THE | DIPLOMAT
By Zulficar Niaz Tushar
July 02, 2025
This September, the United Nations will host a long-awaited High-Level Conference on the Situation of Rohingya Muslims and Other Minorities in Myanmar. Set to take place in New York, it’s a moment that has been years in the making — proposed by Bangladesh’s chief adviser, Professor Muhammad Yunus, during the 79th U.N. General Assembly and now backed by 106 countries across continents. But behind the diplomacy and formality lies something far more urgent: the fate of over a million people who have been living in limbo for far too long.
For Bangladesh, this is not just another multilateral gathering. It’s a desperate call for help, a plea for the world to finally share the burden of a crisis it has watched unfold with painful inertia. Since the Myanmar military’s violent campaign in 2017 forced more than 700,000 Rohingya across the border into Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh has shown extraordinary compassion. But seven years on, that compassion is being stretched to its limits. The camps are still full. The futures are still frozen. And the promises from the international community remain, for the most part, unfulfilled.
What started as a humanitarian emergency has now morphed into something far more complicated. Cox’s Bazar has become the site of the world’s largest refugee camp — a place where lives are paused indefinitely. Public services in the region have buckled under the pressure. Forests have been stripped bare for firewood. Local job markets are tighter. Tensions between host communities and the refugees are rising. And with global attention diverted by crises in Ukraine, Palestine, and elsewhere, the financial support that once flowed into the camps is now dwindling. In 2024, only a third of the humanitarian response plan was funded. This year, it’s even worse.
But beyond the visible hardships, the Rohingya remain trapped in a legal limbo. Bangladesh has never formally recognized them as refugees under the 1951 Refugee Convention, instead labeling them as “Forcibly Displaced Myanmar Nationals.” This absence of legal status denies them access to formal education, employment, and legal protection, complicating the delivery of humanitarian aid and long-term planning. While this has drawn criticism from rights groups, the rationale is politically sensitive: granting formal refugee recognition could signal permanence — potentially undermining future efforts to negotiate repatriation. Other host countries like Malaysia and Indonesia face the same dilemma. In trying to avoid entrenching a protracted refugee crisis, governments are reluctant to offer rights that might disincentivize return or provoke nationalist backlash at home.
There have been previous international attempts to resolve the crisis. In 2018, a repatriation agreement brokered between the U.N., Myanmar, and Bangladesh failed to yield any meaningful returns. Rohingya refugees refused to go back without guarantees of safety, citizenship, and justice — none of which were credibly offered. That failure should be a sobering reminder that any future deal must be enforceable, transparent, and inclusive of Rohingya voices. Empty frameworks only buy time for the status quo, and the status quo is untenable.
In April, the World Food Program slashed monthly food allocations for each refugee from $12.50 to just $6. To someone reading this from afar, that may not sound like much. But for those living in the camps, it means the difference between a full plate and going hungry. A Rohingya elder put it plainly: “Before, we could buy rice, lentils, oil, onions, even chicken once a week. Now? Just rice and salt.” Malnutrition is on the rise. Mental health is deteriorating. Desperation is growing.
What started as a humanitarian emergency has now morphed into something far more complicated. Cox’s Bazar has become the site of the world’s largest refugee camp — a place where lives are paused indefinitely. Public services in the region have buckled under the pressure. Forests have been stripped bare for firewood. Local job markets are tighter. Tensions between host communities and the refugees are rising. And with global attention diverted by crises in Ukraine, Palestine, and elsewhere, the financial support that once flowed into the camps is now dwindling. In 2024, only a third of the humanitarian response plan was funded. This year, it’s even worse.
But beyond the visible hardships, the Rohingya remain trapped in a legal limbo. Bangladesh has never formally recognized them as refugees under the 1951 Refugee Convention, instead labeling them as “Forcibly Displaced Myanmar Nationals.” This absence of legal status denies them access to formal education, employment, and legal protection, complicating the delivery of humanitarian aid and long-term planning. While this has drawn criticism from rights groups, the rationale is politically sensitive: granting formal refugee recognition could signal permanence — potentially undermining future efforts to negotiate repatriation. Other host countries like Malaysia and Indonesia face the same dilemma. In trying to avoid entrenching a protracted refugee crisis, governments are reluctant to offer rights that might disincentivize return or provoke nationalist backlash at home.
There have been previous international attempts to resolve the crisis. In 2018, a repatriation agreement brokered between the U.N., Myanmar, and Bangladesh failed to yield any meaningful returns. Rohingya refugees refused to go back without guarantees of safety, citizenship, and justice — none of which were credibly offered. That failure should be a sobering reminder that any future deal must be enforceable, transparent, and inclusive of Rohingya voices. Empty frameworks only buy time for the status quo, and the status quo is untenable.
