DOI: 10.3726/9781916985285.003.0001
This book highlights the promise that education can offer to people who, through no fault of their own, are displaced by the threat of violence, persecution, or instability caused by armed conflicts. Education is a major and often unrealised source of security, capacity-building, future nation-rebuilding, and – most importantly – hope. Having access to schooling is a significant social determinant of health, and a key to unlocking opportunities. Having the possibility of accessing tertiary education, possibly with the chance of moving to another country, is a significant “pull factor” (World University Service Canada, 2024, in personal communication) for investment in education, both as a development aid strategy, and for families living in displacement contexts in which education is hard to come by.
Our intention in this book is to tell a story – specifically, William’s story – about how being a refugee from Sudan and accessing a higher education “complementary pathway” to Canada, radically transformed his life and his future opportunities, which led to him saving thousands of lives as the only epidemiologist during COVID-19 in Northern Queensland (Australia). William’s autobiography is a story of great sadness, violence, and seemingly insurmountable challenges, but also a love of learning and teaching, persistence, and community development, all underpinned by the emancipatory possibility of education.
Therefore, in this book, we offer a critical reflection on William’s experience of seeking a safe and settled future through education. Our intention for you, the reader, is to be inspired to learn more and perhaps get involved in a refugee education program near you. While we write from an “Australia perspective”, as both of us are based in Australia, we take a global perspective on the topic of refugee education and complementary resettlement pathways
This book is written at a time of unprecedented displacement and a growing number of crises. While migration is a consistent human characteristic, forced migration refers to the movement of people “who have been displaced by environmental disasters, conflict, famine, or large-scale development projects” (UNHCR, 2016, n.p.), and is therefore distinguishable from economic or voluntary migration.
In 2024, the number of forcibly displaced people has reached an unbelievable 120 million, and almost 40 million are refugees (UNHCR, 2024a). This does not mean that the remaining 80 million internally displaced persons do not want to seek refuge; instead, it reflects the scale of the challenge, and the complexity of assessing people’s claims for protection.
According to the definition set out in the 1951 Refugee Convention (hitherto referred to as “the Convention”), a refugee is a person who, “owing to a well-founded fear of being persecuted for reasons of race, religion, nationality, membership of a particular social group, or political opinion, is outside the country of his nationality, and is unable to or, owing to such fear, is unwilling to avail himself of the protection of that country” (United Nations General Assembly, 1951, p. 153). As of now, 149 countries have signed the 1951 Refugee Convention and its 1967 Protocol, but 45 countries are not signatories to the Convention. This Convention establishes the rights of refugees and the legal obligations of states to protect them. Each country that has signed the Convention is bound to protect refugees on its territory and maintain the standards set out in international refugee law. In terms of providing education, for example, states that are signatories to the 1951 Refugee Convention are responsible for providing equitable access to education for refugees, ensuring non-discrimination, and the integration of refugee students into national educational systems. They must also protect the rights of refugee children, offer necessary support services, and collaborate with organisations to allocate resources effectively for quality education.
Seeking asylum is a human right enshrined in the Convention, and in international refugee law. An asylum seeker is someone who has sought refuge and who has lodged, or intends to lodge, an application for protection, but who hasn’t been assessed or legally recognised yet as a refugee.
The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) is the global organisation that partners with states and other stakeholders, with the task of “saving lives, protecting rights, and building a better future for refugees, forcibly displaced communities, and stateless people” (UNHCR, n.d.-a). The UNHCR was created and established by statute by the UN General Assembly in 1950 (UNHCR, n.d.-a). In addition to providing global advocacy, assistance, and monitoring to displaced peoples, the UNHCR also works to find solutions for refugees to move out of what can be protracted and lengthy displacement contexts.
Protection needs refer to a person’s need for access to the rights and responsibilities outlined in the Convention. The Convention includes established processes for determining whether a person is a refugee (according to the definition). Signatory states must meet the tenets of international refugee law, including ensuring that refugees can access a country to seek protection, and adhering to the principle of non-refoulement (or forcible return).
A country of asylum is a nation that grants refuge to people who are fleeing persecution, conflict, or violence in their home countries. Asylum provides individuals with protection against being returned to a place where they may face serious threats to their safety or freedom. The process typically involves an application for asylum, where individuals must demonstrate a well-founded fear of persecution based on factors such as race, religion, nationality, political opinion, or membership in a particular social group. At the time of writing, there are active violent conflicts in Sudan, Afghanistan, Ukraine, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), and Gaza, while the impacts of climate change, and a heating world, are also wreaking havoc and forcing people to move to seek safety. According to a report, these crises are, in turn, placing severe strain on the neighbouring countries to these conflicts, which include Uganda and Ethiopia in Africa; Turkey and Lebanon in the Middle East; and Pakistan and Iran in Asia (UNHCR, 2024a). In the same report, the UNHCR speculates that 75 per cent of refugees (approximately 30 million) live in states neighbouring these countries, and the majority of these states are low- and middle-income countries. With the size of the global displaced community, these numbers mean that neighbouring countries need to divert scarce resources from their citizens, all of which can build resentment and negativity towards asylum seekers and refugees. Further, the challenges of so many people seeking asylum, especially in countries that are not signatories to the Convention, mean that many people seeking asylum live in insecure conditions and with limited legal rights, and even in some countries that are signatories to the Convention, refugees are excluded from services, such as healthcare, education, and employment.
