Opinion: We do not choose the country into which we are born

Opinion: We do not choose the country into which we are born "The challenge before us is not whether we condemn crime. We should, unequivocally. The real challenge is whether we can do so without surrendering our commitment to fairness, compassion, and justice." 13:48, 15 Jun 2026 If you met a hardworking person who cared for their family, respected the law, contributed to society, and wanted nothing more than to live in peace, would you judge them first by their humanity or by the passport they hold? It is a question worth asking as Belfast (Northern Ireland) grapples with difficult conversations about crime, migration, and belonging. None of us chooses the country into which we are born. No child decides to be born in Belfast, Khartoum, Kampala, Kyiv, or Damascus. We inherit our nationality by chance, not by merit. Yet that accident of birth profoundly shapes the opportunities available to us, the dangers we face, and the futures we imagine for our children. For many of us, home is where we feel safe, where we can work honestly, raise families, and contribute to the community around us. If war, persecution, economic collapse, or instability forced us to leave everything behind, how many of us would not seek exactly the same things elsewhere? The recent murder attempt in North Belfast, , has understandably provoked strong emotions. Violent crime should always be condemned in the strongest terms possible. Victims deserve justice, support, and compassion. Those responsible for criminal acts should face the full force of the law. But we must resist the temptation to use actions of individuals to judge entire communities. Crime is crime. It does not become more shocking because it was committed by someone born elsewhere, nor does it become less serious because the perpetrator was born locally. Whether committed by a migrant or a citizen, by someone “white” or “black”, local or newly arrived, our response should remain the same: condemn the act, support the victim, and seek justice. The uncomfortable truth is that society does not always respond consistently. Belfast, like many places elsewhere, has witnessed numerous cases of violence. Yet they never sparked widespread protests or led to question the character of an entire population. Similarly, when two teenagers stabbed to death a random British Asian father as he delivered groceries to his mother in Wales, no one demanded a “pure, cold rage.” In August last year a teenager Alina Burns attempted to behead a Kurdish barber with an axe. There were no riots, no protests, no pogroms. Why, then, do some crimes provoke collective outrage while others are treated as isolated incidents? If our concern is genuinely public safety, then our outrage must be consistent. Every victim matters equally. Every life lost to violence deserves our attention. If we had mobilised with equal determination against all forms of violence from the beginning, perhaps some tragedies could have been prevented. None of this means that legitimate questions about immigration policy should be dismissed. Governments have a responsibility to manage borders effectively and fairly. Communities are entitled to ask how systems operate and whether they are functioning well. But those conversations must be grounded in facts rather than fear. The overwhelming majority of migrants are not criminals. They are nurses caring for patients in our hospitals, lecturers teaching in our universities, workers keeping businesses running, and parents striving to build better futures for their children. They are our neighbours, colleagues, classmates, and friends. Beyond social and cultural contributions they make, research has shown that many migrants also make substantial economic contributions through taxes they pay, the businesses they support, and the essential roles they fill in the labour market. The story of migration in the UK is therefore not only one of need and refuge, but also of contribution to shared prosperity. But does not even the point, even if they made no net fiscal contribution at all, we would still have to confront the ethical question. Many have fled circumstances most of us can scarcely imagine. Others simply sought opportunities unavailable in the places where they happened to be born. Their desire for safety, stability, and dignity is not fundamentally different from our own. Northern Ireland itself has a long history of migration. Generations of people left these shores seeking security and opportunity elsewhere. They hoped to be welcomed, judged by their character, and afforded the chance to contribute. It is a history that should inspire empathy rather than suspicion. One such example is Dr Ian Clarke . Born and educated in Belfast, he first arrived in Kampala, Uganda, in 1987. What began as a short-term mission evolved into a lifelong commitment to his adopted home. He did more than live in Uganda; he became part of its social fabric. He acquired citizenship, was given the clan name Busulwa , and in 2011, the people of Makindye Division elected him as their local leader. Ugandans did not judge him primarily by where he came from. They judged him by the life he had built among them, the values he demonstrated, and the contributions he made to society. ‌ Today, Belfast is a place he visits, but Uganda is home. His story reminds us that belonging is often shaped not simply by birthplace, but by commitment, participation, and shared humanity. If Northern Irish people can celebrate one of their own finding acceptance, purpose, and leadership in Uganda, perhaps there is also room to reflect on how we receive those who come to these shores seeking safety, opportunity, and the chance to contribute. The challenge before us is not whether we condemn crime. We should, unequivocally. The real challenge is whether we can do so without surrendering our commitment to fairness, compassion, and justice. We do not choose the country into which we are born. But we can choose the kind of society we build together. ‌ Will we be a society that judges people by fear and stereotypes? Or one that recognises our shared humanity while holding every individual accountable for their own actions? The answer to that question will shape not only how newcomers experience Northern Ireland, but also what kind of Northern Ireland we become. About the Author ‌ Dr Abdulhakim Nsobya is a Postdoc Research Fellow at Queen’s University Belfast, where his work focuses on religion, media, and political violence in Africa. Born and raised in Kampala Uganda, his academic and personal journey has taken him across the African continent and beyond. He pursued his Master’s in Dar es Salaam (Tanzania) before moving to Cape Town (South Africa), where he completed his PhD. Today, he lives and works in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Each place has shaped his understanding of identity, belonging, and shared humanity. His journey reminds him that none of us chooses the country into which we are born. Yet many of us through circumstance, necessity, opportunity, or calling, find ourselves crossing borders in search of education, safety, meaningful work, and a better future for our families. Looking back, he believes that every stage of his journey happened for a reason: Kampala nurtured his foundations, Dar es Salaam broadened his horizons, Cape Town refined his scholarly voice, and Belfast provided a platform to contribute to global conversations through research and public engagement. Article continues below Through both his academic work and personal experiences, he advocates for a world in which people are judged by the values they embody, the contributions they make, and the humanity they share. For all the latest news, visit the homepage here and sign up to our daily newsletter .