Read Part I: The Devaluation of Afghan Migrants’ Human Dignity under the Islamic Republic of Iran
The theoretical rejection of slavery may seem straightforward and appealing in words, but in today’s world, slavery extends far beyond the image of physical bondage or psychological domination by a master or employer. It now manifests in the form of systematic deprivation, from citizenship rights and access to legal recourse to the basic freedom of movement. A “slave” is not merely someone stripped of their natural rights; rather, it is someone who, through complex legal and institutional mechanisms, is denied autonomy, human dignity, and the capacity for free choice in their life. By this definition, the essential difference between a free person and an enslaved one lies in the former’s ability to participate in society and politics, enjoy civil rights, and make decisions about their own life, qualities systematically denied to slaves. It is through this lens that the condition of Afghan migrants in the Islamic Republic of Iran must be assessed.
In practice, the Iranian state has created conditions in which the designation “free person” no longer applies to Afghan migrants. The prevailing political-legal system has, in effect and by imposition, reduced them to a status akin to slavery. The dominant view within this system treats Afghan migrants in ways that are structurally and conceptually akin to enslavement. This critique is not aimed at inciting hatred or creating discord between the Afghan and Iranian peoples. Nor does it ignore the instances of Iranian hospitality. Even if we move beyond mere cultural courtesies and interpret that hospitality through the Kantian concept of the “right of hospitality” (Perpetual Peace, 1795), the outcome remains deeply troubling. What does the “right of hospitality” mean in this context? Afghan migrants, more than many Iranians, perform the most grueling labor, having been forced to flee their homeland out of necessity and seek shelter and livelihood in Iran. First, they do not refer to themselves as “guests.” Second, their dire and degrading living conditions hardly resemble those of an honored guest. Third, the very use of the term “guest” serves as a dangerous euphemism, masking the refusal to recognize Afghan migrants as legitimate residents and subtly implying that they should leave at the earliest opportunity. Even the most culturally refined Iranian, at best, considers Afghan migrants “guests” in name only. In clearer terms, the message is this: You are guests, your stay is temporary, this is not your home, and you must return. Yes, Iran is not their birthplace, but by modern standards, migration is a recognized right. And more importantly, migration does not strip a person of their human rights or intrinsic dignity. Migration, in the case of most Afghan refugees, was not a free choice—it was the only choice, imposed by circumstances. If the intent is not to constantly whisper this harsh temporality into the ears of already vulnerable migrants, then the term “guest” should be dropped entirely. What is necessary is recognition—acknowledging Afghan migrants as migrants and committing to upholding their rights as such. The notion that migration, particularly in the case of Afghans, equates to the loss of personhood must be rejected. A worldview that denies citizenship rights, political participation, and the right to live as a free and ordinary human being is inherently a slave-owning mentality. This is not a failure of law enforcement—it is, in fact, the law itself. The Islamic Republic of Iran has not even agreed to a basic legal consensus affirming that “all human beings are free and equal in dignity.” If it did, it would be obliged to recognize Afghan migrants as human beings and treat them as equals to Iranian citizens.
Aristotle’s discussion of the enslaved human was invoked because the figure he describes can be understood as the classical antecedent of several modern theoretical constructs: the right less person in Hannah Arendt’s formulation of the stateless, Giorgio Agamben’s bare life, the other, the exception, or the marginalized subject in the thought of Edward Said and Michel Foucault. Though these concepts emerge in different intellectual and historical contexts, they share a core concern: the systematic dehumanization of certain individuals or groups. Despite contextual differences, one might view Arendt’s description of Jewish refugees fleeing Nazism—whom she referred to as the scum of the earth—as a modern reinterpretation of Aristotle’s unfree man. These terms do not all carry strictly legal definitions; most are infused with political and philosophical weight. While their meanings shift depending on the setting, they converge on one crucial point: individuals or communities who fall under one or more of these categories are, in effect, stripped of their human rights. Their rights are denied, not in secrecy or shame, but with public sanction and normalization. Their existence is reduced to a subhuman status, forming the basis for a pervasive perception of them as lesser beings. This broken or degraded human dignity becomes a tacit license granted to states, societies, institutions, and organizations to treat these people with routine disrespect and humiliation. Their diminished status serves as justification for systematic inequality, and in many cases, outright abuse. The result is precisely what Afghan migrants in Iran, under the rule of the Islamic Republic, are experiencing today.
I interviewed to corroborate these concerns with an Afghan migrant, a university student who had legally relocated to Iran due to dire circumstances. He was speaking from direct personal experience. What compelled me to record this conversation and present parts of it here was the simple fact that he could not share his story publicly himself. He said, “Even right now, if I post anything on Facebook or somewhere else, and their agents catch wind of it, they’ll build a case against me. I could end up spending years rotting in one of their prisons.” Without interrupting or offering commentary, I believe the best course is to quote him directly: “In these three years, I haven’t committed a single offense—not even a minor one. But when an officer asked for my census paper and I showed it to him, he said, ‘This isn’t valid.’ I asked why. I said, ‘You issued this to us yourselves—how can it not be valid now?’ He said, ‘No. Get lost. I don’t like your face. I’m sending you back to Afghanistan.’ I stepped closer and said, ‘What do you mean you don’t like my face?’ That’s when I realized they don’t even respect their visas or official documents. Just being Afghan means nothing, you present earns a response other than insult—even if your paperwork is in order.”
