Almost 20 years ago, I stood as a young lawyer before a judge for the first and only time in my career. Contract law was my comfort zone, not the courtroom. But the pro bono immigration case I had spent years preparing had reached its decisive moment. That day would determine whether my client, Jean Batiste, a husband and father of three young children, could remain in the United States and rebuild his family’s life in safety or be forced to return to home country, a place where he and his family would be in danger.
To say I was nervous would be an understatement. It was the most important case of my legal career up to that point, and the human cost of failure would be overwhelming. Had I done enough to help secure the life-saving outcome his family needed?
I didn’t know at the time that this case would forever alter the trajectory of my career. I couldn’t have predicted that in a few years I would trade the comfort of my desk in a law office for a table and chair under a dusty tarp in refugee camps in the Horn and East Africa, and eventually to a role in global advocacy in Switzerland.
It was there, working with the UN and its partners on the other side of the world from my former law office, that I swapped out the law of contracts for the 1951 Refugee Convention. Created by member states of the UN, validated by the millions who survived violence and persecution because of it, and rooted in the shared humanity of all peoples, the Refugee Convention became the North Star of my work.
This year (July 28th to be exact) is the 75th anniversary of the Refugee Convention’s adoption, and I can confidently say that it looks very good for its age. Having witnessed its application time and time again, the Refugee Convention is not a relic at 75 years-old but remains one of the clearest expressions of a basic principle of humanity: people fleeing persecution deserve protection. In the United States, that principle is embedded in the Refugee Act of 1980, which adopted the 1951 Convention’s refugee definition and helped standardize the U.S. refugee and asylum framework.
For three-quarters of a century, the 1951 Convention has done more than just affirm someone’s status. Through it, people reach safety, reunite with family, go to school, find work, and begin again. Crucially, even in the most tumultuous of times, it draws a non-negotiable line in the sand: people escaping persecution should never be forcibly returned to it.
Yet, despite it being a moral compass for 75 years, the Refugee Convention and the critical rights it provides do not temper the increasingly negative rhetoric around asylum and refuge. In the United States and elsewhere, access to asylum is under growing threat. Those displaced from their homes are blocked from reaching safety, denied meaningful procedures, or pushed into systems designed to move responsibility elsewhere. Despite political posturing, a recent UNHCR/Ipsos survey found two-thirds of people across 29 countries (including Australia Japan, Sweden, the Netherlands, France, the United States, and Brazil, to name a few) still support offering refuge to those in need—with 72% of respondents in the United States in agreement. People still believe in welcoming the stranger and offering safe haven to people in danger despite the rhetoric.
As of the end of 2025, almost 118 million people worldwide were forcibly displaced, including more than 50 million who fled across international borders. A number that size can numb us from the reality – but behind that figure are people in refugee camp waiting rooms, registration lines, schools, clinics, and community centers: families cut off from home, children whose education has been interrupted, and individuals trying to rebuild after loss. That is why the need for the Refugee Convention is not fading with age but remains even more relevant today.
The promise of refuge has endured for 75 years. Making sure it can do so for at least another 75 years is both a political and moral choice that requires our support.
Our support means demanding fair access to asylum and functioning protection systems, ensuring the right to family reunification, the right to work, and the chance to rebuild a life with dignity. The Refugee Convention can only protect people if societies understand why it matters. Governments and civil society need to look at the facts and lives impacted: explain why people flee and show the fuller reality of those displaced — not only highlighting the stories of loss and need, but of resilience, contribution, and shared community. Those reaching safety may come from a foreign country, but their priorities and goals are anything but foreign. A father resettled from Afghanistan cares just as much as a father born and raised in Brooklyn about putting food on the table for his family; a mother forced from her home in Kyiv is just as concerned as a mom from Dallas about her children’s education .
Twenty years ago, the judge before whom I stood affirmed my client’s need for protection. Jean-Baptiste* was granted asylum and put on a path to citizenship. Later, his wife and children were able to join him in the United States. It was in that moment I saw the system do what it was meant to do – protect people and save lives. That is what the Refugee Convention was built for. That is why it still matters 75 years later.
—Johanna Babb is the Geneva Representative for Church World Service. Originally from Maine, she is a lawyer and human rights advocate living with her family in Switzerland.
*Name changed to protect identity.