Migration: Being a Refugee in Finland

Globalisti publishes this essay anonymously due to it’s sensitive theme. The editorial team has met the writer and can confirm that they are speaking of their own experience.

Migration is a serious social issue that millions of people around the world are currently facing. Writing about migration is like writing a bit of my own life story and trying to tell this story from my own perspective.

The start point, what is migration? Migration is a phenomenon humanity has been familiar with since ancient times. It is simply a change of residence that applies to social communities. Migrations throughout history are a powerful source of cultural, racial, and economic diversity. It does not always happen in a happy, well-planned context. There are countless cases of people displaced by wars, famines, dictatorships or natural disasters. We are forced to seek asylum and new opportunities, starting from scratch.

The importance of addressing this issue in this space lies in informing ourselves and fostering empathy for migrants and the stories they carry. I will refer to my own story as an asylum seeker in Finland—now a refugee with residency and proper documentation, unemployed, learning Finnish, and going through my integration program. Although the integration process seems to depend mostly on me, I am learning every day and trying to understand migration policies and the most important laws and institutions in this country. I also want to tell you a bit about the emotional experience of young refugees and the challenges of adaptation on a personal level.

How can migration be humanized through empathy and understanding? This was one of the questions I asked myself. The answer that came to mind was: tell a bit of your story. That’s what you have with you.

A bit of context: I come from Nicaragua. In 2018, my country experienced significant political unrest, beginning with the burning of the most important forest reserve in the country, called Indio Maíz, and escalating into widespread protests starting in April. These protests, initially sparked by the fire, escalated further with social security reforms and quickly turned into a broader movement against the dictator Daniel Ortega and his government. The government’s response was marked by severe repression, including the use of lethal force against protesters. According to Amnesty International, hundreds of people were killed, and thousands were arbitrarily detained. The government targeted activists, journalists, and human rights defenders with intimidation and violence, often using pro-government armed groups. According to recent reports, more than 150 political prisoners are still detained in Nicaragua under extreme conditions. Their treatment has drawn international condemnation since 2018. Since that year, political prisoners have become bargaining chips. The new approach is to imprison you and then send you into exile as a stateless person, seizing all your assets. Since then, Ortega’s regime has closed hundreds of non-governmental organizations, accusing them of destabilizing the country or being funded by “the empire.” This repression has increasingly restricted civil society and humanitarian aid. Activists are either in exile or in hiding within the country. Nicaragua is experiencing severe repression, economic decline, and international isolation. Many Nicaraguans continue to flee the country due to political persecution and economic hardship. Furthermore, the government has shut down independent media, restricting freedom of expression. Nicaragua is the only country in the world without a printed newspaper. Nicaragua is in a state of complete political and social instability. This small Central American country is living through its second dictatorship in less than 50 years. Many of the stories my father told me included war, poverty, and violence. It is definitely not the Nicaragua he wanted to pass on to me.

In 2022, I migrated and I came to Finland. Forced migration weighs heavier than all the bags you carry with you on the journey because it is accompanied by pain, uncertainty, fear, sadness, nostalgia, and loneliness… Above all, you always put on your best face because you are crossing borders and seeking political asylum in an unknown country. It is not like going to a session with your therapist. Learning to push aside emotions is not the best advice in this story, because it is not healthy for your body and mental health. Being the strongest is not a rule—until you do not have many other options.

When I arrived in Finland after days of traveling, I was lucky enough to have friends already living here. They welcomed me and took me in on that first cold night in October. My first impression of this country was wow, what a clean city! Is this a dream, or did I really manage to cross four “borders”? I went to the police, they received my application, and I was interviewed by them. It was the first time I stood in front of different kinds of police. In Nicaragua, if you are young, your biggest fear is the police: being kidnapped, captured, disappeared, or having crimes invented against you if you are not affiliated with the government’s political party. After the interview, I was informed that I would be sent to a reception center. The reception center is the place of shelter where you will live; mine was a former hospital. I already knew this was part of the process, but it was an emotional challenge to make that center my home, my first safe place, my new bed, my new room, in a new country. Dealing with loneliness, nostalgia, and the feeling of up rootedness at first caused me enormous depression. I am grateful to many people but a special mention to my psychologist from Nicaragua because today I can say, “I almost made it”, right.

My life in the reception center in Tampere came with my first process of adaptation. Now, I am deeply thankful for that space because I was able to lose myself, find myself again there, and rise above. In that place, I took language classes with teachers I and V, who also gave the best advice and plenty of encouragement. We had an office with some social workers, a clinic, and various volunteers ready to help or smile at you, perhaps not knowing that this small action would improve your day. I remember when we were given invitations to a hockey event at the reception center, and when I received the culture card that included entry to some museums. They organized events and gatherings for Independence Day, Christmas, Friendship Day, summer, and clothing swaps. I made friends from different countries and even met another Nicaraguan there. Sometimes, when I feel lost again, I miss being in that reception center, with all its lights and a sense of companionship. It was a big shock for me when the center closed in June 2024 due to budget cuts.

I left the reception center in January 2024. My first apartment in Finland, my first address. The best habit I have adopted is going for long walks surrounded by nature; to me, this is a privilege. In most places around the world, if you go for a walk, you risk being mugged, and being a woman makes the situation worse, putting you in more danger.

Building support networks, ”networking,” and exploring this new society are other small challenges. Primarily because of the language barrier. While English is a good common ground, considering it’s not Finland’s native language nor mine, I literally dream of speaking Finnish and feeling like myself again and understand all the system and their institutions… or at least feeling more capable of contributing more to this society and finding a job aligned with my studies and skills.

My main support network is still my family, but this network transforms when you live far away, and that is inevitable. I have joined some organizations where I have met new friends and am doing volunteer work. I have started job hunting, more intensive language study, and now I am part of this ever-changing and transforming society.

Accepting myself as a refugee, introducing myself as such without shame, does not seem or should not be another small challenge, but it is. In Europe, I became aware of all the stereotypes surrounding migration and refugees. Accepting myself as a refugee reminds me that I came here because of a cause beyond my control, and though I did nothing wrong, none of us choose where we are born or can predict if it was the ”right” place. It would be so unfair to hold that against my parents because, in the end, I have many feelings about the place I was born. It is something we do not choose, but I know I would not be this woman if my roots were not in Nicaragua. It reminds me that I am strong, resilient, adaptable, human—so very human.

Accepting myself as a refugee might seem irrelevant to the rest of the world, but for me, it is now my greatest test of survival and adaptation. Maybe I will never stop feeling like a foreigner or a guest in this country, but giving up is not one of my options.

In the two years I have been living in Finland, this is only the third time I have talked about my journey, and I am grateful for this space because sometimes it feels like I need to recover my voice. I cannot end this piece without inviting you to look beyond stereotypes, prejudices, and individual realities. There are simple ways this society can better support young migrants, from integration policies designed with the population they target in mind, to psychological support spaces, and places where it is easier to belong. Simple questions like: Do I talk about refugees/migrants? Do I care about the topic or am I completely indifferent? How many refugee friends do I have in my social circle?

In Finland, the refugee community represents a minority, one that I am now part of. Checking MIGRI website, from 2018 to September 2024, 28,273 political asylum requests were received, of which only 14,397 were approved. From Nicaragua, we are less than 300. One reality is that we refugees live among you, and sometimes we have spaces like this to share a bit more. Another is that there is still much to be done here, especially if we want inclusion to be a value that stands out in this society—a society that in the end belongs to all of us.

The essay is published in Globalisti-magazine issue 1/2025