The remaining 22 per cent of refugees live in camps or temporary shelters. Camps are established to meet the basic needs of people as they flee, including food and water, shelter, and medical treatment (UNHCR, 2024b). In longer-term contexts, camps may develop the infrastructure to deliver education and work opportunities. In protracted conflict situations, generations of refugees may live in camps. One of the oldest refugee camps, Kakuma in Kenya, is the camp from which William applied to study in Canada (see Chapter 3).
Violent conflict and natural disasters are, sadly, an increasing feature of contemporary life. The impacts of climate change have also created predictable regional instability, which will also create forced migration as people’s homes become unliveable. Awareness of displacement and refugee issues has also gained attention, in ways that raise awareness of the need to do more, but also in ways that demonise and fuel divisive rhetoric and discourse.
Since the war in Syria escalated in 2012, there has been a concurrent oppositional narrative playing out in the media. On the one hand, the far-right, populist politics of the decade – which saw Trump first elected in the USA, and Britain’s departure from the European Union – relied heavily on anti-immigration rhetoric. The divisive messages that were used by right-wing politicians described “swarms” of refugees and other dehumanising words or imagery that portray an infestation or a flooding. On the other hand, the enhanced visibility of crises through the distribution of stories, videos, and images via social media has also helped to raise awareness of refugees and forced displacement. The media frenzy and heightened awareness of forced migration because of the Syrian “refugee crisis” peaked in 2015 with the global publication of the image of the body of Aylan Kurdi, a three-year-old Kurdish refugee who had drowned off the coast of Turkey. The sight of his body, which had washed up on a Turkish beach, seemed to shock the world into renewed action.
There were many, varied responses to the “crisis”, at different levels of government and institutional governance. At the global level, a leaders’ summit was hosted in New York to encourage more coordinated action and global responsibility sharing for refugees. Over 50 leaders attended and pledged an additional $4.5 billion of assistance (United Nations, 2016). Other levels of response echoed this urgency, with resettlement states like Australia creating additional humanitarian intakes specifically for Syrians. Similar patterns are observable with Afghans following the fall of Kabul in 2021. Likewise, institutions with a connection to immigration, like universities, were also able to practically assist by offering pathways and programs to facilitate access to higher education (see below).
While reactive, such responses to “new” crises can help to meaningfully shift the dial with regard to raising awareness of the global humanitarian situation, as well as increasing ongoing durable solutions. This renewed engagement was followed in December 2018 by the Global Compact on Refugees (GCR; UNGA, 2018), which aimed to create “more predictable and equitable responsibility-sharing” between states (UNHCR, 2024c). This affirmation established new coordination and forums to sustain expanded responsibility-sharing. Embedded within the GCR is the commitment to host a Global Refugee Forum (GRF) every four years to check progress and renew pledges. The first GRF was held in December 2019, and a second was held in 2023.
The pledges shared in both GRFs have created momentum for creative modes of working with states, agencies, host communities, private sectors, higher education institutions, and refugees themselves. Recent analysis shows an increasing trend in commitments to both complementary pathways (new modes of protection/solutions to migration pathways to safe third countries), as well as the apparatus and logics that are needed to facilitate more movement of refugees, such as travel documents, recognition of prior learning, pre-departure language development (and flexibility with language proficiency testing tools), and access to education.
Education is widely known to be a source of capacity-building, personal development, and hope for people who are forcibly displaced (UNHCR, 2024d). And yet, access to education in displacement contexts is enduringly difficult for asylum-seekers and refugees, especially for those living in countries of asylum that are not signatories to the Convention. There is, globally, a blocked pipeline for educational opportunities; around two-thirds of refugee children have access to primary education, and this drops to just over a third for secondary education. While there is variability at state levels, these figures have long remained stubbornly stable, although there were several state-based pledges on opening access to education at the 2023 Global Refugee Forum (Global Compact on Refugees, 2024).
Issues with access to education are myriad, not least the challenges of studying when focused on survival, as well as being excluded from national education systems, adapting to new systems and languages, and a lack of teachers, and other resources in displacement contexts. While there have been increased national commitments to educational issues on the global stage, the uptake by individual states remains variable.
Access to schooling for refugees is highly variable. As the UNHCR clearly outlines, challenges arise from the high numbers of refugees being hosted in the least developed countries that struggle to provide good-quality, free/affordable education to their own citizens. In low-resourced states/education systems, providing education to unexpected new arrivals can be burdensome; as the UNHCR (2023a, p. 5) describes, these countries
need predictable, multi-year support from global and regional financial institutions, high-income states, and the private sector – money, technology, expertise, training – creating a broader base of support. We cannot expect overstretched countries with scarce resources to take the task on by themselves.
The UNHCR estimates that in 2023/24, 51 per cent of refugee children are not able to access education. As we wrote above, access rates for refugees accessing primary education (65%) are much higher than for pre-primary (38%) and secondary (41%) education (UNHCR, 2023a).