In April, the World Food Program slashed monthly food allocations for each refugee from $12.50 to just $6. To someone reading this from afar, that may not sound like much. But for those living in the camps, it means the difference between a full plate and going hungry. A Rohingya elder put it plainly: “Before, we could buy rice, lentils, oil, onions, even chicken once a week. Now? Just rice and salt.” Malnutrition is on the rise. Mental health is deteriorating. Desperation is growing.
This is no longer a crisis confined to Bangladesh. Southeast Asia is already feeling the ripple effects. Malaysia has intercepted hundreds of Rohingya refugees at sea this year alone. Indonesia, particularly Aceh, is struggling to cope with sudden surges of new arrivals. Thailand, too, remains a transit point for trafficking networks that prey on Rohingya despair. The absence of a coordinated regional response has allowed these problems to fester, turning a humanitarian crisis into a regional security threat.
And the clock is ticking. Every year that passes without a solution pushes the Rohingya further from the land they once called home. If the current trajectory continues, Myanmar may effectively become Rohingya-free — not through resettlement or peace, but through erasure. Once that happens, the right of return will not just be delayed. It could be lost forever.
That’s why this U.N. conference matters. It can’t be another photo op. It can’t be more statements of concern. What’s needed is a clear, enforceable, and time-bound plan for repatriation — one that guarantees the Rohingya safety, citizenship, and dignity. These rights must be restored before any return can happen. And Myanmar’s military authorities cannot be trusted to deliver them alone. International monitors, regional guarantors, and Rohingya civil society must all be part of the process.
But even as we look toward return, we can’t forget the present. The camps need more than empathy — they need money, infrastructure, and services. Without renewed funding, the humanitarian situation will collapse. And when that happens, the consequences won’t be contained by national borders.
Regional leadership is now critical. ASEAN must step up. Its five-point consensus on Myanmar, adopted after the 2021 coup, remains little more than ink on paper. As ASEAN chair this year, Malaysia has a chance to change that by leading on refugee protection and pushing for a burden-sharing agreement. Indonesia and Thailand, too, can use their leverage to drive coordinated action.
And then there’s Japan — a country that has long maintained open lines with both Myanmar and Bangladesh. Tokyo’s approach to diplomacy is often quiet, but its track record in post-conflict rebuilding is strong. From Cambodia to South Sudan, Japan has helped rebuild shattered societies. It can do the same in Rakhine, providing the infrastructure and development support needed to make returns viable.
Ultimately, the Rohingya crisis is a test — not just of Bangladesh’s endurance or Myanmar’s accountability, but of our collective humanity. It is a test of Asia’s willingness to solve its own problems and to act with urgency when lives are on the line.
Bangladesh has done its part. For seven years, it has sheltered, fed, and protected more than a million people with limited resources and shrinking support. It cannot carry this burden alone any longer. The upcoming conference must recognize that sacrifice — and match it with a serious commitment to solutions.
The Rohingya do not need our sympathy. They need their rights. They need their homes. They need our resolve.
Regional leadership is now critical. ASEAN must step up. Its five-point consensus on Myanmar, adopted after the 2021 coup, remains little more than ink on paper. As ASEAN chair this year, Malaysia has a chance to change that by leading on refugee protection and pushing for a burden-sharing agreement. Indonesia and Thailand, too, can use their leverage to drive coordinated action.
And then there’s Japan — a country that has long maintained open lines with both Myanmar and Bangladesh. Tokyo’s approach to diplomacy is often quiet, but its track record in post-conflict rebuilding is strong. From Cambodia to South Sudan, Japan has helped rebuild shattered societies. It can do the same in Rakhine, providing the infrastructure and development support needed to make returns viable.
Ultimately, the Rohingya crisis is a test — not just of Bangladesh’s endurance or Myanmar’s accountability, but of our collective humanity. It is a test of Asia’s willingness to solve its own problems and to act with urgency when lives are on the line.
Bangladesh has done its part. For seven years, it has sheltered, fed, and protected more than a million people with limited resources and shrinking support. It cannot carry this burden alone any longer. The upcoming conference must recognize that sacrifice — and match it with a serious commitment to solutions.
The Rohingya do not need our sympathy. They need their rights. They need their homes. They need our resolve.
Zulficar Niaz Tushar
Zulficar Niaz Tushar is a research assistant at the South Asian Institute of Policy and Governance (SIPG), North South University, Dhaka. His work centers on regional diplomacy, artificial intelligence, and digital governance.
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