When asked what he most wants, Khashayar Shahriari, a 25-year-old asylum-seeker from Iran, keeps it simple: to have his mom make him lunch.

“My mom’s love language is feeding people,” he said, sitting around his parents’ dining room table in the city of Aarhus, “she loves to feed people … and animals.”

But it’s not often Shahriari gets to enjoy his mom’s home-cooked meals. Following Prime Minister Mette Frederiksen’s lead, Denmark has cracked down on asylum-seekers, intending to reduce their numbers to zero. Shahriari is one of hundreds of rejected asylum-seekers forced to live in a deportation center called Kærshovedgård.

Shahriari and his brother first came to Denmark in 2018 to apply for religious asylum as Jehovah’s Witnesses. In documents shown to The World, the Refugee Board stated they did not believe the conversion was genuine. Both were denied.

Because of the 1951 UN Refugee Convention, Shahriari can’t be deported back to Iran, but he also can’t leave Denmark to apply for asylum in another European country, so he was forced to the deportation camp for indefinite detention.

Their mother Nahid had hoped Denmark would look after her boys while they stayed behind. 

“When I look back at that moment, it’s like the world ended for me,” she said. “We sent our kids here because we believed it was a safe place for them to be.”

In 2024, his brother won his appeal, and their parents were granted asylum on the same religious claim. Shahriari, however, had since converted to another Christian denomination. According to his lawyer, Danish authorities considered that move untrustworthy. When he applied to reopen his case, they rejected him.

For six years, he’s been trapped in Kærshovedgård.

Life at the camp

Getting to Kærshovedgård can be difficult. It’s about an hour from Aarhus, but trains run inconsistently, and the nearest station is seven miles away. There’s no bus, and most residents walk or bike.

The center sits in the middle of rural Jutland, enclosed by tall, metal fencing. Around 200 people live there, forced to share cramped, worn-down rooms with gutted kitchens and broken windows. Shahriari says many people in the camp are like him, forced to live away from their families.  

“The camp was supposed to pressure people to voluntarily return,” said Rikke Gomes, an activist and volunteer at Kærshovedgård.

“For example, to put people together in very tiny rooms, to not allow the necessary treatment if you get sick, to pressure people to stay in Kærshovedgård because you’re not allowed to stay outside.” 

Residents also cannot work or attend school. 

In January, a new wave of restrictions took effect, adding daily check-ins and banning car ownership. “These people reside illegally in Denmark; they are not welcome here.” Rasmus Stoklund, the country’s former Minister of Immigration, said in a social media video posted that same month.

“We continuously send many of them home, but we have definitely not reached our goal […] As long as they are in Denmark, they have to comply with the rules. And if they don’t do that, the consequence is that they go back to prison.”

Despite the Danish government repeatedly claiming that only criminals live in Kærshovedgård, Shahriari has no criminal record.  

“I’m not a criminal, and I’m a Christian,” he said. “I’m here to blend into society. So I’m open to Danish culture. I respect their culture. And that’s why I don’t think they have a problem with someone like me who just wants to come to the country, work, [and have a] family.”

Rune Stubager, a political science professor at Aarhus University, explained that Shahriari’s situation isn’t unusual.

“There’s a discussion about these converts, whether they do so mainly to get a residence permit. On the one hand, they would fit into Danish society somewhat better, but on the other hand, it also means that they will have a harder time going back.”

For Shahriari, the inconsistency is the most frustrating part.

“They gave my parents and my brother residency, which shows, of course, we are in danger,” he said. “So they kind of have to give me residency. We all are Christian. So we are in danger.”

Things have become even more complicated, according to lawyer and refugee law expert Annette Møller Hannibal. All asylum cases involving Iranians have been suspended due to the war.

“And for how long that will be, we don’t know,” Hannibal said. “Denmark [is] receiving the lowest amount of asylum seekers, I think, from forever, since it has been recorded, which is based on the fact that the politics has worked.”

When asked, the Ministry of Immigration and Integration declined to comment on Shahriari’s situation. No one is currently reviewing his case.