However, access rates vary significantly, depending on the country of asylum, and by gender. For example, primary education access rates are almost 100 per cent in Angola and Gabon, compared with around 40 to 45 per cent in Senegal and Cameroon. Within these four countries, gender gaps exist: Angola has a 10-percentage-point difference between girls and boys (93% and 103%, respectively); Gabon has a much wider gap (22% points); likewise, Cameroon has an 11-percentage-point difference (41% to 52%), Conversely, in Senegal, the trend is reversed, with 53 per cent of girls accessing primary education, compared to 36 per cent of boys. With high schooling, there has been a recent increase in access – from 37% to 41% – but, similar to primary education, there are regional differences. For example, in Türkiye, enrolments have grown from 27 to over 60 per cent; however, there have been downward trends in other major asylum countries, such as Pakistan (from 5% to 3%) and Colombia (from 30% to 22%; all UNHCR, 2024d).
With higher education access there has been some relative success, with access climbing from 1 per cent in 2016 to 7 per cent in recent UNHCR reports (2023a; 2024d). While this increase is heartening, it is likely due to shifts in methodology and reflects higher education qualifications, as opposed to enrolments. The educational background of people who are displaced in more recent conflicts is likely to have contributed to the sharp increase from 1 per cent to 6 per cent; for example, it is estimated that Syrian refugees include over 2,000 academics and over 100,000 university graduates who had a tertiary-level education prior to fleeing (Cara, 2019), which reflects the massification of the higher education sector, and increased participation in university education before the war (Tozan, 2023), and likewise for many Ukrainian refugees. However, as Sarah Dryden-Peterson commented back in 2010, there are widespread inequities in who gains access to higher education, with disproportionate rates of access among group of higher socio-economic status. This remains a concern 14 years later.
Tertiary education access is impeded by the many state- and institutional-level barriers that block enrolment, in both countries of asylum and resettlement contexts. In addition to lacking legal migration pathways to education, other admissions challenges include missing documentation, insufficient evidence of prior study, unrecognised qualifications, as well as language and academic literacy proficiency. Other more tacit challenges include a lack of available and verifiable information, navigation of systems, and inflexible program rules. This creates many issues, as summarised by Pherali and Moghi (2021, p. 2161):
Depriving young refugees of opportunities to access HE can potentially fuel frustrations, negate their potential to be self-reliant and potentially risk stability in host communities, with wider consequences of debilitating effects on their aspirations to rebuild their country of origin if/when they decide to or can return. Hence, the opportunity cost of neglecting tertiary education in contexts of mass displacement is high politically, socially and economically.
The importance of access to higher education opportunities cannot be understated, especially at a time of growing displacement.
In response to the dire situation of only one per cent of refugees having access to higher education, in 2019 the UNHCR launched its “15/30 campaign”, with an ambition for raising the rate of refugee participation in higher education to 15 per cent by 2030 (UNHCR, 2023b). The UNHCR outlines five areas of focus to help achieve this target (see the 15 by 30 Roadmap with recommended actions) focus on advocacy with different state actors and educational institutions and are underpinned by a need for international aid and development funding in education in countries of asylum. It stresses the need for access to digital technology.
For the first pillar, the advocacy is focused on the country where refugees are temporarily and/or precariously living and involves advocacy at the state level to legally permit access to tertiary education.
For the second pillar, the UNHCR provides “DAFI” scholarships for displaced people to cover the costs of studying in their country of asylum, and so the focus is on getting educational institutions to accept refugees.
The third pillar focuses on opening access to training opportunities to enhance refugees’ employability and livelihood prospects in countries of asylum, as well as opening opportunities for labour mobility pathways. A key protective factor for such programs is the enhancement of educational provision that supports both refugees and citizens; for example, Ethiopia pledged to provide “quality and accredited training to 20,000 host community members and refugees on an equitable basis” through the Qualifications and Employment Perspectives (QEP) for Refugees and Host Communities in Ethiopia Programme, which is funded by the German government (Tamrat, 2022).
The fourth pillar focuses on opening access to tertiary education programs through accredited distance learning, allowing refugees to take courses in situ, rather than requiring students to move for study or physically attend campus. The focus for this pillar is on leveraging access directly with higher education institutions.
The fifth pillar focuses on facilitating access to international education opportunities in third countries, often using international student visas for a legal pathway. In some of these countries, there are pathways to claiming asylum after or during the completing the program of study; in other countries, the completion of a program of study may require refugee to move or secure another pathway to durable legal status through postgraduate study or labour mobility.
The UNHCR has traditionally worked towards finding one of three main avenues for resolving refugees’ state of legal displacement: voluntary return (to their own country when it is safe to do so), local integration (in the country of asylum), and resettlement to a host country. However, as this book will explain, there is a new option: migrating through complementary pathways.
The idea of safe and voluntary return is one of the three tenets of the UNHCR’s work. When it is safe to return, people who have been forced to flee often return home – albeit often after a long period living away. The UNHCR and International Organisation for Migration (IOM) facilitate repatriation, and work “to ensure any returns are voluntary, safe, and dignified” (UNHCR, 2024e).
