by Jafar Ahmed
A Rohingya refugee can want to go home and still be afraid to return. There is no contradiction in that. Home may mean a village, a field, a neighbour’s courtyard, or the place where a family’s dead are buried. Return may mean facing armed men, finding that the house is gone, and having no one to turn to if something goes wrong.
That difference matters now. Malaysia has announced a first phase of returns involving 1,476 refugees from Myanmar, scheduled to begin on 29 September. Separately, Prime Minister Anwar Ibrahim has said Myanmar agreed to accept 5,000 Rohingya from Malaysia, with further returns expected in stages. The two figures describe different parts of the plan; the people in the first group have not all been identified publicly as Rohingya.
Malaysia calls the planned returns voluntary. The UN refugee agency, UNHCR, says it has no role in the process and warns that continuing conflict and violence make safe, dignified and sustainable return to Myanmar impossible at present. That is a serious disagreement. It cannot be settled simply by putting the word voluntary on a government announcement.
The question is not whether Rohingya people want to leave refugee camps or rebuild their lives at home. Many do. The question is what awaits them when they arrive.
A deal at the border is not a homecoming
For a government hosting refugees, return can appear straightforward on paper. Officials identify people, agree on transport and dates, and arrange for another government to receive them. Once the handover is complete, the number can be entered into a report.
But the journey does not end at the handover point. A person must still reach a place where they can live. They need to know whether their home stands, whether someone else controls their land, whether they can move freely, and whether their children can attend school. Above all, they need to know what happens if an armed group threatens them.
Malaysia’s proposed deal raises another question: who can guarantee safety in the place of return? Anwar has argued that his government must speak to Myanmar’s authorities if it wants refugees to be accepted back. That explains why a government might seek an agreement. It does not show that the authority signing it can protect a Rohingya family in a particular village in Rakhine State. Large parts of Rakhine have come under Arakan Army control amid its war with Myanmar’s military.
A government’s promise to receive people and the conditions those people will face are two different things. Any return plan has to answer for both.
What one village tells us
Consider Hoyyar Siri, a Rohingya village in Buthidaung Township. Human Rights Watch investigated the killing of civilians there on 2 May 2024, interviewing witnesses and examining satellite images, photographs and videos. It concluded that Arakan Army fighters deliberately attacked civilians and that the village was burned and left uninhabitable. The United League of Arakan, the Arakan Army’s political wing, denied killing civilians and disputed Human Rights Watch’s account of its conduct.
The story did not end when the fighting moved on. According to Human Rights Watch, survivors still cannot go back to live in Hoyyar Siri. Some have remained in a makeshift camp in Rakhine, where residents described restrictions on movement and inadequate food and medical care. The Arakan Army said landmines and unexploded materials were among the reasons people could not return to the village.
Hoyyar Siri is one village. Its history cannot stand in for every Rohingya community or every possible return route. But it exposes a question that no repatriation agreement should avoid: what does “going home” mean if the people who lived there cannot enter, rebuild or claim their property?
The broader warning is also documented. In its 2026 report covering June 2025 to May 2026, the UN Human Rights Office described a further deterioration in the Rohingya situation at the hands of both the Arakan Army and Myanmar’s military. That report does not establish the conditions at every destination today. It gives governments a compelling reason to check those conditions before sending anyone there.
Listen to the whole sentence
A refugee may say, “I want to return.” Governments should listen. But they must listen to what follows.
In interviews published this week from the camps in Cox’s Bazar, Rohingya refugees spoke of wanting to go home while fearing what they would face in Rakhine. One man described the possibility of danger from both the Arakan Army and Myanmar’s authorities. His fear is his account of the risk, not a prediction that can be applied to every village. It deserves an answer grounded in evidence, not a dismissal as reluctance to return.
Refugees have strong reasons to want a way out of prolonged displacement. Families in Bangladesh have spent years in crowded camps with limited choices about work and their children’s futures. Rohingya in Malaysia face a different set of pressures. In July, more than 100 Rohingya who had gathered outside the UNHCR office in Kuala Lumpur after reporting that they had been driven from their homes in Penang were taken away by police for checks. Malaysian police described their move to Kuala Lumpur as voluntary. That incident does not prove that any person selected for return has been coerced. It does show why officials must take the conditions in which people make a choice seriously.
Consent is more than a signature or a statement made in front of officials. People need reliable information about their destination and a real chance to say no. They need to know whether refusal will affect their safety, shelter or access to help. Their individual risks must be assessed, including risks that may be different for women, children, survivors of violence and people with particular medical needs.
Malaysia has said it would not proceed with returns if people’s lives were found to be at risk. That pledge should lead to clear, public answers: who conducts the checks, what information do they use, can refugees challenge a decision, and who follows up after arrival?
The test is what happens after arrival
A credible plan for Rohingya return must start with the person returning, not the number a government hopes to move.
It would establish where each family can actually live and how claims to homes and land will be handled. It would identify who controls the destination and who will protect civilians there. It would provide a way to report threats or abuse without fear of punishment. It would allow independent access to check whether people remain safe after they arrive. And it would confront the issue that has shadowed generations of Rohingya life in Myanmar: citizenship and equal rights cannot be left for an unspecified later day.
These are demanding conditions because return is a demanding promise. A bus, a boat or an agreement between capitals cannot supply what is missing on the ground.
None of this requires abandoning the hope of return. Rohingya people should be able to go back to their homeland. That is precisely why governments must take the conditions of return seriously. Sending people into uncertainty, then calling the journey a solution, risks turning their hope into another displacement.
The planned 29 September departures make these questions urgent. Before the first person is sent, Malaysia should explain how consent and individual safety will be assessed. Myanmar’s authorities should be pressed for concrete answers about citizenship, rights and protection. The Arakan Army must answer for conditions in the areas it controls, including whether displaced residents can return to their homes. Independent humanitarian and rights monitors need access to verify what each side claims.
For a Rohingya family, the measure of return is simple. Can they reach their home, live there without fear, and build a future with the same rights as their neighbours? Until those questions have credible answers, a repatriation figure is only a figure.
Jafar Ahmed is a researcher.
