Afghan Refugees in South Korea: From White‑Collar to Factory Floor
It’s hard to lose everything, especially your homeland. That was the exact sentiment echoed by Shahpoor Ahmad Azimi, a 38‑year‑old afghan who once studied journalism at Kabul University and now spends his days sorting plastic pieces in Yongin, a suburb of Seoul.
How It All Began
- In August 2021, as the Taliban stormed Kabul, South Korea rescued 79 Afghan families, including Azimi’s.
- In exchange for their long‑term stay in Korea, they had already worked on Korean‑led projects in the mountain country.
- Now, a year later, the refugees are building new lives—often in jobs far from their previous careers.
From Journalistic Dreams to Plastic Packaging
Shahpoor holds a bachelor’s degree in journalism and even served on a Korean provincial reconstruction team in Afghanistan. Today, he packs plastic bottles, but the work still supports his family.
“I’m grateful for South Korea—it saved us from a regime that stripped women and girls of their rights,” he said, tears in his eyes as he prepared for a 12‑hour overnight shift at the factory.
Challenges That Stay 24/7
- Language barrier: “Sometimes I can’t explain myself to my boss or colleagues,” Azimi confides. “They ask, ‘Why couldn’t you do this?’ and I’m just sitting there, head mumbling.”
- Time crunch: Only a few workers manage to sneak in language classes. “You see our schedule, there’s no time to learn,” notes Rahmatullah Rahmat, a former translator turned factory colleague.
What the Numbers Show
By February, of the 78 families still in South Korea, 72 found work in manufacturing or shipbuilding, while 15 had quit in search of better prospects. Just two of 27 former medical professionals were able to remain in their field.
Song So‑young of the government’s support group highlights the mismatch: “They cite communication, health, and workplace challenges. We’re now looking into recognizing their foreign licences and experience.”
Cultural Cooking: Some Folks Still Stuck with Old Ideas
South Korea’s cultural homogeneity sometimes clashes with newcomers. Some parents once protested the enrollment of Afghan children in local schools. Yet many families are forging ahead, refusing to let past hardships dictate their future.
Where Azimi’s Focus Lies
He has no plans to return to Afghanistan anytime soon—his main concern is his children’s safety and well‑being. “If I think about my past, I will lose everything here: my family, my children,” he says. “I only care about building a life from this point forward.”