The idea of local integration involves ongoing advocacy with host countries to provide access to the local systems and services that are offered to other residents and citizens. This is often a “complex and gradual process” (UNHCR, 2024f), but is estimated to have led to over 1 million refugees receiving citizenship and permanent residence status from a country of asylum over the last decade.
The third prong of UNHCR’s work is to support the movement of refugees to voluntarily move to one of 23 countries that offer resettlement pathways (Parliament of Australia, 2022). To be accepted, refugees need to be referred by the UNHCR to state-assisted humanitarian programs; however, fewer than one per cent of refugees (the per cent of total at the time of writing was 0.08%) referred for resettlement are resettled each year. Resettlement is often reserved for persons with particular vulnerabilities or urgent protection needs, which may skew some resettlement outcomes following immigration. Some countries (particularly in Europe) accept refugees who arrive without being referred to the state by the UNHCR. The top five resettlement countries in the world are the United States, Canada, Australia, Sweden, and Norway (Refugee Council of Australia [RCOA], 2024), although the US’s intake dropped significantly during the Trump presidency (2017–2021). Per capita, the most generous resettlement countries are Sweden, Norway, Iceland, Finland, and Canada (RCOA, 2024).
Responsibility for welcoming and integrating refugees rests with the receiving state. For example, Australia provides a generous suite of supports for resettled refugees, including:
• The Humanitarian Support Program (HSP), which provides immediate support for newly arrived refugees, including pick-up from the airport, short-term accommodation, referral to services (such as Centrelink, Medicare, medical practice, school), connections to local community, access to language classes, and cultural orientation.
• The Settlement Engagement and Transition Support (SETS) program, which provides longer-term supports focused around the “3Es” of English, education, and employment.
• Specialised and Intensive Services (SIS) provides complex case support and requires a referral from the Department of Social Services.
• The Adult Migrant English Program (AMEP) offers free English language classes (including free childcare) until new arrivals have reached a “vocational level” of English.
Resettlement in countries such as Australia is not without its challenges. The literature tells many stories of issues resulting from new languages, new cultural practices, culturally unsafe systems, limited understandings of forced migration and trauma, expectations of speedy assimilation (as opposed to slower integration), and the pressures of becoming independent and autonomous community members. We know that people with forced migration experience (first generation) have poorer employment outcomes than other migrants (Hugo, 2011) – possibly due to the nature of selecting people with particular vulnerabilities or urgent protection needs –, although this tends to be corrected for future generations (Cheng, Wang and Taksa, 2021). Additionally, we also know that demographic factors, such as trauma, health, educational level, can intersect to create significant integration hurdles (e.g., Khawaja and Hebbani, 2018).
We also know that the area where refugees are resettled can also impact their integration, with people who are placed in regional areas generally experiencing more challenges with accessing services (such as targeted healthcare and education; e.g., Colvin, 2017) and resources (such as ethnic food, diaspora communities, faith institutions) needed to help resettlement (Hugo, 2011; Joyce and Liamputtong, 2017), which often leads to secondary migration, where migrants move to urban centres to be closer to those services and supports that are (perceived to be) missing (Boese and Moran, 2023).
Complementary pathways are “safe and regulated avenues for persons in need of international protection that provide for a lawful stay in a third country where the international protection needs of the beneficiaries are met” (UNHCR, 2024g). Complementary pathways are intended to be additional to, not replace, existing state efforts/government resettlement programs, and create opportunities for civil society actors to be actively involved in the resettlement of refugees. A complementary pathway may not itself be a durable solution, but it can lead to one. Current models of complementary pathways that exist for refugees include community sponsorship, skilled refugee labour mobility, family reunion, and education. Other pathways that are currently being developed include train-to-hire/hire-to-train, and future pathways could leverage sports and arts clubs, as well as affinity clusters (such as groups based on faith, sexuality, or discipline)
Community Sponsorship (CS) is a form of place-based private sponsorship that permits community members to come together to support the immigration of a refugee/family in their local area. CS programs have existed in various forms and in several countries for nearly five decades. Countries like Australia and Canada created CS models in the late 1970s in response to the large-scale displacement of Indochinese refugees. In Canada, the number of refugees resettled via private sponsorship are additional to the government-assisted program, and far exceed the number resettled by government (Van Haren, 2021). In Canada there are two primary ways of privately sponsoring a refugee; firstly, via a Sponsorship Agreement Holder (SAH), which is an organisation (faith-based, community-based, affinity grouping) that has a formal arrangement with the Canadian government to do repeat sponsorships, or secondly via a Group of Five, which is a group of local community members. Private sponsorship in Canada usually permits the group (either a SAH or community group) to name/identify the refugees that are resettled this way.
