Integration is not a buzzword. For refugees in the UK, it’s a lifeline

I arrived in the UK in 1995, aged 10. I didn’t speak English. I didn’t know I had undiagnosed dyslexia. And I certainly didn’t understand what it meant to be a “refugee”. But my first lesson in this country didn’t come from a classroom. It came from George – our neighbour – who knocked on our door each morning to make sure I got to school, handed over dinner money when we couldn’t afford it, and showed me, without words, what solidarity looks like.

Today, I work from Oxford as a humanitarian aid worker. I’ve walked alongside communities in Yemen and Somalia – places where armed conflict has torn through families, institutions, and trust. But even in the wreckage of war, I’ve seen how people rebuild connection: neighbours sharing what little they have, women leading local peace-building efforts, young people holding the threads of community together. That kind of cohesion – quiet, patient, and profoundly human – is what keeps societies from falling apart.

And it’s just as vital here, in the UK.

This year’s Refugee Week theme, ‘Community as a Superpower’, isn’t just a slogan. It’s a timely reminder that integration isn’t a policy checklist – it’s the everyday work of building a society in which people not only survive, but belong.

From assimilation to real belonging

In the 1990s, when I was growing up in West London, “integration” meant assimilation. Speak English. Follow the rules. Be grateful. It was a one-way street: refugees and migrants were expected to change; wider society wasn’t expected to meet us halfway.

After the 2001 riots in Oldham, Burnley and Bradford, politicians replaced “integration” with a new term: community cohesion. It sounded more inclusive. It recognised that trust and belonging are built on mutual effort. But too often, it became a tool for control – focused more on preventing unrest than nurturing real inclusion. The question was, “How do we keep communities calm?” when it should have been, “How do we help communities thrive together?”

Having worked on some of the most fragile contexts in the world, I’ve learned that cohesion isn’t a luxury. It’s the difference between hope and hopelessness. It’s not just about stopping conflict – it’s about building connection. And that matters as much in Hull or Aberdeen as it does in Hargeisa or Aden.

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• Cameroon and the refugee crisis you’ve probably never heard of
• This women’s library just became a ‘library of sanctuary’ for refugees and asylum seekers

Integration isn’t a test refugees must pass. It’s a shared journey we all walk. Yet in today’s political climate, refugees are too often treated as burdens or security risks – not as neighbours, colleagues or contributors.

When people hear my story – how my family fled Yemen’s civil war, how I nearly drowned at sea as a child on a lovely day out with my dad to the sea in my hometown Aden, South Yemen – it shifts something. The word “refugee” becomes human. Personal. That’s the power of storytelling. It breaks down fear. It makes room for empathy.

But integration can’t just be about individual stories. It has to be structural. It has to mean fair housing, decent jobs, access to education, the right to participate. And it has to start from a place of dignity – not suspicion.

Why community cohesion matters now

Cohesion is not just a concern for conflict zones. It’s a UK priority – especially at a time when social trust is fraying, inequalities are deepening, and rhetoric around migration is being weaponised. If we want to protect what’s best about this country – its diversity, its generosity, its creativity – we need to invest in the relationships that hold it together.

Because real integration is when the former refugee becomes your doctor, your daughter’s football coach, your local councillor. It’s when we move from “us and them” to just “us”.

George didn’t wait for a policy framework to offer help. He saw a child who needed care – and acted. That is the spirit we need to reclaim.

As a Refugee Week ambassador, and someone who now trains others on power, privilege and inclusion, I believe our greatest asset isn’t policy. It’s people. It’s the relationships we nurture in our schools, our workplaces, our streets and our stories.

So let’s move beyond token celebrations and short-term schemes. Let’s build something deeper. Let’s ensure our approach to integration – here and globally – centres dignity, equity, and mutual respect.

Because integration is not a buzzword. It’s a lifeline. And community is how we keep it strong.

Awssan is a Refugee Week Ambassador in 2025.

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