrainian refugees were because they were ‘“white,” “intelligent,” “educated,” “civilized,” “middle-class,” “well-dressed” and, most importantly, unlike refugees from “Iraq or Afghanistan.” Naturally, a debate concerning systemic racism in European asylum policies once again filled European news columns.

I draw on these examples from Norway to illustrate a point. Because even though ‘not-seeing-colours’ or colour-blindness is viewed as a virtue in Norway, recent research indicates that Norwegians probably have more racist prejudice than they like to think. Even in liberal Europe, some human lives are systematically devalued. By considering Australia’s policy of offshore processing, with examples from the Nauru and Manus Island detention facilities, I will draw a parallel between European and Australian migration politics showing how easily racist prejudice, intentional or unintentional, can inform policies.

Double standards

Since the Russian invasion of Ukraine in March 2022, 7 million Ukrainians have fled the country, seeking refuge in European nations. Shortly after, the EU activated the Temporary Protection Directive, meaning that membership countries should provide Ukrainian refugees with immediate and temporary protection. The collective protection scheme ensured that Ukrainian refugees were given access to residence permits and would be able to join the local labor and housing markets immediately upon arrival. The collective protection scheme also gave them access to medical care and ensured that children were given access to education as soon as practically possible. Before we move on, let me make one thing clear: the way the European nations received and supported Ukrainian refugees is a superb example of how people fleeing war, terror and prosecution should be met. The EU Temporary Protection Directive ensured a dignified, and solidaric reception of refugees, which honours the humanitarian commitment most European nations took upon themselves when they signed and ratified the 1951 Geneva Convention.

Dignity and solidarity are unfortunately not words that come to mind when I am asked to consider European migration policies. Because the way in which refugees are often met other places in Europe is very different. Along border land crossings all throughout Europe, refugees and migrants are met with walls, barbed wire, and threatening border guards. From the many refugee camps lining the EU border, the accounts of refugees being starved, beaten, and denied access to proper health care are so frequent that they rarely make the news, and we consequently no longer bat an eyelid.

In the Mediterranean Sea, Middle Eastern and African refugees are forced to risk their lives in flimsy dingies and overcrowded rotting boats in attempts to seek asylum in Europe. Not only does this highlight the lack of safe refugee routes, but it also demonstrates that the aggressive and violent migration policies adopted by European nations are equally widespread at sea.

The Mediterranean route has in fact become one of the deadliest refugee routes, largely due to illegal pushbacks of refugee boats at European borders, carried out by Italian, Greek, Maltese, and Libyan coast guards as well as by coast guard agency, Frontex.

This double standard made myself and colleagues claim that Ukrainian refugees and other groups of refugees were treated differently as a consequence of systemic and cultural racism ingrained in European migration policies.

In Australia, Ukrainian refugees were also subject to special treatment. Because, like Europe refugee policies, Australia’s migration policies are not known for their focus on dignity and solidarity. In 2001, the Australian Government began to process asylum claims from refugees offshore, establishing the facilities on Manus Island and Nauru. While the Nauru centre housed single women and families, including fathers, the Manus one held only single men. After closing in 2008, Australia saw a significant increase in refugees trying to reach Australia, and the centres reopened in 2012.

Having been subject to a near constant stream of criticism from the very beginning, a ruling by the Papua New Guinea Supreme Court in 2016 saw the Manus Island facility close in October 2017. The court found that detention of refugees on Manus was a breach of fundamental human rights and that it was illegal. Nauru remains open.

Human rights organisations and the United Nations had been shouting this for years, referring to the conditions in the camps as horrid, where refugees were subject elaborate and cruel systemic abuse and neglect under its refugee policy.

The history of Nauru and Manus stands in stark contrast to how Ukrainian refugees were met in Australia. Like the European Union, the Australian government issued a special visa program to allow Ukrainian refugees to live and work in Australia. Since the Ukrainian refugee crisis broke out, the Australian government has issued close to 9,000 visas to Ukrainian nationals in Ukraine and hundreds more to Ukrainian nationals elsewhere. The Temporary Humanitarian Stay offered by the Australian Government ended on July 31st, however they are still processing visa applications from Ukrainian nationals as a priority.