In Australia, CS has had a more turbulent history. Although a CS program was developed in the late 1970s, like in Canada, it has gone through several iterations since then, with interventions from different governments shifting its shape and costs. Community sponsorship – problematically – has never been additional to the Australian government’s humanitarian program, leading to criticism about Australia utilising community goodwill and funds to do the work it has already committed and budgeted to do. Consequently, CS has been more challenging to sustain in Australia, with difficulties emanating from unresolved questions about whether naming sponsored refugees should be permitted, and a discrediting of community sponsors’ expertise, which led to the outsourcing of resettlement services to private/for-profit organisations. The Community Refugee Integration Sponsorship Pilot was made a permanent part of Australia’s humanitarian migration program in March 2025.
The opportunity to reunite with family members who are still experiencing displacement is a significant source of hope; research tells us that anxiety about relatives who remain living in unsafe and precarious circumstances is a major barrier to successful resettlement and integration in a new country (UNICEF, 2022). Family reunification and unity is a fundamental human right (Article 16, paragraph 3, The Universal Declaration of Human Rights; United Nations, 1948); however, family reunification is a state-managed procedure, with pathways that are often complex and costly (UNHCR, 2024h). In response to the challenges of achieving family reunification, the Global Family Reunification Network was established in 2020 with the aim of reuniting one million families by 2030.
Skills-based pathways are avenues to protection in a third country where refugees can temporarily leverage their skills, qualifications, and/or experience to find pathways to security via existing visa pathways. These include labour, education, and training pathways.
A clear avenue for refugees to be able to leverage their pre- and during-displacement skills and experience is via employment or skilled visa pathways. Although dominant narratives about refugees cast them as needy and dependent (Peterie, 2017), a significant proportion of the millions of displaced people have professional expertise, which could be utilised by countries that have significant skills gaps. Since the GCR and the increased commitment to developing more durable solutions, several countries have established refugee labour mobility pathways, such as the Skilled Refugee Labour Agreement Pilot in Australia, the Economic Mobility Pathways Pilot (EMPP) in Canada, and the Refugee Employability Programme (REP) in the UK.
Many of these new labour mobility pathways use a global organisation, Talent Beyond Boundaries (TBB), to match refugees to potential employers. TBB utilise a Talent Catalog – a database that includes the profiles of almost 115,000 refugees worldwide, and this number is growing significantly every week (TBB, 2024, in personal communication ). The Australia refugee labour mobility pathway offers important concessions to recognise the constraints faced by displaced people, such as no need for labour market testing (as for positions occupied by other skilled migrants); no minimum work experience; a concession on the income threshold; reduced English language proficiency; and an increased age limit (Australian Government Department of Home Affairs, 2024).
To date, TBB has helped to move 206 primary applicants through 151 employers globally. With family members, a total of 337 people have secured a permanent skilled visa and relocated to Australia, with a further 120 people in the visa preparation and application stages (Baker et al., forthcoming). The current version of the Australian Skilled Refugee Labour Agreement Pilot (2023–2025) has set a target of recruiting 500 primary applicants and their families into work opportunities (Australian Government Department of Home Affairs, 2024).
Education is a second complementary pathway to help refugees move to other countries using their skills. A complementary education pathway (EP) is where refugees are admitted to a third country to study, based on their academic potential and their protection needs. EPs may include immediate permanent legal status, using a humanitarian visa, or a scholarship, that might offer a pathway to durable protection via further study or a labour mobility pathway. There are now approximately 33 EPs operating across 26 countries (Nyce, 2022), with a new EP under development in Australia at the time of writing (Refugee Education Australia, 2024). Most of these use study visa pathways, which are complementary to a country’s humanitarian program (if one exists), but these use temporary visas, meaning students often need to find another visa pathway once they have graduated. Examples of countries that use study visa pathways include Japan, Mexico, and the Philippines. Three EPs adopt a private sponsorship model: the WUSC SRP, the EU-Passworld project that helped establish three distinct initiatives, with each using a distinct legal pathway in Belgium, Ireland, and Italy (see EU-Password, 2023), and the new-in-2023 Welcome Corps on Campus program in America (Welcome Corps, 2023).
The EP that we discuss in this book is also the longest-established and the largest in the world (at the time of writing). Operated by the WUSC, the SRP, provides resettlement to around 150 refugees a year through over 100 Canadian universities and vocational colleges (WUSC, 2023). WUSC has been providing educational pathways to refugees since 1978 and is a key actor in global advocacy efforts to open and sustain more EPs across the globe. The WUSC SRP operates as an SAH under Canada’s private sponsorship scheme, meaning it has a relationship with the Canadian government that permits ongoing sponsorship of refugees. WUSC works in partnership with tertiary education providers, which are represented by Local Committees (LCs), which are often solely comprised of currently enrolled students. A member of the LC is the actual proposer of each refugee, and the LC is responsible for raising and administering the funds to cover the costs associated with supporting a refugee student over their first 12 months, from arrival. These costs include a monthly stipend, including basic items, clothing allowance, food, transport, and a phone plan. Each educational institution covers at least the first year of tuition and accommodation costs. The provision of additional support (such as further years of tuition subsidising) differs by institution.