This chilling account represents just a sliver of the systematic degradation of the human dignity of Afghan migrants in Iran. The phrase, “I don’t like your face,” speaks volumes. It encapsulates the deep-seated stigmatization of Afghan migrant’s experience. To bear this mark—of being Afghan, of being a migrant—is enough to invalidate even Iran’s bureaucratic procedures. The entire system turns against you. Whatever professional terminology may be used to describe this—legal suspension, state of exception, discriminatory enforcement of law, racialized application of justice—the outcome is the same: a fundamental assault on human dignity. This article does not aim to provide a legal review of the Islamic Republic’s treatment of migrants; rather, it seeks to expose how, philosophically and ethically, the human dignity of Afghan migrants is being shattered.
Karim (a pseudonym) continues his story: “In a hall roughly 100 square meters, they crammed in around two thousand people, maybe more—like livestock. Not even one proper toilet was available for the three thousand people there. There was a single latrine—just a small hole. Because the hall had no ventilation, people would take turns lining up, pressing their mouths to that hole just to breathe and avoid suffocating. Then an officer would arrive, shocking everyone—old and young, healthy and sick—with a stun gun while hurling abuse at us.”
I don’t believe this description is far removed from Eichmann’s accounts of Jewish detainees packed into cattle trucks en route to Nazi extermination camps in Italy. Yes, Afghan migrants in Iran have not been massacred by the millions. They have not been systematically sent to death camps. But the core issue remains: Even a convicted criminal, after due legal process, retains a basic level of human dignity and must be treated accordingly in prison and throughout judicial procedures. In contrast, Afghan migrants—most of whom have committed no crime—are subjected to a regime of humiliation so severe that many are forced into silent submission. In detention camps, under the boots of border guards and security forces, they are made to forget that being a migrant, an Afghan, or a laborer does not strip them of humanity or the right to autonomy, dignity, and freedom. This condition is akin to what Primo Levi describes in his memoir when he refers to the Muselmann—a term for the Jewish prisoners so broken, physically and spiritually, that they ceased to resist or even feel pain. They reached such a state of complete resignation that they no longer responded to the horrors around them. They had lost the will to survive. (Levi, If This Is a Man, p. 52).
This is where the urgency of speaking about human dignity becomes undeniable. We are witnessing a systematic attack on the very definition of what it means to be human. Whether it’s three individuals, three thousand, or three million, Afghan migrants are being placed in a condition where their humanity is openly denied. And this degraded status is not only practiced but openly acknowledged by officials within the regime and repeatedly documented in reality.
Karim recounts another horrifying episode: “They confiscated my camera and forcibly opened it, going through all my private photos. I was arrested on the Nature Bridge on my way to see a doctor. They took me to a detention van where I found four other Afghan migrants. They seized my camera, then forced us, two at a time, to pose like dolls and kiss each other’s foreheads. They made us do this under beatings and threats. This was at the Askarabad Camp in Varamin. For even the smallest involuntary movement, they beat us mercilessly. The food was like chicken feed. There was no clean water, not even enough to wash your hands or a dish. Everyone ate from the same filthy bowl.” Could there be a deeper humiliation than this? If we truly believe that Afghans are human beings with inherent dignity, then what occurred here is nothing short of an assault on humanity itself. It is an act of brutal dehumanization.
Karim adds that his younger brother was ambushed by thieves who stole everything—even his clothes. When they went to the police to file a report, the officers demanded documentation. They went to the shop outside where the robbery had occurred to request CCTV footage. As soon as the shopkeeper saw they were Afghan, he flatly denied having a camera, even though one was mounted above the entrance. Karim’s reflection is stark: “Whether it’s the people or the government, the system is built to work against migrants. We have no basic human rights. We’re always seen as the guilty party. The law always sides with the Iranians.”
As the author of these lines, I prefer not to pass judgment on the people of Iran. Personally, despite the many stories I’ve heard of Afghan laborers being beaten, chased by Iranian police, humiliated, or exploited by their employers, I have also heard accounts of kindness shown by ordinary Iranians. Yet even in many of these stories of compassion, there exists an undercurrent of condescension—a paternalistic or patronizing “host and guest” attitude, rather than one of mutual respect or equality. This is not to say that such kindness and respect toward Afghans arises from seeing them as equal human beings. Rather, the state’s anti-migrant system prevents such equality from becoming a social norm. Within the legal and political framework of the current regime, genuine egalitarianism is not only discouraged—it is structurally impossible. It is crucial to distinguish between respect rooted in generosity or superiority and respect grounded in moral duty and human equality. An Iranian may well treat a foreigner—perhaps even an undocumented Afghan laborer, a so-called “guest”—with a certain civility. But the same gesture can stem from two vastly different ethical postures. That difference matters. The moral logic of our time demands that Afghan migrants be treated with dignity, not as a matter of charity or kindness, but as a fundamental human right. This is not a favor. It is the obligation of both the Iranian state and its citizens.
Read Part III: The Devaluation of Afghan Migrants’ Human Dignity under the Islamic Republic of Iran
You can read the Persian version of this analysis here:
بخش دوم – تنزیل حیثیت انسانی مهاجر افغانستانی در جمهوری اسلامی
