During the period that I was an asylum seeker, I realised how powerful the media was in shaping how people like me were seen. The stories told about refugees often shape how the public reacts, how policies are made, and even how welcome we feel in our communities.
Now, years later, as someone who works in the refugee rights sector and has researched media representation of refugees for my PhD, I still find myself asking the same question: who gets to tell our stories, and how? Too often, refugees are the subjects of stories, but rarely the storytellers. And that matters, because when you control the story, you shape the truth.
Representation isn’t just about visibility, it’s about power. The way refugees appear on TV or in newspapers shapes how society understands us. Too often, that portrayal is reduced to crisis and tragedy. We are either seen as victims in need of saving or as threats to be contained.
But I’ve seen the difference it makes when refugees tell their own stories. When people hear our voices, not filtered, not spoken about us, but by us, something shifts. The narrative becomes more human, more real, more complex. It stops being about pity and starts being about shared humanity. Authentic representation can turn sympathy into solidarity. That shift in understanding can influence everything from public attitudes to political will.
So how can the media centre refugee and asylum voices in an authentic way? For me, it begins with listening.
Authentic storytelling means taking the time to understand someone’s story, to build trust, and to let that person decide how they want to be represented. It’s not about rushing to get the most emotional quote or the most dramatic image, it’s about creating space for truth to be told with dignity.
I’ve previously criticised a report that filmed unaccompanied children preparing to cross the Channel. The intention might have been to “give them a voice”, but the reality was different. It felt like exploitation, not journalism. Those children or their guardians weren’t in a position to give meaningful consent, and filming them at such a vulnerable moment stripped them of the privacy and safety they deserved. I’ve always believed that storytelling should empower, not expose. It should help people regain agency over their own narratives, especially those whose voices have been silenced for too long.
For refugees, recounting personal experiences can be deeply emotional. Some stories are raw, still unfolding. That’s why consent and care matter so much. Before asking anyone to share their story, we need to ask ourselves: could this cause harm? Will they have control over what’s shared and how it’s used?
And then there’s tokenism, something I see far too often. Sometimes refugees are included in media stories simply to tick a box or make a headline feel “authentic”. But true inclusion means collaboration and co-creation. It means inviting refugees to help shape the story from the start, to be part of the production team, the editorial meeting, or the decision-making table.
When we move from being spoken for to speaking with, the whole dynamic changes. That’s when stories start to heal instead of harm.
Right now, across the UK and beyond, anti-refugee rhetoric is getting louder. Words like “invasion” and “deterrence” are used to justify policies that strip away rights and dignity. Against this backdrop, hearing authentic refugee voices isn’t just important, it’s urgent. When refugees speak for themselves, they challenge the stereotypes that dominate the headlines. They remind us that seeking sanctuary is not a crime, and that behind every statistic is a person with dreams, losses, and resilience.
Authentic voices help the public see that refugees are not defined by trauma but by survival and contribution. That’s a truth worth amplifying.
If the media truly wants to serve the public, it has to go beyond showing images of suffering. It needs to share storytelling power. That might mean training refugees as journalists, producers, and editors. It could mean working with refugee-led organisations to co-create stories, or developing new ethical guidelines for reporting on people with lived experience of displacement.
The media has extraordinary power to shape how we see the world, but with that power comes responsibility. When refugees are trusted to tell their own stories, journalism becomes something more than documentation. It becomes a partnership.
For me, this is what “speaking back” to the hostile environment looks like. It’s not just resisting harmful narratives, it’s replacing them with stories rooted in truth, dignity, and hope.
Representation isn’t about being seen. It’s about being heard on our own terms.
About the Author
Allan is a refugee rights campaigner, storyteller, and the Regional Campaigns Manager at a national charity. He has led campaigns challenging hostile asylum policies, amplified refugee voices through documentary and advocacy, and supported grassroots organising across the Midlands. He previously worked in communications at a refugee organisation, where he helped shape public narratives around refugee integration and dignity.
He also co-founded a research-led migration arts learning collective and is a trustee of a refugee organisation in the East Midlands. He holds a PhD in Refugee Studies and has a background in journalism, bringing together research, lived experience and strategic communications to drive change. He joins the Sounddelivery Programme to deepen impact and influence public conversation.