In September 2022, during the Woman, Life, Freedom movement in Iran — sparked by the death in police custody of 22-year-old Mahsa Amini — I resigned from my Iranian university position in protest. I was on a research visit to Mexico at the time, and couldn’t return home.

Science became my refuge and lifeline. I moved to Italy, then Germany and now Canada, taking up temporary positions to continue my work on dark matter and black holes.

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I am one of the few fortunate exiled scientists. According to the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, more than 122 million people worldwide are forcibly displaced. But there are no data on how many scholars are among these, or how many are silenced or cut off from their research by war, persecution, political unrest and violations of academic freedom — sometimes because of their work, or simply for expressing dissent or belonging to a marginalized group. Most support programmes focus on established researchers, often leaving graduate students and early-career researchers without help, visibility or a pathway to continue their education and research.

The war in Ukraine has revealed a troubling inconsistency in global academic solidarity. Some institutions and governments rallied to offer scholarships and support to Ukrainian students and researchers, yet similar opportunities are rarely offered to those experiencing crises elsewhere.

For displaced people, the challenges extend far beyond leaving home. Eligibility criteria for support are often too stringent. Many people flee at short notice and cannot retrieve degrees or transcripts required by host institutions as proof of qualifications. Their former universities might have been destroyed or closed, or be unwilling to provide documents owing to political pressures. Without these, even the most accomplished scholars can find themselves unable to apply for fellowships or academic positions.

Visa insecurity is another barrier. Scholars from conflict regions often hold passports that make travel difficult. Their visa applications are subject to extensive delays or denials. Background checks can last months or sometimes more than a year, causing scholars to miss out on job opportunities and fellowships. These hurdles disrupt academic careers and send a damaging message: it’s too risky to support scholars from unstable or repressive regions.

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Even when visas are secured, most fellowships are temporary. And they often emphasize research excellence to the detriment of other aspects of academic life. Many at-risk scholars are not granted faculty-member status, leaving them unable to teach, supervise students or contribute to departmental life. This causes a deep sense of disconnection from the academic community they once helped to build.

Layered on top of this are isolation from family, friends and support networks, mental-health challenges and the constant pressure to prove one’s worth in an unfamiliar system. Despite being resilient, many at-risk scholars describe feeling invisible — trapped between the trauma of displacement and the unrealistic demands placed on them.

To genuinely support these scholars, institutions must adopt concrete, inclusive policies. First and foremost is recognition. A clear and expansive definition of who qualifies as an at-risk scholar is needed — one that includes graduate, postdoctoral and non-tenure-track researchers as well as those with established academic careers.