At a glance, Australia’s role in the humanitarian effort connected to Ukraine is different from the role of European nations. In one way this is true, as Ukraine is in Europe, with many countries within two or three borders and more than financially capable of accepting Ukrainian refugees. Although geographically distant, the same double standards seen in Europe’s migration policies are equally obvious in Australia’s policies. This double standard can be seen as a consequence of racist prejudice.

Cultural and systemic racism

To understand exactly how this is a consequence of racism, one first needs to acknowledge that racism, contrary to many common beliefs, is not just an individual prejudice – it is also a structural and institutional problem. Racism is also more than the traditional and narrow definition of discrimination based on physical characteristics such as skin color. Racism also encompasses prejudice and discrimination for cultural and religious reasons. Secondly, one must acknowledge how liberal Europe assumes that the freedom and safety of their citizens is dependent upon control and exclusion of non-western and predominately non-white people. The philosopher Achille Mbembe referred to this as Necropolitics, building on Foucault’s concept of ‘biological racism’, which he describes as the capacity to dictate who matters and who does not, who is disposable and who is not.

Under such circumstances, governments have taken it upon themselves to assign different values to lives. One consequence of this assumption is an unjust global refugee regime that allows Europeans to move relatively freely, whilst people from the Global South are subject to severe constraints and criminalisation. Similarly, while Australian governments allowed for systemic abuse and mistreatment of refugees on Nauru and Manus for more than a decade, Ukrainian refugees were met with an immediate temporary humanitarian visa.

Furthermore, the difference in how Ukrainian refugees and other groups of refugees were referred to and treated also uncovered a form of cultural racism. What is cultural racism? Professor Tony Burner defines cultural racism as occurring ‘as soon as someone claims that others don’t belong here or reject them from a group as a consequence of their ethnicity, culture or religion we are dealing with a racist frame of reference’ [my translation]. In recent work, Christopher Bratt has investigated whether Europeans are racist if they maintain that some cultures are superior to others. His research considers whether modern racism as it exists in Europe today is expressed as a belief in cultural superiority. Bratt has for instance found that two out of three Norwegians believe that some cultures are superior to others, and although this does not mean that two thirds of Norwegians are racist, it could indicate that Norwegians have more racist prejudices that they like to think.

In Australia, the numbers are slightly different, where the Australian Human Rights Commission has found that that one in ten Australians believe that some races are inferior or superior to others, 18% have experienced discrimination because of skin colour, ethnic origin, or religion. In a recent meta-analysis on racism in Australia, 79% agreed that racial prejudice exists in Australia in general, and only 11% self-identified as racist. By contrast, an Amnesty International report from 2021 found that 63% of their respondents believed that some ethnic groups and cultures don’t want to fit into the “Australian” way of life. Like in Norway, attitudes and prejudice that speak of cultural racism are prevalent, yet few recognise it as racism.

As an activist and academic concerned with social change, any debate where we use the term racism to describe individual and structural discrimination is a catch 22. If you claim to see signs of racism informing policies or individual prejudices, one is often met with accusations of ‘pulling the r-card’ and subsequently end up in a meta debate about the use of the term racism. If you see signs of racism informing policies or individual prejudice and ignore it, you are doing injustice to all the individuals who suffer as a consequence of different forms of racism.

Henrik Kjellmo Larsen is pursuing a PhD at Monash University where he studies humanitarian volunteers after they leave the field. He is interested in how the professionalisation of humanitarian aid affects how spontaneous volunteers are supported during, and post engagement. Henrik is the president of the organisation Network for Volunteers, which provides a platform that facilitates psycho-social training and support for returning volunteers. He holds an MA from Monash University and a Bachelors from University of Durham.