WUSC fulfils several roles in the SRP. The primary responsibility is to be a SAH and trusted partner with the Canadian government. Secondly, WUSC is responsible for the recruitment, identification, selection, and matching of potential students with educational institutions (programs and courses) and LCs. WUSC operates in four countries – Kenya, Uganda, Lebanon, and Jordan – and works with local partners to provide academic preparation before selected students make their way to Canada. WUSC also liaises with each LC, supporting their training and development as sponsor groups, as well as assisting with administrative issues. WUSC also provides an advocacy voice to help institutions to grow their intake.
Another education-related pathway is available to academics and scholars (including journalists, writers, human rights advocates, and lawyers), who are often subject to persecution because of their work. Between 2020 and 2021, 332 scholars (academics and students) were estimated to have been attacked in 65 countries (MacGregor, 2021). Given the risks, several organisations have emerged. One such organisations is the Scholars at Risk (SAR) network, which advocates for and supports scholars whose lives have been threatened, supporting placements for academics at universities worldwide. At the time of writing, such hosting opportunities had been offered via SAR to 111 scholars at 72 universities in 16 countries (SAR, 2024).
There is a small body of literature that speaks to the experiences of refugee students who have experienced an educational pathway. A significant example is McKee et al.’s (2019) report on an impact study of the WUSC SRP, which examined the impacts on refugee students (“beneficiaries”) and LC members. McKee et al. (2019) found that 94 per cent of the beneficiaries completed their studies, which compares favourably with an average rate of approximately 70 per cent completion rate of the Canadian population (Macleans Education, 2024). Of these, 55 per cent had completed or were undertaking further study, and many highlighted the connection between education, and employment outcomes. For LC members, 77 per cent indicated that their overall student experience was improved by serving on the committee and being involved in the SRP, and the same proportion of students reported remaining connected to their LC. Almost all of the LC members (98%) indicated that their involvement in the SRP impacted on their voting preferences. In summary, McKee et al. argue that the SRP “program model contributes to the creation of more welcoming communities, through awareness-raising activities and the trickle-down effect from LC members’ broader networks” (2019, p. 82). Other benefits of the WUSC SRP are noted by Agrawal (2019), who reports that WUSC networks help to raise awareness of Canada’s Private Sponsorship program.
Although WUSC has gender parity for several years, challenges have been noted in the academic literature, such as uneven access for women, compared to men in recent years (Peterson, 2010), and the collapse of WUSC students with other international students (Brunner, Streitwieser and Bhandari, 2023). In other work, Ferede (2014) explored the experiences of 25 students (15 men, and 9 women) who arrived in Canada via the WUSC SRP. Ferede reports that the students’ experiences were “varied and complicated, a patchwork of struggles and triumphs” (2014, p. 220). While Ferede notes that “the process of gaining an education provides refugee adolescents with a sense of control in a life that has been mainly defined by chaos” (p. 223), they also identified challenges for students such as mismatches in expectations and realities, difficulties with specialising on enrolment (rather than being able to access general education), and issues emerging from accents (struggling to understand lecturers and other students).
Despite several decades of experience, we know relatively little about how refugee students experience educational pathways, how they transition through their studies, and what they are doing or where they are living now. We also do not know how local students experience their roles in campus supporter groups, nor do we have empirical data that tell us about the impact of refugee education pathways on campus culture, or on teaching and learning. There is, therefore, a great need for more research to help fill this lacuna in our knowledge, and this book offers one such account.
In this book, William offers an autobiographical reflection on his experience of becoming a refugee, and then becoming a student, an epidemiologist, a Canadian, a husband, an Australian, a PhD holder, a father, and a professional in public health and academic. William’s life in Australia would not have been possible without receiving an offer to study at the University of Toronto as a WUSC SRP student in the early 2000s. This is a story of how education can provide skills, opportunities, and hope in dark and desperate situations.
In addition to telling this incredible story – a tale of loss, self-sustenance, and scholarly commitment, from camp to campus (and beyond) – we provide a critical commentary on the opportunities and challenges that come with educational pathways for people who experience forced migration and displacement.
In Chapter 2, William navigates the complexities of life in his village before the war, where subsistence farming and small-scale animal husbandry defined the community’s lifestyle. As William witnessed the disruption caused by the arrival of the Sudanese People’s Liberation Army in 1986, he grappled with the confusion and fear that his family faced, particularly in the absence of his father. William assumed responsibilities in the absence of his father and witnessed his mother’s resilience in the wake of his father’s loss. His experiences of displacement led him to a refugee camp in Uganda, where he was confronted with challenges such as malnutrition, disease, and the emotional toll of trauma, while striving for education and hope for a better future. Through William’s eyes, this chapter reveals experience of loss, vulnerability, and also the enduring spirit of those affected by war, and their quest for safety amid chaos.
In Chapter 3, William narrates his multifaceted educational journey as he grappling with the impacts of war and displacement. The chapter begins by examining William’s early education during the turmoil of the Second Sudanese Civil War, highlighting the limited resources and makeshift schooling in conflict setting. The narrative progresses to his time in a refugee settlement camp in Uganda, where themes of resilience and hope in education emerge, despite challenging conditions. The chapter also recounts William’s quest for better educational opportunities, and his disappointment at not being selected for an international baccalaureate program. This led to his daring decision to embark on a journey to northern Kenya, setting the stage for his subsequent educational opportunities in Canada through WUSC. The chapter offers insights into the determination to overcome adversity, the significance of community support, and the unwavering pursuit of knowledge as a pathway to a brighter future. These narratives illustrate the transformative power of education, and the indomitable spirit of refugee students in the face of enormous challenges.
