Afghan refugees in Iran have been systematically marginalized—cast as outsiders, threats, or scapegoats. While Iran’s policies toward Afghan refugees have fluctuated—from periods of open-door hospitality to expulsions—the core approach has remained consistent: treating the Afghan refugees as the “other” and refusing to integrate them into society.
Many of those now labeled as foreign nationals, illegals, or refugees were born in Iran or have lived there for decades. By international standards, they are no longer refugees. Yet, they are denied citizenship, excluded from full participation in society, and live under the weight of discriminatory laws and cultural stigma. This has given rise to a suspended or dual identity—neither Iranian nor Afghan—marked by alienation, social rejection, and exclusion from legal employment or public services.
In the minds of many Iranians, Afghans are reduced to stereotypes: illiterate labourers, culturally inferior, job thieves, disease carriers, or more recently, Mossad spies. These harmful tropes are constantly reproduced through state media, widely read newspapers, television shows, and social media. Over time, they have become embedded in the public imagination.
The Iranian government’s policy toward Afghan refugees has never followed a consistent or rights-based framework. Instead, it has adapted opportunistically. During the Iran-Iraq war, Afghan refugees were celebrated as “brothers” to recruit them for military service. Once the war ended, their role shifted to that of cheap labourers for rebuilding the country—while simultaneously being treated as nuisances to be removed. Camps such as Sang-e Sefid, Asgarabad, and Tal-e Siah were established to detain and humiliate Afghan refugees.
The rise of ISIS and the war in Syria marked another shift. The Iranian state once again embraced the “brotherhood” narrative, forming the Fatemiyoun Brigade. Poor and undocumented Afghan men, desperate for papers and income, were recruited to fight in Syria with the promise of legal residency and payment—a brutal exploitation of vulnerability.
More recently, amid the Iran-Israel conflict, two arrested individuals were publicly identified as Afghan refugees in what appeared to be a calculated move. This sparked a wave of hate and xenophobia. Afghans were harassed in bakeries, gyms, taxis, and streets—accused of espionage, insulted, and beaten. These experiences are not new. During the “Night Bat” serial killings in 1997, Iranian authorities initially named an Afghan suspect. Within 24 hours, hundreds of violent incidents were reported against Afghan refugees, including several murders.
I, the author of this piece, was a teenager at the time. Outside a cinema, I was beaten by two men who screamed that I was the countryman of the “Night Bat.” As a crowd watched and laughed, I fled, bruised and bleeding. That memory has never left me—and it is one of many. For decades, each time Iran has faced internal crises—whether public health emergencies like COVID-19 or cholera, or economic collapse—refugees have been framed as the problem.
From dehumanization to structural violence
Afghan refugees in Iran experience both symbolic and physical violence. Symbolic violence includes humiliation, insults, stereotyping, and denial of basic rights: no bank cards, no SIM cards, no driver’s licenses, no right to own property, no freedom of movement, and, in some cities, no access to public transportation. Physical violence includes arrest, torture, forced deportation, and public beatings—perpetrated not only by the state but by ordinary citizens influenced by official discourse. Many of those who participate in this violence are framed as loyal or religious members of society.
This constant discrimination takes a psychological toll. Fearing arrest, many refugees live in informal settlements on city outskirts and work in illegal, exploitative jobs. Social isolation, chronic fear, anxiety, depression, and internalized shame are widespread. Afghan refugees, especially the youth, are stripped of belonging and dignity.
Worse still, third-generation migrants—born and raised in Iran—face identity crises. They are neither fully accepted in Afghanistan nor in Iran. They live under constant scrutiny and rejection.
The regime’s moral contradiction
At the root of this crisis is a deep contradiction in the value system of the Islamic Republic. The regime portrays itself as a defender of Shi’a Islam and traditional values, while relying on nationalist principles of “blood and soil” to determine national belonging. This contradiction—between universal moral claims and exclusionary practices—has shaped a political discourse built on othering and enemy-making. It is this discourse that allows the regime to justify marginalizing Afghan migrants.
Erasure as Policy
The Iranian state has deliberately refused to integrate Afghan refugees. Instead, it has invisibilized them. Denied visibility, denied recognition, denied voice, they are erased from public life. This invisibility is not accidental—it is the intended outcome of decades of policies rooted in fear, nationalism, and moral hypocrisy. The regime’s failure to reconcile its ideals with its actions has made Afghan refugees not only the most vulnerable, but the most convenient victims.
The marginalization of Afghan refugees is not a side-effect of poor governance. It is the outcome of a calculated, institutionalized system of exclusion—a reflection of a profound moral crisis at the heart of the Islamic Republic. In this system, the regime appears as the oppressor, and Afghan refugees as the eternally oppressed.
Ahmad Jan Moradi is a freelance writer and has an MA in sociology and culture.