In Chapter 4 offers a poignant narrative of William’s journey in Canada, centred on themes of migration, education, community, and settlement. The chapter begins with a glimpse into William’s experiences and reflections on navigating a new life in Canada, highlighting both cultural contrast and similarities. The narrative delves into William’s experiences with winter, his first Christmas experience in Canada, and the significance of connections with the LC at Victoria College, University of Toronto while also recounting the challenges faced while adapting to life and education in Canada as a WUSC student. The story illustrates a profound transformation through education, highlighting the essential role that the WUSC educational pathway in William’s life journey.
In Chapter 5, readers are invited to navigate through William’s remarkable life journey, starting from his experiences in Canada and his decision to move to Australia to pursue an Master’s in Public Health in 2010. This chapter serves as a guide through his process of adjusting to a new environment, highlighting the cultural adjustments he made while settling in Australia. Readers will discover how community service became a significant means for William to forge connections and positively impact his surroundings. The chapter also explores the challenges he faced juggling personal relationships with societal expectations, including funding cuts to his jobs, family tragedies, and the complexities of married life and fatherhood. William also discusses the pressures of job security and parenting during the COVID-19 pandemic, ultimately leading to him relocating his family. The story discusses themes of education, community involvement, relationship dynamics, and the intertwined aspects of career and civic responsibility.
My lived experience is characterised by numerous significant encounters, notably during my tenure as a lecturer in 2019, when I sought to explore advocacy opportunities in refugee education within Australia. This inquiry led me to an officer at WUSC, who subsequently introduced me to a network of individuals that were engaged in similar endeavours, including the Refugee Education Special Interest Group (RESIG) in Australia. Through the RESIG, I got to know Sally, the chair of RESIG, alongside many other dedicated individuals. For over five years, we have collaboratively advocated for the opportunity of educational pathways for refugees in Australia.
This book presents a firsthand narrative of my experiences as a refugee, intricately woven into the fabric of my identity. Although my journey does not start with my refugee experience, the formative years I spent as a refugee have profoundly shaped my self-concept. My story begins in a serene and traditional village, a tranquillity shattered by conflict that initiated a cascade of displacements. My quest for refuge took me first to Uganda, and subsequently to Kenya.
In reflecting on the multifaceted nature of the refugee experience, I find it encapsulated by a spectrum of emotions: uncertainty, restriction, vulnerability, and hopelessness, juxtaposed with resilience, determination, and fortitude. The adverse sentiments largely stemmed from the constrained opportunities within the refugee camp, particularly the inadequate access to arable land, which resulted in reliance on insufficient food rations. Despite efforts to provide education, the resources and personnel that were available were grossly inadequate. The myriad restrictions we encountered engendered a profound sense of confinement. This reality has persisted as a defining aspect of my early life, a truth shared by countless individuals residing in refugee camps for extended periods.
I was fortunate to be selected for the WUSC refugee education pathway, a program that fundamentally transformed my life trajectory. Upon my arrival in Canada, I was provided with essential support, including assistance in obtaining a social insurance number, healthcare card, accommodation, stipend, and the establishment of a bank account. The program also enabled me to connect with a diverse array of individuals, including university students and professors, who generously volunteered their time and expertise to assist me. This experience reinvigorated my belief in the inherent kindness of humanity and rekindled my hope for the future.
During my academic years at the University of Toronto, I cultivated enduring friendships through my involvement in the WUSC program, which significantly altered my perception of my identity from that of a mere statistic reliant on humanitarian aid to that of an independent individual capable of contributing meaningfully to society. After my first year, I actively volunteered with the local WUSC committee to support refugee students from various backgrounds. Throughout my undergraduate studies, I engaged with multiple charitable organisations, driven by a desire to give back to the community. I ultimately graduated with a degree in life sciences and relocated to Australia to pursue further academic and professional aspirations in epidemiology, advocacy, and academia.
During the COVID-19 pandemic in Australia, I was redeployed from my instructional roles to serve as a senior epidemiologist in Far North Queensland, where my contributions informed data-driven public health interventions that undoubtedly saved numerous lives. Additionally, I remain actively engaged in local sports, educational institutions, and church communities. This journey has profoundly elucidated the pivotal role of education in shaping societal outcomes. Without the instrumental support of the WUSC program, my capacity to achieve professional success and contribute substantively to my community would have been significantly diminished.
It is crucial to allocate increased resources towards the development of refugee education pathways. I assert that such educational avenues represent the most durable and cost-effective solutions, delivering substantial societal impact. Many refugee students exemplify remarkable resilience, and an unwavering commitment to achieving positive outcomes, despite significant adversity. Much like the potential of notable figures such as Einstein, there exists the possibility that a refugee child within a camp possesses the ability to alter the trajectory of humanity. It is incumbent upon all of us to contribute, no matter how modestly, to the quest for sustainable solutions addressing the dearth of opportunities for tertiary education among refugee populations.
My entry point to the field of refugee education comes from my profession as an English Language teacher (to adults) rather than from lived experience. I am a migrant, but my choice to move to Australia was voluntary, and I carried with me the privilege of being a British citizen (English-language speaking, familiar with the systems, structures, laws, education, and rights because they were imported through colonisation). My resettlement was, therefore, reasonably smooth, although I vividly remember and feel the frustration of my first interactions with Centrelink and Medicare1 and how difficult I found the process to navigate.
My experience as a language teacher was the beginning of my trajectory into this space of refugee education activism and advocacy. I have always worked with migrants and refugees, and as a trained educator, linguistic, and sociologist, I have long been interested in questions how and why language and literacy act as such immovable barriers to equitable access to higher education. In 2014, I married my teaching background with my research experience, borrowing from my PhD methodology of longitudinal qualitative inquiry to explore how refugees navigate their pathways into, and through, university study.
Through presenting on this research, it became apparent that there was an absence of national coordination around issues relating to education and forced migration, and so we began the Refugee Education Special Interest Group (RESIG; now Refugee Education Australia)2, which is a grassroots network of refugee students, educators, academics, settlement advisors, support staff, and advocates working across the educational and settlement sectors. Our remit is to develop information-sharing mechanisms, develop useful resources, and advocate for better educational opportunities and outcomes for students with forced migration experience. Our collective advocacy efforts have led to outcomes such as the increased establishment of scholarships for people seeking asylum; our collective resource development efforts have centred around a “liberation bibliography” mission to make powerful knowledges about refugee research more accessible; and our information-sharing efforts are evident in our national network of over 400 members.
In 2023, because of our advocacy around refugee education and asking the question of why Australia does not have a Student Refugee Program like the one run in Canada by WUSC (Evans, Baker and Wood, 2022), RESIG was integral to the establishment of the Refugee Student Settlement Pathway (RSSP)3. A blueprint for the RSSP was co-designed with the federal Department of Home Affairs and Community Refugee Sponsorship Australia, and the higher education sector was represented by the newly formed Australian Refugee Welcome University Sponsorship Consortium (ARWUSC). The RSSP was also co-designed in consultation with WUSC, and a wide range of refugee advocacy stakeholders, such as the UNHCR, the Refugee Council of Australia, the Settlement Council of Australia, Amnesty International, and Talent Beyond Boundaries, refugee students and alumni, as well as key higher education actors, such as Universities Australia, English Australia, and student accommodation associations. The RSSP will welcome its first 20 students in late 2025, to commence their studies in 2026.
In William’s narrative, several key takeaways stand out, that provide valuable insights into resilience, education, community support, hope, cultural context, and the overall commitment to impact. Firstly, William’s journey exemplifies the power of resilience in the face of adversity. Despite encountering numerous challenges, he demonstrates that perseverance and determination can help overcome even the toughest obstacles. His tenacity serves as a powerful reminder that difficulties can be surmounted with the right mindset and grit, inspiring others to strive for their own goals, no matter how daunting they may seem.
The importance of education is a central theme in William’s life story, serving as a crucial turning point that transformed his circumstances. His quest for knowledge underscores how access to education can empower individuals, paving the way for personal and professional growth. Education becomes a tool through which William not only enhances his own life but also aims to uplift others in his community, emphasising its role in fostering positive change.
Moreover, community and support systems emerge as vital elements in William’s narrative. His experiences highlight the significant impact of encouragement and assistance from others. The local WUSC volunteers play a pivotal role in helping William navigate the challenges of daily life, such as setting up bank accounts, and budgeting. This support eases the transition into a new environment, reinforcing the idea that collective efforts, and solidarity are instrumental in fostering personal growth and success.
William’s journey is also a beacon of hope and inspiration. His experiences remind readers that change is possible and that perseverance, combined with a clear vision, can lead to extraordinary outcomes. His story serves as a motivating force, encouraging others to remain steadfast in the pursuit of their dreams and aspirations, reinforcing the belief that resilience can yield significant rewards.
Furthermore, the narrative provides valuable insights into the cultural and social context that shapes individuals’ lives. It prompts readers to reflect on the broader implications of these dynamics within their own communities. Understanding the interplay of cultural and social factors can foster greater empathy and awareness, encouraging a more inclusive approach to addressing challenges faced by diverse populations.
Lastly, William’s overall commitment to making a positive impact in the community stands out as a powerful takeaway. His dedication to education, volunteering, and supporting marginalised groups illustrates his desire to contribute to societal betterment. Through his actions and initiatives, he seeks to create a lasting legacy of kindness and support, demonstrating that individual efforts can, collectively, lead to meaningful change in the lives of others.
While you are reading William’s story in Chapters 2–5, you might want to consider the following questions:
• What surprises you about William’s childhood and his early educational experiences?
• How would you characterise William’s trajectory to university study?
• What aspects of resettlement are most impacted by also engaging in higher education study?
• How do you think modern technology might change contemporary refugee students’ experiences?
Possibilities of Educational Pathways to Refugee Resettlement
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